Dungeons and Dragons

The frozen steppe grew harsher with every step.
They decided to keep moving through the night, afraid they might not wake up if they stop.
Eyes misted, asaulted by the minuscule particles, the gleeful air threw at them.
"Forest," the ranger pointed out. "Hopefully we can take shelter there!"
As soon as they stepped in, the few children of the caravan heard tinkling, like bells.
Soon, to the dismay of uncomprehending adults, they were laughing and dancing deeper into the trees, led by the sound.
The sorceress followed, almost enchanted.
"My children. Are you warm now?" a soothing voice asked.

The further east they traveled, the less settlements they encountered.
The countryside grew ever wilder.
And with every step and every turn in it it seemed more aware of their presence.
If they concentrated, they could feel the magic, ever more foreign, ever more unknown crackling all around them.
There was almost a palpable curiosity in the air, as if every creature - and pretty soon every landscape feature as well - looked and listened and considered the Interlopers into their territory.
Pretty soon all the chatter, usual during the day on the road, quietened to whispers, reminiscent of reverence in church.

At first they almost didn't notice.
Little creeks that flowed despite the more and more bitter cold.
But as they started to descend from the mountain range there was more and more of them, joining together, skipping along the stones with tingling challenge.
The world around them was glittering with icy frosting, precarious to navigate.
And yet, as the stream became river, it refreshed the wandering hearts.
As they looked across the plain, covered in snow with occasional conifer, it seemed tied together by that blue ribbon.
Where the fresh water hugs salt in welcome, their ship will be waiting.

"They bring the plague!"
"Curses, I tell you. They serve the mother of devils..."
"...plunder, rape, murder. That's what they leave in their wake."
"Helping them is treason."
"But those who refuse to help end... badly."
If looks could kill, they would all be drowning in blood.
Whispers and growls followed them.
The sorceress pointed at a pamphlet, nailed to a notice board.
"Somebody is making this difficult for us."
The paladin shrugged. "Let's show them the rumours are wrong."
He turned to three street urchins, offering them food.
"A cousin of a friend got poisoned like that," someone spit.

The party enters the dungeon.
The ranger goes first, her cat eyes see through darkness.
The others follow about twenty feet back.
The cleric sends up an orb of light.
What colour is the light?
"It's purple."
It reflects on water and moss on the walls.
There is a door on the right.
The ranger signs "STOP".
"I open the door!"
There is a room.
"We search it!"
You hear SQUEAK, SQUEAK from a corner.
There is a nest. Of rats.
"I want to THWACK them!"
Roll a D20.
"13"
Is that more or less than 8?
"More. I win!"

Their allegiance was first and foremost to the people in their charge, and to the homeland they were trying to get to.
Staying neutral was necessary - but at the same time it was impossible, because the warring factions held the resources.
"We should try to talk to the mayor, or whoever is in charge in that village," the cleric suggested. "They don't seem friendly with any of the sides - so maybe they will help us."
"Maybe they were left alone, because they don't have anything of interest," the sorceress opined.
"Won't know till we ask, will we?" the paladin shrugged.

Everything fell into the eerie silence of anticipation, and that's when they could hear it.
Krraaa! Krraaa! Krraaa!
The cleric frowned.
"Tell me those are rooks," he indicated black birds, swooping in and out of sight.
"Crows," the ranger grimmed, eyes narrowed, ears pricked. "We better be stealthy."
They crept through the undergrowth, until they came to a small clearing.
With very fresh, very open mass grave, crawling with cawing blackness.
The paladin moved to step into the open.
"Don't," the ranger pulled him back, pointing at two crows perched on branches, seemingly keeping guard.
"Who know who they serve..."

When you have to cross such vast distance, you need speed, agility, and endurance.
When it is paramount to keep going, you need something that will carry you.
Legs or wheels.
Both need maintenance - the wheels can be replaced (with a bit of time and material, which you might not have), the legs need to be protected.
Which is why, every evening, while the campfires are burning, there are the sounds of hammers on metal, and neighing, as the new horseshoes are shaped and affixed; and the softer sounds of mallets and needles on leather, shaping, reshaping and darning shoes.

They had a reputation, the Erekari.
Valiant souls, never fleeing from a fight.
Fearless adventurers who won't balk at any challenge.
Mere sight of their banner gave enough courage to make them almost invincible.
Some considered them daredevils, cavalierly defying odds, mocking danger...

"You have some nerve!" spat the innkeeper.
"It's called gallantry," the cleric shrugged, tossing a bag of gold on the bar.
"...or having a lot of heart," the bar wench piped up, cheeks crimson.
"Aye, I've got two of those," the dwarven paladin replied with a wink. "Solid effin' brass ones. In my sack."
The sorceress choked.

Complications were expected.
However, as they passed into the wilderness, they should lessen, as does the Rad's activity.
"There is something wrong with the mountain pass," the village elder warns sagely. "We have not had anyone come through from the east since the thaw before last."
"What about the other way?" the ranger asks.
"Five or six parties tried. One of them came back, of the others none was heard from again."
That earned some raised eyebrows.
"Is there someone of the party that came back we could talk to?"
"You can try. But their tongues stayed in those mountains..."