The four were situated inside the luggage wagon and an awkward silence filled the room. The other people in the passenger wagons it seemed could not put up with a little weirdness spoiling their day. A Cleric who seemed just a bit too devoted to serving Pelor. A Paladin who when he stared it looked like it pierced into your very soul. A Warlock who probably shouldn’t have been bragging about murdering his parents. And a Rogue who was altogether way too quiet. So they sat in stony silence, unsure of what to say to these other people. But it wasn’t long before the threads of fate began to move and shift.
The caravan suddenly stopped, and the door the the four’s wagon opened. A man dressed in a dirty linen shirt and scraggly beard stepped into the wagon. He was a holding his mace with an evil glint in his eye, but that glint soon disappeared as he noticed that the other people inside also seemed to possess their weapons, many much sharper than his was. He stepped back and shut the door before anyone could react. There was silence for a few moments, before suddenly everyone was right on their feet. Here was something they all knew about, combat. The paladin uttered a few terse words about going after the bandit and then stepped through the door, mighty battleaxe in hand. He didn’t notice the bandit just off to the side, who made a swing at the paladin’s head.
The battle went downhill from their.