The Talk at the Campfire, East of Baldur's Gate

[Steve]

In recent days past, cooler breezes signaling the high harvest tide initiated greater need for evening warmth, and the month of Leaffall was true to name, as those same cool winds sent down colors of red, yellow and orange mass from tree top to forest floor.

But this day, and the last day before, and that day before that, a surge of warmth returned to the Sword Coast, a dying remembrance of summer, but to be enjoyed while it may last.

Thus the days and nights now could be spent outdoors and in relative comfort, even as the great sun body spent less moments in the sky, warming the earth—that warmth that sat within the air, lingered.

And as the night time began its faster arrival over day, the light of the eastern farmlands campfire, blazoned ever brighter and most definitely infinitely, as so many travelers, adventurers, merchants and more, arrived to share in its light—and heat—and continued to stoke the flame, adding fuel to burn, before continuing upon travels here and there. In this place of intermixing agendas, it was rumored much could be learned, if one but keenly listened. That, or at least, a good tale gained and remembered, to bide the time in paused moments further on, upon Tradeway or in front of a home hearth.

Like so many before him, Chezan Thornblood arrived at the campfire carrying an exhaustion from great ordeal or great prevail—often difficult to differentiate without a tale being told, only seen upon face and possibly heard in the grunt of voice.

The young Thornblood, arrived by foot and from the south Tradeway, dropped a fairly large satchel to right of a free short barrel, then rested his backside down upon it, accompanied by the clinking of his armor. Firelight caught his helmet lines and reflected strongly in the encroaching dusk, while he proceeded to remove the head gear altogether, so as to free his face to recognition by all—or none—seated there, near or distant, to the burning pit. The helmet was placed upon his lap, tilted to the side producing the most flat possible surface before him.

In two distinct moves, Chezan both reached to his left to produce a small satchel released from his belt, and from his right, he unsheathed a particular dagger. Loosing the closing thread of the small satchel, he dribbled out a few nuts, hazelnuts in particular, upon the helmet plane seated in his lap. Flipping the dagger in hand, he drummed down the hilt upon a nut, exposing the meat inside. This, he repeated a few times, until he had amassed a good portion. He plucked a sample from his helmet to his mouth, savor in the taste, chewing slowly—for now he was enjoying the present moment...for how long it would last, was fate determined by higher powers.

Looking up, he speaks to they that has just arrived or already present: "I will share this harvest time bounty with you...as long as you give your word, that as we sit around this fire together, you will not once speak of Amn."

[Steve]

The comforting sound of splitting fibers heated to potential, dies—shadows cast diminish into a expanded darkness.

Chezan rises from his prone position to search along the edges of the camp, finding what leftover splits some previous traveler had left to future inhabitants.

Returning to his spot, standing at the edge of the pit, he casts a few pieces onto the coals, unleashing a glorious fire-show of embers, rising high—twice the size of a man—into the air above. The twist and turn of sparks and glowing wisps of spent pulp, highlights the camp...and whatever faces now exist in the occupied space.

The moment is followed by a general rise in the power of the campfires burn, that which in warmth and light, serves as a common attractor...or so it is said.

[Steve]

With little to no comings or goings he would heed, and with dusks disappearance into full cover of night, Chezan Thornblood appears pensive, and turns his head to stare into the short distance toward the grand East Gate entrance to Baldur's Gate. Firelight highlights the more-than-human cheekbones, flattening his profile and the uniqueness of his skin to appear like a painting of a face—the yellow flames reflecting perpendicularly against cold blue eyes creating a faint sparkle of green.

It would seem it is not only the young Thornblood that puts attention to the gate—many others with business near the caravan post appear to be collecting themselves to enter the city, it can be assumed, to seek proper shelter, for the night ahead.

And that would be Chezan's next move, unless anything around the campfire would hold a delayed departure....

[Steve]

The young Thornblood stands, adjusting the scabbard to fit best at his waist, and collecting his helmet under one arm.

He leaves the shells of his bounty in offering, laid strewn where he once say, at the edge of the campfire. Which still burns, and will most likely remain burning for all time...but it will be for others, as Chezan leaves to find his regular shelter within the Gate proper.