Well met, fellow adventurer! Are you prepared for an adventure frought with peril?
Adventure Hook: Meet Me in Phandalin. The characters are in the city of Neverwinter when their dwarf patron and friend, Gundren Rockseeker, hires them to escort a wagon to Phandalin. Gundren has gone ahead with a warrior, Sildar Hallwinter, to attend to business in the town while the characters follow with the supplies. The characters will be paid 10 gp each by the owner of Barthen’s Provisions in Phandalin when they deliver the wagon safely to that trading post.
Feel free to post your own adventure hook, but for the sake of convenience, the following text applies to all characters.
In the city of Neverwinter, a dwarf named Gundren Rockseeker asked you to bring a wagonload of provisions to
the rough-and-tumble settlement of Phandalin, a couple of
days’ travel southeast of the city. Gundren was clearly excited
and more than a little secretive about his reasons for the trip,
saying only that he and his brothers had found “something
big,” and that he’d pay you ten gold pieces each for escorting
his supplies safely to Barthen's Provisions, a trading post in
Phandalin. He then set out ahead of you on horse, along with
a warrior escort named Sildar Hallwinter, claiming he needed
to arrive early to “take care of business.”
You’ve spent the last few days following the High Road
south from Neverwinter, and you've just recently veered east
along the Triboar Trail. You’ve encountered no trouble so far,
but this territory can be dangerous. Bandits and outlaws have
been known to lurk along the trail.
Feel free to introduce your characters. Also note who is driving the wagon of provisions, and what the rest of the characters are doing as they travel.
(He ran away from home on a stolen donkey, picking pockets and pinching food from markets to get by. Living a hectic nomadic life has it's pros and cons; on one hand Trombin cant pass up the shiny rewards that come with adventure, on the other he hopes to settle down eventually with a place he can call his own. For now he is happy to see the world, from behind curtains and the shadows, of course. He loves problem solving and doesn't see an issue bending the law to advance his, and his comrades, mission. Scouting ahead and acting as eyes and ears for his party give him a feeling of purpose and a heads up seems like a fair trade for a bit of protection when the battle heats up in his mind.)
He has long brown hair, blue eyes and stands 4' 3" tall. He has a scar on his wrist just above his right hand, it was given to him as a mark when he was caught stealing fruit in his early teens.
Trombin is sitting on top of the wagon smoking his pipe, his short bow sitting casually on his lap. He's keeping an eye on the trail and treeline ahead.
(Telethin was born exiled as his parents had foolishly been tricked by an elven warlock into preforming evil acts even if it was without them knowing. Due to this they traveled for a time until his small family were taken in warily by a small farming community. With their connection to the forests and swamps most Firbolg's had, they made a good life for themselves as farmers. Being raised around humans Telethin learned to do various skills most of his people wouldn't. He was trained in both the skills of carpentry and black smithing due to having a knack for it thanks to his innate strength. He joined a guild in order to learn from a master craftsman. He was taken under the wing of a dwarven smith by the name of Cormak who taught him for years how to excel in his craft, even leading to Telethin eventually becoming a believer and cleric of Gond a god of craftsman and smiths. Eventually Telethin went out to learn from other great smiths and became an adventurer to fund his work when he was unable to use his smithing skills to get by.)
Telethin quietly walks along side the wagon, his eight foot tall frame towering over the rest of the members of the party. The only sound that comes from him is the small rustle of his chain mail and the tapping of his quarter staff hitting the ground with his every step. As per usual for him he stays rather quiet and instead focuses on what is going on around them as they travel.
Weathered and wrinkled, the ancient dwarf Grindal Goblinbane sits angrily, driving the wagon forward, grunting and grumbling with every bump in the trail.
"Bah, ye damned trail! Iffen I weren't responsible for gettin' these damned supplies to town safely I'd flatten ye, I would!"
A veteran of hundreds of battles, Grindal's bald head and long white beard made him appear angry on the rare occasions he wasn't, and even angrier when he was. He carried a handaxe on each hip and a dagger in his boot. Laying beside him was his weapon of choice; a lance that was even taller than he was, a remainder of his days in the second line of a shield dwarf battalion.
"At least it's better than retirement", he consoled himself.
You’ve been on the Triboar Trail for about half a day. As you
come around a bend, you spot two dead horses sprawled
about fifty feet ahead of you, blocking the path. Each has
several black-feathered arrows sticking out of it. The woods
press close to the trail here, with a steep embankment and
dense thickets on either side.
"Will do but be careful small one. We have beem warned of the dangers that prowl these lands" Telethin says as hereadies his shield, taking up a defensive position as he readies the large quarter staff that is never far from his side. The firbolg slowly moves forward while looking and listening for anything that may be waiting for them.
"Thanks Telethin, I will. One whistle means it's clear, two means trouble..."
Trombin shoulders his bow and unsheaths his shortsword, he slinks easily behind Telethin who stands almost literally twice his size. He darts for the tree line on the right and quietly makes his way through the forest parallel to the trail scouting ahead.
Suddenly, an arrow slams into the cart. Another quickly follows, slicing open a sack of provisions. A few seconds after the arrows hit, two goblins emerge from the thick brush on either side and flank the cart, scimitars at the ready. It is an ambush! Telethin, Grindal, and Tannen are all caught in the middle, but sneaky Trombin goes unnoticed.
I awake to the shouting of that fellow with the angry white beard who made himself such a nuisance when we were loading the wagon. After nearly two years of traveling village to village with only my feet to carry me, I took advantage having a wagon to ride in and fell asleep. That was a mistake, judging by the shouts. I rifle through my field notebook for something that might useful in a fight. Acid conjuration, hypnotism, death ray... I let the loose pages fall aside as I vault the edge of the wagon and prepare (ready an action) to "death ray" (Eldritch Beam) the first attacker to show their face, or the dwarf if he makes one more comment about the road being out to get him.