The Road to Phandalin

In the city of Neverwinter, a dwarf named Gundren Rockseeker asked you to bring a wagonload of provisions to the rough-and-tumble settlement of Phandalin, a couple of days’ travel southeast of the city. Gundren was clearly excited and more than a little secretive about his reasons for the trip, saying only that he and his brothers had found “something big,” and that he’d pay you ten gold pieces each for escorting his supplies safely to Barthen’s Provisions, a trading post in Phandalin. He then set out ahead of you on horse, along with a warrior escort named Sildar Hallwinter, claiming he needed to arrive early to “take care of business.”

You’ve spent the last few days following the High Road south from Neverwinter, and you’ve just recently veered east along the Triboar Trail. You’ve encountered no trouble so far, but this territory can be dangerous. Bandits and outlaws have been known to lurk along the trail.

Please introduce your characters and what they've been doing during the journey. Feel free to go into more details on how they met Gundren and why they agreed to guard his wagon. Finally, please tell me where your character has been traveling in relation to the wagon itself. Are they one of the drivers (up to two), riding in the wagon itself, or walking alongside it? 

After Gundren had left, Ellora turned to her new companions. Some she had met before, whilst gallivanting around the city with Verellia, while others were new to her. With a cheerful grin, she broke the silence of the newly-formed party "Well, I imagine this will be quite fun!" With that, she dug into the previously untouched meal she had ordered at the tavern, clearly not one for waiting. 

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They had been traveling on the road for some time now. Ellora sniffs the fresh air, breathing in the smell of the outdoors. Despite being covered in dust, she doesn't particularly seem to care, reveling in the feeling of being dirty after so long spent in city, far away from the mud and dirt of the farm.

With a contented sigh, she looks around at her companions from her perch at the back of the wagon. Those she did not know previously, such as Throg and Chretien, she talks with constantly, discussing things such as where they're from, what they plan to do with the gold, what their skills are, how pretty that flower on the side of the road is, et cetera.

Despite being very talkative and bright, being surprisingly keen-witted for someone who lived on a farm for the first 16 years of her life, she possesses almost no tact whatsoever. Her questions are a little too invasive, though she is saved from being completely socially awkward by a cheerful spirit, and naive nature that is endearing to those of more protective instincts.

However, those she has already know, such as Herron, Magnus, and Clara, she doesn't say as much to. Of course, she still is polite and kind, but she seems to be almost avoiding them. What all of this clearly conveys to her fellow party members, is that she is very easy to read and ready to share almost everything about her. To imagine her trying to lie to someone would be laughable.

As the group has traveled, Ellora has taken up a lot of different roles in the wagon, sometimes walking in front, sometimes driving (she does possess a knack for animals), sometimes lazing in the back of the cart, talking or staring up at the sky. On this particular day, she has chosen to rest in the cart, talking with the driver of the cart. "You know, I thought this would be more exciting. Everything has been peaceful so far" She doesn't quite sound disappointed, but more hopeful that something will happen? 

Herron watches the anticipation washing away from the farm girl turned brawler as a smile crosses his lips. When he was that age he would have started trouble just for the excitement. He was well past his prime physical form, but his mind was as sharp as ever. Age fit him well now, it was not so kind to him when he was younger, balding with wrinkling and slightly slouched but he finally looks good for his age. He reaches up from holding the reins of the cart to take the pipe out his mouth to speak. "Peaceful jobs pay just as well as the exciting one for the same end goal. Be patient and you will find all things come to an end in die time, you will miss these boring times." He gives a slight chuckle and restores the pipe back to the corner of his mouth. Really Herron had tried to nudge the little company they put together to take this job for its travel distance and hopefully simple traveling, with a proceeding guard no less, plus riding on a cart was also a bonus. He was excited to see Phandalin after all the stories he had heard from his old friend. Seeing the new countryside was as much excitement as he needed to keep his spirits up, he maybe old but a laborious life kept him well preserved for when this peaceful time is concluded. But for now life was good and simple, just as Herron liked it.

Magnus currently sits in the driver's seat of the wagon, keeping the oxen going at a steady pace. His chain mail clinks a bit as the rig jostles with each slight hole, stone, or other imperfection on the path the wheels roll over, as does the holy symbol of Helm he wears on a leather string around his neck. A slight breeze flows through his shoulder length red hair streaked with gray, which is currently tied back with a blue ribbon. A shield and sword sit across Magnus' lap, ready to be drawn at the first sign of trouble - something there had been precious little of during this journey down the Triboar. Off the trail, though, was certainly more dangerous.

For most of the journey, Magnus was content to chat and interact with everyone. He talked religion with Chretien, clapped along as Clara sang, sparred with Ellora, discuss the finer points of aging with Herron, and sitting in contented silence with Throg, chiming in as Ellora peppers him with questions. He doesn't share much about himself besides telling stories of battles past. But this time, his eyes scan all around, waiting for something bad to happen.

"Don't jinx it, Ellora. Last time I went off the trail like this... we were ambushed by a pack of gnolls, and things were not pretty from there. Everyone carry Helm's vigilance with you - we'll make it to Phandalin yet!"

Gundren's excitement had rubbed off on Chretien, and he didn't try to contain his enthusiasm as they made their introductions at the tavern in Neverwinter. He knew his friend to be an ambitious man, and he was sure that whatever Gundren was chasing was something worth the excitement. Before leaving the city he said his goodbyes to the other clerics at the fledgling temple of Lliira, and met the group to set off in high spirits.

Chretien has been making the most of the journey thus far, usually opting to walk alongside the wagon so he is free to swerve off the road and pick wildflowers as they go. He's been chatting with every member of the party and collecting their stories, as much as they're willing to share, and is happy to take the chances to catch up with Magnus and Clara. He occasionally raises his flute, usually tucked safely in its case at his hip, and plays a light tune as they travel. He wears a wide-brimmed hat during the day to keep the sun out of his eyes, and covers his more defensive travel items — namely his chainmail and the star-shaped mace he carries — with his light layers of outwear, all dyed bright oranges, greens, and blues. 

As Ellora strikes up the conversation, Chretien is walking near the head of the wagon, playing his flute and watching the clouds. His eyes cut to the group on the wagon at Magnus's addition and he matches his pace closer to the cart's, "Gnolls you say? My, that would make quite the story." He stows his flute, unlatching the case and sliding the flute inside with one hand as he gestures with the other, "But I'm afraid I must agree with Herron and Magnus, the day is simply too lovely for anything other than peace."

"Through dappled glade and moonlit stone,
Where faerie courts lie o'ergrown,
No hearth awaits, only rime and gloam,
On forgotten roads I make mine home."

A human girl is perched on a barrel, her feet dangling over the hind end of the wagon as it lurches and creaks down the trail. Her voice is a pure, warm soprano, accompanied by the wistful, crystalline strums of a harp that bounces on her knee. She is attired in a bizarre motley, a stage costume that vaguely approximates the rags of a wandering pauper, but strangely rendered in a riot of colour: violent pinks, shocking yellows and warm blues. Underneath her patchwork vestments, leather armour and daggers can be glimpsed from time to time, but the weapons remain sheathed in favour of the instrument she keeps steadfastly at her side. 

The girl called Clara d'Argansioux pauses to take breath, only to find her lovely song rudely interrupted by an altogether thunderous, wet fart emanating from one of the oxen trampling down the road. "How... delightful!" She laughs merrily, and hops off the back of the cart to follow along in its wake. "Almost as charming as the critics back in Neverwinter."

She waves a hand in front of her face to clear the pungent aroma and catches up with the conversation taking place at the front of the wagon. "Did you really battle gnolls? The gods give you grace, Magnus, how on earth did you survive? They say the hunger of gnolls can never be sated..." Clara looks particularly intrigued, given his heritage.

The days on the road to Phandalin have passed thus. With Chretien, she has danced, woven daisy crowns and practiced duets by the campfire. From Herron, she has inquired after schooling in basic cantrips, eager to patch up the gaps in her arcane education. From Magnus, she has unsubtly sought to extract juicy gossip about the prodigal Neverember cousin's adventures. With Throg, she has made polite inquiries while attempting to place his face. With Ellora, she has sought to bond by introducing her to her familiar, a cute snowy owl by the name of Minuette who blinked solemnly at the warrior and nipped at any attempt to scratch behind the ear. All in all, a picturesque and untroubled few days on the trail.

When she lays down to sleep each evening beneath the stars, her mind often drifts to Gundren Rockseeker, the dwarven prospector and entrepeneur who has always evoked paternal warmth from the moment she'd met him after a performance one Flamerule evening long ago. He vanished for months at a time, but the fond friendship they had forged had endured. She recalls the sceptical look he gave her when she proposed that she join his expedition to Phandalin. He laughed at her silliness and gumption - such work was unfit for an actress who had basked in ovations from as far as Waterdeep to Baldur's Gate. But Clara had won him over by explaining her mission - to live out the life of Lilibet, the vagrant wandering heroine of The Waif of The Broken Stones, whom she was set to portray later that year at the newly erected Moonstone Theatre in the Blacklake District. Despite his reticence, he'd fondly kissed her hands and sent her on way, and after the last few days, to Clara that seemed a fine decision indeed. 

Magnus chuckles a bit - it wasn't his intent to become the center of attention all of a sudden, but mention 'gnolls' to anyone and they're bound to start listening. Still, it was nice to have folks be curious about him. It meant they cared, at least a little. "I survived with a bit of Tymora's luck and heavy helping of Helm's protection. Let's just leave it at that. Speaking of fortune, it's bad luck to talk about those hellions too much. I pray I never encounter them again - and that you all never have the opportunity to make their acquaintance! In the event we do run into trouble, just remember those three letters I told you all back in Neverwinter: 'G-B-M.' Get Behind Magnus!"

"Oh Magnus. You are such a tease." Clara sighs with amused vexation. "We can all tell you've got a perfectly good story of gallantry and derring-do, and yet you insist on keeping it to yourself, like... like a dragon hoarding its gold! Do you know what that's like to someone in my line of work? I live and die for a grand tale."

The bard plucks a few rueful chords on her harp, a melodramatic cadence suggestive of utter disaster and deepest tragedy. 

"I suppose the heroic ballad I was composing for you will have to wait. G-B-M indeed." Clara sniffs, the sour scowl melting into a sunny smile when she's done busting the wagon-driver's balls... if for no other reason than to pass the time with some meaningless, goodnatured bickering.

Just then, a silvery-white flash swoops out of the treetops that line the trail. An owl lands deftly on Clara's head, its snowy plumage camouflaged almost perfectly in the woman's similarly pale hair. She cranes her eyes upward without moving. "Herron, I don't believe you mentioned it - do you have a familiar of your own?" Clara inquires, just as the owl decides to adjust its grip, talons digging into the bard's scalp. "And if not, perhaps you'd like to take this one off my hands?"

The orc walked behind the wagon, using the spear in his hand as a walking stick.

As the others had chatted and laughed and shared stories of their pasts, Throg had mostly kept his own counsel.  It wasn't that he didn't trust these fellows ... but rather ... he was still learning the how's, when's and why's of opening up to others about his past.

For his part, other than introductions, Throg had said little since the group set out. 

Gundren hadn’t asked questions when he’d found Throg bleeding in the gutter.  Although he did not have to, the dwarf fed him, sheltered him, and had asked for nothing in return.  There was no doubt in Throg's mind, these undeserved acts of kindness had saved the orc's life ... and among orcs, a life-debt was sacred.

For Throg, that made this journey more  than a job.

For now, the orc mulled those thoughts over and walked behind the wagon.

Herron hadn't recalled his familiar for a while, but he didn't think the little mouse would appreciate being returned just to face down with a winged creature whose worldly appetite includes mice. "Oh he comes about when he is needed. Fairly pricey to replace so he stays tucked away for safe keeping." Herron watches the road go by as Magnus steers the cart. Watching the other travelers as much as looking out for signs of life outside of current company. His simple staff resting between his feet and against his shoulder. 

You’ve been on the Triboar Trail for about half a day. As you come around a bend, you spot two dead horses sprawled about fifty feet ahead of you, blocking the path. Each has several black-feathered arrows sticking out of it. The woods press close to the trail here, with a steep embankment and dense thickets on either side.

@Engineered_Beard, could you add your character to the campaign [link removed]? That will allow me to easily add your token to the map. :) 

(Added so you can remove the link before any unexpected guests join!)

Quote from Engineered_Beard >>

(Added so you can remove the link before any unexpected guests join!)

( Good point! Thanks :)

Magnus narrows his eyes a bit, at first unsure what he’s seeing, but the second he is sure he pulls back on the reins, bringing the lumbering oxen to a halt. “Woah, woah… Dead horses in the road ahead. If their slayers are still around… you may need to get behind me sooner than I thought, Miss d’Argansioux…”

After the beasts of burden stop and the wagon grumbles to a halt, the paladin hops off, grabbing his sword and shield and preparing to cover any who make a move to investigate. 

As the wagon turns into the trail and the carnage is laid bare, Minuette hoots and spirits away into some of the denser foliage to the east. Clara gives an exasperated sigh and pout at the decamping of her familiar, but her attention is quickly drawn by the ominous scene on the road ahead. 

"Oh gods... those poor ponies! How utterly dreadful!" The colourful bard cups her hand to her mouth, but as the immediate shock passes, she begins absorbing the details. She nods at Magnus' chivalrous words and hugs the rear of the wagon for cover, peeking out around barrels. "D-do... do gnolls carry bows and arrows?"

Large blue eyes flit to their flanks, peering into the thick vegetation around the verges as the road constricts. She instinctively searches for trouble, for signs of the riders.

((Perception: 12)) 

Chretien chuckles good-naturedly at Magnus' acronymic advice, but sobers quickly as they spot the scene. He stays near the front of the wagon, but catches Magnus' shoulder as he climbs down and casts Guidance.

Herron, knowing that they were behind Sildar Hallwinter and Gundren Rockseeker, tries to see if he thinks these 2 horses belong to them and what was the cause of death of the 2 horses. He will hop down off the cart and approach the horses to see if he can figure out either of those questions.

Investigation/Perception (same adder): 19

Throg moved up alongside the old wizard, the haft of his spear gripped tight in one hand.

"Hrm."  A wordless grumble.

He didn’t like the look of the arrows or the way the embankment and thickets seemed to crowd the path. Herron might have been spry for his age, but he was still slow, and Throg had seen far too many ambushes begin with bait just like this.

He settled in near the wizard's side ... close enough to guard him if it came to that, but far enough to let him do his work unimpeded by the orc.

Throg has palmed a dagger [Sleight of Hand: 10] and will ready a ranged attack with it at the first instance of an ambush.

Clara scans the surrounding embankments and dense foliage on either side of the road, but she doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. All is quiet and still. Herron approaches the slain horses and recognizes that these were indeed the horses Gundren and Sildar had been riding. Several black-feathered arrows pepper the carcasses of the horses. The carcasses themselves still look rather fresh, as if they were only killed in the past day. 

Throg moves up to join Herron. Not long after the two men approach the horses and examine the corpses, there is a rustling in the foliage on the embankments to either side of the road. Suddenly, five goblins emerge from their hiding places and shoot arrows toward Throg and Herron! Throg, anticipating an ambush, immediately throws his dagger toward one of the goblins. (Go ahead and roll your attack!) After unleashing their arrows, the goblins try to hide again (using their BA). Everyone can make a Perception check as a free action to try and spot the goblins, DC 14.

Goblin A shoots at Throg: 24 to hit for 7 damage

Goblin B shoots at Throg: 23 to hit for 4 damage

Goblin C shoots at Herron: 16 to hit for 4 damage

Goblin D shoots at Herron: 16 to hit for 3 damage 

Combat has begun! (I will be rolling initiative to keep things moving. Let me know if you don't want me to do this though.)

Initiative:
15: Throg
13: Magnus
12: Goblins
12: Clara
11: Ellora
10: Herron
9: Chretien

(Herron takes the full 7 damage)

(Also you mention 5 goblins but only 4 attacked and on the map)