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[h1][color=lightgreen]The Caravan[/color][/h1]
[i]A Halloween Mini-RP[/i]
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[b][color=orange]First of the Tenth Month, Western Year 998[/color] - [color=lightgreen]Prologue[/color][/b]

The caravan master looked at his crew. Six members strong, some magic capability between a few members, and a surprising amount of young gents, one being very young. He was accustomed to receiving older folks - he supposed youth would be nice for a change, though he couldn't speak for how ready they were for the journey. They probably still weren't happy with him about his very early morning greeting, but he didn't care.

After for five days and five nights, he finally burst through the doors of each traveler at the local inn just before the sunrise, bellowing "IT'S TIME!" and waiting to make sure they sat up before quickly moving to the next door, partially for speed and partially to avoid the flurry of projectiles that sometimes greeted his call. 

An old man, no younger than 60, with crazy white hair and battered travel clothes, he hadn't given a damn for what people thought of him for years. Rumors said that at the age of thirty he was handsome, had blue eyes and walked with the confidence of a king, and over the next thirty years became ugly, developed green eyes and walked with a slight limp and a less slight hunch. Whatever the rumors, the fact was that the caravan master was a fellow each traveler no doubt wanted to be rid of sooner or later, which was thankfully a key selling point of his - he boasted a maximum of 1 week travel time before arriving in the northern reaches. Another rumor was that his one horse was friendlier than he was and quite obedient... a rumor which was decidedly proven false as the horse failed to listen to its master for a full hour.

Complications aside, the caravan set forth to the rising sun on the first day of the tenth month, making its way up to and past Crassus Royal, the last civilized town before the northern forests. From there, it traveled through increasingly dense forest.

Three days later is when something went wrong.

In the midst of the [i]Draulid[/i], considered by many the most dangerous forest yet in the route to the north, the roads were of little more than dirt, and at this time of year, mud. 

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[b][color=orange]Third of the Tenth Month, Western Year 998[/color] - [color=lightgreen]All Characters[/color][/b]

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While the caravan had fared remarkably well the day before, the third day was of particular concern. Rain, fog, dripping trees and the distinct noise of a storm were all present and rapidly increasing in size and sound, as was a constant lurching of the caravan as it barely pulled through various stretches of mud, deeper and deeper each time.

The caravan lurched forwards, throwing everyone inside forwards, all piled atop each other to the sound of heavy rain, bellowing curses of the driver and each other's reactions ranging from cries of pain to enraged howls.

For those managing to exit the caravan, a dismal scene awaited: the horse, stuck in mud with rear legs at unnatural angles, the caravan with one wheel busted and the other halfway sunk in the mud, and the sight of the driver cursing and making repeated failed attempts to pull the horse up, himself with knees partially buried in mud. Foggy as it was, a clearing was visible in the distance ahead, and no end to trees in the distance behind.