While Chadwick rides around scouting the hilltop he'll be on the lookout for tracks. Survival check 17
He'll also inquire on how it got its name (if he or Hap don't already know).
Chadwick will check with Kragen and Hoid if they think the nearby mountains would be able to supply stone for building. Since it seems that is not in their wheelhouse he'll check in with the local stone cutter.
Kragen looks to the mountains as Chadwick inquires.
Still looking at those mountains with a distant stare, softly answers "My skills come from working the mines of Delhalls for the Warlock Lord Thistlepig, and some basic smithing skills. If those can be of use, they are your's Sir Chadwick." turns and looks at him intently.
Putting his hand on Kragen's shoulder "I don't mean for you do be doing the mining friend, just curious if that will be an option in this area. Plenty of wood around here, but I'm getting paranoid in my old age and I would sleep better better behind a stone wall versus wood."
Starker looks about the hilltop and stands on a nice spot where he thinks it likely Chadwick will want Manse Jenkins. He estimates its extent, then eyeballs to find the furthest point on the flat bit. He leaves Cyrus where he is to mark the spot and walks to that far point and sets up a cairn of logs and rocks. He then walks over to Cyrus and casts Ice Storm (range = 300’) towards the cairn. If I am doing math right, it is likely that it will fall a little short.
Starker:”That should leave a sufficient safety margin. Ice Storm is my longest range destructive spell. Also, I think those trees over there will be easier to clear now. If you do end up building here, I will build my tower there, if I may, Sir Chadwick? Being close to the edge will make excavating the basement/laboratory easier.”
The brewery is made right again. The basement turns out to be a nice thing for Yanthin's operation. There are tracks set into the ceiling with a pulley system down the stairwell. He has the blacksmith fashioning hardware to fit into it as described in Bergun's tome. Yanthin wondered what those descriptions were meant for as he had not seen anything like that in the upper brewery. The extra storage space will be very useful to improve his operations. Sourcing water will be done the 'old' way with a water wagon taken to the falls to capture the spring water from its source.
You find the remains of an old cabin atop Cerric's Hill as well. It is rotted and collapsed now. Cerric was a hermit who lived here back in Chadwick's grandfather's youth. No one really remembers him now other than naming of the hill he lived upon.
Hoid is ready to move on the Waterdeep. He fusses over his plate armor daily and cannot seem to find peace since it was damaged.
"Hoid perhaps you and some of the others should make the journey to Waterdeep. Things seems under control here now and it'll likely be (insert amount of time) until our bastions are underway to the point where Starker and I can get away."
"Sir Chadwick, we have this fine Brewers Apron that was left in the chest we recovered. It appears to have belonged to Bergun, when he was alive and brewing fine Ale. Do you want to gift it to Yanthin? May hold some sentimental value for him??"
<Confirming that the apron gave off no magical aura when discovered with the Chalice and the Iron Flask.>
Kragen will have the local Blacksmith repair his Chainmail Armor.
Kragen also returns the Fey Warden's Glaive to Chadwick.
Kragen also spends time at the Temple of Tyr, visiting with Priestess Mera. Donating 100gp.
Starker:”When you go to Waterdeep please give my best to my parents and to my mother’s employer, my patron. If you happen to meet Master Charletin, please tell him about the time I fought Hoid to a draw in hand to hand combat and also about how I am coming along with Fireball. <gives directions to find these folk> Tell them all I hope to be following in your footpath and will soon visit. It shouldn’t take too long to settle on a plan and a path forward to getting my nascent tower to crown.”
Hoid spends his time working with the blacksmith while the rest of you make plans for developing the peak of Cerric's Hill with Chadwick and Starker.
Yanthin is busy getting the brewery back up and running. His three assistants are now back at the brewery and they are starting to brew again. Shipments of grain and retrieving wagons of water from the spring is keeping them occupied. He does take the time to talk with Chadwick and Kragen. The brewer's apron is a thoughtful gift to him and he receives it showing his appreciation. Bergun's tome on brewing remains in place in the initial holding tank room for the spring water. He hangs it on a peg near the podium holding the book as a tribute to the old brewer who made the town known throughout the region. "Thank you. All of you for restoring the brewery and our relationship with the spirits of the land. I will be sure to show my thanks to the Lady of the Waters regularly," he says to all of you.
The Jenkins' farm is returning to a more normal schedule. Your presence there has been folded into the rhythm of daily life. The previous chalice symbolizing The Pact was not found when you returned from your escapades. Only a small pile of fine rust like dust was seen on the mantle where the chalice sat. Ma Jenkins fusses about the mess there and sweeps this up as she cleans the rest of the room to its neat and tidy appearance. Hap says to Chadwick that first night on the porch while enjoying a pipe, "You and your friends kind of walked me into that with the Mayor, you know. Fortunately, he won't try to push things too far with this. But, he will be more difficult about some things for a while. If you and your friends are going to make a move to settle here up on Cerric's Hill then think about more questions before mouthing opinions. Remember those brigands in your early days at the Academy? There are times for quick action. But, there are more times for moving more carefully."
While the preparations are being made at Cerric's Hill Trolkarl approaches Xymox
Xymox
He pauses, considering the words carefully.
You’ve handled yourself well throughout all this.
He exhales lightly through the nose, as if admitting something mildly unpleasant.
I couldn’t stand the mayor. Still can’t. Every instinct I had told me to- well none of that serves the the Company… and you stepped in when it mattered. You steadied the room. And for that, I am thankful. The timing of your arrival... and everything with Alamnal Deepwalker... well it may have tested anyone’s welcome. But you’ve earned my trust.
Glances off to the horizon briefly before continuing.
The Company has seen much together. Enough that it begins to weigh. And if you’re to walk with us, you should understand what you might one day face. There are stories you haven’t yet heard—histories, not just of glory, but of unfinished work.
He looks to Xymox directly, his tone steady.
The first is Illiandil’s Tomb. A necromancer who sought lichdom—not one of those charlatans content to rot in a crypt, but one with the cunning to hide his true tomb across planes. We hold fragments of his map. What’s more, we possess a tuning fork—attuned to the frequency needed to Plane Shift to that tomb’s true location. We have not yet made the journey. When we do… we’ll need steady minds and steel resolve.
He shifts slightly
Then there’s Kellistor’s Tower. A structure touched by the Far Realm—muted whispers, maddening echoes. We explored it by night. It nearly claimed us. We were looking for traces of his apprentices, for remnants of the magic they played with—things that should never be unearthed. That place still festers. We don’t yet know what to make of it
Trolkarl lets a moment pass in silence.
We have spoken little of these matters in the open- but you’ve proven that you’re neither blind to danger nor ruled by fear. If you mean to stay with us, I thought it only fair to share the truths of what we have seen.
We’ll need a sharp tongue and sharper wit before long—and I’d rather face what’s to come with you than without you.
Kragen listens intently as Trolkarl recounts past haunts and future danger to the Drow, the one they call Xymox.
Frowning inwardly, Kragen follows Trolkarl. "As much as i loath admitting it, by Tyr, Trolkarl has the right of it. Past encounters with your kind have warped my perspective, that all who are of your race, are enemies of Tyr. You have proven otherwise, although slicked tongue and wily, you have proven to be trustworthy and useful. Your a welcome addition to our lovely" smirks looking at the others "band, The Company."
Reaches high to clap him on the shoulder "I look forward to sharing a mug and your company in our endeavors. Know this, once that bond is made, we shed our own blood for each other! Well, truth be told, The Mage over there, only sheds Fireballs!" nods towards Starker and chuckles "Despite his poor judgement and peculiar ideas, which makes me question his morality and sanity, he has fallen in battle with us and therefore he is our own! Protected by Tyr and The Company."
Xymox stands still— too still. *Trolkarl’s words drift between them like smoke, but the name—*Alamnal Deepwalker—clings to him like ash. He doesn’t answer at first. Instead, his gaze drops, just briefly, as if he were sifting through something broken inside him.
Then, very softly, he speaks.
"Alamnal Deepwalker." A single name, spoken with an elegance that can’t quite hide the venom coiled behind it.
"You mention him like a passing shadow—like any other threat we've faced or will face." He lifts his eyes to Trolkarl’s, and in them is a kind of still-burning quiet that can melt stone or slit a throat in silence. "But for me, Trolkarl... that name is the echo of the blade that severed my life in two."
He breathes once. Composes. Folds his gloved hands neatly before him.
"That Drow butchered my mother in the name of politics. Staged it as an uprising. Had her stricken from the records of our House—scrubbed like ink from parchment. And I, young and silent, was left to smile and bow while the nobles whispered of succession and poison."
He lets that hang for a moment, the mask peeling slightly.
"So yes… I am very familiar with Alamnal." A sardonic smile, razor-thin. "And if you’ve crossed paths with him, even unknowingly—then our fates are more bound than I thought."
He steps closer, voice lowering—not threatening, but deliberate.
"You offer trust. That’s no small thing. I know what it costs. I’ve lived where trust is currency, and betrayal is culture." He places a hand gently on Trolkarl’s shoulder. "So understand me when I say: if Alamnal ever shows his face again, I will not ask The Company to follow me. I will simply go. And I will not come back until he is a shadow without name or memory."
A pause, then he lets the bard return in full—a wry glint, a softened tone.
"But until then... yes. I’ll walk with you. Through tombs, towers, madness and melody. You’ll have my bow, my song, and whatever truths lie in-between."
A final glance to the horizon, where clouds stir faintly above Cerric’s Hill.
"Let’s make sure our unfinished stories don’t stay that way."
Xymox inclines his head ever so slightly as Kragen speaks, his expression unreadable—but the stillness is deliberate, respectful. There’s no mockery in his eyes now, only the flicker of something rarer in him: restraint. When Kragen's large hand lands on his shoulder, Xymox doesn’t flinch—though he does blink once, as if surprised by the weight behind the gesture. Then, with a faint smile curling like smoke at the edge of his lips, he speaks—
"Kragen Stoneheart. A cleric of Tyr offering me his trust… I may need to write a ballad just to prove it happened."
A half-bow of his head, low but not servile. There’s grace in it, and gratitude, though wrapped—as always—in silk and shadow.
"It is no small thing to unlearn hate dressed as tradition. That takes a kind of strength I seldom see… and I’ve lived in places where strength is the only thing that breathes."
He steps forward, enough to close the space of tension, and returns the shoulder clasp—slimmer fingers to broad armor, deliberate.
"You’ve called me slick and wily. Fair. I’ve been worse, and I’ll be worse again. But for all your suspicion, you’ve shown me something I thought the surface lacked: honor without arrogance. You shield others not because you must—but because you choose to."
Xymox’s eyes flick briefly toward Starker, watching the wizard inspect something arcane on the breeze.
"And as for our mage..." He allows the grin to soften, warm and wicked all at once. "...Starker may scorch the battlefield and the eyebrows alike, but there is no other mind I’d rather have unraveling the impossible beside me. His fire may fall wide, but his loyalty does not."
Then, softer—meant only for Kragen to hear:
"And should the day come when your shield falters, Kragen… know that my shadow will be at your side. Not as debt. But as bond."
A firm nod. And with that, the Drow bard steps back into the shifting light, his cloak trailing behind like dusk on the move.
Trolkarl listens in silence as Xymox speaks. When the bard finishes, he ponders a moment, then nods, voice low and firm.
Then we are bound, you and I—not just by the Company, but by scars left from the same blade.
Alamnal has long poisoned the surface. He whispered into the ears that once governed my house, twisted generations of my kin, and dragged the Ravensheld name toward ruin.
Just before we met you, the Company fought him in Cormyr. He brought numerous drow to the surface to serve him. We struck them all down. But like a coward, he fled—slipping back into the Underdark before we could finish it. We had hoped to end his trechary above the surface... but until he is dead, there is no certainty.
So let there be no doubt: this is personal for me, as it is for you. And when next he rises, there will be no hesitation.
He pauses, glancing at the others
His assassins may have initially came for me- but they did not discriminate in their attacks. That made it personal for the Company too.
Your appearance so soon after these confrontations- it was incredible that we should meet a drow upon the surface at this time. That made trust... difficult. That you have stayed with us-despite our doubts- speaks louder than any oath.
So when that day comes—when Alamnal rises again—he’ll find his worst enemies standing together united.
While Chadwick rides around scouting the hilltop he'll be on the lookout for tracks. Survival check 17
He'll also inquire on how it got its name (if he or Hap don't already know).
Chadwick will check with Kragen and Hoid if they think the nearby mountains would be able to supply stone for building. Since it seems that is not in their wheelhouse he'll check in with the local stone cutter.
Kragen looks to the mountains as Chadwick inquires.
Still looking at those mountains with a distant stare, softly answers "My skills come from working the mines of Delhalls for the Warlock Lord Thistlepig, and some basic smithing skills. If those can be of use, they are your's Sir Chadwick." turns and looks at him intently.
Putting his hand on Kragen's shoulder "I don't mean for you do be doing the mining friend, just curious if that will be an option in this area. Plenty of wood around here, but I'm getting paranoid in my old age and I would sleep better better behind a stone wall versus wood."
Starker looks about the hilltop and stands on a nice spot where he thinks it likely Chadwick will want Manse Jenkins. He estimates its extent, then eyeballs to find the furthest point on the flat bit. He leaves Cyrus where he is to mark the spot and walks to that far point and sets up a cairn of logs and rocks. He then walks over to Cyrus and casts Ice Storm (range = 300’) towards the cairn. If I am doing math right, it is likely that it will fall a little short.
Starker:”That should leave a sufficient safety margin. Ice Storm is my longest range destructive spell. Also, I think those trees over there will be easier to clear now. If you do end up building here, I will build my tower there, if I may, Sir Chadwick? Being close to the edge will make excavating the basement/laboratory easier.”
Chadwicks nods along with Starker. " Yep, that'll work, and cool spell by the way." Then laughs at his own joke.
The brewery is made right again. The basement turns out to be a nice thing for Yanthin's operation. There are tracks set into the ceiling with a pulley system down the stairwell. He has the blacksmith fashioning hardware to fit into it as described in Bergun's tome. Yanthin wondered what those descriptions were meant for as he had not seen anything like that in the upper brewery. The extra storage space will be very useful to improve his operations. Sourcing water will be done the 'old' way with a water wagon taken to the falls to capture the spring water from its source.
You find the remains of an old cabin atop Cerric's Hill as well. It is rotted and collapsed now. Cerric was a hermit who lived here back in Chadwick's grandfather's youth. No one really remembers him now other than naming of the hill he lived upon.
Hoid is ready to move on the Waterdeep. He fusses over his plate armor daily and cannot seem to find peace since it was damaged.
"Hoid perhaps you and some of the others should make the journey to Waterdeep. Things seems under control here now and it'll likely be (insert amount of time) until our bastions are underway to the point where Starker and I can get away."
"Sir Chadwick, we have this fine Brewers Apron that was left in the chest we recovered. It appears to have belonged to Bergun, when he was alive and brewing fine Ale. Do you want to gift it to Yanthin? May hold some sentimental value for him??"
<Confirming that the apron gave off no magical aura when discovered with the Chalice and the Iron Flask.>
Kragen will have the local Blacksmith repair his Chainmail Armor.
Kragen also returns the Fey Warden's Glaive to Chadwick.
Kragen also spends time at the Temple of Tyr, visiting with Priestess Mera. Donating 100gp.
Starker:”When you go to Waterdeep please give my best to my parents and to my mother’s employer, my patron. If you happen to meet Master Charletin, please tell him about the time I fought Hoid to a draw in hand to hand combat and also about how I am coming along with Fireball. <gives directions to find these folk> Tell them all I hope to be following in your footpath and will soon visit. It shouldn’t take too long to settle on a plan and a path forward to getting my nascent tower to crown.”
"Kragen that is a fine idea. Let's meet up with Yanthin this evening and see if it's a part of the brewery history he would like to have."
Hoid spends his time working with the blacksmith while the rest of you make plans for developing the peak of Cerric's Hill with Chadwick and Starker.
Yanthin is busy getting the brewery back up and running. His three assistants are now back at the brewery and they are starting to brew again. Shipments of grain and retrieving wagons of water from the spring is keeping them occupied. He does take the time to talk with Chadwick and Kragen. The brewer's apron is a thoughtful gift to him and he receives it showing his appreciation. Bergun's tome on brewing remains in place in the initial holding tank room for the spring water. He hangs it on a peg near the podium holding the book as a tribute to the old brewer who made the town known throughout the region. "Thank you. All of you for restoring the brewery and our relationship with the spirits of the land. I will be sure to show my thanks to the Lady of the Waters regularly," he says to all of you.
The Jenkins' farm is returning to a more normal schedule. Your presence there has been folded into the rhythm of daily life. The previous chalice symbolizing The Pact was not found when you returned from your escapades. Only a small pile of fine rust like dust was seen on the mantle where the chalice sat. Ma Jenkins fusses about the mess there and sweeps this up as she cleans the rest of the room to its neat and tidy appearance. Hap says to Chadwick that first night on the porch while enjoying a pipe, "You and your friends kind of walked me into that with the Mayor, you know. Fortunately, he won't try to push things too far with this. But, he will be more difficult about some things for a while. If you and your friends are going to make a move to settle here up on Cerric's Hill then think about more questions before mouthing opinions. Remember those brigands in your early days at the Academy? There are times for quick action. But, there are more times for moving more carefully."
While the preparations are being made at Cerric's Hill Trolkarl approaches Xymox
Xymox
He pauses, considering the words carefully.
You’ve handled yourself well throughout all this.
He exhales lightly through the nose, as if admitting something mildly unpleasant.
I couldn’t stand the mayor. Still can’t. Every instinct I had told me to- well none of that serves the the Company… and you stepped in when it mattered. You steadied the room. And for that, I am thankful. The timing of your arrival... and everything with Alamnal Deepwalker... well it may have tested anyone’s welcome. But you’ve earned my trust.
Glances off to the horizon briefly before continuing.
The Company has seen much together. Enough that it begins to weigh. And if you’re to walk with us, you should understand what you might one day face. There are stories you haven’t yet heard—histories, not just of glory, but of unfinished work.
He looks to Xymox directly, his tone steady.
The first is Illiandil’s Tomb. A necromancer who sought lichdom—not one of those charlatans content to rot in a crypt, but one with the cunning to hide his true tomb across planes. We hold fragments of his map. What’s more, we possess a tuning fork—attuned to the frequency needed to Plane Shift to that tomb’s true location. We have not yet made the journey. When we do… we’ll need steady minds and steel resolve.
He shifts slightly
Then there’s Kellistor’s Tower. A structure touched by the Far Realm—muted whispers, maddening echoes. We explored it by night. It nearly claimed us. We were looking for traces of his apprentices, for remnants of the magic they played with—things that should never be unearthed. That place still festers. We don’t yet know what to make of it
Trolkarl lets a moment pass in silence.
We have spoken little of these matters in the open- but you’ve proven that you’re neither blind to danger nor ruled by fear. If you mean to stay with us, I thought it only fair to share the truths of what we have seen.
We’ll need a sharp tongue and sharper wit before long—and I’d rather face what’s to come with you than without you.
I present to you Cerric's Hill
Kragen listens intently as Trolkarl recounts past haunts and future danger to the Drow, the one they call Xymox.
Frowning inwardly, Kragen follows Trolkarl. "As much as i loath admitting it, by Tyr, Trolkarl has the right of it. Past encounters with your kind have warped my perspective, that all who are of your race, are enemies of Tyr. You have proven otherwise, although slicked tongue and wily, you have proven to be trustworthy and useful. Your a welcome addition to our lovely" smirks looking at the others "band, The Company."
Reaches high to clap him on the shoulder "I look forward to sharing a mug and your company in our endeavors. Know this, once that bond is made, we shed our own blood for each other! Well, truth be told, The Mage over there, only sheds Fireballs!" nods towards Starker and chuckles "Despite his poor judgement and peculiar ideas, which makes me question his morality and sanity, he has fallen in battle with us and therefore he is our own! Protected by Tyr and The Company."
Nods and looks intently at Xymox
Xymox stands still— too still. *Trolkarl’s words drift between them like smoke, but the name—*Alamnal Deepwalker—clings to him like ash. He doesn’t answer at first. Instead, his gaze drops, just briefly, as if he were sifting through something broken inside him.
Then, very softly, he speaks.
"Alamnal Deepwalker."
A single name, spoken with an elegance that can’t quite hide the venom coiled behind it.
"You mention him like a passing shadow—like any other threat we've faced or will face."
He lifts his eyes to Trolkarl’s, and in them is a kind of still-burning quiet that can melt stone or slit a throat in silence.
"But for me, Trolkarl... that name is the echo of the blade that severed my life in two."
He breathes once. Composes. Folds his gloved hands neatly before him.
"That Drow butchered my mother in the name of politics. Staged it as an uprising. Had her stricken from the records of our House—scrubbed like ink from parchment. And I, young and silent, was left to smile and bow while the nobles whispered of succession and poison."
He lets that hang for a moment, the mask peeling slightly.
"So yes… I am very familiar with Alamnal."
A sardonic smile, razor-thin.
"And if you’ve crossed paths with him, even unknowingly—then our fates are more bound than I thought."
He steps closer, voice lowering—not threatening, but deliberate.
"You offer trust. That’s no small thing. I know what it costs. I’ve lived where trust is currency, and betrayal is culture."
He places a hand gently on Trolkarl’s shoulder.
"So understand me when I say: if Alamnal ever shows his face again, I will not ask The Company to follow me. I will simply go. And I will not come back until he is a shadow without name or memory."
A pause, then he lets the bard return in full—a wry glint, a softened tone.
"But until then... yes. I’ll walk with you. Through tombs, towers, madness and melody. You’ll have my bow, my song, and whatever truths lie in-between."
A final glance to the horizon, where clouds stir faintly above Cerric’s Hill.
"Let’s make sure our unfinished stories don’t stay that way."
Xymox inclines his head ever so slightly as Kragen speaks, his expression unreadable—but the stillness is deliberate, respectful. There’s no mockery in his eyes now, only the flicker of something rarer in him: restraint. When Kragen's large hand lands on his shoulder, Xymox doesn’t flinch—though he does blink once, as if surprised by the weight behind the gesture. Then, with a faint smile curling like smoke at the edge of his lips, he speaks—
"Kragen Stoneheart. A cleric of Tyr offering me his trust… I may need to write a ballad just to prove it happened."
A half-bow of his head, low but not servile. There’s grace in it, and gratitude, though wrapped—as always—in silk and shadow.
"It is no small thing to unlearn hate dressed as tradition. That takes a kind of strength I seldom see… and I’ve lived in places where strength is the only thing that breathes."
He steps forward, enough to close the space of tension, and returns the shoulder clasp—slimmer fingers to broad armor, deliberate.
"You’ve called me slick and wily. Fair. I’ve been worse, and I’ll be worse again. But for all your suspicion, you’ve shown me something I thought the surface lacked: honor without arrogance. You shield others not because you must—but because you choose to."
Xymox’s eyes flick briefly toward Starker, watching the wizard inspect something arcane on the breeze.
"And as for our mage..."
He allows the grin to soften, warm and wicked all at once.
"...Starker may scorch the battlefield and the eyebrows alike, but there is no other mind I’d rather have unraveling the impossible beside me. His fire may fall wide, but his loyalty does not."
Then, softer—meant only for Kragen to hear:
"And should the day come when your shield falters, Kragen… know that my shadow will be at your side. Not as debt. But as bond."
A firm nod. And with that, the Drow bard steps back into the shifting light, his cloak trailing behind like dusk on the move.
/Plans?
Trolkarl listens in silence as Xymox speaks. When the bard finishes, he ponders a moment, then nods, voice low and firm.
Then we are bound, you and I—not just by the Company, but by scars left from the same blade.
Alamnal has long poisoned the surface. He whispered into the ears that once governed my house, twisted generations of my kin, and dragged the Ravensheld name toward ruin.
Just before we met you, the Company fought him in Cormyr. He brought numerous drow to the surface to serve him. We struck them all down. But like a coward, he fled—slipping back into the Underdark before we could finish it. We had hoped to end his trechary above the surface... but until he is dead, there is no certainty.
So let there be no doubt: this is personal for me, as it is for you. And when next he rises, there will be no hesitation.
He pauses, glancing at the others
His assassins may have initially came for me- but they did not discriminate in their attacks. That made it personal for the Company too.
Your appearance so soon after these confrontations- it was incredible that we should meet a drow upon the surface at this time. That made trust... difficult. That you have stayed with us-despite our doubts- speaks louder than any oath.
So when that day comes—when Alamnal rises again—he’ll find his worst enemies standing together united.
(somewhere) Alamnal yawns….
yawns - with his yellow tail between his yellow legs