Anabasis

They came from different walks of life, different castes, even different ethnicities.
In the beginning they had nothing in common, carried on the wave of migration, prompted by warriors fallen out of mind and time.
Flotsam and jetsam on the stream of history, carried and caught in a small cauldron of a country.
United by a moral code, that grew into (or out of?) religion.
The diverse community knit and wound ever closer by the notion that all they could rely on were each other.
Respect - grudging at first, but warmer with each generation.
Erekaria, their homeland, mothered her people.

The cleric, paladin and sorceress were leaning over a map, discussing a plan.
Suddenly the ranger burst into the room, victoriously waving a small bundle of some... dried herbs.
"I've got us the way into the tower!" she announced gleefully. "Grace, the herbalist, had it in her supplies!"
Her companions looked at her with confusion.
"Not sure which part is 'ear', so I took the whole plants."
The sorceress caught on, and almost facepalmed.
"I said we need 'the ear of A sage' - the trust of someone who has access to the wizards' order!"
The tabaxi blinked: "Oh! ... Tea, anyone?"

The situation was deteriorating fast.
Suddenly there was a crash and an arrow flew in through the window, closely followed by a dwarf, yelling something that might have been a battlecry, or an insult to whoever threw him.
In the few minutes that followed, the confused Mirians lost any and all advantage they initially had.
Soon enough they were pushed out of the room, some through the just opened window, others through more conventional means (the door).
Finally, with feline elegance, the ranger swung in on a rope and landed softly right next to the safe, lockpick kit in hand.

The adventuring party stood in front of a conundrum.
The copse of trees they were coming up to was almost definitely important and some sort of magical.
The question was, how to find out if who- or whatever reigned over it was neutral or took a side in the war.
"It might be just nature. A dryad or maybe a ring of druids?" the ranger guessed.
The paladin looked at her sideways. "When did you last check your character sheet?"
"My what?" she sputtered, flabbergasted.
"Oh..." the paladin blushed. "I meant, I seem to remember you being proficient in nature..."

They were traveling through a... plain. Even at the best of times it used to be deserted, but now they might as well have been on the moon. It was bitterly cold.
The party was keeping vanguard, making sure nothing attacks the caravan.
They were just coming up to a rock formation when...
*riiiip*
...a chasm opened up in the ground right in front of them. The cleric almost lost his balance, milling his arms in the air before the paladin caught him.

"...well, there goes that map!" the DM shook his head. "I knew this rubber is too hard!"

The huge stone axe barely missed the cleric's head.
"Train!" the living statue bellowed.
The sorceress lobbed a scorching ray towards it.
"Train!" it shrugged it off, apparently immune to magic.
The paladin, who seemed to be the only one not targeted grinned.
"It's a golem," he explained as one more of his companions barely dodged a blow. When none of the party reacted with more than nasty looks, he added: "A drill sergeant golem, meant to train new recruits."
More glares.
"Alright, stop. Training over," he finally said. "Time to go home."
"Train?" the golem asked, but then followed.

The statue was almost menacing, with a battleaxe firmly grasped in both hands.
The old arena of an unused, decrepit military facility in the middle of nowhere was not a place you would normally want to linger in.
But they had a mission. They needed something to give the caravan an edge, coming into the vicinity of the last big(ish) city on their way east.
Not that this seemed promising.
Then the paladin noticed something.
He put his hand on one of the fists and pulled it along the shaft of the axe into a correct position.
The statue moved.

The ranger sniffed the air and shot a few furtive looks around.
Then headed into the darkness underground.
The silence of the shaft was only punctuated by the rings of falling water droplets.
"This is not right," she whispered to herself, whiskers standing to attention with unease. Her nostrils flared with the coppery smell of blood.
She notched an arrow into her bow.
Suddenly a shape came into view. An abandoned cart.
It looked empty, but a quick swipe of her paw caught a small metallic pebble.
Maybe this will pay for a bit of trout from that nearby farm...

The ground lurched and the paladin slid down an embankment, where the rest of the party crouched for cover.
"Well, that's our answer about this 'three crones' thing, I guess."
He grimaced at the warlock, who just shook his head, popped up and fired off an eldritch blast.
One of the three unfortunately deflected it, and in response the ground shook again, this time sprouting some menacing wines.
"We need our cleric, where is he?"
A snoring was his reply.
"Seriously??? He is still out, with all that ruckus around? How long does that sleep spell last, exactly?"
Everyone shrugged.

She was the force that united them, the thing that held them together when the forces of the world threatened to tear them asunder.
Some said she was a princess of old, the one who led the first inhabitants to the land of milk and honey. Others thought she was the goddess, the creator.
One thing was certain - she was the Savior, the Protector.
To be an Erekari meant to believe in and worship her.
Dcerka, our Lady, do not let us or future ones perish.
"I will not.
I will go with you everywhere, and bring you back home."