((Druid visit also good with me.))

Crossing the ruins of Thundertree and keeping to the outskirts, the three travelers are able to reach the small cottage on the other side, home to the old druid, Reidoth.  Along the way, T'laren and Droknin may notice the ruins seem quieter than before... the twig blights that once roamed openly seem to be gone, or in hiding today.  Passing through the collapsed faced of the old mill, they reach the druid's house and knock on the door.  

After a few moments of the sound of locks and chains being opened, the old, white-bearded human emerges.  He looks first to T'laren and Droknin, then to Barkas.  "Hrmph.  Garrin quit on you, did he?  Hrmph.  For the best.  He told me he was hanging up his boots a long time ago.  Tell me, did you find the goblin camp?"

"We did. The king there was was in league with what looked to be a drow, but was a tattooed human in red robes. That mean anything to you?", T'laren asks.

The old druid looks concerned and asks some follow up questions.  Upon learning the mysterious tattooed woman was a mage, he shakes his head grimly.  "As I feared.  You are describing one of the Red Wizards of Thay... or at least, a pupil or acolyte of theirs.  I doubt the battle would have gone quite so well had it been a seasoned wizard."  He furrows his brow.  "Unwelcome news, that they have agents mixed up in these goblin raids.  Be careful around them.  They move in shadows and deceipt, and they have no hesitation about hurting those who stand in their way."

Then he raises a hopeful eyebrow.  "Yet, you have returned.  Do you intend to resume your efforts to convince the squatter, Venomfang, to relocate to more distant environs?"

Barkas steps forward and extends his hand.  “Reidoth is it?  My name is Barkas Reedfellow, mighty nice to meet you here in these wonderful parts… (voice trails off)  Anyway.  Ole T’laren and Droknin have been tellin me a little bit about you .. and this Venomfang situation.  Why did you pick this area to uh… well to settle down and study.  Interesting species of plants here?  Any hops that are twangy but not too tart?  Hops that are not too hoppy, eh?”  Barkas is setting down his backpack, takes out a mug and begins to fill it with a nice, dark frothy beer in his special container at the bottom of the pack through a little spout on the side.  “Goat scrotum ale.  A wee bit bitter, but has a good strong finish.  It’ll put some hair on your chest.  Have a sip and see if you like it.”  He offers the mug to Reidoth.  “Do you like to brew… seen any plants or hop varietals that are tasty?”  Barkas switches to Druidic and says “Or anything else of note, to one of our kind?”  With a wink and a nod.  He switches back to common and says “D’ya have any other ideas of what would make this Venomfang want to leave this area, bugger off and leave us alone?”

(In case anyone needs a refresher why we are going back to the Green Lady. See post 1035.)

"Well, the Green Lady asked us to prove our worth. I am sure she will be pleased with our findings." I doesn't register to the Leonin that Venonfang is most likely full of it. "I look forward to use her boons to deal with the White Dragon."

The old druid at first looks to decline your offer, Barkas, but then - with an eye toward the small tower on a nearby hill - he reaches out and takes a swig.  He hands it back to you with a nod of appreciation.

"I bake," he says, "but not with any ingredients from around here.  The land is still tainted after oh these many years.  The plants have a bitter disposition that borders on malevolence."

He looks back at the hill.  "None of my entreaties to the young wyrm have made any progress.  She is quite fond of the tower and doesn't wish to vacate it.  As I told the others, these poisoned ruins cause enough blight on the land as it is.  A green dragon settling in will only agitate and exacerbate existing troubles, and likely call more troubles from afar.  We need her gone."

"Well, I am sure that we should have no problem dealing with this Green Dragon. If you wish, you are welcome to tag along." Says Droknin eager to finally get to properly meet this Dragon.

"I think the ideal situation would be to convince her to take on the white, then clean up what's left, but I don't know if any of us are all that suited to sweet talking a dragon into a direct confrontation with another.", T'laren muses.

“Yep, no idea how to pull that one off.  Maybe we can just scout the area and see what she’s up to?  Do you have another other plans on how to pull this off?  Let’s go have a look see before we do anythin else.”  Barkas readies himself to move.  

"No," the old druid declines.  "I have had... unproductive... encounters with Venomfang already.  If you truly have a chance to convince her, my presence will not help things."

"Should things develop poorly, try to retreat to my cottage," he offers.  "I doubt she would pursue you far from her lair, but I am quite sure she would not try to breach my own defenses...".

Heading out from Reidoth's hut toward the tower at the north end of the ruins, the region remains eerily quiet today.

At the top of the hill, a three story, partially ruined tower sits.  Its walls are charred from the same fires that once destroyed this village.  Joined at the tower's base is a one story, square fortified room... this is also the only visible entrance to the structure.  Droknin and T'laren would remember, however, that the dragon came and went from an unseen opening on the roof of the tower when they parleyed with her before.

There are still a pair of giant spiders, skewered on broken logs, outside the main entrance.

"I said it before, and I will say it again." The Leonin crosses his arm, waiting for his companions to decide on how to approach the dragon. "Today is a good day to die."

"So you say. Often. However, I'd suggest that tomorrow may be a better day to die. And I'll say the same tomorrow.", T'laren says wryly. "Afterall, if we end up in the belly of the green, you'll miss your chance to split open the belly of the white."

As you skulk about the bottom of the hill, observing the small tower, a voice booms out from above.

"I see you have returned... fewer in number.  Don't tell me a few goblins were too much for you?  I hope you haven't returned here empty handed, expecting me to further entertain your futile requests."

"Or is it possible you were successful?  Did you plunder the goblin castle, and have you brought back baubles to offer me in tribute for my patronage?  If so, step forward.  Tell me what gifts you have brought Venomfang, that I may consider whether or not to name you as my champions...".

Barkas speaks up and says in reply “I have joined this group after we defeated the squatters in the Goblin castle, we took their leader’s head.  Venomfang, I am Barkas, it is interesting to hear your words, but we bring no tribute.  Why should we join you, tell us why we should form an allegiance with you?  Have you conquered and defeated your … cousin, is it?  Which is stronger?”  Barkas moves to cover, looking at T’laren and Droknin and mouthing wordlessly “How should we do this?” And shrugging.

Droknin smiles his signature Leonin smile to Barkas, and gives him a wink.

There is a long pause from the tower.  Then...

"Is this a joke?  Do you think to mock me... Venomfang?"

There is a sound of something breaking inside the tower.  "You approached me... asked me for weapons with which to defeat my traitorous cousin, the white wyrm of the Sword Mountains.  Now you call mine own strength into question?"

T'laren winces at the lack of tact from his companions. He has Neral't shelter nearby in case he needs to flee.

"How about you just give her the other stuff from the King?"

At T'laren's prompt. "Right, of course." Droknin produces the still bloodied King's head, and holds high above him. "We have defeated the Goblin King, and here is the proof."

From the top of the tower, there is a glimmer of green scales, as a young green dragon peeks over the top from inside.

"That... that's a bugbear.  That's not even a goblin.

Regardless... I asked not for grisly proof of your warring.  I asked for an offering... gems, coin, baubles... the spoils of your conquest, that I might add it to my own hoard.  And in return, I was prepared to offer you aid and armament against my wicked cousin."

"Now though..." she pauses, as you sense the eyes of the dragon peering down at you.  "... I have my concerns.  Are you just grim vandals?  Will you turn on me... try to take advantage of my injured state?  Try to steal my hoard from me?"  The last bit is delivered as though she was suggesting you might plan to eat her young.