The road cut between grassy hills marred with craggy cliffs and boulders. Thick groves of pines sprouted in the valleys, hiding small, trickling streams and animal dens. We found ourselves in a shallow hollow, surrounded by armed men and women. Their armored gleamed dully under the evening sun, scrappy and pocketed with rust. They concealed their faces behind red masks and deep cloaks, a mix of Beastkin, elves, and humans among them.
Their leader, a massive bear-kin, stepped forward, a greataxe resting on his shoulder. The twin crescent blade of the weapon sparkled with magic, looking heavy enough to weigh more than I did. He scrutinized us, his brow furrowing, before turning to one of his men.
"Didn't you claim this was Byron's ride?"
The condemnation in his voice was obvious, and the bandit scout paled, staring at us with wide eyes. "I swear on m'mom it's his. Has the gold stripe en' everything!"
