Post by cerdigon on Jul 16, 2017 17:37:46 GMT
It had been a hard journey, while the Middle Sea Trading Company had taken the first steps towards forging commercial links with the West, House Agricola was not about to let their rivals establish a monopoly on the Western Trade. It was with that in mind that Abner Agricola, grandson of Duke Ibernus Agricola had been dispatched with a small schooner, some supplies, and a suspect crew. As the fourth son, Abner was seen as a fine representative of the families’ interests and one that was potentially expendable if they encountered hostile natives.
The original landing in Rathorum had been accomplished without incident but when the party had attempted to hire a boat to take them up river through ‘’ the long water ‘’, they had encountered the hostile forces of Qanat. The boat had been pelted with all manner of arrows and primitive gunpowder that had killed two native porters they had hired and left Agricola himself sporting a shoulder wound from an arrowhead.
After a week…it was bearing the ugly signs of infection. Agricola however could afford no delay. His family was counting on him. The party having retreated back to Rathroum struck out once more inland towards Caudierra, the rumored land of plenty. It was also renowned for its healers. Something that Agricola was looking forward to testing as his fever grew worse by the day.
After two weeks of traveling through the rough country, Agricola had been reduced to spending his days in the wagon, following the old caravan route to the land of the Giants. It was a motley collection, hardly fit for an embassy. But they bore the proud heraldry of House Agricola and the Imperial standard of the Holy Esharan Empire.
As they approached the border… Agricola could only wonder how they as foreigners would be received. It could hardly be any worse than the damn natives of Qanat. Agricola took another draught of alcohol, throwing some of it on his wound for good measure with a painful wince.
Someone was shouting that they had seen movement on the horizon. He slowly buttoned his tunic and stepped out from the wagon, using its rickety construction to steady him.
The original landing in Rathorum had been accomplished without incident but when the party had attempted to hire a boat to take them up river through ‘’ the long water ‘’, they had encountered the hostile forces of Qanat. The boat had been pelted with all manner of arrows and primitive gunpowder that had killed two native porters they had hired and left Agricola himself sporting a shoulder wound from an arrowhead.
After a week…it was bearing the ugly signs of infection. Agricola however could afford no delay. His family was counting on him. The party having retreated back to Rathroum struck out once more inland towards Caudierra, the rumored land of plenty. It was also renowned for its healers. Something that Agricola was looking forward to testing as his fever grew worse by the day.
After two weeks of traveling through the rough country, Agricola had been reduced to spending his days in the wagon, following the old caravan route to the land of the Giants. It was a motley collection, hardly fit for an embassy. But they bore the proud heraldry of House Agricola and the Imperial standard of the Holy Esharan Empire.
As they approached the border… Agricola could only wonder how they as foreigners would be received. It could hardly be any worse than the damn natives of Qanat. Agricola took another draught of alcohol, throwing some of it on his wound for good measure with a painful wince.
Someone was shouting that they had seen movement on the horizon. He slowly buttoned his tunic and stepped out from the wagon, using its rickety construction to steady him.
