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 Post Posted: Thu Mar 27, 2014 1:31 pm 
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Location: Earth to earth. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Illusions to illusions. And dreams to dreams.
If the riders weren't aware of the travelers before, they are now. Peter's greeting is met by the whizz of an arrow as it streaks past his side, burying itself in the terrain a distance from him. A sharp, scolding bark follows it, reprimanding the shooter, and no further shots follow. What does follow, however, is a group of twelve riders, wearing warpaint and armor of hide and bone. All but one carry sharp-looking spears and have several bows at rest on their saddles; the last, evidently the shooter, has bow in hand.

As their charge reaches the travelers, they spread out around the cart, spears pointed threateningly. The rider with the bow then points, and hisses "see!? They bear the mark of the keys!" The others tense to attack, but one, an older man with decorated armor, holds up his hand and they stop.

"You show great audacity trespassing our lands after what your tribe has wrought. You will surrender your possessions and animals as reparations, and then perhaps we will see fit to spare your lives."

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 Post Posted: Thu Mar 27, 2014 6:18 pm 
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Holding his crossbow pointed at the ground, Chip replies: "My tribe? I am Chip, of the Acre tribe, of the Clan of the Phoenix." With his left hand he removes what looks like a leather billfold from his jacket and flips it open to show it to the elder. Inside is a gold and red bird on a blue background on the left, and a brown plow on a green square on the right. "Ours is the mark on the salt blocks you may trade for in Villa Lau. But I have agreed to work for the Locksmiths for a while, and so I would like to hear what they have done to you before I consider betraying them."

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 Post Posted: Fri Mar 28, 2014 3:43 am 
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With a squeal of alarm, Peter dives behind the wagon and stays there for the moment. He reaches down and holds the hilt of his rapier, but doesn't draw it just yet.

When no further shots arrive, and Chip starts talking, Peter cautiously peers out of cover, watching to see what happens next.

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 Post Posted: Sat Apr 05, 2014 1:09 am 
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Cafka grips the edge of the cart, claws digging into the wood, as she lowers her stance even more, and leans forward, edging just a bit closer to the raiding riders. She growls, a low and threatening noise that seems almost inhuman. "Adrian won't let you have Cafka, and Cafka won't let you take Adrian's stuff." Her eyes flicker backwards for just a few moments, looking towards Adrian. A simple signal is all she needs. Cafka's stare turns back to the riders, and her mouth opens just a bit wider, lips tensed and growing thinner, and teeth bared with her jaw tightened. The Emirate might notice that the stains on her shirt have a red tint to it, and that the fingers gripping the cart are etching noticeable grooves into the thick wood, and that though she is missing several teeth, the remaining ones glint like sharpened blades.

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