“Survivors of the Withered Lands, if I may beg but a few minutes of your time! Yes, please step forward, just form a half-circle like so here in front of my wagons like that. Good! Ah, Eye’s grace upon you all! My, but you all look positively flush from this weather we’re having, eh? Imbolc’s Eye flickers and Winter’s not far off, eh? With the great eruption on the Island of Tchar continuing to spread its ash and smoke across the skies, the soothsayers say we are in for a very long, very harsh Winter.
Eye watch over us! Will our troubles never cease, you wonder? Now, despite all that, I’ve no doubt that you fine folk have had an industrious season and have coin to spend to your benefit? Aye, even with all of the more predictable happenstances of life like banditry, plague and tax collectors, hmm?”
Four wagons had trundled into Crossroads only an hour past the town bell’s ringing in the start of another Market Day. The old man who drove the lead wagon barked short, terse orders at each of the three Brutes who drove the other wagons. The old man had a thick, Eastern accent that placed his origins from somewhere around Torscow or south of the Gnoll Steppes. The Brute half-bloods immediately set about preparing the wagons for presentation.
The square wagons were covered in a thick drapery of red cloth that obscured the old man’s mysterious wares, which had the intended effect of igniting a curiosity in those who saw them. What was this Merchant selling? Carrots and cheap fishbone carvings were nothing worth covering up. Crossroads didn’t often see new Traders these troubled days and so this was a brief distraction in an otherwise mundane part of the world.
Now, the old man’s demeanor changed from taciturn grouch to smiling salesmen as he hauled himself up the steps leading to the curtain of the first wagon. At so elevated a view, he was able to see above the gathering crowds. He was not impressed by what he saw.
Apparently Crossroads was full of churls, drunks and sallow faced mercs. He wasn’t really interested in any of them and was only stopping in Crossroads to conduct a bit of private business. He had only bothered setting his wagons here at the edge of the market to water his mules and perhaps do a bit of extra business with the Mercenary companies who cleared the local Dungeons. Those ‘Adventurers’, as they styled themselves, stared up at him bleary eyed, glaring or outright apathetic. It was nothing he hadn’t encountered before, but experience taught him he should try to make a few extra sales on top of his special delivery then whip the horses until they left this dungheap far behind. In a few months, this whole area would be up in flames anyway. No reason to mention that fact to this sorry lot however.
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His three Brutes stood armed with thick cudgels and glared out at the crowd. A few of the mercenaries pressed forward, eager to see what this foreign merchant had brought them. Hoping that it might be something, anything, to elevate their miserable lives even if just a little or bring them greater success in the Dungeons.
“Aye, unfortunate times! You’ll all have heard by now that Torscow has fallen? Ah, my friends,” the old man paused to wipe an imaginary tear from his eye.“Such a tragedy! I had friends there. Lifelong friends, but the Orc leaves none alive save those strong enough to be slaves and those women hale enough to be…well…you know.”
There were several murmurs and more than a few nodding heads in the now thick crowd that had gathered. Others glanced at the Brutes. Many had heard what had happened to Torscow and it had been news that many still could not wrap their heads around. Torscow had been a strong, well fortified city. Certainly larger and better fortified than Crossroads, which was little better than a mid-sized town located at the focal point of two major roads. If the Orcs could take Torscow with a concerted effort then Crossroads would barely register as a nuisance.
“Yet, Torscow is months of travel from here, dear friends! Surely, those green skinned bastards won’t come here?” The old man took a moment to make the sign of the Eye upon his chest and forehead, which several in the crowd mimicked through involuntary habit. “As I entered your impressive Gate and beheld the many worthy Guildsmen and you dangerous looking Delvers, one cannot help but feel ever so much more at ease!”
The old man paused to note several well armed Veteran Mercenaries in the crowd watching him with feigned disinterest. They knew what the old man was about, but didn’t want to tip their interest just yet. The old man forced a smile onto his face and bowed in the direction of the delvers. It was always a good idea to butter up the local bruisers a bit and even grease their palms with a donation to avoid any hitches if one wished to leave their jurisdiction in a hurry.
“Yet, should we not be prepared? Should not the people of Torscow have been better prepared to face the Orc threat? Would their gates have fallen if they only had all the tools necessary to turn back those inbred bastards?”
“What can we do about it?” A voice in the crowd asked. The old man didn’t bother to look in the speaker’s direction. The boy he had paid three coppers to ask that question at just this moment earned his reward. And not the broken arm I’d have given him had he tried to run off without performing the duty. Dirty brat.
“An excellent question, good people of Crossroads! You display a worthy intelligence, unlike the folk of Torscow whom I tried to help this past year when I was there! Alas, they did not listen! They hoarded their coins, said my wares were too expensive! That they would take their chances and I declare now unto you,” the old man took a deep breath and tilted his head up to the sky as if he were addressing the Eye directly. “What good are those hoarded coins to the people of Torscow now?”
The old man let his words sink in, but the crowd was silent. Inside, the old man smiled. He knew he had them. Now, it was time for the big reveal. He nodded at his Brutes, who started pulling down the red drapery and revealed his goods to the people of Crossroads in all their wretched glory.
“Behold, people of Crossroads! I give to you…Awakened for sale!”
