The journey begins in earnest.
Edhelri listens to Rahnur in his guise, but does not look at him as she drives. "A mere century ago, many of our kind fought your kind without a second thought. Few half-drow existed, and while you are not fully elven, you still wear our blood proudly. No, I think the goddess of drow redemption, Eilistraee, has the right of it: hide if you must but nothing will you fear from myself or the Serelims." She ponders for a moment. "What about you, Werond? Will you give Rheirum trouble because he is half-drow?"
The teamster, apparently named Werond Torohar, looks up from going through boxes, then smiles, shaking her head. "Caught me listening in, eh? Yeah, no problem here. Ain't got to worry about a drow who carves as good as you. The drow who can do that fancy murder metal work? That's what I'd worry about." She winks at Rahnur. "Though, never much looked at a half-drow before. You dark elves always so handsome?"
Oh dear.
At the idea of a furry friend, Edhelri sighs. "None save these horses, which Werond carefully helps me with. The dog you saw me with that day in the Gate was merely a friend's mongrel I was watching while she was out of town for a day. When I'm in the Gate I help watch the dogs. It brings me peace. The cats, too. And the hares. And the weasels, oh I love them. But for the rain: we will put extra blankets on the horses and make sure their eyes are safe from the rain. Our pace will be slowed, but we must continue. When the rain ends, I'll check the shoes and give them a thorough cleaning."
Elsewhere, Aralim begins to make his rounds about the old timers, who congregate at night when the work is done or at mealtime. They mostly tell stories of the trade ways, of routes as far east as Shou Lung and as far south as Halruaa, what it was like when it was just a SpellscarredThe Spellplague left an indeliable alteration upon the land, called Spellscars. Spread across Faerun, these were dangerous areas of wild magic and antimagic all at once, and often had enough mutagenic powers to alter a soul and leave them spellscarred.
Over the last century, much of Toril has healed, and these spots are exceptionally rare. None are currently known to exist between Halruaa and the Icewind Dale. wasteland. Jokes are told, often with unkindness, at the youths' expense, but Taliesin Wanderer leaves an impression as an old soul, and thus gets along quite well with them.
That's according to plan, of course.
Evermor is a fond debater, except when Tyjit Skesh is near. That woman is every bit the cliche when it comes to dwarven malcontendedness and is extremely disagreeable. Radecere Perethun is soft-spoken and whimsically distant, though he finds every game of cards that pops up every night. Losvius Longnose is quite prone to joining in debates but loves to listen, clearly reading between the lines. Lucienne finds him not just agreeable but quick-witted, and by him, she means both Losvius "Longnose" (how prone he is to get into people's business) and Oyn Evermor.
Edhelri Lewel loves talking about animals but would just as soon spend all her time with the horses. The Serelim brothers, Noorhar and Selvek, speak openly with Rheirum regarding his carvings, both critiquing and appreciating them: they can tell he's a true craftsman. Selvek is mute, and communicates through his brother via a sign language Rahnur has never seen. Werond and Edhelri seem to know it, though: and Werond commands their interest with ease: when she tells her tales of far off romance and adventure, she is perhaps the single greatest storyteller Rahnur has ever met. Much of what she tells is of romance and heartbreak amongst great and mighty circumstances, where it is slave girls of Zakhara, the tiefling Havilar and her lover the prince of Cormyr, or the tragic romance of Elminster and the Simbul. His heart aches for Loren.
Even in the rain, there is plenty of things to keep them all warm.
By the fifth and sixth day things have settled down and Dardanelle begins trying to sell her services to people. She finds little success on the first day, given her behavior on the days prior (right as many agree they were), but come the sixth day, she has two takers: Sulesdeg, called the Pole, and a curious, vain, and successful driver and caravan leader, Achreny Ulyeltin. Sulesdeg is massive, the tallest human Wendy has ever seen, and his face is likewise long and grim, but he tells jokes at his own speed. Achreny, meanwhile, is jovial... but smells awful, worse than his animals. Picking his ears and nose, belching, he is uncouth and uncivilized, yet his joviality almost makes up for it.
Almost.
Both pay well and say they will spread word.