A simple wooden wagon creaked along the well-worn dirt path. Pulling it was a warrior, nearly seven feet tall, clad in heavy black plate mail, her piercing eyes gleaming behind a scuffed helmet. Rattling around in the back of the cart were an assortment of heavy crates, bundled leathers, and sacks of food. A dark greenish goblin dressed in simple leather rode the crates. He was bald, with a long nose gnarled with scars and twists. His eyes watched the treeline while he played with a dagger.
Sitting in the back kicking his feet was a young man with sandy blonde hair hidden under a wide pale green wizard hat. His robes were patched and worn, sewn with care but unable to hide years of use. The right sleeve stopped before his elbow, a rounded leather pad protecting the stump. He gripped the side of the wagon firmly with his remaining hand, wobbling from the force of the wooden wheels against the path.
Walking alongside the wagon was another young man, muscled and confident. He strode next to the wagon with his chest puffed out. His hair was pulled up and back, smoothed into a rough pompadour. A heavy metal bat, studded with shining knobs, was slung over his shoulder, its leather-wrapped handle gripped in the shining metal gauntlet over his right hand. He walked heavy on that side, and the lean in his gait betrayed the difficulty in the performance. His jacket was a mix of leathers and fur, hanging long and heavy with metal buttons down its front and a plush furry collar.
The road was not treacherous, simply long and winding, sapping the energy from everyone except the armored giantess. Seeing her companions melting away in the afternoon heat, she guided the wagon into the shade of nearby trees and began to unpack supplies.
Once a fire was lit, the young mage sat and began to prepare a hearty stew as a campsite formed around him. The goblin scampered to and fro, tying knots and organizing supplies, often looking to the armor-clad woman for approval. The muscled man helped to unload boxes before sitting by the fire, damp with exhaustion.
Gōki accepted the first bowl of soup from Lirien, eager to fill the pit that had formed in his stomach. Drashka sat beside him while Zik'z found a place in her shadow, hoping to block Gōki from his view so as not to ruin his appetite. Lirien happily spooned out the meal, ready to prove that he could still handle things himself, but did not balk when Drashka kept him from falling over while trying to sit and carry his meal.
The food was great, much more than any of them expected while camping. Lirien pored over Trav's notes, hoping to save them from the fires of illiteracy that permeated the group. He watched each of them eat expectantly until Gōki broke the silence with a little more gusto than needed.
"This shit is fantastic!"
The words rang through the woods as he drank the remains of his first bowl and moved to scoop out more. Lirien curled under his hat to hide his smile while Drashka grunted her approval.
Aside from Drashka, no one needed to be convinced to go to sleep, but she followed Gōki into her tent, eager to find out if being out of her armor tonight would finally push him to act.
Zik'z grumbled and swore to himself, careful that none of his opinions caught the boss's ear. Lirien wrote in a small handmade journal, making sure to embellish all of the best details for his sister.
The stars glittered in the sky above them as they slept, a serene silence broken only by the wind and the calls of beasts hidden among the woodlands. Only a few short days remained before the cold dew of morning would be traded for the sharp reality of life in the Compact as the world knew it.
A life of violence and ever-shifting loyalty, held together by an eternal rule, written in gold and enforced with steel:
"Don't fuck with the Compact."