Sessio V — A Cliffhanger

As Avicellus rounds a corner onto a more secluded street, he notices a small group of figures in the distance. They appear to be lingering near an intersection, their attention seemingly focused on something ahead. He knows that this could be an innocent gathering or something more sinister.

Avicellus keeps his composure, guiding the cart steadily towards the figures ahead. The group, consisting of three men, seems to notice him as he approaches. They exchange glances and step aside, but their eyes remain fixed on the cart.

As he gets closer, Avicellus can hear snippets of their conversation. They're speaking in hushed tones, and from their appearance, they seem more like laborers than brigands. Yet, their interest in his cart is unmistakable. One of them, a burly man with a scruffy beard, steps forward slightly as if to intercept.

"Morning, doctor," the man says, tipping his cap. "Taking care of the city's unfortunates, I see. Anything... we should be concerned about?" His tone is casual, but his gaze is sharp, assessing.

Avicellus answers, “You should be very concerned. Please stay back as long as you don’t have a mask with herbs to protect you from the miasma.”

The burly man takes a step back, his eyes widening slightly at Avicellus's words. He exchanges a quick glance with his companions, who also look uneasy. The threat of disease is a powerful deterrent, and Avicellus's confident tone only adds to their apprehension.

"Right, then," the man mutters, taking another step back. "We'll, uh, let you be on your way, doctor. No need to linger here."

His companions nod in agreement, and the group shuffles to the side, giving Avicellus a clear path. They watch him closely as he continues on, but they make no move to stop him.

As Avicellus passes them and continues down the road, he remains vigilant. He knows that while this group may be deterred, there could be others with less fear or more determination.

Once he's a safe distance away from the men, the road ahead seems quieter. The market's buzz fades, replaced by the more subdued sounds of the outskirts of Florence. He can see the city gates in the distance, leading to the road that will take him to Settignano.

Avicellus continues down the main road, the city gates drawing nearer with each step. The streets here are quieter, and the morning light is beginning to filter through the buildings, casting long shadows across his path. He keeps his pace steady, maintaining the air of a man on a routine, if unpleasant, task.

As he approaches the gates, he notices a small cluster of guards engaged in casual conversation. They seem relaxed, and their attention is not particularly focused on the people passing through. The gates themselves are open, and a steady trickle of traffic moves in and out—merchants, travelers, and a few other carts like his, though none bearing quite the same grim cargo.

Avicellus blends into the flow of people, keeping his head down but his eyes alert. As he gets closer to the gates, he catches snippets of conversation, most of it mundane. The guards are exchanging jokes and discussing their plans for the day, paying little attention to the passersby.

Just as he nears the gate, one guard, a younger man with a mop of unruly hair, steps forward. He looks at Avicellus's cart with mild curiosity, but there is no immediate alarm or suspicion in his eyes.

"Morning, doctor," the guard says, his voice carrying a friendly, if slightly wary, tone. "Off to the countryside with your... patients, I take it?"

Avicellus can sense that this is a routine question, perhaps more out of curiosity than genuine suspicion. He needs to respond in a way that satisfies the guard without drawing any undue attention.

Avicellus replies dryly, "Indeed. My treatment prescription is for a long, long rest.”

The guard chuckles at Avicellus's grim humor, his curiosity seemingly satisfied. He glances back at his fellow guards, who are still engrossed in their conversation, and then gives Avicellus a nod.

"Well, let's hope they don't need any more of that particular treatment," the guard says, stepping aside to let Avicellus pass. "Safe travels, doctor. And watch out for trouble on the road. You never know these days."

Avicellus nods in acknowledgment and gently urges the cart forward, his pulse steady despite the tension of the moment. As he passes through the gates, the sounds of the city begin to fade, replaced by the quieter, open air of the countryside.

The road to Settignano stretches ahead, flanked by rolling hills and the occasional farmhouse. The early morning sun casts a golden hue over the landscape, making the journey seem deceptively peaceful. He knows, however, that the true challenge lies in staying vigilant and avoiding unwanted attention as he transports the precious cargo.

The countryside road is mostly empty at this hour, with only a few early travelers and farmers heading to the markets. As he makes his way further from Florence, he notices a group of riders in the distance, moving at a steady pace towards him.

Avicellus maintains his steady pace, his hands firm on the reins. The cart creaks along the road, its somber cargo concealed beneath the weighty air of death. As the riders draw closer, their figures become clearer: a small group, perhaps five or six, all mounted on sturdy horses. They appear well-armed but not overly aggressive in their demeanor, suggesting they might be patrolling guards or travelers rather than highwaymen.

The riders slow as they approach, the leader—a burly man with a thick beard and a wary eye—raising a hand to signal the group to a halt. They regard Avicellus and his cart with cautious interest, their eyes flicking between the plague doctor's mask and the coffins.

"You there," the leader calls out, his voice rough but not unfriendly. "What's your business on this road so early? Looks like a grim load you're hauling."

Avicellus senses a moment of decision. He could try to deflect their interest with his usual explanation about the plague, or perhaps use the mask's abilities to subtly influence the encounter. Alternatively, he might choose to adopt a different approach altogether.

Avicellus replies, “I’m bearing these poor souls to the churchyard at Ponte a Mensola. Please keep your distance for...obvious reasons.”

The leader squints at Avicellus, his expression a mix of suspicion and discomfort. He nudges his horse a step back, clearly uneasy about the potential threat of disease. The other riders exchange wary glances, edging their mounts away from the cart.

"Churchyard, you say?" the leader responds, his tone softening slightly. "A noble task, carrying the dead to their final rest. But dangerous, these days. Highwaymen on the roads, preying on honest folk. Seen anything suspicious?"

Avicellus senses their hesitance but also their lingering curiosity. He realizes he needs to convince them to move on without causing more questions. He decides to emphasize the danger of the plague to keep them at bay and perhaps to divert any further interest in his cargo.

"Nothing so far this morning. I started out early to avoid having to come into contact with many people. Those I have encountered have given me a wide berth,” he replied.

The leader nods, glancing around as if to ensure no one is watching too closely. He shifts in his saddle, his unease palpable. "Smart move. Best to avoid folks in your line of work, especially these days."

One of the riders, a younger man with a nervous energy, speaks up. "We should get going, boss. The longer we stay, the more likely someone spots us."

The leader grunts in agreement, giving Avicellus one last scrutinizing look. "Well, doctor, safe travels. And... good luck with your 'patients'." He gestures to his men, and they begin to turn their horses away from the cart.

As the group rides off, Avicellus feels a wave of relief wash over him. He’s managed to deflect their curiosity without raising further suspicion. He waits a few moments to ensure they are out of sight before continuing his journey, the road ahead now appearing clear.

Avicellus continues along the road, the rhythmic clatter of the cart's wheels and the rustling of the cloaked figures' fabric breaking the early morning silence. He keeps a steady pace, maintaining the appearance of an ordinary doctor on a grim task.

As he moves forward, he periodically glances over his shoulder, making sure the riders are truly gone. The road remains quiet, the only sounds being the occasional birdsong and the distant murmur of Florence waking up.

Minutes stretch into a half-hour. The city’s outskirts begin to give way to more open countryside, with fields and sparse groves lining the path. Settignano is not far now. The route he’s taken seems to have worked in his favor so far.

But suddenly, the tranquility is disrupted. From behind a bend in the road ahead, Avicellus hears a commotion—voices raised in argument or perhaps in negotiation. He can't make out the words, but the tone is tense. It sounds like several people, and they're not far off.

Avicellus guides his cart forward, ears straining to catch more of the heated exchange. The voices become clearer as he approaches.

**Voice 1 (gruff and commanding):** “I don’t care about your excuses! You were supposed to have the payment ready. We don’t have time for this!”

**Voice 2 (nervous and pleading):** “Please, give me more time! It’s been difficult to gather the funds, but I promise, I’ll have it soon!”

**Voice 3 (calm but authoritative):** “This isn’t how we do business. You know the terms. Deliver or face the consequences.”

The conversation suggests a dispute over a payment or debt. Avicellus recognizes the tone of a shakedown, possibly by highwaymen or criminals trying to enforce some deal.

As he rounds the bend, the scene comes into view. A small group of men, three in total, stand in the middle of the road. Two of them are burly and armed, clearly the aggressors. The third is a well-dressed man, perhaps a merchant or a minor noble, looking increasingly desperate as he faces the others.

Avicellus is still unnoticed, and he has a few options. He can try to steer clear and avoid drawing attention to himself, intervene in some way, or use the Raven Mask’s mimicry to create a diversion or gather more information. As he pulls closer, Avicellus observes carefully, and he notices that none of the men appear to be wearing livery or badges that would associate them with local factions such as guilds or noble houses. They seem more like independent operators or possibly hired muscle rather than official representatives of any recognized group in Florence.

He decides to act.

Avicellus stops his cart and indicates the coffins in the back as he asks if the commotion portends that he will need to pick up another passenger or two.

I have no idea what their reaction will be. The use of ChatGPT 4o is limited, and after a time (or a certain amount of text), it reverts to ChatGPT 3.5, which is unable to process some things to do with DMing. It seems to be incapable of creating a reaction for the men, so I have no idea if Avicellus will be able to bluff his way out of this like he did the previous encounters or if this will become a fight. For what it’s worth, Avicellus is expecting it to turn into a fight, and his plan is to neutralize the thugs without killing them and transporting the victim with him to Settignano. We’ll see how all that goes when the adventure continues.