[color=8dc73f][h3]Mission: Blackmarsh[/h3][/color]


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When the party aboard the wagon stopped and began transferring their gear and themselves into the boat, Gris clenched his hands in some frustration.  "Shades!  How are we to follow them now!?"

He and his companion had paused at the edge of the treeline.   "We could simply ask them where they are going," said the other.  

Gris snorted, but then reconsidered his quick dismissal.  "Perhaps you're right.  In any case, we may learn something useful."

And so the pair continued their walk toward the small group and the fisherman.  As they approached, Gris had a better opportunity to study them, eyes going from the wagon driver to the swordsman helping a thin man onto the boat.  Was he blind, perhaps?  Next his gaze went to the boisterous woman who seemed to be wearing a pirate flag on her head and a slight built man who looked as if a stiff wind might blow him over.  His eyes landed lastly on the tall elven woman, getting a better look at the cresent shaped brand on her face, and wondering if she'd put it there on purpose.  An eccentric bunch, to be sure.   

As they came closer he put up a hand in greeting and kept the other hand well away from the hilt of his blade so as not to appear threatening.  He glanced back over his shoulder multiple times, pretending to be worried that someone might be following them.  "Friends, might you grant us passage on your vessel in exchange for a few coins?"  He looked back over his shoulder again nervously, hoping that the ex-prisoners might have some sympathy for a couple of men on the run, "Gotta get outta here quick."