Visiting the Wagon Camp
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You started off up rugged peaks that frown upon Darkmoor. Through the slippery crags and rocky outcrops, you kept your sighs on that radiant ball of life up ahead. You could hear it. Hell, you could smell it! And when you finally made it into the camp, you would've thought you’d walked into a festival.
Twinkling lanterns cast warm light on the crowd and whatever entertainment may catch their eye. Lining the street were women: dancing to music from a phonograph, and reading palms at short tables, and hawking fine fabrics from baskets on their hips. In one corner, a crop of performers fiddled a jaunty Django Reindhardt number while the curious, delectable scent of spiced pork and grilled onion drifted through the air.
And there you were: shivering, clothes shrink wrapped to your bones. While you'd hate to intrude where you weren't wanted, you really didn’t have much of a choice if you wanted their help…
Finding your way to one dark corner of the camp, by the tinkling calliope running off its last crank, you found a jewel toned caravan. Maybe it was the lanterns hanging outside, or the strange lunar sigilo painted on its siding. You brought your hand to knock against a star on the door. “U-um… excuse me? Is anybody there?” You called out, rubbing your forearms to generate heat friction. “I’m lost…I was wondering if-“
With a yelp, you were yanked inside and pulled to sit on a rug by a woman draped in dark silks. “Traveler.” Turning her back to you, her ankles jingled as she took a seat on a wooden chest. “You come seeking sanctuary, yes?”
You nodded, meeting her penetrating kohl-rimmed gaze. She chuckled, “Sanctuary will do you no good here. In Darkmoor, anyone promising you that is a hack. Especially for free...”
The hope drained from your features. Amused at your foolishness, she fetched a headscarf that was hastily tossed over a folding partition.
“Lucky for you, Maleva does not work for free. And, she does not promise sanctuary.”
There was something about the way the light formed a halo with her gold jewelry and wild head of curls. “Rea- Really?” It slipped your mind that you had nothing to offer, forgoing the odd undercurrent of warning in her words. “What can you give me then?”
Dark painted lips pulled into a smirk, she murmured. “We can lead you away from this accursed town. But-!” Maleva gestured with a jingle of her bangles, “For a price.”
What do You Offer?
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