Chapter 11: Caravans and Cautions

  On the morning of their departure, a crisp breeze blew off the great lake, carrying the scent of pine and distant snow from the northern mountains. The designated assembly point, a wide, dusty clearing just beyond Laketown’s eastern gate, buzzed with activity that seemed out of place to the calm of the early hour. Three large wagons formed the core of their caravan, their heavy wheels already rutting the packed earth. Scattered around them were four smaller, open-topped carts.

  The rear wagon, bearing the faded but still discernible Resha crest, was a behemoth. Its sturdy oak frame was ready to carry people and supplies for many miles. A few carts were behind the wagon, piled high with timber and crates clearly marked as building supplies. By the head of the wagon stood Throng, an Orc of formidable build. His weathered green skin stretched tight across his muscles. A jagged scar traced one tusk giving his otherwise kind face a dangerous bent.

  Adon knew him well for Throng had been with Resha Shipping for a decade, rising to head of security for their more perilous overland routes. His eyes, small and sharp, missed nothing. Beside him, checking the harnesses of the four draft horses, was Solomon, a human man whose loyalty to Altin Resha spanned forty years. He was the main wagon driver. His hands, though gnarled with age, moved with practiced confidence. Four human guards—Simon, Alex, Rick, and James—stood by the Resha carts, clad in practical leather armor bearing a smaller Resha emblem, and made final checks on the carts loads

  In front of the Resha section of the caravan were two large wagons surrounded by smaller carts. Laden with sacks of grain, tools, and various household goods, their sides teemed with the bustle of families preparing to move. The four smaller, open-topped carts with these wagons held a mix of passengers – bright-eyed children peering excitedly over the sides, and older folk with faces etched by time, seeking new lives in Siscrix. It looked to be mostly families traveling together. The leader of this larger contingent was a stout, bearded dwarf named Dumas. He moved between his wagons, his voice a cheerful baritone as he issued instructions. Following close behind him was the captain of their guard, Zewelt. She was a striking human woman with a vibrant purple-and-red mohawk. Slung across her back was a massive two handed club. It looked too heavy for someone of her size to wield, but she moved with ease. She exuded an air of calm, watchful authority. Her guards were a mix of humans and dwarves, their gear well-maintained. Overall, they seemed to be a calming presence to the families setting out on a dangerous journey.

  Adon approached Throng, her own party in tow. "Master Throng, Solomon," she greeted them with her brightest smile, "ready for the long haul?"

  Throng grunted, his gaze sweeping over Adon’s companions. "Lady Adon. Your… associates are prepared?" His eyes lingered on Marik’s sword and Jimothy’s tool-laden pack.

  "More than ready!" Adon chirped as she performed introductions. Marik offered Throng and Zewelt a curt, professional nod, his eyes assessing their capabilities. Jimothy, ever curious, was already eyeing the axle construction of the Resha wagon. Willow smiled warmly at everyone, especially the children in the nearby carts. Cedric, pipe in hand, gave a polite, almost regal inclination of his head.

  Adon looked at her party she had assembled. So much diversity and yet, she was still missing Agrippa’s presence. She had expected him to show up during their week-long stay in Laketown but so far, the halfling warlock was as absent as ever. A flicker of annoyance tightened her lips before she smoothed it away. Adon decided not to press the issue publicly. If Agrippa didn’t appear by the time they reached Siscrix, she’d have to find a way to check on him.

  Dumas approached, touching the brim of his cap. "Lady Adon. Throng. Looks like we’re about ready to make tracks. Weather’s holding fair."

  "Excellent, Master Dumas," Adon replied. "My companions and I are eager to be on our way."

  With a final series of checks, shouted commands, and the crack of Solomon’s long whip over the lead horses, the Resha wagon groaned into motion behind the agricultural wagons from Dumas’s caravan. Adon’s party found space where they could – some walking alongside the Resha wagon, others finding perches on less crowded sections of the other carts. The Laketown caravan, a small, self-contained world of hope, commerce, and guarded ambition, began its slow, lumbering journey east, leaving the shores of the great lake behind.

  The caravan settled into the slow, steady rhythm of overland travel. Days blurred into a routine of breaking camp in the pre-dawn chill, hours of rumbling progress punctuated by brief stops for water or rest, and evenings spent setting up simple, defensible perimeters. The initial boredom Adon had felt on the River Maiden was replaced by a different kind of monotony, though alleviated somewhat by the changing landscape and the subtle dynamics unfolding within her newly assembled party.

  Marik proved a stoic but reliable presence during watches. Jimothy constantly tinkered with small mechanisms or examined the local flora with intense curiosity. He continued to work on designs for Adon’s poison dagger. He even procured steel at a decent price from a merchant in Laketown to begin working with.

  Willow often shared her carefully prepared trail rations, which, despite simple ingredients, always tasted surprisingly good. Sometimes in the quiet comfort of the evening, she would wander to the families in the forward wagons and spend time with the mothers in conversation. Cedric remained an enigma, often found smoking his pipe and observing the world with a detached air. Adon was growing concerned over his continued lapses in judgment and memory. What she had thought to be an asset was turning into a challenge. Hopefully he wouldn’t have incidents with more grave consequences than messing up the travel rations.

  Leaving Laketown's immediate environs, the terrain of the Riverlands shifted from lakeside pastures to rolling hills dotted with small farming communities. The air was fresh, the land fertile. After a week of steady travel eastward, they approached their first significant landmark: a small elven keep named Silverwood Crossing. It was less a fortress and more an elegant, fortified village built into the edge of an ancient forest, its structures seemingly grown from the living wood itself, with graceful, slender spires that blended seamlessly with the tall trees. Adon, accustomed to the often-insular nature of some elven communities, expected a cool, if polite, reception.

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  To her surprise, the elves of Silverwood were welcoming. While their initial appraisal was cautious, a few well-placed words from Adon about Resha trade agreements and the presence of Willow, whose open demeanor seemed to disarm them, smoothed their entry. They were allowed to make camp just outside the village perimeter, trade for fresh supplies – crisp apples, sweet berries, and potent elven travel jerky – and were even invited to share an evening song with the villagers. Willow was particularly delighted, engaging in an animated exchange with an elven herbalist about the unique properties of local flora, her rainbow hair a bright counterpoint to the elves' more muted earth tones. Even Marik seemed to unbend slightly, listening intently as an old elf recounted tales of glory in border skirmishes. It was a pleasant, peaceful interlude.

  Pushing further north and east, the cultivated lands gradually gave way to denser, older forests. The air grew heavier, the light dimmer beneath the thick canopy. Then, as they neared the borderlands that fringed the great jungle of the Veil, the trees began to change. At first, it was subtle: a faint luminescence clung to certain types of moss. A soft glow emanated from small fungi on the side of the road. Then, one evening as twilight deepened, the forest around them truly transformed. Towering, ancient trees, their bark like carved obsidian, began to pulse with an internal light. Soft blues and deep purples emanated from their trunks and spread out along their massive branches, illuminating the roadway with an eerie, beautiful incandescence. Heart-shaped lilies glowed with a soft, white light at their centers, and strange, oversized ferns unfurled fronds that shimmered with every color of the spectrum.

  "It's... magical," Willow breathed, her eyes reflecting the myriad lights. Cedric lowered his pipe, a look of genuine wonder briefly touching his usually guarded features. Adon, playing her part, gasped with appropriate delight, though internally she noted the subtle hum of arcane energy that permeated the air. It was a wild, untamed magic very different from her Patron's cold power. With the guards always keeping watch, Adon’s evening attempts forming a destructive beam with her power had totally died out. The woods were not safe to venture into alone so she had to spend all her hours in the confines of camp.

  Adon hungered to be able to use her power more. The Bandaged One hadn’t appeared or spoken to her once since their initial meeting. With no other ties to his servants, no space to practice her magic, Adon felt increasingly isolated. Her bubbly demeanor with the others was hard to keep up while she made no growth in her magic. The sigil on her wrist thankfully was a constant reminder though of her pact. So her dertermination remained.

  They traveled for several days through this enchanted, self-lit forest, the nights as bright as twilit days. The second elven keep they encountered, known simply as Veilwatch, was situated on the very edge of this luminous woodland, where the cultivated bioluminescence gave way to the raw, untamed density of the true jungle. Veilwatch was more visibly fortified than Silverwood, its walls of dark, polished stone interwoven with the glowing trees themselves, its elven sentries more overtly vigilant. Yet, they too were courteous, if less effusive than their kin further west. They allowed the caravan to resupply, offered warnings about the dangers of the Civil Way that lay just ahead. The rumors of missing caravans and people on the Civil Way were true. Only the massive caravans from Siscrix had arrived safely. Smaller caravans like theirs had struggled to arrive safely at Veilwatch.

  That night, within the relative safety of Veilwatch’s dark walls, Adon found herself in a sparsely furnished common room provided by their elven hosts. Across a simple wooden table sat Dumas, the dwarf caravan leader, his usual cheerfulness replaced by a worried frown. Zewelt, his human captain of the guard, stood beside him, her arms crossed. The flickering torchlight danced across her dark skin. Throng, Adon’s Orc head of security, was a stoic presence by Adon's side.

  Dumas broke the silence, "Lady Adon, Master Throng. The elves here… their warnings about the Civil Way are more pointed than usual. Disappearances, strange beasts… My primary concern is for the families. The children, the elders. It’s a heavy responsibility." He stroked his beard, his gaze troubled. "I'm wondering if pressing on immediately is wise. Perhaps we should wait, see if a larger, better-armed merchant train comes through."

  Zewelt nodded in agreement. “Caution could be warranted. When we first set out we knew of the dangers the Veil posed, but these rumored disappearances are concerning.”

  Adon felt a prickle of annoyance. Weaklings, she thought, always slowing things down. But her outward expression was one of bright, slightly impatient concern. "Oh, but Master Dumas!" she chirped, leaning forward earnestly. "Waiting? For, like, weeks? My father’s business in Siscrix is super time-sensitive! And every day we sit here, it’s, like, profits just flying away!" She gave a dramatic little sigh. "Besides," she added, flashing a confident smile, "we have Master Throng and his men, and my associates! We’re way stronger together than your wagons would be alone, right? If anything scary shows up, we can totally handle it!"

  Dumas looked from Adon’s bright, insistent face to Throng’s impassive one, then to Zewelt, who still looked unconvinced. He knew Adon was right about one thing: without the added strength of the Resha contingent – Throng’s experienced guards and Adon’s own capable-looking (if eclectic) party – his own group was vulnerable. Waiting for a larger caravan could indeed mean weeks, even months, stranded at Veilwatch, a costly delay for the families under his protection who hoped to reach Siscrix before the deep winter.

  He let out a heavy sigh, the worry lines on his face deepening. “I’m concerned that a crossing at this time wouldn’t be prudent. I believe we should….” Dumas’ voice trailed off as his eyes caught the light of a sapphire gem twinkling on the ring Adon was toying with on her finger.

  “I think you believe we should leave in the morning Dumas.” Adon said, her voice still bright for the sake of Throng and Zewalt.

  “Yes, yes.” Dumas murmured, then shook his head briefly as Adon slipped her hand below the table. A note of respect entered his tone. "Very well. Your numbers, and Master Throng's reputation, do tip the scales. We will proceed."

  Zewalt looked concerned but then Dumas glanced at her and said “We would best proceed with the Resha group.” These families haven’t paid enough gold to fund a weeks long wait here in Veilwatch.” Zewalt nodded in understanding.

  Adon beamed, clapping her hands together lightly. "It’ll be an adventure! And we’ll all look out for each other."

  Throng gave a curt nod. "Resha security will coordinate with Captain Zewelt. We depart at first light."

  Zewelt, though still looking serious, said. "My guards will be ready."

  "Excellent!" Adon chirped. "See? We are so much better together than a part!”

  Leaving Veilwatch the next morning, the transition was stark. The glowing trees still lined their path, but the undergrowth on either side exploded into a riot of true jungle: massive ferns, thick vines coiling everywhere, flowers of impossible size and hue, and the constant thrum of unseen life. The air grew thick with humidity and the scent of damp earth and exotic blooms. After a half-day's travel, Solomon, the Resha wagon driver, called out,

  "That's it ahead, folks! The marker stone for the Civil Way!"

  The caravan rumbled to a halt at a weathered, lichen-covered obelisk half-swallowed by encroaching jungle vines. Before them, a distinct, raised road, paved with ancient, cracked stones, cut a swathe through the dense greenery, climbing onto a low ridge line. This was it. The legendary Civil Way, the only known safe passage through the vast, perilous expanse of the Veil. It was wide enough for wagons going in opposite directions to pass each other. Adon looked down its length, the bioluminescent trees still casting their ethereal glow, but the jungle pressing in close on either side felt infinitely more menacing than the enchanted forests they had just left.

  Rumors of dangers on the road haunted all their minds. As the first wagons lumbered up onto the road, nervous glances from the caravan penetrated the thick jungle. The air of peaceful travel was over.