The Journey Back
Posted: Sun Jun 03, 2012 8:56 pm
The jingle of pots, pans, and other household goods rang with each bump and lurch of the wagon as it moved Eastward along the dusty road. The wagon was 5th in a line of 12 wagons in the merchant caravan, whose ultimate destination was Cormyr.
Throughout the weeks of travel from the Swordcoast, the line of wagons had grown and shrank with the addition or loss of a wagon or two at each major stop.
"It is a smart idea", he thought to himself. Rather than have to hire a slew of mercenaries to protect a couple of wagons, who would likely overcharge and run at the first sign of real danger, the organizer of the caravan collects a fee from those who would travel and uses that to provide meals and hire no less than 2 armed mercs per wagon. A hired cleric, 2 cooks, and some animals for meat rounded out the caravan, fitted for a long trip.
The noon sun beat down on the caravan in late Spring, and the driver and owner of this particular wagon, drove silently on, as he had since joining the caravan in Berdusk. The driver's silence suited the only other occupant of the wagon just fine, since the noise of the road, the heat of the sun, and lack of good sleep, had given the man a pounding in his head, just behind his eyes.
The weeks of travel had left him spent, weak, tired and irritable. Normally personable, matters in his own life had caused the man to be introverted and to give up on engaging others in talk.
A headache, normally was suffered through by the man, as he did not wish to petition his patron to heal such a trifle, but he had run out of patience with this pain, and so whispering some silent words of request, he touched his forehead and sighed as the pain left him.
He then thought back on the long journey so far, that started weeks ago with a sea voyage. He had travelled by boat before, but never had the journeys been so seemingly long, slow, and frought with troubles. It seemed as if Umberlee was trying all to see him not reach port in Baldur's Gate with all the storms and breaking equipment along the way. He was told, those are the dangers on one of the fastest ships out of Kingsbay. "Emptying half my purse for the trip", he had thought was apparently another of the dangers.
From Baldur's Gate he had travelled by lone horse, wagons, river barges, and of course, boot leather to get as far as Berdusk. His purse was nearly empty now, yet he had managed to hire himself out to the caravan leader as healer in exchange for passage, non-stop to Cormyr.
He wiped his mouth, after taking a gulp of stale water from the wagon's skin, and squinted at the low mountains that had been growing larger all morning. "The Far Hills?" he asked the driver, who without looking at him, nodded once.
"Not long now" he thought to himself, well, when compared to the entirety of his journey that is. It would still be weeks rather than days.
Even so, some tension left him at the thought, and he felt his eyes grow wet, and a lump tighten his throat when he thought of the reason for the grueling trip. At that, he reached into his robe's pocket, and removed a wrinkled, sweat and dirt-stained parchment, which he opened to read over for the hundredth time. He skimmed over the salutation, and brief news of Cormyr, to the signature of Merrick, the Elder, leader of Aunkspear, his village. He then raised his eyes up to the last paragraph, and real reason for his hasty trip back home.
"...illness from the cut, and fever weakened him so. He did get back on his feet, and to work his fields, but he has grown thinner, and weaker from some left over illness. The poultice and herbs, Mad Elizabeth treated him with, no longer seem to hold it back. I spoke with her this morning about him, and she does not forsee him living to see the harvest. I'm sorry the news had to come in such a way, and thank the gods you had been writing him of your whereabouts, as he never would write to tell you himself.
You, should come home. You should come home, and be with him.
You are all that he has, and he is all the family you have.
You should come home to your father, Bram."
Throughout the weeks of travel from the Swordcoast, the line of wagons had grown and shrank with the addition or loss of a wagon or two at each major stop.
"It is a smart idea", he thought to himself. Rather than have to hire a slew of mercenaries to protect a couple of wagons, who would likely overcharge and run at the first sign of real danger, the organizer of the caravan collects a fee from those who would travel and uses that to provide meals and hire no less than 2 armed mercs per wagon. A hired cleric, 2 cooks, and some animals for meat rounded out the caravan, fitted for a long trip.
The noon sun beat down on the caravan in late Spring, and the driver and owner of this particular wagon, drove silently on, as he had since joining the caravan in Berdusk. The driver's silence suited the only other occupant of the wagon just fine, since the noise of the road, the heat of the sun, and lack of good sleep, had given the man a pounding in his head, just behind his eyes.
The weeks of travel had left him spent, weak, tired and irritable. Normally personable, matters in his own life had caused the man to be introverted and to give up on engaging others in talk.
A headache, normally was suffered through by the man, as he did not wish to petition his patron to heal such a trifle, but he had run out of patience with this pain, and so whispering some silent words of request, he touched his forehead and sighed as the pain left him.
He then thought back on the long journey so far, that started weeks ago with a sea voyage. He had travelled by boat before, but never had the journeys been so seemingly long, slow, and frought with troubles. It seemed as if Umberlee was trying all to see him not reach port in Baldur's Gate with all the storms and breaking equipment along the way. He was told, those are the dangers on one of the fastest ships out of Kingsbay. "Emptying half my purse for the trip", he had thought was apparently another of the dangers.
From Baldur's Gate he had travelled by lone horse, wagons, river barges, and of course, boot leather to get as far as Berdusk. His purse was nearly empty now, yet he had managed to hire himself out to the caravan leader as healer in exchange for passage, non-stop to Cormyr.
He wiped his mouth, after taking a gulp of stale water from the wagon's skin, and squinted at the low mountains that had been growing larger all morning. "The Far Hills?" he asked the driver, who without looking at him, nodded once.
"Not long now" he thought to himself, well, when compared to the entirety of his journey that is. It would still be weeks rather than days.
Even so, some tension left him at the thought, and he felt his eyes grow wet, and a lump tighten his throat when he thought of the reason for the grueling trip. At that, he reached into his robe's pocket, and removed a wrinkled, sweat and dirt-stained parchment, which he opened to read over for the hundredth time. He skimmed over the salutation, and brief news of Cormyr, to the signature of Merrick, the Elder, leader of Aunkspear, his village. He then raised his eyes up to the last paragraph, and real reason for his hasty trip back home.
"...illness from the cut, and fever weakened him so. He did get back on his feet, and to work his fields, but he has grown thinner, and weaker from some left over illness. The poultice and herbs, Mad Elizabeth treated him with, no longer seem to hold it back. I spoke with her this morning about him, and she does not forsee him living to see the harvest. I'm sorry the news had to come in such a way, and thank the gods you had been writing him of your whereabouts, as he never would write to tell you himself.
You, should come home. You should come home, and be with him.
You are all that he has, and he is all the family you have.
You should come home to your father, Bram."
)