The name of Jellon Swain seems to carry some weight; the Chanticleer, burly yet powder-faced like the rest of them, nods and waddles off, presumably consulting some of the others. After a while, he returns and shows you the transport you'll be taking. It is a lavish cabin with a red curtained interior separate from the rest, pulled by a single mute earth pony slave.
Marisol is less than pleased with the transport arrangements, but you both agree it is better than the alternative. Her own forays proved quite fruitful; she has ditched the distinctive golden dagger and blue cloak, having sold it for a hefty sum. She now totes a steel dagger and a roughspun hooded cloak, a copy of which she gives to you to use as a sort of disguise. She also acquired 400 bits, and, more importantly, two valuable objects for your trip: a set of flares, to signal the ship when you see it, and an ornate wooden compass with a gold trim. You recognize it as a rare Compass of Want, much like the one the party has. This will help guide you towards the ship.
The trip begins the next day. It is slow, and extremely uncomfortable; not because of the pretentious accommodations, but because of being in the company of slavers. Marisol seems to detest the Chanticleers more than anything, at one point threatening one of the slavers with maiming him if he so much as talks to her. It isn't hard to see why; too many times you see them beating, mocking and generally brutalizing the slaves they peddle, or "stock" as they call them.
On the journey, you pick up wind of what their plan is: They are delivering a huge cargo of slaves to a town called Last Hearth, for an event known as the Night of the Hunt. What this entails, and why it requires slaves, is unclear. Part of you doesn't want to know why.
After what feels like an eternity of slow, grueling travel, you arrive at your destination, being escorted away by a trio of Chanticleers before they rejoin their convoy. The fort known as Verigan's Hold has seen better days; nestled amidst the arid red rocks, facing a yellow windswept plain, the crumbling old ruin is hardly a suitable place to set up shelter. Yet it will have to do, for lack of much better options. Between the two of you, you set up a small campsite within one of the watchtowers, consulting the Compass for the party's location. They seem to be north of your location, somewhere above the Sands. With the watchtower as a good vantage point, you have little left to do but sit and wait for them to pass.
One morning, Marisol nudges you awake, having taken the night shift in watching for the ship. "It's time," she whispers, with a hint of excitement.
Sure enough, you can see it. The black silhouette of the party's airship is on the horizon, getting larger by the minute. Without hesitating, Marisol takes one of the flares and climbs effortlessly onto the roof of the watchtower, lighting it and waving it about as she calls at the top of her lungs in an animated effort to get the ship's attention. She encourages you to do the same, however you can.