Eisenhorn — Roleplayer Guild

Jerod

For Jerod, the ride was quiet and uneventful. In other words, boring as all piss. But, in the grand scheme of things, boring and uneventful wasn't bad for most folk. Gave them time to relax, rest, and think on the past. That last thing was why Jerod didn't like dead silent periods of calm, he had no interest in thinking on the past. He didn't need it haunting his mind or his current now, that was for sure. So, he focused on maintaining his gear, sharpening his axe and ignoring the subtle rocking of the cart as it was pulled along. The stop made him jump out before the others, swinging himself around to land already moving towards the lead wagon, looking for why they stopped. Ambushed convoy ahead of them, far as the distant observation could tell. 

The wagon was suitably ruined, and perfectly blocked the road so they couldn't just go around. Looked just bad enough to have been a brutal attack, but enough was intact to find survivors, and sure enough, looked like someone was injured and down in the rubble along another. Looked like the textbook case of a bleeding heart trap, as bandits had called them while he was interrogating them in the past. Some bad situation, worse injured 'survivors', some honest to good people stop to help out of the goodness of their hearts, and after being relieved of their purses, or their lives, either buried or sent on their way a damn sight poorer than before. He particularly hated these kinds of gimmicks, since they often left the world just a bit colder, more so than just robbing people as they passed through a given area. He particularly enjoyed slaughtering brigands or other undesirables that engaged in these kinds of stunts.

But the lad gave out his orders and Jerod was right ahead of him, leading the way so that, if something did ambush them, it wouldn't be overly difficult for him to jump in and prevent any harm to befall the Champion of Naga. Or leap axe first into whatever ambush was waiting for them. Jerod refused to believe this was just some poor sod who got ambushed, and was ready for trouble, actively scanning and ready, at a moments notice, to completely leap headlong into the jaws of death again. It was where he was most comfortable, after all, so he left the axe resting on his shoulder, at the ready, instead of in a more inaccessable location. "Ach, lad, t'is ain' lookin' like anyt'in good can come o' it..."
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