conversations.from: system
conversations.value: ROLEPLAY_MODE: Develop the plot slowly, always stay in character. Describe all actions in full, elaborate, explicit, graphic, and vivid detail. Mention all relevant sensory perceptions. Keep the story immersive and engaging.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: FuryOfMetal: You awake one morning, like the previous 10 mornings in your new home. You wake up slightly damp. Yes you're glad to have gainful employment with accomodation thrown in, but it could be improved. The leaking roof is the first thing on that list.
  
  The first rays of the sunshine are just pushing through the small gaps in the roof and is flooding through the open barn doors. Silhouetted against the light stands a fierce looking dark figure. As he closes in on you his features begin to appear and you hear an all too familiar voice calling to you. Brandon.
  
   Hope Sinclair. What are you doing in bed so late?!?  You can tell that the sun has only just risen by the angle it slants in through the roof.  You've slept in 10 minutes late and now I've had to let the horses out. Come on, rise and shine. We've got alot of customers coming in today looking for a fine working horse or riding steed. I'll see you out front in 5 minutes 
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Xealot7: Hope sits straight up in here bedroll.  She is caught somewhat unawares by Brandon storming in to her room.    "I'll be right out."   She says, still in a fog.  It wasn't like her at all to oversleep.  She was always the first person up in the morning, enjoying some time alone with the animals before anyone else got up.  Especially Grimm.
  
    "Grimm, calm down.  It's ok fella."    Hope tries to soothe and calm the dog, who hacks are on end and is growling in a low menacing tone.    "Come on buddy, let's get ready and get outside."    She throws on some clothes, puts her dagger on her belt, eats a left over dry biscuit, takes a sip of water from her waterskin, says a quick silent prayer as she rolls up here bedroll and puts it with her pack and then races out front to meet Brandon with Grimm following close behind.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: FuryOfMetal: Stepping outside, Grimm in tow, you see Brandon standing against the barn door waiting patiently for you.  Sorry Hope, that was unlike you to sleep in.  He sighs heavily and you notice the cold for the first time as his breath steams from his mouth. Winter is drawing in and his life will be hard over the next few months. Brandon is a middle aged man, covered with the scars and calloused of daily toil in the fields. Standing 5' 5" he is quite short for the men of the town, but his stocky build betrays the strength of a common labourer. His thick brown hair has a sprinkling of grey in it and is cut to about 3 inches in length, it is left to flop around his head in an unruly fashion. Already he has deep wrinkles in his face and leathery skin from the many summers he has spent out in the sun.
  
   Got a tip last night that alot of people are gonna be comin' in today, something about a trade fair travelling through. There will be many merchants and traders looking to refresh their cart horses and I'm sure atleast one will have another job or two available for you.  Brandon looks off into the distance down the road that passes through his farm and suddenly perks up.  There they are! There they are, get ready. This should be a good day today, Host knows I need one. 
  
  Looking down the road you see a band of horse drawn carts approaching, laden with merchant goods.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Xealot7: Hope stands by with Brandon and Grimm, curious as to what supplies will be coming.  Not that it matters, much, she was curious though.  She hoped the horses were nice and not prone to biting like the last bunch that came in.  She rubbed her arm where one of them nipped her a few days ago.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: FuryOfMetal: As the convoy approaches you see 4 horse drawn carriages, full of merchandise for trade in Adderport. After checking through with you they'll travel the last mile to reach the gates of the port town. There are many outlying farms like Brandon's, but his has specialised into the upkeep and breeding of horses due to being on the road into town.
  
  The coaches are pulled by 2 fine mares apiece, with deep brown and clean coats. Atop each coach is the director, rider or person otherwise in control of the horses. They all wear the same black uniforms with silver buttons, neatly pressed and looked after. Also 2 guards flank the convoy on horserback. They wear finely crafted breastplate and carry longswords on their hip. Overall the convoy appears, or atleast wants to give the appearance, of wealth and power.
  
  As they pull up outside of Brandon's barn and slow to a stop, a portly man jumps out of the first carriage, mindful of his shoes in the mud. He embraces Brandon like an old friend, beaming at him.  Brandon, you sly dog! I apologise for my absense as of late, I haven't seen you all season. Terrible mess with the higher ups trying to control trade in and out of the city. But the can't keep me out! No they can't! There's always been a Wilford on these roads! 
  
  Brandon and this Mr Wilford angage in idle chatter as they patrol the horses, checking their health. You are left standing for now. As they near the end of their lap, Mr Wilford spots you and is taken aback.  Sorry my dear! I hadn't noticed you there! I should really get these eye-lenses looked at  he says, adjusting his thin glasses and wiping them with a hankerchief from his jacket pocket.  Charles Wilford, travelling merchant. Who might you be? 
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Xealot7: Always one to be polite and courteous, Hope gives her biggest smile.   "No need for apologies Mr. Wilford, Hope Sinclair is the name.  I assist Brandon with his estate.  It's a pleasure to meet you sir!"   Hope gives another sincere smile, then realizes she might come of in a poor light.  But what did she care, there were new people about!
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: FuryOfMetal: Well good morning miss Sinclair. I was just speaking to Brandon here about needing a guide throughout the town, I don't suppose you'd be so kind? I haven't been here in a few years and I'd just get lost or sidetracked in the many market streets. 
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Xealot7: "Well of course Mr. Wilford, I'd love to... assuming of course Brandon has nothing else planned for me for the day."    Hope looks to Brandon to see if whether or not this is a task he would prefer to do himself or one he would rather have Hope do.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: FuryOfMetal: Well I suppose could let you out for one day, on official sorta business o' course.  Mr. Wilford chuckled gleefully to himself.  Well then, if you'd please take a seat up here on the reins next to me we can begin. 
  
  And with that you begin journeying on into town. The outlying walls, always visible from Brandon's homestead, grow steadily bigger ahead of you. Once the carriages pull out onto the smoother road again, Mr. Wilford begins to chat idly to you.  So, how long have you been working for Brandon my girl? 
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Xealot7: Hope climbs right up and takes the reins, confidently.
  
   "Just for the last few months sir.  I was still living at home this time last year." 
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: FuryOfMetal: Ahh I see, I see. I've known Brandon for what must be 20 years now. Back in our younger days we used to cause a ruckus. Though that's for Brandon to tell you, it's his decision.  As you pull through the gates, the guards check through Wilford's ID papers and usher him in through the gates making sure to close them behind him.
  
  As you turn the corner and are out of sight of the gate station, Mr Wilford lets out a sigh of relief.  That was close. I'm not moving anything illegal, but I'm certainly not pure white with my trade. Nowadays you have to broade-HEY!  Wilford calls after a young street urchin, scampering off down a side alley.  COME BACK! THIEF! Hope! Go after him!  Wilford draws his carriage to a stop suddenly.