Tam pulls out her notebook, where she has outlined the detailed report thusfar. Her departure from Waterdeep to follow up on rumors of the dragon cult. Her capture by the bandits. Their escape and flight to the farm. And finally their journey to Greenest. It felt like weeks of activity, but when she goes over it in detail, it amounts to only a few hours, albeit a harrowing few hours. She delivers all of this in as much detail as possible to Governor Nighthill, showing the cuts, bruises, and scars to prove the truth of their tale.
"Governor, please, we wish only for the safety of this town. The bandits are on their way now. They will surely arrive soon. You MUST prepare!"
Montar approaches the older dwarf with the stained apron. In Dwarvish, he says, "Greetings, respected elder. My name is Montar, and I am," here he pauses, flashes of first pain and then anger crossing his rough features, before continuing, "or I was, when my clan still existed, the crafter for the clan Runeseeker, north of Citadel Adbar. My clan was all-but-destroyed by a red dragon while I was away. I have come far South to find the culprit and claim justice, but I was waylaid and captured by a cult that venerates the foul beasts. With aid from new companions I was able to escape, but the cult is on the march here to raid and will arrive imminently. Please, you must help me save the people of Greenest, lest they suffer the same fate as my own clan."
***OoC: Draylin gives his full, enthusiastic support to Tam, should a persuasion check be needed...***
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
For I am Death and I won't break. I got a life I've got to take. When will it end, this sufferin' of late? It was nice to know you. __The Pretty Reckless
Amadeus, meanwhile, strolls through the crested doorway of the otherwise small office, confidence in his eyes despite his various aches. He's done his best to clean the soiling from his clothes and now walks forth to the clerk in a swagger of debonair. With a flourish and a bow, he gives his introduction.
"Greetings and salutations, good ser! Lord Amadeus P. Laxer, Esquire. I've come in regards to the pending sales contract between a certain local woodcutting company and our local shipping firm, as I am sure you are well aware. Your company has hitherto been responsible for the commission of its paperwork, yes? Is the contract ready for delivery and signature?"
He refrains from the use of the company's names. It goes without saying which two are merging, after all. But moreso, he doesn't wish to catch an unerring ears with a bit of gossip before the signatures have been made. Corporate espionage is always an overlooked concern, after all. Even here, in the more... frontier locales, he muses. Especially here.
While Escobert scoffs now and again, Governor Nighthill listens intently to Tam and Draylin. Once they finish their report, he turns his back to them, looking out at the bustling town and its peaceful surroundings below. "So, Leosin Erlanthar was right after all,"the older man says, letting out a heavy, weary sigh. Escobert glances at him, his brow furrowing. "You mean to say you actually believe them, Tarbaw?" the dwarf asks, making no effort to hide his discontent. Governor Nighthill turns back to the two adventurers, his expression grave and worried. "I have been in correspondence with Master Leosin for a few months now. He was convinced the Cult of the Dragon had been gathering forces somewhere in the Greenfields. Your report simply confirms his worst fears. When he failed to return, I feared the worst. I am relieved to hear he is alive and well… well, I hope he is well, seeing as he isn't standing here with you." Hearing this, Escobert's face softens slightly. "But what would they want with our town?" he mutters, looking down at the market."We've nothing of value here." Governor Nighthill rubs his chin in thought. "Did you manage to uncover who is leading them? Or what exactly motivates these attacks? Any detail might give us better insight into how to prepare while we still have the light of day."
Thistlewick
Sensing his master nearby, Oats ignores Thistlewick’s guidance and plods straight towards the stall. Adam startles at first, but a wide grin breaks across his face as he reaches out to pat the horse's sturdy neck. "Oats! My old boy! What in the world are you doing here?" He glances up, perhaps expecting his wife, and his cheerful expression freezes. He looks at Thistlewick, then at Leosin's battered face peeking from behind the druid, then back at the horse, squinting in total confusion as if he's suddenly doubting his own eyes. "Forgive me, goodman, but... who are you?" Adam asks, his voice trailing off. "I'd swear on my mother's grave this horse is just like the one I have back at home. But that home is a long, long way from here." Suddenly, the colour drains from his face. The lucky red hat seems to sag as the farmer's eyes go wide. Thistlewick can practically see the realisation hitting him like a physical blow – the only reason Oats would be in Greenest without a family member driving him is if there was no one left to hold the reins. "My family," he whispers crestfallen, his hands beginning to shake against the horse’s mane. "Something’s happened at the farm. What is it? What happened?"
Montar
The older dwarf’s dark eyes narrow as Montar approaches, clearly seeing a man who isn't in need of a drink. His face remains impassive as the fighter tells his story, but when Montar mentions the destruction of his clan by the red dragon, the barkeep begins to puff his pipe a bit faster, thick clouds of smoke swirling around his head. "North of Adbar, you say?" he finally speaks in a gravelly voice, devoid of any visible emotion. "You've come a long way south, lad." His eyes dart between the ale-maids and the busy tavern benches, as if checking to see who might be eavesdropping. "I used to have…" he stops himself short and coughs. "Ahem. I've heard of these attacks. Never thought I'd see anyone in our quaint town here to speak of them." He spits the word quaint mockingly and then spits onto the dirt. "So what can I do to help you then?" he adds grimly. He doesn't seem opposed to helping, but there is a shadow in his eyes, a look that says there's more to him than a simple innkeeper.
Amadeus
The halfling looks up from his ledger, pushing his tiny spectacles up the bridge of his nose. As Amadeus introduces himself with a flourish, the clerk's face lights up with genuine excitement. "By Yondalla's Great Hearth! I am Pendergast – as you've no doubt already gathered! What a pleasure, a true pleasure, to finally make your acquaintance, Master Laxer! I trust your journey was... pleasant?" He pauses, squinting at the sorcerer's clothes, which look remarkably clean despite everything. Without waiting for an answer, he leaps off his high stool and scurries towards a large cupboard in the corner of the cramped office. He begins rummaging through a chaos of scrolls and parchment, his mouth never ceasing to move while he searches. "I was getting a tad worried, you see. There's been talk of scoundrels and troublemakers on the trade roads recently – dreadful business, if you ask me – but if you're standing here, I suppose the rumours were a bit exaggerated, eh?"
Finally, he produces a rolled-up parchment. He studies it for a moment, but then his face suddenly falls. His upbeat energy deflates into a look of embarrassed apology.
"Well, I have the contract ready, alright... or almost ready. You see, I've drawn it up perfectly. Every clause in its proper place. You can double-check if you wish so. Here is where you need to sign," he says, laying the parchment on the desk and offering Amadeus the foot-long quill.
Only a glance is enough and the problem becomes blatantly obvious: the other party's signature line is completely blank.
"Alas, the other party's representative sent word just yesterday. They aren't coming to Greenest. Too dangerous, they said! Can you imagine? And here you are, having come from much further! But no... they’ve doubled back. They said they will be waiting for you to find them in Baldur's Gate to finalize the deal."
The half elf looks at Governor Nighthill thoughtfully for a moment. It pleases me to report that Brother Leosin is with our companions who also escaped. He is in need of healing, he pauses to pull aside his bloody shirt exposing the wound from the goblin arrow, as are all, or at least most of us. We ran to you with all haste, they shall be here shortly I expect. We encountered ranking guards wearing dragon masks, but the two cloaked in purple were the most concerning. A human female was one, the other... I am not sure who or what the other was . It resembled a dragonborn, but unlike any I have ever seen or heard of. The creature radiated malevolent power, a palpable aura seemed to surround it. I believe they called him Wyrmspeaker. They had slaves sorting loot, separating arms and armor from the valuables. We freed several of them, they are hiding at a farm not far from here. With a deep breath he looked to Tam, again deferring to the 'dragon reporter' for more precise details. Leosin will be able to provide information on events before our capture. Here the young monk pauses, brows furrowed in anger. He quickly regains composure and continues. I overheard them say he would break soon. Despite the torture and beatings, Brother Leosin stood fast.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
For I am Death and I won't break. I got a life I've got to take. When will it end, this sufferin' of late? It was nice to know you. __The Pretty Reckless
Thistlewick takes a big breath and goes into a speech he had been creating in his head the entire trip. "Ser Adam? This is your faithful beast. Myself and my companions were ambushed by a small army of goblins, kobolds and worse... claiming to be following a dragonlord.
We managed to escape and stumbled upon your farm. Your wife was kind enough to feed us and offer Oats and the wagon to get us here faster. The other half of our party are reporting to the Keep right now. Mara wanted you to come home. She thought to hide in a storm cellar -- hoping the marching mauraders will miss the farm.
Oats did a valiant job; he deserves some feed. But time is of the essence. The dark forces are on the march. They plan to attack Greenest - pillaging and killing. It would be wise to NOT head along the road back to your farm. You would run straight into the enemy. Perhaps you can find sanctuary in the Keep until it is safe to return to your farm."
Persuasion: 9 :(
Thisttlewick can tell Adam is not fully convinced and the crowd that has gathered seems disbelieving. Turning, 'Wick waves a hand at his companion in the wagon, "Leosin can attest to the truth of my words."
Tam shakes her head. "We don't know much. I picked up a few names. Someone names Mondath, a human woman? They are led by some draconic figure known as the Wyrmspeaker. And there is someone named Cyanwrath, but we know not who that is." Tam wracks her brains for any other details she might have missed, flipping through her notes.
[can I make some kind of roll to see if anything from the experience sticks out?]
Montar replies, "Well, someday I may ask you if you know of a source for fine Dwarven steel to improve my armor, but for now I was hoping only to help you. I will do my best to stand against the raiders when they arrive, but, though they be cowardly, they have numbers far too great for any small band to overcome. Anyone in town who can fight should be prepared, and any who cannot should get themselves and their valuables to safety." He pauses, uncharacteristically overwhelmed for a moment. "I don't want to see any more innocents fall to these monsters."
Recovering, he lets a rueful chuckle slip out. "But thank you; I had not been called 'lad' for nearly a century, and it reminded me of my own elders."
Tam recalls the two purple-robed figures – the human Mondath and the black half-dragon who is supposedly a Wyrmspeaker. It's a title bestowed upon the leaders of the renewed Cult of the Dragon, as her dragonborn mentor once speculated. She also remembers the large cave near the grand tent, which she realizes must be important to their operation. Governor Nighthill's concern deepens as Tam recounts the details. When the mention of the "Wyrmspeaker" and the purple-robed leaders reaches his ears, he looks as if a heavy weight has been dropped onto his shoulders. "The news you bear is troublesome indeed,"the older man says, his voice low. "A half-dragon commander... and a title like 'Wyrmspeaker.' It suggests a level of organization I had prayed we would never see. I shall speak with Master Leosin at his first convenience." Escobert clears his throat, the brass keys at his belt jingling as he shifts his stance. "I am going to gather the guards and instruct them to begin evacuations immediately," the dwarf says, his scepticism finally replaced by grim resolve. Nighthill nods. "Yes, do that. The alarm must be raised quietly at first – no need for a stampede – but everyone must come to the keep. It is our only hope for a defence." The dwarf nods curtly and rushes toward the stairs, his boots thudding against the stone. Governor Nighthill turns back to Tam and Draylin, his gaze weary but grateful. "Thank you for your concern and for coming here to warn us. I need to make arrangements for temporary shelter here. Oh… so much to do. But I’d rather do it now than watch the townsfolk get murdered in their beds. If you wish, you can go help the guards to warn the townspeople or reunite with the rest of your group and come back here."
Thistlewick
Leosin carefully climbs down from the wagon, his movements stiff but steady. He places a hand on Adam's arm to ground him. "We're all grateful for your family giving us a place to catch our breath. There will be room in the keep's stables for Oats to rest, and a place for you to wait out the night behind stone walls. Your wife and her mother know that farm better than anyone. If they chose the cellar, they did it for a reason. We have to trust that." Adam looks like he's about to faint. He gives a slow, dazed nod, his eyes not quite focusing on anything. "I… thank you, I guess. I should probably pack these things up… and go get the other cart from the tavern. Maybe I should drive this one to the keep first? See if they'll let us in? Ah…" His hands are shaking as he starts shoving balls of yarn and knitted socks into a large sack. He's moving on autopilot, just trying to do something. Nearby, the shoppers and other vendors have stopped what they're doing. They're watching him with worried expressions, glancing up at the keep as they try to decide if this is just a local man having a breakdown or if they should start running, too. "I'm heading back to the keep,"Leosin says quietly to Thistlewick. "I need to have a word with Governor Nighthill. Are you staying or coming with me?"
Montar
Olav's dark eyes linger on Montar for a long heartbeat, the smoke from his pipe trailing off into the air. Under the simple clothes and the dirty apron, there are the unmistakable remnants of a warrior's gait. The elder's “quaint” mocking masks a deep, old wound; he recognizes the hollow look in Montar's eyes because he sees it in the mirror every morning. "Aye, well, a century is a blink of an eye when you're mourning a clan,"Olav says unexpectedly, his voice a low rumble. "To me, you're still green as a sprout." At the mention of fine steel, the innkeeper gives a sharp bark of a laugh. "Fine steel? Lad, if we make it through this, I'll make sure my cousin gives you the best work to ever come out from his forge." He looks down at his apron, then back at the busy market. "You have the heart of the mountains in you. Most would have kept running. To stand for a town that isn't even your own... may the All-Father give you strength. My name is Olav, by the way. If we never see another sunrise, I’d die happy knowing I met a worthy kin at the end." He clears his throat, turning back towards the tavern door. "I will handle the girls. They can convince our regulars to seek shelter in the keep. I'm too old to march with a hammer, but should they breach these walls, I promise you I'll go out with at least one cultist's head smashed in." He spits one last time, a gesture of finality. He begins to walk away, but pauses at the threshold, his jaw working hard. He doesn't look back as he speaks. "Don't die today, Montar. I've a fine cask of Stoneshine Whiskey I've been saving for a special occasion. I'd like to share it with you once the dust settles."
Montar nods. "It would be an honor, Olav. I will see you again." He turns away, looking for Thistlewick and Leosin. When he finds them, he'll go with them to the keep or wherever else they want
The young monk bows respectfully to Governor Nighthill. Before turning to reunite with the group he pauses to ask a question. Sir, will your guards not question such news from two unknown civilians? Perhaps a brief note and signature or seal will save us much time and explanation.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
For I am Death and I won't break. I got a life I've got to take. When will it end, this sufferin' of late? It was nice to know you. __The Pretty Reckless
Tam nods as well. “Whatever will be the most help, governor,” she says. Then, chewing nervously on her bottom lip, she thinks to herself a good reporter always secures the interview. “Sir, when this is over, could I get a formal statement for the Waterdeep Times?”
The gnome nods and follows, saying little until he has the parchment in hand. It's well litigated, follows the conditions of the sales agreement as prearranged, and is remarkably well-dictated. Even so, he skims the conditions and clauses for any discrepancies. Only then, with his mind otherwise occupied, does he respond, albeit a tad delayed, to this... Pettigrew's concern.
"Mm, yes. Unfortunately, your sources are correct. There's quite a sizeable force of ruffians on the road here. They were rather quick to take my carriage captive." For the briefest moment, he looks up and gives a sympathetic nod, with a small smile. "Nothing I could not handle, you see, with aid from the other passengers. Hm... opt out clauses and breach levies are correct." Amadeus nods his head, his finger tracing further down to the final lines. "You know, if your local merchant's guild have the means to spread word in earnest, I would recommend delivering to them a message in haste of these bandits. As a point of fact-" he suddenly remembers, "-I actually have a bit of information. A not insignificant number of them may be on their way to this township. No doubt, their forces will be repelled. However, I would recommend securing valuable product, readying defenses of notable storehouses, perhaps hiring the local sellswords to support the town's guard. The less damage that is accrued will surely benefit the flow of future business in the long run, no?"
Satisfied at the final edict and the signature listed, Amadeus gives a small whistle of approval. "Very nice. And fret not with our missing party, good ser. I can assuredly deliver the paperwork myself. Unless you would prefer a courier service, perhaps one of your own?"
Governor Nighthill gives a weak shake of his head in response to Draylin's question. "Castellan Escobert will be briefing the guards. You will find him on the ground floor and can make your introductions there. He can provide you with a letter of safe passage if you need it. He is the master of this keep and will be taking care of its defence."
At Tam's question, he looks a bit startled for a moment, then eventually nods. "I… eh. I suppose I can give you a formal statement for the paper once this is all done. I think it would be good for the whole Sword Coast to hear about the malevolent forces that have been at play."
Down below, Montar, Thistlewick, and Leosin soon make their way to the keep as well. There is nobody guarding the entrance when they reach it. On the ground floor, they find a red-haired shield dwarf barking orders to a few guards, telling them to gather the rest of the garrison for further instructions to prepare for an attack.
Leosin leans toward his two companions. "That is the Castellan, Escobert the Red. He is responsible for the keep's defences. I suspect our friends have already brought the news. I need to speak to the Governor myself, so I will see you later." With that, the monk excuses himself and disappears up the stairs to speak with Nighthill.
Amadeus
Pendergast looks initially pleased to hear his penmanship has been approved by an esteemed noble like Amadeus. But as the sorcerer's words about a potential attack finally register, the halfling turns as yellow as his flamboyant three-piece suit.
"P-pardon?"he croaks, pushing his spectacles up his little nose again. "They are coming to attack the town? Zoinks! I–I must prepare. That's most troublesome news. Will you be... uh... perhaps helping to handle them again? Since you already have experience with it?" He tries to sound nonchalant, but a visible bead of sweat trickles down his brow as he looks at Amadeus with a mix of terror and desperate hope.
He barely waits for Amadeus to finish signing the paper before grabbing the quill rather impolitely. He quickly scribbles a note: ‘Out of office. Will be back once the attackers are repelled,’ and sticks it to his door with a strange, sticky substance produced from his desk drawer. He then begins frantically throwing ledgers and paper into his pack.
"I shall indeed send a missive to notify the nearby vendors,"Pendergast says hastily, his eyes darting toward the door. "Oh! That's perfect, Master Laxer. If it wouldn't inconvenience you terribly, I'd be most grateful if you could secure the final signature. I think it would be most beneficial for you to do so yourself. They can hardly give more excuses to a man of your stature than they could to a simple courier."
He shoves a few more parchments into the pack, ready to bolt. "Now, is there anything else I can help you with?"
Montar approaches the shield dwarf, again making sure that his hand-crafted weapons and armor that bear his mark are visible. In Dwarven, he says, "Greetings friend Escobert. I am Montar Runeseeker and I have come to your town with those who I believe have just warned you of the coming raiders. While primarily a crafter, I can wield a weapon with some skill and I offer my aid in Greenest's defense."
The young monk listens with full attention. Very good, sir. We will aid Escobert as we can.
Well done, Tam the Dragon Reporter, he says to Tam when they are beyond earshot of anyone else. A smile betrays his serious tone.
When they reach the ground floor, he pauses to greet Leosin. Do your duty, brother. And then find a cleric and a cot! He then moves to Montar, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. He speaks truth, good Escobert. I would fear for Greenest and flee for the hills were Montar among those moving against us.
When the pleasantries had been exchanged, Draylin too offers his services in defense of the town. I am fleet of foot, should you need a task accomplished with great haste or a scout. However, I will serve the defense of this place in whatever capacity is most needed.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
For I am Death and I won't break. I got a life I've got to take. When will it end, this sufferin' of late? It was nice to know you. __The Pretty Reckless
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Tam pulls out her notebook, where she has outlined the detailed report thusfar. Her departure from Waterdeep to follow up on rumors of the dragon cult. Her capture by the bandits. Their escape and flight to the farm. And finally their journey to Greenest. It felt like weeks of activity, but when she goes over it in detail, it amounts to only a few hours, albeit a harrowing few hours. She delivers all of this in as much detail as possible to Governor Nighthill, showing the cuts, bruises, and scars to prove the truth of their tale.
"Governor, please, we wish only for the safety of this town. The bandits are on their way now. They will surely arrive soon. You MUST prepare!"
Author of Kid Comet and the Sixth Grade Shadow and other Middle Grade Novels
Montar approaches the older dwarf with the stained apron. In Dwarvish, he says, "Greetings, respected elder. My name is Montar, and I am," here he pauses, flashes of first pain and then anger crossing his rough features, before continuing, "or I was, when my clan still existed, the crafter for the clan Runeseeker, north of Citadel Adbar. My clan was all-but-destroyed by a red dragon while I was away. I have come far South to find the culprit and claim justice, but I was waylaid and captured by a cult that venerates the foul beasts. With aid from new companions I was able to escape, but the cult is on the march here to raid and will arrive imminently. Please, you must help me save the people of Greenest, lest they suffer the same fate as my own clan."
Draylin
***OoC: Draylin gives his full, enthusiastic support to Tam, should a persuasion check be needed...***
For I am Death and I won't break. I got a life I've got to take. When will it end, this sufferin' of late? It was nice to know you. __The Pretty Reckless
Amadeus, meanwhile, strolls through the crested doorway of the otherwise small office, confidence in his eyes despite his various aches. He's done his best to clean the soiling from his clothes and now walks forth to the clerk in a swagger of debonair. With a flourish and a bow, he gives his introduction.
"Greetings and salutations, good ser! Lord Amadeus P. Laxer, Esquire. I've come in regards to the pending sales contract between a certain local woodcutting company and our local shipping firm, as I am sure you are well aware. Your company has hitherto been responsible for the commission of its paperwork, yes? Is the contract ready for delivery and signature?"
He refrains from the use of the company's names. It goes without saying which two are merging, after all. But moreso, he doesn't wish to catch an unerring ears with a bit of gossip before the signatures have been made. Corporate espionage is always an overlooked concern, after all. Even here, in the more... frontier locales, he muses. Especially here.
Tam and Draylin
While Escobert scoffs now and again, Governor Nighthill listens intently to Tam and Draylin. Once they finish their report, he turns his back to them, looking out at the bustling town and its peaceful surroundings below.
"So, Leosin Erlanthar was right after all," the older man says, letting out a heavy, weary sigh. Escobert glances at him, his brow furrowing.
"You mean to say you actually believe them, Tarbaw?" the dwarf asks, making no effort to hide his discontent.
Governor Nighthill turns back to the two adventurers, his expression grave and worried.
"I have been in correspondence with Master Leosin for a few months now. He was convinced the Cult of the Dragon had been gathering forces somewhere in the Greenfields. Your report simply confirms his worst fears. When he failed to return, I feared the worst. I am relieved to hear he is alive and well… well, I hope he is well, seeing as he isn't standing here with you."
Hearing this, Escobert's face softens slightly. "But what would they want with our town?" he mutters, looking down at the market. "We've nothing of value here."
Governor Nighthill rubs his chin in thought. "Did you manage to uncover who is leading them? Or what exactly motivates these attacks? Any detail might give us better insight into how to prepare while we still have the light of day."
Thistlewick
Sensing his master nearby, Oats ignores Thistlewick’s guidance and plods straight towards the stall. Adam startles at first, but a wide grin breaks across his face as he reaches out to pat the horse's sturdy neck.
"Oats! My old boy! What in the world are you doing here?"
He glances up, perhaps expecting his wife, and his cheerful expression freezes. He looks at Thistlewick, then at Leosin's battered face peeking from behind the druid, then back at the horse, squinting in total confusion as if he's suddenly doubting his own eyes.
"Forgive me, goodman, but... who are you?" Adam asks, his voice trailing off. "I'd swear on my mother's grave this horse is just like the one I have back at home. But that home is a long, long way from here."
Suddenly, the colour drains from his face. The lucky red hat seems to sag as the farmer's eyes go wide. Thistlewick can practically see the realisation hitting him like a physical blow – the only reason Oats would be in Greenest without a family member driving him is if there was no one left to hold the reins.
"My family," he whispers crestfallen, his hands beginning to shake against the horse’s mane. "Something’s happened at the farm. What is it? What happened?"
Montar
The older dwarf’s dark eyes narrow as Montar approaches, clearly seeing a man who isn't in need of a drink. His face remains impassive as the fighter tells his story, but when Montar mentions the destruction of his clan by the red dragon, the barkeep begins to puff his pipe a bit faster, thick clouds of smoke swirling around his head.
"North of Adbar, you say?" he finally speaks in a gravelly voice, devoid of any visible emotion. "You've come a long way south, lad."
His eyes dart between the ale-maids and the busy tavern benches, as if checking to see who might be eavesdropping. "I used to have…" he stops himself short and coughs. "Ahem. I've heard of these attacks. Never thought I'd see anyone in our quaint town here to speak of them." He spits the word quaint mockingly and then spits onto the dirt.
"So what can I do to help you then?" he adds grimly. He doesn't seem opposed to helping, but there is a shadow in his eyes, a look that says there's more to him than a simple innkeeper.
Amadeus
The halfling looks up from his ledger, pushing his tiny spectacles up the bridge of his nose. As Amadeus introduces himself with a flourish, the clerk's face lights up with genuine excitement.
"By Yondalla's Great Hearth! I am Pendergast – as you've no doubt already gathered! What a pleasure, a true pleasure, to finally make your acquaintance, Master Laxer! I trust your journey was... pleasant?" He pauses, squinting at the sorcerer's clothes, which look remarkably clean despite everything.
Without waiting for an answer, he leaps off his high stool and scurries towards a large cupboard in the corner of the cramped office. He begins rummaging through a chaos of scrolls and parchment, his mouth never ceasing to move while he searches.
"I was getting a tad worried, you see. There's been talk of scoundrels and troublemakers on the trade roads recently – dreadful business, if you ask me – but if you're standing here, I suppose the rumours were a bit exaggerated, eh?"
Finally, he produces a rolled-up parchment. He studies it for a moment, but then his face suddenly falls. His upbeat energy deflates into a look of embarrassed apology.
"Well, I have the contract ready, alright... or almost ready. You see, I've drawn it up perfectly. Every clause in its proper place. You can double-check if you wish so. Here is where you need to sign," he says, laying the parchment on the desk and offering Amadeus the foot-long quill.
Only a glance is enough and the problem becomes blatantly obvious: the other party's signature line is completely blank.
"Alas, the other party's representative sent word just yesterday. They aren't coming to Greenest. Too dangerous, they said! Can you imagine? And here you are, having come from much further! But no... they’ve doubled back. They said they will be waiting for you to find them in Baldur's Gate to finalize the deal."
DM: Hoard of the Dragon Queen Adventure, Dragons of Stormwreck Isle and even more dragons
Draylin
The half elf looks at Governor Nighthill thoughtfully for a moment. It pleases me to report that Brother Leosin is with our companions who also escaped. He is in need of healing, he pauses to pull aside his bloody shirt exposing the wound from the goblin arrow, as are all, or at least most of us. We ran to you with all haste, they shall be here shortly I expect. We encountered ranking guards wearing dragon masks, but the two cloaked in purple were the most concerning. A human female was one, the other... I am not sure who or what the other was . It resembled a dragonborn, but unlike any I have ever seen or heard of. The creature radiated malevolent power, a palpable aura seemed to surround it. I believe they called him Wyrmspeaker. They had slaves sorting loot, separating arms and armor from the valuables. We freed several of them, they are hiding at a farm not far from here. With a deep breath he looked to Tam, again deferring to the 'dragon reporter' for more precise details. Leosin will be able to provide information on events before our capture. Here the young monk pauses, brows furrowed in anger. He quickly regains composure and continues. I overheard them say he would break soon. Despite the torture and beatings, Brother Leosin stood fast.
For I am Death and I won't break. I got a life I've got to take. When will it end, this sufferin' of late? It was nice to know you. __The Pretty Reckless
Thistlewick takes a big breath and goes into a speech he had been creating in his head the entire trip. "Ser Adam? This is your faithful beast. Myself and my companions were ambushed by a small army of goblins, kobolds and worse... claiming to be following a dragonlord.
We managed to escape and stumbled upon your farm. Your wife was kind enough to feed us and offer Oats and the wagon to get us here faster. The other half of our party are reporting to the Keep right now. Mara wanted you to come home. She thought to hide in a storm cellar -- hoping the marching mauraders will miss the farm.
Oats did a valiant job; he deserves some feed. But time is of the essence. The dark forces are on the march. They plan to attack Greenest - pillaging and killing. It would be wise to NOT head along the road back to your farm. You would run straight into the enemy. Perhaps you can find sanctuary in the Keep until it is safe to return to your farm."
Persuasion: 9 :(
Thisttlewick can tell Adam is not fully convinced and the crowd that has gathered seems disbelieving. Turning, 'Wick waves a hand at his companion in the wagon, "Leosin can attest to the truth of my words."
Tam shakes her head. "We don't know much. I picked up a few names. Someone names Mondath, a human woman? They are led by some draconic figure known as the Wyrmspeaker. And there is someone named Cyanwrath, but we know not who that is." Tam wracks her brains for any other details she might have missed, flipping through her notes.
[can I make some kind of roll to see if anything from the experience sticks out?]
Author of Kid Comet and the Sixth Grade Shadow and other Middle Grade Novels
Montar replies, "Well, someday I may ask you if you know of a source for fine Dwarven steel to improve my armor, but for now I was hoping only to help you. I will do my best to stand against the raiders when they arrive, but, though they be cowardly, they have numbers far too great for any small band to overcome. Anyone in town who can fight should be prepared, and any who cannot should get themselves and their valuables to safety." He pauses, uncharacteristically overwhelmed for a moment. "I don't want to see any more innocents fall to these monsters."
Recovering, he lets a rueful chuckle slip out. "But thank you; I had not been called 'lad' for nearly a century, and it reminded me of my own elders."
[Montar also tries to discern what's beneath the surface in the dwarf's affect. Insight: 19]
Thistlewick -> Persuasion Check: 18
Draylin and Tam
Tam recalls the two purple-robed figures – the human Mondath and the black half-dragon who is supposedly a Wyrmspeaker. It's a title bestowed upon the leaders of the renewed Cult of the Dragon, as her dragonborn mentor once speculated. She also remembers the large cave near the grand tent, which she realizes must be important to their operation.
Governor Nighthill's concern deepens as Tam recounts the details. When the mention of the "Wyrmspeaker" and the purple-robed leaders reaches his ears, he looks as if a heavy weight has been dropped onto his shoulders.
"The news you bear is troublesome indeed," the older man says, his voice low. "A half-dragon commander... and a title like 'Wyrmspeaker.' It suggests a level of organization I had prayed we would never see. I shall speak with Master Leosin at his first convenience."
Escobert clears his throat, the brass keys at his belt jingling as he shifts his stance. "I am going to gather the guards and instruct them to begin evacuations immediately," the dwarf says, his scepticism finally replaced by grim resolve.
Nighthill nods. "Yes, do that. The alarm must be raised quietly at first – no need for a stampede – but everyone must come to the keep. It is our only hope for a defence."
The dwarf nods curtly and rushes toward the stairs, his boots thudding against the stone. Governor Nighthill turns back to Tam and Draylin, his gaze weary but grateful. "Thank you for your concern and for coming here to warn us. I need to make arrangements for temporary shelter here. Oh… so much to do. But I’d rather do it now than watch the townsfolk get murdered in their beds. If you wish, you can go help the guards to warn the townspeople or reunite with the rest of your group and come back here."
Thistlewick
Leosin carefully climbs down from the wagon, his movements stiff but steady. He places a hand on Adam's arm to ground him. "We're all grateful for your family giving us a place to catch our breath. There will be room in the keep's stables for Oats to rest, and a place for you to wait out the night behind stone walls. Your wife and her mother know that farm better than anyone. If they chose the cellar, they did it for a reason. We have to trust that."
Adam looks like he's about to faint. He gives a slow, dazed nod, his eyes not quite focusing on anything. "I… thank you, I guess. I should probably pack these things up… and go get the other cart from the tavern. Maybe I should drive this one to the keep first? See if they'll let us in? Ah…"
His hands are shaking as he starts shoving balls of yarn and knitted socks into a large sack. He's moving on autopilot, just trying to do something. Nearby, the shoppers and other vendors have stopped what they're doing. They're watching him with worried expressions, glancing up at the keep as they try to decide if this is just a local man having a breakdown or if they should start running, too.
"I'm heading back to the keep," Leosin says quietly to Thistlewick. "I need to have a word with Governor Nighthill. Are you staying or coming with me?"
Montar
Olav's dark eyes linger on Montar for a long heartbeat, the smoke from his pipe trailing off into the air. Under the simple clothes and the dirty apron, there are the unmistakable remnants of a warrior's gait. The elder's “quaint” mocking masks a deep, old wound; he recognizes the hollow look in Montar's eyes because he sees it in the mirror every morning.
"Aye, well, a century is a blink of an eye when you're mourning a clan," Olav says unexpectedly, his voice a low rumble. "To me, you're still green as a sprout."
At the mention of fine steel, the innkeeper gives a sharp bark of a laugh. "Fine steel? Lad, if we make it through this, I'll make sure my cousin gives you the best work to ever come out from his forge."
He looks down at his apron, then back at the busy market. "You have the heart of the mountains in you. Most would have kept running. To stand for a town that isn't even your own... may the All-Father give you strength. My name is Olav, by the way. If we never see another sunrise, I’d die happy knowing I met a worthy kin at the end."
He clears his throat, turning back towards the tavern door. "I will handle the girls. They can convince our regulars to seek shelter in the keep. I'm too old to march with a hammer, but should they breach these walls, I promise you I'll go out with at least one cultist's head smashed in." He spits one last time, a gesture of finality.
He begins to walk away, but pauses at the threshold, his jaw working hard. He doesn't look back as he speaks. "Don't die today, Montar. I've a fine cask of Stoneshine Whiskey I've been saving for a special occasion. I'd like to share it with you once the dust settles."
DM: Hoard of the Dragon Queen Adventure, Dragons of Stormwreck Isle and even more dragons
Thistlewick nods.... "I am with you. Perhaps on our way toward the keep we can find a city guard and warn them before we get to the keep itself."
Montar nods. "It would be an honor, Olav. I will see you again." He turns away, looking for Thistlewick and Leosin. When he finds them, he'll go with them to the keep or wherever else they want
Draylin
The young monk bows respectfully to Governor Nighthill. Before turning to reunite with the group he pauses to ask a question. Sir, will your guards not question such news from two unknown civilians? Perhaps a brief note and signature or seal will save us much time and explanation.
For I am Death and I won't break. I got a life I've got to take. When will it end, this sufferin' of late? It was nice to know you. __The Pretty Reckless
Tam nods as well. “Whatever will be the most help, governor,” she says. Then, chewing nervously on her bottom lip, she thinks to herself a good reporter always secures the interview. “Sir, when this is over, could I get a formal statement for the Waterdeep Times?”
Author of Kid Comet and the Sixth Grade Shadow and other Middle Grade Novels
The gnome nods and follows, saying little until he has the parchment in hand. It's well litigated, follows the conditions of the sales agreement as prearranged, and is remarkably well-dictated. Even so, he skims the conditions and clauses for any discrepancies. Only then, with his mind otherwise occupied, does he respond, albeit a tad delayed, to this... Pettigrew's concern.
"Mm, yes. Unfortunately, your sources are correct. There's quite a sizeable force of ruffians on the road here. They were rather quick to take my carriage captive." For the briefest moment, he looks up and gives a sympathetic nod, with a small smile. "Nothing I could not handle, you see, with aid from the other passengers. Hm... opt out clauses and breach levies are correct." Amadeus nods his head, his finger tracing further down to the final lines. "You know, if your local merchant's guild have the means to spread word in earnest, I would recommend delivering to them a message in haste of these bandits. As a point of fact-" he suddenly remembers, "-I actually have a bit of information. A not insignificant number of them may be on their way to this township. No doubt, their forces will be repelled. However, I would recommend securing valuable product, readying defenses of notable storehouses, perhaps hiring the local sellswords to support the town's guard. The less damage that is accrued will surely benefit the flow of future business in the long run, no?"
Satisfied at the final edict and the signature listed, Amadeus gives a small whistle of approval. "Very nice. And fret not with our missing party, good ser. I can assuredly deliver the paperwork myself. Unless you would prefer a courier service, perhaps one of your own?"
Governor Nighthill gives a weak shake of his head in response to Draylin's question. "Castellan Escobert will be briefing the guards. You will find him on the ground floor and can make your introductions there. He can provide you with a letter of safe passage if you need it. He is the master of this keep and will be taking care of its defence."
At Tam's question, he looks a bit startled for a moment, then eventually nods. "I… eh. I suppose I can give you a formal statement for the paper once this is all done. I think it would be good for the whole Sword Coast to hear about the malevolent forces that have been at play."
Down below, Montar, Thistlewick, and Leosin soon make their way to the keep as well. There is nobody guarding the entrance when they reach it. On the ground floor, they find a red-haired shield dwarf barking orders to a few guards, telling them to gather the rest of the garrison for further instructions to prepare for an attack.
Leosin leans toward his two companions. "That is the Castellan, Escobert the Red. He is responsible for the keep's defences. I suspect our friends have already brought the news. I need to speak to the Governor myself, so I will see you later." With that, the monk excuses himself and disappears up the stairs to speak with Nighthill.
Amadeus
Pendergast looks initially pleased to hear his penmanship has been approved by an esteemed noble like Amadeus. But as the sorcerer's words about a potential attack finally register, the halfling turns as yellow as his flamboyant three-piece suit.
"P-pardon?" he croaks, pushing his spectacles up his little nose again. "They are coming to attack the town? Zoinks! I–I must prepare. That's most troublesome news. Will you be... uh... perhaps helping to handle them again? Since you already have experience with it?" He tries to sound nonchalant, but a visible bead of sweat trickles down his brow as he looks at Amadeus with a mix of terror and desperate hope.
He barely waits for Amadeus to finish signing the paper before grabbing the quill rather impolitely. He quickly scribbles a note: ‘Out of office. Will be back once the attackers are repelled,’ and sticks it to his door with a strange, sticky substance produced from his desk drawer. He then begins frantically throwing ledgers and paper into his pack.
"I shall indeed send a missive to notify the nearby vendors," Pendergast says hastily, his eyes darting toward the door. "Oh! That's perfect, Master Laxer. If it wouldn't inconvenience you terribly, I'd be most grateful if you could secure the final signature. I think it would be most beneficial for you to do so yourself. They can hardly give more excuses to a man of your stature than they could to a simple courier."
He shoves a few more parchments into the pack, ready to bolt. "Now, is there anything else I can help you with?"
DM: Hoard of the Dragon Queen Adventure, Dragons of Stormwreck Isle and even more dragons
Montar approaches the shield dwarf, again making sure that his hand-crafted weapons and armor that bear his mark are visible. In Dwarven, he says, "Greetings friend Escobert. I am Montar Runeseeker and I have come to your town with those who I believe have just warned you of the coming raiders. While primarily a crafter, I can wield a weapon with some skill and I offer my aid in Greenest's defense."
Draylin
The young monk listens with full attention. Very good, sir. We will aid Escobert as we can.
Well done, Tam the Dragon Reporter, he says to Tam when they are beyond earshot of anyone else. A smile betrays his serious tone.
When they reach the ground floor, he pauses to greet Leosin. Do your duty, brother. And then find a cleric and a cot! He then moves to Montar, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. He speaks truth, good Escobert. I would fear for Greenest and flee for the hills were Montar among those moving against us.
When the pleasantries had been exchanged, Draylin too offers his services in defense of the town. I am fleet of foot, should you need a task accomplished with great haste or a scout. However, I will serve the defense of this place in whatever capacity is most needed.
For I am Death and I won't break. I got a life I've got to take. When will it end, this sufferin' of late? It was nice to know you. __The Pretty Reckless