The winds howl through the streets of Saren. Most of the people are in their homes or taverns, waiting out the thundering clouds and pouring rain to return to their daily life. As the small envoy crawls up the ramp against the pressing weather, the frontmost wagon gets caught in a muddy rut, and a loud cracking sound comes from the right wheel. A new gust of wind blows, and the wheel gives way. Axle shattering and spokes crumpling, the wagon tips over. Boxes tumble and crates burst open as fine spices, furs, candles, and other strange items are scattered onto the street.
"What is this?!" A voice shouts through the downpour. A young man rides up to the site of the chaos, and instantly the driver of the wagon scrambles to his feet. "Sorry, sir, its-it-its not my fault! I tried to steer out of it!" He is clearly more embarrassed of the incident than afraid of the seemingly ordinary leader.
The man on the horse sighs, and quickly unbuttons the chinstrap of his red kettle helmet. He is an unremarkable figure, and his apparrel is far from well kept. I few scales of his rusting iron armor are missing, and he wears a makeshift leather belt around his left legg to keep his oversized shoe from coming lose. His helmet is pockmarked with dents, a testament to being attacked in the city streets of Shariz just days before. He has deep, dark, and solemn eyes; sand colored hair, and a clean shaving chin. His 145 men know him as the doom carrot, a comical nickname that stuck ever since he smashed a carrot into a drunk man's eye in a tavern brawl years ago. The man turned out to have a huge bounty on his head, and the "doom carrot" became rich that day.
He was never a man to squander his possessions-no, he was a man of action and adventure. Refusing the tempting offers of local guilds to recruit him into their ranks, he hired a small escort, and began the long trek from Tulga to the valley of Veluca. From Durqubba to Ayn Assudi, he bartered, traded, and in some cases scammed the merchants. It was in Shariz, however, that he made a great gamble: To buy every bag of spices the town had to offer in hopes that the East might pay fortunes for them.
The journey from Shariz to Veluca has been long and difficult. Impassible mountains and stormy weather have added to the envoy's misery, as they already have run low on rations. The doom carrot made a last minute descision to stop at Saren, hoping to sell some goods and restock on food. However, this descision is proving to be costly. This is not the first wagon that has tipped on these treacherous roads.
The doom carrot sighed. Climbing off his horse, he walked over to the wagon, and knelt down besides the crippled device, inspecting the damage. "We'll need a new axle and wheel to get moving again," he said. Turning to his men, he said, "Well, I guess we are stuck on the road for tonight. Lets set up camp and put the remaining wagons in a semicicle facing west," he pointed. His strategic mind was just as sharp as ever. Bandits were a constant threat in these mountains, and his men were only lightly armed.
"I'll head up to the village and see if I can buy some supplies," he stated, standing up. "You five, pack three of the mules and lets get moving. Everybody else, you know what to do, lets take tonight easy." He looked around, and seeing the grim, discouraged, and miserable faces of his men smiled and added, "Maybe we'll bring back a few barrels of ale." A few of them cheered, before they all set to work setting up camp.
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The storm was too much. Lightning splintered a nearby tree on the way up, and the doom carrot and his 5 companions had no choice but to stay in a tavern at Saren before returning to the camp. The storm was just too much.
The Laughing Man's Inn, however, proved to be a jolly place. Dancers and bards played music late into the night, and the ale was dark. The doom carrot got a bit more drunk than he should have, but it had been a long journey. He began to chatter with other men at his table, knowing that local rumors could lead to some good trade options. Seeing a knight next to him reading a wet piece of parchment-obviously a royal decree, from the look of the broken wax seal on it-he nudged a little closer. "A war?" He asked, motioning to the paper. The older man smiled, "No, thank God no, I've fought enough battles for any one man," He chuckled. "But the lords of Veluca have declared independence from the kingdom of Mithrim."
The doom carrot nodded appreciatively. He thought for a moment; about the future, about the East, about things that would be considered treasonous to say aloud in public. He swigged the last mug of beer, and standing, said to his men: "Well, its getting late, and I haven't slept well in days." He flipped a gold coin to one of them. "Last one's on me." He said, winking.
"Goodnight, sir," His soldier said. "May tomorrow bring new oppurtunities."
The doom carrot turned to leave. He smiled. Tomorrow would bring new oppurtunities indeed.
