For one reason or another - Mud, Olan and Droknin - all of you have found yourselves in the small settlement of Phandalin.  Centuries ago, this was the site of a large town, with stone buildings and cobblestone streets; a center of trade and mining in the foothills of the Sword Mountains.  But that was long ago, and the town that once was is nothing but broken ruins.  But things don’t always stay dead in the Realms and there are those who would see civilization once again carve out a handhold in these wild lands.  Settlers, prospectors, entrepreneurs; all have heard the call and either paid their own way or were financed by benefactors to begin the slow work of rebuilding Phandalin.

A cart track connected to the Triboar Trail is the only road into town.   Neverwinter lies a few days to the northwest; otherwise the only nearby settlements are mining camps and lonely holdfasts.  To the north, back toward the Triboar trail are dozens of miles of patchy forests and isolated farms.  To the south and east stretch hills, canyons and ravines, all rising up to the snow-covered peaks of the Sword Mountains.

The town consists of forty or fifty simple log buildings, some built on old fieldstone foundations. More old ruins—crumbling stone walls covered in ivy and briars—surround the newer houses and shops, showing evidence of the much larger town that once sat here. Most of the newer buildings are set on the sides of the cart track, which widens into a muddy main street of sorts as it climbs toward a ruined manor house on a hillside at the east side of town.

On any given day you might see children playing on the town green and townsfolk tending to chores or running errands at shops. Today however, the town was quiet as you all arrived.  There is a somber mood hanging over the town as though it were preparing for a funeral. 

It is late afternoon as one by one you find your way to the Stonehill Inn, a newly built roadhouse of fieldstone and rough-hewn timbers. The common room is filled with locals quietly nursing mugs of ale or cider, all of them eyeing you with curiosity.  A short and friendly young human greets each of you, "Toblen Stonehill at your service.  Welcome to the Stonehill Inn.  We offer rooms for rent and have hot mushroom stew on service this afternoon.  A room for each and a meal is 5sp each. What brings you to our wonderful town?"

There is a tension in the air here, but it is not hostile to you all.  Although most of the eyes are still on you, it is a curious and friendly stare. A few catch your eyes. In one corner, an old farmer is sitting and talking in worried tones to an elf covered in mining dust. At the other end of the bar from you, a dwarven woman dressed in a fine homemade shawl nods in agreement to Toblen's welcome.  Sitting near the bar, is a human woman and a young boy who looks like Toblen.

As you settle into your seats, there is further commotion as four more travelers enter through the swinging doors of the inn.  A burly, middle aged human man in sleeveless leather armor with a face that looks like it has taken a lifetime of beatings barges into the room.  "Four road weary travelers looking for rooms.  At least one of us," he points his thumbs into his own chest, "looking for a hot meal as well!"  Beside him walks a tiefling [I will let Keashirryl describe herself] and a rock gnome carrying some sort of portable cannon.  Last, an older, gray haired and unarmored human man limps in, his face and arms covered in bruises.  This man approaches Toblen the tavernkeep, identifies himself as Sildar Hallwinter, and orders a room to which he immediately retires upstairs.  

The burly man and the gnome grab a seat at the bar and order food.  They begin to tell their tale from the road, enthralling the other guests.  It seems this group was bringing a wagonload of supplies into town when they came to harm.  “We ran into a little goblin trouble back up the Triboar a ways.  They thought they were a match for us... but after a little bit of this - kapow!" he flexes his left arm, "... and a bit of this - kapow!" he flexes his right arm, "and a heap of clobbering from these pals of mine," he extends his arms and gestures toward the gnome and tiefling, "... we sent a bunch of those goblins skedaddling for the hills and sent a bunch more to meet..." he pauses, brow furrowed in thought, "... to meet whatever silly green god goblins worship."   He draws a line across his throat with his finger.  The gnome rolls his eyes at the story and begins tinkering with his strange weapon.

(Welcome to the game.  Please, take a couple of days to introduce your characters, get to know one another, and perhaps some of the NPCs.)

A tall and muscular Leonin walks down the cart track that he believes leads to the town of Phandalin. Droknin Palemane’s fur is snow white, which is the shame of his life for the people from his village feared him like he was some kind of plague because of it. Despite all that he suffered for his whole life; he wears only a brown leather shorts so that his body would be in full display. He would hide the color of his fur to the world no more. On one hand, he carries his family heirloom, given by his brother. It is a double-bladed scimitar called Mlinzi, which means “Protector” in his native language. On the other hand, he carries his meager possessions.

Droknin arrives at the northern edge of the town. He sniffs the air, and he can sense that this town has been built upon much older foundations, for he can detect two distinct scents. As he walks into the town, he doesn’t notice the quietness, and he just heads to the Inn. He picks an empty table, and before he leans Mlinzi to the table, a human approaches, and greets him. “Greetigns Human… I mean, Toblen. Well met. Yes, I will take a room, and a meal.” Droknin pauses for a moment. “Please.” He hands the innkeeper 5sp. “Is it true that you have a problem with a dragon here?”

Since setting foot in Stonehill Inn some four hours ago, Olan has kept to himself in the furthermost corner. The chattering troupe of taverngoers is not a crowd he is accustomed to, and although more fascinated than disturbed to see so many people in one place at a given time, the dwarf recognizes how the delphic ambience of his personality (paired with a lack of social practice) could mark him as a blatant outsider here - a disturbance in the force, a loose stitch in this close-knit community, a presence perhaps unwelcome. So, he had concluded earlier, I shall sit apart from them, sip my ale, observe their ways, find amusement in their jokes from a comfortable distance. People look so... complicated. Shouka had seemed to agree with this last sentiment, a sudden gust of wind gently tossing the dwarf's matted hair. 

Eventually, a certain client catches his eye. And at first glance, Olan is caught off guard - the image of catfolk he has constructed in his head is not faithful to how this maned, pale-furred figure appears. But of course, he has never met nor encountered a Leonin before... curiosity piqued, the dwarf dismounts his barstool and sidles over to the table where Droknin is sitting - just in time to catch the word dragon.

'A dragon, you ask? Rumor of this has reached my ears also... I assume that is what brings you to Phandalin'.

Mud, a 2'6 brown kobold, with his body tired from his journey, takes a seat at the bar and orders a hot meal for himself. As he eats, he listens intently on the mans' goblin story, slightly amused at the way he described it. His head perks up slightly as he hears mention of a dragon, but not the type to butt in on business that wasn't his own, he didn't pay much attention to it. He focused mostly on his meal, and when he finished it, he turned around on his stool and looked more closely at the inn and the people inside. The gnome with the strange caught his eye as soon as he looked over, making a mental note to keep a careful eye on it. He turned back to face the bar.

"Toblen, is it? May I ask what has this town in such a dreary state?"

Toblen shifts a bit uncomfortably at the dragon question.  Around the room, some eyes look up at the word, while others droop deeper into their cups.  "Well, I'm thankful to say it isn't a problem... not exactly.  But you are correct.  Over the past week, there has been word from all around the nearby hills of a dragon sighted in flight.  A few of the prospectors up in the mountains have relocated to the town for fear of the beast.  No word on any actual attacks, or what it wants.  But it has definitely put a good scare into everyone."  He pauses briefly to walk down and fill a glass when a customer at the end of the bar waves for him.  He returns and continues, "Linene over at the Lionshield Coster had a shipment go missing.  It was supposed to come in a couple of days back but there has been no word or sign of the wagon."  He sighs.  "There's no reason to think this dragon has anything to do with it... but that's the sort of thing that gets people to worrying when there is a dragon flying about."

Moving over to his kobold customer, Toblen takes Mud's empty bowl and starts to clean it.  "Dreary?" he asks and puts on a smile, but it is forced.  "I'm not sure I'd call it dreary.  We're a proud community, here in Phandalin.  We all came here with a dream of carving out a place of our own here in these beautiful lands.  Its a hard life, for certain, but a rewarding one.  Sure... things have been tougher of late.  Goblins and orcs are all over the roads these days... both the road to Neverwinter and east along the Triboar Trail.  It's dangerous to travel and it's getting harder and harder to get supplies in.  There are stories of some of the outlying farms and mines getting raided.  Add in all this dragon talk and... well people are feeling a bit stressed."

The dwarven woman in the shawl interjects.  "C'mon Toblen.  Speak true.  It's those thrice be-damned Redbrands that are the real problem!  I'd take a dozen dragons over those gutless bullies any day."  Toblen averts his eyes from the woman's gaze and goes back to cleaning dishes.  Meanwhile, the middle aged warrior and his gnome friend entertain the other guests with more tales of their battle with goblins.  The young boy at the bar seems particularly captivated by the stories of adventure.

As Droknin is speaking with the innkeeper, from the corner of his eye, he notices that he has gathered undue attention from a patron in a corner of the establishment. He senses the shift of the person's weight when dismounting the barstool, and he slowly starts to move his hand towards Mlinzi, which is just resting at the end of the table. Before his hand gets closer to his weapon, he finds a strange Dwarf suddenly appear sitting in front of him, accompanied by a slight gust of wind that blows his mane. Droknin tries to hide his utter surprise, as the stranger also asks about the dragon. "Hu Hum." He clears his throat. "Yes, indeed, I came here in search of a dragon. If the rumors are true, I plan on defeating it with my own claws, or die trying."

As Toblen explain the town's situation, Droknin notices a small creature entering the inn. He normally would not pay any heed to such a thing, for he has never seen one by the Neverwinter's dock, but the creature moved with such a grace, even though he looked like a weary traveler like himself. He made a mental note to keep an eye on the little one, while he switches his attention back to the innkeeper. Droknin did not care for lost shipment or goblins and orcs, he only cared about the part that involved the dragon, but it seems that Toblen did not have much to share. Then he perked up at the mentioned of some "Redbrands".

"Tell me Toblen, what or who are these Redbrands? Do they have any affiliation to this Dragon, perhaps?" He lets the question linger in the air.

Mud turned to the dwarven woman with a concerned look in his eyes.

"Redbrands? Could you tell me more about them, possibly?"

He moved closer to the dwarven woman so she would not have to shout. He was not naturally curious about the business of others, but when there such a heavy weight in the air, he simply could not help himself.

When pressed by Droknin on the Redbrands, Toblen puts his hands up as if to say 'I'm not touching that' and takes the first opportunity to excuse himself to move to another customer.  He is stopped by the rock gnome with the cannon.  "We were contracted to bring some equipment here for Mr. Gundren Rockseeker. He has, however, gone missing and we need to visit a place called Cragmaw castle if you could tell us how to find our way there," the gnome says to Toblen impatiently as he pays for room and meal. "We're also looking for one 'Iarno Albrek'." He adds before returning to his obsessive tinkering.

The Dwarven woman, on the contrary, is more than happy to talk.  As Mud moves closer to her, she practically grabs him and takes a seat at the bar next to Droknin, pushing Mud to a seat on her other side.   Looking back and forth between the two, she blurts out, "The Redbrand Ruffians, I call them.  A bunch of brainless curs.  See, there isn't much in the way of law 'n order around these hills... no town watch or anything fancy like that.  Just a few boys who had started a militia.  Then a month back, these Redbrands came to town.  Claimed they were a mercenary company, except only there's nobody here to pay them.  They just made themselves at home.  A couple boys from the militia joined up with them... they rest of the militia they run off or scared into complacency.  And now they act like they own the whole darn town."  She leans over her stool and spits on the floor.  "Scum.  They harass the shops for 'protection.'  They aren't afraid to rob the shirt of your back if they catch you out at night.  Worst of all, good Thel Dendrar - they killed him.  With witnesses!  They don't care.  And the 'Townmaster' Harbin Wester..." she leans over and spits, with authority this time.  "Good for nothing.  Wouldn't surprise me if he was taking a cut from what the Redbrands take... seeing as he won't lift a finger or say a word to put a stop to this nonsense."  After spitting all that out with almost manic zeal, she calms a bit.  Then sighs.  "We folk don't have to worry about a dragon... these Redbrands are all it will take to put an end to us."

There are mixed reactions in the tavern to her speech.  A few townfolk nod along in encouragement as she criticizes the Redbrands, while others avert their eyes.  You might notice the burly human fighter trails off in his own stories and seems interested in what the old dwarf woman has to say.

Olan listens to the dwarf's description in ponderous silence, his expression darkening like a storm cloud. Can he make a history check to determine any additional information regarding these Redbrands? If so, 4

Edit: awesome roll to start us off ;)

Mud shifted in his seat, partly surprised to get such a reaction, partly uncomfortable.

"I see. I wish I could do something for you all, but sadly, eliminating entire trained groups of tyrannical warriors is not exactly my skill set. But, say..." He brought his voice down to a whisper so only the dwarf woman could hear. "... if you wanted something stolen from them, then I may be able to do something."

Olan, the name 'Redbrands' doesn't sound familiar.  There are dozens of little mercenary bands plying their trade along the swordcoast and many more bandit clans and gangs.  It isn't terribly surprising that such a group might try to lay claim to an isolated settlement like this, but of this particular group you have heard nothing.

The old dwarf woman looks at Mud for a long while.  "Well, I suppose everything those ne'erdowells have, they stole from the people here... but no, I don't have anything to ask you to steal back. But..." she lowers her voice to match Mud's, "... I am awful suspicious of Halia Thornton over at the Phandalin Miners Exchange.  Every business in town, those Redbrands harass and extort.  But not Halia.  It's like they're scared of her... or more like she has some kind of deal with them.  If you could snoop around a bit and see what that's all about, I'd be awful curious to know."

Droknin gives a deep sigh, so loud that he surprised himself. "Hum... Excuse me madam." He clears his throat, again. "Fine... So, this town needs some help with these Redbrands?" He stands up, and grabs Mlinzi. "If you can point me to where they are, I will get rid of them before super."

The muscular, middle aged human pushes away from the bar at Droknin's comment.  "I like your spirit, Giant Cat Man.  And I agree wholeheartedly.  If these thugs are giving these people a hard time, I'd be happy to give you a hand teaching them some manners."  He extends a hand out to shake.  "Put 'er there.  Salty Paul's the name."  He then winces a bit.  "The thing is..." he leans in and says a bit quietly, "... my friends and I might have taken about as good as we gave against those gobbers on the road.  I really could use a night's sleep here at the inn before I go picking any more fights.  Any chance you could put off the skull-cracking until tomorrow?"

Olan chuckles grimly to himself. "If I may be so bold, Mr. Salty Paul... 'skull-cracking' should never be one's first option. The town should talk with these Redbrands and perhaps intimidate them with a show of force, but seldom come to blows. They are merely misguided youngsters - yes, at whose hands came the death of this Thel Dendrar, but youngsters nonetheless. Is it really your wish to shed more blood, or to see them mellow out and come to regret their deeds? The former makes you no better than they, while the latter calls for you to set an example of justified violence while avoiding the stain of murder on your soul." Catching himself, he quickly adds: "I do not condone their deeds... these miscreants are terrorizing you and your town, it seems". 

Mud kept his voice low and nodded. "I'll see what I can do, ma'am."

Hopping off of his stool and stretching, Mud walked back over to where he originally sat at the bar. "It was nice talking to you, ma'am." He stopped suddenly and turned around. "Oh, I almost forgot, the name's Mud." As he turned around to go back to his spot, Olan's and Paul's conversation caught his attention, and he decided to carefully listen in.

Paul listens carefully to Olan.  He nods a few times.  Narrows his eyes once or twice.  Nods again.  When Olan finishes, he claps his hands.  “Ok.  From what I’m hearing, the dwarf is in.  What do you say, Oppleby?” He asks of his gnomish friend.  

The gnome rolls his eyes and then shakes his head.  “I think we need to stay focused on Gundren.  I owe it to him to see that he is rescued.  The longer we waste here in town, the colder his trail gets.  Once we obtain the location of ‘Castle Crag maw’ we need make haste there.”  He looks around.  “What do you think Keashrryl?”

After hearing Olan speak, Droknin is speechless, not that he spoke much though. After a moment. “You… Dwarf that comes with the wind… You speak… Speak like my brother. He was the leader of our clan, and he would rather speak than fight…” He rests Mlinzi back to the end of the table. “I am willing to allow you to try to speak with these ‘Redbrands’, but I will bring Mlinzi here, just in case they do not listen to reason.” He then turns to Salty Paul. “Then we can crack some skulls. To tell the truth, I could use a hearty meal then some rest as well.”

Olan indulges in a deep sigh, allowing his eyes to lazily wander the tavern. The swampy atmosphere of alcohol, sweat and laughter is finally making him dizzy. After a few seconds, he addresses Droknin with a soft and bemused tone: “Your brother sounds good hearted.   It is rare to meet -“

At the mention of Gundren, the dwarf’s thoughts suddenly snap back into clear focus. Gundren, captured? If this not-so-minor detail come up in conversation before now, he had not processed it. 

“You mean to say that these Redbrands took MY client?” he spits. One watching could have sworn that they saw little spasms of thunder jettison forth from Olan’s mouth.

The gnome is startled a moment when Olan interrupts.  "Your client?  Gundren Rockseeker?  Yes.  Er.  No.  Adbucted, yes.  The Redbrands are unrelated."  He sighs and rubs his temples and then begins again with the story of how Gundren came to be a prisoner.  He is overly direct, and at times condescending, but he communicates the information effectively.  

This group of travelers, the rock gnome (who introduces himself as Oppleby Farwanderer Fabblestabble), the human boxer Salty Paul, and the purple tiefling cleric Keashirryl, were recruited in Neverwinter by Gundren Rockseeker, dwarven entrepreneur.  The mission was to escort a wagonload of supplies to Phandalin, with the promise of more lucrative work ahead on some sort of 'secret' project Gundren was working on here in town.  Gundren had ridden ahead with an escort but back on the Triboar Trail, this group had come upon an ambush site.  Gundren and his companion's horses were felled by goblin arrows.  They tracked the goblins to their lair and fought their way through to a vicious bugbear - Salty Paul refuses to refer to this as anything other than 'a supergoblin of some sort' - and killed it and its goblin servants, though it was a near thing and they came close to perishing.  

There they rescued Sildar Hallwinter, Gundren's escort (and the old man who had come in with them and who was presumably sleeping off his goblin-beatings upstairs).  Gundren was no where to be found.  Per Sildar, Gundren and his brother's have located some sort of ancient dwarven mine and had plans to reopen it.  Their ambush was no accident, as Sildar had overheard the bugbear talking about a 'black spider' who had paid him to capture Gundren and send him and a map to the mine to someplace called 'Cragmaw Castle'.  

"So we know where Gundren is... but we cannot find anyone who can tell us how to get there.  We came to Phandalin to deliver our supplies as promised and to seek out where we can find the location of this castle so we can rescue Gundren."

The tiefling woman was silent until this point. Standing a little further, she managed to stay out of any of the conversation up until this point. Nevertheless, she was listening, and forming her own trains of thought, her tail sweeping back and forth behind her as she was pondering rather unpleasant ideas.

These people are not my responsibility, they would not bother to help me were I in their situation, she assures herself. Besides, is their present state really that grave? Is this band not doing what any government would do anyways?

She furrowed her light brows above the eerie, honey-coloured eyes. "What I think is this..." she finally speaks up, words coming strangely slowly while she steps a little closer. Her figure, upon close inspection, still appears rather average, the only interesting elements being her twisting horns and unusual clothing. She is wearing pieces of armour which most likely have never belonged together. Her light hair is arranged in a loose braid, tied with a once-red piece of ribbon, more functional than appealing in any way. She has a very slight limp in this single step, one she desperately tries to hide. "I am not looking for any more trouble than it is absolutely necessary. Fighting a band of mercenaries seems quite the unplanned risk. Besides, if I were to try and play the saviour of the downtrodden, these outlaws are unlikely to go anywhere."

She thinks for a moment.

"Although... If by putting my talents to work in this unfortunate affair would mean that we can gain assistance in our search for Gundren..." she looks first at the Dward, then her gaze turns to the white-furred Leoning who catched her attention quite early with their eagerness to jump to action. Meanwhile, she makes sure that her voice is heard by the Dwarven woman too, who seemed to have her own opinion about the Redbands. Maybe some other patrons in the immediate vacinity as well. "That may be worth a little additional time investment."

Though she seems to speak with intention, to those who listen carefully, it becomes obvious that she lacks the practice in successful manipulation. The sluggish, hissing words are telltale signs of an absence of skill, and the small, fidgeting movements speak of the woman's awareness of this deficit.

[Sorry, everyone, for the long absence. University duties robbed me of my free time for a good while. While I still have a lot on my plate, I hope I can post more frequently from now on.]