T'anks groans, doing her best to not immediately lodge her hand into her skull. Channeling her
Thaumaturgy
to triple the sound of her voice, she once more exits the cave with urgency as Kutshort and Dragmire march past her.
No, idiot, they're going to kill you at this rate! What are you doing back here so soon?!
She stares daggers into the Goblin, briefly scanning the shrubbery for signs of the others.
No, idiot, they're going to kill you at this rate! What are you doing back here so soon?!
She stares daggers into the Goblin, briefly scanning the shrubbery for signs of the others.
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
The moment of amusement quickly turns back to tension as Yeemik, the goblin boss, suddenly shouts a command in his guttural tongue, gesturing wildly towards the treeline. His intent is clear: he's calling for his hidden allies to unleash a volley of arrows upon the party. The adventurers, caught off guard by the sudden shift from comical to threatening, raise their weapons and ready themselves once more for combat.
From the dense underbrush, only a single arrow flies out, its trajectory swift and true. Yet, its target is not any of the party members as they might have feared. Instead, the arrow strikes Yeemik himself. The goblin's eyes widen in shock and pain as the arrow pierces him, an audible gasp escaping his lips. As he looks down at the shaft protruding from his shoulder, his plans for ambush and intimidation unravel in an instant. For a moment, he stands frozen, disbelief etched into his features as he processes what has just occurred. Then, with a resilience that seems almost characteristic of goblin-kind, Yeemik regains his composure.
"Excuse me for one moment."
Without a further word to the adventurers, he turns on his heel and begins to walk back into the woods from whence he came. His departure is not silent, however; the air is filled with the sounds of Yeemik screaming goblin obscenities. "Errk!" he shouts, cursing his partner in crime with every step. The venom in his voice leaves little doubt about his feelings toward Errk's egregious mistake.
From the dense underbrush, only a single arrow flies out, its trajectory swift and true. Yet, its target is not any of the party members as they might have feared. Instead, the arrow strikes Yeemik himself. The goblin's eyes widen in shock and pain as the arrow pierces him, an audible gasp escaping his lips. As he looks down at the shaft protruding from his shoulder, his plans for ambush and intimidation unravel in an instant. For a moment, he stands frozen, disbelief etched into his features as he processes what has just occurred. Then, with a resilience that seems almost characteristic of goblin-kind, Yeemik regains his composure.
"Excuse me for one moment."
Without a further word to the adventurers, he turns on his heel and begins to walk back into the woods from whence he came. His departure is not silent, however; the air is filled with the sounds of Yeemik screaming goblin obscenities. "Errk!" he shouts, cursing his partner in crime with every step. The venom in his voice leaves little doubt about his feelings toward Errk's egregious mistake.
T'anks addresses the party, releasing her Thaumaturgy so as not to further deafen everyone.
I don't know where to start with trying to explain this. They're... we can talk to them! I know you don't trust Goblin, even hate them--she looks to Dude, trying to gauge his temperament--but these ones are free of whatever influence took Klarg and the others we killed. They wouldn't have made a deal or fled otherwise!
She moves a bit more in the direction Yeemik walked, but doesn't want to give chase without the party's understanding.
I don't know where to start with trying to explain this. They're... we can talk to them! I know you don't trust Goblin, even hate them--she looks to Dude, trying to gauge his temperament--but these ones are free of whatever influence took Klarg and the others we killed. They wouldn't have made a deal or fled otherwise!
She moves a bit more in the direction Yeemik walked, but doesn't want to give chase without the party's understanding.
While all of this madness unfolds around him - Dude has remained in his same stance. Sword in hand, ready to protect T'anks, and fight some goblins. Then he looks around - oh shit, did he just zone out? Must be that lack of lettuce consumption getting to him again. His eyes dart around rapidly, his mind racing, trying to figure out what's going on.
Why does Kutshort have Klarg's head? When did that happen? Why does T'anks seem to be okay with it when it's not Dude holding a goblin head? Is he held to a higher standard? Wait, is Kutshort trying to scare the goblins? Kutshort is not a very scary guy. What the heck is that jangling noise in Kutshort's backpack? Oh! Dude has figured it out, he'll talk to him about that later.
Speaking of talking to him later, his eyes shift to his Grandtorty's sword. Sparkling clean and free of the blood that Dude smeared it with. A subtle look of disappointment spreads across his face before quickly returning to his confused look.
His eyes shift over to T'anks and he notices she's watching him. Why? Then it hits him, oh no. Everyone is trying to be friends and have a sleepover with goblins again? Dude is in hell. In a loud outburst that is loaded with skepticism.
I'M SURROUNDED BY FUCKING LUNATICS AND GOBLIN FRIENDS.
Dude exhales. This is the first time Dude has used profanity in front of the group, a stark contrast to how he usually is. Perhaps it is a mix of the situation at hand and the behaviour of those around him but he seems noticeably irritated. At least everyone is out of the cave. Dude mutters under his breath...
...I need some fucking lettuce.
Dude sheathes his sword, not ready for combat and begins heading down the trail, once again removing himself from allying with goblins, he walks alone for now... but hopefully toward Phandalin (and lettuce).
Why does Kutshort have Klarg's head? When did that happen? Why does T'anks seem to be okay with it when it's not Dude holding a goblin head? Is he held to a higher standard? Wait, is Kutshort trying to scare the goblins? Kutshort is not a very scary guy. What the heck is that jangling noise in Kutshort's backpack? Oh! Dude has figured it out, he'll talk to him about that later.
Speaking of talking to him later, his eyes shift to his Grandtorty's sword. Sparkling clean and free of the blood that Dude smeared it with. A subtle look of disappointment spreads across his face before quickly returning to his confused look.
His eyes shift over to T'anks and he notices she's watching him. Why? Then it hits him, oh no. Everyone is trying to be friends and have a sleepover with goblins again? Dude is in hell. In a loud outburst that is loaded with skepticism.
I'M SURROUNDED BY FUCKING LUNATICS AND GOBLIN FRIENDS.
Dude exhales. This is the first time Dude has used profanity in front of the group, a stark contrast to how he usually is. Perhaps it is a mix of the situation at hand and the behaviour of those around him but he seems noticeably irritated. At least everyone is out of the cave. Dude mutters under his breath...
...I need some fucking lettuce.
Dude sheathes his sword, not ready for combat and begins heading down the trail, once again removing himself from allying with goblins, he walks alone for now... but hopefully toward Phandalin (and lettuce).
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
The party, now slightly fragmented in spirit but still united in purpose, proceeds with the next phase of their journey. After the unexpected confrontation with Yeemik and his less-than-intimidating ambush, they focus on the task at hand: reaching Phandalin with the supplies and information they've gathered. The travois, ingeniously crafted from materials found in Klarg's cave, is securely attached to the gear of one of the horses, ready to carry the spoils of their recent encounters. The idea coming from Kutshort and the execution from the Dude is yet another testament to the power of teamwork.
Tortle Dude, who had departed earlier in a haze of dejection, feeling somewhat distant from the camaraderie that had initially bound the group together, moves ahead of the party. His solitary departure is not a rebellion but a reflection of the inner turmoil he feels, a mix of uncertainty about his place within the group and a contemplative reevaluation of his contributions to their shared goals.
As the party makes their way towards Phandalin, they catch up with Tortle Dude. The reunion, while it might lack the warmth of earlier interactions, is a necessary step towards any possible healing of any rifts that have formed. The road to Phandalin promises time for reflection, for conversation, and for mending the bonds that have been tested by the trials they've faced.
The journey is not just a physical movement from one place to another but an opportunity for growth. Each member of the party carries with them not only the weight of their supplies but also the weight of their experiences, their doubts, and their hopes for what lies ahead in Phandalin.
~~~~~
The rutted track emerges from a wooded hillside, and the party catches their first glimpse of Phandalin. The town, with its rustic buildings and dusty streets, immediately conjures images of a bygone era, where pioneers and adventurers set their sights on the promise of opportunity and discovery. Phandalin consists of forty or fifty simple log buildings, some build on old fieldstone foundations. Old ruins (crumbling stone walls covered in ivy and briars) surround the newer houses and shops, showing how this must have been a much larger town in centuries past. Most of the newer buildings are set on the sides of the cart track, which widens into a muddy main street as it climbs toward a ruined manor house on a hillside at the east end of town.
The air is filled with the sounds of everyday life—the distant hammering of a blacksmith, the occasional shout of merchants peddling their wares ("SOAP! SOAP WITH A PRIZE INSIDE!"), and the laughter of children playing in the streets. The party makes their way down the main thoroughfare, their presence drawing curious glances from the townsfolk. The atmosphere is one of cautious optimism, as if the town is constantly on the verge of either a boom or a bust, reflective of its frontier spirit.
The presence of the party, especially with their unconventional appearance and the unusual sight of the travois laden with goods, sparks interest and speculation. Whispers follow them as they pass, with residents trying to piece together the story of these adventurers who've come from the wilds with tales of goblin encounters and daring rescues.
The arrival in Phandalin marks a new chapter in the party's journey, offering them a chance to rest, resupply, and plan their next moves. It's a momentary pause in their adventures, a time to reflect on the paths they've taken and the paths that lie ahead. But beyond the immediate needs of rest and resupply, Phandalin holds the promise of new allies, new challenges, and new opportunities to make their mark on the frontier.
~~~~~
As the party arrives in Phandalin, Sildar gathers them briefly for a moment of gratitude and to share his immediate plans. The town sprawls before them, bustling with activity and brimming with the raw potential of the frontier.
Sildar takes a deep breath, looking each member of the party in the eye. "My friends," he begins, "I cannot thank you enough for your bravery and assistance in getting me to Phandalin safely. This town," he gestures around, "is at the heart of many opportunities and many dangers, a place where our paths may find new directions."
He pauses, his expression turning more serious. "However, I must part ways with you, if only for a short time. My duty calls me to check in with the local leadership and to begin my investigation." He looks off towards the center of town, where the town hall likely stands. "It's a matter of great importance to me and to the Alliance."
He places a hand on the shoulder of the nearest party member, his gaze firm yet filled with a sense of shared purpose. "I urge you to take this time to rest, resupply, and explore Phandalin. This town is full of resources and information that may aid us on our journey. But please, be on your guard. While it offers much, not all here will be as it seems."
With a final nod, Sildar adds, "Once I've checked in with the town's leaders and have a better understanding of the situation, I will seek you out. Together, we'll decide our next move. For now, though, I bid you farewell."
Turning, Sildar strides away towards his duties, leaving the party at the edge of a new chapter in Phandalin. The promise of rest and the potential for new adventures hang in the air, mingling with the dust kicked up by the townsfolk and the mysteries that lie waiting in the heart of the frontier town.
Tortle Dude, who had departed earlier in a haze of dejection, feeling somewhat distant from the camaraderie that had initially bound the group together, moves ahead of the party. His solitary departure is not a rebellion but a reflection of the inner turmoil he feels, a mix of uncertainty about his place within the group and a contemplative reevaluation of his contributions to their shared goals.
As the party makes their way towards Phandalin, they catch up with Tortle Dude. The reunion, while it might lack the warmth of earlier interactions, is a necessary step towards any possible healing of any rifts that have formed. The road to Phandalin promises time for reflection, for conversation, and for mending the bonds that have been tested by the trials they've faced.
The journey is not just a physical movement from one place to another but an opportunity for growth. Each member of the party carries with them not only the weight of their supplies but also the weight of their experiences, their doubts, and their hopes for what lies ahead in Phandalin.
~~~~~
The rutted track emerges from a wooded hillside, and the party catches their first glimpse of Phandalin. The town, with its rustic buildings and dusty streets, immediately conjures images of a bygone era, where pioneers and adventurers set their sights on the promise of opportunity and discovery. Phandalin consists of forty or fifty simple log buildings, some build on old fieldstone foundations. Old ruins (crumbling stone walls covered in ivy and briars) surround the newer houses and shops, showing how this must have been a much larger town in centuries past. Most of the newer buildings are set on the sides of the cart track, which widens into a muddy main street as it climbs toward a ruined manor house on a hillside at the east end of town.
The air is filled with the sounds of everyday life—the distant hammering of a blacksmith, the occasional shout of merchants peddling their wares ("SOAP! SOAP WITH A PRIZE INSIDE!"), and the laughter of children playing in the streets. The party makes their way down the main thoroughfare, their presence drawing curious glances from the townsfolk. The atmosphere is one of cautious optimism, as if the town is constantly on the verge of either a boom or a bust, reflective of its frontier spirit.
The presence of the party, especially with their unconventional appearance and the unusual sight of the travois laden with goods, sparks interest and speculation. Whispers follow them as they pass, with residents trying to piece together the story of these adventurers who've come from the wilds with tales of goblin encounters and daring rescues.
The arrival in Phandalin marks a new chapter in the party's journey, offering them a chance to rest, resupply, and plan their next moves. It's a momentary pause in their adventures, a time to reflect on the paths they've taken and the paths that lie ahead. But beyond the immediate needs of rest and resupply, Phandalin holds the promise of new allies, new challenges, and new opportunities to make their mark on the frontier.
~~~~~
As the party arrives in Phandalin, Sildar gathers them briefly for a moment of gratitude and to share his immediate plans. The town sprawls before them, bustling with activity and brimming with the raw potential of the frontier.
Sildar takes a deep breath, looking each member of the party in the eye. "My friends," he begins, "I cannot thank you enough for your bravery and assistance in getting me to Phandalin safely. This town," he gestures around, "is at the heart of many opportunities and many dangers, a place where our paths may find new directions."
He pauses, his expression turning more serious. "However, I must part ways with you, if only for a short time. My duty calls me to check in with the local leadership and to begin my investigation." He looks off towards the center of town, where the town hall likely stands. "It's a matter of great importance to me and to the Alliance."
He places a hand on the shoulder of the nearest party member, his gaze firm yet filled with a sense of shared purpose. "I urge you to take this time to rest, resupply, and explore Phandalin. This town is full of resources and information that may aid us on our journey. But please, be on your guard. While it offers much, not all here will be as it seems."
With a final nod, Sildar adds, "Once I've checked in with the town's leaders and have a better understanding of the situation, I will seek you out. Together, we'll decide our next move. For now, though, I bid you farewell."
Turning, Sildar strides away towards his duties, leaving the party at the edge of a new chapter in Phandalin. The promise of rest and the potential for new adventures hang in the air, mingling with the dust kicked up by the townsfolk and the mysteries that lie waiting in the heart of the frontier town.
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
Despite the party catching up to Dude, he remains fairly distant and despondent with the group. The events leading up to their arrival still causing inner turmoil for the Tortle Bard. He recalls his conversation with Sildar in the cave about the town and his words of the Tavern and the Inn.
Dude begins slowly walking away from the group, turns to look at the three adventurers... and says in a stoic tone.
I'll be heading to the inn to secure lodging. Do what you will, but if you plan on grabbing a drink... you may benefit by bringing me.
Dude walks away from the group, hoping they heed his often unheard words and heads to the inn.
Upon arrival at the inn, Dude surveys any patrons present and the situation.
Dude begins slowly walking away from the group, turns to look at the three adventurers... and says in a stoic tone.
I'll be heading to the inn to secure lodging. Do what you will, but if you plan on grabbing a drink... you may benefit by bringing me.
Dude walks away from the group, hoping they heed his often unheard words and heads to the inn.
Upon arrival at the inn, Dude surveys any patrons present and the situation.
T'anks, having been unable to locate Yeemik because of her desire for approval, trudges along several paces behind the rest of the party. She's certain that Yeemik would have given her more information on Cragmaw Castle, or at least pointed her in the direction of another who could. Alas, all she has done is be a burden upon the party. She reflects on her conversation with Dude outside of the cave. She had thought their arrangement was mutually beneficial, but his expression... T'anks sighs, coming to a stop as the others speak.
She looks upon Dude, remembering his exasperated cry of "Goblin Lover" as he walked off, and of his rallying speech against Klarg. ...Is that why her end of the bargain is insufficient? Because she loved a Goblinoid, considers the Cragmaw family? Is this why they keep applying Human logic to them and desecrate the corpses? As a show of disrespect?
T'anks fidgets, unable to calm down, instinctively putting more distance between herself and the others. She casts her gaze around the town and its citizenry, knowing she doesn't belong here.
Watching Sildar walk away after bidding farewell, followed soon thereafter by Dude, she finally addresses the party.
You can all do what you like. If I have to put up with Humans gawking at me, I'm at least going to enjoy myself. You'll find me at the tavern if you have need of me. Maybe I'll be able to learn something of interest from the drunkards for good measure.
T'anks departs for the Sleeping Giant tap house.
She looks upon Dude, remembering his exasperated cry of "Goblin Lover" as he walked off, and of his rallying speech against Klarg. ...Is that why her end of the bargain is insufficient? Because she loved a Goblinoid, considers the Cragmaw family? Is this why they keep applying Human logic to them and desecrate the corpses? As a show of disrespect?
T'anks fidgets, unable to calm down, instinctively putting more distance between herself and the others. She casts her gaze around the town and its citizenry, knowing she doesn't belong here.
Watching Sildar walk away after bidding farewell, followed soon thereafter by Dude, she finally addresses the party.
You can all do what you like. If I have to put up with Humans gawking at me, I'm at least going to enjoy myself. You'll find me at the tavern if you have need of me. Maybe I'll be able to learn something of interest from the drunkards for good measure.
T'anks departs for the Sleeping Giant tap house.
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
Tortle Dude, feeling somewhat isolated from the rest of the party, makes his way alone to the Stonehill Inn. Phandalin's streets are bustling with the sounds and sights of frontier life, yet he moves through them with a singular focus, driven by the need for rest and perhaps a bit of solace.
The Stonehill Inn stands as a welcoming beacon in the heart of town, its warm lights spilling out onto the street through windows framed by hanging wooden shutters. The inn, built from sturdy timber and stone, carries the charm and ruggedness of Phandalin itself. As Tortle Dude approaches, the noise of the town falls away, replaced by the inviting hum of conversation and the occasional clink of glassware from inside.
Pushing open the door, Tortle Dude is greeted by the rich aromas of cooked meats, fresh bread, and the underlying tang of ale. The inn's interior is cozy and well-kept, with a large fireplace providing a gentle illumination and warmth against the coolness of the outside world. Tables filled with townsfolk and travelers alike offer a snapshot of community and camaraderie, something the Dude finds himself yearning for in this moment.
The innkeeper, a robust man with a welcoming smile, notices Tortle Dude from behind the bar. "Well, look what the cat fuckin' dragged in! A Tortle, by all that's unholy! Get yer shell over here, lad, and plant it by the fire. What's yer poison? We've got ale that'll put hair on yer chest and then burn it right off again! Welcome to fuckin' Phandalin!"
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
T'anks, carrying the weight of recent events on her shoulders, makes her solitary way to the Sleeping Giant, a tavern known more for its rough clientele than its hospitality. The streets of Phandalin are lively, but T'anks moves through them with a singular focus, her mind a whirl of thoughts about Klarg, the adventure, and her companions.
As she approaches, the Sleeping Giant looms before her, its façade battered by time, a testament to countless stories whispered within its walls. The sign, creaking in the wind, seems to warn the faint-hearted to steer clear. Yet for adventurers and misfits alike, it promises an unvarnished glimpse into the heart of Phandalin.
Pushing open the door, T'anks steps into a realm where shadows dance with the light of flickering torches, casting an ethereal glow over the patrons. The air is thick with the scent of tobacco, spilled spirits, and an undercurrent of unwashed bodies. Conversations, peppered with the distinctive profanity of the establishment, create a cacophony of human experience, occasionally punctuated by the sharp crack of laughter or the growl of a challenge.
As T'anks navigates through the room, her presence as a Tiefling does not go unnoticed. The room's vibrancy falters momentarily as eyes swivel toward her, their usual indifference tinged with a mix of curiosity and unease. Whispers flit through the air like motes of dust, the word "Tiefling" passing between lips with a blend of suspicion and wonder. In a place like Phandalin, where the extraordinary can become the everyday, a Tiefling still commands a certain measure of fascination and wariness.
Behind the bar stands a figure who seems as integral to the establishment as the ancient beams that hold it upright. His eyes, sharp and assessing, flick over T'anks as she approaches, a slight nod acknowledging her as a customer rather than a threat. "What'll it fuckin' be?" he asks, the gravel in his voice mingling with a certain gruff hospitality that marks him as a veteran of many an unruly night. "We got ale that'll strip the paint from a wagon and whiskey that's been known to blind lesser folk. Or are you just here to soak in the charm of our delightful fuckin' establishment?"
T'anks, a cocksure grin on her face and a mischievous glint in her eyes, gingerly hops upon a seat in the center of the row. The knight means well, but this is simply not a place for his type. For the poor and downtrodden, however... this is just fucking home.
Charm, eh? Hah! Really fuckin' love what you've done with the place, stinks to high heaven and filled to the gills with unsavory sorts. Just the way I like it!
She gives the man a playful wink, then turns for a moment and takes stock of her surrounds - table placement, means of exit and escape should the need arise. She turns her attention back to the barkeeper, voice projected enough to draw the attention of any nearby suitors with enough guts.
Reckoned my tail would be more at home right here. Hold that thought on the ale for now, been on the road all day. And a day has it been - lost my beau and my coinpurse both, godsdamned Goblin! Don't suppose you've got any odd jobs a girl new to town can earn her way with, Mr...?
Charm, eh? Hah! Really fuckin' love what you've done with the place, stinks to high heaven and filled to the gills with unsavory sorts. Just the way I like it!
She gives the man a playful wink, then turns for a moment and takes stock of her surrounds - table placement, means of exit and escape should the need arise. She turns her attention back to the barkeeper, voice projected enough to draw the attention of any nearby suitors with enough guts.
Reckoned my tail would be more at home right here. Hold that thought on the ale for now, been on the road all day. And a day has it been - lost my beau and my coinpurse both, godsdamned Goblin! Don't suppose you've got any odd jobs a girl new to town can earn her way with, Mr...?
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
"Name's Grista," he replies, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Grista Dawes. Don't forget it now, especially if you plan on coming back for more of our fine fuckin' hospitality."
The barkeep, his eyes a sharp contrast to the careless ease of his posture, scans the room with a practiced subtlety. Several Redbrand brigands, marked by their crimson sashes, linger in the air like a bad omen, their presence a silent assertion of power and threat. He meets T'anks' gaze, the seriousness in his eyes undercutting the bar's raucous energy.
"Listen," he begins, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, ensuring the conversation stays between them. "This ain't exactly the place to discuss 'respectable business,' if you catch my drift. But, if you're looking to make some coin without too much of a fuss... you might wanna pay a visit to Halia Thornton over at the Miner's Exchange."
He pauses, making a subtle gesture toward the door, as if to suggest that even walls might listen in a town like Phandalin. "She's got a... let's call it a 'delicate task' that needs handling. Not the kind you'd wanna brag about in mixed company, if you know what I mean. But it pays, and if you're not too squeamish about the details, it might be just what you're looking for."
His eyes dart briefly to the Redbrands again, "Just keep it on the down-low, yeah? No need to stir up more shit than we already deal with daily."
The barkeep, his eyes a sharp contrast to the careless ease of his posture, scans the room with a practiced subtlety. Several Redbrand brigands, marked by their crimson sashes, linger in the air like a bad omen, their presence a silent assertion of power and threat. He meets T'anks' gaze, the seriousness in his eyes undercutting the bar's raucous energy.
"Listen," he begins, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, ensuring the conversation stays between them. "This ain't exactly the place to discuss 'respectable business,' if you catch my drift. But, if you're looking to make some coin without too much of a fuss... you might wanna pay a visit to Halia Thornton over at the Miner's Exchange."
He pauses, making a subtle gesture toward the door, as if to suggest that even walls might listen in a town like Phandalin. "She's got a... let's call it a 'delicate task' that needs handling. Not the kind you'd wanna brag about in mixed company, if you know what I mean. But it pays, and if you're not too squeamish about the details, it might be just what you're looking for."
His eyes dart briefly to the Redbrands again, "Just keep it on the down-low, yeah? No need to stir up more shit than we already deal with daily."
T'anks nods, the smile never leaving her face. She drops her voice to a semi-whisper.
Just what I wanted to hear, Grista! I do believe that's something I can... clean up. After a quick rest, of course.
She once more turns, back arched in a carefree manner, looking out across the crowded tavern and trying to determine the source of Grista's apprehension.
Just what I wanted to hear, Grista! I do believe that's something I can... clean up. After a quick rest, of course.
She once more turns, back arched in a carefree manner, looking out across the crowded tavern and trying to determine the source of Grista's apprehension.
Kutshort had been relaxing in the shade near the entrance of Phandalin with Hopper. When he finally looks up, everyone else had dispersed.
He stands up and pats Hopper’s side, Come on boy, let’s return these crates and be done with this so we can explore the town.
Kutshort and Hopper lead the horse-drawn travois around town as they look for a building with the symbol of the Lion Coster on it
((Do I need to roll for anything to find it?))
He stands up and pats Hopper’s side, Come on boy, let’s return these crates and be done with this so we can explore the town.
Kutshort and Hopper lead the horse-drawn travois around town as they look for a building with the symbol of the Lion Coster on it
((Do I need to roll for anything to find it?))
Upon being warmly welcomed by the innkeeper, Dude can't help but let out a smile. Finally, a warm embrace and someone who seems happy to see him. Perhaps this is where Dude will find a sense of belonging, out of the cave, away from the adventurers, away from the goblins. Dude makes his way over and takes a seat by the fire.
You have no idea what I've been through these last few days...
Dude pauses, reminding himself of how he ended up here.
...give me the strongest poison you got.
...actually, give me two.
Dude exhales, a sign that he might be ready unwind in a place of comfort, something he has not felt for some time as his internal struggle continues. The thought of being used simply for his ability racing through his mind when his life has been about two things - love and lettuce.
...how're things in town? Do you have an entertainer for your patrons here?
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
The Sleeping Giant
As T'anks takes a moment to scan the dimly lit interior of the Sleeping Giant, her keen senses pick up on the undercurrents of tension that Grista is trying to navigate. The room, alive with the sound of raucous laughter and coarse jests, holds a darker edge beneath its boisterous surface.
The Redbrands, easily identifiable by the crimson sashes tied around their waists, occupy a corner of the bar, their presence like a storm cloud looming over the otherwise lively atmosphere. They're engaged in what might pass for typical tavern activities—drinking, gambling, and roughhousing—but there's an undercurrent of menace to their actions. They exude an air of ownership over the space, and their laughs too often end in sneers, their gestures just shy of threatening.
T'anks observes as patrons give the Redbrands a wide berth, conversations dropping to hushed tones whenever they pass. It's clear that these are not mere ruffians but members of a group that holds significant sway in Phandalin, their reputation for brutality and intimidation preceding them. This realization casts Grista's caution and the overall tension of the bar in a new light.
Grista's apprehension, T'anks understands, stems from a well-founded concern over the safety of his patrons and his establishment. The Redbrands are not just engaging in boisterous behavior but are actively marking their territory, reminding everyone within the Sleeping Giant of the power they wield in Phandalin.
As T'anks takes a moment to scan the dimly lit interior of the Sleeping Giant, her keen senses pick up on the undercurrents of tension that Grista is trying to navigate. The room, alive with the sound of raucous laughter and coarse jests, holds a darker edge beneath its boisterous surface.
The Redbrands, easily identifiable by the crimson sashes tied around their waists, occupy a corner of the bar, their presence like a storm cloud looming over the otherwise lively atmosphere. They're engaged in what might pass for typical tavern activities—drinking, gambling, and roughhousing—but there's an undercurrent of menace to their actions. They exude an air of ownership over the space, and their laughs too often end in sneers, their gestures just shy of threatening.
T'anks observes as patrons give the Redbrands a wide berth, conversations dropping to hushed tones whenever they pass. It's clear that these are not mere ruffians but members of a group that holds significant sway in Phandalin, their reputation for brutality and intimidation preceding them. This realization casts Grista's caution and the overall tension of the bar in a new light.
Grista's apprehension, T'anks understands, stems from a well-founded concern over the safety of his patrons and his establishment. The Redbrands are not just engaging in boisterous behavior but are actively marking their territory, reminding everyone within the Sleeping Giant of the power they wield in Phandalin.
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VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
Streets of Phandalin
Kutshort, with Hopper loyally by his side, guides the horse-drawn travois through the bustling streets of Phandalin. The Lionshield Coster, a well-known merchant company, has outposts and warehouses scattered across the region, and their presence in Phandalin is proof of the town's growing importance as a trading hub. Kutshort looks for the distinctive blue lion symbol that marks the company's property.
As they move through town, the travois attracts curious glances from the townsfolk. Kutshort's unusual companion, Hopper, also draws attention, but the pair are undeterred, their mission clear. Finally, after navigating a series of turns and asking for directions from a friendly local, they spot the unmistakable sign of the Lionshield Coster—a blue shield with a golden lion's head emblazoned upon it, proudly displayed above the entrance of a sturdy-looking building.
With a sense of relief, Kutshort steers the horses towards the building, ready to offload the supplies they've recovered. The prospect of returning the stolen goods to their rightful owners not only promises a reward but also stands as a gesture of goodwill that could strengthen their ties within the community.
Kutshort, with Hopper loyally by his side, guides the horse-drawn travois through the bustling streets of Phandalin. The Lionshield Coster, a well-known merchant company, has outposts and warehouses scattered across the region, and their presence in Phandalin is proof of the town's growing importance as a trading hub. Kutshort looks for the distinctive blue lion symbol that marks the company's property.
As they move through town, the travois attracts curious glances from the townsfolk. Kutshort's unusual companion, Hopper, also draws attention, but the pair are undeterred, their mission clear. Finally, after navigating a series of turns and asking for directions from a friendly local, they spot the unmistakable sign of the Lionshield Coster—a blue shield with a golden lion's head emblazoned upon it, proudly displayed above the entrance of a sturdy-looking building.
With a sense of relief, Kutshort steers the horses towards the building, ready to offload the supplies they've recovered. The prospect of returning the stolen goods to their rightful owners not only promises a reward but also stands as a gesture of goodwill that could strengthen their ties within the community.
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VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
The Stonehill Inn
The innkeeper, wiping down a couple mugs with a cloth as he prepares to fill the Dude's order, leans against the bar and sighs. "Well, friend, things have been a mite tense 'round here lately, what with them godsdamned Redbrands stirrin' up trouble. Got folks walkin' 'round like they're tippin' on bloody eggshells, can't say I'm none too pleased 'bout it. As for entertainin'," he chuckles, a bit ruefully, "ain't had a soul brave enough to take on that role in quite some time. It's like pullin' rotten teeth tryin' to find someone willing to perform with them ruffians causin' such a fuckin' ruckus. But I'll be damned if a good yarn or some tunes wouldn't lift the spirits 'round here."
The innkeeper, wiping down a couple mugs with a cloth as he prepares to fill the Dude's order, leans against the bar and sighs. "Well, friend, things have been a mite tense 'round here lately, what with them godsdamned Redbrands stirrin' up trouble. Got folks walkin' 'round like they're tippin' on bloody eggshells, can't say I'm none too pleased 'bout it. As for entertainin'," he chuckles, a bit ruefully, "ain't had a soul brave enough to take on that role in quite some time. It's like pullin' rotten teeth tryin' to find someone willing to perform with them ruffians causin' such a fuckin' ruckus. But I'll be damned if a good yarn or some tunes wouldn't lift the spirits 'round here."
As they reach the building, Kutshort leads the horse-drawn travois between the Lionshield Coster and the adjacent building, out of sight.
Hopper, I need you to stay with the horse and make sure nothing happens to it. I’ll be right back
Kutshort enters the Lionshield Coster with the intention of finding the proprietor to give the crates to
The word "Redbrand" rings through Dude's ears. He continues to sit as he recalls his discussion with Sildar in the cave and his change of tone when discussing them. Dude, for his part, doesn't know the meaning of fear - for better or worse. However with the warning from the innkeeper, he can't help but wonder about the other members of the group, especially since they have split up.
These Redbrands..
perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement.
...you may or may not be familiar with the Tortle family, our stories do not spread far. It is our natural tendency to... provide solutions.
Dude leans in to the innkeeper, speaking lowly so potential eavesdroppers may not hear.
...I have not come here alone. I trust as the local innkeep you have your ear to the ground...
Should you hear anything of a half-elf with a wolf, a halfling spellcaster and...
Dude pauses, not knowing how he'll feel about the next part. Dude may not be pleased with his fellow travelers but he does not intend on letting anything happen... to any of them.
...a, uh... Tiefling...
Can you let me know? I'd like to keep tabs on their activities.
Dude sits more upright, returning to his normal demeanor.
Lucky for you, bravery is my middle name.
Dude lets out a light chuckle. It's not actually.
Have you ever heard a Tortle sing? For as the most talented musician from the Tortle family, Tortle Dude... it's something of my specialty.
...perhaps if I can share my stories and raise spirits, we can come to... an agreement?
T'anks lingers in the tavern for some minutes, making small talk here and there with Grista to ensure nothing beyond her appearance draws undue suspicion. The Redbrands, as Sildar put it, were a brigand group - not unlike the Cragmaws. So why and how have they taken hold of this town to such an extent? If Klarg were here she would very much like to grind them under heel on principle alone, but alas...
She turns her attention to Grista once more.
Well that's quite enough dallying for now. I'll be sure to come back soon for a flagon, with coin in hand of course. Perhaps a new beau or three to help keep the spirits up?
T'anks laughs, giving Grista a subtle, devious wink before standing and making her way towards the exit.
Along the way T'anks counts the number of Redbrands inside the Sleeping Giant.
Satisfied, she exits and begins finding her way towards the Miner's Exchange and Halia Thornton.
Dragmire snaps back to attention after having daydreamt for what feels like, say, 3 or 4 days. He looks around and sees... Nobody?
Hey, where did everybody go?
Dragmire starts wandering the town without caring about direction tugging on the clothes of passersby that even vaguely resemble anyone from the party.
T-Apostrophe-Anks!!!! Hopper!! What were the other names again?
Hey, where did everybody go?
Dragmire starts wandering the town without caring about direction tugging on the clothes of passersby that even vaguely resemble anyone from the party.
T-Apostrophe-Anks!!!! Hopper!! What were the other names again?
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{{ @VashTheStampede as Dragmire wanders the town, does anything grab his attention? Shiny trinkets, sweet food, and easy money attract his attention naturally }}
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
Lionshield Coster (Exterior)
Before Kutshort is able to lay his hand on the door to Lionshield Coster, a human woman comes bursting out of the building, almost slamming right into the Rogue as she rushes outside, her eyes immediately locking onto the marked crates and sacks on the travois. Her face, initially marked with concern and urgency, transforms into a visage of sheer joy and disbelief.
"Oh, by the gods! My goods! You've found them!" she exclaims, her voice a mix of surprise and elation. She circles the travois, inspecting the Lionshield Coster symbols emblazoned on the crates and sacks, her demeanor shifting from professional reserve to unguarded relief. She turns to Kutshort and Hopper, her eyes gleaming with gratitude.
"Where did you find these? I had all but given up hope of seeing any of this again. I got my hopes up yesterday when that funny soundin' Firbolg fella with the kangaroo came through with a wagon full of supplies, but those were apparently meant for Barthen's Provisions down the way." she says, her voice dripping with gratitude.
Before Kutshort is able to lay his hand on the door to Lionshield Coster, a human woman comes bursting out of the building, almost slamming right into the Rogue as she rushes outside, her eyes immediately locking onto the marked crates and sacks on the travois. Her face, initially marked with concern and urgency, transforms into a visage of sheer joy and disbelief.
"Oh, by the gods! My goods! You've found them!" she exclaims, her voice a mix of surprise and elation. She circles the travois, inspecting the Lionshield Coster symbols emblazoned on the crates and sacks, her demeanor shifting from professional reserve to unguarded relief. She turns to Kutshort and Hopper, her eyes gleaming with gratitude.
"Where did you find these? I had all but given up hope of seeing any of this again. I got my hopes up yesterday when that funny soundin' Firbolg fella with the kangaroo came through with a wagon full of supplies, but those were apparently meant for Barthen's Provisions down the way." she says, her voice dripping with gratitude.
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
The Stonehill Inn
"Well, I'll be damned," the Innkeep says, a grin slowly forming under his mustache, a glint of shrewdness in his eyes. "You're offering to turn my establishment into the go-to spot in Phandalin for nightly entertainment, eh?
The Innkeeper takes a moment to consider, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The Stonehill Inn is respectable enough but could always use something to set it apart from the competition, especially with the recent troubles from those Redbrand ruffians unsettling the town. The idea of having a bard, especially one as unique as a Tortle, could indeed be the draw he's been looking for.
"Alright, you spoony bard," the proprietor declares, spitting in his hand and extending it to the Bard. "I'm expecting top-notch performances, mind you. Something that'll make the patrons keep coming back for more. You do your part, and I'll make sure you and your...friends have a place to rest your heads and fill your bellies. Deal?"
"Well, I'll be damned," the Innkeep says, a grin slowly forming under his mustache, a glint of shrewdness in his eyes. "You're offering to turn my establishment into the go-to spot in Phandalin for nightly entertainment, eh?
The Innkeeper takes a moment to consider, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The Stonehill Inn is respectable enough but could always use something to set it apart from the competition, especially with the recent troubles from those Redbrand ruffians unsettling the town. The idea of having a bard, especially one as unique as a Tortle, could indeed be the draw he's been looking for.
"Alright, you spoony bard," the proprietor declares, spitting in his hand and extending it to the Bard. "I'm expecting top-notch performances, mind you. Something that'll make the patrons keep coming back for more. You do your part, and I'll make sure you and your...friends have a place to rest your heads and fill your bellies. Deal?"
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
Sleeping Giant -> Phandalin Miner's Exchange
(( T'anks spies 6 Redbrands hanging out in the Sleeping Giant currently. Daylight Savings Time is dragging me down and I couldn't think of a fun narrative for that one ))
T'anks exits the Sleeping Giant, her steps determined as she heads towards the Phandalin Miner's Exchange. The walk is short, the town not being particularly large, and the Miner's Exchange is easy to find, its presence known by the steady flow of miners and tradespeople entering and exiting the building.
As she approaches, the building itself seems more like a fortified trading post than a traditional exchange, with sturdy stone walls and a solidly built structure. It's clear that in a place like Phandalin, where the mining of precious metals and other valuable resources is a key part of the economy, such an establishment holds significant importance.
Stepping inside, T'anks finds the interior to be bustling yet orderly. Miners are negotiating contracts, trading gold dust and nuggets for coin, and discussing the latest finds from the nearby hills. The air is filled with the sound of commerce, the clinking of coins, and the murmur of negotiations. The miners give her space, some out of curiosity, others perhaps wary of her Tiefling heritage.
She spots who she determines is most likely to be Halia Thornton, the operator of the Miner's Exchange, overseeing operations from a desk laden with scales, ledgers, and various documents. Halia is a stern-looking woman with sharp eyes that miss nothing happening in her domain. Despite the busy atmosphere, she notices T'anks's entrance almost immediately and assesses her with a quick, calculating glance.
(( T'anks spies 6 Redbrands hanging out in the Sleeping Giant currently. Daylight Savings Time is dragging me down and I couldn't think of a fun narrative for that one ))
T'anks exits the Sleeping Giant, her steps determined as she heads towards the Phandalin Miner's Exchange. The walk is short, the town not being particularly large, and the Miner's Exchange is easy to find, its presence known by the steady flow of miners and tradespeople entering and exiting the building.
As she approaches, the building itself seems more like a fortified trading post than a traditional exchange, with sturdy stone walls and a solidly built structure. It's clear that in a place like Phandalin, where the mining of precious metals and other valuable resources is a key part of the economy, such an establishment holds significant importance.
Stepping inside, T'anks finds the interior to be bustling yet orderly. Miners are negotiating contracts, trading gold dust and nuggets for coin, and discussing the latest finds from the nearby hills. The air is filled with the sound of commerce, the clinking of coins, and the murmur of negotiations. The miners give her space, some out of curiosity, others perhaps wary of her Tiefling heritage.
She spots who she determines is most likely to be Halia Thornton, the operator of the Miner's Exchange, overseeing operations from a desk laden with scales, ledgers, and various documents. Halia is a stern-looking woman with sharp eyes that miss nothing happening in her domain. Despite the busy atmosphere, she notices T'anks's entrance almost immediately and assesses her with a quick, calculating glance.
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
Wandering the streets of Phandalin -> Edermath Orchard
Dragmire, somewhat aimlessly wandering the town of Phandalin, finds himself walking up a gentle hill toward Edermath Orchard. The late afternoon sun filters through the leaves of apple trees, casting a warm, dappled light on the ground. The air is sweet with the scent of ripening fruit, and there's a sense of tranquility that seems miles away from the chaos and danger of his recent adventures.
As he approaches, an older, fit Drow gentleman with a neatly trimmed gray beard is tending to the trees, pruning a branch here, inspecting an apple there. He looks up as Dragmire approaches, his eyes sharp and assessing, knowing the measure of a man could mean the difference between life and death. Yet, his demeanor is welcoming.
"Good afternoon," he calls out, setting aside his pruning shears and wiping his hands on a cloth. "Don't often see new faces around the orchard. What brings you to Edermath Orchard? Looking for work, or perhaps just passing through?"
Dragmire, somewhat aimlessly wandering the town of Phandalin, finds himself walking up a gentle hill toward Edermath Orchard. The late afternoon sun filters through the leaves of apple trees, casting a warm, dappled light on the ground. The air is sweet with the scent of ripening fruit, and there's a sense of tranquility that seems miles away from the chaos and danger of his recent adventures.
As he approaches, an older, fit Drow gentleman with a neatly trimmed gray beard is tending to the trees, pruning a branch here, inspecting an apple there. He looks up as Dragmire approaches, his eyes sharp and assessing, knowing the measure of a man could mean the difference between life and death. Yet, his demeanor is welcoming.
"Good afternoon," he calls out, setting aside his pruning shears and wiping his hands on a cloth. "Don't often see new faces around the orchard. What brings you to Edermath Orchard? Looking for work, or perhaps just passing through?"
((@VashTheStampede before I respond, can u have more information about her? Physical appearance and anything else I can intuit. I suppose I need to roll a perception check))
When the innkeeper spits on his hand - Dude observes carefully. This action, is this some of kind of tradition? Does the liquid from one's salivary gland signify some type of special bond? Or are they just being gross?
Nonetheless, Dude lets out a massive hork into his Tortle hand and meets the innkeeper for an uncomfortably squishy handshake.
...Deal.
I'm sure they'll be along eventually...
Dude pauses, wondering if they even will. He did tell them where he was going. Perhaps his ability to secure a roof and food will finally make him valued by the group.
I'll perform shortly if that's okay with you - now how about those two drinks?
Dude lets out a light chuckle. It's been a while since he's performed in front of an audience. Those drinks will hopefully help.
Well hi there. My name is Dragmire and I was just taking a stroll nearby when I couldn't help but admire this beautiful orchard. I really do feel like I'm breathing in the breath of life itself just standing in its presence. Why, one such as myself would be happy to grow to a ripe old age in a place like this; the breeze at my face, perhaps a fresh apple or two or a dozen at my side.
Anyway, I'm actually quite lost and don't know where my friends went. It is good to see a friendly face though, do you need any help with what you are doing?
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
(( No need for a perception check to know what's right in front of your face. Anything you could intuit would be more of an Insight check ))
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
The Stonehill Inn
The innkeeper, wiping his hands on a somewhat clean rag, leans across the bar with a smile that borders on mischievous, making the whole exchange feel like the beginning of a lasting camaraderie. "Name's Toblen Stonehill," he says, his voice carrying the warm timbre of someone who enjoys the storytelling aspect of his job as much as he does pulling pints. "Mighty fuckin' pleased to make your acquaintance, and mighty glad to have you entertainin' our guests. These two," he nods towards the mugs of brew with a grin, "are on the house. Consider it a bit of a welcome to Phandalin and a thank you, in advance, for the tunes and tales you'll be sharing with us."
The innkeeper, wiping his hands on a somewhat clean rag, leans across the bar with a smile that borders on mischievous, making the whole exchange feel like the beginning of a lasting camaraderie. "Name's Toblen Stonehill," he says, his voice carrying the warm timbre of someone who enjoys the storytelling aspect of his job as much as he does pulling pints. "Mighty fuckin' pleased to make your acquaintance, and mighty glad to have you entertainin' our guests. These two," he nods towards the mugs of brew with a grin, "are on the house. Consider it a bit of a welcome to Phandalin and a thank you, in advance, for the tunes and tales you'll be sharing with us."
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
Edermath Orchard
The Drow's presence in the orchard, under the shade of fruit-laden trees, casts an intriguing contrast against the peaceful, rustic setting. His silver hair glints softly in the dappled sunlight, and his eyes, a deep, reflective violet, hold centuries of wisdom and a touch of innate curiosity about the world and its myriad inhabitants.
"Pleased to meet you, Dragmire. I am Daran Edermath," he begins, his voice smooth and carrying the faintest hint of an accent that speaks of places far removed from the humble environs of Phandalin. "Once a member of the Order of the Gauntlet, now a humble orchard keeper and retired adventurer. It's not often we see new faces around these parts, especially ones as... unique as yours." A polite, knowing smile crosses his face, acknowledging the shared experience of being outliers in their respective environments.
"I appreciate the offer," Daran continues, his hands gesturing subtly to the rows of fruit trees around them, their boughs heavy with the promise of harvest. "But this orchard is my retirement and passion. I chose this life after my days of adventuring, seeking a simpler existence where I could nurture growth rather than battle darkness. The work here, it's a pleasure, truly."
He takes a moment, his gaze drifting to the horizon, where the land whispers of mysteries yet unsolved and tales untold. Turning back to Dragmire, Daran's expression becomes more contemplative, as if weighing the measure of the Warlock before him.
"However," he continues, the hint of a former adventurer's spark igniting in his eyes, "the land around Phandalin could certainly benefit from someone with your... particular set of skills. There are troubles that stir beyond the reach of my orchard. Old Owl Well to the east, for example, has become a source of concern with reports of undead sightings. And then there's the matter of the Redbrands, a thorn in this town's side. It's time someone took a stand against Glasstaff's crimson-belted thugs. While I've chosen a path of peace, perhaps someone like you could address these disturbances."
Daran's offer is framed not as a plea for help within the bounds of his peaceful retirement but as a beacon for an adventurer looking to make a difference.
The Drow's presence in the orchard, under the shade of fruit-laden trees, casts an intriguing contrast against the peaceful, rustic setting. His silver hair glints softly in the dappled sunlight, and his eyes, a deep, reflective violet, hold centuries of wisdom and a touch of innate curiosity about the world and its myriad inhabitants.
"Pleased to meet you, Dragmire. I am Daran Edermath," he begins, his voice smooth and carrying the faintest hint of an accent that speaks of places far removed from the humble environs of Phandalin. "Once a member of the Order of the Gauntlet, now a humble orchard keeper and retired adventurer. It's not often we see new faces around these parts, especially ones as... unique as yours." A polite, knowing smile crosses his face, acknowledging the shared experience of being outliers in their respective environments.
"I appreciate the offer," Daran continues, his hands gesturing subtly to the rows of fruit trees around them, their boughs heavy with the promise of harvest. "But this orchard is my retirement and passion. I chose this life after my days of adventuring, seeking a simpler existence where I could nurture growth rather than battle darkness. The work here, it's a pleasure, truly."
He takes a moment, his gaze drifting to the horizon, where the land whispers of mysteries yet unsolved and tales untold. Turning back to Dragmire, Daran's expression becomes more contemplative, as if weighing the measure of the Warlock before him.
"However," he continues, the hint of a former adventurer's spark igniting in his eyes, "the land around Phandalin could certainly benefit from someone with your... particular set of skills. There are troubles that stir beyond the reach of my orchard. Old Owl Well to the east, for example, has become a source of concern with reports of undead sightings. And then there's the matter of the Redbrands, a thorn in this town's side. It's time someone took a stand against Glasstaff's crimson-belted thugs. While I've chosen a path of peace, perhaps someone like you could address these disturbances."
Daran's offer is framed not as a plea for help within the bounds of his peaceful retirement but as a beacon for an adventurer looking to make a difference.
Dude grabs a mug with each hand and gives Toblen a firm nod.
...this is gonna be fun, Toblen.
Dude gives a confident smile to Toblen, despite all appearances and what those Dude has met think of him - he often has a plan, and that plan often works.
Y'know... sometimes you think you get people... until they leave you unconscious on a cave floor while they tend to... more important things.
Dude pauses, thinking back to the actions of the group of adventurers after the battle with Klarg. Dude recalls that Sildar was the one who tended to him after he threw himself in front of Klarg. Dude says to himself...
Thanks Sildar.
Dude takes one of the mugs to his mouth, feeling the cold frothy brew on his lips. He tilts back the mug, chugging back the entire brew. He places the empty mug on the bar, the glass letting out a soft clang. Dude holds the other beer in one hand. He's got some time to kill before his performance. Perhaps he may find love or lettuce.
Dude surveys the patrons at the Inn, looking to identify anyone worth talking to.
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
The Stonehill Inn
Tortle Dude takes a moment to appreciate the warm, bustling atmosphere of the Stonehill Inn's greatroom. His gaze wanders across the faces of its patrons, each absorbed in their own slice of life, their features a canvas of stories yet untold to the bard.
Further down the bar on the same side as Toblen he sees a dwarf bartender; her robust frame and jovial demeanor are unmistakable as she expertly navigates the bar, her laughter as rich and hearty as the ale she pours. Her presence is a solid anchor in the room, promising tales of dwarven brews and maybe even secrets of the mountains.
Next, Tortle Dude notices a gnome weaver, her fingers deftly working through a piece of cloth even as she engages in animated conversation with another patron. The intricate patterns emerging under her skilled hands speak of a deep cultural heritage, suggesting stories woven into the very fabric of her craft.
Next, a human miner is hard to miss with his weathered face and strong build, evidence of years spent delving into the earth's secrets. His quiet, reserved demeanor hints at a life spent in the pursuit of precious ores, possibly harboring tales of underground marvels and the dangers that lurk beneath.
An elderly human farmer, sits alone at a table, his gaze thoughtful as he sips his drink. The lines on his face are like the furrows of the fields he tends, suggesting a wealth of knowledge about the land, its cycles, and the tales it holds.
Lastly, Tortle Dude's eyes land on a boy who appears to be Toblen's son, a bundle of energy and curiosity. His youthful enthusiasm is infectious, and he seems like he might be a fountain of local gossip, adventures imagined and real, and possibly even hints of secrets only a child would notice.
The Dude, sensing an opportunity to gather stories, make new friends, and perhaps even uncover useful information, considers which of these individuals might offer the most intriguing conversation for the evening.
Tortle Dude takes a moment to appreciate the warm, bustling atmosphere of the Stonehill Inn's greatroom. His gaze wanders across the faces of its patrons, each absorbed in their own slice of life, their features a canvas of stories yet untold to the bard.
Further down the bar on the same side as Toblen he sees a dwarf bartender; her robust frame and jovial demeanor are unmistakable as she expertly navigates the bar, her laughter as rich and hearty as the ale she pours. Her presence is a solid anchor in the room, promising tales of dwarven brews and maybe even secrets of the mountains.
Next, Tortle Dude notices a gnome weaver, her fingers deftly working through a piece of cloth even as she engages in animated conversation with another patron. The intricate patterns emerging under her skilled hands speak of a deep cultural heritage, suggesting stories woven into the very fabric of her craft.
Next, a human miner is hard to miss with his weathered face and strong build, evidence of years spent delving into the earth's secrets. His quiet, reserved demeanor hints at a life spent in the pursuit of precious ores, possibly harboring tales of underground marvels and the dangers that lurk beneath.
An elderly human farmer, sits alone at a table, his gaze thoughtful as he sips his drink. The lines on his face are like the furrows of the fields he tends, suggesting a wealth of knowledge about the land, its cycles, and the tales it holds.
Lastly, Tortle Dude's eyes land on a boy who appears to be Toblen's son, a bundle of energy and curiosity. His youthful enthusiasm is infectious, and he seems like he might be a fountain of local gossip, adventures imagined and real, and possibly even hints of secrets only a child would notice.
The Dude, sensing an opportunity to gather stories, make new friends, and perhaps even uncover useful information, considers which of these individuals might offer the most intriguing conversation for the evening.
As Dude surveys the patrons at the inn, the elderly farmer catches Dude's eye - perhaps the age of the human reminds Dude of Grandtorty. Dude knows that with age comes wisdom, tales, and more.
Dude walks over to the elderly human farmer's table, remaining standing.
...Have you ever met a Tortle?
Was hoping I could join you, get to know you, and this lovely town.
I'm new here, but it's sounding like I might be here for a few days already.
Kutshort dodges the door and examines the woman. Such emotion conveyed in just one loo
So, I see you've met Tuberius. I'm quite glad he made it here safely.
Allow me to introduce myself, m’lady, my name is Kutshort Yes he says with a small bow.
I hope you haven’t been waiting for your supplies for too long. My companions and I rescued your goods from a band of goblins in a cave a short ways north of here. That goblin nest should no longer trouble you, or your goods.
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
The Stonehill Inn
The farmer looks up, clearly taken aback by the question but not unwelcoming. A hint of surprise flickers in his eyes as he takes in Tortle Dude's unique appearance, but it quickly gives way to a warm, if somewhat cautious, smile. "Well now, can't say that I have," he replies, his voice seasoned with the years of wisdom and hard work. "In all my years tending to the fields and watching the seasons change, I've seen many a traveler pass through Phandalin, but you, sir, are the first Tortle to grace our humble town, as far as I'm aware."
He gestures to the seat opposite him, an invitation for Tortle Dude to sit. "Please, have a seat. I'm Narth. It's not every day one gets to make the acquaintance of someone as unique as yourself. What brings you to these parts? If you're looking for tales, I've got a few of my own—nothing quite as exotic as what I'd imagine you've seen, but the land around here has its stories, deep as the soil."
The farmer looks up, clearly taken aback by the question but not unwelcoming. A hint of surprise flickers in his eyes as he takes in Tortle Dude's unique appearance, but it quickly gives way to a warm, if somewhat cautious, smile. "Well now, can't say that I have," he replies, his voice seasoned with the years of wisdom and hard work. "In all my years tending to the fields and watching the seasons change, I've seen many a traveler pass through Phandalin, but you, sir, are the first Tortle to grace our humble town, as far as I'm aware."
He gestures to the seat opposite him, an invitation for Tortle Dude to sit. "Please, have a seat. I'm Narth. It's not every day one gets to make the acquaintance of someone as unique as yourself. What brings you to these parts? If you're looking for tales, I've got a few of my own—nothing quite as exotic as what I'd imagine you've seen, but the land around here has its stories, deep as the soil."
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
The Lionshield Coster
The woman, momentarily pausing to absorb Kutshort's words, extends her hand in greeting, her expression brightening further with a mix of relief and appreciation. "A pleasure to meet you, Kutshort. I'm Linene Graywind, proprietor of the Lionshield Coster here in Phandalin. You and your friends have done a great deed by returning these goods. The goblins have been a thorn in our side for far too long."
"You've done a great service to the Lionshield Coster, and indeed, to Phandalin itself, by retrieving these goods from the goblins," she says, her voice carrying a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Such bravery and selflessness deserve a proper reward."
Linene steps back into her establishment for a moment before returning with a small pouch, which she hands to Kutshort. "Here are 50 gold pieces, as a token of our appreciation for your efforts. It's adventurers like you and your companions who make a difference in these troubled times."
Linene smiles warmly at Kutshort, "Well, if you or your companions ever need supplies or information, know that the Lionshield Coster and I are at your service. You've made a friend today, and the Lionshield Coster always remembers those who aid us."
The woman, momentarily pausing to absorb Kutshort's words, extends her hand in greeting, her expression brightening further with a mix of relief and appreciation. "A pleasure to meet you, Kutshort. I'm Linene Graywind, proprietor of the Lionshield Coster here in Phandalin. You and your friends have done a great deed by returning these goods. The goblins have been a thorn in our side for far too long."
"You've done a great service to the Lionshield Coster, and indeed, to Phandalin itself, by retrieving these goods from the goblins," she says, her voice carrying a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Such bravery and selflessness deserve a proper reward."
Linene steps back into her establishment for a moment before returning with a small pouch, which she hands to Kutshort. "Here are 50 gold pieces, as a token of our appreciation for your efforts. It's adventurers like you and your companions who make a difference in these troubled times."
Linene smiles warmly at Kutshort, "Well, if you or your companions ever need supplies or information, know that the Lionshield Coster and I are at your service. You've made a friend today, and the Lionshield Coster always remembers those who aid us."
Order of the Gauntlet? Boy, that sure sounds like it's for tough guys, mister. You must be a real tough guy to have been in that.
Dragmire casts Prestidigitation to create a nonmagical trinket: A small stone tablet that fits in Dragmire's hand. On it, the following words appear etched:
OLD OWL WELL - EAST - UNDEAD
REDBRANDS - GLASSTAFF - THUGS - HERE
DARAN EDERMATH - NICE
Well Mr. Edermath, I appreciate the time you took to speak with me. I will take your words back to my party, and with them we shall rid this land of those that need to be gotten rid of! If I had something more significant to give as a token of our meeting, I would use that; but alas, this will have to do...
Dragmire pulls out a Dagger from his backpack, the same one briefly featured during the previous fight with Klarg. Dragmire holds it in both of his hands and closes his eyes for a moment (not wielding, just holding as if you were thinking of something or remembering past events that the item was involved in). Then, he hands the Dagger to Daran Edermath.
I would be honored if you would hold on to this dagger for me, Daran. I like to remember positive encounters by leaving tokens behind so that I may look back fondly upon those I have met and hopefully they may do the same.
Assuming Daran has nothing further to converse about, Dragmire clutches the stone tablet (knowing that it has just 1 hour before it crumbles) and runs back the way he came to continue looking for the group, while looking back at Daran and laughing while running (you know how in anime they do this and it looks really stupid and it lasts for like ten seconds or more).
Dragmire is making a more concerted effort to locate anybody from the party now and is more loudly shouting for the party as he lightly runs through the town.
You are much too kind, Lady Graywind.
This is my first time in Phandalin, so I would be much obliged if you could provide me with some information.
Kutshort asks his questions, leaving time for Linene to respond to each one before asking the next
- My companions and I have separated to explore the town, but we could use a place to regroup and rest our heads. Is there any such place you could recommend?
- What supplies does your establishment sell?
- Do you happen to know if Tuberius the Firblog is still in town? I would love to catch up with him again.
And most importantly Kutshort lowers his voice due to the nature of the question:
do you happen to know anyone with information on Cragmaw Castle, specifically its location or any rumors regarding it? We have reason to believe the goblins who absconded with your supplies were operating on orders from goblins in that castle. We have unfinished business with them
Dude gives the farmer a slight nod. He grabs the chair, pulling it toward him, the subtle screech of the chair legs scraping against the floor. Dude takes a seat, then takes a large swig of his drink. He lets out a relaxed exhale.
Pleasure to meet you Narth... they call me Dude, of the Tortle family.
Dude pauses, observing the body language of the farmer but doesn't determine any sense of fear or hostility in the farmer. He must not know the Tortle family, as most don't.
I'm uh... passing through. But, I'm also a problem fixer. Which is to say, if I see a problem... I can't turn the other way. No matter how uh... dangerous it may seem, I'll throw myself into the line of fire.
Dude pauses, thinking about the numerous encounters in and around the cave. Whether it's the river bath distraction, the booty shake for the snake, striking a deal with goblins to save T'anks, or throwing himself in front of Klarg... he realizes that he is continually throwing himself into danger, but for what?
See Narth. I protect people. Whether they realize they need it or not. I won't get thanked, I won't be appreciated... I'll often get... taken advantage of.
Dude pauses yet again, thinking back to the conversation outside of the cave with T'anks. They haven't spoken since then, matter of fact, Dude hasn't spoken to any of them. The whispers in Dude's head taking over during silence.
Enough about me for now... you'll learn more about me soon enough.
So tell me farmer, what tales do you have? Any of love and lettuce?
T'anks looks around the room for signs of Redbrand Brigands and makes her way over to Halia Thornton.
T'anks mulls over how to approach this given the new environment, sensitive nature of this "assignment" and awareness that the town is presently being occupied. While not new to the concept of the exchange and bartering at large, this is nevertheless something that she understands requires a certain level of tact that she may be found wanting in.
Greetings. Halia Thornton, I presume? My name is T'anks Kiraine, a traveling Bard and aspiring... adventurer, you could say. I was hoping to speak with you about a matter of some delicacy, brought to my attention by an acquaintance?
She shifts her gaze about, trying not to let the wrong person overhear. She leans in and begins to whisper.
Grista Dawes says you have coin in exchange for the services of someone unafraid of getting a little dirty.
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
The Lionshield Coster
Linene's face softens further as Kutshort inquires about a place to rest, her eyes reflecting a hint of caution. "If you're looking for a good place to lay your head, I'd recommend the Stonehill Inn. Toblen Stonehill runs a clean establishment with comfortable rooms. The food's not bad either," she says, her voice laced with a genuine recommendation.
She then leans in a bit closer, lowering her voice as if to share a confidential piece of advice. "I'd steer clear of the Sleeping Giant if I were you, especially if you're not looking for trouble. It's a rough spot, frequented by the Redbrands. They're... not the best company, if you catch my drift."
Linene's expression brightens as she begins to discuss the offerings of the Lionshield Coster. "Well, allow me to recite my sales pitch!"
She clears her throat: "We carry a wide range of supplies here, catering to adventurers, travelers, and the locals of Phandalin. You'll find weapons, armor, and various adventuring gear among our stock. Whether you're looking for a new sword, a shield, or perhaps some rope and torches for delving into caves, we've got you covered."
"We also have a selection of basic travel provisions, like bedrolls, backpacks, and ration packs. And for those interested in more specialized equipment, we can sometimes arrange orders for items we don't keep in regular stock."
"Our goods are of high quality and reasonably priced. We understand the dangers that lurk outside the safety of Phandalin's walls, and we're committed to equipping you with what you need to face those challenges."
"Oh was that his name? I didn't actually get to meet him, he went on down to Barthen's Provisions just down the way. Our, uh...competitor. Decent little place, though they don't carry weapons or armor. Its quaint, really."
"Cragmaw Castle? Hmm, can't say I know anything about that. Oooh, I know who you should ask! You should talk to Reidoth! She's a druid and she knows so much about the area around these parts. Oh wait, I haven't seen Reidoth in a minute. Oooh, you should talk to Qelline Alderleaf! You know, over at Alderleaf Farm? Those two are Thick. As. Thieves. I bet Qelline could point you towards wherever Reidoth's gone off to this time."
Just then, a diminutive figure is seen dashing through the streets of Phandalin with a focused intensity. It's Dragmire, who's been making his way through town, eager to find his companions after a day filled with its own adventures.
Spotting Kutshort and a familiar furry companion, Dragmire skids to a halt, kicking up a small cloud of dust on the well-trodden path. His sudden stop draws the attention of a few nearby townsfolk, who look on with mild interest before going about their business.
Linene's face softens further as Kutshort inquires about a place to rest, her eyes reflecting a hint of caution. "If you're looking for a good place to lay your head, I'd recommend the Stonehill Inn. Toblen Stonehill runs a clean establishment with comfortable rooms. The food's not bad either," she says, her voice laced with a genuine recommendation.
She then leans in a bit closer, lowering her voice as if to share a confidential piece of advice. "I'd steer clear of the Sleeping Giant if I were you, especially if you're not looking for trouble. It's a rough spot, frequented by the Redbrands. They're... not the best company, if you catch my drift."
Linene's expression brightens as she begins to discuss the offerings of the Lionshield Coster. "Well, allow me to recite my sales pitch!"
She clears her throat: "We carry a wide range of supplies here, catering to adventurers, travelers, and the locals of Phandalin. You'll find weapons, armor, and various adventuring gear among our stock. Whether you're looking for a new sword, a shield, or perhaps some rope and torches for delving into caves, we've got you covered."
"We also have a selection of basic travel provisions, like bedrolls, backpacks, and ration packs. And for those interested in more specialized equipment, we can sometimes arrange orders for items we don't keep in regular stock."
"Our goods are of high quality and reasonably priced. We understand the dangers that lurk outside the safety of Phandalin's walls, and we're committed to equipping you with what you need to face those challenges."
"Oh was that his name? I didn't actually get to meet him, he went on down to Barthen's Provisions just down the way. Our, uh...competitor. Decent little place, though they don't carry weapons or armor. Its quaint, really."
"Cragmaw Castle? Hmm, can't say I know anything about that. Oooh, I know who you should ask! You should talk to Reidoth! She's a druid and she knows so much about the area around these parts. Oh wait, I haven't seen Reidoth in a minute. Oooh, you should talk to Qelline Alderleaf! You know, over at Alderleaf Farm? Those two are Thick. As. Thieves. I bet Qelline could point you towards wherever Reidoth's gone off to this time."
Just then, a diminutive figure is seen dashing through the streets of Phandalin with a focused intensity. It's Dragmire, who's been making his way through town, eager to find his companions after a day filled with its own adventures.
Spotting Kutshort and a familiar furry companion, Dragmire skids to a halt, kicking up a small cloud of dust on the well-trodden path. His sudden stop draws the attention of a few nearby townsfolk, who look on with mild interest before going about their business.
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
The Stonehill Inn
Narth, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful look, takes a moment to eye the Tortle before him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Finally, he leans forward, elbows on the table, and speaks in a warm, engaging tone.
"Well now, that's an interesting combination you've got there," Narth begins, his eyes twinkling with a hint of laughter. "Love and lettuce, eh? You know, most folks around here concern themselves with tales of adventure, danger, or treasure. But love and lettuce, that's a fresh one."
He pauses for a sip of his drink, seemingly savoring the taste as well as the tale he's about to tell. "There was a time, several years ago, when Phandalin was just starting to blossom again after its troubles. Among the folks here was a young couple, deeply in love, but as different as night and day. She was a farmer, dedicated to her crops and land, with a particular knack for growing the finest lettuce you'd ever lay eyes on. Cultivating the earth. He, on the other hand, was a miner, his days spent tearing into that earth, searching for its hidden treasures."
Narth chuckles softly, the memory bringing a soft glow to his eyes. "Their love was the talk of the town, how they managed to find harmony despite their different worlds. But here's where your lettuce comes into the tale. She believed, you see, that love could grow and thrive much like her crops, given the right care and attention. And he, well, he agreed, even if he didn't quite realize it. He worked at growing that love, bringing her bits of quartz, amethyst, anything shiny he'd find during his digs, calling them the jewels of the earth, much like her lettuce was the jewel of her garden."
"Their tale became a bit of a legend around here," Narth continues, a wistful note in his voice. "They say that on their wedding day, the entire celebration was adorned with lettuce and gems, a testament to their love and the worlds they brought together. Some even say that their happiness was such that it blessed the land, making the crops flourish and the mines yield plenty."
Leaning back, Narth finishes his story with a sigh. "So there you have it, a story of love and lettuce. Not the kind of tale you'd expect, but around these parts, we believe love can be found in the most unexpected places... and sometimes, it's as simple and profound as sharing what you hold dear."
Narth, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful look, takes a moment to eye the Tortle before him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. Finally, he leans forward, elbows on the table, and speaks in a warm, engaging tone.
"Well now, that's an interesting combination you've got there," Narth begins, his eyes twinkling with a hint of laughter. "Love and lettuce, eh? You know, most folks around here concern themselves with tales of adventure, danger, or treasure. But love and lettuce, that's a fresh one."
He pauses for a sip of his drink, seemingly savoring the taste as well as the tale he's about to tell. "There was a time, several years ago, when Phandalin was just starting to blossom again after its troubles. Among the folks here was a young couple, deeply in love, but as different as night and day. She was a farmer, dedicated to her crops and land, with a particular knack for growing the finest lettuce you'd ever lay eyes on. Cultivating the earth. He, on the other hand, was a miner, his days spent tearing into that earth, searching for its hidden treasures."
Narth chuckles softly, the memory bringing a soft glow to his eyes. "Their love was the talk of the town, how they managed to find harmony despite their different worlds. But here's where your lettuce comes into the tale. She believed, you see, that love could grow and thrive much like her crops, given the right care and attention. And he, well, he agreed, even if he didn't quite realize it. He worked at growing that love, bringing her bits of quartz, amethyst, anything shiny he'd find during his digs, calling them the jewels of the earth, much like her lettuce was the jewel of her garden."
"Their tale became a bit of a legend around here," Narth continues, a wistful note in his voice. "They say that on their wedding day, the entire celebration was adorned with lettuce and gems, a testament to their love and the worlds they brought together. Some even say that their happiness was such that it blessed the land, making the crops flourish and the mines yield plenty."
Leaning back, Narth finishes his story with a sigh. "So there you have it, a story of love and lettuce. Not the kind of tale you'd expect, but around these parts, we believe love can be found in the most unexpected places... and sometimes, it's as simple and profound as sharing what you hold dear."
VashTheStampede
Caterpillar Accountant
Miner's Exchange
(( Not a Redbrand in sight in the Exchange ))
Halia Thornton
Halia sets her ledger aside and gestures for T'anks to take a seat across from her. Her voice is firm, yet there's an undercurrent of intrigue as she speaks. "The task I have in mind requires discretion, skill, and a certain... willingness to operate outside the strictest boundaries of the law."
When T'anks does not flinch at the implications, she continues...
Leaning forward, Halia lowers her voice, ensuring their conversation remains private amidst the hum of activity in the Exchange. "The Redbrands," she says, the name carrying a weight of disdain, "have become more than a mere nuisance in Phandalin. They're a blight, a gang of thugs and ruffians bullying the town and bad for business. Their leader, a man known only as Glasstaff, is particularly elusive and dangerous."
She pauses, gauging T'anks's reaction before continuing. "Your task, should you choose to accept it, is to deal with the Redbrand problem. I want Glasstaff brought to heel. Bring him to me...as well as any correspondence you may find on his person or in his hideout. For this, I'm prepared to pay handsomely."
Halia leans back, her expression one of cool anticipation. "Of course, I understand such work is not without its risks. Therefore, I'm offering 100 gold pieces for the job completed. Additionally, it could prove...beneficial for your standing in Phandalin. So, what do you say?"
(( Not a Redbrand in sight in the Exchange ))
Halia Thornton
Halia sets her ledger aside and gestures for T'anks to take a seat across from her. Her voice is firm, yet there's an undercurrent of intrigue as she speaks. "The task I have in mind requires discretion, skill, and a certain... willingness to operate outside the strictest boundaries of the law."
When T'anks does not flinch at the implications, she continues...
Leaning forward, Halia lowers her voice, ensuring their conversation remains private amidst the hum of activity in the Exchange. "The Redbrands," she says, the name carrying a weight of disdain, "have become more than a mere nuisance in Phandalin. They're a blight, a gang of thugs and ruffians bullying the town and bad for business. Their leader, a man known only as Glasstaff, is particularly elusive and dangerous."
She pauses, gauging T'anks's reaction before continuing. "Your task, should you choose to accept it, is to deal with the Redbrand problem. I want Glasstaff brought to heel. Bring him to me...as well as any correspondence you may find on his person or in his hideout. For this, I'm prepared to pay handsomely."
Halia leans back, her expression one of cool anticipation. "Of course, I understand such work is not without its risks. Therefore, I'm offering 100 gold pieces for the job completed. Additionally, it could prove...beneficial for your standing in Phandalin. So, what do you say?"
Dude observes Narth with a stoic look on his face - silently soaking in the words of Narth's story. Dude finds himself a little surprised, not expecting to hear a story of love and lettuce in a small little town like this. It's all he has pursued, perhaps he can begin his own story of love and lettuce right here in Phandalin? The words of the farmer hit Dude, giving him reason to pause and reflect. There is wisdom in the old farmer's words, there's something endearing of the simplicity of the tale. The Tortle Bard for his part, often does not communicate with such simplicity, nor does he write his songs with simplicity. Much like a head of lettuce, there are layers to Dude, layers to his music, and layers to his tales. Each word having meaning, but Dude admires the old farmer for entertaining him and his wishes. After these moments of reflection, Dude takes a big swig of his drink.
Narth... thank you, for sharing this tale. I did not expect to find one of love and lettuce in your small town here...
Dude pauses, further reflecting on the tale.
It gives me things to think about... of lettuce... of love... and that you may never know when... or where, you may find it. You remind me a lot of my Grandtorty, Narth.
He used to share stories about love... about lettuce... but one day that changed.
Dude takes a swig of his drink, the look on his face tensing as if this is not an easy topic for him to discuss.
...he was taken from me too soon, though. First his mind... then his body.
He held the Tortle family together. When he passed, it was only a matter of time before we went our separate ways. I had a younger brother that...
Dude's eyes get slightly watery.
Well, we don't talk about him or what he's done. I'm sure he's out there somewhere, but I hope not to ever meet him again.
Dude clears his throat, returning to his stoic demeanor before taking yet another swig of his drink.
Narth, there's something about your story. It... didn't feel like an ending.
What happened to the couple? Am I able to meet them? Or perhaps, pay my respects?
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DRAGMIRE! You arrived just in time. This is the lovely Linene, and she runs the the Lionshield Coster. She recommends stopping by the Stonehill Inn for some food and rest. It will probably be a good place to wait for Dude and T’anks.
Kutshort turns back to Linene
one last question before we head off on our way: I was hoping to find someone who could help me procure or made some armor for Hopper out there. Do you know of anyone? We had a scare while fighting the goblins, and I wanted to ensure he was as protected as he could be.
Kutshort waits for Linene’s answer, then graciously bids her fairwell, with a promise to return with the rest of the group when they need to restock.
come on Dragmire, let’s make our way to the Stonehill Inn
along the way, Kutshort fills Dramire in on everything Linene told him
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T'anks is positively elated to meet a woman as calculated and cunning as Halia appears to be. There are great risks involved with crossing someone like this, she knows, and her likelihood of talking her way out of faux pas will assuredly be more difficult. However, the chance to get paid for something she already wants to do and gather information in the process is far too tempting.
A slight grin creeps across her face as she begins to respond, her voice remaining low.
You're a woman after my own heart, is what I say! The... people in question have essentially taken over the Sleeping Giant. Grista could scarcely maintain eye contact from keeping an eye on their proximity so often. I would be glad to accept, but...
T'anks makes a little show of folding her arms, tapping her chin lightly with one of her claws. ...Which still need a good scrubbing. The better to present herself as a rough and tumble adventurer, she supposes, however wearing the remains of her former friend and ally is quite unpleasant. She frowns.
But you want this Glasstaff brought before you. As in still living and breathing? Subduing will prove challenging enough, keeping him immobile and transporting him harder still.
She tilts her head slightly, both for effect and due to being genuinely lost in thought.
I have a couple of allies in town, but there's another - one who came before us. Friend of a friend. Haven't met the man in person and was told to keep things quiet... but I know ambition when I see it. If anyone knows his whereabouts, I daresay it would be you.
Have you any information to share on a man named Iarno Albrek? It could prove useful in getting your job done. I believe he was out this way trying to find information about Cragmaw Castle, home to the Goblin that ransack caravans 'round these parts. For reasons I'm not at liberty to disclose. However, he has gone silent.