In the world of Kil'al a Caravan of merchants and mercenaries enters the outskrits of the town of Brim. As with most hero's of old, their fates are hidden from them. Although none can say wither they shall succeed, or freeze from the creeping frost of despair, and death. As the fates of these people have been unintentionally intertwined with one another.
Dexter pulled on the reins of his Oxen, Mort, and Grim. Bringing his wagon and cart to a halt. They were perhaps ten minutes walk from Brim, a simple town with simple people. Populated mostly by Dwarves the rules here are perhaps modified versions of the Moain'gal Kingdom laws. Hopping off his wagon he rolled his shoulders. "Alright, you can run off to see the new sites immediately or you can be cautious and set up your part of camp in case it starts raining before you get back." He called out to the others of the Caravan.
While he himself had little to do, he pointed at Shiv, one of his Shadow Knight bodyguards. "Shiv, I want a CAMP fire, With WOOD. Understand? And if you can't find wood do not steal any from some random house again." He explained. Shadow knights were good warriors, but not the best thinkers. If anything Dexter was more annoyed with them then proud. Although with the occasional group of bandits they're usefulness can outweigh the unintelligent. Especially in Velin, the most troubled part of the world.
"Isis, do an inventory check, see what we have to sell. Gregor get back on the cart. Your still in trouble for almost letting that little thief do away with out goods last week when you tried chasing that squeaker." He snapped, pointed at the cart and speaking as one would a dog who tore up the furniture.
With a sharp turn he pointed at Grim. Who was simply standing there. "The second smartest minion I have is a blasted Ox. I'll catch you doing something yell able one day." He vowed, it was an on going game for him. As he had yelled at every corporeal minion he had save for the ox. As of last month he almost obsessed with trying to catch it doing something stupid to no avail.
Dexter leaned back on his wagon, watching everyone either leaving or setting up. The group was small, and an odd assortment. Mostly half elves and a human. He wouldn't mind the money wise Dwarven type, but he always accepted what he had. Right now what he had was a good bunch of traveling companions.
More or less.