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12 Thermidor 1008
The hot summer sun beats down on the backs of two extremely large dusty leathery grey elephants plodding their way through the dusty landscape. Their harnesses jangle in the vicious winds as they strain silently, pulling the large wagon, standing two stories tall, 20 feet across and 30 feet long, atop sturdy armored axels and large wheels that grinds into the sandy road beneath. You are seated within the cargo hold of the largely empty wagon, which offers protection from the biting sandstorm winds, but also keeps in the stifling hot heat.
You left Samarkand the night before on a 5 day journey, and already you find the constantly whistling wind and baking heat unbearable. The Ceylon invasion ended 2 years ago. The frontier capital has mostly returned to some semblance of normalcy, except that nearly all the buildings are less than 2 years old. The seemingly unstoppable forces of Zuge Khan have turned back inward, as the Khan returned home to consolidate power, leaving only a mostly hands off Ceylonese prelate who occupies the governor's compound.
Each of you has for been hearing various rumors of a cargo shipment on the Francian Airship, the A.S. Lucius Newberry, that disappeared 2 years ago, reportedly worth a King's ransom. Those rumors led each of you independently to a meeting with a mysterious gentleman, who calls himself only Monsieur. X. wearing long black bedouin robes, with a hood that obscured his face, he spoke with an impeccable and refined Europan accent. Monsieur. X has a contact in the small mining town of Frisco by name of Brigit. She has information regarding the missing cargo, but needs you to pick up a shipment of sulphur from the odiferous steam pits en route to Frisco. She also needs you to do so without getting stopped by the Ceylonese customs agents.
Monsieur. X has provided the elephant wagon and its elephant driver (a pair of quiet and apparently dull-witted twin half-orcs named Nog and Zog who have adapted the minor psionic powers needed to serve as wagon drivers), both to help transport the sulfur, but also in the hopes of bringing the cargo of the Lucius Newberry back to Samarkand.
(You will get the chance to play out your conversation and questions for Monsieur. X later)
You each have your own (not necessarily pecuniary) reasons why you are here. Looking around, of the six passengers, you recognize a lot of familiar faces, others who you have encountered off and on in your past two years in Samarkand.
There is a dapper halfling with short dark curly hair and friendly inquisitive darting eyes, dressed in a somewhat weathered silk shirt and silk cravat, black vest, black knickers. He holds a small leather bound notebook, and graphite stylus. You see him constantly jotting down notes, and sketching, lost in thought.
There is also...
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[So you have sent out back stories, but here's the set up. Let us know what your characters look like in this situation. You'll get the chance to introduce yourselves properly after the flashback, which will provide more context for the adventure. No dialogue yet, but feel free to ask me questions. As a head's up, after the flashback, the halfling will introduce himself, tell you his motivations, and ask each of you what brought you here. You can think about how you'd respond to that question.]
The familiar faces and familiar bumps of the wagon brings back memories of time gone by, to the fateful day and wagon ride when you first saw these fellow travelers.
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Though she won't admit it, it is quite clear to those travelling with her that Ayesha is somewhat less than accustomed to traveling in vehicles without fairly comfortable seating accomodations. With every rock they pass over, she seems to jolt out of her seated position a little more than others, afterwards impatiently pushing her bouncing, dark curls out her face. As always, her clothing is both elegant and appropriate - loose, layered, protective, and comfortable. But looking at her, it is difficult not to focus on a massive, bright violet crystal hanging from her neck and nestled in atop her bosom. An occasional jolt that sends her tumbling under a beam of sunlight penetrating the cargo hold brings a brilliant violet gleam, matching the color of her eyes almost too closely to be accidental.
Dressed in comfortable breeches, a shirt affixed at the neck and with sleeves down half her arms, Sher displays little to distinguish herself from any other sword for hire or bounty hunter. A finely made and maintained crossbow lays draped across her lap. Her liquid brown eyes stare straight ahead, darting around only when an unfamiliar sound or particularly violent jolt demands her attention, albeit briefly. Her dark curled hair is pulled back with a simple leather strip. Her smooth features betray no expression. The only hint of personality from the thin, quiet woman is a brief glimpse of an iron neckpiece that she tucks back into her shirt quickly without breaking her faraway stare.
Posting the next scene now, just to give you a chance to think about what to do--but do post descriptions here when you get the chance.
incidentally I stole the elephant wagon idea, in part from Dark Sun, but also from Michael Chabon's historical fiction on the medieval silk road, so its might even be legit)
Lake spends most of his time sitting against a wall, with a small gray wolf curled up in his lap. Occasionally the wolf trots around the cargo hold, which apparently makes some people nervous, but it doesn't bite anyone. Yet.
Lake has an unkempt mane of curly, dark blond hair, with a bushy beard to match. His brown eyes, which had been unusually dilated a few days ago, have returned to a more natural state.
Although he owns a pair of boots, Lake seems to prefer going barefoot. His plain, functional clothes cover what they need to, but it is obvious that he does not pay close attention to them: his wrinkled clothes are not particularly well-fitting, and it looks like he made no attempt at color coordination.
Lake runs his hand through his beard, then closes his eyes and rests. He gives the appearance of a patient, easy-going man, content to relax and enjoy the ride.
Posting for Jesper:
At six and a half feet tall, Jesper is forced to duck entering the wagon, but if this minor inconvenience at all troubles the young man, his frequent smile gives no hint. With too-large hands, feet, and head ridiculously topping stick-thin limbs, the young man looks vaguely like a game of pick up sticks gone awry. Yet the ridiculousness of his appearance is tempered by a head full of floppy black hair, clear blue-green eyes, and the aforementioned ready smile that seems to put one at ease regardless of the circumstance.
He looks about to speak when his own wolf, Graybeard, tugs at his plain robes, and he escorts the well-mannered animal out of the wagon to find a meal.
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