“A good reporter always verifies the rumor before printing the headline," Tam says to herself as she searches through the tent. There were a lot of things thrown out in the last few minutes, and as her adrenaline fades, she starts to process. Tiamat? Mother of Dragons? There certainly was more to this than just rumors. And this force of brigands. This was not some small cult -- it was a movement. A dangerous one. She needed evidence, though. Something to prove what she'd seen and heard. And maybe clues to lead deeper into the mystery.
When all are free, Draylin slinks along with the group. He always seems to be flittering in and out of sight, ever near the group, but darting in and out of the smoke.
He moved quickly to the dwarf. "A cloak and dragon mask may make this easier," he says, loud enough for all escapes to hear.
He then dips back into the shadows, eyes peeled for a medium sized raider with a dragon mask as he moves towards the supply tent.
***OoC: stealth: 18***
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Tam begins sifting through the bags and crates, letting her hands move quickly but her eyes catalogue everything with a reporter's sharp instinct. As the adrenaline fades, patterns begin to emerge.
Even though the piles are massive, most of it is junk or simply treated like junk. All coin, gems, and jewellery have been gathered into the half-full crate she saw earlier. Come to think of it, isn't it strange that so much coin would sit unguarded in a camp full of bandits? Inspecting it up close, she notices the crate is reinforced with iron bands, the kind merchants use to haul heavy, valuable cargo. Someone intends to move this out of camp… and soon. Every shiny trinket, no matter how cheap, has been collected as well. Every practical item - clothing, books, tools - tossed aside like garbage, even when Tam recognises its worth. Expensive fabrics lie torn or trampled. A few paintings are stacked face-down in the dirt, one stabbed through the canvas. She finds no weapons or food though, they've been sorted elsewhere.
Among the abandoned books, Tam finds a mostly empty leather journal. Only one entry sits on the first page:
“Attempt 26 27 to start journalling.”
She flips through it, but there are no more.
Then something catches Tam's eye: a sturdy wooden chest that looks like the one which the gruff merchant from the ambushed caravan had been guarding so fiercely. Next to it is a heap of backpacks, travel bundles, and bedrolls… including her own.
As she crouches beside them, the word Tiamat comes to the back of her mind. Mother of Dragons. A name she’s heard before but in what context... (you can roll a Religion check)
Draylin keeps to the edges of the path as the group moves, not hiding exactly, but choosing each step with quiet precision. He avoids open firelight where he can, drifting through the camp in a way that draws just a little less attention than the average tired bandit.
After about twenty or thirty feet, it becomes clear that no one here knows the four of you well enough to question why you're walking freely. Even Montar clutching that dagger doesn't get a second look from those you pass by. In this part of the camp, nearly everyone is a low-ranking hireling, mercenary, or fresh initiate.
As Draylin scans the area, he notices a raider dragging a woman with chains around her ankles towards the large hide-walled tent (the same supply tent Tam slipped into). “Sort it properly this time or you don't eat tonight either!” the man snarls, shoving her towards the flap before turning away and heading back toward the main footpath.
Montar barely stifles a snarl at the woman's poor treatment. He had come all this way seeking hints of draconic depredations and possible reasons behind his clan's destruction---now he's found an entire encampment full of cruel humanoids who apparently serve the foul beasts. Only his natural wisdom and two centuries of practice in employing it keep him from heading off after the nearest raider and exacting revenge.
Instead, the dwarf takes a moment and marches purposefully into the supply tent. His goal is to ask the woman gently to show him where his gear (including his smith's tools) might be, and then use those tools to help her out of those chains.
Tam takes the empty journal. Perhaps there are secrets within, hidden, but if not she could use the paper. She had a lot of writing to do.
After grabbing her own things, she found a scarf to cover her face. Her quick thinking with the kobolds had gotten her her freedom, but it also labeled her as noteworthy for the small minded creatures.
Then the thoughts of Tiamat flooded her brain. She recalled the teachings on draconic matters her mentor Vaeros had shared and wondered. [can I implement my associate dragon scholar feature? Rolled a 21 religion check]
The half-elf, making as much noise as a mouse in slippers, glides into the tent as well. He offers Tam a warm smile and nod of respect. "Well played," he said to her. His eyes begin to scan the piles even as he asks, "Does anyone know exactly where we are? I'll feel better with my gear, but we need need a direction to go, and we need to move quickly. Time is our greatest enemy right now, we'll, time and a few hundred hostiles..."
Turning to the woman he says, "Be calm and quiet. Do your duty as directed, we are not your enemy." Turning back to the assembled group he asks, "I may be able to help with her lock, but I lack the tools to do the job. Perhaps I can assist another?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Tam starts when Draylin comes in, but when she recognizes him she relaxes. “You as well,” she says. She points to the pile of their things. “I think our stuff is here. Mine was at least.”
Then looking to the woman, she digs into her satchel and pulls out some fine tools. “I think I can help.” She starts to pick the lock. “Just a little skill I picked up.”
One moment, it's a bind for the young man - literal moreso than figurative, given his bound ankles. The next, one the others - Montague? Gunthar? He would ask later, if they manage to escape - comes forth, slicing his final restraints asunder. He is freed. Not one to question fortune, the gnome instead simply nods his head in thanks. No words need pass between them whilst danger lies afoot! Looking around as, one by one, lights around them go out, Amadeus simply... slinks into the shadows of the camp. Should be easy enough. Between the clatter of the normal campground activities, the clambor of the "reporter's" dash about, the panick from his own well-set blaze and the glare of a burgeoning dawn, there are plenty of dim corners to slip into.
(Stealth: 15)
If there are no other immediate troubles, he begins his silent trek on perilous turf towards the supposed location of his supplies. Perhaps more opportunities lie ahead, to sow more discord or gather more intelligence. Whatever else, retrieving his gear, the missive, and beating feet in flight of this place is the forefront of the attorney's concerns.
Thistlewick finds his travel gear - even his odd hat but, his wooden shield, leather armor and anything approaching a weapon are no where to be seen. "Probably taken by the raiders to replace their trash wepaons and armor," he mutters outloud as he keeps sorting things out from the piles.
He will look about for ANYTHING that might be a hefty length of wood... hoping he might improvise a table leg or odd slate of wood into a 'club' to use in a pinch.
Passive Perception: 15 Investigation: 12
"We might not have much in the way of cover or concealment from wild growth - it's all been burned or trampled. We need to pick a direction (as determined by the rising Sun?) and make haste... perhaps looking like scruffy minions?"
Tam starts when Draylin comes in, but when she recognizes him she relaxes. “You as well,” she says. She points to the pile of their things. “I think our stuff is here. Mine was at least.”
Then looking to the woman, she digs into her satchel and pulls out some fine tools. “I think I can help.” She starts to pick the lock. “Just a little skill I picked up.”
[thieves tools check. Intelligence? 10]
First roll was a 4 + 3. Rolling second time (advantage) 21
The young woman – thin and filthy, with her wrists rubbed raw – falls to her knees and breaks into quiet sobs the moment the lock clicks open. "I thought you were one of them, you are dressed just like them," she stammers to Montar. "I'm sorry–I've been here for weeks. I thought… I thought I was going to die like the others and be fed to the monsters. Thank you." She adds to Tam and Draylin as she clutches her hands to her chest, trembling.
Amadeus The camp sits inside a horseshoe-shaped plateau, its sides rising steeply on all directions but the main entrance. He can just make out cave mouths in the cliffs, but at this distance and light it is hard to tell how deep they go... He sees the burning fire of a watchtower atop the plateau. The tents gradually become larger, sturdier and nicer, most of them decorated with painted designs representing dragons. About 200 feet beyond the loot tent, he notices a grand, imposing tent, far finer than all the rest, set apart from the others by an open space.
Thistlewick
This part of the camp is very different from the chaotic outer ring the group just escaped. Here move robed figures, higher-ranking cultists and better-armed raiders. Some of them salute each other by extending their right hand with fingers outstretched. Inside the loot tent, Thistlewick finds a sturdy wooden walking cane propped against a chest. It's well balanced, solid and given the circumstances, perfectly usable as an improvised weapon.
Montar's anger ebbs and expression softens. "I be so sorry, lassie. Ye dunna deserve this. Can ye tell us what happened? And what went on here? And, perhaps, where they store the weapons and armor they steal? We'll be having an easier time of getting ye ta safety if we be armed and armored, methinks."
"I would love to get a full statement from you, for the Waterdeep Times, ma'am. An eye witness report will really improve my story!" Tam tempers her enthusiasm for a real live source with the woman's obvious mistreatment.
"Do you know if there are any horses in this camp?" he asks the woman. Weapons would be nice, but finding a way to cover ground quickly seemed like the best idea to the monk.
He then moves to the entrance to keep an eye out for unwanted guests that may be heading towards the sorting tent.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
The woman sniffles hard, wiping her nose on the torn sleeve of her dress. "Few… few weeks back," she begins, staring at the dirt. "It was the middle o' the night. My man and me, we woke to screamin... real screamin', not the kind you think you dreamed. By the time we got outside, the barn was already burnin'. Our two farmhands… they were dead before I even knew what was happenin'."
Her voice cracks and she presses a shaking hand over her mouth.
"They… they cut my husband down right in front of me. Didn't even look twice while they did it. I screamed myself hoarse, but our farm's so far from town… I don't reckon anyone even knows. I don't even know if someone… if someone buried him…"
She chokes up again, sobs wracking her thin shoulders. It takes her a long moment before she can speak.
"At first I thought they was bandits. But it ain't simple bandits... whatever this is, it's worse." She lifts her head just enough for you to see the red around her eyes. "They dragged me here. Told me I either sort their loot or they’d feed me to the beasts. So I sort. All day. Every day. But they bring more each night, more than I could ever finish, so they're always angry…"
She wipes her nose again, hands trembling. "They bring others too, folk they drag in from the raids. Most try to run." Her expression darkens with grief. "And most… don't make it. There's only seven of us left, now."
When Montar asks about the weapons, her face changes. She stares at his boots, then up at all of you, eyes widening with a mix of hope and fear.
"You… you aren't just travellers, are you? You're adventurers... fighters." She grabs the hem of Montar's sleeve with both hands, desperate and pleading. "You gotta help the others. There's two young ones, barely past twelve summers. If you don't take them, these monsters will. And there's another one… the special prisoner…"
She shakes her head violently, fear returning to her eyes.
"As for weapons, them's kept at the armoury tent up near the mouth of the camp. Prisoners clean the blood off 'em, but that tent's always got at least one guard watchin' it. I never worked there, but my friend Marta did, before…" Her voice trails off again. She doesn't finish the sentence.
Draylin's question snaps her back for a moment. She shakes her head quickly.
"Horses? No. These folk don't ride no horses."She shudders visibly and her eyes glaze over. "They ride monsters into battle."
[20 investigation check]
“A good reporter always verifies the rumor before printing the headline," Tam says to herself as she searches through the tent. There were a lot of things thrown out in the last few minutes, and as her adrenaline fades, she starts to process. Tiamat? Mother of Dragons? There certainly was more to this than just rumors. And this force of brigands. This was not some small cult -- it was a movement. A dangerous one. She needed evidence, though. Something to prove what she'd seen and heard. And maybe clues to lead deeper into the mystery.
Middle Grade Author
Draylin
When all are free, Draylin slinks along with the group. He always seems to be flittering in and out of sight, ever near the group, but darting in and out of the smoke.
He moved quickly to the dwarf. "A cloak and dragon mask may make this easier," he says, loud enough for all escapes to hear.
He then dips back into the shadows, eyes peeled for a medium sized raider with a dragon mask as he moves towards the supply tent.
***OoC: stealth: 18***
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Tam begins sifting through the bags and crates, letting her hands move quickly but her eyes catalogue everything with a reporter's sharp instinct. As the adrenaline fades, patterns begin to emerge.
Even though the piles are massive, most of it is junk or simply treated like junk.
All coin, gems, and jewellery have been gathered into the half-full crate she saw earlier. Come to think of it, isn't it strange that so much coin would sit unguarded in a camp full of bandits? Inspecting it up close, she notices the crate is reinforced with iron bands, the kind merchants use to haul heavy, valuable cargo. Someone intends to move this out of camp… and soon.
Every shiny trinket, no matter how cheap, has been collected as well. Every practical item - clothing, books, tools - tossed aside like garbage, even when Tam recognises its worth.
Expensive fabrics lie torn or trampled. A few paintings are stacked face-down in the dirt, one stabbed through the canvas. She finds no weapons or food though, they've been sorted elsewhere.
Among the abandoned books, Tam finds a mostly empty leather journal. Only one entry sits on the first page:
“Attempt
2627 to start journalling.”She flips through it, but there are no more.
Then something catches Tam's eye: a sturdy wooden chest that looks like the one which the gruff merchant from the ambushed caravan had been guarding so fiercely. Next to it is a heap of backpacks, travel bundles, and bedrolls… including her own.
As she crouches beside them, the word Tiamat comes to the back of her mind. Mother of Dragons. A name she’s heard before but in what context... (you can roll a Religion check)
Draylin keeps to the edges of the path as the group moves, not hiding exactly, but choosing each step with quiet precision. He avoids open firelight where he can, drifting through the camp in a way that draws just a little less attention than the average tired bandit.
After about twenty or thirty feet, it becomes clear that no one here knows the four of you well enough to question why you're walking freely. Even Montar clutching that dagger doesn't get a second look from those you pass by. In this part of the camp, nearly everyone is a low-ranking hireling, mercenary, or fresh initiate.
As Draylin scans the area, he notices a raider dragging a woman with chains around her ankles towards the large hide-walled tent (the same supply tent Tam slipped into).
“Sort it properly this time or you don't eat tonight either!” the man snarls, shoving her towards the flap before turning away and heading back toward the main footpath.
DM: Hoard of the Dragon Queen Adventure
Montar barely stifles a snarl at the woman's poor treatment. He had come all this way seeking hints of draconic depredations and possible reasons behind his clan's destruction---now he's found an entire encampment full of cruel humanoids who apparently serve the foul beasts. Only his natural wisdom and two centuries of practice in employing it keep him from heading off after the nearest raider and exacting revenge.
Instead, the dwarf takes a moment and marches purposefully into the supply tent. His goal is to ask the woman gently to show him where his gear (including his smith's tools) might be, and then use those tools to help her out of those chains.
Tam takes the empty journal. Perhaps there are secrets within, hidden, but if not she could use the paper. She had a lot of writing to do.
After grabbing her own things, she found a scarf to cover her face. Her quick thinking with the kobolds had gotten her her freedom, but it also labeled her as noteworthy for the small minded creatures.
Then the thoughts of Tiamat flooded her brain. She recalled the teachings on draconic matters her mentor Vaeros had shared and wondered.
[can I implement my associate dragon scholar feature? Rolled a 21 religion check]
Middle Grade Author
Draylin
The half-elf, making as much noise as a mouse in slippers, glides into the tent as well. He offers Tam a warm smile and nod of respect. "Well played," he said to her. His eyes begin to scan the piles even as he asks, "Does anyone know exactly where we are? I'll feel better with my gear, but we need need a direction to go, and we need to move quickly. Time is our greatest enemy right now, we'll, time and a few hundred hostiles..."
Turning to the woman he says, "Be calm and quiet. Do your duty as directed, we are not your enemy." Turning back to the assembled group he asks, "I may be able to help with her lock, but I lack the tools to do the job. Perhaps I can assist another?"
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
Tam starts when Draylin comes in, but when she recognizes him she relaxes. “You as well,” she says. She points to the pile of their things. “I think our stuff is here. Mine was at least.”
Then looking to the woman, she digs into her satchel and pulls out some fine tools. “I think I can help.” She starts to pick the lock. “Just a little skill I picked up.”
[thieves tools check. Intelligence? 10]
Middle Grade Author
One moment, it's a bind for the young man - literal moreso than figurative, given his bound ankles. The next, one the others - Montague? Gunthar? He would ask later, if they manage to escape - comes forth, slicing his final restraints asunder. He is freed. Not one to question fortune, the gnome instead simply nods his head in thanks. No words need pass between them whilst danger lies afoot! Looking around as, one by one, lights around them go out, Amadeus simply... slinks into the shadows of the camp. Should be easy enough. Between the clatter of the normal campground activities, the clambor of the "reporter's" dash about, the panick from his own well-set blaze and the glare of a burgeoning dawn, there are plenty of dim corners to slip into.
(Stealth: 15)
If there are no other immediate troubles, he begins his silent trek on perilous turf towards the supposed location of his supplies. Perhaps more opportunities lie ahead, to sow more discord or gather more intelligence. Whatever else, retrieving his gear, the missive, and beating feet in flight of this place is the forefront of the attorney's concerns.
(Perception: 14, if applicable)
Thistlewick finds his travel gear - even his odd hat but, his wooden shield, leather armor and anything approaching a weapon are no where to be seen. "Probably taken by the raiders to replace their trash wepaons and armor," he mutters outloud as he keeps sorting things out from the piles.
He will look about for ANYTHING that might be a hefty length of wood... hoping he might improvise a table leg or odd slate of wood into a 'club' to use in a pinch.
Passive Perception: 15 Investigation: 12
"We might not have much in the way of cover or concealment from wild growth - it's all been burned or trampled. We need to pick a direction (as determined by the rising Sun?) and make haste... perhaps looking like scruffy minions?"
First roll was a 4 + 3. Rolling second time (advantage) 21
Middle Grade Author
The young woman – thin and filthy, with her wrists rubbed raw – falls to her knees and breaks into quiet sobs the moment the lock clicks open.
"I thought you were one of them, you are dressed just like them," she stammers to Montar. "I'm sorry–I've been here for weeks. I thought… I thought I was going to die like the others and be fed to the monsters. Thank you." She adds to Tam and Draylin as she clutches her hands to her chest, trembling.
Amadeus
The camp sits inside a horseshoe-shaped plateau, its sides rising steeply on all directions but the main entrance. He can just make out cave mouths in the cliffs, but at this distance and light it is hard to tell how deep they go... He sees the burning fire of a watchtower atop the plateau.
The tents gradually become larger, sturdier and nicer, most of them decorated with painted designs representing dragons. About 200 feet beyond the loot tent, he notices a grand, imposing tent, far finer than all the rest, set apart from the others by an open space.
Thistlewick
This part of the camp is very different from the chaotic outer ring the group just escaped. Here move robed figures, higher-ranking cultists and better-armed raiders. Some of them salute each other by extending their right hand with fingers outstretched.
Inside the loot tent, Thistlewick finds a sturdy wooden walking cane propped against a chest. It's well balanced, solid and given the circumstances, perfectly usable as an improvised weapon.
DM: Hoard of the Dragon Queen Adventure
Montar's anger ebbs and expression softens. "I be so sorry, lassie. Ye dunna deserve this. Can ye tell us what happened? And what went on here? And, perhaps, where they store the weapons and armor they steal? We'll be having an easier time of getting ye ta safety if we be armed and armored, methinks."
"I would love to get a full statement from you, for the Waterdeep Times, ma'am. An eye witness report will really improve my story!" Tam tempers her enthusiasm for a real live source with the woman's obvious mistreatment.
Middle Grade Author
Draylin
"Do you know if there are any horses in this camp?" he asks the woman. Weapons would be nice, but finding a way to cover ground quickly seemed like the best idea to the monk.
He then moves to the entrance to keep an eye out for unwanted guests that may be heading towards the sorting tent.
“Let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.” — Elrond
The woman sniffles hard, wiping her nose on the torn sleeve of her dress.
"Few… few weeks back," she begins, staring at the dirt. "It was the middle o' the night. My man and me, we woke to screamin... real screamin', not the kind you think you dreamed. By the time we got outside, the barn was already burnin'. Our two farmhands… they were dead before I even knew what was happenin'."
Her voice cracks and she presses a shaking hand over her mouth.
"They… they cut my husband down right in front of me. Didn't even look twice while they did it. I screamed myself hoarse, but our farm's so far from town… I don't reckon anyone even knows. I don't even know if someone… if someone buried him…"
She chokes up again, sobs wracking her thin shoulders. It takes her a long moment before she can speak.
"At first I thought they was bandits. But it ain't simple bandits... whatever this is, it's worse." She lifts her head just enough for you to see the red around her eyes.
"They dragged me here. Told me I either sort their loot or they’d feed me to the beasts. So I sort. All day. Every day. But they bring more each night, more than I could ever finish, so they're always angry…"
She wipes her nose again, hands trembling.
"They bring others too, folk they drag in from the raids. Most try to run." Her expression darkens with grief. "And most… don't make it. There's only seven of us left, now."
When Montar asks about the weapons, her face changes. She stares at his boots, then up at all of you, eyes widening with a mix of hope and fear.
"You… you aren't just travellers, are you? You're adventurers... fighters."
She grabs the hem of Montar's sleeve with both hands, desperate and pleading.
"You gotta help the others. There's two young ones, barely past twelve summers. If you don't take them, these monsters will. And there's another one… the special prisoner…"
She shakes her head violently, fear returning to her eyes.
"As for weapons, them's kept at the armoury tent up near the mouth of the camp. Prisoners clean the blood off 'em, but that tent's always got at least one guard watchin' it. I never worked there, but my friend Marta did, before…" Her voice trails off again. She doesn't finish the sentence.
Draylin's question snaps her back for a moment. She shakes her head quickly.
"Horses? No. These folk don't ride no horses." She shudders visibly and her eyes glaze over. "They ride monsters into battle."
DM: Hoard of the Dragon Queen Adventure