Chapter 1 / Episode 4 - Tracking and being tracked

Craddock the Mad (Ranger lvl 1)
Crush The Half-Orc1 AC1 HP6
Kure Acolyte (Cleric 1)
Lornan Calihye Level 1 1/2 Elf AC 9
Slash the Bard 1

Chapter 1 / Episode 4: "Tracking and Being Tracked"

Fireseek 5, 576 CY

The weight of the previous day’s ambush lingered heavily over the party as they stood over the remains of the skirmish. The lifeless ox-cart drivers, victims of the bandits’ aggression, lay in somber silence. Despite the victory, there was no triumph, only the bitter realization that the caravan now rested solely in their hands.

Craddock the Mad knelt at the edge of the muddy trail, examining the tracks left by the fleeing bandits. His sharp eyes traced their path into the dense woodland to the northwest, where the trees seemed to close ranks and swallow the trail whole.

“They’ve gone this way,” he muttered, his voice low and steady. “Moving fast, likely regrouping. We could follow, but...” He trailed off, glancing back at the battered caravan.

The others exchanged glances, their faces shadowed with fatigue. Pursuing the bandits meant abandoning their mission, leaving the goods and wagons vulnerable to yet more dangers. Reluctantly, the group decided to press forward, their priority now the survival of the caravan and its remaining passengers.

Without the fallen drivers, the adventurers found themselves taking on unfamiliar roles. Crush, the hulking half-orc, took to handling the oxen with surprising gentleness, his gruff demeanor contrasting with his careful steering of the carts. Slash the Bard cracked jokes to lighten the mood, though his songs carried a melancholic edge. Kure, the cleric, tended to the injured and prayed for protection, his quiet faith a steadying presence.

The group pushed onward through the cold, overcast day, the wagons creaking under their weight. As night fell, the caravan found a sheltered clearing to camp. They huddled close to the fire, the quiet of the evening a stark contrast to the chaos of the day before. Yet, even in the stillness, a sense of unease lingered—the feeling of being watched, the knowledge that the forest around them was far from safe.

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Fireseek 6, 576 CY

Morning broke over the frosted trees, pale light filtering through the canopy. The caravan resumed its journey, the group tense and alert. By mid-morning, the trail they followed intersected with another path, one cutting across their route.

Craddock dismounted to inspect the crossing. His sharp eyes noted hoofprints and wagon tracks in the churned mud, signs of recent use. The path to the north beckoned with its mystery and danger, but the caravan had a clear destination—Homlett lay straight ahead, and the mission could not afford further delays.

Still, the discovery gnawed at them as they moved on. “We’re not the only ones out here,” Lornan Calihye, the half-elf, observed, his keen gaze scanning the treeline.

Craddock agreed, his unease evident. “They’re moving close, either tracking us or keeping just ahead. We’d best stay sharp.”

As the caravan pressed forward, the forest seemed to close in tighter, the air thick with an ominous silence. Shadows stretched longer, and every sound—a snapping twig, the distant cry of a bird—felt amplified. The sense of being hunted grew stronger, a predator’s gaze unseen but unmistakable.

The adventurers steeled themselves, knowing full well that the bandits—or worse—might be lying in wait.