In the city of Neverwinter, a dwarf named Gundren Rockseeker asked you to bring a wagonload of provisions to the rough-and-tumble settlement of Phandalin, a couple of days’ travel southeast of the city. Gundren was clearly excited and more than a little secretive about his reasons for the trip, saying only that he and his brothers had found “something big,” and that he’d pay you ten gold pieces each for escorting his supplies safely to Barthen’s Provisions, a trading post in Phandalin. He then set out ahead of you on horse, along with a warrior escort named Sildar Hallwinter, claiming he needed to arrive early to “take care of business.”
You’ve spent the last few days following the High Road south from Neverwinter, and you’ve just recently veered east along the Triboar Trail. You’ve encountered no trouble so far, but this territory can be dangerous. Bandits and outlaws have been known to lurk along the trail.
Calantha's eyes darted to and fro, scanning the road constantly, alert for any signs of ambush. She walked silently alongside the cart, pulled slowly along by a team of oxen. This job was like a gift from the heavens, coming along right when she needed to get out of town fast, and she was being paid for it too. Harcourt's thugs had almost caught up with her in Neverwinter, but she'd given them the slip at the last minute. So when she ran into Gundren, she signed up without even asking that many questions about the job, as long as it meant traveling outside the city, preferably somewhere a bit off the beaten path like Phandalin.
So while she scanned the road for bandits that would seek to loot the dwarf's precious cargo, whatever it was, she also had her eyes peeled for any sign of the silver and red livery of the Singing Blades mercenary company. As she walked, she couldn't help but steal occasional glances toward her new companions, her fellow caravan guards that had also signed on in Neverwinter. They were a motley group of half-orcs, an Earth genasi, and two members of the little folk, a gnome and a halfling. The only person she recognized was Malachite Terra, better known as Mal, and only because he was an acquaintance of her father's through the blacksmith trade. She was pleased to encounter him on this job, knowing him to be an honorable sort and pleasant company besides.
They hadn't had much chance to talk before setting out for Phandalin. Nodding at the genasi now, she said, "Greetings, Mal. I'm surprised to see you here. Last I knew you were still in the blacksmithing trade like my father."
The smaller of the half-orcs, was walking along the other side of the cart, likewise keeping on high alert as he eyed any deep shadows on the roadside, or any branches overhead thick enough to support a couple of... unscrupulous opportunists. Crom, as he was called, really needed this job to go well. Ten gold pieces was no small reward, but even more important than the promise of coin was the prospect of similar jobs down the road. Perhaps Gundren would put in a good word around Phandalin when the job was complete. Maybe Barthen's Provisions would request a regular escort. This was the first real gig Crom had had outside of orc-hunting, and he hoped that if all went well, he'd never have to chase another bounty in his life.
At Calantha's words to Mal, Crom shifted some of his focus to overhear the conversation. He'd heard of an earth genasi blacksmith in the area. Word was he was supposed to be some kind of veteran. If the two genasiae were one and the same, then Crom could rest a bit easier in regards to the caravan's safety. He turned to the only member of the party that he was personally familiar with. "So, Ragnarok..." he said quietly to the other half-orc. "Ye've got an eye for mercenaries, aye? Watchya make of this merry band we got 'ere? I'm pretty sure Mal's seen some action, but besides that, it's all new faces fer me."
With the reins in hand, Ink periodically chatters words of encouragement to the pair of oxen, assuring the beasts they are doing a fine job. The gnome now and then scans the cargo behind him, looking for any indication that something might tumble off and land in a mess of pieces on the road. With minimal effort, Ink's travel mates can discern that the gnome feels mildly out of place.
"Two weeks ago I was leading students through ancient texts; today, I lead ungulates along a dusty road!"he announces to no one specifically. "And may I say that the oxen have proven to be the far more cooperative bunch! Ha ha!"
Ink happily engages in conversation with anyone who seems interested in doing so, and, from time to time, he absentmindedly breaks into song, softly singing one of his favorite tavern tunes, for example...
Oh, where did you get that beak? Oh, where did you get that nose?
It's quite a peculiar one I say! It's one that goes and goes!
How I would like to have one. Yes, just the same as that.
Wherever I'd go, folks would shout 'Ello!' Oh, where did you get that nose?
Then looking toward his friend Mal, Ink says, "No doubt you know that one, eh?"
(OOC: Here's a rough idea of what Ink looks like):
Mal's posture is lax and lazy during the ride and he seems rather bored having regular naps every now and again only really talking when spoken to, in spite of this he is noticeably aware of where everyone is surrounding the cart and his mace never moves far from his lap where is waits primed and prepared. From the passenger seat of the cart Mal abruptly straightens up, as though being roused from a vague daydreaming state, at the sudden addressing by Calantha,
"Oh aye young one, blacksmithings is a fine and fair trade, mayhaps a tad slow for me,
Don't get me wrong folk like yer father there are worth their weight in gold, but there's someone at home looking after the forge fer me while I'm gone,
on to more exciting avenues, I'm hoping you lot can help me get back to where I once was, fighting fit and on the road to adventure, and with the blessing of Tymora we'll find it.
Anyway enough of me, what of you lass? taking over yer fathers trade not something that takes yer fancy?"
as Mal addresses Calantha he leans forward in the bumpy and wobbling cart bench, his earthen skin creaking and groaning as he adjusts his position .
At Crom's mention of Mal's past adventures he chuckles a deep rasping chuckle and bangs his shield with his fist in acknowledgement.
"Oi, oi! Let's keep that on the down low. Word gets out that I've been... exaggeratin' how dead my targets end up, my poster's sure to be the next one up on the bounty board.
S'not likely to matter much longer anyway. Hopin' this job might line me up some more legitimate employment down the road. And if not... mayhap I'll just use the money to start fresh somewhere new."
Crompauses, stooping to remove his boot and shake out a few loose stones. He hops on the other foot a few times as he pulls the boot back on and jogs a few paces to catch back up to the cart. Coming up alongside the driver's seat, his heavy brow furrows in response to Ink's monologue.
What's an ungulate? You talkin' 'bout the oxen? Or 'bout us?
A playful grin forms on Ink's face as he responds to Crom, "Well, truth be told, until you did me the favor of removing your boot, I wasn't entirely certain that the oxen were the only hoofed creatures among us. Thank you for erasing any doubts I may have had on the matter."
As the conversation ensues, a tan lightfoot halfling with dark brown hair and dark eyes by the name of Chensica is sitting casually on a cart in front of Ink, legs crossed, and is playing various melodies on a flute to pass the time. Simple leather armor adorns her small frame, but random pieces of jewelry and a small deep red scarf around her neck show that she does seem to receive a modest income as a performer - and enjoys wearing it.
At Ink's joke, she barks out a laugh and turns around to grin back at the wizard. She then hops out of the cart to walk alongside his, twiddling her flute in one hand. She says nothing though as she catches sight of the two half orcs, looking way up to look at them. She gives a whistle to remark on their height.
Crom Strokes his chin, "So an ungulate's a mammalian taxon fer hooved creatures then? Interestin'. Never heard tha' term afore."
Noticing Chensica for the first time, Crom muses, "Half-orc, half-elf, half-genie, half-ling... It seems, gnome, that despite yer stature you may be the only 'whole' one of the lot of us." His tone is deadpan, but after a moment the corners of his tusked mouth curve up slightly into something resembling a smile, though he looks like he could use some practice with the expression.
"Not sure I caught yer names," he says to Inkand Chensica. "Oh, sorry, and my name's Crom"
His eyes flick over to the treeline to track a sudden movement in the undergrowth, but he relaxes soon after, figuring it to have been a bird.
Expressing his appreciation for Chensica's skill with the flute, Ink directs a quick nod and smile toward the halfling.
Turning to the half-orc, Ink replies, "Hello to you, Crom. Happy to meet you and happier yet that my little joke didn't go too far. I am Ink, and I must say you've just set my head to spinning about this curious tendency of referring to whole individuals in half terms. Language certainly has its shortcomings, does it not?"
In a gesture seemingly inexplicable to all who witness it, Ink taps himself twice atop the head with the orb on the end of his staff.
The gnome continues. "And speaking of shortcomings, Crom, you certainly don't have one with your own lexicon, do you? Mammalian taxon, indeed!"
Then, to no one in particular, Ink announces, "How I do love words!"
"Thanks,"Crommumbles back abashedly. "I've found a book can make fer fine enough company, so I'll read just about whatever I can get me hands on. Does mean though that my knowledge is a bit ecletic... eccect-..." Crom furrows his brow and looks up, trying to visualize the word. "Ec-lec-tic... eclectic. Sorry. First time saying that one out loud."
Hearing Ragnorok's question, Cromsombers
"It's... complicated," he says. "I was raised wit' me mother among her orc tribe. She 'n me father were together were together for diplomatic reasons. Once those fell apart, he didn't stick 'round long. With conflict on the horizon, wasn't a great place ta have human blood, y'know?
He goes quite after this, returning his gaze to the road ahead.
Not really. Just been focusing on whatever job is ahead of me. I try not to dwell too much on the past. Speaking of which, anyone been to this tradin' post we're headin' fer?
“Not yet for me,”says Chensica to Crom as she pockets her flute and pulled out a lute this time, strumming along. “Chensica Fastfingers, by the way. Talented performer, musician, and sort of a magician like that one” -she points to Ink- “…at your service. I look forward to seeing if I can make some coin there if they have any inns or such for performers.”
Talented indeed I'll say. Impressive that ye can make not one but two different instruments sound so good. I haven't the ear fer it meself. Where'd ya learn? Or are ye self-taught?
You’ve been on the Triboar Trail for about half a day.
As you come around a bend, you spot two dead horses sprawled about fifty feet ahead of you, blocking the path. Each has several black-feathered arrows sticking out of it. The woods press close to the trail here, with a steep embankment and dense thickets on either side.
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In the city of Neverwinter, a dwarf named Gundren Rockseeker asked you to bring a wagonload of provisions to the rough-and-tumble settlement of Phandalin, a couple of days’ travel southeast of the city. Gundren was clearly excited and more than a little secretive about his reasons for the trip, saying only that he and his brothers had found “something big,” and that he’d pay you ten gold pieces each for escorting his supplies safely to Barthen’s Provisions, a trading post in Phandalin. He then set out ahead of you on horse, along with a warrior escort named Sildar Hallwinter, claiming he needed to arrive early to “take care of business.”
You’ve spent the last few days following the High Road south from Neverwinter, and you’ve just recently veered east along the Triboar Trail. You’ve encountered no trouble so far, but this territory can be dangerous. Bandits and outlaws have been known to lurk along the trail.
Calantha's eyes darted to and fro, scanning the road constantly, alert for any signs of ambush. She walked silently alongside the cart, pulled slowly along by a team of oxen. This job was like a gift from the heavens, coming along right when she needed to get out of town fast, and she was being paid for it too. Harcourt's thugs had almost caught up with her in Neverwinter, but she'd given them the slip at the last minute. So when she ran into Gundren, she signed up without even asking that many questions about the job, as long as it meant traveling outside the city, preferably somewhere a bit off the beaten path like Phandalin.
So while she scanned the road for bandits that would seek to loot the dwarf's precious cargo, whatever it was, she also had her eyes peeled for any sign of the silver and red livery of the Singing Blades mercenary company. As she walked, she couldn't help but steal occasional glances toward her new companions, her fellow caravan guards that had also signed on in Neverwinter. They were a motley group of half-orcs, an Earth genasi, and two members of the little folk, a gnome and a halfling. The only person she recognized was Malachite Terra, better known as Mal, and only because he was an acquaintance of her father's through the blacksmith trade. She was pleased to encounter him on this job, knowing him to be an honorable sort and pleasant company besides.
They hadn't had much chance to talk before setting out for Phandalin. Nodding at the genasi now, she said, "Greetings, Mal. I'm surprised to see you here. Last I knew you were still in the blacksmithing trade like my father."
Extended Signature
Characters: Bryony Alderleaf (Phandelver and Below) ♦ Vesta Trevelyan (Vecna: Eve of Ruin) ♦ Ada Kendrick (Curse of Strahd) ♦ Gareth Blackwood (Dragon of Icespire Peak) ♦ Karys Velthune (Out of the Abyss) ♦ Surina Xarith (Simple, Heroic Adventure)
DM: Baldur's Gate: Descent Into Avernus
The smaller of the half-orcs, was walking along the other side of the cart, likewise keeping on high alert as he eyed any deep shadows on the roadside, or any branches overhead thick enough to support a couple of... unscrupulous opportunists. Crom, as he was called, really needed this job to go well. Ten gold pieces was no small reward, but even more important than the promise of coin was the prospect of similar jobs down the road. Perhaps Gundren would put in a good word around Phandalin when the job was complete. Maybe Barthen's Provisions would request a regular escort. This was the first real gig Crom had had outside of orc-hunting, and he hoped that if all went well, he'd never have to chase another bounty in his life.
At Calantha's words to Mal, Crom shifted some of his focus to overhear the conversation. He'd heard of an earth genasi blacksmith in the area. Word was he was supposed to be some kind of veteran. If the two genasiae were one and the same, then Crom could rest a bit easier in regards to the caravan's safety. He turned to the only member of the party that he was personally familiar with. "So, Ragnarok..." he said quietly to the other half-orc. "Ye've got an eye for mercenaries, aye? Watchya make of this merry band we got 'ere? I'm pretty sure Mal's seen some action, but besides that, it's all new faces fer me."
With the reins in hand, Ink periodically chatters words of encouragement to the pair of oxen, assuring the beasts they are doing a fine job. The gnome now and then scans the cargo behind him, looking for any indication that something might tumble off and land in a mess of pieces on the road. With minimal effort, Ink's travel mates can discern that the gnome feels mildly out of place.
"Two weeks ago I was leading students through ancient texts; today, I lead ungulates along a dusty road!" he announces to no one specifically. "And may I say that the oxen have proven to be the far more cooperative bunch! Ha ha!"
Ink happily engages in conversation with anyone who seems interested in doing so, and, from time to time, he absentmindedly breaks into song, softly singing one of his favorite tavern tunes, for example...
Oh, where did you get that beak? Oh, where did you get that nose?
It's quite a peculiar one I say! It's one that goes and goes!
How I would like to have one. Yes, just the same as that.
Wherever I'd go, folks would shout 'Ello!' Oh, where did you get that nose?
Then looking toward his friend Mal, Ink says, "No doubt you know that one, eh?"
(OOC: Here's a rough idea of what Ink looks like):
Mal's posture is lax and lazy during the ride and he seems rather bored having regular naps every now and again only really talking when spoken to, in spite of this he is noticeably aware of where everyone is surrounding the cart and his mace never moves far from his lap where is waits primed and prepared. From the passenger seat of the cart Mal abruptly straightens up, as though being roused from a vague daydreaming state, at the sudden addressing by Calantha,
"Oh aye young one, blacksmithings is a fine and fair trade, mayhaps a tad slow for me,
Don't get me wrong folk like yer father there are worth their weight in gold, but there's someone at home looking after the forge fer me while I'm gone,
on to more exciting avenues, I'm hoping you lot can help me get back to where I once was, fighting fit and on the road to adventure, and with the blessing of Tymora we'll find it.
Anyway enough of me, what of you lass? taking over yer fathers trade not something that takes yer fancy?"
as Mal addresses Calantha he leans forward in the bumpy and wobbling cart bench, his earthen skin creaking and groaning as he adjusts his position .
At Crom's mention of Mal's past adventures he chuckles a deep rasping chuckle and bangs his shield with his fist in acknowledgement.
"Oi, oi! Let's keep that on the down low. Word gets out that I've been... exaggeratin' how dead my targets end up, my poster's sure to be the next one up on the bounty board.
S'not likely to matter much longer anyway. Hopin' this job might line me up some more legitimate employment down the road. And if not... mayhap I'll just use the money to start fresh somewhere new."
Crom pauses, stooping to remove his boot and shake out a few loose stones. He hops on the other foot a few times as he pulls the boot back on and jogs a few paces to catch back up to the cart. Coming up alongside the driver's seat, his heavy brow furrows in response to Ink's monologue.
What's an ungulate? You talkin' 'bout the oxen? Or 'bout us?
"Arf Orcs an ungulates! Ahahaaaaa" Mal roars out in a surprised bout of rumbling laughter, He holds his protruding belly as he creases up.
A playful grin forms on Ink's face as he responds to Crom, "Well, truth be told, until you did me the favor of removing your boot, I wasn't entirely certain that the oxen were the only hoofed creatures among us. Thank you for erasing any doubts I may have had on the matter."
As the conversation ensues, a tan lightfoot halfling with dark brown hair and dark eyes by the name of Chensica is sitting casually on a cart in front of Ink, legs crossed, and is playing various melodies on a flute to pass the time. Simple leather armor adorns her small frame, but random pieces of jewelry and a small deep red scarf around her neck show that she does seem to receive a modest income as a performer - and enjoys wearing it.
At Ink's joke, she barks out a laugh and turns around to grin back at the wizard. She then hops out of the cart to walk alongside his, twiddling her flute in one hand. She says nothing though as she catches sight of the two half orcs, looking way up to look at them. She gives a whistle to remark on their height.
OOC
I made her portrait idea my avatar!
Crom Strokes his chin, "So an ungulate's a mammalian taxon fer hooved creatures then? Interestin'. Never heard tha' term afore."
Noticing Chensica for the first time, Crom muses, "Half-orc, half-elf, half-genie, half-ling... It seems, gnome, that despite yer stature you may be the only 'whole' one of the lot of us." His tone is deadpan, but after a moment the corners of his tusked mouth curve up slightly into something resembling a smile, though he looks like he could use some practice with the expression.
"Not sure I caught yer names," he says to Ink and Chensica. "Oh, sorry, and my name's Crom"
His eyes flick over to the treeline to track a sudden movement in the undergrowth, but he relaxes soon after, figuring it to have been a bird.
OOC: Character's general appearance
Expressing his appreciation for Chensica's skill with the flute, Ink directs a quick nod and smile toward the halfling.
Turning to the half-orc, Ink replies, "Hello to you, Crom. Happy to meet you and happier yet that my little joke didn't go too far. I am Ink, and I must say you've just set my head to spinning about this curious tendency of referring to whole individuals in half terms. Language certainly has its shortcomings, does it not?"
In a gesture seemingly inexplicable to all who witness it, Ink taps himself twice atop the head with the orb on the end of his staff.
The gnome continues. "And speaking of shortcomings, Crom, you certainly don't have one with your own lexicon, do you? Mammalian taxon, indeed!"
Then, to no one in particular, Ink announces, "How I do love words!"
"Thanks," Crom mumbles back abashedly. "I've found a book can make fer fine enough company, so I'll read just about whatever I can get me hands on. Does mean though that my knowledge is a bit ecletic... eccect-..." Crom furrows his brow and looks up, trying to visualize the word. "Ec-lec-tic... eclectic. Sorry. First time saying that one out loud."
Hearing Ragnorok's question, Crom sombers
"It's... complicated," he says. "I was raised wit' me mother among her orc tribe. She 'n me father were together were together for diplomatic reasons. Once those fell apart, he didn't stick 'round long. With conflict on the horizon, wasn't a great place ta have human blood, y'know?
He goes quite after this, returning his gaze to the road ahead.
Not really. Just been focusing on whatever job is ahead of me. I try not to dwell too much on the past. Speaking of which, anyone been to this tradin' post we're headin' fer?
“Not yet for me,” says Chensica to Crom as she pockets her flute and pulled out a lute this time, strumming along. “Chensica Fastfingers, by the way. Talented performer, musician, and sort of a magician like that one” -she points to Ink- “…at your service. I look forward to seeing if I can make some coin there if they have any inns or such for performers.”
Talented indeed I'll say. Impressive that ye can make not one but two different instruments sound so good. I haven't the ear fer it meself. Where'd ya learn? Or are ye self-taught?
You’ve been on the Triboar Trail for about half a day.
As you come around a bend, you spot two dead horses sprawled about fifty feet ahead of you, blocking the path. Each has several black-feathered arrows sticking out of it. The woods press close to the trail here, with a steep embankment and dense thickets on either side.