So, we finally trudge into Avendale and, thankfully, find a general store that actually sells proper adventuring gear. I manage to snag some quality silk rope and a grappling hook. The silk is weird, though; it doesn't feel like any silk I've ever used before, and it's got something like ivy woven into it. The grappling hook is foldable, which is actually pretty handy; it fits right into my pack.
Everyone else grabs a few odds and ends, and then we head over to an armorsmith. This guy actually has some decent wares – a good variety of mundane and superior quality armor and weapons. He's even able to improve my current armor, making it more fitted and easier to move in. We all chip in some coin for Luis, and he gets something called a Spider-Silk body suit. Sounds... itchy.
Bob, meanwhile, goes off on this tangent about wanting everyone to buy ranged weapons. I keep telling him I don't like using that kind of gear; I know how to, but I prefer my fists. In the end, he buys some darts for me, but he's keeping them on himself. For Luis, he gets a short bow and arrows. Whatever.
As we're leaving the shop, John comes walking up, pulling a rickshaw. Apparently, he picked up a job while we were in town. Very industrious of him, I suppose. He makes some small talk and gives us what sounds like genuinely useful information about a few places along the way. He takes us to one of the inns the Viscount mentioned before we parted ways.
He leads us to this high-end place called The Briar's Cup. It's a stately looking building, probably way too expensive, but it does look comfortable. When we open the door, we're hit with the overpowering smell of lavender, old parchment, and pipe smoke. And there's a damn harp playing. I immediately suggest we should have gone to someplace a merchant would stay, not where a Viscount might sleep.
Just as we're about to leave, someone who apparently knows Rip comes striding over. It's a local businessman involved in both mercantile and shrimping. Quite the combination of endeavors, I'll give him that. Turns out, he also runs the rickshaw business John is working for.
The man's name is Hargrove. He tells us he's got a caravan heading through the Embeth Forest to Uringen. He offers us passage with his caravan in exchange for providing protection. Doesn't sound like a bad offer, actually. We don't know the area, and traveling in numbers is usually a good idea.
Rip manages to get us rooms and food for the evening. We actually get a decent night's sleep, but Rip, being Rip, wakes up super early to head to the caravan. And for some reason, he's got John driving the rickshaw again. I won't deny it was nice not having to walk, though.
We get to the caravan, and the guy in charge is a brick house of a dwarf. No-nonsense and straight to the point. Shortly after introductions, some small incident breaks out: some idiot is arguing with another guy for supposedly cutting in line. The "intruder" says his wife was holding his spot. To me, that's not valid – everyone will get food if they just keep the line moving. Then Bob starts asking the guy and his supposed wife to prove they're together by kissing and fondling each other. I seriously don't know what's wrong with Bob! He gets weirder and creepier every single day.
We manage to get the guy who was trying to cut in line to go to the back, but then the guy who was already in line starts acting smug. So Bob and I suggest he should go to the back of the line too, since he contributed to stopping the line and keeping people from getting their food. He starts mouthing off, saying I should "come get these nuts." So, I laid him out. Bob revived him, and he was confused, but definitely much more subdued.
They have a prayer conducted by a priestess of Pharasma that everyone attends. She prays for a safe trip and for everyone to arrive at our destination healthy. Finally, we set off, keeping space between each of the wagons.
As we begin our first day of the trip, we're serenaded by some kid wildly abusing a poor violin. This is going to be a long week through the woods, I think.