Where the Cold Winds Blow... A Lost Mines of Phandelver Story

Garrin keeps pulling at the new armor as he makes the trade, but he says not a word of complaint at this point. 

T'laren can buy extra arrows at 20/1gp.  He also has permission to pet the old dog.

He'll inspect the arrows, and as long as they are not too far below what he can make himself, he'll purchase them just for the security of having two more quivers of arrows. 

He pets the dog.

With the shopping out of the way, the party is prepared to begin their search for Cragmaw Castle.

Relying on the goblin, Droop, has seemed the most reliable way to head straight to the castle.  For her part, the goblin seems helplessly naive.  She has no qualms about leading you back to her tribes base of operations, showing only a faint concern in that she is not sure why in the Realms you would want to visit King Grol, or how you expect to survive.  At you command, she sets off from Phandalin in a North/Northeast direction, avoiding the established roads and picking her way through the rocky hills instead.

Phandalin lies in a part of the North known as “the Triboar Trail,” “the Triboar Cutoff,” or “the Cony Gap.” This stretch of foothills and rolling, sparsely wooded plains extends between the Sword Mountains to the south and Neverwinter Wood to the north. The area gains its name from an old trail that runs from the distant town of Triboar to the east, winding westward about one hundred miles through the abandoned village of Conyberry, then running north of Phandalin on its way to the High Road along the coast.

Soon you emerge from the hills onto rolling plains that stretch from horizon to horizon.  There are still the occasional outcrop of rocky hills, or patches of thin forest, but for the most part this area is open grassland.  It is pleasant countryside, with clear views to the peaks of the Sword Mountains to the south and east.  With winter on the horizon, many of the wildflowers are no longer in bloom but you still come across a few fields of hardy northern daisies, which will hold out until the first hard frost.

The skies are clear and with air is brisk but not cold.

With the little goblin leading the way, what are the rest of you doing as you march?  What is your marching order?

T'laren would be towards the front of the group, at times slipping off to scout ahead before circling back.

Droknin keeps an eye on the group from the back.

Garrin is keeping an eye on Droop and trying to make conversation which is both rude and intended towards empowering the dirty creature with a bit of self determination. He tells Droop stories about his youth where he was lost in a forest kingdom of fairies, and made his way by negotiating with terrible lords and monsters.

You continue to pick your way slowly through the plains north of Phandalin.  

Droop listens to Garrin's elaborate stories.  A few times she almost interrupts, but holds her tongue.  Finally, while you are narrating a particularly harrowing bit about being lost in the Feywild, she slaps her knee.  "Bork-Bork.  That's the goblin from this story.  Droop knew she heard this somewhere before.  Weird guy, Bork-Bork.  Droop never believed the story, but if you believe it... who knew?  Maybe Bork-Bork tells it true."

T'laren:

 The sun is setting as you climb a rise, commanding a good view of the surrounding landscape.  Droop is still feeling spry and has no problems traveling at night. 

Do you wish to camp here, or press on?  And if you camp, will you set a watch, and what will the order be?

"Oh, Bork-bork. He's alright, just takes some getting used to. And did well enough for himself in the Widdershins, really. All things considered..." 

"I think I'd prefer to camp, but I am not the whole team. My spirit can watch well enough in this darkness, or just keep an eye on Droop. Little goblin is growing on me, he's a good listener."

Garrin stomps his staff a few times out of habit more than anything else now. 

 ^DM

T'laren:

With no objections to the idea of camping for the night, you lay out your bedrolls under clear skies and start a fire.  Garrin's impish familiar is tasked with guard duty while the others sit down to rest their tired feet and recharge with some rations.  

[Garrin and Droop do not carry rations, so DM plucked an extra 2 from T'laren.  If that isn't acceptable, please address it in character.]

The wind picks up and temperatures drop noticeably, but the night passes without incident and the imp raises no alarm.  T'laren, rising earlier than the others due to his elven lineage, spends a quiet few hours alone in the darkness with just the sound of the others snores for company.  It is truly empty out here, with nothing but open rolling plains and a few bolders.  The sky is clear and unobscured and there is no light to dampen the spectacle of the stars.

The clucking of pheasants hidden nearby heralds the dawn, and soon the party awakens to greet the first rays of the sun.  It is noticeably colder today, and the goblin Droop is feeling lazy.  Eventually you get her up and on her feet, ready to move.

[Same order as yesterday?  Anything different from the party as you continue north toward the Neverwinter Wood?]

Droknin doesn't bother taking out his bedroll. For a long time the Leonin hasn't felt at home, and he feels very comfortable in these plains. At night, he tells stories of when he was back home. The next day, he still stay behind watching the back.

T'laren rolls his eyes at some of the party departing town without rations, but hands it over without complaint. However, when the pheasants begin clucking, he will slip out of camp and try to add a bird or two to the party's larder.

Stealth: 18

Perception/Survival: 17

Garrin is quieter today after feeling guilty he forgot to bring any rations. He'll try to keep an eye out for anything edible as they walk to try to make it up to T'Laren. 

Survival 23 

While the others look on, T'laren quietly slips into the tall grasses and stalks the pheasant family.  He is practically on top of them when he flushes them, and he returns to camp with two beautiful ringnecks swinging in his grasp.  

Eager to carry his weight, Garrin the warlock keeps his own eyes peeled through the morning's walk, eventually spotting just what he is looking for... a cluster of stunted chokecherry trees.  They are on the verge of overripe and very tart, but still edible and nutritious.

[Great rolls for both survival checks.  Between the pheasants and the chokecherries, I'd say there is enough for the whole party to eat today and tomorrow, so no rations necessary for at least 2 days.]

Droop continues to pick her way north/northwest, and you expect you must be getting close to the triboar trail, and the Neverwinter Wood beyond.

T'laren, if you are scouting ahead again today, make a Perception check.