[color=cccccc]Granlow nodded.[/color] "Certainly,"[color=cccccc] he replied to Jameson and Vadania, rising to his feet.[/color]"I will send a runner at once to ask Marlow to open up shop for us. I do believe he's seen a dip in buisness recently, so he will no doubt be happy for the oppurtunity." [color=cccccc] He gestured open-palmed to the door after everyone had satisfied themselves with dinner.[/color]
[center][img]https://i.gyazo.com/2c0de0b165e68244a653ce03c7988405.png[/img][/center] 
[color=cccccc]The air had a bitter bite to it as you approached the General Store, the bulky form of Marlow and a couple of his sons standing in the doorway. They shoo you into the warm and Marlow gladly dithers on as you inspect his wares and make your various purchases. With the final gold exchanged and sales struck, you head towards the northwest gate, the main exit from the town. The lanterns cast sharp shadows as you make your way through, the guards wearing stony expressions as you pass them, their faces obscured by their helmets.

The wall of wind hits you as you exit and find yourself on the winding path down the steep hill. From Fort Rock you can see the surrounding area clearly, and sure enough, stretching out on the plains below you, you can see the stranger's lights and outlines of caravans in the full moonlight. The sound of their laughter and merryment carries clearly up to the wall. No doubt the guards above you on the ramparts are jealous of their revelry.

The message Granlow has given you to relay is a straightforward but harsh one: [/color][b]If they don't leave before Dawn, their wagons will be burnt to the ground."[/b][color=cccccc] the words echo in your ears as you down the hill and approach the camp.

The chamberlain's information had been accurate. Around a dozen and more men and women are gathered around a crackling bonfire, some dancing around the light while others sing otherworldly lilting music. Some instead prefer to content themselves with their flasks and wineskins. Four barrel-topped wagons are parked at odd angles around the centre bonfire, the shadows of the dancers growing long against the brightly coloured ornamentation of their vehicles. A whinny rises from a nearby tree, and you look over to see a collection of draft horses grazing among it's gnarled roots, the bangles and tassels of their vivid coats catching the firelight.   

A thickly accented male voice calls to you, nonchalant.[/color] "Ho there, friends! A nice little camp of mine, isn't it? I would be Stanimir, and I speak for us here. To what do I owe the pleasure of such a thoughtful visit under the full moon?"[color=cccccc] His intelligent eyes twinkle with mirth as he greets you from the fireside, and you look over to see an old man wrapped in a heavy cloak. To his right sits a woman with a striking face and silky raven hair, and to his left a strong-jawed muscled man who lazes beside the log the other two are perched on. Mirror and Vadania note the trio all bear the same bright blue eyes.[/color]