Dorgan is determined to make the most of what strength he has left, and gruffly rouses the pilgrims before setting off immediately. "Break your fast on the move, or fall behind!" he grumbles as he trudges off, and the pilgrims wail and curse, but none-the-less they quickly break camp and follow after.
The rain persists all morning, deepening Dorgan's grim mood, and in truth the pilgrims, and Morgan too, are happy to give the dwarf a few score yards lead in order to stay out of his way.
This turns out to be fortuitous, for as Dorgan comes to the crest of a grassy ridge, he finds himself looking down slope to a large column of men on foot, there might be a couple hundred of them with spears and shields and dozens of pennants snapping in the breeze; it's a proper army on the march! The rhythmic thumping of their many feet comes now to his ears...
The column is about 90 yards off, and making a direct bee-line to cross paths, perpendicular with Dorgan's route toward the forest. Maybe a league or two beyond them lies the Ivory Wold; a grey-green smudge in the drizzle.
There are several pairs of outriders flanking the column, and the nearest pair of these are only fifty yards off, and have clearly marked Dorgan (but will not yet have seen the pilgrims, beyond the ridge). They turn briskly to come cantering directly toward our weary dwarf...
One final random encounter check during the morning's march; 1d6=6! uh oh...
The ref determines in secret what will be encountered, then checks for surprise; 2d6=3,4, so no surprise. The encounter distance is then 2d6=9, so 90 yards outdoors.
What now?
[f=32]
Golgildir the Elf Medium (MV 12", AC 9, HD 1, hp 1/1, AL N) great cloak,
lantern; spells: color spray; scrolls: sleep, sleep, charm person
Hirelings: Georges;
torch[/f]