Don-Jon leans back, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking, his tone casual and self-assured.
"Well, my employers hired me to sort out the production problems over at the mine. Ya know how rich folks are—never doin' anything themselves if they can pay someone else to do it for 'em. But, hey, I ain't complainin'. More business for ol' Don-Jon."
He takes a sip of his ale, then continues, "As for escortin' me back, I'll be assessin' the problems there and then I'll report back using Sending Stones. They should send in some workers and security afterwards, so no need to worry 'bout me."
He flashes a confident smile. "Just need a bit of help gettin' there, and we'll be all set."
Darien watches Drako and Don-Jon's conversation with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty (insight16 into Don-Jon's character/methods?). He doesn't love the sound of "sorting out production problems,"but his companions seem to mostly care about the money from this job, and he knows he needs company for his eventual goals, so he keeps his mouth shut for now, even if he notices anything unsavory about the overseer.
"We've been stocking up and preparing for a journey out to Butterskull Ranch, and would be happy to take a small detour to the mine on the way out there. Can you be ready to leave in half an hour?" [[ assuming we're still within Nigel's 1 hour find familiar timeframe since the shrine visit and augury won't have taken long ]]
[ Darien feels no deception from Don-Jon, if that's what he's looking for. But there is a sense of mystery in the way Don-Jon explains his business. As if he's just repeating orders, is the best way I can describe it. You get the sense that whatever is happening in the mines is just as much an enigma to Don-Jon as it is to the party. ]
Don-Jon nods approvingly and leans forward slightly, his eyes twinkling with a mix of nostalgia and readiness.
"Mighty smart to take on both jobs that are on the way. Reminds me of my younger years, hustlin' and bustlin' 'round the countryside." He chuckles, tapping his mug lightly on the bar. "Oh, and I pack light, so I can leave whenever y'all are ready to go."
When the others arrive back at the board they find Nigel standing there. Hidden by his cloak earlier you can now see that his jackets left arm is made of supple but thick leather. Scratches Mar the smooth finish on the shoulder and forearm. The cause of the marks is obvious. Perched on his outstretched arm is owl. It's head swivels around to regard each of you as you approach.
"Drako! I believe I have the answers to our inquiries. Behold Archimedes has returned. His celestial essence appears to be shaped by my psyche or at least attached to me through the weave. The machinations by which the spell is cast are unique to the caster. Therefore it is my determination that Archie is uniquely tied to me. Hmm...I suppose more testing will be required to really provide proof."
Archie whips his head back around and ruffles his feathers to demonstrate his displeasure at the thought of having to be dispatched again to prove Nigels theory.
With Don-Jon ready to go, Drako heads out and meets Nigel.
More... testing... Presumably involving Archie's continued death. Drako pauses for a moment to debate whether or not Nigel might have psychopathic tendencies. But he puts those concerns away and kneels down to gently pet Archie. "Welcome back, little one." he says. "Glad to see him back, Nigel. Let's just hope further... testing... isn't needed."
Pinja takes in the fluffy owl with a pleased expression. Her hand unconsciously shifts towards its soft looking feathers, but she quickly checks herself and curls her hand into a fist, giving a short nod instead.
“Nigel, Grilkitha, this is Don-Jon. Don-Jon, Nigel and Grilkitha.” She gesture from one to the other.
Archie gives a low warble of appreciation at the attention. Nigel shifts Archie to his shoulder so that he can greet the man. Nigel pushes the pouch holding his spell book and slung across his chest back behind his right hip. He extends his right hand in greeting. If accepted he shakes Don-Jons hand firmly before retreating back.
Grikiltha looks at the newcomer and nods, "Well you look like know your way around trouble before so you'll probably be alright." She jumps to her feet, "Let's move out before someone else come looking at the board."
Don-Jon firmly shakes Nigel's hand, a friendly grin spreading across his face.
"Pleasure to meet ya, Nigel. Not much of a talker, eh? I can respect that."
And he nods at Grikiltha.
"People don’t call me troubleshooter for nothin’. And I agree, let’s get a move on. Won’t get anywhere by standin’ 'round here."
With a confident gesture, he motions for the group to head out, his smooth drawl filled with anticipation for the journey ahead.
Travel to the Mine:
The fastest way to reach the mine from Phandalin is to head northeast, skirting the foothills of the Sword Mountains. The mine is only 15 miles from Phandalin.
At a fast pace, you will reach the mines in 4 hours, but will have disadvantage on perception checks and a -5 to passive perception.
At a normal pace, you will reach the mines in 5 hours, and will suffer no adverse effects to perception.
At a slow pace, you will reach the mines in about 7 hours, and are able to move stealthily. [ Rolling stealth as a group. ]
Looking at the sky Drako says, "Well odds are there may be things that need doing along the way, what with all that's going on. I say we plan on camping overnight at the mine and take it easy in the going."
The group leaves Phandalin at noon, heading northeast towards the Mountain's Toe Gold Mine. The fastest route skirts the foothills of the Sword Mountains, a path that promises both beauty and danger. Don-Jon Raskin strides confidently, his demeanor a mix of rugged determination and concealed excitement. Although he would have preferred to make the trip alone, his employers insisted on an escort, and he finds himself secretly looking forward to the company.
As they travel, Don-Jon regales the adventurers with tales of his many exploits. He speaks of gold prospecting in the deep forests, trading furs in icy tundras, and navigating treacherous seas as a privateer and a whaler. His voice is rich with experience, and his stories are peppered with colorful details that bring his adventures to life. Despite his initial reluctance, he clearly enjoys having an audience.
About ten miles into the journey, the group notices a Cyclops lumbering southeast towards the Sword Mountains. The giant herds cattle with slow, deliberate movements, its massive form casting long shadows in the afternoon sun. The Cyclops pays no heed to the travelers, remaining entirely focused on its task. The sight is both awe-inspiring and slightly unnerving, but it passes without incident, allowing the group to continue their trek unimpeded.
Within four miles of the mine, the terrain begins to change. A low ridge rises to the right, and beyond it, the Sword Mountains scrape the gray sky. The landscape is rugged and wild, a reminder of the untamed nature of the region. Suddenly, something unusual catches their attention.
“Well, ain’t that something,” says Don-Jon, pointing ahead. Strewn across the rocky ground ninety feet away are six dead orcs. The bodies lie haphazardly, their weapons and belongings scattered around them.
Don-Jon's expression turns serious as he surveys the scene. "Looks like a white dragon saved us from some trouble," he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. His previous lightheartedness fades, replaced by a focused alertness.
Extreme cold killed the orcs about three days ago.
The orc corpses are starkly affected by the extreme cold. Their bodies are stiff and frozen, locked in contorted positions with skin turned bluish. Frost clings to their hair and eyebrows, and a thin layer of ice covers their exposed skin, giving them a ghostly appearance.
Their eyes are glazed over with frost, and any spilled blood has frozen solid, forming dark, crystalline pools around the wounds. Weapons and belongings are rimed with frost, and the ground beneath them is hard and frozen.
Traveling near the front of the group, just behind Don-Jon, Darien listens intently to the man’s many tales, intrigued by mentions of the seas and the tundra, wild spaces he’s never had the chance to explore. He goes a bit quiet at the sight of the cyclops, remaining tense until it has left the party’s view, but quickly rejoins the conversation after.
He slows as the overseer points out the bodies. Carefully picking his way across the frosty ground to get a closer look, the half-elf nervously rubs the red ink on his right arm, keeping his eyes peeled for threats (perception13). “These bodies have been here about three days,” he says, squatting down for a closer look. Heatless, bright yellow flames envelop his hands as he focuses his healing abilities at understanding what exactly has happened to the orcs. “Frozen solid and encased in ice. Not the most pleasant way to go, I’d wager.”
He looks up at his new companions for guidance. “They could be carrying useful gear.”
[[ As long as there is no immediate threat, Darien will sit ready to cast produce flame and thaw out any gear the party can/wants to loot. ]]
More interested in the bodies than the weapons, Nigel spends his time investigating the corpses them selves. He notes any markings or identifiers. He whispers to Archie and the owl takes flight to keep watch while Nigel does his thing. Using string that has been marked at regular intervals he takes measurements and collects data.
"I wonder if these orcs are connected to Butternutts." Nigel muses.
"I think it's unlikely given how far off we still are. I'm more concerned that this dragon was apparently so close to Phandalin. Less than a day's journey?" Darien says seriously, working with his flame to free the armor and a greataxe from one of the orcs, making sure to stay out of Nigel's way.
[[ Added one hide and one greataxe to Darien's inventory for later trade/sale. ]]
"Best collect what we can from them. Hate to have perfectly good items go to waste out here." She starts gathering what she could sell. (Others feel freely to take stuff, she will just take what's left over to sell) "So our dragon friend likes it cold do they, good to know."
Don-Jon leans back, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking, his tone casual and self-assured.
"Well, my employers hired me to sort out the production problems over at the mine. Ya know how rich folks are—never doin' anything themselves if they can pay someone else to do it for 'em. But, hey, I ain't complainin'. More business for ol' Don-Jon."
He takes a sip of his ale, then continues, "As for escortin' me back, I'll be assessin' the problems there and then I'll report back using Sending Stones. They should send in some workers and security afterwards, so no need to worry 'bout me."
He flashes a confident smile. "Just need a bit of help gettin' there, and we'll be all set."
[ Don-Jon Raskin is a human. ]
Currently DMing:
Darien watches Drako and Don-Jon's conversation with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty (insight 16 into Don-Jon's character/methods?). He doesn't love the sound of "sorting out production problems," but his companions seem to mostly care about the money from this job, and he knows he needs company for his eventual goals, so he keeps his mouth shut for now, even if he notices anything unsavory about the overseer.
"We've been stocking up and preparing for a journey out to Butterskull Ranch, and would be happy to take a small detour to the mine on the way out there. Can you be ready to leave in half an hour?" [[ assuming we're still within Nigel's 1 hour find familiar timeframe since the shrine visit and augury won't have taken long ]]
[ Darien feels no deception from Don-Jon, if that's what he's looking for. But there is a sense of mystery in the way Don-Jon explains his business. As if he's just repeating orders, is the best way I can describe it. You get the sense that whatever is happening in the mines is just as much an enigma to Don-Jon as it is to the party. ]
Don-Jon nods approvingly and leans forward slightly, his eyes twinkling with a mix of nostalgia and readiness.
"Mighty smart to take on both jobs that are on the way. Reminds me of my younger years, hustlin' and bustlin' 'round the countryside." He chuckles, tapping his mug lightly on the bar. "Oh, and I pack light, so I can leave whenever y'all are ready to go."
Currently DMing:
When the others arrive back at the board they find Nigel standing there. Hidden by his cloak earlier you can now see that his jackets left arm is made of supple but thick leather. Scratches Mar the smooth finish on the shoulder and forearm. The cause of the marks is obvious. Perched on his outstretched arm is owl. It's head swivels around to regard each of you as you approach.
"Drako! I believe I have the answers to our inquiries. Behold Archimedes has returned. His celestial essence appears to be shaped by my psyche or at least attached to me through the weave. The machinations by which the spell is cast are unique to the caster. Therefore it is my determination that Archie is uniquely tied to me. Hmm...I suppose more testing will be required to really provide proof."
Archie whips his head back around and ruffles his feathers to demonstrate his displeasure at the thought of having to be dispatched again to prove Nigels theory.
**This Space for Rent**
With Don-Jon ready to go, Drako heads out and meets Nigel.
More... testing... Presumably involving Archie's continued death. Drako pauses for a moment to debate whether or not Nigel might have psychopathic tendencies. But he puts those concerns away and kneels down to gently pet Archie. "Welcome back, little one." he says. "Glad to see him back, Nigel. Let's just hope further... testing... isn't needed."
This is a signature. It was a simple signature. But it has been upgraded.
Belolonandalogalo, Sunny | Draíocht, Kholias | Eggo Lass, 100 Dungeons
Talorin Tebedi, Vecna: Eve | Cherry, Stormwreck | Chipper, Strahd
We Are Modron
Get rickrolled here. Awesome music here. Track 48, 5/23/25, Immaculate Mary
Pinja takes in the fluffy owl with a pleased expression. Her hand unconsciously shifts towards its soft looking feathers, but she quickly checks herself and curls her hand into a fist, giving a short nod instead.
“Nigel, Grilkitha, this is Don-Jon. Don-Jon, Nigel and Grilkitha.” She gesture from one to the other.
Archie gives a low warble of appreciation at the attention. Nigel shifts Archie to his shoulder so that he can greet the man. Nigel pushes the pouch holding his spell book and slung across his chest back behind his right hip. He extends his right hand in greeting. If accepted he shakes Don-Jons hand firmly before retreating back.
**This Space for Rent**
Grikiltha looks at the newcomer and nods, "Well you look like know your way around trouble before so you'll probably be alright." She jumps to her feet, "Let's move out before someone else come looking at the board."
Don-Jon firmly shakes Nigel's hand, a friendly grin spreading across his face.
"Pleasure to meet ya, Nigel. Not much of a talker, eh? I can respect that."
And he nods at Grikiltha.
"People don’t call me troubleshooter for nothin’. And I agree, let’s get a move on. Won’t get anywhere by standin’ 'round here."
With a confident gesture, he motions for the group to head out, his smooth drawl filled with anticipation for the journey ahead.
Travel to the Mine:
The fastest way to reach the mine from Phandalin is to head northeast, skirting the foothills of the Sword Mountains. The mine is only 15 miles from Phandalin.
At a fast pace, you will reach the mines in 4 hours, but will have disadvantage on perception checks and a -5 to passive perception.
At a normal pace, you will reach the mines in 5 hours, and will suffer no adverse effects to perception.
At a slow pace, you will reach the mines in about 7 hours, and are able to move stealthily. [ Rolling stealth as a group. ]
It is currently one (1) past noon.
[ Travel Pace ]
Map:
Currently DMing:
Looking at the sky Drako says, "Well odds are there may be things that need doing along the way, what with all that's going on. I say we plan on camping overnight at the mine and take it easy in the going."
[[ Standard pace vote. ]]
This is a signature. It was a simple signature. But it has been upgraded.
Belolonandalogalo, Sunny | Draíocht, Kholias | Eggo Lass, 100 Dungeons
Talorin Tebedi, Vecna: Eve | Cherry, Stormwreck | Chipper, Strahd
We Are Modron
Get rickrolled here. Awesome music here. Track 48, 5/23/25, Immaculate Mary
Pinja nods in agreement. “Sounds reasonable to me.”
Grikiltha certainly assumes the normal pace as she is not stealthy and doesn't feel any need to rush.
"Yes, yes, as you wish." replies Nigel with a dismissive flick of his magical quill.
**This Space for Rent**
The group leaves Phandalin at noon, heading northeast towards the Mountain's Toe Gold Mine. The fastest route skirts the foothills of the Sword Mountains, a path that promises both beauty and danger. Don-Jon Raskin strides confidently, his demeanor a mix of rugged determination and concealed excitement. Although he would have preferred to make the trip alone, his employers insisted on an escort, and he finds himself secretly looking forward to the company.
As they travel, Don-Jon regales the adventurers with tales of his many exploits. He speaks of gold prospecting in the deep forests, trading furs in icy tundras, and navigating treacherous seas as a privateer and a whaler. His voice is rich with experience, and his stories are peppered with colorful details that bring his adventures to life. Despite his initial reluctance, he clearly enjoys having an audience.
About ten miles into the journey, the group notices a Cyclops lumbering southeast towards the Sword Mountains. The giant herds cattle with slow, deliberate movements, its massive form casting long shadows in the afternoon sun. The Cyclops pays no heed to the travelers, remaining entirely focused on its task. The sight is both awe-inspiring and slightly unnerving, but it passes without incident, allowing the group to continue their trek unimpeded.
Within four miles of the mine, the terrain begins to change. A low ridge rises to the right, and beyond it, the Sword Mountains scrape the gray sky. The landscape is rugged and wild, a reminder of the untamed nature of the region. Suddenly, something unusual catches their attention.
“Well, ain’t that something,” says Don-Jon, pointing ahead. Strewn across the rocky ground ninety feet away are six dead orcs. The bodies lie haphazardly, their weapons and belongings scattered around them.
Don-Jon's expression turns serious as he surveys the scene. "Looks like a white dragon saved us from some trouble," he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. His previous lightheartedness fades, replaced by a focused alertness.
Those with a Passive Medicine of 12 and above:
The orc corpses are starkly affected by the extreme cold. Their bodies are stiff and frozen, locked in contorted positions with skin turned bluish. Frost clings to their hair and eyebrows, and a thin layer of ice covers their exposed skin, giving them a ghostly appearance.
Their eyes are glazed over with frost, and any spilled blood has frozen solid, forming dark, crystalline pools around the wounds. Weapons and belongings are rimed with frost, and the ground beneath them is hard and frozen.
Map:
Currently DMing:
Nigel is intrigued by the adventurers stories. Taking notes and asking questions about locations and encounters as usual.
He investigates the frozen bodies relaying any information not known by thebothers.
**This Space for Rent**
Traveling near the front of the group, just behind Don-Jon, Darien listens intently to the man’s many tales, intrigued by mentions of the seas and the tundra, wild spaces he’s never had the chance to explore. He goes a bit quiet at the sight of the cyclops, remaining tense until it has left the party’s view, but quickly rejoins the conversation after.
He slows as the overseer points out the bodies. Carefully picking his way across the frosty ground to get a closer look, the half-elf nervously rubs the red ink on his right arm, keeping his eyes peeled for threats (perception 13). “These bodies have been here about three days,” he says, squatting down for a closer look. Heatless, bright yellow flames envelop his hands as he focuses his healing abilities at understanding what exactly has happened to the orcs. “Frozen solid and encased in ice. Not the most pleasant way to go, I’d wager.”
He looks up at his new companions for guidance. “They could be carrying useful gear.”
[[ As long as there is no immediate threat, Darien will sit ready to cast produce flame and thaw out any gear the party can/wants to loot. ]]
Loot that can be salvaged by those who investigate the corpses (the fire does make it easier):
Darien:
Currently DMing:
More interested in the bodies than the weapons, Nigel spends his time investigating the corpses them selves. He notes any markings or identifiers. He whispers to Archie and the owl takes flight to keep watch while Nigel does his thing. Using string that has been marked at regular intervals he takes measurements and collects data.
"I wonder if these orcs are connected to Butternutts." Nigel muses.
**This Space for Rent**
"I think it's unlikely given how far off we still are. I'm more concerned that this dragon was apparently so close to Phandalin. Less than a day's journey?" Darien says seriously, working with his flame to free the armor and a greataxe from one of the orcs, making sure to stay out of Nigel's way.
[[ Added one hide and one greataxe to Darien's inventory for later trade/sale. ]]
"Best collect what we can from them. Hate to have perfectly good items go to waste out here." She starts gathering what she could sell. (Others feel freely to take stuff, she will just take what's left over to sell) "So our dragon friend likes it cold do they, good to know."