Rayen Adsila, Atrean Falavir, and Thordaim Anvil-Chest set out with a caravan traveling from Athenos to Mar. According to Darokinian Caravan Law, a caravan driver may employ any and all bodies he sees fit to guard his or her caravan. This is usually done via a charter list on which armed travelers can enroll to protect the caravan from danger in return for a free ride. The trio that set forth from Athenos had made such a pact with a caravan driver set for Mar. The driver had also employed two other guards, brothers by the looks of it, who bore a family crest on their shield of a silhouetted dragon spreading it’s wings. The eldest bore a spear and iron helm, while the youngest wore a shortsword on his hip. After a day’s worth of riding and the sun started to creep low on the horizon, the caravan was set to stop at a campsite next to the Athenos Canal Bridge.
Too late had they had realized the campsite was a trap. Thieves and thugs assailed the caravan from all sides, yet the unlikely trio had held their own, with some help from the duo. Atrean managed to shatter a man’s skull with a single blow from his mighty cestus, but left his flank open to one of the thug’s clubs, which cracked a few of his ribs. Atrean replied to the man’s actions by cleaving him shoulder-to-hip with his sword. Thordaim was assaulted by a thug brandishing a club, but the puny weapon broke upon his shield like a twig against an anvil. Thordaim smiled at the man’s surprise, but did not let the man regain his wits as Thordaim drove his hammer down upon the bandit’s skull, burying his head into his shoulders. A nearby thief saw his comrade break his weapon on the Dwarf’s shield to no effect on the Dwarf and then meet his gruesome demise. This was enough to dishearten battle-tested warriors, and was evidently enough to do the same to the dirty young man, fleeing into the night smelling of urine. Rayen, in her infinite mystery, managed to shred one of the assailant’s faces with her hand. One of the thieves was even taken down by a wild kick by one of the horses, cracking his skull upon impact.
The two other warriors fought valiantly, taking down one enemy apiece, but the toll was great indeed. The eldest brother was lost in the fight, and the younger was grievously wounded. After the rabble was well taken care of, the driver settled down the horses and tied them up for the night at the campsite. Thordaim disposed of the bodies in the river after the brave fighters had taken any money and useful items from the corpses. He also took 2 shortswords and a 2 daggers from the dead thieves.
The surviving guard and caravan driver saw to their friend’s death, wrapping him to carry him back to his folks back home. After the mourning period was done, the two sat next to the fire the rest had built. Thordaim asked Atrean if he wanted him to take a look at any wounds he might have, but Atrean refused the Dwarf’s help. The surviving guard was not so stubborn, and let his wounds be healed by the priest.
After a long silence between the members of the group, Atrean decided to sleep. Thordaim and the rest were not as tired, and struck up a conversation after the Elf had gone to bed. Thordaim, who had looked at the bodies when he was disposing of them, asked how the little Human girl, Rayen, could inflict such beastial wounds upon a man. “His face was torn asunder, as if some great beast had clawed the life from him.” Thordaim put in. The guard was put on edge by this news, still not settled from the fight, but the caravan driver was wary, if not skeptical, of such claims. After a while of prodding questions and answers of only silence, Rayen finally admitted her heritage. “I’m a weretiger,” she replied to them. The guard, whose nerves were not so well to begin with, nearly drew his weapon, but was settled by a reminder by Thordaim as to whose side she fought on. Not quite contented with the revelation, yet not wanting to be at odds with the Dwarf priest, the man went to bed, keeping an eye open just in case. The driver had less of a reaction to it, thinking her to be fabricating the whole thing, but worried should it turn out to be true. After all, who knows what a Weretiger could do to him or his wares?
Rayen, tired of the inquisition into her life, climbed up a nearby tree to sleep in one of the low-lying bows. Thordaim stayed up for most of the night by himself, smelting the weapons he created into an iron-steel allow in the shape of a stout cylinder. He slept for awhile after the surviving guard stirred to take his shift.
In the morning, Rayen left to go hunting for breakfast. The others were getting prepared to leave; the driver getting the horses hitched up and ready to go, and the others packing up camp. Thordaim went to place the metal cylinder into his backpack. Atrean noticed two feathery tendrils waft up out of the backpack, and questioned Thordaim about it. Rayen returned from her hunt with a freshly killed rabbit to find Thordaim reaching a gloveless hand into his backpack and pullin out a strange cricket-like creature. It was about 1 1/2 feet tall by 2 feet long, with two long, feathery feelers coming from under it’s compound eyes. It had a tail that ended in a fin-like bony structure. The creature, Greef, was happily nibbling on the metal cylinder, apparently content. Atrean, also a smith, recognised the creature for a Rust Monster, and questioned why Thordaim would keep one around. Thordaim somewhat deflected the question when Rayen asked if she could hold him. Greef hopped over into Rayen’s arms with some prodding, and seemed to take a liking to her. He stopped eating for a couple seconds to look at her and wave his feelers around, occasionally brushing her face, but soon returned his attention to his metallic meal.