Drizzle. Today was the third day the caravan had been on the move, and the heavens had opened. Spits. Franco was riding in the rear this time. Kherrin’s idea. He had decided it was best the escort switched up their positions each day. Sprinkles. Ostensibly it was so they could keep their minds fresh, ensure none of them became too disinterested, let their minds wander. Ostensibly. Deluge. The real reason, one Franco wholeheartedly agreed with, was to keep the Eda brothers separated, preferably with one or the other under Kherrin’s nose. He had a good nose for trouble, Kherrin did, and something didn’t smell right. Precipitation. Franco looked to his left; Groxx the lizardfolk looked back through empty yellow eyes, rainwater trickling around the scaled features of his face. A simple iron hand-axe hung from his belt next to a small oak buckler. They didn’t look like much, but Franco could depend on the lizard-man to wield them ferociously in a scrap. Unfortunately, he could not depend on his scaly friend to hold a conversation.

“What brings you to the Altoman territories?” he had asked.

“Work” said the lizard-man.

“What will you do in Caghdun?” he asked.

“Find work” said the lizard-man.

“How long have you been in this line of work?” Franco had inquired.

“Long time” said the lizard-man.

Franco did not ask a fourth question. He had resigned himself to silence and daydreaming when a small, freckled face popped out from the back of the rearmost wagon, between a large pair of ears.

“Why hello there!” said Franco.

He’d almost forgotten the gnome had brought a daughter with him.

“Hello.” Tiny, plump young thing she was. He’d have guessed her to be in her early teens, but you could never be sure with gnomes.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The young gnome giggled. “Lyla. It was my grandmother’s name.”

“It’s a very pretty name.”

The young one blushed a little behind her freckles.

“So, what is a small thing like you going to Caghdun for?”

“It’s because of my father. He’s going to open a shop there, and I’m going to be his apprentice.”

“Lyla the apprentice. And what are you apprenticing in?”

“My father’s a jeweller. He’s going to teach me to make pretty jewellery.”

A gnome working with gems. It’s like my grandfather used to say; You can count on the gods to be two things; cruel and unoriginal.

Franco didn’t think it wise to share that nugget of wisdom with the young girl. Instead he asked her some simple questions about jewels and jewellery. The young Lyla knew her metals, much to Franco’s delight. He knew his way around a smithy, like any self-respecting dwarf, but there were quite a few gemmologist’s secrets he did not know, and Lyla was able to illuminate some of the gaps in his knowledge. Clever little thing.

Today marked the start of another journey. We’ve spent the last three days searching for and haggling over paintings, statuettes, vases and any other cheap-enough arty bunkum we can find. In a few days we’ll be in Terni, where we can change horses if need be and maybe sell some of our less promising items if the proffered purse is fat enough. Then on to Tarnpoole; the most dangerous part of our journey. Thankfully the average bandit or raider doesn’t see much value in the arts, so we’re not much like to be targeted. Finally, we’ll head up the mountain and to Caghdun where rich dwarves will clamber over each other to snap up anything foreign and cultural that their neighbours don’t have. The jingling in my purse will sound like capitalism in action and oh will it sound so sweet!

Journal Entry – Gwen Marrec

Eventually the caravan came to a halt to break for lunch. Kherrin had used some of Whunmar’s money to buy food for the escort team, and as part of their agreement he had stored different bits and pieces on the merchant’s wagons. After dismounting his grey-white dappled riding pony and putting on the feed-bag, Franco joined the others. For lunch they had hard bread, salted beef, sausages and ale to wash it down. Mag complained, as she always did, about the effect the Dwarven diet was having on her health.

“Trust a dwarf not to buy a single vegetable” she had said.

Said in good humour the first time, but now the sentiment came not without some bitterness. Kherrin had agreed – reluctantly – to let her assist him with buying provisions in Terni before setting on the next leg of their journey. The meals were usually quiet. Kherrin thought it best that the hired escort ate together, in case there were any instructions or news he needed to share. There never were. The guards Kherrin hired were not much for conversation, and that day’s meal went by without a word.

After not long at all the caravan was up and moving again. The City of Altome was the Altoman capital and Terni was one of the largest cities within Altoman lands. As such the road between the two was wide and well-suited for wagons. Kherrin changed up the guards again, and this time Franco found himself alone on the right flank of the caravan. Beside him, right behind Whunmar’s third wagon, were the human man and wife, the ones carrying various silks, cottons and other fabrics. The husband drove the first wagon and the assistant followed in the second with the wife sitting in the back. Franco would have thought a wife would choose to sit with her husband rather than peer over the shoulder of an assistant, but there was no accounting for some folk. Franco set the pace of his riding pony to match the dun and brown mares pulling the husband’s wagon.

“So sorry, mate. I’ve forgotten your name. I’m Franco, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Before the husband could answer the wife called, in a shrill voice and louder than was perhaps necessary, “What did he say?” from the wagon behind.

“He asked for my name” the husband called back, though his eyes were fixed on Franco.

The wife gave pause, and scowled at Franco a little. “Why?” she called, her voice grating.

“Why do you want to know?” asked the husband.

“I was just making conversation.”

“What did he say?” called the wife, her tone still far from mellifluous.

“He says he’s making conversation.”

“You know what? Never mind,” Franco smiled as best as he could manage, “Have a nice journey.”

He slowed his pony a little more, so soon the wagon with the wife in came by. If what the wife did before could be called a scowl, he had no words for her current expression. Two narrowed eyes, nose pointed up. Don’t flatter yourself. The last time a woman looked at him like that, he had been drinking and made some comment he had thought to be charming and funny at the time. Only that woman didn’t have thinning hair and a stubbly chin. He waited as she passed, and the two kenku’s wagons came by. He looked to the first one, a creature of a mostly humanoid figure, though with black feathers and plumage and a large beak. Odd creatures, he thought. He made contact with a pair of beady, black eyes. The kenku’s neck craned and its head tilted as it looked at him. He couldn’t tell for the life of him if it was a man or woman. Neither had he even an inkling of its age. His mind ran through a couple of polite greetings while beady, unreadable eyes stared back.

Best not, he decided, and spurred his pony on.

It was not until the next day when Mag spied the walls of the city of Terni ahead, and within an hour they were inside the city gates and grouped in a large plaza. Terni had an awfully similar feel to Altome. The wide streets, short walls and towering columns were built from the same blocks of pale concrete, and the roofs were all tiled with terracotta. The rich lived in extensive villas built around courtyards. The poor lived in similar structures, only crowded as many more domiciles squeezed themselves into roughly the same amount of space.

“Two days,” reminded Whunmar, sternly. “We meet here in two days. Sunrise. Be late and be left behind.”

The human merchants and the kenku made their way towards the market squares, hoping to fill any empty spaces on their wagons while they had the chance. The other mercenaries set off eagerly in separate directions. The Gnomish jeweller and his daughter hesitated, not knowing what it was they were supposed to do. Whunmar turned to his fellow dwarves.

“Pub?”

My position at the hospital has given me a unique opportunity to examine the cadavers of a small number of Kenku. I have so far been unable to locate any anatomical observations of the bird-people within the academic scripture, so I have decided to publish my own. One’s first observation of a Kenku is the presence of feathers. I can confirm they are real feathers and they are remarkably similar in design to those of the raven, as is the beak in fact. The layout of the organs is also not unalike that of other corvids. Whether it is a coincidence Kenku are most similar in appearance to those which are perhaps the smartest of birds I can only conjecture. The organisation of bones is much closer to that of men, as one probably could have guessed. But the composition of the bones is definitively bird-like; they are hollow and much lighter than a man’s bones. The frame of the Kenku is also quite slight; the abundance of plumage misleads most as to the Kenku’s actual size. I have found I can lift and carry Kenku cadavers around my morgue without the use of an assistant; a feat mostly impossible when working with my typically human clientele.

Observations of the Anatomy of Kenku - Aliaen Siani, Chief Mortician at the Hospitalis Universa, Altome