An tendril of rumour writhes its way through Cordor, carrying an air of truth above idle gossip. That a treasure caravan will be departing from the Cordor docks, laden with fine wares and treasures, destined for the town of Bendir and then beyond. What's more, these rumours marvel at the folly of this caravan ... to be lightly guarded, perhaps even just the driver, is surely madness when they could be ambushed by bandits or opportunistic adventurers.

The voices whisper that a ship will be docking toward the end of this tenday, carrying such fine goods. Is this the source of the caravan's load?

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2009's Second Most Overall Contributing Player

يمكنني استخدام مترجم جوجل

Word reaches the ear of one lady inparticular who is sitting in the Sanctuary and when she hears it she almost upends the table and drinks in her fury.

"How the (censored) could they know?" She is heard to say often and loudly before she storms out to take care of some buisness in a hurry.

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Siggy by Maryn

*Calin shakes his head*

"Sounds like a trap".

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I keels u with my axe!

"Do ye know where the Holy-Flamin' Frost-brand Gronk-slayin' Vorpal Hammer o' woundin' an' returnin' an' Shootin'-Lightnin'-out-yer-bum is?"

The evening is a quiet one, for once the peace of the city of Cordor would seem undisturbed. The cities streets clear of the usual hubub, which made it just perfect for this outing.

A lady sweeps out of the Long and Short tavern in the southern district. It is immediatly apparent that she is a lady from the long black silk gown that she wears. but the black panels seperated by ornate decorations of both red and gold that cover all the way up to her bodice. Long lengths of sleek black hair fall down from her shoulders to frame a regal, imposing face as she travels unescorted north through the southern districts of the city.
Through the central square she travels, pass the temple of Waukeen and then finds herself at the northern bridge before the gates, where she finds her path barred by a group of what would appear to be adventurers...

'I'm getting sick of the mumbling and grumbling and snoring' Says the first.

'You just arent cultured or travelled enough to understand the dialect. Which is unfortunate.' Says another.

'This party would be much more efficient if we could temporarily put aside our differences, in the sake of progress.' Another interjects.

A shorter figure whos patience seems to have warn thin spits on the ground 'I bi sick o'yer raetisness.' The garbled tongue sounding strange even to the ladies ears.

But another who actually takes notice of others presence speaks up 'Oh clear the way for the ladies.' Which causes the lady to look behind her to see another wiating in the line to get by.

The dwarf meerly grunts.

'The priest is right'

'Come on now step aside'

And she begins to move forwards then as the others move only to have a great hulking figure, suited in a great horned helm coming barging past over the bridge and heading directly out the north gates. Little aware is he of how the lady glares at his back and commiting murder in her mind several times over.

'Thankyou' She acknowledges to them as she makes her way past them and then veers off towards the east, towards the docks as the group begin their trip on whatever quest engages their interest.
But the ladies interest, whatever that might be, draws her to the dockside and then onto the peer, hoisting the hem of her gown slightly to walk over the slippery planks as she looks out over the sea, staring into the night. She stands there for long minutes as if she can see off into the darkness that perhaps something approaches.
'Soon.' Her voice echoes in the night as she turns from the docks and heads back the way she came.

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Siggy by Maryn

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Aside from a few incidents along the way the cargo reaches its destination safely and without major interference.

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Siggy by Maryn