The Phandalin Chronicles

Earlier with Rekuberk:

"A gift is hardly a gift when one expects repayment, my friend." Rhogar said mirthfully. "But, I do appreciate the sentiment nonetheless." He replied prior to business with Kazri taking him away, and leaving him fairly at a loss.

Later at the house!:

"Mn. Perhaps this would explain why Brother Vixix had been quiet these past few months. For it seems my work here is not yet done." Rhogar grins soon turns into a small frown. "Though you do mean the Icewind Dales, yes? Not Luskan? Because if it is... in either which case, let it be our business there is done swiftly, or if we must stop there, it's for no more than a day. For what I've heard of the particular city is... disquieting. Understandable to an extent, but-...." He shakes his head while growling under breath.

"Regardless, we best make what preparations we can in Neverwinter -- Which by the way is fairly warm, Chip, thanks to something to do with Hotenewy or whatever it's called." He adds, making some offhanded gesture. "Hints the name 'Never Winter'. Hoho. Those clever founders." He snorts. "I take it will be leaving at first light, I take it?"

"I am ready to go at the first light." replies Krom. The dwarf murmurs a prayer of Sending aimed to his cousin Barin "Moradin needs me and the Fellowship in the far north. I may take a while. Keep Axeholm safe and running."

"I have all my weapons and supplies with me, I will load them in our carriage as soon as we are done."

"To tell the truth Mr. Nimbatuul, I am not sure where we are heading." Kazri replies to Rhogar's question. "My understanding is that we should get more detail once we arrive at Neverwinter, and board this ship that will take us north. I believe."

"Very well." Says Kazri after Krom. "Gentlemen, if we are all in agreement, and ready, I would like to suggest that we leave at first light."

Afterwards, Kazri approaches Krom. "Master Krom. I would like to apologize for not doing this earlier. I would like to thank you for the shield you have crafted for me. As always, it is clearly made of great craftsmanship."

(@Krom. Cousin Barin?? LOL)

"Do not mention it lass, it is always a pleasure to craft items such that shield." replies Krom "I hope that it will serve you well."

"I wonder where our next adventure will take us. I am not a great fan of ships, but I will do my best to enjoy this sea trip."

"Maybe Never Winter is warm..... When I think North I think Cold... Maybe it is never...not... winter.. like always winter?" Chip would add with a shrug before tapping his claw to his chin. "Rek, is Neverwinter cold?" He would ask with genuine interest. 

Rhogar had nodded understandingly at the answer from kazri, and might've remained pensive about it if not for Chip. Both Rhogar and Ghorar facepalm. "Chip... I-.... Well, I suppose I didn't express this sooner. But, I've been Neverwinter for the past few months for the most part as well." He said, giving his fellow dragonborn a mirthful smirk towards the end. "So, I would think I would know."

"Only the docks really get cold at all, though that is to be expected." He starts and with a "Speaking of which!", he pulls from a thus far nondescript satchel slung over his shoulder a parcel of some sort. "Kazri! Before I forget-..." He called over to as he got to approach her. "For you. Sorry it took so long to return it. I had thought I might find time to further alter the design, but our old windmill friend has kept quite busy." With that, the parcel is held out for her. Within which lied the clothing she spared him, only perhaps not quite as solely practical as they once were. It someways it now seemed almost 'alive', pleasingly soft to the touch, and embroidered in some place to better fit a more nature-y theme.

(If there was time, he probably would've made more, but as it stands I figure I'd throw out  possiblities for the appearance. Though ultimately its up to Kazri/Wolfy in the end.)

The Fellowship spent the evening discussing the their plans and made last minute arrangements to head north.

Still unsure exactly where they needed to go Kazri awoke the next day determined to head for Neverwinter and figure it out along the way.

Some clarification comes in the form of a letter addressed to her. As the party gathered to leave a small boy approached.

"Miss Kazri? This is for you. Sister Garaele asked me to deliver first thing this morning."

He holds out an envelope. You take it from him and toss him a silver piece in thanks. The boys eyes light up as he looks at the coin, thanks you, and then runs off.

"Don't spend it all on sweets!" You call to him but you know he will.

Opening the letter you see it is from Sister Garaele and is written in a strong but graceful script.

To Kazri and the Fellowship of the White Cloaks,

I had hoped to meet with you again in person but last minute business has me leaving town. Enclosed you will find a Letter of Passage for the ship Icebreaker. It is currently docked in Neverwinter and is headed north in a tenday. They are expecting your party and expenses for the voyage north have been paid. Look into the rumors of trouble to the north and deal with them as you can. I wish I had more information to provide you but I trust your judgment and the skills of your companions.

Signed,

Sister Garaele

PS. Do NOT use It again, not for any reason whatever! Do not travel by night!

PPS. Make sure that it is the real Icebreaker. There are many strange ships at the docks. The captain's true name is Aragorn.

PPPS. I hope Rimmy sends this promptly. A worthy boy, but his memory is like a lumber-room: things wanted always buried. If he forgets, I shall roast him.

Chip would turn to Rhogar and hold up his hands. "Well why didn't ya say that to start!" He would say with a grin. "i'll take yer word for it then I suppose" he would add before taking out one of his lutes and strumming just a few chords as small white glowing snowflakes seemingly fall around them. 

And we can continue here

https://www.dndbeyond.com/forums/dungeons-dragons-discussion/play-by-post/78507-the-tales-of-the-fellowship-of-the-white-cloaks

Three months have passed since the White Cloaks — the heroes who slew Cryovain the white dragon and then journeyed north to end the Everlasting Rime — left Phandalin for Icewind Dale. They have not returned. New adventurers head to a town that has known real heroes, weathered a dragon, and is now quietly fraying under the pressure of Redbrand remnants and the first whispers of something wrong beneath the earth.

OOC: Rocky is still being considered. I'm hoping including him here might help the DM make his decision.

Three months.

Three months at sea is a long time. Never before has she been cooped up for that length of time. Sure, she spent at least half of every fair day on deck — enjoying the salty wind, exercising, reading, napping, and enjoying tea. She even spent some time allowing the various sailors to explain to her their jobs. She has no interest in performing the tasks necessary for sailing — the sailors are more capable — and are being paid to do the work — but she did want to truly appreciate them, and for them to know she appreciates them.

But the ship is only 80 feet long. She could walk from bow to stern in less than 10 seconds, and that accounts for climbing the steps to the quarterdeck and being tossed by the waves. She longed to run.

She also misses her family. She can't remember the last time she has been away from every member of her family for this long. And while Tutu feels like family, he is a poor substitute for her beloved brothers. She misses their mischievous grins and mighty hugs. She misses their teasing and their encouragement. While Tutu is a great listener, and while he sometimes feels like her conscience, he does not laugh at her jokes ... and he refuses to cuddle under the covers at night.

And then there is Rocky. Her loyal attendant's job is to make sure everything she needs on the journey is a fingertip away. He was ... is invaluable, but he is not family. And he is not really a friend. Her few attempts to make him one have been politely rebuffed. She hasn't completely give up, but she also doesn't want to make him uncomfortable.

Why did she spend three months on a sailing vessel bound for the Sword Coast? Because for her twenty-fourth birthday, she demanded a ship so that she could embark on a "rugged wilderness retreat." Her brothers had taken similar trips after their twentieth birthdays, but Akra's father and mother had been stubborn where she was concerned. Despite their assurances that she was no different than her brothers, they were reluctant to let her go. Well, she had been patient enough! And they finally relented.

Princess Akra of Talonara steps onto the worn and weathered planks of one of Neverwinter's docks. Despite its steadiness, she feels her strong legs wobble in response to the months she spent at sea. Still, she smiles. She reaches down and fluffs her beautiful pink dress; adjusts the flowered neckless around her thick, green neck; and then reaches up to her brow. With a little wave of her stubby fingers, new flowers bloom and adorn the top of her scaled head.

Akra is of dragonborn lineage. She is tall — six and a half feet — and strong. Her luminous, green scales fall from the top of her head to the tip of her thick tail. Nothing about her is dainty, but she still carries herself like a lady. Despite her brothers' efforts to turn her into another boy, her mother made sure she knew how to be feminine ... even if she doesn't always choose to be.

The princess turns to watch Rocky descend to the dock behind her. The orange kobold is loaded like a pack mule, and is all the happier to be. He meets her eye and gives a nod of reassurance. She does not pity him, not does she question his ability to manage the load. She returns his nod and then looks up at the deck of the ship. "Tutu!" she sings in her low alto.

A bird soars down from one of the masts and lands upon Akra's shoulder. It has a black back, white chest and neck, and a large beak the colors of a sunset. Tutu is a toucan ... an unusual toucan. If someone had been watching the bird, they would have sworn they saw it land and then land again as if there were two birds. But there is only one.

Akra turns and begins walking toward the city. Rocky follows a respectful distance behind.

The princess' eyes twinkle with delight as she observes everything around her. So much of it is so foreign to her: the people, the roads, the buildings, and even some of the animals. She feels like laughing when she sees a street vendor grilling meat right out in the open! People buy the chunks lined up on thin sticks. How quaint!

Noticing the slant of the shadows, she decides she should find a place to stay for the night. Soon, she will spend her first night in Faerûn.

5 Tarsahk 1496

The great walls of Neverwinter loomed behind you, their gray stone still catching the pale gold of early morning light. Merchants shouted over one another near the gatehouses while caravan guards checked straps, counted crates, and muttered prayers to any god willing to keep the High Road peaceful for another tenday.

Peace, however, was never guaranteed on the Sword Coast.

Beyond the southern gates, amid the churned mud and wagon ruts, stood a single broad-wheeled supply wagon painted with fading blue trim. Two thick-necked oxen snorted clouds into the cool morning air while iron-bound crates and bundled mining gear were lashed beneath heavy canvas tarps.

A dwarf stood atop the wagon bed, tightening the last rope with practiced hands.

Ungrim Ironfist was built like a fortress wall — broad shoulders, weathered mail beneath a patched traveler’s coat, and a beard bound in three iron rings blackened with age and soot. One side of his nose had clearly been broken more than once. A notched battleaxe rested within easy reach near the driver’s bench, though the dwarf moved with the confidence of someone who hoped not to need it.

“Hold still, yeh stubborn bastards…” he muttered to the oxen as one tried to chew through its own harness.

With a grunt, Ungrim hopped down from the wagon and gave the beast an affectionate slap on its flank.

“There now. Try not t’ embarrass me in front o’ the hired help.”

He turned then, scanning the small gathering of sellswords, wanderers, pilgrims, drifters, and would-be adventurers who had answered the call for caravan guards. Some looked seasoned. Some looked desperate. A few looked like they had never slept outdoors a day in their lives.

Ungrim stroked his beard once before speaking.

“Well then. If yeh’re standin’ here, I’ll assume yeh can swing a blade, loose an arrow, cast a spell, or at least scream loud enough t’ warn the rest of us when somethin’ with teeth comes crawlin’ out o’ the brush.”

A crooked grin spread beneath his beard.

“Name’s Ungrim. Wagon’s bound for Phandalin. We’ll take the High Road south, then cut east on the Triboar Trail. Supplies for miners, traders, and fools optimistic enough t’ think frontier life builds character instead o’ graves.”

He jabbed a thumb toward the wagon.

“Pay’s fair, 10 gold for each of ya when we reach the end. Food’s included so long as yeh don’t complain about salt pork. And if we survive the road without goblins, bandits, manticores, or tax collectors killin’ us, there’ll be ale waiting at the end.”

Around you, the sounds of Neverwinter continued unabated: gulls crying overhead from the harbor, wagon wheels rattling across stone, and distant temple bells welcoming the dawn.

But southward, beyond the safety of the city walls, the road stretched into wild country.

And somewhere far beyond those hills and forests, the frontier town of Phandalin waited — a place rebuilding itself atop old ruins, haunted by recent legends and older dangers still stirring beneath the earth.

Ungrim Steelfist

Princess Akra

Thalas 'Wavebreaker' Stormswept

Bozzlewick B. Boulderdash

The wagon had traveled nearly half a day south of Neverwinter before anyone truly noticed him.

During a short stop along the The High Road, while the oxen drank from a narrow stream and the others stretched their legs, someone finally looked toward the back of the wagon and froze.

 A very pale Tiefling sat among the supplies, cloak wrapped tightly around himself like a second layer of darkness. Silent. Motionless. Watching the trees.

 No one had seen him climb aboard.

 No one remembered him speaking.

 It almost felt as though he had always been there, and only now had the mind decided to acknowledge him.

 When questioned, the Tiefling introduced himself simply as Nyxaris Threnody.

 He offered no threats. No excuses. Only a calm explanation that traveling with a group was safer than walking the roads alone toward Phandalin.

Nyxaris remained seated at the back of the wagon, exactly where the others had first found him — a pale, still figure half‑wrapped in his dark cloak, as though carved from the morning mist itself. He did not fidget. He did not shift. He simply sat, hands folded loosely in his lap, watching the treeline with an unreadable calm. He was used to this: being alone even among people. Most avoided him without realizing why.

Up close, his features were almost unsettling in their perfection — symmetrical, smooth, and ethereal in a way that hinted at infernal lineage. His skin held a faint, cold luminescence, like moonlight on fresh snow. His eyes were a muted, icy blue, deep and distant. His horns curved back in elegant arcs, polished obsidian catching the faintest glint of daylight. Even his stillness felt intentional, as though he were conserving motion the way others conserved breath.

When he finally spoke, his voice was exactly what one might expect from a dream given shape — a low, resonant baritone, soft and whispery, like someone speaking directly into your ear while somehow sounding far away.

“Traveling with others is safer than walking alone." He murmured, the words drifting like smoke. “Phandalin is my destination as well.” He offered nothing more unless approached.

If Ungrim Steelfist approaches: Nyxaris lifted his gaze and gave the dwarf a slow, respectful nod — an acknowledgment of leadership, quiet and sincere.

If Princess Akra approaches: For the first time, a faint warmth touched his expression — the smallest curve of a smile, polite and almost courtly. He dipped his head in a subtle, graceful curtsy‑like nod. “Princess,” he greeted, voice a velvet whisper. “An honor.” It was the only moment anyone saw even a hint of emotion cross his face. 

If Thalas approaches: Nyxaris offered a simple, indifferent nod — not rude, merely neutral, as though acknowledging a passing stormcloud.

If Bozzlewick approaches: Nyxaris’s posture shifted just slightly, enough to suggest genuine interest. He inclined his head with scholarly respect. “Bozzlewick Boulderdash,” he said, voice soft but carrying. “A fellow seeker of knowledge. May your discoveries be… enlightening.”

It was the only time his tone carried a hint of warmth — the quiet recognition of one academic soul to another.

Bozzlewick had contingencies, of course, had his initial entreaty to join the waggoneers headed for Phandalin. Not necessarily great ones or an immeasurable amount by any stretch of the imagination, but somewhere closer to... a handful at best? But noone needed to know with any certainty from the start, so why sabotage his own efforts for gainful employment and convenient transportation! Yes, it also went against character to keep from laying out all his cards as was his wont most of the time; and yes, it almost physically hurt to act anything less than his usual unfailingly honest and direct self! But desperate times called for desperate measures, and frankly Ungrim hadn't appeared to be the sort to care about hearing the entirety of one's backstory and tribulations. At least not when all that had been required at the time was able bodied men and women to help guard a shipment of mining supplies! THAT, and avoid being a burden to everyone in the process!

Simple! However, even hours into the journey the gnome kept finding his mind wandering back to that initial encounter, before then invariably spiraling towards questioning why his entreaties had been truly successful in the first. In taking a gander at himself, and to what the deserts of Mulhorand had transformed over the years, what was making its way to Phandalin was no pale, scrawny welp too curious for his own good from yesteryear; but instead, it was a lean, sun-kissed skinned, and still relatively young gnome of sound mind and smelling of citrusy cleaning agent(think pinesol)!

And further a fool he'd be to think of comparing himself in physical might to almost over half the company of guards! Other more obvious possible reasons came to mind before long, only to be quietly dismissed in another soft sigh. "Mah-ee..." Bozzlewick murmured as he took off the thick framed glass to carefully clean fore a moment or two. The first step of several to some form of nerve managing ritual others might observe. After that, he'd again readjust his satchel (more a artisan's first draft seeing as it was made more of various patches than any one piece), brush back raven black hair to ensure no errant strand were out of place, and then with glasses freshly donned, orange eyes began looking towards the others. Really looking this time, seeing as their short stop along the High Road offered a new opportunity for proper reintroductions or to learn more about his fellow travelers.

"But where to start, where to start..." He murmured while rubbing his chin and casually studying the others before his eyes eventually fell upon the tiefling. Wait, tiefling? Had Nyxaris always been with them? He looked away and began pantomiming flipping through parges in a book, only to soon 'close' it and conclude the answer was a resounding 'yes'. "How you holding up there, friend-o?" The gnome cheerful asked as he approached the tiefling, and seizing upon an opportunity to make up for having so blithely ignored the the man up to now. Because, it absolutely had been his fault. A bad habit he'd picked up to help him from poor memory management.

Bozzlewick's cheeks darken from embarrassment at the answer in kind. "Yes, well, I doubt there'll be many discoveries I'll be making any time soon, seeing as I'm somewhat on sabbatical at the moment!" He replied to Nyxaris, not even thinking to question how he'd known his name. For surely they'd talked before and again the gnome had but himself to blame for even forgetting so recent a memory.

Thalas then turns to Princess Akra and booms “Are you a princess for real! I ain’t never met one before! What’s it like have a whole bunch of people doing what ya want without having to convince ‘em first?”