6

Droknin is intrigued by the eagerness of these strange humans to meet a dragon, however his feline sense can see that deep down, they are actually terrified by the prospect. He approaches Garrin discreetly, and ask him if the group are following the cultists.

T'laren will share with Keashirryl that most of the ruined buildings around them have a handful of ash zombies milling about inside, but seem to be remaining put for the most part, and that there are still more twig blights scattered about, but no in the  numbers of the group that tried to breach the cottage.

Garrin is entirely unsure if visiting the dragon is a good idea, but he goes ahead with it. He'll follow Favric.

T'laren, despite being outside in the cool night air surrounded by potential hostiles, is undisturbed and able to get in his LONG REST as well.  

The night passes without incident.

Sensing he may be winning you over, Favric redoubles his efforts to convince you to accompany them to meet the dragon.  "Look at it from this perspective... when will you have a chance like this again?  To visit with a dragon, under the protective guidance of those who know how to talk to and mediate with the majestic and powerful creatures?  This chance might come along once, maybe twice in a lifetime."  Seeing Garrin coming around to the idea, he spreads his arms to Droknin and Keashirryl as if to say 'C'mon?  C'mooooooon!''

[For the record, Favric really wants you to come along, but it is entirely up to you.  You could also go visit with Garrin's druid friend instead.]

(I think I'm down for taking risks as a player, but I don't want to drag the rest of the players to see the dragon if they'd rather not)

(Just replace the friendly Dwarf with our friendly Lenonin's face, and you get his answer.)

"Protective guidance", Keashirryl mutters under her nose, then glances at the others. "You cannot seriously consider this."

She has no reason to trust Favric, and she feels even less inclination to trust a dragon. But, despite all the huffing and puffing, she prepares to depart - to whatever their destination may be - knowing exactly that she may well be needed in case anyone from the group decides to meet a dragon. If they are lost in the process, I certainly cannot count on their help.

[Once again, my character is reluctant, but as the player I am not against it.]

((T'laren is remaining out of sight, and will be shadowing the party, but I'll leave the decision making to the others, as he has no interest in introducing himself to these cultists at this point. Been hiding this long, might as well continue to.))

Garrin scratches his head. 

"Uh... We'll catch up. I just have a thing I have to do. Meet back here tonight? I just feel so out of place without a gift. I have something appropriate, not far from here. Just give me some time." And Garrin will head for a druid instead... For now... 

Droknin is slightly confused with what Garrin tells the cultists. He follows him to look for a Druid.

Favric seems knocked off of his game somewhat by your decision not to join them.  He pontificates a while longer, but eventually accepts he cannot talk you into it.  The Cultists depart for the tower in the north of the ruined village.  "I doubt we shall meet again, then.  Once our business with the dragon is concluded, we will move on."  They gather all their belongings from the cottage as they leave.

Garrin leads the others around the south side of the village, avoiding the blights and ash zombies lurking.

In the southeast corner of Thundertree, he guides them to another small cottage, this one with a pleasant odor of bakes goods lingering in the air and faint grey smoke emanating from its chimney.  This small house appears to be in better condition than the ruined and dilapidated structures nearby. The doors are reinforced with heavy iron bands, and thick shutters protect the windows.

As you approach, you hear a lock unclasp and the front door shudders, cracks open, then swings fully open.

"Garrin," the old druid says.  Reidoth is a gaunt, white-bearded human.  His clothing is a utilitarian hodgepodge of straps, pouches, small bags and belts, under a heavy brown cloak.

"Reidoth. You have neighbors. Ones I can't imagine you get along with. I had a neighbor, a manticore that had moved in. Didn't care for it. I can only imagine what it's like with all of these... Pushy folk. May we come in?" 

((T'laren has slipped in with the others after the cultists depart. Neral't is wherever he goes when he's not around.))

Droknin hasn't seen many druids, so he is not sure what to make of Reidoth, so he just follow everyone. He drop his guard when he senses that Garrin is very comfortable with the human.

"Of course, you and your friends are welcome.  I had thought we might enjoy cookies and a chat out on the veranda, but the winds and the chill refuse to cooperate."

He pushes the door all the way open, the last bit requiring to really shove it open, and then gestures you all inside.  The interior is spartan.  He appears to have reinforced the door and windows but the small cottage lacks for furniture.  A pile of mats and furs in one corner marks his bed, while a single small table, chair and an old stove are the only other contents in the main room.  A small bedroom seems to have been converted into a pantry/workshop with another table, chair and several sacks of plants, tools and backing supplies.  A fresh batch of cookies steams on a small pan on top of the stove.

Once everyone is inside he takes a headcount of your party.  "Very good, Garrin.  I see you took to heart my advice that you should make some friends."

He seems prepared to receive a friendly, passive aggressive retort from the halfling when a high-pitched roar echoes outside.  Muttering pardons, Reidoth moves thought you to the door, looks toward the hill, then closes the door behind you.

"Blithering fools," he mumbles.  "Yes Garrin, I'm quite aware of my new neighbors.  Deluded and inconsequential mad men.  If they survive the day, I think they will move along on their own."

"The dragon... that one vexes me.  I had taken a bit of a walkabout to refresh myself and recharge my spirits.  I wasn't gone more than a tenday, but that young wyrm had already killed all the spiders in the tower and moved in.  Its already undone years of work in settling the ghosts of this ruin.  

"The spiders are displaced, and they in turn have stirred up ash zombies that had been sleeping all summer.  The blights are as bad as ever, and worse, the dragon toying with them, no doubt thinking of making them servants or guardians of its new lair."

There is another roar from outside.

"I'm getting too old for this nonsense."

"Oh yes, we met Favric. Big on dragon worship. Practically itching to sacrifice somebody in exchange for a taste of power. Doesn't seem to connect the dots between the blights nearly offing he and his in the night and his dragon crush. I get the feeling he writes little love notes in a diary to rationalize it all. Oh dragon! Can't you see how perfect we are for each other? I'd love to be your puppet. Then some graphic art of the two of them making time and several prototypes of how he can write Mr and Mrs Dragon. Real weirdy."

Garrin takes a cookie and starts eating. Once his mouth isn't full, he continues. 

"And this cold! That damned white dragon has managed to get too much momentum already. The green will do the same if left alone, until the white kills him. Preferably to get rid of him before it becomes as big a problem. I'm... I want to help. Neighbors being neighborly. I'm not sure we are up for it." 

T'laren makes a sound that might have been a snort of laughter when Garrin describes his take on the cultist's deepest fantasies, but if any were look over to the stoic elf's face, he's not giving anything away.

"Greeting, Reidoth. I am T'laren Farsiel."

He gets the expected pleasantries out of the way, but doesn't expand further. Garrin, as a friend of the old druid, can represent the group.

Reidoth makes a simple elven hand gesture of greeting to T'laren.

[Keashirryl, T'laren and Droknin: You've never met this guy before and have heard sparingly little about him from Garrin.  But from what you can see, this guy looks like he has been through some STUFF in his life.  He is out here, on his own, as an old human man, trying to tame the haunted ruins of this old village.  He also doesn't so much as bat an eyelash at the tiefling, goblin, or even the rare Leonin that have just walked into his house.]

"Yes... the White.  I haven't seen it, though some ravens informed me she was patrolling the southern end of Wood last week.  The Green makes a great to-do about her... claims she drove her out of her old lair.  It could be true but I'd sooner trust a cat with my favorite mouse than take a Green Dragon's word at face value."

Reidoth grabs a cookie for himself and munches on it.  "That's the rub, isn't it Garrin?  I can't see a solution.  It's too dangerous to confront.  I've tried diplomatic outreach... even offered the malignant lizard a potion of frost giant strength for its hoard if it would just leave peacefully.  To no avail."

Droknin respectfully stays quiet. He feels like he has entered the sanctum of the old Shaman back in his tribe. When the old human mentions something about cat and mouse, he was about to say something, but he remembered his manners from when he was a young cub in such sacred place, and closed his leonin's maw. (Well, sacred, as far as Droknin believes.)