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This is the dying world of Athas. The place is the Tablelands, a blasted wasteland where death is ever present and even living is a constant struggle against the blazing sun, the desert heat, the beasts that inhabit it and your fellows who also live in this hell hole of a world.

You somehow have survived into maturity and for some reason have set out on your own. What you have encountered along the way and run from, only you (and possibly those with you) truly know. Still, you find yourself currently approaching the City State of Tyr. Whether this be by Caravan, your own travels, or perhaps you're already inside the walls, trying to meek out a living.

But what path goes from here? Will you continue living? Only time and your own want to live will tell.

Wir-Afith walked along in the middle of the caravan as it approached the city gates, a 60' blue cloud in the sky that seemed to move with her providing shade for herself and a good portion of the caravan. This would be her first time visiting the city of Tyr. In fact, it was her first real city since leaving the Jagged Cliffs, previously having only visited villages and such, and what curious as to what lay in store within those great walls.

Murd walked along attempting to meditate while walking. To find a pace in which he comfortably focus, accompanied by the cadence of the caravan's movement. It was still comfortably cool compared to the baking sun. He wore his armor, ignorant to the discomfort it would of caused to others. His spear and shield were at the ready in his hands, yet despite all this he was trying to be miles away inside his own head.

Aron idly tightened the straps on the quabone in his hands, staring out of the window into the busy market square. "This is boring. When am I gonna be done checking all these things?" He double-checked to make sure the weapon was strong, set it to the side and pulled out a puchik, checking it over.

After a moment, he set it down and pulled out a clear, perfectly round crystal from his pocket. It glowed with a soft orange light, eminating from somewhere inside it. "Calgrin, what do you think we shold do after I'm done here for the day?" The light pulsed and a chiming voice rang out in his head. "I think that we should go and see if they are bringing anything interesting into the city today. A caravan should be coming in, if I remember. Maybe we'll get inspiration on something to do there."

Aron sighed. "All you ever want to do is make things." "Well, it is a cure for boredom."

Jupiter was still a good ways above the city, doing his best to be unobtrusive. He swirled and looped in the air, free as the breeze he rode on, hiding behind towers and roofs lest someone should notice him. He could see everything from his vantage point: A caravan, arriving from the desert, was entering Tyr. Not content with boredom, he slowly drifted towards the new arrivals.

Murd simply walked into town with the caravan. As the trip was apparently uneventful. Not that he would been anywhere else in particular other than his head; as the whole time he'd been carefully focusing. It was his daily ritual to see how deep he could go before something interrupted him. Which happened to be the massive half giants working the gates. The massive stone gate was really an ornate bolder shaped artistically. How ever intricate it was though it brought him back briefly. He shrugged off the reverie as he made his way through the briefly dim tunnel. As the Tyr city walls were immense and thick. Built for a scale of combat he had trouble grasping. Artillery and spells powerful enough to mar these walls seemed beyond him. Still his thoughts on this were also interrupted as then tunnel came to an end.

He stepped out into the largest and densest collection of people he'd ever seen. To him it was overwhelming, the smells, the sounds, the giant mass of people seemed to be writhing to him. He suddenly felt a very intense need to not be waist deep in people. The grip on his spear was suddenly white knuckled as he shifted closer to the halfling and the caravan. Slowly working his armor on he took deep breaths trying to refocus. He'd been taught to be aware of people, but trying to keep track of everyone was impossible. He felt his tactical sense assailed from every avenue. He seemed ready to panic as he desperately tried to meditate. An intellectual process clawing for control over an irrationally emotional response.

Aron approached the hulking form of Murd when he saw him in the caravan. "You, ugly! You looking for any work? There is an interesting little event coming up and I might have a proposition for you, assuming you can fight." He said looking up at the man, glaring angrily at his height.

((If it hits, 4d6+7))