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Unread 11th of May, 2010, 04:26
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Black Plauge
PhD in Physics [Epic GM]

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Market Day. There were many through out the year, some more important than others, but each shared one commonality: if you had something to sell or money to spend, you headed for the closest town and made a day of it. The result was a merchant's dream.

The crowd would have been bigger back in Tradeholm, but Joarabam said that the smaller communities would have less competition for his goods. As a result, he'd timed the caravan's journey so that it would reach Gouban just in time for the pre-winter Market Day. That was tomorrow, and the caravan would reach Gouban around mid-afternoon today. The extra time would free up some of the wagoneers to start spreading the word, and a few coins of their pay, much of which would then find its way back into Joarabam's coffers when he started selling to the locals the next day.

To Blarth, however, all that was of secondary importance. The primary matter for him was that instead of racing ahead of the caravan to start setting up camp (in particular getting the cook fires going), Blarth and his group of riders were tasked with diverting to Gilgal, a smaller village about half-a-day's journey from Gouban. The idea was to spread the word of the caravan's arrival a bit further, increase the crowds, and maybe extend Market Day by a day or two.

Gruumsh! I hate saddles!

Trying to shift into a more comfortable position Blarth was thankful that the horse required no real guidance from him. He was a horrible rider, when it came down to it, far preferring his own two feet to a horse's four. Fortunately, wagon travel was normally slow enough and the horses heavily burdened enough that he could keep up on foot. Today, however, the outriders were riding light and fast and Blarth had no choice but to ride.

Gruumsh! I hate saddles!

With Gilgal in sight, Blarth shifts again, anticipating the imminent relief from the saddle when his two companions reined in. Confused, Blarth stops his horse as well, and then backtracks to join up with them and find out what is going on.

"...too quiet," Horace was saying, "We haven't seen a single farmer out in the fields, nor on the road. Something is wrong."

"What?" Blarth asks, looking around at the harvested fields. "The crops are in. Why would anyone be working in the fields."

"They still need to ready the fields for winter," Trafan responded absently. "Only the fiercest winter blizzards keep farmers from their fields..."

"No smoke from the stacks," Trafan adds, redirecting his comments to Horace. "You're right, something is wrong here. We best find out what."

Spurring their horses into motion, Horace and Trafan left Blarth to confusedly follow in their wake as they cautiously finished the ride into town.
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Last edited by Black Plauge; 13th of May, 2010 at 02:28.