Nestled in the rocky foothills of the snow-capped Sword Mountains is the mining town of Phandalin, which consists of forty or fifty simple log buildings. Crumbling stone ruins surround the newer houses and shops, showing how this must have been a much larger town in centuries past.
Phandalin’s residents are quiet, hard-working folk who came from distant cities to eke out a life amid the harsh wilderness. They are farmers, stonecutters, blacksmiths, traders, prospectors, and children. The town has no walls and no garrison, but most of the adults keep weapons within easy reach in case the need for arms should arise.
Visitors are welcome there, particularly if they have coin to spend or news to share.
You are traveling on the road to Phandalin that branches south from the Triboar Trail. You're traveling in a group of six people, you might know some of them, some maybe strangers, but you've bonded together on the road for protection, if nothing else.
OOC: Take some time to introduce yourselves before we get to the town.
Just as a quick aside, I prefer to be called Charwoman Gene, Charwoman, Char, or CG. My preferred pronouns are she/her.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Liarin: Against the Cult of the Reptile God Adewild: Shadows and Light 2 Brother Thaddeus: Rime of the Frostmaiden.
Syr Proserpina is a tall, stout woman. At well over six feet tall, she towers over most of her fellow humans. The black line tattoos across her face tell the story of Proserpina. For those who know how to read them, one glance at her face would tell you who her family was, where she was from, what her achievements are, and her place in the community. Two parallel scars run down the left side of her face from brow to chin, telling another type of story.
Despite the scars, her natural charisma shines through. She has sharp, brown eyes and copper skin. Her straight black hair is pulled back into a simple braid. The *chink* of her chainmail is muted by her simple leathers and a fur lined cloak that she has thrown over one shoulder so she doesn't overheat. A simple wooden round shield hangs on her back; the chipped paint showing its way, but a silver dragon painted on the outside is still easily readable. At her side hangs a longsword, but drawing more attention is the massive maul she carries on one shoulder. A simple steel ocular helmet hangs opposite her sword. Around her neck, reflecting the sun's rays as she walks, hangs a single silver scale, the size of her palm.
While her appearance may be intimidating, her demeanor is open and honest, though time together has shown that she has little patience for nonsense.
Mathark "White-Feather" stands at over 7.5 feat, an average height for a Goliath he towers over the majority of those he meets. His face shows the markings of tribal paint, which indicate which tribe he blongs to. His ice blue eyes are always scanning for signs of trouble.
A quiver on his back showers all his arrows are fletched with white feathers. He carries a long bow slung over his back which appears to be his go two weapon of choice based on the wear on the bow. At his side hang 2 short swords, one on each hip. Doned in basic leather suited for mobility and stealth. The most stand out thing Mathark carries is a stone egg, which he claims is a dragons egg.
Despite his size Mathark has an uncanny ability to move with out making much sound. From the time spent traveling together you have learned that he is not big on mannors, he likes his ale (maybe too much).
Looking at two of her travel companions, Rohani smiled to herself, trying to remember the last time she had felt short. At 5'10, this was a feeling that had become foreign to the muscular half-orc in her travels after leaving home.
Lost in the nostalgia, she touched the great axe strapped to her back for a moment, green fingers idly brushing the comforting familiarity of the wooden handle.You and I have been through a lot together, Howler,thought Rohani, her other hand absentmindedly reaching for the scar on her green face as she remembered a particularly close call. At times, the young barbarian had questioned whether she would be better off wearing armor, but she had yet to find a piece that suited her tastes. For now, her cloth shirt would have to suffice.
Sensing no immediate threats as they continued towards Phandalin, Rohani took the chance to strike up a conversation.
"Have they got names?"Rohani asked Syr and Mathark cheerfully, pointing to the maul and bow they respectively carried. Gesturing to her own great axe, she explained smiling, "this is Howler. Apparently when I was a baby I would cry and cry and the only way they could get me to settle down was by letting me play with this axe. They said it'd keep me happy for hours... probably chewing on the haft and getting drool all over it."
Pausing a moment in thought at the question "I have never considered naming my bow" Turning to look at Rohani "My people tend to be given names with significance rather than naming their weapons, for instance, I was given the name White-Feather because I was the only one in my tribe that used exclusively white feathers for my arrows." Removing his bow from his shoulder, Mathark pounders the idea of naming his bow "Other traditions fascinate me, maybe I will adopt your tradition and name my bow one day"
Wynn joined the party somewhat suddenly, as the road split from the Triboar Trail. He is an elf, standing about 5 and a half feet with a slight build. His clothes and gear are well-kept but his light pack speaks of someone who was forced to leave civilization in a hurry.
He doesn’t speak much but seems grateful for the company, attempting to ingratiate himself to the larger members of the group. He will glance over his shoulder every so often, appearing to be slightly concerned about the party being followed.
Each evening Wynn takes out a leather satchel containing a myriad of fine metallic tools. He inspects each one, polishing and filing away any perceived imperfections. He then moves on to his longbow, inspecting it thoroughly. He always saves his blades for last. A rapier, usually slung on his hip, is honed razor sharp. Two daggers, the final piece of the ritual, drawn from beneath his cloak, checked and rechecked.
Wynn is careful, with his words, with his gear. One gets the sense that his main priority is staying alive, and he devotes his attentions to that task.
Syr Proserpina nods at Rohani and hefts her maul. The long wooden shaft ending at one end in a steel cap, and at the other end in an iron hammer head, shaped to look like a snarling dragon's face.
"This is Duty. His weight reminds me of my oath and calling. His face reminds me to be fearless in the face of my enemies. He is solid and true as I should be."
Dargrimm Firebard is well built for a young dwarf, and his reddish long beard is arranged in several thick braids while his wavy hair is flowing freely. He is donned in unadorned yet seemingly well maintained chain mail, with a shield strapped on his back and a mace on his waist.
During your time together on the road, Dargrimm seemed an honest and jovial fellow ( unless you somehow praised shoddy metal workmanship or bland ale, in which case Dargrimm can go on a tirade about dwarven craftsmanship and mead ) and you learned that he was a blacksmith before joining you on the road to Phandalin.
I’mafraid I’ve yet to have a worthy weapon to name, friends. In fact, my aim to forge such a weapon one day. Until recently, I only forged weapons, never used them.
“If you’re new to the adventuring life, you’ve picked yourself a fine set of companions. Find a group that takes care of themselves, and takes pride in their work, their tools. When I saw you all coming down the road, I knew I would find good company here.”
"Well now naming weapons seems to be a common thing amoung other peoples. I must find a suitable name for my Bow!"Exclaims Mathark. Examining his bow as of it where the first time he held it "Umm lets see.....Oak, no doesnt sound right. Silent Rain, Unseen Touch, Slayer of....." He continues to rattle off names through none sound right
Poco Manycortos has been following slightly behind the group humming carelessly a tune that sounds familiar. He is listening to Rohani and thinking how she must love her axe as much as he loves his lyre. He picks up the pace so he can listen easier and thinks of Michelle.
His “Michelle” has been with him since the beginning. Learning her little intricate likes and how to bring out her personality has made Poco’s decision to pursue his art worth leaving his family. Entertaining and giving small bits of happiness to the people is Poco’s joy. It makes him feel larger than his 3’10 frame.
Rohani listens intently to Proserpina’s response, nodding, “A fitting name, and sounds like you and Duty are a pretty perfect match.”
She listens to Wynn and Dagrimm’s conversation, agreeing silently and thinking herself lucky to be in the company of such a lively group.
Rohani chuckles at Mathark’s moment of panic, “Don’t worry, your bow will tell you its name when it’s ready.”
Turning to Poco, she grins at the lyre. “Lovely to meet you, Michelle. Y’know, I like that term, weapon of happiness. I think Howler is my weapon of happiness too.”
"Sure I can! If there is anything you'd like to hear; let me know?"
Poco starts strumming and tuning Michelle. Then starts to play.
"On the road again. Just can't wait to get off the road again. Meeting new friends makes the time go by so easily. I just can't wait to get off the road again."
The sounds of the woodlands, almost in tune with Poco's songs, start to fade as the trail emerges onto the cleared lands surrounding Phandalin. The trail travels through a bit of territory which is long grown wild before close to the town you begin to see farms to either side.
You enter the town with some relief, as there have a lot of rumors of trouble on the roads. A farmer driving an empty ox cart smiles and waves as he passes by on his way north of town, while as he passes, two children pop up in the back, making silly faces at you.
The only place you know of here is the Stonehill Inn, which you know is a large grey in the square at the center of town and welcomes visitors.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Liarin: Against the Cult of the Reptile God Adewild: Shadows and Light 2 Brother Thaddeus: Rime of the Frostmaiden.
As the children make faces at us, Mathark makes a funny face back. "Finally town. As much as I am glad we made it without trouble, I was looking forward to a little action on our journey.
"I dont know about the rest of you, but my first stop is the inn"
Proserpina nods in agreement. "It will be nice to rest a moment and refresh ourselves. There were rumors that this town is in need of help. I'm sure we'll find all the action we can handle before long."
She also heads towards the inn, her maul laying across one shoulder.
Nestled in the rocky foothills of the snow-capped Sword Mountains is the mining town of Phandalin, which consists of forty or fifty simple log buildings. Crumbling stone ruins surround the newer houses and shops, showing how this must have been a much larger town in centuries past.
Phandalin’s residents are quiet, hard-working folk who came from distant cities to eke out a life amid the harsh wilderness. They are farmers, stonecutters, blacksmiths, traders, prospectors, and children. The town has no walls and no garrison, but most of the adults keep weapons within easy reach in case the need for arms should arise.
Visitors are welcome there, particularly if they have coin to spend or news to share.
You are traveling on the road to Phandalin that branches south from the Triboar Trail. You're traveling in a group of six people, you might know some of them, some maybe strangers, but you've bonded together on the road for protection, if nothing else.
Liarin: Against the Cult of the Reptile God
Adewild: Shadows and Light 2
Brother Thaddeus: Rime of the Frostmaiden.
Syr Proserpina is a tall, stout woman. At well over six feet tall, she towers over most of her fellow humans. The black line tattoos across her face tell the story of Proserpina. For those who know how to read them, one glance at her face would tell you who her family was, where she was from, what her achievements are, and her place in the community. Two parallel scars run down the left side of her face from brow to chin, telling another type of story.
Despite the scars, her natural charisma shines through. She has sharp, brown eyes and copper skin. Her straight black hair is pulled back into a simple braid. The *chink* of her chainmail is muted by her simple leathers and a fur lined cloak that she has thrown over one shoulder so she doesn't overheat. A simple wooden round shield hangs on her back; the chipped paint showing its way, but a silver dragon painted on the outside is still easily readable. At her side hangs a longsword, but drawing more attention is the massive maul she carries on one shoulder. A simple steel ocular helmet hangs opposite her sword. Around her neck, reflecting the sun's rays as she walks, hangs a single silver scale, the size of her palm.
While her appearance may be intimidating, her demeanor is open and honest, though time together has shown that she has little patience for nonsense.
**By the Light of the Sun, you will burn!**
Previously BENEFICENCE
DM: Storm Lord's Wrath || Syr Valor Dayne: Sleeping Gods || tooltips | guides | dice |
Mathark "White-Feather" stands at over 7.5 feat, an average height for a Goliath he towers over the majority of those he meets. His face shows the markings of tribal paint, which indicate which tribe he blongs to. His ice blue eyes are always scanning for signs of trouble.
A quiver on his back showers all his arrows are fletched with white feathers. He carries a long bow slung over his back which appears to be his go two weapon of choice based on the wear on the bow. At his side hang 2 short swords, one on each hip. Doned in basic leather suited for mobility and stealth. The most stand out thing Mathark carries is a stone egg, which he claims is a dragons egg.
Despite his size Mathark has an uncanny ability to move with out making much sound. From the time spent traveling together you have learned that he is not big on mannors, he likes his ale (maybe too much).
Looking at two of her travel companions, Rohani smiled to herself, trying to remember the last time she had felt short. At 5'10, this was a feeling that had become foreign to the muscular half-orc in her travels after leaving home.
Lost in the nostalgia, she touched the great axe strapped to her back for a moment, green fingers idly brushing the comforting familiarity of the wooden handle.You and I have been through a lot together, Howler, thought Rohani, her other hand absentmindedly reaching for the scar on her green face as she remembered a particularly close call. At times, the young barbarian had questioned whether she would be better off wearing armor, but she had yet to find a piece that suited her tastes. For now, her cloth shirt would have to suffice.
Sensing no immediate threats as they continued towards Phandalin, Rohani took the chance to strike up a conversation.
"Have they got names?" Rohani asked Syr and Mathark cheerfully, pointing to the maul and bow they respectively carried. Gesturing to her own great axe, she explained smiling, "this is Howler. Apparently when I was a baby I would cry and cry and the only way they could get me to settle down was by letting me play with this axe. They said it'd keep me happy for hours... probably chewing on the haft and getting drool all over it."
Pausing a moment in thought at the question "I have never considered naming my bow" Turning to look at Rohani "My people tend to be given names with significance rather than naming their weapons, for instance, I was given the name White-Feather because I was the only one in my tribe that used exclusively white feathers for my arrows." Removing his bow from his shoulder, Mathark pounders the idea of naming his bow "Other traditions fascinate me, maybe I will adopt your tradition and name my bow one day"
Wynn joined the party somewhat suddenly, as the road split from the Triboar Trail. He is an elf, standing about 5 and a half feet with a slight build. His clothes and gear are well-kept but his light pack speaks of someone who was forced to leave civilization in a hurry.
He doesn’t speak much but seems grateful for the company, attempting to ingratiate himself to the larger members of the group. He will glance over his shoulder every so often, appearing to be slightly concerned about the party being followed.
Each evening Wynn takes out a leather satchel containing a myriad of fine metallic tools. He inspects each one, polishing and filing away any perceived imperfections. He then moves on to his longbow, inspecting it thoroughly. He always saves his blades for last. A rapier, usually slung on his hip, is honed razor sharp. Two daggers, the final piece of the ritual, drawn from beneath his cloak, checked and rechecked.
Wynn is careful, with his words, with his gear. One gets the sense that his main priority is staying alive, and he devotes his attentions to that task.
Nell: Call of the Netherdeep
Syr Proserpina nods at Rohani and hefts her maul. The long wooden shaft ending at one end in a steel cap, and at the other end in an iron hammer head, shaped to look like a snarling dragon's face.
"This is Duty. His weight reminds me of my oath and calling. His face reminds me to be fearless in the face of my enemies. He is solid and true as I should be."
**By the Light of the Sun, you will burn!**
Previously BENEFICENCE
DM: Storm Lord's Wrath || Syr Valor Dayne: Sleeping Gods || tooltips | guides | dice |
Dargrimm Firebard is well built for a young dwarf, and his reddish long beard is arranged in several thick braids while his wavy hair is flowing freely. He is donned in unadorned yet seemingly well maintained chain mail, with a shield strapped on his back and a mace on his waist.
During your time together on the road, Dargrimm seemed an honest and jovial fellow ( unless you somehow praised shoddy metal workmanship or bland ale, in which case Dargrimm can go on a tirade about dwarven craftsmanship and mead ) and you learned that he was a blacksmith before joining you on the road to Phandalin.
I’m afraid I’ve yet to have a worthy weapon to name, friends. In fact, my aim to forge such a weapon one day. Until recently, I only forged weapons, never used them.
Wynn nods in response to Dargrimm’s confession.
“If you’re new to the adventuring life, you’ve picked yourself a fine set of companions. Find a group that takes care of themselves, and takes pride in their work, their tools. When I saw you all coming down the road, I knew I would find good company here.”
Nell: Call of the Netherdeep
"Well now naming weapons seems to be a common thing amoung other peoples. I must find a suitable name for my Bow!" Exclaims Mathark. Examining his bow as of it where the first time he held it "Umm lets see.....Oak, no doesnt sound right. Silent Rain, Unseen Touch, Slayer of....." He continues to rattle off names through none sound right
Poco Manycortos has been following slightly behind the group humming carelessly a tune that sounds familiar. He is listening to Rohani and thinking how she must love her axe as much as he loves his lyre. He picks up the pace so he can listen easier and thinks of Michelle.
His “Michelle” has been with him since the beginning.
Learning her little intricate likes and how to bring out her personality has made Poco’s decision to pursue his art worth leaving his family. Entertaining and giving small bits of happiness to the people is Poco’s joy. It makes him feel larger than his 3’10 frame.
“Hello friends, I am Poco glad I finally caught up with you. This is Michelle. She is my weapon of happiness ”
Poco lifts his lyre slightly in Rohanis’ direction.
Proserpina nods down at the bard. "Well met, Poco."
**By the Light of the Sun, you will burn!**
Previously BENEFICENCE
DM: Storm Lord's Wrath || Syr Valor Dayne: Sleeping Gods || tooltips | guides | dice |
"Poco, what a nice tune you are humming, think you play some music as well? it appears as if we are in for a long walk" Mathark asks
Rohani listens intently to Proserpina’s response, nodding, “A fitting name, and sounds like you and Duty are a pretty perfect match.”
She listens to Wynn and Dagrimm’s conversation, agreeing silently and thinking herself lucky to be in the company of such a lively group.
Rohani chuckles at Mathark’s moment of panic, “Don’t worry, your bow will tell you its name when it’s ready.”
Turning to Poco, she grins at the lyre. “Lovely to meet you, Michelle. Y’know, I like that term, weapon of happiness. I think Howler is my weapon of happiness too.”
"Sure I can! If there is anything you'd like to hear; let me know?"
Poco starts strumming and tuning Michelle. Then starts to play.
"On the road again. Just can't wait to get off the road again. Meeting new friends makes the time go by so easily. I just can't wait to get off the road again."
The sounds of the woodlands, almost in tune with Poco's songs, start to fade as the trail emerges onto the cleared lands surrounding Phandalin. The trail travels through a bit of territory which is long grown wild before close to the town you begin to see farms to either side.
You enter the town with some relief, as there have a lot of rumors of trouble on the roads. A farmer driving an empty ox cart smiles and waves as he passes by on his way north of town, while as he passes, two children pop up in the back, making silly faces at you.
The only place you know of here is the Stonehill Inn, which you know is a large grey in the square at the center of town and welcomes visitors.
Liarin: Against the Cult of the Reptile God
Adewild: Shadows and Light 2
Brother Thaddeus: Rime of the Frostmaiden.
As the children make faces at us, Mathark makes a funny face back. "Finally town. As much as I am glad we made it without trouble, I was looking forward to a little action on our journey.
"I dont know about the rest of you, but my first stop is the inn"
Proserpina nods in agreement. "It will be nice to rest a moment and refresh ourselves. There were rumors that this town is in need of help. I'm sure we'll find all the action we can handle before long."
She also heads towards the inn, her maul laying across one shoulder.
**By the Light of the Sun, you will burn!**
Previously BENEFICENCE
DM: Storm Lord's Wrath || Syr Valor Dayne: Sleeping Gods || tooltips | guides | dice |