[Q1] The Chains that Bind Us

The five of them were sprawled in a wagon-cage, horse missing and neck yolk abandoned and dropped in a pool of mud. A dense forest loomed around them, cold rain dripping from the iron bars, the pine leaves, and the dark gray air of an apathetic sky. The dampness gave the breeze an extra tooth to bite, reminding them all of the smell of wet dirt, pinecones, and, oddly, smoke. Jorah watched the elf open the freshly oiled door with curious dread. If his lock had bit him, surely another such unholy trap was nearby. His expression briefly betrayed the warning on his face, which he vocally withheld to watch if this stranger would prove his newfound paranoia: that the mud below might swallow them up. Instead of airing these thoughts, he hurriedly responded to the elf, and then, to the healer.

[color=orange]"You're the... bow?"[/color] he asked, shuffling to the side to give access to the door. Jorah knew vaguely of these Arlathan titles, but he had never much business in that neck of the woods. [color=orange]"I-I shouldn't be here,"[/color] he concluded, assuming the rest of them were also some sort of titled lord or mayor. He remembered the propaganda pamphlet, rewarding commoners for delivering their elite to Elgnar'nan's captured territory.

[color=orange]"I thought it was people in charge that he wanted? Or at least, like you said, the interesting ones..."[/color] he trailed off, squinting through the rain at the woman who growled and stared with venom. His hesitation to continue and, instead, gawk betrayed the insult before he realized it. When he did, he flinched at the thought of their suspicions and, Jorah resumed muttering, wide-eyed and desperately wondering if he was trying too hard.

[color=orange]"I'm just an old stablemaster... horses, mules...."[/color] He huffed, frowning, looking at the lock as if he couldn't decide if he were more puzzled by it, or why he was here. [color=orange]"I am not interesting, and this Elgnan (yes, a mis-proununciation) must be something if he can't tell the difference."[/color] The crisp bitterness in his voice at being left alive to be toyed with could be mistaken for as a peasant's outrage for being thought a lordly snob. He felt about the lock, gingerly now. He began to mutter expletives with the names of his servants to himself.

And Jorah tried to look captured with interest by the lock, while he whale-eyed the elf leaving the wagon's confines.

☆ tldr: Setting is a cage-wagon in a pine forest on a rainy day on a rural beaten up wagon trail. (Think skyrim intro, but full cage and no snow. Or the hunger games forest on a yucky day.) The air smells of smoke. Jorah gawks at the woman (Katriel) because she is weird, and then admits he is stablemaster (a lie) to explain his skills.