Observations on the Caravan's Crew

The only advantage to being posted to guard the front the wagon train is that if I walk a little ahead and (by sheer force of will) ignore the creaking, clopping and occasional whip crack behind me, I can just about imagine I'm alone with my thoughts and the mountains. It helps when the wind blows from the north because then I can almost not smell the stink of the horses and the animalistic upright creatures.

For the record, here are the statistics I have measured:

• 12 wagons, of which 4 are rather small
• at least 70 upright creatures, but only 5 females as far as I can tell
  
• 12 or so halflings, 6 of whom are part of Jemmy Bland's team
  
• 10 or so riding horses and over 25 dreys
• only 2 Loring!

The pace is slow, perhaps half what I can manage with ease. This means I have plenty of time to observe the flora and fauna of this unusual place! Some of the flowers are unusually large and a few even seemed to have some response when I approached to observe their leaves and petals. The wild magic of the Confluence is certainly at play here! I have taken many samples to study later, wrapping them in dock leaves to keep them fresh and prevent contaimination, clamping them in bundles between large strips of bark, and storing them in one of my sacks.

Rhyme has given me three short shifts so I haven't had much time to talk with the rest of the settlers or the other guard crews, if I cared to. It doesn't bother me, though I usually find the best dreams come after a longer trance, and the longest dreams sometimes bring flashes of memories. Perhaps I can get myself reassigned to give me a longer trance period and more hours of daylight to investigate the strange folk of this caravan.

Certainly I will learn nothing from the four lazy humans in my team; they seem to have no talent aside from catching extra sleep while on watch and getting an extra portion at meal times when Rhyme isn't looking. I have attempted to rouse them at watch times, but they pay little heed, dumb brutes! Naturally my sparksight means I see clearly at night, but Rhyme only has me on a 2 hour shift at night. If I didn't know better, I would think she is trying to separate me from Finus's team with his two Feralkin and a Tinker! I certainly have done nothing to convey my feelings towards the animalfleshkind!

But this brings me to write of the crew that are worthy of note.

Father Sully is the caravan's healer. I tried to engage him in conversation early on, but I somehow let slip my rather broad views on the gods and my researches to prove that they are simply beings with great powers, removed from this Aerthly realm but keenly interested in certain domains of existence because they wish or possibly even need to be revered. So much for the famed Aroccan open-ness to other ways of thought! He gives me a sharp look now when we cross paths; I never got to ask him if he knew any construct healing or restorative spells. In any case, I expect only short shrift from Sully, but at least I am sure to be spared his god-mongering. I am left wondering if he is along on this journey to save lives or souls. Perhaps he means to set up a makeshift mission when (or rather, if) we arrive at our destination? Surely he will find a way to tax the inhabitants to sustain the parasitic lifestyle of the cleric.

Ben Encato, a Feralkin of sorts (and a captain apparently though he has not clarified with which militia), seems to have some knowledge of magic and possibly some sensitive cargo, for his rather large wagon is protected by a mana discharge coil! I am most curious, but he or a halfling seems always there to deflect observation let alone investigation and he gruffly ignores or rejects any questions. I must find a way to investigate!

Jemmy Bland is something of a trader in goods and services. He sells necessities to the crew en route, naturally taking full advantage of our remoteness to make an excessive profit. I swear the man increases his prices daily; we will end up bartering our very souls with him, leaving little money for Sully to tax and precious few souls remaining to save! Fortunately I brought everything recommended in the old editon of Gnikaus's "Introduction to Potholing in the Caves and Caverns of Arocco", plus a few additions of my own, notably a weak but effective spyglass, an extra-stout staff and a flotation device of my own design (I have not yet had the courage to test it however and I pray I never need it).

As to services, he has six halflings managed by a taskmaster, a greasy man of whom I have not yet taken the trouble to learn his name. One of the little creatures had the temerity to beg water from me; I poured some from a waterskin into its tiny hands rather than have its disgusting lips on my mug. Remarkably it asked and gave thanks quite well in Loman, nearly as well as my own broken version of that tongue currently allows. I suppose with lengthy beatings and reptitition they can eventually master a small essential vocabulary. I have no quarrel with their use as beasts of burden (or perhaps one could even say slaves as they clearly have a modicum of intelligence), but it seems unnecessary to whip them quite so frequently. I have observed that even with fleshkind, it is sometimes better to use a favour or subtlety rather than simply to dominate through intelligence, will or brute strength. Even an animalistic being like a halfling might work harder if treated with some kindness once in a while. In any case, Bland will get as little business from me as I can manage and I will not use his kept creatures' services (I shiver at the thought of their dirty dextrous little fingers on my possessions).

Bland clearly trusts the halflings for one of them (perhaps the one I gave water to, it's so hard to tell them apart) uses a keen blade to scrape away the hair that grows in the night on the faces of humans. His appearance afterwards is almost presentable, were it not for the smug grin that spreads across his face. On more than one occasion, the halfling cut too deep, drawing the red fluid that circulates in some fleshkind. Bland had the creature soundly whipped each time. I don't know which is worse, the fearful expression on its face after a whipping or when it first approaches Bland to begin this procedure. Both it's skill with the blade and it's learned fear speaks of some degree of cunning or animal intelligence. Perhaps they would make good pets?

He will certainly face some hard times when he sets up shop at our destination's end, but his halflings may be able to act as simple labourers to help set up his establishment and perhaps they be used to pan or even mine for precious metals.

Finus Gar is the human who leads the rear guard team which is noted for its members as for its misfortune to be on watch during the most dangerous periods to date. As I wrote earlier, he is interesting for his devoted and skillful care of his long rifle. His face is hard to look at because of a permanent fracture in his skin below one eye which seems to squint a little more than the other when attending to something, which is almost all the time. He takes his responsibilities seriously and attends to them well. When he speaks, it is generally to give a command or a piece of advice, and it seems as if he would use only a monosyllable if it were enough (if only some of the human wizards at the Academy took a page from his book, they seem to wish the distill the joy out of time and spill it away). He varies his day with observing tracks ahead or to the side of our passage, bringing back hare or occasionally a small deer which he and his team eat with some gusto. I know not why they do not simply drink the red life fluid from their fleshkind prey as it seems they all are filled with it themselves.

Drycor Smyth is one of the two Feralkin on Gar's team. I had always imagined the animalfleshkind to be only one notch more advanced than the halflings, but their actions combined with the surly secrecy of Encato make me wonder at times. Surprising to me, they are capable of at least limited speech and show some signs of the ability to make plans and follow-through. Perhaps I should have done more research on their type; I could hardly have been expected to engage one in swill-filled conversation in one of their bars! He fiddles with his pistol as if trying to care for it, which is surprising in more ways than one. I hear he engaged with the conjure-weasel that attacked Hevran, but I assume that was only out of self-interest. Still, he bears more observation.

Danue Ofafar confuses me also; it or perhaps he appears to be a follower of the divine and to receive spells! I am amazed that Feralkin have any form of ritual, let alone an organised religion with a god that actually lends its clerics some magic. Perhaps I should engage him in conversation, I am curious which god he begs to and what spells he receives. Perhaps he even receives spells from more than one college? But how can I reconcile these advanced abilities with his form which is unlike any creature I have ever seen! He or perhaps it has a semi-prehensile limb protruding from its face! He uses it for feeding but also for other tasks. It does not even appear to be a deformation; the construction of his face appears to suit the presence of the limb. Again I regret not studying the Feralkin better.

Hevran is a Tinker, like a greatly enlarged version of my old acquaintance (can one refer to a Tinker as a colleague?) Gravus Guphor but apparently not as bright. Perhaps the energy the creature used for its growth has impeded its already limited mental faculties? I really must study nature more widely.

This creature is as much an anomaly as the rest of Finus' team. He is huge (some 8 feet tall), very powerful and lacking in grace, but not entirely ungainly, despite the plates that are sewn into his thick fleshy skin. His communication style is certainly diffident, sometimes obseqious, at other times even polite. He had the misfortune to bear the brunt of the conjure-weasel's feeding; this further confirms my belief that this red fluid is essential to their life, in a crude way like the Loring dependence on mana. He seems to respect Finus's superiority.

It is hard to think of such a creature as a rival for the resources Loring require and naturally deserve, but I must see past the gentle exterior and remind myself that all Tinkers wish to see Loring gone from this good Aerth so that they can plunder without restraint.

That brings me back to "Miss" Sympatico Rhyme. My initial impression of her beauty has changed somewhat with experience. She is merely tolerably well-proportioned and I have allowed the weeks since leaving Polstown to let any Loring female seem remarkable. With my perspective restored, I now find her quite abominably curt and evasive except when giving orders. I expected she would need to maintain such a demeanour with the fleshkind crew, but I had hoped for more from her for a fellow Loring. I think of her, naturally, as Sympatico or even Rhyme but I always call her Miss to her face, to emphasise my disdain for her role and for her choice to remain distant from me and her own kin.

Except for Rhyme and Sully, I am most curious about these travellers!