Two days ago, you sat in a shadowed bar, half-drunk in the city of Langseld. The barkeep had been sharing some local gossip with you, of pirate raiders sacking the docks of Cambol-Tur to the south. He mentioned that the local constable is ‘giving his fortune away’ to men of capable mettle, like yourselves, in hopes they can scare off or kill these lawless brigands.
As you discussed the prospect of traveling south to Cambol-Tur, a weeks journey in good weather, a young, female dwarf approached you with a proposition of her own.
‘“Hello lords. Me name is Mar Silverhand, I ain’t much for snoopin’ but I overheard yer conversation with the barkeep. If you’re already headin’ south, could ya deliver a letter to me father? His name is Mundi, he’s the village blacksmith. It’s on the way, just two days south in a village called Haradiin. I’ll give ya each a gold piece to deliver it. What do ya say?"
It didn’t take long for your party to mole over the prospect when she presented the shiny gold coins in her dirty palm. She gave you the letter, folded in thirds and sealed with red wax. Dwarven script is carefully written in beautiful calligraphy you may or may not be able to read. She instructs you that she will arrange a carriage to ferry you to Haradiin in good time and relative safety.
Arriving at the stables some hours later you find a middle-aged man of slight build strapping supplies onto his uncovered carriage. The carriage looks as though it could seat six. Two are already on board, a young man and his child brother, giggling over some kind of slap-hand game. Next to the older brother is a strapped pack full of dried goods. The driver asks you to board when you inform him of who you are and the young man greets you with a warm smile but does not speak. A few moments later, the driver mounts the carriage seat and with a “hyah!” the two horses leading the carriage step to the reins.