Marcos is annoyed. The provisions arrive too slowly and with many excuses. Mostly about the flooding. It is clear that he will not be departing today. Marcos shouts after a departing stablehand. ‘We need those horses ready to go in the morning! Have them ready at first light! Show me your leadership qualities!!!!’
The delegation left Waterdeep two ten-day ago. They took the Long Road as far as Red Larch. Instead of remaining on the Long Road to Westbridge and then Triboar they headed northeast through the Sumber Hills. Red Larch was their last definite location. Traversing the Sumber Hills was a strange choice. Stranger still, a description matching the delegation was seen crossing the Stone Bridge eastward towards Beliard. That is a further detour from Yartar. Why would they not take the Stone Trail to Red Larch? Perhaps land travel was complicated by flooding.
Marcos planned to sail down the Dessarin River as far as the Stone Bridge. They will need to properly dock the boat given the pack animals. This was no task for Waukeen’s Hand. A river boat with a shallow hull was chosen and its captain assured Marcos that they would be able to disembark relatively close to the Stone bridge. From there it is a short journey to Beliard. Visiting the town will hopefully confirm that the group crossing the stone bridge was indeed the delegation and learn some clue as to their whereabouts. If not, they will head west and backtrack through the Sumber Hills.
He has a small group of volunteers. A bit of a motley crew. But over the years Marcos had learned not to judge a man until he had seen him fight. He walks towards the river boat to discuss his plans with them. He would see if they had any worthwhile suggestions or additional insights.
Rastrin pauses in the doorway of inn, watching the woman retreat into the the streets as he mentally digests what she said. A thoughtful frown forms on his face. The woman’s words were particularly ominous, especially with the elements acting strangely recently. What was happening in the world? What machinations were unfolding? Could this be why he had one of his lapses earlier today?
Looking troubled, Rastrin slowly makes his way back to Yenword. “Well,” he starts in his rumbling voice, “it was great meeting you, but I need to go get some sleep before work tomorrow. Hopefully we’ll see each other around town.” He manages to squeeze out a smile at the end, but Yen can tell it’s forced.
After paying for their meal, Rastrin makes his way to his home, still stewing over the woman’s words. Sometimes he hated how he over analyzed and thought about everything. Sometimes, he wished he could go back to how he was, always acting on a whim, a slave to his own emotions. But no, he wouldn’t go back to being that way. His life was a life of iron will and rational thinking. Emotions only brought pain to him and those around him. Feeling emotion set his fire free.
Once home, he quickly prepares for bed. As he tries to fall asleep, his troubled mind prevented him from finding rest for a few hours. As sleep finally began to overtake him in the wee hours of the morning, he groggily decides that he needs to find a way to figure out what was happening out in the world…
8 Mirtul, 1491 DR, the Year of the Scarlet Witch...
Rastrin wakes early in the morning just as the sun's rays begin to lighten the dark horizon. He liked to think of himself as a morning person. He goes about his morning duties in his humble home. His dwelling was rather austere and empty of furnishings. He figured there was no point in having a lot of possessions if they were constantly getting scorched. Besides, he wasn't a huge fan of clutter.
Once the shops around town begin to open, Rastrin makes his way to a few shops to buy a few replacement tools for the ones he had inadvertently destroyed last night. While they weren't necessarily expensive, they were important to keeping the smithy up and running properly.
On his way to the smithy with his arms laden with various tools, Rastrin can't help but notice the air of excitement in the town. There seemed to be a lot of activity towards the dock area, and a several rather important looking folks were hustling to and from the harbor. Curious, he calls out to cluster of people who happened to be walking past with an urgent gait. "Excuse me," he says. "What's happening down at the docks? Is someone important coming to visit?" He didn't remember hearing about any visiting dignitaries coming any time soon, but he often had a hard time paying attention to social happenings like that.
Light flickers off the rough hewn stone walls. The man slowly descends down the spiral staircase. His feet make no sound.
The basement is a study of sort. There is a desk in the far corner with scattered paper and scrolls. A few books are randomly scattered on nearby bookcases. The rooms lacks a normal floor. Soft, loamy soil is under foot.
The man turns. There is a second large table with what appear to be a map and a goblet. Sitting quietly in the corner is a strange mound of earth. Did it move? It has a disquieting appearance. Next to the table - a mirror which the man slowly approaches. The man’s eyes are hooded and black, his countenance blank. He slowly reaches up to doff his hood ...... a feeling of dread …….. NO!!!!
Marcos sits up in bed, drenched with sweat. ‘Fricking Hells!’ He hasn’t had this dream in over a year. It is different this time. It seems more real. More immediate. He wonders why he sees through this strange man’s eyes. He wonders who he is. He is sure that his intentions are evil. What kind of omen is the Foehammer sending?
He grunts and turns on a lamp. He sets about polishing and packing his armor, sure that he will not sleep again tonight.
Harold wakes up and begins the process of packing his belongings. He wasn't sure how long the trip was going to be, and he wanted to make sure that he would be comfortable. After packing spare clothes, he made his way to the kitchen. The merchant cooked up a few strips of bacon and a side of eggs as he contemplated the journey to come. Before taking a bite of his freshly prepared food, he reached for the spices his late wife had given him years ago. If it weren't for the slightly magical properties of the spice pouch, it would have been depleted years ago. After a dash of salt, he finished his breakfast and wiped his face with a napkin. His eyes moved across the room and out into the storefront in the next room. He took note of items hanging on the walls for sale that he would take with him on his journey. Anything that survived the trip he would simply put back on the shelves to sell. He knew how important this mission was to The Hand, and he was going to use all the resources he had available to make sure he would succeed. After collecting a variety of salted meats and other tools, he went out back to load the wagon. The last item he collected was a small ornate jug that was also a gift from his wife years ago. He carefully placed it and the spices in a bag that he kept on his person before climbing on to the wagon.
with a quick whistle and jerk on the reigns, the wagon took off towards the meeting point for their expedition. As he rode away he gave a quick nod to Bajnok. He had agree'd to let the young man watch his store while he was away. It was important to the Hand that the store stayed open... even if Harold wasn't around to run the place.
With swift efficiency, Shay manages to have everything prepared for the ship’s morning departure by late evening. Anya had already provided her with a two way notebook at Norrin’s insistence when Shay went before the two faction co-leaders with questions about what she’d need for her journey. They explained it would be easier for her to directly send all of the notes she compiles this way right to their notebook and to use her sending stone as a last resort.
After returning home, Shay immediately set to work her arrangements including having someone come by to check on her plants and drop off her cat Leap. As tempted as she was to bring him along, the smarter option of leaving the orange and white bottomless pit she adored so much with those she trusted simply made more sense. She gives Leap a big hug before letting him down to walk around her childhood home as she speaks to her parents.
Her mother as per usual is of few words, preferring to let her actions do most of the talking in their stead. Fauna smiles fondly at Shay and offers her their horse Thorn complete with one ten days worth of feed and general maintenance once she’s ready to go. Grateful to be able to hold on to at least some of her spendings, Shay thanks her with the promise to bring Thorn home safely. Shay’s father, after stealing away to his office for a short while, returns with a medium sized map he folded particularly tightly and hands it off to her with a knowing look Shay couldn’t decipher.
“Stay vigilant out there, yes?” He pulls Shay in for a long hug before she is able to reply and soon after she’s parting ways with her family and guiding her temporary horse down the familiar dirt path. She goes to sleep that night feeling more prepared than ever before.
9 Mirtuil -1491 DR - The Year of the Scarlet Witch-The Next Day
After eating a light breakfast, Shay hides the key to her front door along with a list of instructions for Nash, and heads straight for the docks. She recalls the new River Master adamantly saying they’d leave in the morning, but only has a faint memory of the name of the ship they’d be boarding. She was vaguely sure it began with an ‘S’, but was unable to get much clearer than that one specific detail.
As she goes between the masses of people and nears the docks, Shay hopes she’s able to spot it when her eyes land on the name properly. Shay stops in her tracks as someone intercepts her advancements and is suddenly in front of her. Her confusion gives way to recollection as the man’s face quickly registers as that of the new River Master Marcos. Inclining her head some, Shay respectfully offers a greeting to both him and the unknown woman at his side.
“Good morning sir, it’s an honor to be part of this small party of yours. I’m ready to depart at your order.” She smiles gently at the two and awaits their response.
"Excuse me," Rastrin says. "What's happening down at the docks? Is someone important coming to visit?"
A tall and thin woman with dark ebony complexion, arched eyebrows, and delicate but angular features, wearing a black, feathered cloak and holding a ledger against her chest, turns and peers at Rastrin. He thinks he recognizes her from recent trips to the citadel, as a major domo or head-of-house type of organizer.
“Rastrin, yes? Walk with me. Your work on the new temple glasswork is exquisite,” she offers in a curt rhythm, barely pausing before continuing downhill toward the piers. “I would really love to see your shop sometime. I am Aleifa de Forture. I have seen you before.”
Her eyes briefly glow as she intones an arcane phrase and a man pushing a cart ahead seems to be pushed gently aside, allowing you to proceed with haste down the street.
“Not visitors. The opposite, actually. The new River Master departs tomorrow morning with an armed escort to discover the whereabouts – or what happened to – a delegation of dignitaries from Waterdeep who should have arrived here a tenday past. It seems they disappeared somewhere in the Sumber Hills, not far from where the worst flooding occurred.”
She turns and gives a brief order to one of the clerks following on her heels, then turns to Rastrin once again.
She looks the dragonborn in the eye. “It’s just terrible, isn’t it? So many have lost their homes, where their families lived for generations. And now, this?
“I am in a rush— not that you’re slowing me down, but — there is much to organize before they depart tomorrow morning on a Karve from the seventh pier. It is an honor to speak with you.”
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
"It was good to speak with you as well," Rastrin says with a thoughtful frown. As Aleifa hurries away, she leaves Rastrin standing in the street. So, an expedition to discover the whereabouts of missing dignitaries in what appears to be a hotspot of unrest... He starts slowly walking back to the shop with arms full of tools and mind full of troubled thoughts. He recalls his decision last night to figure out what was happening to disrupt the elemental balance of the world. Could this expedition be his chance?
He drops off the tools at the shop and sheepishly explains what happened the other night to Darva as she busies herself preparing the shop for opening time. He's a bit hesitant to explain more about his lapses, but he manages.
Darva scowls after Rastrin explains what happened. "And you said that you've had these 'lapses' before?"
Rastrin nods his head, and if his scales weren't already deeply red, he would be blushing profusely. Feeling guilty, he mumbles, "Yes ma'am."
The dwarven woman's scowl deepens. "And are they always this destructive?"
Rastrin nods his head again, his eyes dropping shamefully to the stone floor. He always hated confrontations.
Darva rubs her chin thoughtfully, still scowling. After a while, she finally says, "You know what, why don't you take the rest of the week off." Until you can get control of yourself again, her expression seems to imply.
"I will. Thank you," Rastrin says stiffly, taking the dismissal as a rebuke even though Darva most likely didn't mean it that way. He had a bad habit of taking interpretations a bit farther than what was intended, vestigial remnants of dragon pride within him.
Feeling embarrassed and ashamed, he heads outside and takes a deep breath of the morning air. Well, now what was he going to do? With the rest of the week off, he suddenly found himself with a surplus of time on his hands. He recalls the conversation he had with Aleifa before going into the shop. Perhaps he could go learn more about the expedition? With that thought in mind, he heads towards the docks...
Marcos stands in his chain shirt. A shield, javelins and his great sword by side. He bend down to Samitha and whispers, ‘do you remember the name of the Druid?’
‘Shay! Welcome - please allow the crew to position your mount and gear on the craft. Harold is just organizing his wagon.’
Marcos looked around. Things were coming together nicely. Ten Yartari militia, including scouts and warriors have joined the crew in readying the Sturgeon. The sun should be rising soon. They should get twelve hours of good sailing before nightfall. With the current they will make excellent time.
Marcos turns back to the lower banks. A dragonborn is meandering towards the docks. Marcos does not recognize him.
The dragonborn follows the route Aleifa de Forture had taken earlier, when he’d crossed paths with her as the sky had been brightening from darkness to gray periwinkle in the east. Now, with the sun clear of the horizon, gray had won out as the dominant color scheme, and heavy clouds above and a chill wind blew small snowflakes stingingly through the air.
Lost in his thoughts, the dragonborn passes the spot where, two days past, he had met Yenword Ventris for the first time. His thoughts moving to that meeting, he is surprised to see, once again, the elemental Monk’s robed form, this time around the corner of an alley. Voicelessly, he beckons Rastrin to follow him.
Out of view of passersby, Yenword’s form gives off a faint light. He holds in his hand the small figurine which he had taken, from the unhoused woman at the tavern. Head like a campfire, body painted in yellows, oranges, and reds.
Rastrin suddenly notices that Yenword’s hand, holding the figurine, is scorched, the skin, blistering even as he watches; and also that the monk is semi-transparent, like a ghost, his eyes cold and haunted, and as Rastrin looks at his face, he sees it too begin to blister and peel as if from a great heat.
Yenword’s mouth forms words, and it seems to take enormous effort to make himself heard.
“Find them… in the Sumber Hills… they are the answer… you seek!”
A ball of flame, from nowhere, erupts around Yenword, and Rastrin sees him melting before his eyes, even though he does not feel any heat. Somehow, the dragonborn knows his new friend is no more. And deep in his heart, he knows that this apparition was, indeed, the very same individual he shared a meal with so recently.
At his feet, now, there is nothing except the figurine, as shiny and new as the night the beggar woman laid it on his table.
Looking around, the people of Yartar continue shuffling past on the slanted street behind Rastrin, as if nothing had happened.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Even though he’s resistant to fire, Rastrin flinches away as Yenword bursts into flames before him. For a moment, he just stands there in horror, aghast at the thought that he may have ignited the man by accident somehow.
Despite the surge of panic he felt, he manages to push his feelings aside as logical thinking took its place. There was no way he could have burned the man; he always felt when he had lost control of his magic, but he felt completely in control of himself during the whole encounter. And then there was that glow about Yenword… Maybe he was some sort of apparition?
Obviously still shaken, he uneasily reaches down and picks up the strange figurine. The Sumber Hills… That’s where the expedition was going, wasn’t it.
He looks down at the small figurine resting in the palm of his hand for a few moments before he closes his fist around and drops his hand to his side. Squaring his shoulders, he moves towards the ship that seemed to be preparing for departure soon, a spring of confidence in his step.
As he approaches, he scans the crowd for the most important person and then politely makes his way towards them. He spots someone standing in a scale shirt that seemed to be in charge of at least some aspect of the journey. Once he gets close enough, he rumbles, “Excuse me. Do you know if this expedition is looking for volunteers?” He’s a bit surprised with how confident his voice sounded. He still was a bit shaken by his encounter with Yenword.
“Excuse me. Do you know if this expedition is looking for volunteers?”
ALL
9 Mirtul
Miss Samitha, wearing a scale mail shirt, stands at the short gangplank linking the dock to the Sturgeon, and it is she that Rastrin speaks to when he asks about volunteers.
Looking up at him from one of the fighters-doubling-as-oarsmen with whom she was conversing, she leans backwards a bit from Rastrin’s reptilian snout, frowning very slightly, but when she speaks, her voice is flat and businesslike.
“That is a question for the River Master. Mister Varixx!!,” she calls over her shoulder, then turns to face Marcus.
“This gentleman asks if you are seeking volunteers.”
Nearby, Harold, with the help of several men, finishes making his cart fast to the ship’s hull, while Shay is also aboard and within earshot.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Settling aboard the ship she learned was named the ‘Sturgeon’, Shay stifles an unexpected yawn, not accustomed to being awake early, she always fancied herself more of a night person by nature. She appreciated the vast reach of the stars and dark sky overhead and believed it offered far more comfort than any well light blue one did. She looks out over the water and decides the sight and sound of the constantly moving waves were almost as peaceful. Shay closes her eyes and lets the rhythmic splashing against the sides of the ship lull her into a steady trance of sorts.
“Mister Varixx!!!”
Shay bolts upright at the sudden shout for the River Master, her calm moment properly shattered, and instinctively turns in the direction it came from. On the docks, she sees the familiar woman that seemed to be working in close proximity to the newly appointed man, who for his part appeared unphased. In front of the duo stood a red Dragonborn man bearing a stony expression as his gaze turned from the woman to the River Master himself.
“This gentleman asks if you’re seeking volunteers.” She continues as now all eyes are on Marcos. Shay pays particularly close attention to the late arrival, interest piqued as he stands without so much as a traveling bag in one of his humanoid hands. Surely he couldn’t expect to show up empty handed and simply be allowed on to the ship, could he? It was definitely a choice. She supposes the decision sat entirely with Mister Varrix on that front, but can’t help wondering what led him to wait so long when they were so close to leaving. Despite not wanting to snoop, Shay continues to stay tuned in to their conversation so at the very least she can get a satisfying answer.
The Stiurgeon is ready. Marcos wears his chain shirt. A shield looks like a child’s toy on his arm. Sword and javelin strapped to his back, he uses a second javelin as a walking stick. His armour is packed. He is ready as well.
‘Mister Varixx!’
He had been watching this strange Dragonborn from the corner of his eye since he arrived on the dock. He strode over to Samitha. ‘What is your business? We do not plan to tarry here.’
Harold finishes with securing the wagon to the vessel... ensuring that he can still access any of the most commonly needed supplies at a moments notice. Once the wagon appears in order, he quickly dusts himself off and Takes a seat upon a set of neatly stacked supplies. Pulling out a carving knife and block of wood, he begins carving away to pass the time until a shout from Marcos catches his attention.
Looking up from the wood, he catches sight Marcos moving to speak with a hulking dragonborn. He didn't recognize the latest arrival, but after quickly sizing him up... determined that he wouldn't want to end up on his bad side. Harold turned his body towards the conversation, listening in as well as he could before going back to his carving. the wood and blade moved nimbly in his hands and gave the appearance that he was entirely focused on the task at hand while he listened to the conversations taking place around him.
The merchant had always enjoyed woodcarving. It helped him to stay relaxed and keep his mind from wandering. When his mind wanders, it eventually always leads to the same dark place... a place Harold hoped to avoid visiting. In this case, it also kept him distracted from the fact that he was on a boat. A fact that Harold very much resented. He considered boats and coffins to be similar in many ways... the largest similarity being that once you are inside.. it isn't easy to get out.
Rastrin watches as a man who must be the River Master approaches. As he does, the dragonborn can't help but notice the man's armor and weapons. In fact, it looked like their were several people armed up to their teeth milling about the ship. They were expecting to encounter trouble during their voyage, and lots of it. Rastrin's resolve waivers for a moment; he had no experience in combat. Could he really be useful in this kind of mission?
Steeling himself, he looks up and meets the River Master's gaze with determination in his eyes, although inwardly he wanted to cringe away from the man's intensity. While not a coward, he had trained himself to avoid conflict at a young age in order to control his rampant magic. Conflict, no matter how small the issue may be, always riled up his draconic pride, leading to Rastrin feeling angry and offended. Let's just say his magic doesn't react very well when that happens.
Calmly, he replies, "I was wondering if I could join your expedition." Fidgeting with the fire-headed figure in his palm, he rumbles, "While I don't have any combat experience, I am a, um, decent craftsman. I can help repair equipment and maintain your ship."
Oh Bahumat Almighty, was that really the best he could offer? He felt like an idiot saying that out loud. He would be very surprised if the crew didn't already have dedicated repairsmen. His offer certainly did seem flimsy.
‘We are not going on a field trip. We need people that can take care of themselves. We have the manual skills and cantrips to repair our own gear. If that’s the best you can do then you should turn on your heel.’
The warrior priest turns slightly. ‘Everyone aboard!!!! Let’s go people! We have nine more hours of daylight!’
Rastrin just stands there, deflating a bit at the rejection. His first instinct was to lash out at the rebuke, but he instantly squashed that impulse with an iron grip on his emotions. Letting his more impulsive, draconic side act would not be prudent in this situation. He hadn’t really expected that the River Master would accept an offer as flimsy as the one he made, but he had to get on this boat somehow.
As the River Master turns his attention else where, a desperate idea hits Rastrin. He looks down at the figurine in his hand as the familiar rhythm of raw elemental flame begins to pound in his head. Could he really risk letting a bit of his magic out? It could potentially hurt someone.
Squinting his eyes shut, he whispers, “Bahumat, protect these people.” With that, he relinquishes his tight grip on his magic.
In that moment, magic burst out of him like a raging river demolishing a dam, the rhythm of fire pouring out of him in a raging inferno. He quickly blocks his magic from excepting further; too much had already escaped in that brief moment.
The fire that erupted from him spirals upward with a fiery roar. The flames seem to hang in the air for a moment, intense heat singing Rastrin’s clothes as he stands underneath it. Suddenly, a crimson wing crafted from flame itself emerges from the inferno, quickly followed by another. With an eagle-like cry, a flaming phoenix emerges flies from the fire, flapping winds spreading sparks and embers as it flaps above Rastrin.
Rastrin spares a glance upward, relief filling him as the songs within him fade. Looking back at the River Master, he says, “I can also do that.”
The unknown dragonborn’s conversation with the River Master is an incredibly short exchange that ends in a curt “no” from Marcos. Understandably so as his attempts at convincing the man of how usefulness sounds more like a sudden burst of thought spoken aloud than one he’d properly prepared. With things apparently settled, Shay begins to turn away again and prepare for their departure, thoughts now turning to the next stage of what was to come and effectively chalking the short encounter she witnessed as nothing terribly important.
No sooner did she do this than the dragonborn man lit himself in a fascinatingly intriguing display of magic. As she looked, the fire that surrounded him rose into the sky in the shape of a large phoenix made entirely of fire. Shay was admiring the unexpected visuals dancing in the sky while the deep voice she recognized as the dragonborn piped up once more, this time holding a strong emotion she wasn’t quite able to place.
“I can also do that.”
Shay definitely knew what she’d say in the River Master’s place after witnessing such a strong showcasing of magic.
The oarsmen/fighters are veterans and not unfamiliar with powerful magic. Yet, taken by surprise, even they start and duck away from the fiery form Rastrin summons, grasping shields from their hitches on the gunwale while others draw their blades and leap off the ship to either side of the sorcerer, looking to Marcus for the order to attack the attacker — if that is what the newcomer indeed is.
Meanwhile “oohs” and “whoaaas” float across the dock from the stevedores — some of them — while others flee for cover, tripping over themselves, dropping bundles, and shouting in dismay.
Miss Samitha seems to read the situation perfectly and moves not an inch, arms folded, chucking slightly at the commotion, and wags a hand to the fighters who drew their weapons. They fall back a step, and following a stern follow-up look from Samitha, sheath their blades.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver// Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever//Dev Horndin Curious Critters//Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
"Hey! If nothing else he can help me to get a nice cooking fire started once we get to where we're going!" Harold shouts, looking up from his carving to take in the display. The merchant looks the dragonborn up and down before placing his carving tools in his pockets. "If you would like Marcos, I'll watch the newcomer... if you allow him to join us that is... I think he could be useful." Harold says as he stands up and gives the dragonborn a nod. "I'll take responsibility for him..." he then looks from Maros towards the hulking newcomer. "You won't cause any problems will ya? I pride myself on being a pretty good judge of character.... and I think you seem alright." Harold gives the dragonborn a wink and a grin from beneath his beard as he awaits a decision from Marcos.
Marcos is annoyed. The provisions arrive too slowly and with many excuses. Mostly about the flooding. It is clear that he will not be departing today. Marcos shouts after a departing stablehand. ‘We need those horses ready to go in the morning! Have them ready at first light! Show me your leadership qualities!!!!’
The delegation left Waterdeep two ten-day ago. They took the Long Road as far as Red Larch. Instead of remaining on the Long Road to Westbridge and then Triboar they headed northeast through the Sumber Hills. Red Larch was their last definite location. Traversing the Sumber Hills was a strange choice. Stranger still, a description matching the delegation was seen crossing the Stone Bridge eastward towards Beliard. That is a further detour from Yartar. Why would they not take the Stone Trail to Red Larch? Perhaps land travel was complicated by flooding.
Marcos planned to sail down the Dessarin River as far as the Stone Bridge. They will need to properly dock the boat given the pack animals. This was no task for Waukeen’s Hand. A river boat with a shallow hull was chosen and its captain assured Marcos that they would be able to disembark relatively close to the Stone bridge. From there it is a short journey to Beliard. Visiting the town will hopefully confirm that the group crossing the stone bridge was indeed the delegation and learn some clue as to their whereabouts. If not, they will head west and backtrack through the Sumber Hills.
He has a small group of volunteers. A bit of a motley crew. But over the years Marcos had learned not to judge a man until he had seen him fight. He walks towards the river boat to discuss his plans with them. He would see if they had any worthwhile suggestions or additional insights.
RASTRIN
The night before...
Rastrin pauses in the doorway of inn, watching the woman retreat into the the streets as he mentally digests what she said. A thoughtful frown forms on his face. The woman’s words were particularly ominous, especially with the elements acting strangely recently. What was happening in the world? What machinations were unfolding? Could this be why he had one of his lapses earlier today?
Looking troubled, Rastrin slowly makes his way back to Yenword. “Well,” he starts in his rumbling voice, “it was great meeting you, but I need to go get some sleep before work tomorrow. Hopefully we’ll see each other around town.” He manages to squeeze out a smile at the end, but Yen can tell it’s forced.
After paying for their meal, Rastrin makes his way to his home, still stewing over the woman’s words. Sometimes he hated how he over analyzed and thought about everything. Sometimes, he wished he could go back to how he was, always acting on a whim, a slave to his own emotions. But no, he wouldn’t go back to being that way. His life was a life of iron will and rational thinking. Emotions only brought pain to him and those around him. Feeling emotion set his fire free.
Once home, he quickly prepares for bed. As he tries to fall asleep, his troubled mind prevented him from finding rest for a few hours. As sleep finally began to overtake him in the wee hours of the morning, he groggily decides that he needs to find a way to figure out what was happening out in the world…
8 Mirtul, 1491 DR, the Year of the Scarlet Witch...
Rastrin wakes early in the morning just as the sun's rays begin to lighten the dark horizon. He liked to think of himself as a morning person. He goes about his morning duties in his humble home. His dwelling was rather austere and empty of furnishings. He figured there was no point in having a lot of possessions if they were constantly getting scorched. Besides, he wasn't a huge fan of clutter.
Once the shops around town begin to open, Rastrin makes his way to a few shops to buy a few replacement tools for the ones he had inadvertently destroyed last night. While they weren't necessarily expensive, they were important to keeping the smithy up and running properly.
On his way to the smithy with his arms laden with various tools, Rastrin can't help but notice the air of excitement in the town. There seemed to be a lot of activity towards the dock area, and a several rather important looking folks were hustling to and from the harbor. Curious, he calls out to cluster of people who happened to be walking past with an urgent gait. "Excuse me," he says. "What's happening down at the docks? Is someone important coming to visit?" He didn't remember hearing about any visiting dignitaries coming any time soon, but he often had a hard time paying attention to social happenings like that.
MARCOS
Light flickers off the rough hewn stone walls. The man slowly descends down the spiral staircase. His feet make no sound.
The basement is a study of sort. There is a desk in the far corner with scattered paper and scrolls. A few books are randomly scattered on nearby bookcases. The rooms lacks a normal floor. Soft, loamy soil is under foot.
The man turns. There is a second large table with what appear to be a map and a goblet. Sitting quietly in the corner is a strange mound of earth. Did it move? It has a disquieting appearance. Next to the table - a mirror which the man slowly approaches. The man’s eyes are hooded and black, his countenance blank. He slowly reaches up to doff his hood ...... a feeling of dread …….. NO!!!!
Marcos sits up in bed, drenched with sweat. ‘Fricking Hells!’ He hasn’t had this dream in over a year. It is different this time. It seems more real. More immediate. He wonders why he sees through this strange man’s eyes. He wonders who he is. He is sure that his intentions are evil. What kind of omen is the Foehammer sending?
He grunts and turns on a lamp. He sets about polishing and packing his armor, sure that he will not sleep again tonight.
Harold
Harold wakes up and begins the process of packing his belongings. He wasn't sure how long the trip was going to be, and he wanted to make sure that he would be comfortable. After packing spare clothes, he made his way to the kitchen. The merchant cooked up a few strips of bacon and a side of eggs as he contemplated the journey to come. Before taking a bite of his freshly prepared food, he reached for the spices his late wife had given him years ago. If it weren't for the slightly magical properties of the spice pouch, it would have been depleted years ago. After a dash of salt, he finished his breakfast and wiped his face with a napkin. His eyes moved across the room and out into the storefront in the next room. He took note of items hanging on the walls for sale that he would take with him on his journey. Anything that survived the trip he would simply put back on the shelves to sell. He knew how important this mission was to The Hand, and he was going to use all the resources he had available to make sure he would succeed. After collecting a variety of salted meats and other tools, he went out back to load the wagon. The last item he collected was a small ornate jug that was also a gift from his wife years ago. He carefully placed it and the spices in a bag that he kept on his person before climbing on to the wagon.
with a quick whistle and jerk on the reigns, the wagon took off towards the meeting point for their expedition. As he rode away he gave a quick nod to Bajnok. He had agree'd to let the young man watch his store while he was away. It was important to the Hand that the store stayed open... even if Harold wasn't around to run the place.
SHAY
With swift efficiency, Shay manages to have everything prepared for the ship’s morning departure by late evening. Anya had already provided her with a two way notebook at Norrin’s insistence when Shay went before the two faction co-leaders with questions about what she’d need for her journey. They explained it would be easier for her to directly send all of the notes she compiles this way right to their notebook and to use her sending stone as a last resort.
After returning home, Shay immediately set to work her arrangements including having someone come by to check on her plants and drop off her cat Leap. As tempted as she was to bring him along, the smarter option of leaving the orange and white bottomless pit she adored so much with those she trusted simply made more sense. She gives Leap a big hug before letting him down to walk around her childhood home as she speaks to her parents.
Her mother as per usual is of few words, preferring to let her actions do most of the talking in their stead. Fauna smiles fondly at Shay and offers her their horse Thorn complete with one ten days worth of feed and general maintenance once she’s ready to go. Grateful to be able to hold on to at least some of her spendings, Shay thanks her with the promise to bring Thorn home safely. Shay’s father, after stealing away to his office for a short while, returns with a medium sized map he folded particularly tightly and hands it off to her with a knowing look Shay couldn’t decipher.
“Stay vigilant out there, yes?” He pulls Shay in for a long hug before she is able to reply and soon after she’s parting ways with her family and guiding her temporary horse down the familiar dirt path. She goes to sleep that night feeling more prepared than ever before.
9 Mirtuil -1491 DR - The Year of the Scarlet Witch-The Next Day
After eating a light breakfast, Shay hides the key to her front door along with a list of instructions for Nash, and heads straight for the docks. She recalls the new River Master adamantly saying they’d leave in the morning, but only has a faint memory of the name of the ship they’d be boarding. She was vaguely sure it began with an ‘S’, but was unable to get much clearer than that one specific detail.
As she goes between the masses of people and nears the docks, Shay hopes she’s able to spot it when her eyes land on the name properly. Shay stops in her tracks as someone intercepts her advancements and is suddenly in front of her. Her confusion gives way to recollection as the man’s face quickly registers as that of the new River Master Marcos. Inclining her head some, Shay respectfully offers a greeting to both him and the unknown woman at his side.
“Good morning sir, it’s an honor to be part of this small party of yours. I’m ready to depart at your order.” She smiles gently at the two and awaits their response.
RASTRIN
"Excuse me," Rastrin says. "What's happening down at the docks? Is someone important coming to visit?"
A tall and thin woman with dark ebony complexion, arched eyebrows, and delicate but angular features, wearing a black, feathered cloak and holding a ledger against her chest, turns and peers at Rastrin. He thinks he recognizes her from recent trips to the citadel, as a major domo or head-of-house type of organizer.
“Rastrin, yes? Walk with me. Your work on the new temple glasswork is exquisite,” she offers in a curt rhythm, barely pausing before continuing downhill toward the piers. “I would really love to see your shop sometime. I am Aleifa de Forture. I have seen you before.”
Her eyes briefly glow as she intones an arcane phrase and a man pushing a cart ahead seems to be pushed gently aside, allowing you to proceed with haste down the street.
“Not visitors. The opposite, actually. The new River Master departs tomorrow morning with an armed escort to discover the whereabouts – or what happened to – a delegation of dignitaries from Waterdeep who should have arrived here a tenday past. It seems they disappeared somewhere in the Sumber Hills, not far from where the worst flooding occurred.”
She turns and gives a brief order to one of the clerks following on her heels, then turns to Rastrin once again.
She looks the dragonborn in the eye. “It’s just terrible, isn’t it? So many have lost their homes, where their families lived for generations. And now, this?
“I am in a rush— not that you’re slowing me down, but — there is much to organize before they depart tomorrow morning on a Karve from the seventh pier. It is an honor to speak with you.”
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
RASTRIN
"It was good to speak with you as well," Rastrin says with a thoughtful frown. As Aleifa hurries away, she leaves Rastrin standing in the street. So, an expedition to discover the whereabouts of missing dignitaries in what appears to be a hotspot of unrest... He starts slowly walking back to the shop with arms full of tools and mind full of troubled thoughts. He recalls his decision last night to figure out what was happening to disrupt the elemental balance of the world. Could this expedition be his chance?
He drops off the tools at the shop and sheepishly explains what happened the other night to Darva as she busies herself preparing the shop for opening time. He's a bit hesitant to explain more about his lapses, but he manages.
Darva scowls after Rastrin explains what happened. "And you said that you've had these 'lapses' before?"
Rastrin nods his head, and if his scales weren't already deeply red, he would be blushing profusely. Feeling guilty, he mumbles, "Yes ma'am."
The dwarven woman's scowl deepens. "And are they always this destructive?"
Rastrin nods his head again, his eyes dropping shamefully to the stone floor. He always hated confrontations.
Darva rubs her chin thoughtfully, still scowling. After a while, she finally says, "You know what, why don't you take the rest of the week off." Until you can get control of yourself again, her expression seems to imply.
"I will. Thank you," Rastrin says stiffly, taking the dismissal as a rebuke even though Darva most likely didn't mean it that way. He had a bad habit of taking interpretations a bit farther than what was intended, vestigial remnants of dragon pride within him.
Feeling embarrassed and ashamed, he heads outside and takes a deep breath of the morning air. Well, now what was he going to do? With the rest of the week off, he suddenly found himself with a surplus of time on his hands. He recalls the conversation he had with Aleifa before going into the shop. Perhaps he could go learn more about the expedition? With that thought in mind, he heads towards the docks...
Marcos
Marcos stands in his chain shirt. A shield, javelins and his great sword by side. He bend down to Samitha and whispers, ‘do you remember the name of the Druid?’
‘Shay! Welcome - please allow the crew to position your mount and gear on the craft. Harold is just organizing his wagon.’
Marcos looked around. Things were coming together nicely. Ten Yartari militia, including scouts and warriors have joined the crew in readying the Sturgeon. The sun should be rising soon. They should get twelve hours of good sailing before nightfall. With the current they will make excellent time.
Marcos turns back to the lower banks. A dragonborn is meandering towards the docks. Marcos does not recognize him.
RASTRIN
The dragonborn follows the route Aleifa de Forture had taken earlier, when he’d crossed paths with her as the sky had been brightening from darkness to gray periwinkle in the east. Now, with the sun clear of the horizon, gray had won out as the dominant color scheme, and heavy clouds above and a chill wind blew small snowflakes stingingly through the air.
Lost in his thoughts, the dragonborn passes the spot where, two days past, he had met Yenword Ventris for the first time. His thoughts moving to that meeting, he is surprised to see, once again, the elemental Monk’s robed form, this time around the corner of an alley. Voicelessly, he beckons Rastrin to follow him.
Out of view of passersby, Yenword’s form gives off a faint light. He holds in his hand the small figurine which he had taken, from the unhoused woman at the tavern. Head like a campfire, body painted in yellows, oranges, and reds.
Rastrin suddenly notices that Yenword’s hand, holding the figurine, is scorched, the skin, blistering even as he watches; and also that the monk is semi-transparent, like a ghost, his eyes cold and haunted, and as Rastrin looks at his face, he sees it too begin to blister and peel as if from a great heat.
Yenword’s mouth forms words, and it seems to take enormous effort to make himself heard.
“Find them… in the Sumber Hills… they are the answer… you seek!”
A ball of flame, from nowhere, erupts around Yenword, and Rastrin sees him melting before his eyes, even though he does not feel any heat. Somehow, the dragonborn knows his new friend is no more. And deep in his heart, he knows that this apparition was, indeed, the very same individual he shared a meal with so recently.
At his feet, now, there is nothing except the figurine, as shiny and new as the night the beggar woman laid it on his table.
Looking around, the people of Yartar continue shuffling past on the slanted street behind Rastrin, as if nothing had happened.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
RASTRIN
Even though he’s resistant to fire, Rastrin flinches away as Yenword bursts into flames before him. For a moment, he just stands there in horror, aghast at the thought that he may have ignited the man by accident somehow.
Despite the surge of panic he felt, he manages to push his feelings aside as logical thinking took its place. There was no way he could have burned the man; he always felt when he had lost control of his magic, but he felt completely in control of himself during the whole encounter. And then there was that glow about Yenword… Maybe he was some sort of apparition?
Obviously still shaken, he uneasily reaches down and picks up the strange figurine. The Sumber Hills… That’s where the expedition was going, wasn’t it.
He looks down at the small figurine resting in the palm of his hand for a few moments before he closes his fist around and drops his hand to his side. Squaring his shoulders, he moves towards the ship that seemed to be preparing for departure soon, a spring of confidence in his step.
As he approaches, he scans the crowd for the most important person and then politely makes his way towards them. He spots someone standing in a scale shirt that seemed to be in charge of at least some aspect of the journey. Once he gets close enough, he rumbles, “Excuse me. Do you know if this expedition is looking for volunteers?” He’s a bit surprised with how confident his voice sounded. He still was a bit shaken by his encounter with Yenword.
“Excuse me. Do you know if this expedition is looking for volunteers?”
ALL
9 Mirtul
Miss Samitha, wearing a scale mail shirt, stands at the short gangplank linking the dock to the Sturgeon, and it is she that Rastrin speaks to when he asks about volunteers.
Looking up at him from one of the fighters-doubling-as-oarsmen with whom she was conversing, she leans backwards a bit from Rastrin’s reptilian snout, frowning very slightly, but when she speaks, her voice is flat and businesslike.
“That is a question for the River Master. Mister Varixx!!,” she calls over her shoulder, then turns to face Marcus.
“This gentleman asks if you are seeking volunteers.”
Nearby, Harold, with the help of several men, finishes making his cart fast to the ship’s hull, while Shay is also aboard and within earshot.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
SHAY
Settling aboard the ship she learned was named the ‘Sturgeon’, Shay stifles an unexpected yawn, not accustomed to being awake early, she always fancied herself more of a night person by nature. She appreciated the vast reach of the stars and dark sky overhead and believed it offered far more comfort than any well light blue one did. She looks out over the water and decides the sight and sound of the constantly moving waves were almost as peaceful. Shay closes her eyes and lets the rhythmic splashing against the sides of the ship lull her into a steady trance of sorts.
“Mister Varixx!!!”
Shay bolts upright at the sudden shout for the River Master, her calm moment properly shattered, and instinctively turns in the direction it came from. On the docks, she sees the familiar woman that seemed to be working in close proximity to the newly appointed man, who for his part appeared unphased. In front of the duo stood a red Dragonborn man bearing a stony expression as his gaze turned from the woman to the River Master himself.
“This gentleman asks if you’re seeking volunteers.” She continues as now all eyes are on Marcos. Shay pays particularly close attention to the late arrival, interest piqued as he stands without so much as a traveling bag in one of his humanoid hands. Surely he couldn’t expect to show up empty handed and simply be allowed on to the ship, could he? It was definitely a choice. She supposes the decision sat entirely with Mister Varrix on that front, but can’t help wondering what led him to wait so long when they were so close to leaving. Despite not wanting to snoop, Shay continues to stay tuned in to their conversation so at the very least she can get a satisfying answer.
Marcos
The Stiurgeon is ready. Marcos wears his chain shirt. A shield looks like a child’s toy on his arm. Sword and javelin strapped to his back, he uses a second javelin as a walking stick. His armour is packed. He is ready as well.
‘Mister Varixx!’
He had been watching this strange Dragonborn from the corner of his eye since he arrived on the dock. He strode over to Samitha. ‘What is your business? We do not plan to tarry here.’
Harold
Harold finishes with securing the wagon to the vessel... ensuring that he can still access any of the most commonly needed supplies at a moments notice. Once the wagon appears in order, he quickly dusts himself off and Takes a seat upon a set of neatly stacked supplies. Pulling out a carving knife and block of wood, he begins carving away to pass the time until a shout from Marcos catches his attention.
Looking up from the wood, he catches sight Marcos moving to speak with a hulking dragonborn. He didn't recognize the latest arrival, but after quickly sizing him up... determined that he wouldn't want to end up on his bad side. Harold turned his body towards the conversation, listening in as well as he could before going back to his carving. the wood and blade moved nimbly in his hands and gave the appearance that he was entirely focused on the task at hand while he listened to the conversations taking place around him.
The merchant had always enjoyed woodcarving. It helped him to stay relaxed and keep his mind from wandering. When his mind wanders, it eventually always leads to the same dark place... a place Harold hoped to avoid visiting. In this case, it also kept him distracted from the fact that he was on a boat. A fact that Harold very much resented. He considered boats and coffins to be similar in many ways... the largest similarity being that once you are inside.. it isn't easy to get out.
RASTRIN
Rastrin watches as a man who must be the River Master approaches. As he does, the dragonborn can't help but notice the man's armor and weapons. In fact, it looked like their were several people armed up to their teeth milling about the ship. They were expecting to encounter trouble during their voyage, and lots of it. Rastrin's resolve waivers for a moment; he had no experience in combat. Could he really be useful in this kind of mission?
Steeling himself, he looks up and meets the River Master's gaze with determination in his eyes, although inwardly he wanted to cringe away from the man's intensity. While not a coward, he had trained himself to avoid conflict at a young age in order to control his rampant magic. Conflict, no matter how small the issue may be, always riled up his draconic pride, leading to Rastrin feeling angry and offended. Let's just say his magic doesn't react very well when that happens.
Calmly, he replies, "I was wondering if I could join your expedition." Fidgeting with the fire-headed figure in his palm, he rumbles, "While I don't have any combat experience, I am a, um, decent craftsman. I can help repair equipment and maintain your ship."
Oh Bahumat Almighty, was that really the best he could offer? He felt like an idiot saying that out loud. He would be very surprised if the crew didn't already have dedicated repairsmen. His offer certainly did seem flimsy.
MARCOS
Marcos is stone-faced.
‘We are not going on a field trip. We need people that can take care of themselves. We have the manual skills and cantrips to repair our own gear. If that’s the best you can do then you should turn on your heel.’
The warrior priest turns slightly. ‘Everyone aboard!!!! Let’s go people! We have nine more hours of daylight!’
RASTRIN
Rastrin just stands there, deflating a bit at the rejection. His first instinct was to lash out at the rebuke, but he instantly squashed that impulse with an iron grip on his emotions. Letting his more impulsive, draconic side act would not be prudent in this situation. He hadn’t really expected that the River Master would accept an offer as flimsy as the one he made, but he had to get on this boat somehow.
As the River Master turns his attention else where, a desperate idea hits Rastrin. He looks down at the figurine in his hand as the familiar rhythm of raw elemental flame begins to pound in his head. Could he really risk letting a bit of his magic out? It could potentially hurt someone.
Squinting his eyes shut, he whispers, “Bahumat, protect these people.” With that, he relinquishes his tight grip on his magic.
In that moment, magic burst out of him like a raging river demolishing a dam, the rhythm of fire pouring out of him in a raging inferno. He quickly blocks his magic from excepting further; too much had already escaped in that brief moment.
The fire that erupted from him spirals upward with a fiery roar. The flames seem to hang in the air for a moment, intense heat singing Rastrin’s clothes as he stands underneath it. Suddenly, a crimson wing crafted from flame itself emerges from the inferno, quickly followed by another. With an eagle-like cry, a flaming phoenix emerges flies from the fire, flapping winds spreading sparks and embers as it flaps above Rastrin.
Rastrin spares a glance upward, relief filling him as the songs within him fade. Looking back at the River Master, he says, “I can also do that.”
((Casting Summon Draconic Spirit))
SHAY
The unknown dragonborn’s conversation with the River Master is an incredibly short exchange that ends in a curt “no” from Marcos. Understandably so as his attempts at convincing the man of how usefulness sounds more like a sudden burst of thought spoken aloud than one he’d properly prepared. With things apparently settled, Shay begins to turn away again and prepare for their departure, thoughts now turning to the next stage of what was to come and effectively chalking the short encounter she witnessed as nothing terribly important.
No sooner did she do this than the dragonborn man lit himself in a fascinatingly intriguing display of magic. As she looked, the fire that surrounded him rose into the sky in the shape of a large phoenix made entirely of fire. Shay was admiring the unexpected visuals dancing in the sky while the deep voice she recognized as the dragonborn piped up once more, this time holding a strong emotion she wasn’t quite able to place.
“I can also do that.”
Shay definitely knew what she’d say in the River Master’s place after witnessing such a strong showcasing of magic.
The oarsmen/fighters are veterans and not unfamiliar with powerful magic. Yet, taken by surprise, even they start and duck away from the fiery form Rastrin summons, grasping shields from their hitches on the gunwale while others draw their blades and leap off the ship to either side of the sorcerer, looking to Marcus for the order to attack the attacker — if that is what the newcomer indeed is.
Meanwhile “oohs” and “whoaaas” float across the dock from the stevedores — some of them — while others flee for cover, tripping over themselves, dropping bundles, and shouting in dismay.
Miss Samitha seems to read the situation perfectly and moves not an inch, arms folded, chucking slightly at the commotion, and wags a hand to the fighters who drew their weapons. They fall back a step, and following a stern follow-up look from Samitha, sheath their blades.
DM for Deathworld: Lost Mine of Phandelver // Story Guide for COYOTE and CROW: Cahokia Forever // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Co-creator: Princes of the Apocalypse - A DnD Story
Harold
"Hey! If nothing else he can help me to get a nice cooking fire started once we get to where we're going!" Harold shouts, looking up from his carving to take in the display. The merchant looks the dragonborn up and down before placing his carving tools in his pockets. "If you would like Marcos, I'll watch the newcomer... if you allow him to join us that is... I think he could be useful." Harold says as he stands up and gives the dragonborn a nod. "I'll take responsibility for him..." he then looks from Maros towards the hulking newcomer. "You won't cause any problems will ya? I pride myself on being a pretty good judge of character.... and I think you seem alright." Harold gives the dragonborn a wink and a grin from beneath his beard as he awaits a decision from Marcos.