[She's not going anywhere.  

This is all very sand boxy and there isn't really a 'supposed to' in this campaign.  You can come back to deal with her later, or forget about her entirely. ]

((I feel like Drok's gonna bring us back to her doorstep eventually! ;P ))

(Droknin is just going with the flow. I am cool with anything. We could use some level ups as well.)

"Barkas, do you know a direct route back to Phandalin from these parts? We came here by a rather... circuitous route, and while I think I've got a general sense, I think that may be much more in your strengths than mine.", T'laren asks their new traveling companion.

"If Phandalin is our next destination, I am sure that we can find our way around!!" Droknin takes a peak outside to determine the time of the day, for he would rather move on to their next target the sooner the better.

(Sorry. Slow connection and I thought this post didn't go through.)

(If the group makes their way to Phandalin.)

“So, Barkas, where do you hail from? As for me, I wonder if you have ever heard of the golden plains of Oreskos.” One can sense that the Leonin mentions his homeland with nostalgia. “I bet you have never heard of it, well, most likely even your gods might not know of its existence. If you are looking for capable warriors, look no further than my birthplace.” With the said, there is a tinge of sadness from his expression. “At any rate. As for me, I am after the white dragon, I guess cousin of the green one back there. Care for some dragon hunting?” Droknin finally gives his signature smile, showing off his very sharp canines.

As they travel together, T'laren opens up a bit, and the surly elf warms to their new dwarven companion.

The journey back to Phandalin is mercifully uneventful, after the trials of past few days.

The most significant development is a bitter northern wind that brings with it the first snow fall of an early winter.  Stinging hail turns to soft flakes, and though the ground is still warm, there is enough volume to the snowfall that it begins to stick in places along the forest floor.

Cold though it is, it is beautiful as well, and it seems to be keeping the worst of the Wood’s dangers at home for the day.

[I’ll update with the arrival back in Phandalin in a couple more IRL days.]

Barkas perks up as they are walking along, responding to the questions and eager to share his journey.  “I’m from a little spot near Neverwinter, would be the closest big town… see I’ve been on the road a good bit, before I was waylaid and all.  Heading to the land in the south called Chult.  But now I think I was headed all wrong.  Ye see, cmere, off the road a minute.  Come over here to this tree stump.”  He walks over and sits down for a moment, eager to share, since someone asked, he will explain.  In triplicate.  

He pulls out his star map, laying it on the stump and using his thumb and pinky as a protractor, begins to taking measurements, looking up at the sky frequently, also pulling out a land map and points he has jotted down about travels thus far, looking back and forth down at the map and the many scribbles and notes that he’s taken on the side.  He peers close at the map of the stars, trying to see any constellations that would give him guidance, , saying “Oreskos, Oreskos …. Nope, don’t know it!  But happy to know any where new!  Hmm, here is Phandalin, and here is where we are… as I spect.”  He takes a long sip of the last of his remaining brew in his pack.  

“But now that I look at it, Chult may not be the key.  Lookit this constellation here, and how it intersects over Phandalin.  Once a ten day it seems, I have a dream, constellations whirling in my head, then I see Muamman Duathal, and I think he’s directin me, pushing me on.  The stars guide me, give me… powers.  I can’t explain it.  It’s something you feel, more so.”  Barkas scratches the top of his head under his wolf skull cap, searching for the words to explain.  

"Ah... I see.", says T'laren, who clearly does indeed not see.

"Well, you've thought it over... maybe a good thing in the end that you got waylaid, or you'd be halfway to Chult before needing to turn around!"

((T’laren green, Droknin maroon, gotta pick another color and stick with it.  Ok - purple.))

“S’true, dontcha see?  Lookey here.  Right here, in the stars, Nobanion, the Great Lion.  Crossing paths with Angharradh, the elf.  Don’tcha see?”  Barkas looks up excitedly, checking for anything in the sky, but at that moment a large cloud is above them.  “Dagnabbit.  Well, just, well .. ya gotta trust me on this one.  I was meant to travel with you fellers.  It’s in the stars.  It’s as plain as the hand in front of my face!”  Barkas holds his hand out in demonstration, caked dirt on the hands and under the nails and all.  He looks up at both of you with a grin.  “Damnit.  Out of ale.  Gotta keep on the lookout for some hops and barley.  Gotta brew up some of my own.  After a few cups and lookin at my map, maybe that’ll let ya see….”

He stands and packs away his maps, hoping that made everything as clear as mud.

T'laren makes eye contact with Droknin over the dwarf's head as he's packing his stuff away. A quizzical look that almost borders on a smile crosses his face.

"If you say it's meant to be, then I'm glad we weren't late in freeing your from the King's closet."

Aranea Kendrick was glad she managed to snag a room in the Stonehill Inn before all the miners in the area descended at once upon the small town. It was mid-morning now, and the investigator from Neverwinter was preparing for her first day in Phandalin. She'd already managed to learn some interesting rumors from the innkeeper here, and of course she had done her fair share of eavesdropping on the inn patrons as well. It seemed the white dragon might not be the only threat facing the frontier town.

Aranea stepped outside the inn and pulled her dark, woolen cloak tightly around herself against the chill. It was not exactly unseasonably cold, but she'd heard many of the patrons' worried talk in hushed voices about the possibility the dragon was influencing the weather. That was a disturbing thought. Aranea pulled the hood of the cloak over her long, raven hair. Her eyes, a dark blue that seemed almost black in certain lighting, scanned her surroundings. It was something she did completely unconsciously by this point, scanning for danger, looking for anything strange or out of place. It was what made her such a good investigator.

She decides to start with the town master, a man called Harbin Wester. The innkeeper gave her some general directions to locations about town, which she marked down on her own personal map. One of these was the location of the town master's house. When she arrives at his residence, she steps up to the door and knocks politely three times. Then she waits to see if he will answer.

“The ah, closet, was a mere diversion.  An astral hicccup, a luminary bump in the road, to give more time for… reflection.  I’m just glad you fellers came along and we could give him his comeuppance.  But now.  Now we are on the right path again.  Yeah?”  Barkas looks at you and scratches his head and his beard, looking at you as if it is so clear that a child could understand.  

As Barkas pulls out a piece of paper and starts to point at different places on it, Droknin is trying his best to understand what the Human Dwarf is trying to do. He thinks that it is strange that he is trying to find his homeland on the paper, and then he starts talking about stars. Droknin tries to be polite and says nothing. He tries to keep a little distance from the Dwarf on their way back to Phandalin.

As they arrive to town, Droknin smells the air and senses a new scent in town. "Hummm... I sense a new presence in town friends."

Aranea raps on the door of the Town Master's home.  After almost enough time for her to consider knocking again, she hears a deadbolt unlatch and the door opens.  A middle-aged man looks out at her, well-dressed but a tad overweight, and with fading bruises under both eyes.  It looks at her unfamiliar face with a hint of suspicion.  "Good morning.  Is there something that I can help you with, Miss...?"  He trails off, waiting for Aranea to take the opportunity to introduce herself.

Droknin, Barkas and T'laren reach the outskirts of Phandalin once again.  Barkas' navigating proved at least passably better than ol' Droop's, and anyways once you reached the Triboar Trail it was as simple as following the signs.  

The town is much the same as Droknin and T'laren left it, though it appears a bit more populated than before.  There are a handful of canvas tents set up outsight the Shrine of Tymora, and from the sound of things there is quite a crowd inside the Stonehill Inn this morning.

For Barkas - for whom this may be his first visit:

Phandalin is a modest frontier settlement, somewhere between a village and a very small town.  It is a modest and architecturally boring place, full of what appear to be hard-working frontiersfolk.  You can plainly see that this current settlement is built atop the ruins of an older village, with foundations which predate the buildings above them.  To the west, an apple orchard covers the hills outside town, while to the east a tall hill rises... the ruin of an old manor house looms ominously, leering down at the houses below.

Aranea bows her head respectfully as the town master answers the door. She tries not to stare at the bruises under his eyes and wonders exactly what has happened to him.

"Aranea Kendrick, investigator with the Wintershield Watch in Neverwinter, sir," she explains politely. "I came of my accord to offer my services. News has reached Neverwinter that a dragon was spotted in this area, and that you may be having other troubles besides."

His eyes perk up when Aranea mentions she has been sent from Neverwinter.  He looks like it may be the first good news the man has received in a while.  "Wintershield Watch, you say?  So the city authorities are finally turning their eyes to our troubles?  Thank the gods for that... late though it may be."

"Aye," he adds.  "Hard to believe a dragon could be the least of our troubles, but so far that is the way of things.  Come in, please, and I can tell you more...".  He pauses then, something over Aranea's shoulder catching his eye.  "In fact, they can help with that."  He has spied Droknin and T'laren coming down the road.  He whistles, sharply, and motions for them and Barkas to join him and Aranea.

"Hope the Stonehill still has rooms available... It looks a bit busier than when we left. Check that out and have a hot meal, or check in with Wester first? Be good to make sure the others made it through alright.", T'laren asks.

"Looks like checking in with Wester it is..."

As the group walks in the direction of Wester's place, Araneae sees that one of the group is an older lanky wood elf with a shaved head, wiry in build, his arms and hands a bit knobby and gnarled, almost as if carved from wood. He has a permanently dour expression creating his face, but he carries himself easily, his clothes and leather armor muted woodland colors, but well cared after, across his back a longbow carved with vine and thorn patterns down its length, scimitars at his sides.