Lost Mine of Phandelver

For just the briefest of moments, Marcon's righteous fury flags under the weight of the man's conviction. And after so many years of being taught to respect those older than him, when called a 'young man', any the impetus to surge forth just the man up before anger dies away completely is held in check by those very teachings. However, at some point between mentioning Myrkul and religious affairs, it became just too much.

'This is how evil works... Not even denying intent, but worming about the words... better off without such silver tongues... just like 'that' other one.... Rip and Tear .... Rip and.... Tear' He thought? Or was it another's voice again? Marcon knew not which for certain, and having made his peace, would not put further thought into it. So, mid last sentence, Marcon marched up to the speaker, grab him by the collar, and bring him in close.

"They ain't nuthin' remotely acceptable 'bout the one ya'll worship... nuthin'.... not no round about way to it.... 'n by all accounts, I aughta rip ya'll a new one fer come'n here try'na set up to stir some shit.... But the dragon's dead. His bones and flesh been given to the forest.... Y'all ain't got no business left here. So, ya'll can either leave under yer on two legs, and take the time ask ya'll selves if ya'll really wanna keep to the way ya'll on... or I can send ya to ya precious majesty the painful way. Eitha way, ya'll no longer welcome in these parts. Ya feel me!?" He shouts, giving the man a hard shake.

Ronk leans in to the building and waves to the cultists. "Uh... Hi. You... You might want to listen to him."

Rigel waits patiently outside until Marcon exits he then heads back to Vanzaren, Gundren, and Reidoth. Once everybody is collected he'll check the time of day and if there are at least 4 hours left in the day he'll say, "Well if everyone is packed, lets offer Reidoth our thanks and be on our way."

Vanzaren raises an eyebrow, "Impressive you managed to scare them off without lifting a sword."

"Well not so much "scared" as "they were ready to go" but we can go with scared. Now are we ready?" says Rigel.

Inside, the masked man extracts himself from Marcon's grip, smooths his robe back into place and nods curtly to the five others indicating that they should head for the hole in the wall where their door used to be. Stepping outside, the man startles once again when he nearly runs into a bugbear and firbolg, both easily 2-3 feet taller than he. Collecting his composure once again, he growls as he pushed past them though the others give Ronk and Garet a much wider berth.

After they have gained several yards of distance and are well out of earshot from Marcon and the other party members, Favric leans over to one of the others and quietly whispers: "Is the device secure?" His henchman responds with an affirmative nod. "Excellent," says the cultist, "...a minor setback, but we will deal with them soon enough..."

The six black-robed figures quickly drop out of sight as they scurry northward past the dragon's keep and out of the runis of Thundertree.

"w..well..GoodBye" Says disoriented Garet. He looks at the destroyed doors and shrugs his shoulders "a..at least we can fix this". He grabs some dirt from the ground and rubs it on the door while mumbling some simple incantation about returning shapes in to their desired forms [OOC: you all know what spell]

Marcon is glaring after them the entire way out. Between murderous impulses and righteous ones, it irked him to no end being even remotely merciful.... However, they hadn't done anything yet, or drawn blades as he'd hoped they would secretly upon more forcefully threatening their leader. So, with teeth gritted behind firmly shut lips, he watched and waited for them to leave his sights. He then looks back to their former base of operations as Garet went about fixing the door for... whatever reason.

After a moment's hesitation, curiosity gets the better of him. So, for however long it took Garet's magic to complete, and perhaps a minute more, Marcon turns over the insides, hoping to find any left behind writings or oddities that might clue him in more to their intended business with the dragon.

Perception: 22 (if needed. And if Investigation, -1 instead.)

Following all that, Marcon grumpily regroups with the others. Rigel's last remark about the cultist elicits a frustrated grunt out of the former farmhand. But having enough sense of mind not speak, least anger get the better of him again, he slowly nods in answer to the half-elf's question.

Ronk waves at the departing cultists, then leans against the wall of the house, watching Garet fix the door.

Now that Thundertree had, for the.time being, been cleared of threats Rigel says one last goodbye to Reidoth and begins the trek back to Phandelin.

Vanzaren cracks his knuckles, following the group, "I suppose we'll be off then."

The local time is about 4pm when the party sets off for Phandalin with a journey of about 65 miles ahead of them. They travel south, hugging the treeline of the Neverwinter Wood so as to avoid the robbers and highwaymen that frequent the portion of The High Road stretching between Neverwinter and Leilon.

They journey for about 10 miles, until the sun dips below the horizon far out on the Sea of Swords, bathing the area around them in darkness. As they set up camp, A lone traveler approaches...one the party knows.

"My friends," says Sildar Hallwinter in a voice that communicates both relief as well as happiness,"I though you had been done in by the wilds of this place. I came to find you and hopefully Gundren too," says the man coming closer to Gundren and grasping the dwarf's hand in a firm handshake. "How are you my friend? Alive, I see...but, well?"

"Sildar! It's good to see you!" Says Rigel with an uncharacteristic smile. "We told you we would find him and we have. We were just on our way to Phandelin. What news have you?

Suddenly remembering their encounter with the shape shifted Rigel becomes wary.

Insight: 13 to see if this seems like the true Sildar.

21

Rigel believes this to be the true Sildar Hallwinter…the man before them looks, speaks (and even smells) like the genuine article.

Rigel eagerly welcomes Sildar to join them as he continues to set camp. Soon a fire is going and some food is roasting. Rigel steikes up a conversation with Sildar.

"Our appologies for the delay we've had some...interesting...experiences since we last met. But we've overcome our obstacles to join you once again. I'm sorry you felt the need to come looking for us. These woods are not safe. You really shouldn't have come out here alone. You did come out alone, correct?"

From the moment Marcon at least had laid eyes on Sildar, the youth had not regarded him with welcome or trust. Instead, once the initial confusion and surprise wore off, he kept as much of a wary eye on the man as possible while the group finished preparing the camp site. Tried to, in any event, though Marcon's personal efforts are slack from divided attention. In between keeping that eye out and working, he also strained to recall the last conversation they had with Sildar. Specifically, he'd hope to recall what were the reasons why the man had not just come along with them instead of stay behind in town.

History: 13.

Come what may of internal research, the ex-farmhand remained silent initially once everything was set up, and kept his eyes glued on the man. And nothing short of something physically hurting him or the others actively trying to break his gaze would keep the once warm brown eyes of the youth of the Sildar.

(@DMCrow: Take it nothing came of Marcon's search of the building?)

.

"Yes, I came alone. I'm a member of the Lords' Alliance after all...you don't become one of the most powerful and influential organizations in Faerun without daring the wilds every now and again." The man turns to Gundren: "I see they have recovered you in one piece, my friend...does your map survive as well, or did the goblins strip it from you?"

"It's safe," mutters Gundren in between mouthfuls of rations. Sildar nods in acknowledgement that the map was at least not destroyed or stolen. 

The man then turns his conversational attention towards the others: he compliments Garet on his handiness with what appears to be a new-used set of cooking utensils and asks Vanzaren and Ronk about the books they have poking out of their sachels. 

"Have you heard any word of Gundren's brothers? I'm sure he'd like to know if they are okay." Asks Rigel.

"I'm going to be completely honest," Vanzaren says, pulling the book out. "I mainly picked it up cause I thought the title was funny. I don't really like reading all that much... most of the time."

Ronk pulls out the pamphlet on Candlekeep. "I found this about some kind of library place. Oh, and a book of 'spoken word poetry'." He frowns, thinking. "Wait, how can it be spoken word if it's written down?"