[center][b][i]Caravan Mission[/i][/b][/center]

Once the events of the night before had settled, the rest of the party turned into their beds at the inn and rested uneventfully. Eventually the caravan master, who still reeked of booze, came by to each room and woke them. It was roughly an our before dawn, and the caravan master gave them that hour to freshen up. Even the inn keeper was not yet awake, so anything that the group wanted to eat they would have to take from the rations given to them by the college. The caravan master himself had nothing and went to get his wagon, and notible he seemed to have been shifting much of the inventory to accompdate the space of a small child. Even took out a cushion.

Once the group had finished their morning rituals the group was off. Lyn would be sitting in the wagon itself, underneath the tarp that protected the goods from the weather. There wasn't much of a view aside from forwards and backwards, but at least the caravan master made very little fuss about it. His only spoken comment about Lyn's presence was telling her where she is suppose to be sitting at. The rest of the morning went by uneventfully. Djarkel looked somewhat mystical when the morning sun shined the dew off it's gray grass, but once noon hit Djarkel's ever bleak skies returned to give the land it's trademark dreary and depressing mood. Along the way the group would pass various bridges and toll gates which the caravan master handled by showing his trade papers and the usual access fee.

A few hours after noon but not quite the afternoon yet, the group stopped by another bridge. It was staffed by a few toll takers dressed in leather armor with an assortment of weapons; crude equipment fitting for the stingy nature of the barons in these lands. The caravan master spoke to the toll taker at the bridge in a profesisonal fashion, but while they spoke there was something odd about these guardsmen. Namely, while the barons are cheap, they would at least take the time to give their men a sense of uniform organization and put emblems on their weapons or armor. These guardsmen were ragged and fadded; cheap as they are, no self-respecting baron would every allow their guardsmen to have such sloppy attire. 

The caravvan master continued to talk to the toll taker for a short while, negotiating prices. IN a few minutes they would be allowed to cross the bridge over the shallow lake. Unlike the bridge from before, this one was made of solid stone and large enough for three wagons to cross side-by-side. There asn't much noise aside from the sound of the caravan master talking and the soft sound from the stream. There was also a pungent stench like rotting flesh and open waste coming from near the bridge. Some of the guardsmen looked a bit pale with blood-shot eyes.