Travelling along the great road brings them to a clearing in the otherwise sense forest. After passing in parallel for hundreds of miles, the lower Inaro River bends to the west while the Great Road veers eastwards toward the Upheaval and the Jewell Cities of Opal and Beryl. Snow continues to fall, but the forest protects them from the worst of the wind and they press on eastwards, stopping only to rest Feldspar and cook a quick bite of warm food over small fires.
As they roll through the forest, at one point they come across the tracks of a wagon emerging from the forest to the north, presumably joining the five wagon caravan..
May 4, 7761
They have been traveling with the Inaro at their backs for over a day when they begin to smell smoke. Proceeding carefully they see that the caravan they’d been following has become the victim of foul play. Burning wagons, and slain men are scattered across the road with a trampled path of many booted feet heading into the forest to the north. There are corpses of a strange type of creature among the human dead: short, slender, black-skinned creatures of dense musculature with tusks protruding from brutish faces. They are shod as humans with rough leather clothes and high soft boots, and have a thick, curly pelt of reddish fur that runs from their foreheads down their necks across their backs to the backs of their arms.
As Mar’Khabazza steers his wagon through the carnage, they see that the wagons have been pillaged and supplies and trade goods have been cast aside in the muddy snow with great haste and as they press forward they come to another wagon with a man on the ground leaning with his back against a broken wheel. The figure is a youthful human man, with long braided pale yellow hair and the wisp of a beard on his pale face.
He is bloody and dirt encrusted and lies in pain with a broken leg and many wounds. Next to him are the corpses of two other yellow-haired men, one with a family resemblance.
He calls out, “For all that is good and holy, please help me!” he cries.
Mar’Khabazza and the stranger dismount. The stranger is simply exploring the wreckage while Mar’Khabazza fibles with his wounds with crude bandages.
In the back of the covered wagon, among some un-plundered supplies, the stranger finds a large wood box with a small locking panel on one end towards the bottom.
“What’s in the box?” he asks. Which is probably the longest string of words he has spoken in the preceding weeks.
“A heretic,” says the man. He turns to Mar ‘Khabazza and says, “My brother! Have you seen my brother?”
Mar ‘Khabazza looks ath the blond corpse on the ground nearby but doesn’t immediately answer. Instead he asks, “What manner of heretic do you have here?”
“A bringer of the Spell Plague! A cursed user of essence!”
The stranger thumps the box with a stick. There is a thump in return. After hunting around for keys to the box, he instead manages to locate a prybar from a set of wagonwright tools and starts working at opening the box.
“No!” cries the man. “The Heretic must be brought to the head of my order! In Opal! He will know how to cure her of this affliction.” He is sobbing openly now, grabbing at Mar’Khabazza’s sleeve pleadingly.
The stranger gets the lid off the box. Inside of the cramped space is a woman. She is pale-skinned, raven-haired, and when she looks up at the stranger with pleading eyes they are a startling green rimmed in unnatural gold.
“Please,” she slurs raising her head unsteadily as knotted, lanky hair falls away from her face.
“Please help me.”
