Lost Trails 9: Yulash

[kintire]

Katrin casts a slightly amused glance at the young man and slides her pouch under her tunic.. although it contains only her small change anyway.

"by the way, friends be a little careful. There might be pick pockets about!"

She speaks just loud enough for the young man to hear, but makes no move to apprehend him

[ewancummins]

The sweaty young man blushes, grabs a mug and gulps the contents, and shuffles toward the door.

[Wolfglide of the Fraternity]

Klokulf tries to negotiate with Holman about the horses.

"I do believe even that price would cut rather dearly into our travel funds. Any better you can do would be greatly appreciated."

[ewancummins]

Klokulf tries to negotiate with Holman about the horses.

"I do believe even that price would cut rather dearly into our travel funds. Any better you can do would be greatly appreciated."

"I can maybe give a small discount on them if you buy several, but if it's cheaper mounts you're after...I know a guy in the Horse Market. He'll give me some consideration if I bring him your business. His ponies go for about a quarter of what mine do. Nothing like the exceptional quality of a well-bred Dales Pony, these Yulash beasts, but still serviceable animals. They'll get you...hmmm, I guess I didn't ask where you were bound, friend."

[Wolfglide of the Fraternity]

They'll get you...hmmm, I guess I didn't ask where you were bound, friend."

"Not too far," Klokulf replies. "We plan on crossing the river and traveling the north shore of Moonsea. Have you heard news of that region?"

[ewancummins]

They'll get you...hmmm, I guess I didn't ask where you were bound, friend."

"Not too far," Klokulf replies. "We plan on crossing the river and traveling the north shore of Moonsea. Have you heard news of that region?"

''Aye, I've had news. In late summer, giant bugs raided northern farmsteads and small caravans on the trail between Zhentil Keep and Phlan. Men say a merchant-prince has arisen in Phlan, a man from an old family that had fallen into decline, the Cadornas. He's got some kind of special magical help, a way of seeing what his rivals are doing, planning, which defeats all the protective spells and lead-lined meeting places and suchlike precautions of his competitors. And the latest news, fresh this morning, was that the Zhents finally captured old Bin Alim, the western bandit chieftain. I don't envy him his fate, throat-cutter though he was."

[ewancummins]

Alain’s sweet talking of the barmaid turns up no intelligence about the witch who had plagued Harrowdale. But one of his purposefully vague hints about dark cults and decaying things elicits a worried look and a hastily-whispered prayer from the woman. She lets on that some sort of evil god-thing was buried under Yulash and a proscribed sect had wakened it in past times. Monsters that crawled from its gigantic corpse still roamed the sewers today. More, she won’t say…

Kolkulf and Raen decide to buy horses, although not the fancy and expensive Dales ponies. Going to the hardpacked earthen square called the Hoof Market, they obtain mounts for the whole party, plus two donkeys for hauling baggage. Rations, tack, and other travel supplies may be had easily and at reasonable prices in the nearby stores.

The Red Plumes and their mercenary auxiliaries inspect all people leaving the north gate of the city. These men go about their work roughly, with muttered threats and hands clapped to sword hilts. Looking and listening while waiting in line, anyone paying attention can quickly figure out that the gate watch are intimidating every merchant or traveler into coughing up a few silvers--or a wine jug , a chicken-- for the irregularity of leaving the city with improperly branded mounts or wagons painted the wrong color or unmarked salable goods over a certain weight.

As the party's turn to be shaken down arrives, Alain's hand deftly slides into his coat and emerges with a paper held folded in his long, spidery fingers. He hands it to one of the guards. The merc squints at the paper and then passes it to his superior. The officer looks at the paper, nods to Alain, and then waives the entire party through without collecting an exit fee/bribe.

Leaving the grim-walled city-state behind, the party rides north along the stone-paved highway that stretches across Yulash’s outlying belt of farms and ranches.
Traffic thins as local farmers drive off the highway right and left, taking their wagons home. Pedestrians make off singly or in clumps, dispersing toward the villages and inns along the route, and soon the party rides alone for a stretch of several miles. The cool autumn breeze from the north carries a freshwater and sweetgrass smell, welcome after the smokes and dung heaps of Yulash.

They come across some southbound travellers but these hasten on, shunning strangers. The Red Plumes patrol the roads, but with decreasing frequency as the distance from Yulash increases.

Alternating short periods of riding with longer periods of leading the beasts, the group makes good time and reaches the long earthen ramp that drops the road from the tableland atop which Yulash stands onto the lower prairie.

Not long after reaching the lowlands the party comes across a grain wagon drawn by oxen, guarded by two outriders. The horsemen and wagoner prove friendly and glad of company of the road, telling the adventures they mean to stop at an inn not far distant. “Wheel was broken and we had to mount the spare. Cost too much time. Won’t make Zhentil Keep today. Tomorrow.”

The roadside inn isn’t fancy, but the beds appear clean and bug-free and the ale tastes good and strong. Taking suitable precautions, the adventurers get a good night’s rest.
The next morning, they walk the horses, riding occasionally, and before highsun a blue glimmer as of a large body of water appears on the northern horizon. Pressing on, they catch a smudge of black, too, like a dark scarp or wall. And at noontide the black resolves into high city walls and blue into an inlet of a vast lake or a sea.

A river, half-hidden by the folds of the land, flows through a gap in the walls—the city seems to be built in two parts, a smaller portion on this side of the river and a larger area walled off to the north--- and out into the opal-blue expanse of open waters beyond.

The grain seller gazes out across the huge lake or sea.
“The Moonsea. Pretty ain’t it?”

He cocks his head at the massive gatehouse at the north end of the road.
“Zhentil Keep. We made it. Now’s the dangerous bit. Ha! Just kidding, folks. It’s a fine town and nothing bad ever happens there!” The outriders laugh mirthlessly and check the draw of their swords, shifting the blades out a few inches before settling them back into the scabbards.


END OF CHAPTER