“King Dvengr II passed away two days ago in his room above a general goods store. Dysentery, they said. A right disgrace for his line to end that way.” Gundren Rockseeker draws a long breath from his pipe and leans in toward you.
Gold, glory, a dragon, a curse, and a mountain shrouded in secrecy. You are the few who followed these promises from the handbills posted about town to this tavern attic, thick with pipe smoke and the sound of merrymaking rising from beneath the floorboards.
Grundren slides an ancient parchment your way. “Now that’s something ye don’t see every day. Deeds to a kingdom, the richest there ever were. My cousin, the King, was content to let his inheritance grow dust beneath that old mountain, but we can reclaim the honor of his lineage. For each of you, an earldom and one tenth of Old King Eindrithor’s great hoard. For me, I want to claim my birthright and bring justice to the plagued lands in the mountain’s shadow. Now, what makes ye think ye’r worthy to venture to the halls of Phandelver?”
Jark nods somberly and pauses a moment to remove a speck of grime from her light grey scales before speaking. Her chain mail rattles slightly as she shifts her weight, and the light catches the pale, crossed hands emblazoned on her chest, shot through with red lines. Shorter than most dragonborn, with a slimmer build and dark, yet piercing, eyes, Jark's proud posture reflects the fervor she feels for her mission.
"It is not often that a god condescends to speak to mortals, but my lord has done so. I am here at his behest, his representative, for his will. Like him, I am endurance, once broken, now a healer. He tasked me to reclaim a portion of this treasure for the good of his church, the poor and downtrodden of the world."
Jark's eyes gleam slightly with an inner light as she imagines the good to be done through her as a conduit of Ilmater's will.
"As he has commanded me, so it shall be. You have all my skill in this adventure, good Dwarf!"
Gremorn, a young Minataur still adjusting to a way of life in faerun. Still unsure as to who is truly friend or foe in this new land he'd been summoned into, he wanders through the tavern trying to make as little eye contact as possible. He places a handbill flyer in front of Gunden, "im a soilder fa hire, im here fa the job" Gremorn says in a gruff (which is pretty much his voice) as he takes a seat, gives jark a nod an signals the bar for a drink.
The red Hobgoblin passes quickly through the tavern. The ease at which we weaves through the patrons and his calm subdued demeanor show his familiarity with such a task. He is barely of average human height but his muscled frame keeps his height from being brought up by passerby's. His chainmail and shield are both battle scarred but maintained above average. A warhammer sits on his hip, secured but easily accessible.
He calmly walks up to Grundren, gives a brief nod of respect and acknowledgement before handing him then handbill and signing his name in deft script. He nods to each of the others gathered around the table, then sits himself with his back to a wall drinking from a waterskin in his possession.
Ander Stormwind turns from the bar in interest. He saunters over toward the table, his easy confidence belied by a slight limp and the old pain in his eyes. He stops several feet from the table, as if pausing to reconsider, then seems to draw himself up and walks forward. His notched shield is slung across his back and a longsword hangs in a worn scabbard at his side. Despite their obvious age, Ander’s weapons and armor gleam from regular polishing and maintenance.
“A noble cause indeed, master Rockseeker.” He pauses to consider his next words, “A motley group you’ve assembled here. Perhaps you have room for another?” He asks as he signs the paper.
(In response to Gremorn)"Then consider ye self hired." Gundren hands you an ink pen to sign with. "Oh, and don't worry about the drink. Drinks are on me, tonight."
(In response to Harek) Gundren has exchanged his pipe for a tall cup of dwarven vodka. "Not the talkative type, I see. Well, I've known quite a few like you. My good friend Sildar would order a drink with a glare and then stand in a corner for the rest of the night, but 'es as good a man as I know." Gundren drains the cup and belches, then motions to the contract.
(I response to Ander) Sorry good sir, I was only planning on taking the company of three to the most feared reaches of the known territories. Ye'r too late." Gundren pauses, but doesn't get the response he was looking for. "Ah, I'm jesting. Sign away." Gundren walks off to pay for drinks, wiping flecks from his close cropped beard.
Gundren returns to inform you all that he plans to set out late tomorrow morning, when the wagons he ordered arrive. "The road will be well traveled for the first three days, but once we cross the mountains things may get dangerous. Ye'r first job will be as an armed escort to these wagons. I'll pay ye 50 golden regents (gp) each once we arrive in Phandalin, it's a small mining town in the foothills." He bids you a good night, then leaves to "finish some business."
DM Notes (so you can do some conventional things without me having to post about what happens):
Bar: Drinks are 4 cp. If asked, the bartender is trying to get rid of a potion of healing and will sell it for 40 gp.
Gambling: Slight of Hand (DC 10) On a success, gain 5 gp. On a fail, lose 5 gp.
Tavern Patrons: Anyone can tell you that beyond the mountains lies the remnants of a kingdom once known as Oorarch, then as the Empire, and now as the "cursed lands" or the "fallen kingdom". Old King Eindrithor unified the fragmented and predominantly orcish states of Oorarch into the Empire and made it prosperous from trade and natural abundance. It's fall was sudden, but not unexpected. Prosperity has its price.
After an idle morning and a few mild hangovers, you hear ox carts rolling up outside the tavern. Gundren is talking with the aged veteran who guided the carts (Later, Gundren will introduce him as Sildar Hallwinter). It becomes apparent that one of the oxen is sick, but Gundren insists that time is of the essence so you set out anyway.
Describe your marching order, including who (if anyone) is scouting (Stealth), navigating (Survival), driving (Animal Handling), and keeping watch (Perception with advantage as Sildar is aiding).
"Wait!" a loud, commanding voice cries. A young man in his mid-twenties approaches the cart. "Are you Gundren Rockseeker? I am not late to the party, am I?"
The dwarf examins a a man carefully. He is dressed practically, in cotton and leather, carrying a backpack and a simple quartestaff in his hands. On his left hand, the attentive dwarf notices a signet ring, but can't make out the crest. Not that it matters.
"Who's asking?" Gundren raises an eyebrow.
"Right. Name's Richard, Richard Moreau. I hear you're looking for musle?" Richard waves a handbill in the air. "I can provide."
"Really? You don't look like a lot of muscle."
"Looks can be deceiving, as you are no doubt aware," Richard waves a handbill again, but this time it catches on fire in a matter of heartbeat. "I have some experience as a mercenary. I daresay, I'm not the most useless person in a fight. I can cook and also know at least fifteen different poisons that grow along the way to Phandalin. Not that I would suggest that it is at all related to cooking. As a bonus, I can start immediately. Oh, and I'm also a Wizard of no small talent. Am I in?"
”I must say, I’m not particularly keen to travel with a sick oxen, but if time is of the essence, I’ll allow it. It is a most portentous omen.......” He trails off, lost in thought, but then snaps back to reality.
”I’m not exactly the stealthy type so I’ll keep watch.” He says as he moves into position next to the wagons
"Well, the stealthiest thing I've ever done is..." Richard furrowed his brows. "You know what, never mind. Stealth is not my strong suite. But sure, I'll be on the lookout for trouble."
Will this be a Perception check or passive Perception? In latter case, it's 10 + WISmod(0) = 10
With these words, Wizard unloaded his backpack on the cart, leaving only a staff in his hands and a spellbook chained to his lap. He knew he would get tired of walking eventually, but it was early in the morning and Richard would rather stretch his legs now.
Suddenly, as if remembering something, he took off his signet ring and hid it in one of the inner pockets.
Three days of travel pass uneventfully. Thanks to Harek, you stay on track and make good time. You are breaking camp on the morning of your fourth day when you find that the sickened ox died overnight. Gundren recovers his breath after a hail of dwarven expletives, and turns to you. "This bodes ill on our travels, and I hate the idea of passing through the mountains with a start like this. I suppose we have two options before us: Sildar and I can travel ahead on the cart with two healthy oxen, or we can keep together and risk loosing my contract with Linene Graywind to some orcish lout.
DM Notes
If asked to clarify, Gundren is hiring "useful folk" through Graywind (owner of the Lionshield Coster). If he can provide payment and materials quickly he will have exclusive control of the mining and dungeon delving industry that has been developing in Phandalin since the King's recent death.
Ander stands and shifts his weight, pondering the dilemma over.
“I believe that we should stick together. As you yourself said, Gundren, these are troubled times and we should keep as many swords together as possible.”
Anders’ hand shifts unconsciously over his blade.
”As for losing your contact, it’s better than losing our whole company before the work has even begun. It’s a risk we’ll have to take.”
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“King Dvengr II passed away two days ago in his room above a general goods store. Dysentery, they said. A right disgrace for his line to end that way.” Gundren Rockseeker draws a long breath from his pipe and leans in toward you.
Gold, glory, a dragon, a curse, and a mountain shrouded in secrecy. You are the few who followed these promises from the handbills posted about town to this tavern attic, thick with pipe smoke and the sound of merrymaking rising from beneath the floorboards.
Grundren slides an ancient parchment your way. “Now that’s something ye don’t see every day. Deeds to a kingdom, the richest there ever were. My cousin, the King, was content to let his inheritance grow dust beneath that old mountain, but we can reclaim the honor of his lineage. For each of you, an earldom and one tenth of Old King Eindrithor’s great hoard. For me, I want to claim my birthright and bring justice to the plagued lands in the mountain’s shadow. Now, what makes ye think ye’r worthy to venture to the halls of Phandelver?”
(OOC: Now is the time to introduce yourself.)
Jark nods somberly and pauses a moment to remove a speck of grime from her light grey scales before speaking. Her chain mail rattles slightly as she shifts her weight, and the light catches the pale, crossed hands emblazoned on her chest, shot through with red lines. Shorter than most dragonborn, with a slimmer build and dark, yet piercing, eyes, Jark's proud posture reflects the fervor she feels for her mission.
"It is not often that a god condescends to speak to mortals, but my lord has done so. I am here at his behest, his representative, for his will. Like him, I am endurance, once broken, now a healer. He tasked me to reclaim a portion of this treasure for the good of his church, the poor and downtrodden of the world."
Jark's eyes gleam slightly with an inner light as she imagines the good to be done through her as a conduit of Ilmater's will.
"As he has commanded me, so it shall be. You have all my skill in this adventure, good Dwarf!"
"Ah, a just cause, and selfless, too! There's hard to come by in these parts. Sign away." Gundren places a lengthy contract on the table.
Gremorn, a young Minataur still adjusting to a way of life in faerun. Still unsure as to who is truly friend or foe in this new land he'd been summoned into, he wanders through the tavern trying to make as little eye contact as possible. He places a handbill flyer in front of Gunden, "im a soilder fa hire, im here fa the job" Gremorn says in a gruff (which is pretty much his voice) as he takes a seat, gives jark a nod an signals the bar for a drink.
The red Hobgoblin passes quickly through the tavern. The ease at which we weaves through the patrons and his calm subdued demeanor show his familiarity with such a task. He is barely of average human height but his muscled frame keeps his height from being brought up by passerby's. His chainmail and shield are both battle scarred but maintained above average. A warhammer sits on his hip, secured but easily accessible.
He calmly walks up to Grundren, gives a brief nod of respect and acknowledgement before handing him then handbill and signing his name in deft script. He nods to each of the others gathered around the table, then sits himself with his back to a wall drinking from a waterskin in his possession.
Ander Stormwind turns from the bar in interest. He saunters over toward the table, his easy confidence belied by a slight limp and the old pain in his eyes. He stops several feet from the table, as if pausing to reconsider, then seems to draw himself up and walks forward. His notched shield is slung across his back and a longsword hangs in a worn scabbard at his side. Despite their obvious age, Ander’s weapons and armor gleam from regular polishing and maintenance.
“A noble cause indeed, master Rockseeker.” He pauses to consider his next words, “A motley group you’ve assembled here. Perhaps you have room for another?” He asks as he signs the paper.
(In response to Gremorn)"Then consider ye self hired." Gundren hands you an ink pen to sign with. "Oh, and don't worry about the drink. Drinks are on me, tonight."
(In response to Harek) Gundren has exchanged his pipe for a tall cup of dwarven vodka. "Not the talkative type, I see. Well, I've known quite a few like you. My good friend Sildar would order a drink with a glare and then stand in a corner for the rest of the night, but 'es as good a man as I know." Gundren drains the cup and belches, then motions to the contract.
(I response to Ander) Sorry good sir, I was only planning on taking the company of three to the most feared reaches of the known territories. Ye'r too late." Gundren pauses, but doesn't get the response he was looking for. "Ah, I'm jesting. Sign away." Gundren walks off to pay for drinks, wiping flecks from his close cropped beard.
Gundren returns to inform you all that he plans to set out late tomorrow morning, when the wagons he ordered arrive. "The road will be well traveled for the first three days, but once we cross the mountains things may get dangerous. Ye'r first job will be as an armed escort to these wagons. I'll pay ye 50 golden regents (gp) each once we arrive in Phandalin, it's a small mining town in the foothills." He bids you a good night, then leaves to "finish some business."
DM Notes (so you can do some conventional things without me having to post about what happens):
Bar: Drinks are 4 cp. If asked, the bartender is trying to get rid of a potion of healing and will sell it for 40 gp.
Gambling: Slight of Hand (DC 10) On a success, gain 5 gp. On a fail, lose 5 gp.
Tavern Patrons: Anyone can tell you that beyond the mountains lies the remnants of a kingdom once known as Oorarch, then as the Empire, and now as the "cursed lands" or the "fallen kingdom". Old King Eindrithor unified the fragmented and predominantly orcish states of Oorarch into the Empire and made it prosperous from trade and natural abundance. It's fall was sudden, but not unexpected. Prosperity has its price.
Gremorn finishes his drink, takes a few rounds Gambling and then waits near by for the group
5
11
12
After an idle morning and a few mild hangovers, you hear ox carts rolling up outside the tavern. Gundren is talking with the aged veteran who guided the carts (Later, Gundren will introduce him as Sildar Hallwinter). It becomes apparent that one of the oxen is sick, but Gundren insists that time is of the essence so you set out anyway.
Describe your marching order, including who (if anyone) is scouting (Stealth), navigating (Survival), driving (Animal Handling), and keeping watch (Perception with advantage as Sildar is aiding).
"Wait!" a loud, commanding voice cries. A young man in his mid-twenties approaches the cart. "Are you Gundren Rockseeker? I am not late to the party, am I?"
The dwarf examins a a man carefully. He is dressed practically, in cotton and leather, carrying a backpack and a simple quartestaff in his hands. On his left hand, the attentive dwarf notices a signet ring, but can't make out the crest. Not that it matters.
"Who's asking?" Gundren raises an eyebrow.
"Right. Name's Richard, Richard Moreau. I hear you're looking for musle?" Richard waves a handbill in the air. "I can provide."
"Really? You don't look like a lot of muscle."
"Looks can be deceiving, as you are no doubt aware," Richard waves a handbill again, but this time it catches on fire in a matter of heartbeat. "I have some experience as a mercenary. I daresay, I'm not the most useless person in a fight. I can cook and also know at least fifteen different poisons that grow along the way to Phandalin. Not that I would suggest that it is at all related to cooking. As a bonus, I can start immediately. Oh, and I'm also a Wizard of no small talent. Am I in?"
DM Price of Misfortune (finished)
Ander looks around thoughtfully.
”I must say, I’m not particularly keen to travel with a sick oxen, but if time is of the essence, I’ll allow it. It is a most portentous omen.......” He trails off, lost in thought, but then snaps back to reality.
”I’m not exactly the stealthy type so I’ll keep watch.” He says as he moves into position next to the wagons
Harek replies with a low gruff voice.
"Stealth has never been my approach and neither has mounted combat. I have made my way around maps before so I will keep us on track."
After giving Gunden a nod n gesture Gremorn leaves the tavern to prepare the oxen for the road
Gundren welcomes the latest recruit then climbs onto the nearest cart and cracks the reins.
Watch (Ander): 16 and 16
Navigation (Harek): 19
(edited to give Ander advantage)
"Well, the stealthiest thing I've ever done is..." Richard furrowed his brows. "You know what, never mind. Stealth is not my strong suite. But sure, I'll be on the lookout for trouble."
Will this be a Perception check or passive Perception? In latter case, it's 10 + WISmod(0) = 10
With these words, Wizard unloaded his backpack on the cart, leaving only a staff in his hands and a spellbook chained to his lap. He knew he would get tired of walking eventually, but it was early in the morning and Richard would rather stretch his legs now.
Suddenly, as if remembering something, he took off his signet ring and hid it in one of the inner pockets.
DM Price of Misfortune (finished)
Three days of travel pass uneventfully. Thanks to Harek, you stay on track and make good time. You are breaking camp on the morning of your fourth day when you find that the sickened ox died overnight. Gundren recovers his breath after a hail of dwarven expletives, and turns to you. "This bodes ill on our travels, and I hate the idea of passing through the mountains with a start like this. I suppose we have two options before us: Sildar and I can travel ahead on the cart with two healthy oxen, or we can keep together and risk loosing my contract with Linene Graywind to some orcish lout.
DM Notes
If asked to clarify, Gundren is hiring "useful folk" through Graywind (owner of the Lionshield Coster). If he can provide payment and materials quickly he will have exclusive control of the mining and dungeon delving industry that has been developing in Phandalin since the King's recent death.
Ander stands and shifts his weight, pondering the dilemma over.
“I believe that we should stick together. As you yourself said, Gundren, these are troubled times and we should keep as many swords together as possible.”
Anders’ hand shifts unconsciously over his blade.
”As for losing your contact, it’s better than losing our whole company before the work has even begun. It’s a risk we’ll have to take.”