Lost Mine of Phandelver

Garet stops for the moment and pulls some dry leaves and starts to slowly chew them.

Guidance on himself 

"All..Allright M..Marcon l..lets trace road b..back to.d..Druid"

Survival: 17

Garet keeps the party on track towards Thundertree as they head through the dense forest while the sunlight quickly fades into darkness.

Having turned the intensity of his focus more towards his offensive skills, Rigel finds that his familiarity with his natural surroundings has also faded, and struggles to find any fresh water for the party as they travel.

As they walk, Ronk tries to find some water himself.

Survival: 5

Vanzaren informs the goblins they're going to play a game of, "Whoever finds freshwater first gets a prize!" as he goes about trying to find some as well.

Survival: 18

With help from Spit, Vanzaren locates 5 gallons of fresh water in the stump of a tree. The water looks safe - unpolluted by pond scum or dead insects/small animals and appears clear when the wizard cups his hands and lifts out a small sample to inspect it closely.

After dinner, Stopit searches in the area immediately around camp to see if he can find more water.
Wisdom (Survival): 0 vs. DC 10

He convinces Spit that he had found "better" water than Vanzaren, (when in fact it was just a mud puddle, teaming with leaches and mosquito larvae.)
STOPIT - Exhaustion, level 1: disadvantage on ability checks
SPIT - Exhaustion, level 1: disadvantage on ability checks

Having kept their way towards Thundertree and found enough water to satisfy the groups' needs, the party set camp, ate dinner and rested peacefully throughout the night in preparation for the full days' journey ahead of them the next day.

(END OF ADVENTURING DAY)

The following morning, the party breaks camp early to begin their 6-hour journey towards the home of Reidoth the Druid in hopes that he could bring the dwarf Gundren Rockseeker back from the dead.

DATE: 22 Tarsakh, 1481 DR
TIME: 6am
TEMP: 55˚F
PRECIP: none
WIND: none
LIGHT: dawn
LOC: Neverwinter Wood (Forest)

(OOC: Navigation check is not needed if party follows the treeline up the western side of the Neverwinter Wood.)

They party arrives in Thundertree at high noon. They have seen no sign of the green dragon or any other hostile creatures for that matter, however the corpses of the many twig blights they slew during their last visit are still right where they left them albeit slightly sunbleached and beginning to turn into tumbleweeds.

The air is still and not a sound is heard - no chirping of birds or buzzing of gnats. It is as if Thundertree has been frozen in time.

DATE: 22 Tarsakh, 1481 DR
TIME: 12pm
TEMP: 55˚F
PRECIP: none
WIND: none
LIGHT: daylight
LOC: Thundertree (Urban; ruin)

For Marcon at least, the 1st night's rest came with its own burdens upon the spirit and mind. For without the dangers of the castle looming overhead with any immediacy, he could not help but reflect as he stared into the campfire; blissfully ignorant of idle hands fiddling at the string of bones at his wrist. However, it is only a matter of time before eyes wandered in the direction of the momento, as he could hardly bare to look elsewhere. Not without risk of catching the other party members eye.

Whatever presence of mind to assist in navigation earlier or to pass along a day's worth to each goblin that eve had too been lost upon reaching this moment of reflection. If left to his own device, the minutes pass at first without much change in expression. But after which, a war seemed to gradually begin raging across Marcon's face as numbness gave way to resentment and anger and sadness and more. If one's listening closely enough, they might even him whispered the words, "I'm done", "Liar", or "Doesn't Matter". Eventually before officially turning in, a scowling Marcon practically rips off the momento and casts it into the flame. He then takes his spear, and if not stopped, snaps it over a knee a couple of times, before then casting it too into the flames as well. Without a word after, he buries himself in his bedroll, and -- unless forced to stay awake -- goes to sleep.

By the time the group reaches Thundertree the next day Marcon wore a more stone faced mask, and marched right for the Druid's last known dwelling without missing a beat; ready to knock on the elder's door immediately, if noone beats him to the punch.

Rigel is a little unnerved at his failure to locate water but undaunted non the less. He spends the trek soaking in the sounds and smells of the forest reconnecting to the wilds. By the time the party arrives in Thundertree he feels recharged and determined. So determined in fact he doesn't even bother to caution the barbarian about giving away their position and instead simply follows the man to the druids house.

Vanzaren spends the whole way to the druid practicing his sword-play, twirling his scimitar and juggling daggers.

As Marcon raises his hand to knock upon the druid's door, a familiar voice greets him from behind:

"We meet again...have you come in search of more healing? You're not still tangling with that cantankerous dragon are you son?" The group turns to see the druid Reidoth holding a zombie at arm's length by the hair. "I'm not made of healing potions, you know," he says curtly before reaching across to decapitate the growling monster with a large serrated knife. The body drops to the ground and seems to struggle a bit, grasping and clawing at the druid's feet while the shattered jawbone of the freshly-liberated head continues to cyle open and closed for a few seconds more as the remaining lifeforce of undeath escapes into the afterlife.

Reidoth notices the party staring and gives a short shrug. "Cultist," he remarks offhandedly before casually tossing the head into the bushy overgrowth as if it were the remnants of an apple core.

"w..we need y..your help master" interupts Garet. He moves closer to the druid and gently lies dwarf body on the ground. "I..I think it was n..not his time yet"

"Hmm," the druid puzzles as he looks over the dwarf's body. "Looks like he just passed, or...magic is protecting him from becoming...one of those..." he says, casting a sideways glance over his shoulder at the headless zombie lying motionless on the ground behind them.

"Have you come all this way just for me to say a prayer for his soul? Surely one of you could have done so just as easily from wherever you were when you found him, no?" A quiet moment passes and then Reidoth looks up from the body at the others as if to indicate his questions were not rhetorical.

"I have a shovel you can borrow..." he tacks on.

"Well the dragon is still about, we did promise to come back and help you be rid of it and for that primary reason we are here. In our time apart this one named Gundren lost his life. It was our hope you could bring him back to us."

Chimes in Rigel.

Garet moves his towering 7.8f of blue'ish "firbolgnes" as close to the druid as possible and as he looks at him from the top he takes deep breath and starts slowly

"Master..No..time..for..your...smart..shenanigans.. Can...you...bring...him...back...or...your...powers...are...to..weak?"

“I am more disposed to keeping things alive rather than fetching their tired souls back to this existence,” quips Reidoth. “But I know someone who can...” he says as he pushes past Marcon into his small hovel.

Garet carefully fallows Reidoth

Though a might curious about the cultist remark, Marcon is otherwise quiet and seemingly distracted by the recently beheaded undead throughout the exchange. Even his usual habit of rural hospitality in at least greeting the elder is absent. Fortunately, he at least perks up hearing the man's last words, and if somewhat belatedly half moves and is half pushed aside on the way into the hovel. As the last member is readying to likely step inside, he said calmly, "I'm gonna stay out here, if that's alright. Make sure they ain't no other disturbances."

Rigel also follows the druid inside. Once settled Rigel removes the satchel containing the potions. 

"By the way, you wouldn't by chance be able to tell us what these potions are would you?"

"Oh give em here," Vanzaren says, following him in. He uncorks all three of them and takes a sip from each. "Got to take risks at some point in your life."