[b][center][color=#17c311][h3][i]Cyneburg[/i][/h3][/color]
[color=#17c311]Location: [/color]The caravan
[color=#17c311]Interacting with: [/color]Satilla, Keystone, Gretchin[/center][/b]

Cyneburg perked up a bit at Satilla's attempt to come up with a way to help with the wagon issue. Other people contributing to the issue  rather than just sitting on their thumbs waiting to see if Keystone and Calanon could manage it by themselves. That brief window of optimism didn't last long. The chef flew off the handle, ranting at everyone before single-handedly pulling the wagon enough to get it unstuck. When he directed his ire at her, she glared back at him, but bit her tongue back, literally. [i]If you don't want any damn magic, don't fucking ask for it you fucking dickbag. Maybe eating something would keep your temper in check. Or getting laid.[/i] But the wagon was out now and everyone could get on with their lives.

[color=#17c311]"Do you act this mysterious with everyone you meet on the road?"[/color] Cyne asked Gretchin, an irritated grin plastered on her face. [color=#17c311]"I suppose leaving this other place is why you're wandering through hostile orc-controlled territory. I think you'll be safe while it's raining, but you probably won't remain that way once the storm lets up. The locals aren't big fans of outsiders right now."[/color] And to be honest, she could see where they were coming from (not even counting the business with the undead) at this point. Including herself there had been what? 4 random strangers wandering that the group had met so far wandering through here. Any group that's even slightly territorial must be rather peeved at the sheer bulk of trespassers that seemed to be in the area.