The guards look at the horses with suspicion.

The grip on their weapons tighten and one of them, seemingly in charge, nods to a younger one who starts moving towards the houses lined up on the dirty road. They do not show hostility to you, only tension, which by the looks of this makeeshift guarding post, has been building up for some time.

The leader, a burly man in scale mail with a curly waxed mustache walks towards you and introduces himself.

Sargent Hersk.

Bands of murderous savages have been skulking near the twon for days now... we'd guess this was coming. Are the owners of those horses dead?

They belonged to Darana Vanness, a well known merchant who left town just this morning through this very road.

May pelor guide their souls!

The other guards bow in respect and mutther a muffled response.