The stench of rot permeates through and from the Juniper Wastes, an assortment of flies and strange other insects pester anyone who seek to brave it. The weather? Sandy - rather, dirty, the middle region is not a place for sand but the immense winds trapped inside the valley whisk whatever dirt they could carry away from the ground, and whisk away they do - the resulting gusts usually resembling a sandstorm.
Three men, their noggins unchecked and their guises cloaked by the unforgiving sand weathered the storm for a day and a half, they are nearing the edge of the wastes.
They walk with conviction but with a sense of unfamiliarity, as if the realm they are traversing is completely new to them and their childish whimsies are being tingled, albeit currently by dirt and pests. They are descending from the valley by the waste's end, headed toward territory even more foreign to them. They wear cloaks, hoods pulled up to cover their faces, thick glass lenses over their eyes, the heavy clothing unmistakably for protection or, rather, for guarding their orifices from whatever unwelcoming concoction the wastes had cooked up for them. They all carry swords - tall ones, but appropriate for their heights.. mostly - one carries a sword that is particularly massive. They have emblems pinned on them as well although their shapes cannot be made out in the storm. They continue pacing; slowly, carefully, but with utmost bravado.
Finally, after a few more paces, they reach the edge of the wastes, the sands finally dissipate and they are welcomed by the greenery that had been in their sights, looming in the distant horizon for almost half their day, one lays down his massive sword and lets out a sigh of relief, thankful that he could finally touch the leaves that he could see only barely falling from the distance a few hours ago.
One of them notices something, he kneels down and unhoods, revealing the face of a drenched, middle aged man. As the sun's faint light illuminates the traveler who had just unhooded, the shape of his emblem becomes visible - that of a bird's - this time, a raven's, and his companions appear to be wearing the exact same emblems. The man gestures at one of his companions to come near, the object of his attention seems to be a set of footprints, his companion kneels down as well for a closer look.
"Seem familiar?" the unhooded one asks
"Purple cape boots" the other one replies
"Fresh?"
"Four hours"
"Think they're after the merchant?"
"Yes"
"Well.. Shit"