Half an hour before Nightfall, Isiah’s Hut, Schell 
Isiah and the boys faded from view along their path through the wheat field, and the Favoured found themselves alone in the farmer’s home. The group’s day had been eventful, and though it had been only that morning that say assembled in silence over breakfast, it already felt like ages ago. For a second they seemed content to enjoy the respite, before the reality of their situation re-emerged in the form of a casual observation.

"I know that some of us would like to confront this situation head on, but I can't help but wonder what would happen if the horsemen found this place unoccupied as demanded. This place has very little merit that we've seen, and I can't help wondering what would motivate such a threat."

 
Though a few amongst the group had harboured such thoughts previously, this was the first time they’d been brought up directly. Isiah’s leaving had in part been due to the group’s mistrust of the situation, and this of course seemed a logical extension of that thinking. Has had been so often the case when the group discussed matters, Malachi quickly chimed in.

"I know that some of us would like to confront this situation head on, but I can't help but wonder what would happen if the horsemen found this place unoccupied as demanded. This place has very little merit that we've seen, and I can't help wondering what would motivate such a threat." 

Relos agreed, though befitting his apparent role as the group’s moral centre, he was quick to state matter-of-factly that under no circumstances would he sit idly by if the situation took a turn against the interests of their recently departed host. Tristan and Sehanine were quick to add their assent, having been the most distrustful of Isiah up until this point, they were obviously curious to see what reason his harassers had for targeting him. They made a quick plan for the arrival of the riders, and the group stood up to begin a swift search. As they began Malachi spoke up again, almost entirely unnoticed as the group’s focus turned to the contents of the hut.

"If it please you all, I will be going to the shed. As I said, there may be something there of interest.”

 
He turned and made his way out, while the group began swiftly investigating Isiah’s home. Calopee in particular was overly thorough, using her tiny size to her advantage and darting under tables and behind drawers in search of anything that would confirm the group’s suspicions. Careful to leave as little trace of their rummaging as possible, the sweep concluded just as the sun began to set below the horizon. Other than the fact that one of the boys had apparently been hiding a tiny mouse in a box under his bed (a mouse that through apparent neglect, had already had its wee soul consigned to the afterlife) there was nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps a little more at ease, perhaps a little discouraged, the group doused the fire and moved outside, seeking vantage points to put their plan in action.

Half an hour before Nightfall, Isiah’s Tool Shed, Schell 
Mal was no stranger to doing things on his own; he could hear the group begin their searching of the hut without him as he stepped out into the cooling dusk air. He made his way over to Isiah’s shed, helpfully marked out by the plough that lay overturned against the wall. The wooden door swung open easily, and the inside of the shed seemed about as impressive as its worn wooden exterior implied.

The floor (or rather the ground in this case, as Isiah had apparently chosen to simply build his shed on a flooring of well trampled dirt) was cluttered with wooden buckets, the walls lined with older but well maintained scythes, hoes, rakes and the like. The wall across from the door had a few shelves stacked with bags of seed, as well as a scattering of jars of a murky substance which a quick sniff determined was some type of pickling preservative mixture. Judging from the cobwebs that hung lazily throughout the shed, the room didn’t see much use other than a storeroom.

Nothing found in Mal’s search seemed noteworthy, but the moment alone in the shed could still be turned into some use. Since waking up in a ditch to a day filled with questioning locals, the swordsman’s mind remained a tad unfocussed. Malachi paused a moment in meditation, calling to mind the teachings of his mentor. He emerged from his reflection sharp as ever, his skills and techniques fresh in his memory, and not a moment too soon either. The light seeping in around was fading; though the shed offered little in the way of hiding once the door was open, Mal moved to keep his body out of sight through any cracks in the shed’s construction and prepared for the coming night.

Nightfall, Isiah’s Farm, Schell 
The favoured sans Mal made their way onto Isiah’s land, perhaps their expected visitors would provide them a vital clue they missed if they merely let the outsiders go about their business. As discussed, the group divided, Relos taking his slightly cumbersome armoured frame to a wheat patch to the south while Sehanine and Tristan went just north of the path to Schell. Calopee scampered up with the latter pair, though the moment she set foot in the wheat field she all but disappeared. Sehanine and Tristan settled down within a short distance of one another, as Relos did his best to conceal his shining plate armour from revealing him. Malachi, shielded from view by a door and four shoddy wooden walls, pressed himself against the door, staying still and silent while watching from his vantage point.

The stakeout dragged on, and soon the sun had disappeared from view completely. A pale moon cast its light over the field, and while the group’s eyes struggled to adjust, Sehanine’s elven vision easily pierced the gloom, and she was the first to notice the rider. Riding up the gentle slope to the west, a single horseman came into view. He paused for a moment as his mount reached the well work dirt path that surrounded Isiah's hut and cast a long glance over the area.

His horse started a slow trot around the path, the rider splitting his time between looking in the surrounding fields and through the hut’s windows. The Favoured fell silent as his line of sight passed over them, only daring breathe once more when he’d moved on. His lap complete, the rider paused at the southwest corner of the hut, dismounted and began searching through his saddlebags. Relos, the closest of the group, was suddenly aware that he was making perfect eye contact with the rider’s horse. The paladin was not overly well versed in subterfuge, but he suspected that making eye contact with anything while seeking to remain concealed was perhaps a bad idea, and slowly averted his gaze, praying silently that his cover remained intact. The horse gave a small whinny as the stare was broken, and the rider turned his head a moment, curious what had caused the reaction. His stare danced over Relos’s hiding spot for a moment, before he shook his head and turned back to his saddlebags, content in the belief his horse had been distracted by what appeared to be some fine ass wheat.

The rider finally found his prize, and stepped away from the horse, facing the west. A few sparks and a woosh of accelerant doused cloth later, the rider was illuminated by a lit torch in his outstretched hand. Though most of the Favoured lacked sightlines to where the rider was no positioned, the light shone around the edges of the hut, informing the whole group of its presence. Relos was able to now see their visitor more clearly, as the man was illuminated by the torch he was waving slowly back and forth over his head.

Relos had no previous dealings with the denizens of the Corsian Desert, so his frame of reference wasn’t the greatest, but the man didn’t seem to fully fit the description. His head and face were wrapped in a loose, black cloth, leaving only the area around his eyes visible. He wore a suit of deep black studded leather armor, and Relos was quick to spot the shortsword that was sheathed at his side. Though not in the greatest light, the man’s skin seemed smoother and less tan than Relos had been expecting of a desert dweller, but he had only a moment to think on that as soon the sounds of approaching horses drew his attention.

Swiftly, eight more riders all wearing similar headgear to the first. They dismounted as a group to the southeast of the hut; a few of them standing uncomfortably close to Relos’s position, though they seemed disinterested in searching the area and paid his hiding spot no mind. One man separated slightly from the group, and Relos quickly noticed his slightly different attire. While eight of the nine wore blackened studded leather, this man wore a shirt of chainmail, painted black in the same way as many of his comrades. He gestured at a pair of the riders, issuing a quick command.

“Stay with the horses.”

The two began gathering the reins of the other horses, bringing them together at the southeast corner of the hut before lighting a torch and leaning against the stone walls of Isiah’s home. The remaining seven made their way around to the door, and the man in chainmail, ostensibly the leader of this band, lit his own torch. He made his way to the door and peered through the neighbouring window, giving a satisfied grunt as he turned back to the group. He reached up and pulled away the cloth covering his face, prompting the others with him to do the same.

“No idea how those sanders wear these…”, one of the group muttered loud enough to be overheard, “…cannot breathe in this sh!t at all.”

 
“Worked though, dinnit?”, another replied, “Jaron knew no townsies would risk their neck for an outlier if they thought raiders were comin’, eh?”  His smirk was visible even in the dim flicker of the torchlight.

“Shame the old man fled…” a third man joined the conversation, “…been a while since I gutted someone.” A couple men gave a little laugh at that, and the speaker did a little mock stabbing motion with his hand, to more laughter.

If what little the group had seen earlier subverted their expectations of who they thought would be arriving, the revealed faces and more revealing conversations of the riders certainly threw the “desert folk” theory a curveball. Though it was clear the men before them hadn’t lived easy lives, their lighter skin and accents labelled them as common Cordovans, though their purpose for arriving at the farm was still a mystery.

The leader, his thick black beard obscuring much of what had previously been hidden by the cloth, was quick to restore order to the group, which fell silent as he cleared his throat.

“You know why you’re here; Jaron is not going to tolerate any mistakes. You two,” he again gestured at a pair of men, “watch the path to the east, just because it’s quiet now doesn’t mean no one’s on their way.”, he faced the rest of the group as the two men walked towards the path, “The rest of your, grab everything you can, our orders are to leave nothing behind.”

 
The man’s eyes darted over to the shed, and the plough lying beside it.

“Someone search that shed, the rest of you, ransack the hut.” He paused a moment. “When you’re done, burn it.” One of the assembled men gave a wry glance over to the wheat, and back to his leader, who grinned and nodded. “Burn all of it.”

A couple more torches were quickly lit, and the men began to split. The two sent to watch the path stood idly in the grass on either side of the path, scarcely 10ft from three of the hiding Favoured, while two more of them stepped up and entered the hut, their torch casting shadows that danced on the insides of the windows. The leader stood in front of the hut, and withdrew a pipe from a pouch from his belt, lighting it with a twig lit by his torch as another pair of men made their way towards the toolshed that secreted Malachi.

Careful to avoid being spotted, but keeping his eye on the approaching men, Malachi rapidly found himself running out of options. The men reached the door, and reached out forward to open it. Whether the Fortune’s Favoured planned it or not, the time to act was rapidly approaching.

(OOC: See Q&A for details. Fine ass wheat.)

An hour before Nightfall, Isiah’s Hut, Schell 
The meal had been filling; just what the Favoured had needed after their day in Schell. The town had yielded its secrets to those that had sought them, and the information gathered had seemed to weigh heavy on Sehanine, though she did not exactly share this news with the group. Tristan knew of her concern, though it seemed to trouble him far less than the moonlit elf. They had shared their own private conversation on the walk back before meeting Malachi, eager to share his own findings. They had agreed to keep some of what they learned to themselves, still a mite wary around the paladin Relos, and their discretion was more easily kept by filling their hungry mouths with the bread Isiah offered.

The bread, like all good things, had not lasted forever, and Isiah’s question broke the momentary reverie.

“What haf’ you decided, then...and what can we do to help?”

Malachi, quick with wit as he was his rapier, invited Isiah to help by providing him a mug of ale, but his opinion was quickly pushed aside by Calopee, who seemed more concerned with the matter at hand, or at least more concerned than Mal was willing to show.

"Do you have somewhere safe that you can secret away yourself and your family? Perhaps a root cellar? I don't want you to be hurt if things get heavy." 

The middle-aged farmer looked thoughtful a moment, his stroking his beard.

“Can’t say I have much… the toolshed is all ‘sides my home on the property…”

 
Sehanine, her doubts still very much on her mind, took this opportunity to offer her own suggestion.

"Isiah, it would be best if you and your sons went in to town tonight, before these desert men get here. We don't know how things will go with them, and, if things go sour, it'll be better if you're far from here. That way, we will know you're safe." 

Isiah looked momentarily taken aback, but the look soon faded away to the one of sorrow he’d seemed to become plagued with since he’d found himself in this circumstance. He began to reply when Relos piped up, adding to Sehanine’s argument.

"Yes, I agree that you should hide away for the time being while we take care of this. No need to put you and your boys in harm’s way, if you need I'll put you three up for the night at the Bearded Dragon." 
Though it seemed an objection was on his lips a second before, Isiah’s face took a look of resignation as he nodded solemnly. “I haf’ta trust you on this I suppose.”, he gazed over at the boys, now soundly asleep “Give us a second to gather our things, I can find us lodging in the city this night.”

 
Isiah stepped over and roused the boys, they argued a moment about leaving, the boys in particular wanting to stay to see Fortune’s Favoured in action if nothing else, but a stern word from Isiah ended the dispute. Gathering a few of their things the easily could be carried, they stepped out the door and into the last shreds of daylight, Isiah turning briefly to nod to the group as he closed the door behind him.

(OOC: Well this is as far as I can get then, hash out your battle plan and whatnot.)