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

Garrin makes a waving off gesture. "Yeah, yeah. Smash away."

[T'laren, what's your plan for getting into the chest?]

"And what about your dealings with me thinks smashing is in my wheelhouse?", T'laren asks amusedly.

He'll pull out his wood carving tools, pausing at the elaborate lock, and presumedly fine craftsmanship.

"Seems a shame."

He'll look it over first, wishing to avoid surprises, before bypassing the lock by carving away at the wood.

"Don't you see how I'm vibrating with happiness?" Keashirryl teases Droknin in a flat voice (Which the Leonin totally misses).

Hearing the party's Cleric brim with excitement. "Now, that's the spirit!!" Says Droknin smiling broadly. He sees that the others are busy with the wooden box, so he goes to Droop. He crouches next to the Goblin. "Sooo my little friend. What's cooking?"

[Sorry!  Thought I posted this a few days ago and was looking for why no one had responded...]

"Donkey.  Top shelf stuff," says Droop to Droknin, while chewing.  "It could use a little more char..." she concedes, rubs the haunch of meat directly in the fire, sending embers and smoke soaring.  After a few seconds she pulls it back out and offers the blackened flesh to Droknin.

[Everyone but T'laren can take a short rest, as it takes roughly an hour with his woodworking tools to cut through the chest.]

The lock is attached to metal trim which surround the top, bottom, and edges of the heavy chest.  The rest is wood, however, and after enough time, T'laren is able to completely bypass the lock by carving through the top of the chest and removing it, a bit like taking the roof off of a home.

The chest has an upper tray that must fold out and up when the chest is opened.  The upper tray holds 12 glass vials of quill ink.  Most are black (or near enough to black to appear black to the naked eye) but a few are more exotic colors like blue and red.  One even has the appearance of liquid silver.  All have cork toppers sealed in wax.  Beneath the upper tray, there is a heavy metal lockbox.  When you lift it our from the bottom of the chest, it jingles as though coins are inside, but it is locked.  No key is present for this.

"Well, I can't carve through that. Fancy ink of use to any of you?", T'laren says, rising and stretching.

Garrin's imp-spirit sits next to Droop and munches on donkey with him, looking as aloof and useless as always. 

Meanwhile, Garrin looks at the inks. "Maybe spell inks? For scrolls and such? What would bring a feller like that out here. Only wizard I know is the one that was in the Red Brand cellar. Ya know, Sildar's friend." 

[Since Garrin guessed correctly, I won't require a roll for this.]

Garrin indeed would suspect these are the specialized inks that Wizard use to prepare spell scrolls and copy spells into their grimoires.  This looks like too much, however.  You've never heard of any Wizard carrying more than a vial or two in the field.  This many vials of ink... the owner must have either been a professional scribe, or perhaps a manufacturer or ink dealer.

The chest is quite heavy, but two of you could carry it together if you want to bring it with you.  Or you could take some of the inks, or the metal lockbox, or both with you.  The metal lockbox weighs 25 lbs.  Or you can leave it all behind.

"The lockbox is beyond my ability to carry around.", T'laren says, eyes flicking to the burly leonine, "but if no one has other use for the inks, I might be interested in using some of them in marking my arrows."

"You don't say little one." Droknin responds to Droop's description of her cooking. He looks at the very well done meat in front of him, and he gives a cordial smile to the little Goblin. "Well, I have to say, it is now how we cook back home, but I am not one to refute hospitality when one is given." He takes the blackened flesh, and eats it in a single bite. "Hummm... Errr... How can I say this." It takes some effort for the Leonin to swallow the food in his mouth. "Your cooking technique is very interesting little one. It looks like we have found a capable chef for our merry little band." He bows slightly. "I thank you for the bite Droop."

((T'laren would have an interest in holding on to the more exotic colors, red, blue, silver... any others?))

Garrin will carry the lockbox and ink, no trouble

[Looking at the RAW, ink has no weight.  I'm having a hard time reconciling the idea that 27 glass vials of ink can just vanish into a pack with no encumbrance or other issue.  If nothing else, I would think that would take up a lot of space and they would be click-clacking against one another.  Imagine having 27 little bottles of nail polish in a backpack.  Is there a chance they break?  Would there be a stealth penalty for sounding like you've got a huge sack of glass marbles in your backpack?

However... I don't see a solution other than coming up with my own homebrew patch for this.  And I don't think there is a fun-reward at the end of that rainbow.  So I'll add the 25lb lockbox and ink to Garrin's inventory.]

It is midday and the sun is high in a clearing sky.  The air is still cool but when the wind settles, the sun is almost enough to make it feel warm today.  The Wereboar does not return.

The party is able to catch a short rest [all but T'laren, unless you want to wait another hour to let him catch a rest as well] and eat a quick meal of charred donkey or pheasant [No rations will be necessary today].  

Underway again, you only travel another mile before you reach the Triboar Trail.  This unpopular trade route runs roughly east-west between the foothills of the Sword Mountains (to the south) and the Neverwinter Wood (to the north).  At its western end it connects with the High Road and to the east it continues on through Triboar, where it widens and becomes the much more heavily trafficked Evermoor Way.  The Triboar Trail is something of a short cut.  It can shave many days travel off a journey from Neverwinter to some of the western trade hubs like Yartar, but one must take on the added risks of the Triboar Trails wild hills and lack of any reliable patrols.

Droop pauses and looks in both directions, then at the Neverwinter Wood in the distance.  "This way, I think."  She starts out north again, crossing the trail.

((Don't have any damage on T'laren, he's okay to continue one. If he can have scavenged and off the chest, can with on crafting a rack of some sort to contain the vials. The ink vial contains an ounce of ink, so I'd say they'd probably actually weigh at least 3oz each with glass weight, which is negligible of you've only got one. Would guess that ink alone is ~5lb?))

Droop continues to lead on, with T'laren venturing out to scout.  There are no riders or caravans within sight on the Triboar Trail today and soon you leave it behind you as you head north.  T'laren happens upon the remains of an old campsite, but a cursory inspection reveals nothing of importance.  The campfire ring has bits of grass growing from it... it hasn't been used in months.

Travel slows to a crawl.  The terrain is still gently rolling hills and meadows, but plentiful low shrubs are everywhere.  Their gnarled roots breach the surface and threaten to clutch and dragged toes or ankles and it is all you can do to avoid a painful trip and fall.  Our of everyone, only Droop doesn't seem to mind.  She makes a game of hopping from one root to the next and ignores her frequent spills and falls with the grace of one with absolutely no self-awareness or shame.  She is dirty and bruised but in good spirits as the sun begins to set.  

The party comes to the very outskirts of the Neverwinter Wood.  The boundary between plain and forest has an almost mystical quality, especially now, at dusk.  The transition is not gradual... rather, there are fields of heather and wild grasses, leading immediately up to tall and waving pines and oaks, the area beyond cloaked in shadow.  From horizon to horizon the forest stretches out before you.  Somewhere nearby a loon calls.

Once again, Droop is comfortable continuing at night.  But if you wish to make camp, will you do so out on the open plain, or within the embrace of the wood?

T'laren feels more at home in the woods than on the open plain, and would vote to camp within.

Garrin's happy with either option and thinks little of the occasional rattle of the ink in his pack. 

(Droknin would prefer the plains, but he understands that the woods would be safer.)

(Keashirryl would probably prefer camping in the woods, and if noone else would want to, she can take first watch. But she can also keep going in the dark, if pushing on wouldn't result in exhaustion.)