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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Watermark12" data-source="post: 2091488" data-attributes="member: 28140">The furrowed road winds and turns as Gort's merchant caravan makes its way eastward in the summer heat. The land is hilly and lush with green grass, and a few stands of oak dot the landscape. There has been little excitement on the journey of ten days, and the few farmhouses and herds of grazing cattle do little to relieve the monotony. The humid air becomes slightly more bearable as the sun begins to set, bringing into view a welcome sign of civilization. Oakhurst, it was called by Master Gort; a small town stopover used by travellers in need of a meal, lodging or supplies. The red glow of the setting sun bathes the simple wooden buildings in a warm light. It's not much, but after a tenday of oppressive heat, road dust and trail rations, the town is a welcome sight indeed. The wagons pull to a halt on the edge of town, and Gort dismounts with his usual, terse word of instruction. "We leave again day after next, at sunrise. Your time's yours until then, be here if you're coming along, 'cause we won't wait." He and a few sweaty laborers begin to unload wares from the wagons, leaving the party to its own devices. Actions?</blockquote>