Domečar 1st, 1483 AA. Roccastra, Republic di Virella. Sunrise.
Roccastra is quiet at this hour. Farmers are beginning to finally wake. Four odd adventurers walk into the Raging Ibex. The group consists of two far northerners, an imperial veteran, and a queer cleric of some sort. The veteran, named Levius, walks to the front of the bar.
"Hello! I am Levius, and these are my companions. The Archer over there is Argunijin Noyakin, a Wildling of the North. The other northerner is Gunbu, some sort of scholar. The last one is Thalyros, a religious fanatic. We are former members of the Bannerless, a mercenary company, and we are in search of work."
Levius then fishes out two pence and purchases some ale for the party. The barkeep, after, delivering on the ale, responded. "Hmmm. Well, I would talk to the Caravaner, Sevrano di Karsio. He was in here the other day and said his wagon went missing."
The group then finish their drinks, rather quickly for how early it is, and then thank the barkeep. They then walk around town. The town itself is rather homely. It is early in Lentmarch, meaning that the seeding of the fields is underway. The trees in the outskirts of the village are leafing out finally, giving a vibrant green color, refreshing after the previous winter, which was especially harsh.
On the way to the Caravansary, the group saw a serf, carrying a sack of seeds. He was bearded, with freckled cheeks, and a scar was strewn about his face, going from his left eye down to his lip. He looked at the four men, but pressed onwards to where ever he was going. He also, curiously, had a shovel in his other hand.
At the Caravansary, there is a front building, a courtyard behind it, and then two more buildings, which Argunijin assumed was a stall and a small dormitory. A cart with two mules sat in the rear courtyard, with various goods being loaded onto it. They walked through the front door soon after arriving, pausing only to look at the rather muscular man who was loading goods onto the cart.
"Hello there!" A northern Imperial man said from a desk as soon as they opened the door. "What business are you here on? Are you here to become caravan hands? Are you here to buy goods?"
"No, actually we heard you had issues with a caravan going missing. The four of us are willing to go looking for it." Levius says, extending his hand to shake the man at the desk.
As Levius stepped forward, he got a better look at the man behind the counter. He has a shaved face, with his right ear split in two. It is odd for a man who leads a trade outpost for the Trader's Guild to be a schlitzohr, though it could be from another sort of accident.
"Yes, I have had issues with that. There is an outpost four miles out of town, called the Dorsilva River Outpost. Unfortunately, the wagon I sent there did not return. This was roughly two weeks ago, and the two caravan hands I sent to investigate didn't return. We assume foul play -- either Bandits or Wolves." The man says. "I also suppose I hadn't introduced myself. I am Sevrano di Karsio, Mercataeon of this here Trade Outpost."
"What about payment?" Argunijin says, taking the bowstring out of his helmet and beginning to string his bow. "This seems like work cut out for us, but we need payment."
The Mercataeon thinks for a while, and then begins drafting a contract. However, only Thalyros and Levius can read. "It is in order to pay you three pence per man, with an additional boon of one shilling upon completion of the contract to split amongst yourselves. The contract itself is to find whatever caused the disappearance of the caravan hands (as they wouldn't abandon our goods like that) and rectify the situation. Does that seem fair?"
The group confers privately, and then responds with a nod. Levius signs the paper for the group and turns to leave. The rest of the group follows. They had been to the outpost on their way here; they need no directions.
The outpost is remembered well among the four adventurers. When the Bannerless fell, at the hands of Hraznik the Bloody -- a vile orc who led a warband that conquered and looted anything in its path -- they were some of the only survivors. They worked together to get to travel more than a hundred miles since then, stopping in towns to do jobs. They finally made it into West Virella by late Frandrecht, and had started on their way to Roccastra near the end of the month.
On the morning of Frandrecht 30th it was foggy and drizzling. The group broke camp, and made their way along the Dorsilva River. They were planning to stop at the Dorsilva River Outpost, as often they have messages that they are willing to pay people to bring to town. When they arrived to the outpost, however, it was an odd sight.
The gate was wide open, the torch was unlit, and mud under the gate had prints of a struggling body. A strange feeling also emanated from the buildings there. On the path leading up to the building was a wagon trail along with what seemed to be the prints of two oxen. Whatever happened at the outpost, it was surely not good.
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