Dragon of Icespire Peak ***CLOSED***

When Connak enters the small inn room, he finds a human male of about 30 years sitting up in bed with multiple bandages on his head and arms. One arm has been splinted. He is in obvious discomfort, but is alert. When asked about what happened, the young man tells the following story:

"It happened nearly a tenday ago. We had just finished breakfast when we heard a commotion from several of the animals. Running out to the porch we saw the barn and smithy engulfed in flames and animals scattering this way and that. Big Al grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and yelled at me...he thought I had left the forge burning again, but I know I hadn't! Al smacked me around a bit, but the other hands run towards the barn to rescue the other animals...and then, several orcs walked from around the corner and shut the barn door behind them! They threw the latch and sat around laughing while those men burned to death! Big Al took me inside and told me to find a horse and ride for town...then I saw him grab a sword and head for the orcs! I ran out the back, right into another raider. He was alone, but roughed me up pretty good. I got him in the eyes with a fistful of dirt...that's how I got away. Found a mare a few hundred yards away in a meadow. It took me days to make it here...no weapon, no food, no water and pretty beat up...I could only make it a few miles a day...."

The man's voice trails off, as he breaks down into tears.

Connak muses and asks the others if the timeline fits, "Hmm, a tenday ago.  We ran into those orcs at the ruins a few days ago.  Same ones, do you think?"

" Methinks these may be from the very same tribe yon orcs came from, indeed. Now, whether our deserters were taken back into the fold or not, is another matter entirely... although it would seem rather unlikely... Orcs do not look kindly upon those who have been spared after a defeat in battle: such behaviour would most certainly be considered a mark of weakness by their tribesmen, and thus bring out a swift death !" Tabesha'l says to Connak, her index finger tapping absent-mindedly against her lower lip as she reflects on the survivor's story.

She turns to Vaxis: " Perhaps your skills may help young Timothy to mend more quickly ? He has certainly been put through quite an ordeal..." 

 Her face then suddenly  freezes like white marble as she seems to be struck by a new train of thought: " I for one would very much like to know more about the orc tribes that can be found around here, such as their approximative numbers, their raiding habits, their hunting grounds and other useful details. Most of all, if we do decide to take this new endeavour upon us we should make sure we all are properly rested and equiped... and also able to communicate or at least understand our enemy's worded intentions. I'll put it plainly: does anyone of use speak this brutish orcish idiom ?"

Connak rolls his eyes, "There's no need to learn about Orcs.  They pillage and plunder, even among themselves and have been Elven enemies long enough.  If there was anything redeemable or worth knowing about them, it would have been done by now.  As for this lucky bastard, what do we gain by going to his farm?  I'm not exactly willing to put myself in the warpath of orcs to give poor farmers a decent burial.  If there's anything left to bury.  I mean, I don't fancy digging through Orc stomachs looking for villagers to bury."

“Beats digging through dragon belly to find villagers.  What are we if we don’t look out for those who can’t protect themselves?  Might as well turn to pillaging and plundering ourselves.”  Vadernul replies to Connak

Connak looks perplexed, "The farm was ransacked a tenday ago.  What do you expect to find by the time we get there?"

"I...I think they might still be there," mutters Timothy weakly. "I don't speak much orc, but Big Al taught us a few words to use if we ever got caught by a couple of them out on the ranch. I think I heard one of them say 'this ours now' or something to that effect and then 'you slave now' to Big Al...he was furious! I think they probably would have just killed him if he had given in, but orcs love aggression...I think they were genuinely amused by Big Al's rage, maybe even impressed a little! If there's even a small chance he's still alive...you've...someone's got to go get him! Or if they did kill him, avenge his death and the farmhands they burned alive!"

The man's voice grows from a meager whisper to a frantic shout as his words spill out and then he collapses into painful sobs once more. 

Vadernul gingerly pats the shoulder of the man as he cries while keeping his eye contact with Connak  “We will go and find out.  We will give your friend his house back, if possible.  We don’t do it expecting something for ourselves, but because it’s just.”  Then he kneels down and says his chant like a prayer with the injured man.

”Prakt, Strev, Rang, glang byrd.
Stomm rang glang du.
Blod ettin er blod kong.
Gi tusen val nul.
Trut zund stommpaart.”

Connak shrugs.  "Then let us first go tell the mayor that Gnomes didn't have anything to help with dragons."

On their way to see (or rather hear) the townmaster, they pass by the hiring board which has a, single fresh bulletin posted: "WANTED: foolishly brave individuals to investigate the orc raid at Butterskull Ranch in Conyberry to determine the fate of Al Kalazorn"

When the party arrives at the house of Harbin Wester, the townmaster' s voice greets them harshly from the other side of his locked door: "You again, eh? Bring anything useful back from Gnomengarde?" Looking down, the party can see a set of eyes glaring back at them through the mail slot. "You there, what's that hat your wearing? You didn't have that last time...what is it?"

While looking at the eyes through the mail slot, Connak points at Tabesha'l and says, "Townmaster, that's a hat.  People wear them when they go outside.  It protects their head from the sun and rain.  As for he gnomes, we went but they had nothing that would help to defeat or repel a dragon.

Look around Townmaster, your little town is deserted.  If you don't do anything, soon you'll be the Townmaster of nothing.

Now, I suppose that bulletin to go discover the fate of Al Kalazorn pays?"

Vadernul motions to the group mimicking if they want him to knock down the door, out of the sight of the mail slot.

"I'll give you fifty gold pieces for the hat," says the townmaster sharply. "Is that ALL you were able to pry out of those stupid gnomes? And no, the Butterskull Ranch job does not pay, other than the satisfaction that ye did a good deed for a man who has done plenty in his lifetime. So, you going to sell me that hat and then go away or just go away?"

(OOC: breaking down the townmaster's front door will require a DC 20 Strength (Athletics) check. Alternately, one could attempt to pick the lock with a DC15 Dexterity (Thieves' Tools) check, which would be made with disadvantage as long as the townmaster stands near the door.)

Barric shakes his head at Vadernul and whispers so Harbin cannot hear him.

"It would not be worth the ire of Barthen. This man will get what is coming to him once the dragon is dead, I assure you, but for now let us let it be."

Tabesha'l leans over and bends down towards the mail slot, her azure eyes gleaming softly.

" Good Townmaster, I think thou knowest that we risked our lives and indeed our very sanity by venturing into yon gnomish depths. Why, even our Paladin friend Vaxis here almost lost his very shape... this is a Most Noble Dragonborn, and his Integrity was almost forfeit ! A humble, albeit somewhat ungainly hat is a poor reward for such a painful ordeal, would thee not agree ? "

Her lips twist into a cold smile as she adds: " In fact, thee probably wisheth to reward us properly, seeing as we are now good friends. Very, very close friends. Are we not ? "

As she speaks the last words, her voice seems to enlarge and echo through the air, the sound and very feel of it evoking a warm breath of spring. The stone at the tip of her cobalt staff pulsates in rhythm with her words and she smiles even wider at the figure beyond the door.

** casting Charm Person on Barthen, DC 13. **

Harbin Wester gazes into the deep pools of Tabesha'l's eyes as waves of warmth wash over him and a tingle shivers up his spine...his feelings of frustration and aggression begin to slowly ebb from his consciousness, giving way to strange emotions of...politeness? No...endearment? Perhaps, but not quite...friendship...yes, this woman is his...

 ...loyal friend...

The mail slot snaps shut and a bolt throws over in the lock and a second later the party stands eye-to-eye with the townmaster of Phandalin...

"...what are you lookin' at flower face?!" he snaps at Vaxis before turning his gaze back to Tabesha'l as a wide grin sprawls across his face...

" So very nice  to meet thee face-to-face, Townmaster Wester. But oh my... ! I say, you're much  taller and handsomer than I'd previously thought ! Truly, this town is fortunate to have such a competent man  at its helm !" Tabesha'l beams, daintily offering her hand for the wretched coward to hold. " Now, be thee a dear and go get some proper vestments fit for a man of thy stature. We have much to do to help the needs of thy people, wouldn't thee agree ?"

She turns to the others with a raised eyebrow and a small smile plays on her lips for a second before she adds: " Of course thou will want to bring the gold  that shall be required to execute thy generous will  and also facilitate its implementation: thy people hath suffered and a good many things  will have to be purchased to boost morale and prepare for defense. Hurry now, thy loyal subjects await thee !"

"Indeed fair lady...I must say, I have neglected my station as of late, you see the village I grew up in was destroyed by white dragon many years ago....Icingdeath was his name..." the townmaster's voice trials off and he stares blankly into space for a few short moments as the haunting memories replay themselves in his mind. "...but as I understand it, the great Drizz't Do'Urden and Wulfgar, son of Beornegar laid that terrible beast low a few decades hence..."

Wester's gaze returns to the beautiful elf once more: "A great friend of Phandalin has befallen a similar fate and is in dire need of help...in his retirement as the Sheriff of Triboar, Al Kalazorn operates a small ranch near the Conyberry ruins. His beloved cow Petunia has the sweetest milk, from which "Big Al" churns exquisite butter that he forms into the shapes of small skulls...a bit morbid perhaps, but it pays his mortgage. An orcish raiding party sacked his homestead nearly a tenday ago...one of his ranch hands escaped to bring us this horrible news and plea for a posse that might rush to Big Al's rescue, if he yet lives. If you were to undertake such a task, what assistance might I provide to you, dear elf?"

 The elven mage bows low to the townmaster as he tells of his plight, but her companions can tell she is supressing a mischievious grin.

" Well, I feel it would be just retribution and valiant effort on thy part to come with us to yon tavern, where we shall call for a town meeting. Once there, thou couldst most easily invite yon villagers to a great feast - at thy own cost of course, seeing how thou hast so much care for their well-being - after which thou can at long last be freed of thy duty as townmaster and pass it on to someone... shall we say, more fitting  to this daunting task ? Be assured that we shall provide all the help thou shallt need in thy transition, and secure thy travel out of town. I do understand thy work here hath come to its natural conclusion, hath it not ?"

She smiles sweetly, awaiting Harbin's answer.

Connak purchases 50ft of silk rope (10gp).  (Already deducted from coin.)