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As the others made ready to fall asleep, Tjaden found himself alone. Drawing his sword, he placed it tip down in the dirt. He bent is head in reverent prayer and intoned the names of the ancestors he had been taught watched over him. He deeply believed in the power of the ancestors, the survivors of yesteryear, those who had come before....and he took great care to remember the names of all those he had learned.

Yet, even as he unshakably prayer for the strength to do what was right, for the guidance to see what was true and thanked the ancestors for his perseverance...he could not help a small but very deep part of him that whispered..."these are not your ancestors." He had learned long ago that there was no place in faith for doubt and buried the voice as much as he could, but the fact of the matter was he was adopted, his parents he never knew had ancestors whose names he would never speak. He carried the name of a family not his own and followed the spirits of ancestors whose blood did not run in his veins.

Was it enough, then, to simply pray to them?

With a final word he pulled the sword from were he had pushed it into the dusty earth and wiped it clean before sheathing it. Now he could sleep.

The Orc did not move much, simply went from his spot on a log to a spot on the ground. The packed dirt of the ground was a far cry from the sun-warmed, soft sand of his home in the desert of the Scorching Sun, but nostalgia would hardly keep him from getting the rest he needed to bare arms against the evil he may meet the next day. HIs armour stacked not to far away, Tjaden spared it not a second thought. The only possession he carried that he truly wished he would not be relieved of was the sword whose hilt lay firmly in his massive grip...

The time is now 6:00 a.m. on the 14th of Autumn's Grace


Sunlight begins to creep over the barrier of the trees as your eyes slowly open. The caravan is safe and secure as Phineas' crew has returned and their replacements still watching with care.

You can hear the others of the caravan waking up as well, beginning to prepare the caravan for travel.


(All spells have been re-memorized, all wounds healed)

Erron rose from his sleep well rested and gathered his things into his pack, he kicked some dirt over the remaining embers of the campfire the party had spent time around last night and started to help prepare the wagons to roll out.

He had mixed feeling on the lack of an encounter last night, on one hand it would have been an opportunity to avenge the lost lives of the village, on the other hand it might have been a difficult battle situation. Evidently the trees spoke no information to Prometheus of what had gone down a few hours before they had arrived.

As unlikely as it seemed, was the wizard still following them, testing them further?

Tjaden awoke with a jaw-cracking yawn like a lion. His hand was still gripped about the sword. He rose and wiped the sleep from his eyes before realigning his spine with a series of loud pops.

First things first. Tjaden donned his armour. The tower of steel was right were he had left it. Once on, he looked around for the rest of his group. He would ensure their safety before stalking off in search of breakfeast......

Prometheus awoke, and stretched. He looked up, and his scimitars were still there. He then raised his hands on either side of him, as the trees, for a split second, seemed as if they shook the scimitars off, and landed in Prometheus hands.

After Prometheus tied the scimitars to his waist, he dropped from the tree, and landed on his feet elegantly. He then decided to actually greet the Orc.

He walked over to were the towering creature stood, and bowed, "Forgive me, I have not properly introduced myself, like I have been taught growing up. I am Prometheus Orevus," as he finished he straightened from the bow, trying to act as polite as possible, for fear that his first impression might have been a bad one.

"We're leaving as soon as possable. This is a merchant's caravan afterall, the owner is eager to get to the market and sell," Laren said and then pointed at the caravan with her free hand, "Traps won't be needed."

Selce sat bolt upright quickly before she realized they weren't under attack, and it was morning. A feral grin on her face she pushed herself up. "Sorry for sleeping so late, I guess the fight took more out of me than I thought." She told Erron, grin still stretched haphazardly across her face.

She took a quick mental check of the spells she had rememorized, and that everyone was here. She found a wagon that had started to form up in the line. As she jumped onto the front of the wagon with a driver she stood and kept a constant watch.