The thin breeze failed cut the stench inside the wagon, merely rearranging it into an equally unpleasant miasma. Comfort not being high on the agenda of chainers, the the wagon train bumped and rolled with the gait of the huge folak harnessed to it. The beast itself looked to be in poor condition, great curtains of dry skin sloughing from its sides, huge tongue lolling to one side.
The guards escorting the caravan looked almost as discomforted as their charges. Mercenaries for the most part with a few company men alongside. Faces wrapped against the ever present dust most walked alongside the train. A few outriders ranged off to the fore and aft and the ubiquitous horta caravan dogs loped around vainly hoping for scraps.
In the distance, the faint rumble of the great falls and their penultimate destination, Anvall, City of Chains.
At the head of the train Ioan was one the first to catch sight of the great dome of the Chainers Hall. Soon they could offload their stinking cargo to the kind ministrations of the placement officers. After that he would have enough put by to sign on with a Velaki crew and sail for Planos.
He would be well rid of the Nassi tribesmen with their strange eyes and that beast Rolk the Ugir. Best of all the sea air would rid his nostrils of the scent of hopelessness that hung about the train like fog.