OOC:No problem. I figured with the holiday weekend, it would be a good time to knock out some solo stuff Serak needed to do so everyone could take a break. Long story short, Serak discovered the best way to deal with Harbin is to get him unelected, so he nominated Sildar to run. If he doesn't agree, maybe Gundren could run for Town Master, or maybe Linene?
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
OOC: Sure. I’ve got your responses set ready so once we’re back I can fire them all out in one go hopefully.
Zyltris, You’ll find a list of items in the Players Handbook in the section on equipment (p143) onwards. Or if you don’t have the PHB there’s a section in the Basic Rules on p45 onwards.
The values listed are a bit of a guide, you might spend more or receive less if you buy/sell items in it but it’s a good starting point to know what’s available.
OOC: I’ll get us started again then. I’ll run the first part of the day at the Stonehill Inn first as written. Serak plans a short stop at Sildar and Linene before leaving town so I’ll keep those short afterwards unless any of you have questions for the two of them. We’ll be back on the road in no time!
The following morning, the town of Phandalin is awoken sharply at dawn to the loud ranting of voice few of them recognise. “GET UP YOU SHOWER! FERGHUS! I EXPECTED BETTER OF YOU! KARNEY CLEAN YOURSELF UP! WHERE’S ODO GOT TO......” The booming voice of Lord Turl as the commanders heavy leather boots stomp around the town square.
In the relative quiet of the Stonehill Inn, a bleary eyed Toblen Stonehill stumbles downstairs ready for a busy morning of cleaning. Before him, his previous bar has been ransacked - tables overturned, chairs smashed, broken glass and odd smells all around. With a groan the innkeeper mutters to himself, “... bloody alliance. Oh well on with the show!” Lifting a fallen table from the ground he groans again as the wood disintegrates in his hands, dropping it once more in despair. Alliance troops may pay well, but they cost a lot in repairs.
One by one the party make their way down the stairs, carefully stepping through the debris. Each finding a seat around one of the only tables left standing, the companions begin discussing the days plan over a hearty breakfast. Looking a little worse for wear, the tired but cheerful Serak is last to arrive, “Good morning, my friends! So... I may have solved our Town Master problem last night. It seems nearly everyone in town is demanding a new election to get rid of Harbin. They are as dissatisfied with him as I am, it would appear. I suggest we work up the town into a frenzy and demand an election be held. With my stellar personality, I'd win an election easily, but... I am not built for life behind a desk, I'm afraid. Gundren may be interested, or maybe Sildar? He spends all his time in that office anyway and he is Lord's Alliance. I'll ask him before we leave."
"I think Sildar would be a great choice but I am not sure he will accept that position over the one he holds now..." Beetle mentions..."We could try it though and see, but if not we need to have another in mind so the town doewsn't elect someone corrupt again."
Eager to act sooner rather than later, Serak finishes his meal before settling his tab and stepping out into the early morning sunlight.
Though still relatively early, a small crowd of townsfolk have started to gather around the Townmasters Hall. Lord Turl and a handful of his men, looking slightly worse for wear, lead a prisoner out and into the jail wagon, shoving them inside. A Redbrand first, then another, then finally the frail tired figure of Iarno Albrek. The crowd boos as the black bearded wizard emerges. A handle of pebbles burst on his cloak as they are thrown from the crowd. A sudden blast of wind kicks up a cloud of dust which circles around them, burning the wizards eyes.
Spotting Linene Graywind in the crowd, Serak quietly steps in beside her and watches as the prisoners are squeezed in beside the goblins. Without breaking her gaze, Linene simply says, “Good riddance. He’ll get what he deserves in Neverwinter.”
As the pair watch Turls men gather around securing the prisoner, Sildar and Harbin Wester appear in the doorway. Nudging Linene gently, Serak nods towards the small fat man speaking softly, "So I hear Harbin met with you not long ago? He seems more skittish that usual and he's refusing to take meetings, like he's hiding something. Do you mind if I ask what was discussed? Has he been acting differently lately?"
“That fool should never have been put in that position. He gets worse and worse with each passing day.” Glaring at the Townmaster from the safety of the crowd, Linene speaks quietly. More worried about others hearing her dissent than Harbin, “I’d requested a meeting to try and sort out these raids on the trail, another of my shipments went missing last week. I mean he’s a banker, he knows it’s bad for business, and bad for Phandalin..... but he does nothing. Look at the Redbrands for example. I heard a rumour that he’d had a threat made against him. If he fears for his life he should be doing a decent job and not giving people reason to target him. Incompetent fool.”
Arriving just in time to see the prisoners secured, Beetle, Syna, Zyltris and the others find Serak in the slowly dispersing crowd. Lord Turl and his men mount their horses and arrange themselves into marching formation. With Erhart once more taking the lead, his banner barely held upright in his shaking hands, a horn blasts a flat, crumpled, suddenly watery note. At the rear of the line, a trickle of vomit flows out of the horn, as Odos stomach hurls his half eaten breakfast onto the street. Turks face is palpable. Ordering his men forward, the soldiers stagger on, northwards out of the town square.
As the crowd thins, Harbin turns and heads back inside. With a short sigh, Linene turns back to the party, “I better get back to work. Come see me if you need anything.” Heading back towards the Coster, Linene is quickly replaced by a cheerful Sildar. Glad to finally have the jail empty once more. “Aha! Knew you wouldn’t miss the excitement. Looks as if the whole town turned out! Strange people hoho! How are we this blustery morning then? Not making your way north with those honorable men?” Sildar laughs slightly, hoping his humour hides his embarrassment. Turls men are quite possibly the worst disciplined he has ever seen.
Ensuring that their conversation is private, Serak wastes no time getting down to business,“Sir Hallwinter, you're a just and honorable man and I am proud to be your friend. We go to save Gundren or die in the attempt. Before we leave, I'd like to resolve this situation with Harbin. I believe he is working for The Black Spider, but I can prove nothing. In either case, he is bad for Phandalin and must be removed. The people all over town are clamoring for an election to oust the useless sod. As new residents of Phandalin, we nominate you, Sildar Hallwinter, to run for the position of Town Master. Do you accept, sir?"
Taken slightly aback Sildar prepares his response carefully. Running a hand across his whiskery chin. “Well now I.... I am proud too to count you among friends Sir. And though I am flattered..... politics.... well I am a soldier of the alliance first and foremost. My duty lies here in securing the town.... a duty with which you have been most helpful.” Pondering the situation further, Sildar quickly shakes himself away from the fantasy swimming through his mind, “I’m sure Harbin isn’t involved in this. It takes a smart brave man to run a deceit so convincingly and for so long. Harbin is.... well... I’m sure he is right and just.” The veteran smiles wickedly, “Hopeless maybe... but just.”
"Are you sure Sildar?" Beetle interrupts... "It alwasy seems that when there is something wrong in this town that man is connected 1 way or another..." he pauses a moment..."Even if it is as you say Sildar, maybe it is time for him to not be running the town and someone else should."
Sildar folds his arms, and smiles. Impressed at the parties determination to right the same wrongs he has seen. “My friend, be that as it may. It is not a situation that I can lawfully control without orders from my superiors. Understand that I am here as an agent of the Alliance, to uphold the law and bring stability to the town.” Taking time over his words, Sildar pauses for a moment choosing them very carefully as he continues, “As representative of the townsfolk, Harbin is the one who I must work with. While I might not agree with some of his actions, I am duty bound to stand behind them and fill in gaps that he has missed. Security is clearly not the bankers forte. True he is cowardly and craven, but he has a great mind for business and taxes.”
“If and when the townsfolk decide his time in office is over then so be it... but I’m afraid I can play no part in the politics of the situation. I’m sure you understand?” Deep down the veteran soldier understands the parties frustration. But orders are orders, and his hands are tightly bound.
A bit disappointed Beetle looks at his companions and asks, "So what is our next course of action? We still have a few things to take care of but in which order?"
A quiet voice breaks the silence. Jelenneth, who has been mostly quiet until now, steps forward eyes firmly fixed on the ground. “If I may Sirs. My dear Dayereth is still in need of our assistance. Though I understand the need to push on and rescue your friend Gundren.... perhaps my husband will know the whereabouts of this castle you seek?”
Serak: Nodding in agreement, Serak says, "Yes, I agree, we have a responsibility to rescue Dayereth. We can travel cross country on our return trip to search for Gundren. Let us be off, my friends! Adventure awaits!"
Serak falls in among the soldiers, keeping a close eye on Iarno as the party travels to Neverwinter.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
Catching up with Turls men on the edge of town, the party settles in for the long march north along the High Road. Riding proudly a short distance ahead of his troops, Turl chooses to ignore the hangers on, instead concentrating on the road as it bends slowly away from the Sword Mountains drawn towards the coast. His soldiers are tired, mere shadows of the talkative men the party had marched with a day earlier. Weary legs and blackened eyes slow their progress for much of the day, as they barely make it to the end of the Triboar Trail by nightfall.
A night of rest and a decent meal makes the following days march much easier, allowing them to make up much of the ground lost the previous day. As they follow the road steadily northwards, the strong winds finally weaken once more. The heat of early summer returns to the air, broken by the occasional light shower as rain clouds blow westwards towards the sea.
Under the watchful eyes of Ewyn, Moryn and Gildas, the prisoners are mostly quiet and subdued. Any hope of rescue slowly fading as the wagon trundles onwards towards Neverwinter. Glasstaff, curled up in a heap on the floor of the cart, has barely moved since leaving Phandalin. A broken man, barely even grunting when the guards poke at him every few miles. The Redbrands however grow more aggressive as the march continues - threatening their captors and demanding a release that is not forthcoming.
On the eve of the second day, the party make camp away from the roadside, gathering around the campfire with the men of the Alliance. The more experienced men share stories of the city of Neverwinter, some more accurate than others. “.... a dragon bigger than a castle, split the city in two....”,“.... Tyr himself laid the foundations of the Halls of Justice....”, “... Lord Neverember, protector of the city. Wisest man in all of Neverwinter...”, “.....river flows with purest gold...” Having never ventured this far away from their homes, the youngest soldiers lap up each story in turn, fuelling their excitement for the mornings march.
Continuing on in the early morning light, the caravan follows the road northwards as it hugs the coast tightly. A few miles short of their destination, signs of civilisation begin to re-emerge. Here, the High Road has been cleared of dangers and maintained. It is not long before the men get their first glimpse of the Jewel of the North.
Huge stone walls circle the entire town, regularly broken by its defensive towers. Along the south wall two fortified entrances lead to the High Road welcoming trade from the prospering cities of the south. Two matching entrances lead from the northern side of the city. From the east, the Neverwinter River carves the city in two before flowing out into the harbour on the cities western edge. Above the walls, the crumbling fortifications of Castle Never can just about be seen. The derelict ruin having once been the centrepiece of the city.
Making their way under the city gates, Turls men pass through the district known to locals as the Protectors Enclave, it’s winding streets all seemingly leading westwards towards the waters edge. The bustling city teems with life, children playing in the street watch the soldiers arrival with interest, laughing and pointing at the selection of prisoners they bring with them. Men and women of all races go about their various daily routines, stepping aside as the Alliance men pass by.
Neverwinter itself, despite its atmosphere, shows signs of great poverty and distress. This is clearly a city enjoying somewhat of a rejuvenation. Scarred by years of neglect and conflict but finally finding its feet.
Turl draws the troops to a halt, stopping beside the western most bridge along the river, in the shadow of a huge stone temple. Beautifully decorated with statues set into its walls, the building could comfortably allow several giants to pass through its huge wooden doors. The temples intricate stonework has the appearance of marble, worked into gentle curves and archways by a skilled hand long ago. Watching over the harbour from its cliff top overlook, the temple would easily dominate the skyline - were it not for the ruin of the castle across the river.
Dismounting his horse, Lord Turl addresses his men clearly, “This is the Hall of Justice for those who don’t know! Ewyn, Moryn bring the prisoners around. Ferghus come with me. Stay alert men, we’re not finished here yet.” Leading Ferghus inside, he disappears, leaving his men and the companions behind, taking in their surroundings.
"What a marvelous city..." says Beetle. "When we have a bit of down time, if we do, I must visit Tyr's shrine." Beetle continues to scan buildings and take in his surroundings...at the same time he is still on guard and wary for any signs of trouble....
Having only stayed a short while before heading south on Gundrens errand, Beetle is pleased to finally be able to fully appreciate the cities artistry. Wandering slightly away from the group, he takes a walk along the nearest wall of the temple, the statues laid into it's walls completely captivating him. Faces of ancient gods and rulers stare back blankly, each one masterfully carved from the finest stone. Though his knowledge of other religions is limited, the paladin is easily able to identify these figures - Bahamut, the dragon God of law, Helm the God of protection and guardians, Kelemvor the Judge of the Dead, Oghma Lord of Knowledge and of course Tyr, God of Justice standing proudly with sword in hand. Though weathered through the years, the details of the statue are still as vivid as they would have been on its construction - Tyrs blinded eyes, his missing right hand, the Maimed God clearly living up to his name. Taking in each minute detail, Beetle says a short quiet prayer to his deity before moving onwards.
Standing beside the western bridge, the paladin has a perfect view of the city. To the north, the dominating structure of Castle Never - once a grand and ornate building but now, lying abandoned and crumbling from years of neglect. At its base, the river sweeps gracefully around, not daring to challenge the castles defenses. Stretching northwards from the river, rows of small houses spread up to the city walls. Buildings of wood and stone of varying ages, old crumbling ruins peppered amongst newly built dwellings. Along both sides of the river, peddlers and tradesmen sell their wares from wagons or makeshift stalls, with only a few of the most successful merchants managing to build stores of their own.
Beyond them, tall pointed stone buildings climb up the short hill towards the eastern walls. Though several towers appear to be abandoned, others harbour signs of life - residents moving around inside, visible through open windows, unaware of the interest in them. Two of the tallest towers in particular catch the paladins attention. The first, a peculiar hovering construction, seemingly without a base, held in place by a strange magic of some sort. Its walls of purest white alabaster, glinting in the sunlight. East of it lies an empty clearing in which a tall clock tower stands. Huge buckets of water, held by thick steel chains are dragged from the flowing river towards the clock face, turning the gears inside at a regular beat. The mechanical tick can faintly be heard, even from the opposite side of the city.
Turning his attention back to his immediate vicinity, Beetle notices that the three bridges in the west of the city are the only river crossings within the town walls. The first, beside which he finds himself, is carved in the likeness of a sleeping dragon, joining the ruin of Castle Never to the Hall of Justice. The Sleeping Dragon bridge appears to have been recently rebuilt at great expense, new stone placed neatly onto much older foundations.
Next along the river to the east, a much older bridge. Carved stone in the shape of a Wyvern in flight, connecting the castle to the old marketplace. The Wyverns wings extend outwards, providing the perfect spots for a variety of local birds to take roost. Finally, around the bend of the river, the third and final bridge lies in ruins. This particular bridge had once connected the castle to the south eastern side of the city. Though it has long crumbled, it appears as if it had originally been shaped in the form of some sort of fish.
Heading back to the others, Beetle notices a small group of soldiers, seven in total, crossing the Sleeping Dragon bridge. These men, not dressed in the regular red colours of the Lords Alliance but in a mix of blue and brown. Each of them are deeply tanned, having clearly spent most of their lives in warmer climates than the frigid north. On their chests, uniforms bear the sigil of Neverwinter, three circled snowflakes on a shield of blue, along with another coat of arms - a wooden ship on a stormy sea. It is obvious to Beetle that these men mean no harm, merely patrolling the area for signs of trouble. Following their leaders command, they head over to the gathering outside the Hall of Justice to investigate.
Taking the lead, the blue clad commander rests a hand on his sword and approaches one of the Alliance soldiers, "Good day Gentlemen, What brings you to this fair city this day?" Erhart clearly not used to direct questioning, clutches at the banner held in his shaking hands, "Prisoners.... Prisoners Sir. Order of Lor....d Turl of the Alliance." Stabbing a finger upwards, the young bannerman points at the sigil of the crown fluttering in the wind above them, "He's... he's just inside." Erhart casts a hopeful look back towards the doorway through which Turl had disappeared, hoping his commander would return to deal with this situation. The Neverwinter guard simply glances around the soldiers each in turn, suddenly spotting the other companions, "Hmm... good... good. And you. You surely aren't Alliance men, and your lack of bindings suggest you are not prisoners. What is YOUR business here?"
"Beetlejuice, Paladin of Tyr," he says proudly to the soldier..."We were just accompanying these me in transporting the prisioner since we did capture him in our helping of the city of Phandalin." Beetle pauses, "We will be moving on shortly sir, as we still have some duties to fulfill for Phandalin, not in this grand city of course, just passing though here on our way."
The City Guard eyes up the proud paladin before him, before turning his attention back to the Hall of Justice temporarily. “See to it that you are Sir. Mark my words, if I hear of any strangers causing trouble, you will be the first to taste the Protectors justice. Good day gentlemen.” Turning swiftly on the spot, the guard rejoins his patrol, heading westwards along the river and leaving the Alliance soldiers to deal with their prisoners. Gildas, Ewyn and Moryn busy themselves lining up the Redrands, goblins and Glasstaff in front of the temple, drawing their weapons so to prevent any escape attempt.
Beetle looks over the prisoners, he smiles happily, then turns to his companions and says, "Quite some fine work we have done here! So where are we pushing on to next? Maybe we should look into selling that staff while in the city...the money can help fund better equipment and our hindquarter rebuilding."
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Serak: Nod at Beetle's suggestion, Serak says, "Surely, there must be a magic shop or wizard that will buy the staff. Let us have a look around and ask the locals."
In the shadow of the Wyvern shaped bridge, the old market place of Neverwinter teems with life. Stalls and wagons fill every available inch of the already narrow square, spilling out along the riverside as the traders struggle to find space. Few merchants here have stores of their own, with many of the buildings lying empty and derelict.
Pushing through the crowd in search of signs of magic, the parties senses are overwhelmed. The scent of fresh fish and spices mix together in the air, a blast of light and heat as a street entertainer blows fire, followed by the excited screams of the watching children. “... FRESH OFF THE BOAT. BEST SQUID IN THE NORTH....”,”....ONE DAY ONLY! VOLCANO SALE, ALL STOCK MUST GO!”,”.....FINEST SILKS, WORN BY NEVEREMBER HIMSELF....”,”.....SIX FOR FIVE GOLD, ONE GOLD EACH!....”,”.....SHEEP AND GOAT MILK! DAIRY AND CHEESE!.....”
Despite the number of merchants crammed into the square, there is little on offer here that could not be bought in Phandalin. Many of the stalls are loaded with local foods and produce, occasionally broken up by one laden with exotic trinkets or imported fabrics. Sadly however, there is not a magic dealer or blacksmith in sight.
Drawn away by the peaceful trickle of flowing water, the companions find themselves following the road upriver. Footfall in this part of the city is clearly lower, the traders here much smaller. With no competition or crowds to entice, the merchants sit quietly beside their stalls, eagerly awaiting passing custom, their wares clearly more suited to the parties needs. Weapons, armour, adventuring gear. However one of the stores along the rivers edge in particular catches their eye. A rundown building, glowing blue with a magical aura.
“ASTARO’S ARCANA”, A freshly painted sign hangs loosely against the weathered stone wall, “Dark arts and crafts”. Inside the blue light fades, revealing a store filled with all manners of magical things. Along the right wall, bottled potions of every colour and shape stacked neatly on a set of wooden shelves. On the opposite side, rows of spell books, reference books, scrolls and tomes. Scattered around the room, various ingredients, robes, wands and staffs stacked tidily, awaiting a buyer.
Dancing in the air above them, seven golden coins glide playfully around, controlled by a bored tiefling woman standing a short distance away behind the shop counter.
OOC: No worries Serak. Just giving the others a chance to catch up before we move on from here.
If anyone has questions for Linene or Sildar I can address them all at once. Hopefully not be too long!
OOC: No problem. I figured with the holiday weekend, it would be a good time to knock out some solo stuff Serak needed to do so everyone could take a break. Long story short, Serak discovered the best way to deal with Harbin is to get him unelected, so he nominated Sildar to run. If he doesn't agree, maybe Gundren could run for Town Master, or maybe Linene?
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
OOC: Just curious but what are you using as a list for things to purchase?
OOC: Sure. I’ve got your responses set ready so once we’re back I can fire them all out in one go hopefully.
Zyltris, You’ll find a list of items in the Players Handbook in the section on equipment (p143) onwards. Or if you don’t have the PHB there’s a section in the Basic Rules on p45 onwards.
Link to Basic Rules PDF
The values listed are a bit of a guide, you might spend more or receive less if you buy/sell items in it but it’s a good starting point to know what’s available.
OOC: I’ll get us started again then. I’ll run the first part of the day at the Stonehill Inn first as written. Serak plans a short stop at Sildar and Linene before leaving town so I’ll keep those short afterwards unless any of you have questions for the two of them. We’ll be back on the road in no time!
The following morning, the town of Phandalin is awoken sharply at dawn to the loud ranting of voice few of them recognise. “GET UP YOU SHOWER! FERGHUS! I EXPECTED BETTER OF YOU! KARNEY CLEAN YOURSELF UP! WHERE’S ODO GOT TO......” The booming voice of Lord Turl as the commanders heavy leather boots stomp around the town square.
In the relative quiet of the Stonehill Inn, a bleary eyed Toblen Stonehill stumbles downstairs ready for a busy morning of cleaning. Before him, his previous bar has been ransacked - tables overturned, chairs smashed, broken glass and odd smells all around. With a groan the innkeeper mutters to himself, “... bloody alliance. Oh well on with the show!” Lifting a fallen table from the ground he groans again as the wood disintegrates in his hands, dropping it once more in despair. Alliance troops may pay well, but they cost a lot in repairs.
One by one the party make their way down the stairs, carefully stepping through the debris. Each finding a seat around one of the only tables left standing, the companions begin discussing the days plan over a hearty breakfast. Looking a little worse for wear, the tired but cheerful Serak is last to arrive, “Good morning, my friends! So... I may have solved our Town Master problem last night. It seems nearly everyone in town is demanding a new election to get rid of Harbin. They are as dissatisfied with him as I am, it would appear. I suggest we work up the town into a frenzy and demand an election be held. With my stellar personality, I'd win an election easily, but... I am not built for life behind a desk, I'm afraid. Gundren may be interested, or maybe Sildar? He spends all his time in that office anyway and he is Lord's Alliance. I'll ask him before we leave."
"I think Sildar would be a great choice but I am not sure he will accept that position over the one he holds now..." Beetle mentions..."We could try it though and see, but if not we need to have another in mind so the town doewsn't elect someone corrupt again."
Eager to act sooner rather than later, Serak finishes his meal before settling his tab and stepping out into the early morning sunlight.
Though still relatively early, a small crowd of townsfolk have started to gather around the Townmasters Hall. Lord Turl and a handful of his men, looking slightly worse for wear, lead a prisoner out and into the jail wagon, shoving them inside. A Redbrand first, then another, then finally the frail tired figure of Iarno Albrek. The crowd boos as the black bearded wizard emerges. A handle of pebbles burst on his cloak as they are thrown from the crowd. A sudden blast of wind kicks up a cloud of dust which circles around them, burning the wizards eyes.
Spotting Linene Graywind in the crowd, Serak quietly steps in beside her and watches as the prisoners are squeezed in beside the goblins. Without breaking her gaze, Linene simply says, “Good riddance. He’ll get what he deserves in Neverwinter.”
As the pair watch Turls men gather around securing the prisoner, Sildar and Harbin Wester appear in the doorway. Nudging Linene gently, Serak nods towards the small fat man speaking softly, "So I hear Harbin met with you not long ago? He seems more skittish that usual and he's refusing to take meetings, like he's hiding something. Do you mind if I ask what was discussed? Has he been acting differently lately?"
“That fool should never have been put in that position. He gets worse and worse with each passing day.” Glaring at the Townmaster from the safety of the crowd, Linene speaks quietly. More worried about others hearing her dissent than Harbin, “I’d requested a meeting to try and sort out these raids on the trail, another of my shipments went missing last week. I mean he’s a banker, he knows it’s bad for business, and bad for Phandalin..... but he does nothing. Look at the Redbrands for example. I heard a rumour that he’d had a threat made against him. If he fears for his life he should be doing a decent job and not giving people reason to target him. Incompetent fool.”
Arriving just in time to see the prisoners secured, Beetle, Syna, Zyltris and the others find Serak in the slowly dispersing crowd. Lord Turl and his men mount their horses and arrange themselves into marching formation. With Erhart once more taking the lead, his banner barely held upright in his shaking hands, a horn blasts a flat, crumpled, suddenly watery note. At the rear of the line, a trickle of vomit flows out of the horn, as Odos stomach hurls his half eaten breakfast onto the street. Turks face is palpable. Ordering his men forward, the soldiers stagger on, northwards out of the town square.
As the crowd thins, Harbin turns and heads back inside. With a short sigh, Linene turns back to the party, “I better get back to work. Come see me if you need anything.” Heading back towards the Coster, Linene is quickly replaced by a cheerful Sildar. Glad to finally have the jail empty once more. “Aha! Knew you wouldn’t miss the excitement. Looks as if the whole town turned out! Strange people hoho! How are we this blustery morning then? Not making your way north with those honorable men?” Sildar laughs slightly, hoping his humour hides his embarrassment. Turls men are quite possibly the worst disciplined he has ever seen.
Ensuring that their conversation is private, Serak wastes no time getting down to business, “Sir Hallwinter, you're a just and honorable man and I am proud to be your friend. We go to save Gundren or die in the attempt. Before we leave, I'd like to resolve this situation with Harbin. I believe he is working for The Black Spider, but I can prove nothing. In either case, he is bad for Phandalin and must be removed. The people all over town are clamoring for an election to oust the useless sod. As new residents of Phandalin, we nominate you, Sildar Hallwinter, to run for the position of Town Master. Do you accept, sir?"
Taken slightly aback Sildar prepares his response carefully. Running a hand across his whiskery chin. “Well now I.... I am proud too to count you among friends Sir. And though I am flattered..... politics.... well I am a soldier of the alliance first and foremost. My duty lies here in securing the town.... a duty with which you have been most helpful.” Pondering the situation further, Sildar quickly shakes himself away from the fantasy swimming through his mind, “I’m sure Harbin isn’t involved in this. It takes a smart brave man to run a deceit so convincingly and for so long. Harbin is.... well... I’m sure he is right and just.” The veteran smiles wickedly, “Hopeless maybe... but just.”
"Are you sure Sildar?" Beetle interrupts... "It alwasy seems that when there is something wrong in this town that man is connected 1 way or another..." he pauses a moment..."Even if it is as you say Sildar, maybe it is time for him to not be running the town and someone else should."
Sildar folds his arms, and smiles. Impressed at the parties determination to right the same wrongs he has seen. “My friend, be that as it may. It is not a situation that I can lawfully control without orders from my superiors. Understand that I am here as an agent of the Alliance, to uphold the law and bring stability to the town.” Taking time over his words, Sildar pauses for a moment choosing them very carefully as he continues, “As representative of the townsfolk, Harbin is the one who I must work with. While I might not agree with some of his actions, I am duty bound to stand behind them and fill in gaps that he has missed. Security is clearly not the bankers forte. True he is cowardly and craven, but he has a great mind for business and taxes.”
“If and when the townsfolk decide his time in office is over then so be it... but I’m afraid I can play no part in the politics of the situation. I’m sure you understand?” Deep down the veteran soldier understands the parties frustration. But orders are orders, and his hands are tightly bound.
A bit disappointed Beetle looks at his companions and asks, "So what is our next course of action? We still have a few things to take care of but in which order?"
A quiet voice breaks the silence. Jelenneth, who has been mostly quiet until now, steps forward eyes firmly fixed on the ground. “If I may Sirs. My dear Dayereth is still in need of our assistance. Though I understand the need to push on and rescue your friend Gundren.... perhaps my husband will know the whereabouts of this castle you seek?”
Serak: Nodding in agreement, Serak says, "Yes, I agree, we have a responsibility to rescue Dayereth. We can travel cross country on our return trip to search for Gundren. Let us be off, my friends! Adventure awaits!"
Serak falls in among the soldiers, keeping a close eye on Iarno as the party travels to Neverwinter.
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
5. 16.7. 11.8. 18.92.2
Catching up with Turls men on the edge of town, the party settles in for the long march north along the High Road. Riding proudly a short distance ahead of his troops, Turl chooses to ignore the hangers on, instead concentrating on the road as it bends slowly away from the Sword Mountains drawn towards the coast. His soldiers are tired, mere shadows of the talkative men the party had marched with a day earlier. Weary legs and blackened eyes slow their progress for much of the day, as they barely make it to the end of the Triboar Trail by nightfall.
A night of rest and a decent meal makes the following days march much easier, allowing them to make up much of the ground lost the previous day. As they follow the road steadily northwards, the strong winds finally weaken once more. The heat of early summer returns to the air, broken by the occasional light shower as rain clouds blow westwards towards the sea.
Under the watchful eyes of Ewyn, Moryn and Gildas, the prisoners are mostly quiet and subdued. Any hope of rescue slowly fading as the wagon trundles onwards towards Neverwinter. Glasstaff, curled up in a heap on the floor of the cart, has barely moved since leaving Phandalin. A broken man, barely even grunting when the guards poke at him every few miles. The Redbrands however grow more aggressive as the march continues - threatening their captors and demanding a release that is not forthcoming.
On the eve of the second day, the party make camp away from the roadside, gathering around the campfire with the men of the Alliance. The more experienced men share stories of the city of Neverwinter, some more accurate than others. “.... a dragon bigger than a castle, split the city in two....”, “.... Tyr himself laid the foundations of the Halls of Justice....”, “... Lord Neverember, protector of the city. Wisest man in all of Neverwinter...”, “.....river flows with purest gold...” Having never ventured this far away from their homes, the youngest soldiers lap up each story in turn, fuelling their excitement for the mornings march.
Continuing on in the early morning light, the caravan follows the road northwards as it hugs the coast tightly. A few miles short of their destination, signs of civilisation begin to re-emerge. Here, the High Road has been cleared of dangers and maintained. It is not long before the men get their first glimpse of the Jewel of the North.
Huge stone walls circle the entire town, regularly broken by its defensive towers. Along the south wall two fortified entrances lead to the High Road welcoming trade from the prospering cities of the south. Two matching entrances lead from the northern side of the city. From the east, the Neverwinter River carves the city in two before flowing out into the harbour on the cities western edge. Above the walls, the crumbling fortifications of Castle Never can just about be seen. The derelict ruin having once been the centrepiece of the city.
Making their way under the city gates, Turls men pass through the district known to locals as the Protectors Enclave, it’s winding streets all seemingly leading westwards towards the waters edge. The bustling city teems with life, children playing in the street watch the soldiers arrival with interest, laughing and pointing at the selection of prisoners they bring with them. Men and women of all races go about their various daily routines, stepping aside as the Alliance men pass by.
Neverwinter itself, despite its atmosphere, shows signs of great poverty and distress. This is clearly a city enjoying somewhat of a rejuvenation. Scarred by years of neglect and conflict but finally finding its feet.
Turl draws the troops to a halt, stopping beside the western most bridge along the river, in the shadow of a huge stone temple. Beautifully decorated with statues set into its walls, the building could comfortably allow several giants to pass through its huge wooden doors. The temples intricate stonework has the appearance of marble, worked into gentle curves and archways by a skilled hand long ago. Watching over the harbour from its cliff top overlook, the temple would easily dominate the skyline - were it not for the ruin of the castle across the river.
Dismounting his horse, Lord Turl addresses his men clearly, “This is the Hall of Justice for those who don’t know! Ewyn, Moryn bring the prisoners around. Ferghus come with me. Stay alert men, we’re not finished here yet.” Leading Ferghus inside, he disappears, leaving his men and the companions behind, taking in their surroundings.
"What a marvelous city..." says Beetle. "When we have a bit of down time, if we do, I must visit Tyr's shrine." Beetle continues to scan buildings and take in his surroundings...at the same time he is still on guard and wary for any signs of trouble....
Perception: 21
Having only stayed a short while before heading south on Gundrens errand, Beetle is pleased to finally be able to fully appreciate the cities artistry. Wandering slightly away from the group, he takes a walk along the nearest wall of the temple, the statues laid into it's walls completely captivating him. Faces of ancient gods and rulers stare back blankly, each one masterfully carved from the finest stone. Though his knowledge of other religions is limited, the paladin is easily able to identify these figures - Bahamut, the dragon God of law, Helm the God of protection and guardians, Kelemvor the Judge of the Dead, Oghma Lord of Knowledge and of course Tyr, God of Justice standing proudly with sword in hand. Though weathered through the years, the details of the statue are still as vivid as they would have been on its construction - Tyrs blinded eyes, his missing right hand, the Maimed God clearly living up to his name. Taking in each minute detail, Beetle says a short quiet prayer to his deity before moving onwards.
Standing beside the western bridge, the paladin has a perfect view of the city. To the north, the dominating structure of Castle Never - once a grand and ornate building but now, lying abandoned and crumbling from years of neglect. At its base, the river sweeps gracefully around, not daring to challenge the castles defenses. Stretching northwards from the river, rows of small houses spread up to the city walls. Buildings of wood and stone of varying ages, old crumbling ruins peppered amongst newly built dwellings. Along both sides of the river, peddlers and tradesmen sell their wares from wagons or makeshift stalls, with only a few of the most successful merchants managing to build stores of their own.
Beyond them, tall pointed stone buildings climb up the short hill towards the eastern walls. Though several towers appear to be abandoned, others harbour signs of life - residents moving around inside, visible through open windows, unaware of the interest in them. Two of the tallest towers in particular catch the paladins attention. The first, a peculiar hovering construction, seemingly without a base, held in place by a strange magic of some sort. Its walls of purest white alabaster, glinting in the sunlight. East of it lies an empty clearing in which a tall clock tower stands. Huge buckets of water, held by thick steel chains are dragged from the flowing river towards the clock face, turning the gears inside at a regular beat. The mechanical tick can faintly be heard, even from the opposite side of the city.
Turning his attention back to his immediate vicinity, Beetle notices that the three bridges in the west of the city are the only river crossings within the town walls. The first, beside which he finds himself, is carved in the likeness of a sleeping dragon, joining the ruin of Castle Never to the Hall of Justice. The Sleeping Dragon bridge appears to have been recently rebuilt at great expense, new stone placed neatly onto much older foundations.
Next along the river to the east, a much older bridge. Carved stone in the shape of a Wyvern in flight, connecting the castle to the old marketplace. The Wyverns wings extend outwards, providing the perfect spots for a variety of local birds to take roost. Finally, around the bend of the river, the third and final bridge lies in ruins. This particular bridge had once connected the castle to the south eastern side of the city. Though it has long crumbled, it appears as if it had originally been shaped in the form of some sort of fish.
Heading back to the others, Beetle notices a small group of soldiers, seven in total, crossing the Sleeping Dragon bridge. These men, not dressed in the regular red colours of the Lords Alliance but in a mix of blue and brown. Each of them are deeply tanned, having clearly spent most of their lives in warmer climates than the frigid north. On their chests, uniforms bear the sigil of Neverwinter, three circled snowflakes on a shield of blue, along with another coat of arms - a wooden ship on a stormy sea. It is obvious to Beetle that these men mean no harm, merely patrolling the area for signs of trouble. Following their leaders command, they head over to the gathering outside the Hall of Justice to investigate.
Taking the lead, the blue clad commander rests a hand on his sword and approaches one of the Alliance soldiers, "Good day Gentlemen, What brings you to this fair city this day?" Erhart clearly not used to direct questioning, clutches at the banner held in his shaking hands, "Prisoners.... Prisoners Sir. Order of Lor....d Turl of the Alliance." Stabbing a finger upwards, the young bannerman points at the sigil of the crown fluttering in the wind above them, "He's... he's just inside." Erhart casts a hopeful look back towards the doorway through which Turl had disappeared, hoping his commander would return to deal with this situation. The Neverwinter guard simply glances around the soldiers each in turn, suddenly spotting the other companions, "Hmm... good... good. And you. You surely aren't Alliance men, and your lack of bindings suggest you are not prisoners. What is YOUR business here?"
"Beetlejuice, Paladin of Tyr," he says proudly to the soldier..."We were just accompanying these me in transporting the prisioner since we did capture him in our helping of the city of Phandalin." Beetle pauses, "We will be moving on shortly sir, as we still have some duties to fulfill for Phandalin, not in this grand city of course, just passing though here on our way."
The City Guard eyes up the proud paladin before him, before turning his attention back to the Hall of Justice temporarily. “See to it that you are Sir. Mark my words, if I hear of any strangers causing trouble, you will be the first to taste the Protectors justice. Good day gentlemen.” Turning swiftly on the spot, the guard rejoins his patrol, heading westwards along the river and leaving the Alliance soldiers to deal with their prisoners. Gildas, Ewyn and Moryn busy themselves lining up the Redrands, goblins and Glasstaff in front of the temple, drawing their weapons so to prevent any escape attempt.
Beetle looks over the prisoners, he smiles happily, then turns to his companions and says, "Quite some fine work we have done here! So where are we pushing on to next? Maybe we should look into selling that staff while in the city...the money can help fund better equipment and our hindquarter rebuilding."
Serak: Nod at Beetle's suggestion, Serak says, "Surely, there must be a magic shop or wizard that will buy the staff. Let us have a look around and ask the locals."
Investigation: 21
"Not all those who wander are lost." - J.R.R. Tolkien
In the shadow of the Wyvern shaped bridge, the old market place of Neverwinter teems with life. Stalls and wagons fill every available inch of the already narrow square, spilling out along the riverside as the traders struggle to find space. Few merchants here have stores of their own, with many of the buildings lying empty and derelict.
Pushing through the crowd in search of signs of magic, the parties senses are overwhelmed. The scent of fresh fish and spices mix together in the air, a blast of light and heat as a street entertainer blows fire, followed by the excited screams of the watching children. “... FRESH OFF THE BOAT. BEST SQUID IN THE NORTH....”,”....ONE DAY ONLY! VOLCANO SALE, ALL STOCK MUST GO!”,”.....FINEST SILKS, WORN BY NEVEREMBER HIMSELF....”,”.....SIX FOR FIVE GOLD, ONE GOLD EACH!....”,”.....SHEEP AND GOAT MILK! DAIRY AND CHEESE!.....”
Despite the number of merchants crammed into the square, there is little on offer here that could not be bought in Phandalin. Many of the stalls are loaded with local foods and produce, occasionally broken up by one laden with exotic trinkets or imported fabrics. Sadly however, there is not a magic dealer or blacksmith in sight.
Drawn away by the peaceful trickle of flowing water, the companions find themselves following the road upriver. Footfall in this part of the city is clearly lower, the traders here much smaller. With no competition or crowds to entice, the merchants sit quietly beside their stalls, eagerly awaiting passing custom, their wares clearly more suited to the parties needs. Weapons, armour, adventuring gear. However one of the stores along the rivers edge in particular catches their eye. A rundown building, glowing blue with a magical aura.
“ASTARO’S ARCANA”, A freshly painted sign hangs loosely against the weathered stone wall, “Dark arts and crafts”. Inside the blue light fades, revealing a store filled with all manners of magical things. Along the right wall, bottled potions of every colour and shape stacked neatly on a set of wooden shelves. On the opposite side, rows of spell books, reference books, scrolls and tomes. Scattered around the room, various ingredients, robes, wands and staffs stacked tidily, awaiting a buyer.
Dancing in the air above them, seven golden coins glide playfully around, controlled by a bored tiefling woman standing a short distance away behind the shop counter.