The Unfortunate Events of the Cook and the Madman

On the High Road

The morning air was crisp in Poppy's lungs, the sun not quite high enough to bring the sharp marshland stench she had become accustomed to over the past day or so. She huddled further into her cloak, seeking what little warmth it offered and surveyed the map open on her lap.

They were pretty much halfway on their journey, taking the high road south from the city of Neverwinter through the thick marshland where then they would veer east towards the Triboar Trail and go up towards Phandalin.

Poppy thought back to the conversation with Gundren Rockseeker in the Tavern, he had seemed so animated and jovial, laying out his “proposition.”

“Yer to take the wagon, fill it full of supplies, food, axes, he knows what and follow me and Sildar on after.” The dwarf downed another ale, his words becoming a little slurred. “Go see that fella Errick, down by the markets in the morning, he'll help you out. Me an' Sildar'll be gone by first light, got business to attend to first.” Sildar, the elderly gentleman next to Gundren nodded.

“Axes?” Bale asked in a casual manner as he ran his fingers through the candle flames.

“Pickaxes, for mining,” replied Gundren, a wry smile on his lips. The dwarf hunkered his head down, as though he was going to share a secret. Poppy leaned in to hear, Bale inched a little closer in too. Gundren went to speak and belched instead.

He apologised with a laugh after catching the look on Poppy's face. “No harm miss, no harm! Now, what was I saying? Mining!” He hushed his voice, “me and my brothers, we found something, something big!”

“What did you find?” Poppy asked, thinking to the tales of Dwarfs and their glittering gem mines. Gundren said nothing but tapped his round red nose and laughed a husky deep laugh.

The group then spent the remainder of their time finalising details and listening to Gundren Rockseeker recount some amazing stories of a fantastical nature. It was the middle of the night before Poppy tore herself away to her small comfortable bed in the tavern. Her head was dizzy with the amount of mead she had consumed and the details were becoming fuzzy. She flopped down onto the half bed, not bothering to get under the covers, staying there well past dawn break.

Errick was a very stout man, he looked to have some dwarven blood possibly but Poppy nor Bale could get more than one word from him, much to Bale's amusement. He grunted a lot of answers and his face was often in a disgruntled snarl which was masked by thick black beard and a large pair of dark furry eyebrows. But he was good at his work, getting the wagon loaded, checking of Gundren's list, making sure the supplies were correct. He was also the owner of Roclaf, the giant pulling dog.

Both Poppy and Bale were besotted with Roclaf when they encountered her, giving her plenty of affection which she relished in greatly. She was as large as a shire horse, covered in thick red fur and had huge paws. Her species were more accustomed to the northern mountains than the marshlands and beaches of the south but she seemed to be thriving well under Errick's protection. The trio had set off from Neverwinter at midday after getting the wagon loaded and were now a day and a half through their trek down the high road. Poppy had taken to sitting on the wagon bench as keeping pace with the troupe seemed impossible with her halfling legs. Errick often passed her the reins when he needed to rest or relieve himself, not that Roclaf needed the reins, she was a good dog, which Poppy told her many times.

Bale swapped his position frequently, sometimes he'd walk along side the wagon next to Errick, asking question after question, relishing in the grunted one word answers, seeing if he could crack this hard nut. Other times he'd walk along with Roclaf, having what seemed to be the most in depth conversation possible, even agreeing with her or listening to her for answers.

However his favourite spot was riding on Roclaf's back, facing the wrong way so he was looking at Poppy sat on the bench. The halfling was barefoot, as usual, her hairy feet swaying with the wagon rocking. She wore thick woven fabric trousers and top under the assortment of brown leather armour and had a half cloak wrapped around her shoulders, pinned at the side with a silver pin. Her belt held a longsword, two daggers at the small of her back and a leather stitched bag.

“You're studying me again Bale,” remarked Poppy, catching his purple eyes as she set the map down. He smiled a wide smile.

Poppy studied Bale right back. He was a tall, slender man, wearing very fine, fashionable clothes, the sort of clothes she'd only seen once in the eastern cities. He wore a thick red riding cloak fastened with silver clasps and thick woven black trousers. A white shirt peaked out from a very fine looking black long coat; which was kept closed with a wide leather belt that held an assortment of pouches and bags. Bale wore a very fancy silk red cravat and intricate, studded leather armour underneath his clothes. It seemed like he liked to keep his weapons hidden beneath all his finery.

Not that they had needed weapons, the trip had been very uneventful so far. They had passed a roadside inn, a few caravans and other travellers along the high road but folk were just getting on with their business just as they were getting on with theirs.

“We're heading up Triboar Trail, Gundren said to keep an eye out for bandits, they lurk along the trail amongst the trees.” Poppy announced, her hand instinctively resting on her sword hilt. This was definitely the reason Gundren had propositioned them.

“Nothing we can't handle I'm sure, 'ey Errick my old pal?” Bale announced. The stout man grunted in reply, shifting in his seat as they turned onto the trail. “I think he's starting to like me.” Bale grinned to Poppy. The gauzed man slipped from Roclaf's back and began to scout further ahead, giving the mighty dog a fuss on his way past.