[color=DBA901][h2]ROAD TO 'MUDSHIT'[/h2][/color][hr]

The group of heroes had time to get their last necessities before hitting the muddy road. It had never stopped raining. Sometimes a little harder, sometimes merely a drizzle, the clouds seemed to follow them as they went. The town now renamed Mudshit was a full day and night's journey away, which meant that it soon grew dark while they trudged along on the road. Their caravan consisted of only a single cart pulled by a draft horse, laden with whatever couldn't be carried on their backs. It was in the back, near this cart, that Nathaniel 'lead' the group.

Now it should be said, a quick lesson on the geography of Torvelt. The land of Torvelt is actually a peninsula jutting out into the ocean, vaguely round in shape. The Crescent Mountains are, predictably, arranged in a crescent shape along the coastline. On the outside of the crescent is nothing but swamps and marsh all the way to the sea. In the center of the Crescent Mountains is the Old Forest, a flourishing tangled jungle of ancient trees and nightmarish dangers. None alive have seen the heart of the Old Forest. Koprust, for reference, laid on the hilly but manageable grasslands far from the coast. The party now traveled towards the Crescent, towards the forest, and towards danger.

The party had walked for some hours on the muddy roads as the sun just disappeared behind the looming line of mountains in the distance ahead of them. The sky was left a fleeting array of purple and orange between the dark rainclouds above, as the very last light was strangled out. It rained lightly now, what a true Torvellian might call Pretty Nice Weather. But, just as the party was given their last glimpses of sunlight, the cart horse slid to an abrupt halt. It's eyes flashed white as it snorted, jerking it's head to one side.

To Gentle the Minotaur's sensitive nose, a very distinctive smell suddenly washed over the road. Rotting, putrid meat, a stinking festering smell of decay, mixed with the smell of a watery bog. It would give him a moment's headstart, but the danger was quickly apparent to even the rest of the party. A great warbling wet throat-yell came from over the hill to the left of the road, joined by several other horrible yells. Soon the smell was strong enough for even human noses. To those well-learned in the foes of Torvelt, they knew that this could be nothing else: Trolls.

Nathaniel was quick to react. He thrust a hand into the pouch of components at his hip and threw a glittering dust over his head, while muttering arcane words of power. Then he vanished.

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((Combat Time! Try to give everyone a chance to act between GM posts. I will be keeping a fast pace.))