The town of Leilon has a long history of being built, destroyed, and rebuilt. It's location, positioned as it is between Neverwinter and Waterdeep, means it will always attract attention both well-meaning and nefarious. Leilon was once a mining town that sold copper, nickel, and silver to Waterdeep. It was also a port where merchants sometimes offloaded goods on barges (since most ships cannot pass the town’s shallow mud flats) to be transferred to cities along the Sword Coast.

Two hundred years ago, the wizard Thalivar made his home here and raised a tower at the town center to conduct his mystical studies. The House of Thalivar was topped with a planar beacon that lured creatures from other planes into the structure, trapping them there. After Thalivar mysteriously disappeared, the people of Leilon were content to leave his tower and the monsters within alone.

The Spellplague, a divine phenomenon that twisted Faerûn’s magic, corrupted the tower’s defenses. The creatures sealed within were freed to attack Leilon, and the magic of the planar beacon was redirected back into the Material Plane, causing humanoids who looked upon it to become paralyzed. Leilon was quickly overrun and subsequently abandoned and has remained that way for more than a century.

At present, however, Lord Protector Dagult Neverember, Regent of Neverwinter, is supporting settlers to rebuild, in hopes that the town may thrive once more as a safe waypoint to encourage trade between Neverwinter and Waterdeep. The first action the soldiery of Neverwinter took in Leilon was to destroy the planar beacon inside the House of Thalivar. The House has been repurposed as a garrison for the Neverwinter soldiers, led by Mage Gallio Elibro and Sergeant Hazz Yorrum.

Before its fall, Leilon was defended by a loosely organized group of adventurers called the Swords of Leilon. Lord Neverember has elected to recreate the Swords as a sort of militia/local defense force. Part of the various terms of your residency in Leilon, as persons who have shown exceptional talent, is to be part of the Swords, with the expectation that when dangerous tasks may arise that affect the entire community, you may be asked to take part in the community's defense.

(Cast of Player Characters:)
Tor Baltas - (@EMIW) male Earth Genasi - You have been hired by Lord Neverember to be the nominal "head" of the Swords. As the only "full-time" member, so-to-speak, you are the Town Reeve, responsible for small matters of peacekeeping. You answer to Mage Gallio Elibro and Sergeant Hazz Yorrum. You also nominally answer to the town council, but, just rememeber that it's Lord Neverember who pays your wages.
Tyrel Smithson - (@FoxTailDnD) male Aasimar - As an aspiring blacksmith, you have been provided with a mule and a small cart carrying your blacksmithing supplies. You are hereby instructed to meet with Grizzelda Copperwraught, the female dwarf in charge of reconstruction of Leilon. She will direct you to where you may set up shop, with the expectation that you will be able to assist in creating necessary materials needed for further construction.
Siegfried Braun - (@Bartjeebus) male Dwarf - As a brewer of renown and representative of Chauntea, you too will meet with Grizzelda Copperwraught, who will direct you to where you can set up your brewing materials and, hopefully, eventually build an alehouse. It's no secret that you are the one the council is most looking forward to succeeding.
Oloven Skabor - (@KRSalamander) male Half-Orc - Your sister has been granted land to open a public school and to manage the children of the locals. She...happened to mention that you were a servant of Helm, telling a story of the one time you and she were visiting in Neverwinter when you took out no less than three muggers--at the same time!--who had accosted the two of you. While you are free to spend your time as you wish, it is assumed that you would be in the Swords, playing deputy to Tor Baltus' Reeve.
Ace Greywind - (@GamingArcitectV2) male Half-Elf - As the grandson of the renowned Linene Greywind, great things are expected of you. Though, now that you mention it, it's not really clear what Linene was actually renowned for... simply as being a great merchant, but usually merchants buy and sell things, though no one really knows what you're planning to buy or sell. But, I'm not paid enough to ask questions, you were granted a plot of land that you may do with as you will. When you get to Leilon, you can check in with Grizzelda Copperwraught like the others, and she will direct you where you can set up.

Now then, Tor, your first task is to be sure that the three merchants here make it safely to Leilon.
Oloven, I am sorry to hear that the church kept you later than you were expecting. Your sister has gone on ahead and should have already been in Leilon for almost a month at this point. You are welcome to accompany Tor and his trio of merchants if you like.

I would assume that the merchants would already be slightly acquainted with Tor, correct?

Nevermind about that, just read your post on the OOC

Before everyone heads out, Ace Greywind will stop by a store and buy a shield for 10 gp, 4 daggers for 8 gp, and a quiver for 1 gp. He then buys a military saddle for 20gp, and saddlebags for 4gp. He also buys a draft horse for 50 gp. He names the horse Victor, Vic for short, to go along with his name. (Ace as in the best, and Victor as in winner). He, in total, spent 97gp.

Sitting on the fence by the depot, Oloven Skabor plays his flute. His horse, a beautiful black bay, stands listening nearby. To anyone watching, he might seem the image of calm, until they noticed one foot tapping more and more frantically as the day progresses and he waits for everyone to be ready to go. His song is lovely and tranquil. Listening to it, one might almost forget entirely the passing of the hours. Almost. Every few minutes he takes out a small pocket-watch from where it hangs beneath his sweater on a chain around his neck. He looks at it a few moments, takes a look around, takes a very deep breath, mutters something to his horse, and then continues playing. 

Oloven is tall and wide at the chest, with short, curly brown hair and a graying beard. His skin might be described as green. Or it might be described as olive brown, with a thin layer of moss growing over it. His tusks are filed down to a respectable length and they only barely impact the tone of his flute playing. He wears simple leather boots and tan pants, and a blue-gray sweater with a pattern of white marching bears circling the chest, with a navy blue bandana tucked beneath the collar. A small, simple axe of dark steel with a handle painted all black hangs from a strap at his waist. Despite his obvious orc heritage, nothing about Oloven would give anyone looking at him the impression of a warrior. If one had to guess, they might say he looks like he owns an apple orchard or a dairy farm, and plays in the local folk band down at the pub on Friday nights. 

And yet this quiet, nervous flute player in the kitschy sweater has been deputized. There must be SOME iron in the man. Unless he's just the mayor's lazy brother or something and he's been given the job as an attempted lesson in responsibility. But then again, something about that dark tomahawk of his seems like it's for more than splitting firewood...

Siegfried Braun is tall and thin for a hill dwarf, enough that he could almost pass for an unusually short, stout human, were it not for the chest-length braided beard of auburn hair he keeps immaculately groomed and threaded through a pair of engraved wooden beads.  He wears a plain brown cloak over a set of light, unusually silvery chain mail armor, and the wooden shield on his back is painted with a bundle of wheat... a commonfolk symbol for Chauntea, the Earthmother.  A sickle hangs from a loop on his belt.

He busies himself checking and re-checking the harness that connects his long-haired draft horse, Barley, to his cart.  The cart is loaded with brewer's supplies, mason's tools, farm implements, bags of seed, a heavy pot adorned with runes, and a large warhammer.  [Down to 361gp after pre-campaign shopping]

Seemingly satisfied that all is in order, he pats the horse on the side and stares out at the north country, his mind on the road ahead and the future in store.

After a while, more to relieve nervous energy than out of carefulness, Oloven hops off the rail and goes to check his supplies, like the young dwarf is doing. He pats his skittish horse on the nose, and says "Whoa, Daisy! Just gonna check on the tack, don't worry yourself." The two are still getting to know each other.

He unlatches his saddle bags and takes a look at all his new treasures. Even with his new civilian clothes, the new set of lockpicks, the disguise kit, the bow and arrows strapped to his saddle hanging ready near the stirrups, the saddle itself, not to mention the horse carrying it all, and of course gifts for his sister and for each of the five kids, he still has 270 gold coins sitting in a heavy purse at the bottom of the bag. An astonishing amount of money. Far more than he's ever held in his enitre life!

Once he gets to Leilon, he's going to start investing this money and then the whole family will be rich. He thinks of all that money could do for the kids. They could pay for an apprenticeship for Sybil, admittance to university for Zurgug and an officer's commission for Quinn when they're old enough, and still have some leftover to spoil Bashuk and Riley with toys and dresses. He absent-mindedly tells Daisy "Girl, I tell ya, I could get used to this materialistic lifestyle." 

Thinking about the kids all going off to do the things they want gets Oloven in a good mood. A talking mood! He looks over to his new companions, to whom he's only shared the most basic of introductions and says "Ace, Siegfried, you two gentlemen wanna know what I'm gonna do when I get to Leilon? I'm gonna buy a couple'a fine stallion donkeys, and a few more fine mares like Daisy here, and I'm gonna breed mules. That's right. Fella I met once told me all about it. They're stronger'n donkeys, faster to train than horses, and in a bustlin' trading town like Leilon, they'll sell like crazy. Every time a caravan'll come through, the traders'll want to replace their tuckered animals with fresh stock and who'll they come to? Ol' Honest Oloven Skabor that's who! Yessir. Between my sister's school and my mules, my nieces n' nephews'll have the means to go just about anywhere they wanna go in this world. No shippin' THEM off to the priesthood, unless they have a mind for it of course, beggin' your pardon brother Siegfried."  

Tor Baltas returns from emptying his bladder. Tall and well-muscled, he is the definition of granite-faced, both figuratively and literally. His features are dark grey with tiny white inflections scattered about like freckles, and the skin looks like it would be rough to the touch. His hair is kept cropped very short, but where it is allowed to grow it is a rich green, and curled so densely it looks like moss.

Under a deep blue cloak his breastplate is perfunctory and unadorned, but well kept. His leathers are dark and worn, and all cloth items on him are grey. The only bright item is a brassy badge of office bearing three circled snowflakes, the emblem of Neverwinter. If Leilon had an emblem he wasn't aware of one. Maybe old Neverember would come up with one as part of his reinvigoration of the town. He walks with the gait of someone who has been drilled into walking a very certain way, a military walk, and as he walks the tip of a longsword can be seen swinging from one hip, and the handle of a battleaxe from the other.

(See HeroForge model here.)

His pale grey eyes turn towards Oloven, and he cuts directly across the half-orc's happy chatting.

"Skabor. We're one down. Who are we missing?"

Oloven's face drops immediately from friendly and and animated into a strange, practiced impassivity when Tor addresses him with such authority. He says in a tone almost unsettlingly serene "I believe Mr. Smithson is still out at the market, Broth..." 

Then Oloven suddenly seems to become aware of his own shift in tone. He says "Hm," then shakes his head and chuckles a bit. In the jovial tone he'd been employing only moments ago, he tacks on "Well, I'm sure he'll be on his way soon'nuff."

Oloven pulls his watch out from under his sweater again, looking at it with fresh anxiety. Seeing the watch more closely, you may notice its strange design and bizarre, arcane engravings. The more worldly among you may recognize it as a clockwork amulet of Mechanus. How this hayseed stumbled upon such a rare and valuable trinket as that is anyone's guess. 

Tor leans against the fence next to Oloven, and crosses his arms.

"He'd better be. We've got 100 miles of High Road before Leilon, and I don't want to hang about. I'd leave now but I doubt His Lordship would appreciate us abandoning the town's newest smith."

The gently clicking amulet in Oloven's hands catches his attention, but before he can ask about it, he is distracted even further by the half-orc's sweater.

"...What are you wearing?"

A rather skinny man, riding atop of a donkey comes from town square. spotting the group he will be traveling with from a distance he gives them an apologetic look from across the way. "Terrible sorry to keep you all waiting. The Mule i had gotten is not terrible fast when tasked with pulling a cart. It also does not help when it refuses to listen to you." He spoke in a warm tone. as if having met these people a great many years ago. 

The man now up close looked way skinnier than the typical blacksmith. His brown hair medium long hair neatly kept out of his face by a bun, save for a few strands. His blue eyes seemed like a depthful ocean as he took in the sigh of the people in front of him. "As for introductions, Tyrel Smithson. pleasure to make your acquaintance"

"Nice of you to join us," Tor greets him sternly.

He stands from his brief relaxation against the fence, but looks back at Oloven's sweater again for a second before shaking his head. He speaks out loud and clearly for the group to hear.

"It's four days from here to Leilon and whatever new lives you've got lined up. We've got a lot of road to cover, so let's not waste any more time. We stick together, I'll take point, Skabor you take the rear." He makes a quick assessment of the half-orc - the broad smile and kitschy sweater tell one story; the dark axe, build and bearing tell another. Hmm.
"Actually, you take point. I'll take the rear." He wants this enigma where he can see him. "Move out."

Tyrel looks Tor up and down. The stern greeting having caught him slightly off guard, he is quick to forget that this is a business trip after all. "Should we not discuss capibilities before we decide the marching order?" He questioned the group quickly but did guide the mule in line. after all they could walk and talk. 

He took his position in front of Tor. being second to the rear is easy for someone with his capabilities. being able to relay quick and quiet messages or defending the group from a distance if push comes to shove.

Other than the metallic staff on his back there were no visible weapons on the man. He was clearly not hiding any weapons either as he wore a simple set of clothes. As if to say I have nothing to hide from you guys. 

"Mr Smithson, it's my role, and Mr Skabor's role, to get you three safely to Leilon. See this?" He holds the badge with the Neverwinter emblem. "Lord Neverember chose me to be the Reeve of Leilon. I know what I'm doing."

Although, it always pays to have some idea who you are travelling with, and what they can do... Maybe the smith was a dab hand with a hammer in a fight.

"But if you would like to share your 'capabilities' with the group, please go ahead."

"Very well i"ll start us off. I am not much use in a up close brawl. Although i am great at givng ranged support. I am a spellcaster."  He spoke with great pride in his voice. Not bragging but just proud of what he can do. "I can also speak in people's minds" He had used his Telepathic speech ability to form a connection with Tor. speaking directly in his mind for but a moment. His eyes softly glowing with a deep emerald green color. 

As you are about to decide your marching order, you see a lanky, yet muscular half-elf riding towards you on a horse. "*Pant, pant, pant* Sorry I'm late, had to buy some last minute tools. Got here just in time." He then gets off the horse, standing tall: "What will be our travel formation then?"

Tor's hand rises swiftly to the side of his head as the smith's voice enters his mind. He glares at Tyrel, saying simply "Don't do that again. Stay out of my head."

Turning to the half-elf, he answers "Just stay between me and Mr Skabor, the half-orc in the natty sweater. You don't happen to have any surprise abilities hidden in those saddlebags do you?"

The half-elf smirks with a knowing smile.: "I don't know, what do you think."

Taking a bit a back by Tor's reaction Tyrel shifted on his beast of burden a little. "Terrible sorry, i did not mean to offend you. Does make one wonder what secrets you are hidding. but as you said i will refrain from doing so again." After that quick exchange Tyrel's tone has switched to a much more business like tone. As if he slipped into his professional sales person/blacksmith role. 

Tor responds to Ace's smirk with a hand wave. "Fine, keep your secrets. I'm not going to play guessing games with you."

He turns to the final merchant, the dwarf. "Mr Braun. Are you bringing anything special to this little troupe? Besides your beer."