On the Poor Man's Road...

Eventually, the group sorted themselves out.  Or, at the very least, agreed to slumber in peace until morning.  Unfortunately, they would find little peace during the night.

That night, a summer storm swept over the Lowlands as a high pressure wave made its way inland from the Narrow sea toward the high mountains and plateaus of the Highlands.  Clouds heavy with moisture began losing their composure as they gained distance from the warm, volcanically active waters where they originated.  The group was caught in the middle of this as rain fell from the skies in a sudden brief torrent.

These rains were common in the region.  The waters around Terrenum were known for being rather warm.

Flash flooding and stiff winds wrecked the camp, forcing the group to find firmer land.  The storm only lasted a couple hours but it was enough to drench everybody and force them to either start a fire to dry off or sleep soggy.

For anybody who decided to accept the Safety of the Traveler (except for Nemeia), the night was peaceful.  They would have warm, relatively clean beds and be prompted to tell stories by the elites who owned and operated the vast walled farms and plantations.  In the morning, they would be offered a meal and mead at a fair rate before setting out to rejoin their companions.

During the next day, the roads would have become a muddy mess, forcing the party to travel off the main paths or risk being bogged down.  They made poor time and intermittent showers harassed them along the way.  Considering how poor the weather had become, it became clear that everybody would benefit more from a forced march to the trade station rather than risk being caught in another downpour.

Luckily, they had little to contest their progress even if it was slow and messy.  There were few other people on the roads and it seemed even the animals had retreated to wait out the storms.  While they would arrive at the walled trade post exhausted, muddy and soaking wet, they would do so safely.

It was just as well that they had pushed hard during the day.  Even as they passed the open gates and the bundled up, sullen-looking guards, lightning streaked across the sky as yet another storm was on its way in.  Finding the inn wasn't difficult either.  Normally, in a town this small, there wouldn't even be an inn.  However, this was a trading post which catered specifically to travelers.  The inn was named "The Muddy Ghoul Inn" and, luckily, also served food and drink.

The night belonged to them, even if it did rain the whole time.  The day would be beautiful with barely a cloud in the sky, as if mocking their tough walk all the way from Gallant.  They could do as they pleased during the night but few of the buildings would be open and going out would mean becoming drenched once again.