"May you be bathed in the eternal warmth of Moradin's Forge Adaralieh and Sinjin," Thraim says in genuine greeting to elves, "I am Thraim Glorerg.  The sleeping dwarf Snorri Steelskin.  The loudly snoring halfling is Heathcliff Baltimore Greensberry.  The sleeping orckin is Kagan-Zur, and the sleeping elfkin is Theile Starslinger."

Thraim motions to the human male with the mace and says, "This is Sander Lightwalker."

"And this is Naren Ezer," Thraim says motioning to the other awake human male, "and, Semina has already introduced herself with her generosity."

Thraim flashes a weary smile and says, "my companions and I are commissioned by the Duke of Cynosure to scout out the fens at the base of Trollspire Mountains for these goblinoid bands.  Earlier today on the road, we encountered a group of human bandits, and killed two of them.  We were on their trail, but it appears that they have escaped momentarily due to darkness.  In the morning, we'll try to pick up their trail.  You are welcome to join us in our hunt, as it seems that our goals are similar currently."

Semina slyly looks in Thraim's direction as he introduces the party to the elves.  Bending her ear once more to Thraim's voice, she listens to him describe parties involvement in the area, and the run in with the bandits.  

'That's right,' pondering to herself 'I wonder how his tracking adventure went tonight, all before the elves showed up.'  Without interrupting Thraim, Semina gives the dwarf a moment to breath.

"Talking about the bandits, Thraim," addressing the dwarf "How did that fair?  I noticed your face as you entered camp, and thought maybe there was nothing to pursue, other then Orc and gnoll gatherings."

Thraim sighs wearily and says to Semina, "I had hoped to find them camped right off the road, like us, but I was unable to locate the bandits' camp.  I even climbed a tree like a dang squirrel to hopefully spot the glow of their campfire, but couldn't see anything through the thick foliage.  Once I heard the strange and strangled cry, I decided to find my back."

Thraim sat heavily near the fire, and took a heavy drink from his water skin.  He quickly followed the drink of water with a sip from his whiskey flask.

"Ah, now that's nice!" Thraim says with a sense of satisfaction as he tucked it back away in his backpack.

Thraim scratches his beard, and then starts to unconsciously grooming it with his fingers as he says, "it just doesn't make sense.  We were right on their tail, and I should have spotted something.  Perhaps they took a game trail off the main path just before dark and we missed it."

He picks up a stick and starts poking the hot embers of the fire and says, "it's going to have to wait until first light anyway.  There's nothing that we can do about it now."

Settling myself in I  greet the other members noting that Snorri seems an apt name for the rather loudly snoring humanoid. I start to tell Thraim and the other about our recent travels.  Hopefully we havent covered to much of the same ground, we haven't caught sight of your party prior to this perhaps we can narrow our search now.  Motioning for Adaraliegh to join us. I'm certain you can tell our new friends what traces we have seen better than I.

The night passes uneventfully; despite the cold wind, the ground is softer here.  Sleep is hard to come by, between the screech of the unknown bird and dark dreams that wake you with a start, but can't be recalled.  The watch reports movement of the green glowing eyes just out of reach of the firelight.  Constant, roiling movement, as though the woods beyond the grove is naught but wild animals.  Always searching, always sniffing, never approaching.  Occasional howls and baying are heard from the deep woods on the other side of the trail, but an answer never comes.  The tops of the trees are always rustling, even when the cold wind dies for a time.  It feels like the fire provides a small island amidst a sea of circling predators.

The scrabbling and movement are near constant, even into the early hours of the morning.  The brightening dawn fails to pierce the heavy veil of darkness under the heavy trees, but as the sun breaks over the distant mountain peaks, the hovering green and red orbs that have been watching you seem to disappear, the only evidence of them being the sounds of paws receding into the woods away from you.  Careful inspection of the surrounding woods shows no signs of any particularly large number of animals; no prints, no fur, no spoor, no evidence whatsoever.

Your mounts appear fairly rested, but still spooked and edgy.  This subsides quickly enough as you prepare your breakfast and strap feedbags to the animals.  A small stream runs on the other side of the road from you in a ditch which exits the woods a dozen yards behind you and flows back in a couple of yards ahead of you, making a small pool that is easily reached.  As near as you can tell, the water appears clean, and is quite cool.  You suspect it is fed from one of the mountain streams, which you are sure must be getting closer now.

It takes a bit for the sun to penetrate the canopy and chase the remnants of the morning chill away. By the time you are ready to leave, the woods have started approaching the undisturbed heat of yesterday's ride.

Semina had just finished up her morning meditation and exercises.  She started to walk over to Icerick to make sure he was done drinking from the stream, and to fill up her water bags as well.  

Semina still felt tight and not well rested from the night before.  She looked over the party and noticed everyone was readying themselves for the days adventure.  Not sure of what the plan was, she packed the rest of her stuff on Icerick, except her hand axe, and trotted back over to the group leading horse right behind her.  

"Since I fell asleep after all the excitement," she smiled wearily,  "where are we headed today?"  She looked attentively at Thraim and Sinjin in this case since both wanted to still look for the bandits from the night before.

"Should we proceed towards finding the Orcs and Gnolls," she reminded them, "or go look for the bandits, who are probably long gone by now." Hoping the two caught on to her smirky attitude, Semina turned around so she could mount her horse.

Humph!  Women!  Thraim thought to himself, Does she think that I would so easily fall prey to her ploys?

Thraim smiles cheerily at Semina and says, "I suspect that the bandits are in collusion with the orcs and gnolls anyway.  We'll probably find them all together enjoying a nice pie and pint, so it matters not which lead we follow since the trail will lead to the same place.  However, for clarity's sake, we'll head further into the bogs to find the orc and gnoll bands.  I haven't killed a goblinoid in a while, and my grandfather, may his forge never grow cold, would roll over in his grave if he knew I passed up such a rich opportunity at it."

Semina gives Thraim a saucy look as she smiles back at him.  "I follow what ever direction your mighty skills take us, since I am no tracker," she states playfully.  "I just couldn't keep my eyes open one moment longer, as the tales spilled over the fire last night."

Semina jumps upon her horse and settles into the saddle, while grabbing the reins.  Her thoughts are directed towards the elves. "Adarleigh, you are more then welcome to share my steed," stating aloud. "It may be quite faster if we pair up, and head down the road again."

Semina is aware that tracking is second nature to elves, but would like to remain generous with her new companions.  "Thraim, I await your orders."

Sander surveyed the others as they prepared to move, then addressed Thraim.
"We should make haste. The animals are restless, and they are instintcively good judges of situations. There is something wrong here." Then he turned towards Sinjin.
"You are welcome to join me on my mount, should you choose."

Meanwhile, Naren is busy feeding and watering his horse.

After settling himself in the saddle with a good book, he looks up and remarks, in his usual calm and dry voice, "Yes, we'll have to ride all day long to catch up and riding double just increases performance efficiency. As for keeping on target, some are more skilled than others."

*Pause*

"Now, can we go, or do we have to wait for other problems to arise?"

Thraim mounts his horse and settles himself into the saddle preparing to ride.  He looks around at his companions, and the two elves.  He smiles and chuckles softly to himself, hidden by his impressive beard.

This is certainly shaping up to be a unique experience, he thought to himself musingly.

"Let's ride!" Thraim says confidently as he gets his horse moving back onto the road.

Semina waits at the side of the road, and helps Adarleigh upon Icerick.  The horse grunts with the additional weight, but just to shift his footing so all is comfortable.  Semina leans over and whispers into the horse's ear, "Be courteous my friend for she is our guest and I wish not to spook her."

Semina watches the group head out on the road.   "Thraim, we will take our place at the back of the party," states Semina.  "My horse will need to adjust for the extra weight, and I wouldn't want to announce our coming with his grunts."

Semina knew Adarleigh's weight is not the  issue for Icerick's protesting groans.  He is such a prideful horse, and it took Semina months to train him, and years for him to trust her.  Leaning over once more Semina grits her teeth as she speaks,  "If you do not silence yourself horse, you might become the discussion of our next meal!"

Icerick throws his head up in defiance, and Semina kicks him in the side once more.  "In all our years together, I have never led you wrong...please trust me once more."   Icerick bows, letting it be known he trusts Semina.  Grabbing the reins a little harder, Semina now takes up her position at the back of the party.

Heathcliffe, being in a fine mood after a pleasant nap, supports Thraim with a forward marching, though half-asleep.

After breaking camp and strapping equipment onto the horses, you notice the morning is dawning brighter than the previous day, but a chill lingers in the air.  The darkness prevented a thorough investigation of the area the previous evening, but in the early light, you can see the forest is starting to thin out.  You estimate you are approaching the swampland, as it feels more humid, though it is a cold dampness.

Moving down the lane, you can see more sky above you than the previous day.  The path itself is less even; small potholes become larger and more numerous as the day wears on.  Most of them are filled with standing water that explodes in a cloud of gnats and mosquitoes when you ride over them.  After a few hours on your horses, sturdy bushes and scrub have given way to bracken and long grasses as the ground on either side of the road becomes marshy; puddles of black stagnant water become putrid algae choked basins, eventually flowing together to form meres of fouled liquid dotted with sprays of swamp grass growing around the trunks of cypress trees; bare, weather-blasted trees that hang onto life by the most tenuous of threads.  Small clouds of vermin are replaced great swarms of them a few yards off the road.  They float towards the road and away again, never quite getting the nerve to sweep in.  Dragonflies of various sizes swoop through, feasting to their heart's content.  The great buzzing noises coming from all around seem like they will deafen you in short order, but for the darkening clouds that begin to cover the sun.

You have been watching the clouds all day; they seemed to be following you as you rode on. Never overtaking, never quite catching up.  The road is just more than a wide berm surrounded by bogs, and judging by the terrain around it, made by the sweat of many labourers.  Now, as noon approaches, the road slopes up several yards onto a lonely grass ringed hummock rising from the marshland.  The top is fairly level, though bare, and you can see the path ahead plunges into a dark forest of spruce and fir about two miles ahead.  The road drops back to the ribbon of land a yard above the the swamp on the other side of the hillock.  It appears safe enough the entire length to the forest entrance.

The wind turns cold abruptly, and howls around the knoll.  The clouds above look to be racing now, smothering the light and turning the landscape gloomy and foreboding.  If they keep gathering at this pace, you estimate it will be no more than two hours before the sky opens, releasing nature's fury.  The steel grey sky casts a pall that seeps into your soul, even as the air around you loses more heat to the brackish moor.

"My finely-honed mystical senses tell me we're in some sort of danger", Naren remarks dryly.

(Could I use Identify on the foreshadowing storm?)