[Game Thread] Chapter 5: Battle of Bear's Embrace

[bananabadger]

It's Gundren, no doubt.

And it isn't, no doubt.

Meaning ... it's Gundren, but not the one you knew.

Sitting around a fireplace in a hollow that allows at least one-half of your camp not to be exposed--as good as safety as you might find and that Harald can track--you listen to Gundren slowly emerge from his shell of exhaustion and bloom into a full-blown slightly deranged version of the jovial, wise-cracking, and sly dwarf most of you knew or encountered before.

Ayore, you have always felt slightly removed from the group, but here you sense an affinity for them because one by one--it might seem to you--they slowly look to you, the one objective outsider, for confirmation that something might be slightly off with this rescued prisoner.

Actually, Ayore, your status as the newcomer isn't entirely true anymore. There's a goblin slinking about around the fire. He keeps close--too close, perhaps for the liking of some--to Merlow. Obsequious, frightened, and seeming to know no bounds of personal space, Adorable Friend Don't Kill looks at all of you as if you might be slightly mad, which makes sense because, really, who has ever heard of a people who crash a birthday party and kill all the guests and pets to boot.

Gundren, strangely enough, doesn't seem to mind Adorable Friend Don't Kill, but his disdain and sometimes physically cruelty toward the goblin is shocking ... even for seasoned adventurers, which would include you--all of you, from the provincial halfling who set out on a wagon cart, to the half-elf born with silver spoons in her adventuring pack, and even the wild druid who once fell from a caravan and plunged into the woods, adopted by the sun and moon.

You break camp in the morning, Gundren forcing Adorable Friend Don't Kill to gather kindling and start the fire "or else," and offering all of you coffee which, if anyone partakes in it, is quickly revealed as boiled water with a few grass blades mixed in. Adorable Friend Don't Kill looks to you with raised eyebrows, not knowing if boiled grass is your custom, or if something, truly, is amiss.

But there's no time to discuss. Adorable Friend Don't Kill plunges into one of your tents, shaking and sweating as noises are heard around your camp.

There is a small group of humans, who skirt around your camp with a mix of fear and challenging glances. When they see Nuala, they are visibly relieved, but still wary.

"The green fire is lit!" they shout from a distance. "Our lord will return. Will you join us? "

They are 3, no 4 ... no 5 ... and more still in the woods.

They wait for a response, and whatever it is, if it isn't "heck, green dragon cheers, yeah!" they spit in disgust and quickly leave.

Adorable Friend Don't Kill refuses to emerge for at least an hour afterward. Gundren, on the other hand, doesn't understand any of this. Focused on his explorations and then consumed in his captivity, he has missed the saga of the Green Dragon.

He has something more important, in his mind, and he relates it to you all, even to anyone who won't listen, with an intensity and near-foaming at the mouth that would be out of place even in some of the worst taverns, three minutes until closing time.

"Forge of Spells ... that's what it is! Legendary! Gnomish and dwarvish--so you know it's got to be good! Then human mages on top of it--that's like mustard on your salo, that's what it is!"

He repeats the mustard saying frequently, as if that will convince you. And, maybe it would had you all been in captivity for weeks, sustaining yourself on murky water and grubs given to you by bugbear captors when they weren't busy with the beatings.

But there are other odds and bits that Gundren relates, which eventually somewhat make sense.

He believes the Forge of Spells to be one of the spots in the world imbued with magic and then frosted with a layer of wizadry that dwarves and gnomes of old could direct to empower weapons and--here's the kicker--impart gems with an even greater shine and power. He believes--"No, I know!" he says as he stares into your face at an uncomfortably close distance where you can see he still has a few grubs in his beard. "Listen to me!"--that the Forge of Spells is deep in this mine that he and his brothers, well, cousins, really, but they've been mining together for so long ... anyway, they found this mine. The place locals call Wave Echo Cave. And it's in there, he's certain. Because why else would they have encountered so many undead and evil guardians who ... well, he's sure they have gone. They're nothing really, nothing a small band of friends--dear friends!--couldn't handle. "Heck, if we get in a spot, we can just feed them the goblin!" Gundren laughs. Adorable Friend Don't Kill laughs, too. Nervously. Then he slinks deeper into Merlow's shadow.

There is another shadow. Toward the evening, about the time you must decide whether to camp or press on to Phandalin, there is a great shadow in the sky. It flaps slowly, defying gravity that something that large could be afloat. And it moves swiftly toward the direction of a castle you have abandoned, toward of plume of green smoke that, even at this distance, you can still see.

You arrive at Phandalin that night--or maybe it is the morning. There are no wandering monsters around to disturb you either way. Which is nice, disturbing ... because even the squirrels of the forest sense a madness about your group that causes them to give you a wide berth.

There are rooms in Phandalin. Old faces you will know. They welcome you as heroes. You feel a change in the town. With the Redbrands vanished (or returning, but not as an occupier, at least as is the case with one of them), the villages have thrived. Sildar Hallwinter, recovered from his captivity, has organized a small militia of citizens who guard the town and allow the residents to get on with their life of farming, herding, crafting, and gathering at the inn.

He warmly embraces those in the party whom he knows. And--alone among the villagers--it is he who looks with more concern at Gundren than he does at Adorable Friend Don't Kill. He takes Gundren back to his own small home, but you notice he asks for one of his militia to join him. He will take Adorable Friend Don't Kill, as well, should you decide. The town knows what to do with a goblin.

The next morning, Sildar and Gundren wait for you at the inn. As soon as he sees you, Gundren thrusts new contracts at you.

"He worked all night at these," Sildar says to you meaningfully.

If you look at them, you will see that they are written in a familiar, Gundren-style script, but cramped, with annotations and long asides about mustard written into the margins. Nothing else in the text makes sense. It is gibberish through and through.

"Sign it, if you wish! I'll guarantee you a share of the mine and use of the Forge to you and a designated heir," Gundren says. "We can take off tomorrow!"

Harald and Seraphim refuse. They have a body to bury. They ask for 100 gold of the party's share, which, combined with what Seraphim was carrying for the group, is now up to 967 gold pieces.

Gundren is astonished and offended by their refusal. "What is a body but something lost to the past? Think of your future! The wealth and the power!" he screams at them as they leave before a fight breaks out.

Sildar looks to you knowingly. He, too, has been bombarded with tales of the mine from his guest. And you can tell he is skeptical of them.

"Sildar signed, didn't you?" Gundren explains.

"I did," Sildar answers, and then adds in a whisper too low for deranged dwarves to acknowledge," I think a hike into a cave might be the medicine that could calm a dwarf shook by beatings and mockery. The inn has agreed to add a small jar of mustard to each of our packs."

OOC Welcome to Chapter 5! It begins as our adventure began ... with a contract offer from a dwarf. You can read the small print. Heck, you can read the small and the large print--none of it will make any sense. But the gist is clear. There's a dwarf, a legend, and a cave. Please go ahead and post, feeling free to include any remarks, acts, developments from the moment you leave the castle to the morning that Gundren provides you the contract. I don't like retcons, but I am happy in this case to go back and change anything in my post if you do something along the way that would change events. If you do, give me a heads up so I can read it ASAP in case it affects anyone else (for example, if you were to issue a challenge to the green dragon flying over you). Below are small Secret remarks to each of you. This is also something I don't like doing as a DM, but I want to do so here because it provides you information that isn't meant to be hidden from the party, but is meant to allow you to incorporate into your posts and might affect choices you make in leveling up. Which, by the way, you should do before you make your next post. You arrive at breakfast feeling rather 5th-levelish! Congrats.

[Alemar]

Full Circle Ayore did his best to ignore the strange feelings he was getting from Gundren, and the constant annoyance of random cultists wandering into his camp to ask him about joining. 'Was this really the guy I was sent to rescue? I actually do like mustard on meats, but I'm not sure talking about a magic forge warrants such an analogy? Still the others don't seem to mind him, so it must be him? right? Not Glasstaff in yet another face? The Paladin considered briefly calling upon one of his knights again, to pull back the veil on what was troubling the strange Dwarf, but was concerned that he would be wasting his precious resources on a fool's errand. When the troupe got close to Phandalin once more, he cautioned them quickly about their new "pet". "I don't think the folks in town are going to be very receptive to your newest tag-along, Gundren's probably nicer to it than they would be... so it might be best we cut him loose, before someone cuts him down." Upon entering Phandalin again, Ayore was filled with a sense of regret. He had secretly dreaded this, unsure how he'd feel seeing the familiar sights, faces, of home... And now that he was indeed back, he wasn't sure where exactly he fit into things anymore. Excusing himself from the others for a walk to think about things, to try and clear his head and sort his emotions, he found his feet treading the familiar paths to The Sleeping Giant. Normally there would be a warm glow emanating from below the door, the windows, dust encrusted as they were, would still soften the night with their welcoming light. But it was notably darker, colder, this evening than it had been in the past. And Ayore's heart emptied when he saw how many scattered chairs lined the dining floor. At the sound of the door opening, an elderly woman appeared from the kitchens, and with a startle of surprise, dove back to the back of the house for a moment, before reappearing with a small bundle in her hands. Approaching the Paladin, she reached out with her gift to him. A small sack, neatly folded, and smelling of hay. Hands trembling as she handed over her parcel, the old woman opened her heart to the troubled Half-Elf. "I hid this so they would not take it from me while you were gone, I always hoped you would come back!" She explained. "I made it for my son, but he was cut down by those adventurers before I could ever give it to him... Wear it with my love, and may it wrap you in it's protection. So that when you have the opportunity, you may boldly strike down this newcomer 'Sildar' An outsider who thinks himself better than us common folk, deems that he rules the whole town now... Avenge my son, avenge your fallen Comrades, and redeem yourself in the eyes of Phandalin." She implored. Reaching into the bag, Ayore pulled out a fine red cloak from between the folds of rough linen fabric. Dyed to be a deep wine, the cloak was soft, and supple, and Ayore had to take a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship, the love, that this woman had woven into it's construction. Allowing his own stained, and bloodied, heavy cloak to fall to the ground. Ayore wrapped himself in his present as tears threatened to spill forth, and run down his face. "I'm sorry for your loss, your son was my brother... When the Adventurers came, they used magic to prevent me from taking up a sword in his defense. They broke down all the doors, smashed the tables, and then when they could find no more to destroy, threw torches in an attempt to burn down our Manor home... All because they were searching for someone who wasn't even there! We found who they were looking for, rescued him from Goblins, and from what I can tell of him, he's lost his mind... He wasn't worth the cost." Ayore paused a moment to search for his next words, and finding them he continued "Sildar did not impress me in my first meeting, I asked him for help in searching for his friend, and he denied me preferring to stay behind... Now, you tell me he has instead taken over the town? The Redbrands were hired, were lawfully engaged by the Mayor, to enforce the peace. So tell me, what does His Worship think of this new man inserting himself into politics?" Ayore grumbled, not actually wanting to hear her answer. Most people had despised the Mayor for one reason or another, either for bringing in his Mercenary band, or for playing both sides once he had lost control of his station. So no answer that he could have recieved from her would have changed his mind on the man anyways... "If I get the opportunity, I will end him. So that our Family can finally rest in peace." The Paladin dropped to a knee in front of the woman, and swore to her an oath of retribution. Rising upon it's completion, he nodded a farewell to her and Grista, the Dwarven proprietor of his old watering hole, who had been silently judging him from behind the bartop, and exited the run down tavern. The Paladin of Ancients headed straight to Alger's Smithy, to enquire within about a small gold chain to hang upon his armored shoulder once again.

 

Aid of the Soulmates
Solaris Knight 1   Noctus Knight 2 Invoked Remis Tabard Knight   Fodn Bugbear

 

Ayore, Paladin of the Ancients
Vital Statistics Armor Class: 18 Hit Points: 44/44 Hit Dice : 5d10 Gear Greatsword +6 to hit 2d6+4 Melee Weapon Javelin +4 to hit 1d6+2 30-120 feet Spells Lay on Hands 25/25 5 uses removes 1 disease or 1 poison effect Level 1 4/4 Pg. 219Bless , Pg. 230Cure Wounds , Pg. 237Ensnaring Strike , Pg. 275Shield of Faith , Pg. 277Speak w/ Animals , Level 2 2/2 Pg. 257Magic Weapon

[ElderOblex]

Nuala The violence should have given her some sort of high; a feeling of elation, exultation, or relief, at least. It did not. The whole aftermath of this Incident In The Kitchen Involving A Bear Rug, Her Pack, Her New Friends, and The Goblinoids just left a bitter taste in the dwarf’s - and she was, by way of cracking and twisting bone and sinew, pain and screams and Thard Harr’s wild touch, back as a dwarf - sharp-toothed mouth. She wanted to know who those hobgoblins worked for, and why they went on raids. Was it simply to line their pockets with the spoils of others? Or for another, darker purpose? And those former captives… those bedraggled, emaciated humans she had thought were thoroughly done with the Dragon of the Green, the violator of their village. Yet here they were again, right back to where they started. Did they forget so quickly how their livelihoods were burned dry by that flying lizard? Again her hands twitched and shook, aching to use her claws so soon after they had come from battle. She wanted to rend the dragon’s neck, even if it cost her life… But she had to protect her pack. The Pack always came first. "The green fire is lit! Will you join us?" So all Nuala gave to the stupid old woman and her ilk were her words of wisdom. "Your lord not your lord. This den not your den. This den ours. We fight for it." Nuala paused. They fought too, after all. Big Ben, Marg Thundertree, the boy… She didn’t realize she was grinding her teeth. "We fight. To be free. Now… You…" She looked up at them, those sad, desperate, foolish town folk grasping at straws for the smallest sliver of hope; any hope. Was it better to leave them with a false hope, one that would lead to their deaths? "Not too late," she said, less hotly now. "Fire out. Leave place. Start new." Nuala looked up at the villagers again, with genuine concern, and sadness. "...No. Not join you." She did not see the shadow in the sky. Nuala kept silent when the dwarf spoke of something about a Forge. It tickled her memory, but she didn’t let that bother her. Memories were the last things she wanted inside her head right now. She was glad that he was safe now, at least, and none too worse for wear. Nuala hated goblins too, but she also hated Gundren’s joke. Was there something wrong with him, or with her? Perhaps that was why she couldn’t really sleep that night. Nuala tried walking outdoors, but the noise of the city bustling at all hours didn’t help her nerves. Phandalin used to smell of charcoal, and sweat, and fear. Not there was an added mix of anticipation at the absence of the Redbrands, but there was also… unease. Was it because of the mad dwarf? Nuala was grinding her teeth again. Was she on edge because of her old friend, who had now returned to them… damaged… by abuse? She could relate to that. Maybe it was that persistent, irritating feeling that someone kept calling her name. It seemed to be coming from… wasn’t that Fiadh’s room at the Inn? Was there an actual voice? Or just a feeling? Nuala couldn’t tell. It wasn’t even ‘Nuala’ that she was “hearing,” beckoning her to come. It wasn’t using that new name. It was calling… her forgotten name; her old name. Her dwarven name. Nuala jumped a bit when she realized she was right outside her friend’s door. Wasn’t she walking outside just a moment ago? How did she get here? How long was she standing there? Well, if she were here already, there was nothing left for it… She scratched at the door. —- Nuala stretched like a dog as she joined the others back in the common chamber. She had trouble resting, but any rest was better than nothing. Gundren’s new pieces of parchment didn’t help, though. Nuala couldn’t understand them. She stared at Sildar as he said something about a hike. "Not all wounds heal", she almost spat at him. She had so many questions, though. Why was he imprisoned? Was it for this forge? Who was behind his captivity? But really the most important one to her was the one she asked her old friend. "Gundren." She held his beard with both hands, forcing his head, if not his eyes, to face her. "Who hurt you? Why?"

Mechanics   Move: Action: Perception: Dice Roll: 1d20+6 (4)+6 Total = 10 (10) Persuasion: Dice Roll: 1d20-1 (20)-1 Total = 19 (19) Bonus: Free Action: Reaction: Current Effect: Conditions: should be eaten within 12 hoursGoodberries available: 10/10 Stat Block   Nuala, Level 5 Hill Dwarf Druid/Barbearian (Outlander) HP: 57/57 | AC: 16 w/ shield14 Initiative: +1 | Speed: 25' | Senses: Darkvision 60', Passive Perception 15 Saving Throws Str +1 | Dex +1 Con +3 | Int +2 | Wis +5 | Cha -1 Abilities: Str 13 | Dex 12 | Con 16 | Int 10 | Wis 16 | Cha 8 Class Features: BA to Wild ShapeCombat Wild Shape | BA to enter | +2 dmg | adv to Str | resist all types but psychicRage, Bear Totem | Unarmored Def | advantage on Dexterity saving throws against effects that you can see, such as traps and spells. To gain this benefit, you can't be blinded, deafened, or incapacitated.Danger Sense | When you make your first attack on your turn, you can decide to attack recklessly. Doing so gives you advantage on melee weapon attack rolls using Strength during this turn, but attack rolls against you have advantage until your next turn.Reckless Attack Spellcasting: Save DC: 13 | Attack Bonus +5 | Slots: 3/3| | Guidance, Produce FlameCantrips | Goodberry, Healing Word, Entangle, Speak w/ Animals (R)Level 1 | Beast Sense (R)Level 2   Recharge on a Short RestRemaining: 2/2 Str: 19(+4), Dex: 10(+0), Con: 16(+3), Int: 2(-4), Wis: 13(+1), Cha: 7(-2) | HP: 34 | AC: 11 | Spd: 40', climb 30' Multiattack. The bear makes two attacks: one with its bite and one with its claws. Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. | Hit: (1d8 + 4) piercing damage. Claws. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. | Hit: (2d6 + 4) slashing damage.Brown Bear | Str: 17(+3), Dex: 15(+2), Con: 15(+2), Int: 3(-4), Wis: 12(+1), Cha: 7(-2) | HP: 37 | AC: 14 | Spd: 50' Keen Smell & Hearing. Adv to Perception checks using hearing/smell Pack Tactics. The wolf has advantage on an attack roll against a creature if at least one of the wolf's allies is within 5 feet of the creature and the ally isn't incapacitated. Bite. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. | Hit: (2d6 + 3) piercing damage. If target is creature, DC 13 Strength saving throw or be knocked prone.Dire Wolf

[PlaidPeregrine]

Fiadh (Fee-a) Q’atali No, not the Dragon after everything that has happened. Not after having to search the Castle, ruined to a good degree, up and down, through the stench and mess. Fiadh wanted to find her friend, who wasn't really there, but the false Tiefling knew about her, though got some facts …incorrect. Waterdeep. Neverwinter. These weren't guesses. The noble Q'atali was targeted, so at whose expense? She searched, casting detect magic, trailing slowly behind at times to check scraps of fabric, a footprint, a ram's horn imprinted in the mud. No, it was her imagination playing tricks and the hope this would be as easy as freeing the maddened Gundren. The Half Elf was clearly going to push through the night, finding solace in nature's sounds on the road and winding paths. Gundren's behavior was not appreciated. The first time he acted cruelly against the Goblin it surprised her enough to not say anything. The second time, the Half Elf snapped at the Dwarf, mad or not. "Remember yourself! There will be no further tormenting of anyone. Not YOU. Not the Goblin. I hope I have made myself crystal clear, Gundren, or we will weave a sleep spell around you. There is no excuse. Still your mind. Listen to the night." It wasn't simply bossiness that caused Fiadh to take that tone; it was nearly being glaived in half. Being trapped between one aggressor and a giant bug. No chance for a peaceful solution as much as she tried. Now the enemy that pretended to be her friend was gone. Disappeared. The threat loomed over her. Removing an Elven travel meal from her pack, she offered up what she had packed to anyone who was hungry; this included the Goblin (and Gundren) who trailed along with them. Rolls of thinly sliced smoked ham wrapped around a narrow filling of creamy pale cheese, herbed strongly with dill, was offered to the Goblin along with a waxed paper cone of dried fruit and plump salted seeds. If he scoffed at this, then the tired, haunted blonde would hand him more Human food, that of a 'cookie' biscuits with a half cherry pressed in the center. When they arrived at the outskirts of the town proper, Fiadh agreed with Ayore. "Yes, going into town can be dangerous." An offering of 10 coppers, 5 silver and a gold would be given to him in an extra leather pouch of hers. "There are caves nearby, off of the main merchant's road?" Eyeing the Goblin she sympathized. "You will find others to befriend who will not endanger you." Once in town, Fiadh was relieved to be at the Inn. Before Ayore parted ways, she said "I'll put coin down on your room since it looks crowded tonight." She beelined it to the warm welcoming lights, pack heavy on her back and curiosity as to what was in the book caught her curiosity no matter how weary she was. Traveling with the tormented soul of Gundren was not easy, and there was little she could do; she simply wanted peace and civility. Fighting a two-headed owlbear being ridden by Goblins does make one want a quiet night with fine food and music. Mead was ordered, by the bottle, passed around, and only made it to her lips once as she felt the Fey presence of her Patron behind her. Sildar was greeted politely, sincerely, and with concern. "All I can do is try to heal his wounds but…" There was nothing else the Warlock could do. She could heal, but wasn't a true healer. With gold on the table and in the hand of a server, desserts were ordered for anyone who wished for sweets. Fritters with golden raisins were passed to Seraphim as she gave her condolences to him. Farmer's cheese wedges and berry tarts with an apple cinnamon crustard settled on the table along with a pot of simple black tea with cream. Merlow's drink ended up flavored like chocolate one moment, minty the next, and when she wasn't looking, the next sip tasted like an almondy sweet cream with nutmeg and brandy. The noble partook in tea as she answered any questions the locals had, though she found no true glory in the fight. Smiling, though, with some laughter, she did find that throwing an exploding ball was 'brave' or simply 'crazy' but to her, it was necessary; someone had to do it. After an hour, one chug of mead, two cups of tea, cheese, soft warm bread, a chicken's roasted drumstick, and an apple fritter, Fiadh gathered her things, excused herself to go 'do the magic' before she found sleep. Grabbing a plate with a thick slice of buttered bread and a small bowl of berries, ever the lover of fine local dining, the Half Elf made her way upstairs after ensuring everyone's rooms were reserved and paid for. A tip in gold was left and she found herself upstairs, plate on the worn wood table. Opening her own tome of magic, the Warlock placed the found items before her, within a circle, and started to identify them one by one. The ring that was cursed, that tempted her and spoke, was something her parents, respected magic item purveyors in Waterdeep, taught her about. It would be nice to give in and just try the ring, but how her parents would be ashamed of her to not heed their warnings and ignore their teachings. The striped fabric….was so very strange, drawing her attention in bewilderment. "You do not speak to me, nor will reveal what you are, and …yet you are not normal. No, you are not. Am I to wear you? Drape you across a table and summon supper?" Fiadh stood up from her cross-legged position fluidly and neatly placed the fabric across the table since it was long, like a table runner that her parents had in their manor. "I ask for green tea and lemon curd with crumpets." Then she tapped her finger on the cloth quickly, giving it the side-eye. "We will unravel your mystery at breakfast, perhaps, strange cloth." The wand, oh how Fiadh smiled at the delight of the wand. Running her fingers across the length of wood, finding any knot or rune in it, she found it such a piece of art. Her parents never allowed her 'play' with such items, though when she were younger an Elven cousin shared a bippity-bubbler with her, allowing them to stream soap bubbles all over the outdoors as though they were faeries themselves. Another older cousin had one that puffed out glitter, so one could imagine the beautiful mess they made throughout the Elven estate grounds. When Fiadh heard the curious scratching at her door, she approached it with curiously, and then in the brightness of hope that maybe it was Dawn, she swung open the door, wand in hand. Not seeing a horned Tiefling, she was slightly disappointed, but the surprise of finding Nuala was, well, delightfully surprising since she found herself indoors. "Ah! Nuala, please come in. I have sweet buttered bread that you can smash blue and blackberries into if you'd like. There's also tea, but I can flavor that however you'd like. Please, make yourself comfortable. Have a um…a blanket if you are chilled by the night air." The Half Elf stepped to the side, giving Nuala plenty of room to enter and slipped the wand into a pouch so it was poking out of it. At least Fiadh's cloak was off and hanging up on a peg, having one of the nicer rooms at the Inn. "If you want another log on the fire, I don't mind. Do make yourself comfortable. I was just finishing my ritual to identify a few of the items we had picked up. Strange things, really. I have the Dwarven diary as well to look over again. It mentioned a forge of spells, and these lost mine of Phandelver. Clerics of Lathandar. An enchanted weapon, something ancient. An artifact. Remember? I spoke with Merlow about this, and the black spider letter. You know, Nuala, it's quite ironic that I found a wand of webs…and there's this spider picture on that parchment we found…" Finally, Fiadh sighed tiredly, knowing there was more to the mysteries and trouble they were in, heroes or not. The madness of the Gundren disturbed her but here, now she had fine, wild company. "Enough of my ramblings. If you are here to bunk for the evening, you can have the bed if you'd like. What can I do for you, Nuala?" Breaking Fast. Did she make it through the night, that Half Elf after falling asleep somewhere in the room, blanket curled around her. Pillow or backpack, in front of the fireplace or in bed, Fiadh was happy enough to have woken up with well deserved and needed sleep. As one would expect, she had her routine - warmed up water to wash her face, warmed up any leftover tea just to have something before she got dressed, casting prestidigitation on her socks, boots and most everything, including Nuala if she stayed overnight. Soon enough, Fiadh was bounding downstairs and stopped when she was waved over by the Innkeep. She paid with a pair of silver coins and seemed puzzled. "Have you ever seen that courier before?" As she read the letter, she flipped it over to see if there was a wax seal or insignia that may look familiar before she flipped it over to re-read. The ring fell into her hand, and this too was examined, hoping for a flaw, a mistake. Surprisingly, whatever she read took the morning spunk out of her, deflating her completely as she stood there looking at the empty space between here and there. Her lips twitched, giving her a soured expression as she folded the note and shoved it into a cloak pocket before she placed the ring into a pouch. As much as she wanted to blame the Innkeeper, that was not the person who wrote the note. The party was over, and that was clear on her fine face. Fiadh strode over to the table where others were sitting. Instead of breaking fast goodies, she ordered two hardboiled eggs, a fat wedge of that holey cheese, and a loaf of malted bread. To go. In a satchel. "Please throw in some grapes, please, if you have them." Her voice was not honey'd but trimmed in anger, especially as Sildar allowed Gundren's madness to leak all over the morning. The Warlock slammed the flat of her hand down at the table as she stood up quickly when Seraphim was insulted. "We appreciate your offer, Gundren, but we know about the magic that is down there. The Clerics of Lathandar using the Forge. It would be a boon to good and righteous Clerics. Those who are allowed to use it, should once again go through such a sacred system. Perhaps a Temple will rise above the mines. Sildar, speaking of Clerics, I believe Gundren would fare better if he was seen by a local healer, or perhaps a short journey to Neverwinter for respite." Her anger faded, for she tended to be a somewhat calm soul by nature, and it was not Gundren's fault that he was driven to this state. Fiadh's gaze drifted over the Dwarf, then shrugged apologetically to Sildar, and then those at the table. The Half Elf remained standing and looked at each and every one of you all. "Tomorrow will be the start of a dangerous journey. I, for one, will not be on your adventure. My heart is heavy and my spirit is torn. The Tiefling, Morning Dawn, who was mimicked yesterday is a real person; a friend from Neverwinter. I received word, and proof, that she indeed has been captured as I feared. Therefore, I must take my leave, as I have been instructed. If I remain here, I believe they will kill her. Supplies must be bought before I take my leave, and I will find myself on a familiar merchant's caravan in no time. Captain, it has been a pleasure, and I need to pass along the magic that I had identified last night. If you will accompany me while I quickly pack, I would be delighted." And with that, Fiadh bowed her head gracefully to those at the table with all due respect and a secret wink to Nuala when her back was turned to the men-folk.

[Redworm]

Merlow Halfhide - Bard for hire Merlow smiled at Fiadh's words and the look of surprise on the goblin's face. This was a kind gesture and another of the many reasons why Merlow continued to gaze upon the half-elf with a mixture of awe and respect. She smiled to herself knowing now that she wouldn't have to see the hurt look in its eyes when she told the goblin that the wittled stick it so proudly displayed to anyone who showed an interest, and even those that clearly had no interest, was a terrible replacement for her trusty crossbow, and would no longer have to bite her tongue at Gundren's tasteless jokes about feeding the goblin to the denizens of Way Fecko cave. The goblin's warning about the crazed dwarf concerned Merlow though. If Gundren had been obsessed enough to not only begin this foolhardy mission, but desperately wish to continue on into foreseeable danger then perhaps this was a sign of madness. Whether this was genuine full-blown madness such as the bubble-biting bleiddiaid, that occassionally attacked the herds and meant that the aggressive animals had to be culled, or the temporary madness that overtook her mam when tad had stepped on her leeks, was yet to be decided. However the chance to continue on with her comrades and continue to see such sights as had been sighted was a temptation that Merlow could not ignore. And then... Seraphim announced to the party that his time with them was at an end. With the constant threat to their lives and the rush to return to Phandalin, Merlow had not considered her mentor's loss and how he might wish to mourn. When Seraphim caught her and took her to one side to talk with her, he offered her a ring. A ring worn by his son for protection. "The Ring of the Flock, they call it," explained the goatherd. "It is to protect your herd ... and to protect you from becoming lost in the herd!" Merlow looked at the small band, lying in Seraphim's calloused palm. "Diolch, ti hen fugeil gafr gwallgof. I will look after it until I next see your face old man," replied Merlow, looking up into his lined face with tears threatening to tumble and smudge the dirt on her face. And then... Breakfast. After a dreamless sleep in a warm cot, Merlow felt incredible. The meal of the night before had been a chance to indulge and the halfling had made sure that she ate far more than she drank, leaving her belly full and her toes warm. Breakfast was again a chance to feast and Merlow was on her third, no, make that her fifth full plate of cheese, meats, chutneys and everything else she could balance on her extended hands. But when Fiadh eventually stirred and came bounding down the stairs, only to be waylaid by the innkeeper with a letter for her, the air in the room grew decidely colder as she approached the table and made her thoughts to all known with no mistake. Fiadh was leaving. Merlow stopped chewing, tears beginning to build and blur her vision. Her mind emptied and thoughts came to a halt as the half-elf explained to those around the table that were capable of taking in the announcement. Fiadh's words to her captain broke Merlow's trance. "...If you will accompany me while I quickly pack, I would be delighted." The half-elf bowed, turned and left. Merlow seized a couple of pies and a loaf of bread before dropping down from the table and scurrying to keep up with her erstwhile friend as she returned to her room.   Merlow's stat block (full sheet link) HP: 33/33 | Armor Class:16 | Saves: Str 0; Dex +7; Con +1; Int 0; Wis 0; Chr +6 | Abilities: Str 0(10); Dex +4(18); Con +1(12); Int 0(10); Wis 0(11); Chr +3(16) Senses: Passive Perception 13 | Initiative: +5 | Move: 25' | Conditions: (None) Default melee: +7 to hit, 1d8+4 piercingRapier | Alternate melee: +7 to hit, 1d4+4 piercingDagger | Ranged weapon: +7 to hit, range 80/320, 1d8+4 piercingLight crossbow | Spell attack: +6 to hit, Spell Save DC 14Flute focus Feat: Reroll a 1 on d20Lucky | Advantage on saving throws against being frightened.Brave | Hide behind creatures one size larger - (DEX check)Natural Stealth | Move through a space of creature one size larger.Nimbleness | Use bonus action to give 1d6 Inspiration to use within 10 mins.Bardic Inspiration 3/3 LR | When creature within 60' rolls attack, ability or damage use reaction to minus Bardic Inspiration dice roll.Cutting words | Double proficiency bonus - Deception, Persuasion.Expertise Spells: Cantrips: You create up to four torch-sized lights within range, making them appear as torches, lanterns, or glowing orbs that hover in the air for the duration. You can also combine the four lights into one glowing vaguely humanoid form of Medium size. Whichever form you choose, each light sheds dim light in a 10-foot radius. As a bonus action on your turn, you can move the lights up to 60 feet to a new spot within range. A light must be within 20 feet of another light created by this spell, and a light winks out if it exceeds the spell's range.Dancing lights | A spectral, floating hand appears at a point you choose within range. The hand lasts for the duration or until you dismiss it as an action. The hand vanishes if it is ever more than 30 feet away from you or if you cast this spell again. You can use your action to control the hand. You can use the hand to manipulate an object, open an unlocked door or container, stow or retrieve an item from an open container, or pour the contents out of a vial. You can move the hand up to 30 feet each time you use it. The hand can't attack, activate magic items, or carry more than 10 pounds. Mage Hand | You unleash a string of insults laced with subtle enchantments at a creature you can see within range. If the target can hear you (though it need not understand you), it must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or take 1d4 psychic damage and have disadvantage on the next attack roll it makes before the end of its next turn. Vicious mockery Level 1: You attempt to charm a humanoid you can see within range (2nd lvl=2 ‘people’, 3rd lvl=3 'people'). It must make a Wisdom saving throw, and does so with advantage if you or your companions are fighting it. If it fails the saving throw, it is charmed by you until the spell ends or until you or your companions do anything harmful to it. The charmed creature regards you as a friendly acquaintance. When the spell ends, the creature knows it was charmed by you.Charm person | You make yourself--including your clothing, armor, weapons, and other belongings on your person--look different until the spell ends or until you use your action to dismiss it. You can seem 1 foot shorter or taller and can appear thin, fat, or in between. You can't change your body type, so you must adopt a form that has the same basic arrangement of limbs. Otherwise, the extent of the illusion is up to you. The changes wrought by this spell fail to hold up to physical inspection. For example, if you use this spell to add a hat to your outfit, objects pass through the hat, and anyone who touches it would feel nothing or would feel your head and hair. If you use this spell to appear thinner than you are, the hand of someone who reaches out to touch you would bump into you while it was seemingly still in midair. To discern that you are disguised, a creature can use its action to inspect your appearance and must succeed on an Intelligence (Investigation) check against your spell save DC. Disguise self | A creature of your choice that you can see within range regains hit points equal to 1d4+3 (2nd lvl=2d4+3, rd lvl=3d4+3). This spell has no effect on undead or constructs.Healing word | This spell sends creatures into a magical slumber for 1 minute. Roll 5d8; the total is how many hit points of creatures this spell can affect (2nd lvl=7d8, 3rd lvl=9d8) Creatures within 20 feet of a point you choose within range are affected in ascending order of their current hit points (ignoring unconscious creatures). Starting with the creature that has the lowest current hit points, each creature affected by this spell falls unconscious until the spell ends, the sleeper takes damage, or someone uses an action to shake or slap the sleeper awake. Subtract each creature's hit points from the total before moving on to the creature with the next lowest hit points. A creature's hit points must be equal to or less than the remaining total for that creature to be affected. Undead and creatures immune to being charmed aren't affected by this spell.Sleep | A wave of thunderous force sweeps out from you. Each creature in a 15-foot cube originating from you must make a Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, a creature takes 2d8 thunder damage and is pushed 10 feet away from you. On a successful save, the creature takes half as much damage and isn't pushed (2nd lvl=3d8) In addition, unsecured objects that are completely within the area of effect are automatically pushed 10 feet away from you by the spell's effect, and the spell emits a thunderous boom audible out to 300 feet.(2nd lvl=3d8, 3rd lvl=4d8)Thunderwave | This spell creates an invisible, mindless, shapeless, Medium force that performs simple tasks at your command until the spell ends (1 hour). The servant springs into existence in an unoccupied space on the ground within 60ft. It has AC 10, 1 hit point, and a Strength of 2, and it can't attack. If it drops to 0 hit points, the spell ends. Unseen Servant Level 2: You touch a creature and can end either one disease or one condition afflicting it. The condition can be blinded, deafened, paralyzed, or poisoned.Lesser Restoration Leve 3: A 10-foot-radius immobile dome of force springs into existence around and above you and remains stationary for the duration. The spell ends if you leave its area. Nine creatures of Medium size or smaller can fit inside the dome with you. The spell fails if its area includes a larger creature or more than nine creatures. Creatures and objects within the dome when you cast this spell can move through it freely. All other creatures and objects are barred from passing through it. Spells and other magical effects can't extend through the dome or be cast through it. The atmosphere inside the space is comfortable and dry, regardless of the weather outside. Until the spell ends, you can command the interior to become dimly lit or dark. The dome is opaque from the outside, of any color you choose, but it is transparent from the inside.Tiny Hut Spell Slots: Lvl 1: 4/4 | Lvl 2: 3/3 | Lvl 3: 2/2 Skills: +9 Deception, Persuasion | +7 Acrobatics | +6 Performance | +5 Sleight of hand, Stealth | +4 Intimidation | +3 Animal handling, Nature, Perception, Survival | +1 Arcana, Athletics, History, Insight, Investigation, Medicine, Religion| Merlow’s Actions Turn Summary Move: Action: Additional: - Object interaction: - Bonus action: - Reaction:

[ElderOblex]

The Night Before Critmas "Did you," Nuala began, then hesitated. "No," she said finally. "Not... Elf. Some one calls. Some... thing? Calls. My name." Nuala glanced at the items Fiadh was examining, spread out on her small table. Was the... voice - Nuala couldn't even describe it as a voice, just a vague sense of beckoning - even audible? Or was this all in her head? She approached the desk anyway, inadvertently denying her friend a polite response. Did she still hear it? This... thing... that wanted to... speak... with her?

Mechanics   Move: Action: Perception: Dice * Roll: 1d20+6 (4)+6 Total = 10 (10) Persuasion: Dice * Roll: 1d20-1 (20)-1 Total = 19 (19) Bonus: Free Action: Reaction: Current Effect: Conditions: should be eaten within 12 hoursGoodberries available: 10/10 Stat Block   Nuala, Level 5 Hill Dwarf Druid/Barbearian (Outlander) HP: 57/57 | AC: 16 w/ shield14 Initiative: +1 | Speed: 25' | Senses: Darkvision 60', Passive Perception 15 Saving Throws Str +1 | Dex +1 Con +3 | Int +2 | Wis +5 | Cha -1 Abilities: Str 13 | Dex 12 | Con 16 | Int 10 | Wis 16 | Cha 8 Class Features: BA to Wild Shape, CR1 no fly/swimCombat Wild Shape | BA to enter | +2 dmg | adv to Str | resist all types but psychicRage, Bear Totem | Unarmored Def | advantage on Dexterity saving throws against effects that you can see, such as traps and spells. To gain this benefit, you can't be blinded, deafened, or incapacitated.Danger Sense | When you make your first attack on your turn, you can decide to attack recklessly. Doing so gives you advantage on melee weapon attack rolls using Strength during this turn, but attack rolls against you have advantage until your next turn.Reckless Attack Spellcasting: Save DC: 13 | Attack Bonus +5 | Slots: 3/3| | Guidance, Produce FlameCantrips | Goodberry, Healing Word, Entangle, Speak w/ Animals (R)Level 1 | Beast Sense (R)Level 2   Recharge on a Short RestRemaining: 2/2 Brown Bear | Giant Spider | Dire Wolf | Giant Hyena | Ape | Warhorse | Giant Badger

[bananabadger]

Small towns talk.

So, of course your small group and its amazing adventures became the focal point of Phandalin.

And the talk led to this ... for one odd reason or another, it turned out that everyone--absolutely everyone--in town remembered that they had important business or some errand that couldn't be put off at the inn.

And while they were there, they thought it best to sit down for a bit and have a small drink. After all, the sun was already high and bright in the sky and it wouldn't do to catch heat stroke at this time of year. And, oh yes, they did need to check if the inn would be open for the harvest festival in a few months ... never hurts to check in case someone might have moved the location and days after them always being (or at least for 15 years being) on the 4th day after full harvest and always at the inn. One never knows.

And, well, while they found themselves there, they might want to just check on these heroes ... you know, so as to advise others if these heroes are who they claim to be or if they might be some criminal traveling thespians intent on ruining the day with guerrilla theater (no, really, it had happened once ... a group arrived and put on the play: "Orlu the hallfing fell down the well, and then after the whole village had joined hands to pull out the halfing, the actors couldn't understand why nobody applauded them or showered them with coin when they revealed, tada!, it had all been ... a perrrrrrformance!)

Well, yes, that was a disturbing event ... but the general consensus of the wise villagers gathered in the inn was that these were no thespians. Proof 1: They smelled much too rank. Proof 2: One of them, the halfling, dressed and ate like a thespian, so at least they weren't secret thespians even if they were. Proof 3: One of them was ... known. True, he wasn't regarded as the worst of the lot. And nobody remembers him being one of the muscle boys who caged up families and were preparing to sell them into slavery. But he was among them. And though this raised many questions, it did offer proof against the worst fears--he was no thespian. Proof 4: There was one among them who claimed to be a thespian, or something of the sort. A royal minstrel was it? Yes, that was it ... the royal gnome minstrel from the Great Kingdom of Aerdy (wherever that was). It must be far away, because he didn't look like any of the rare gnomes who had ever appeared in Phandalin before. He was ... well, greener. And ... well, wartier. And ... well, a bit goblinoid (but just a bit, after all, nobody is going to say that out loud and risk offending a magical creature like a gnome, let alone one from a noble house!). So ... he was strange, and bit much, if truth be told, but those are thespians for you ... or, minstrels, at least.

Hmmm ... so maybe this group was part thespian after all. Obviously it wasn't a simple thing to suss out. Perhaps another drink would help? Yes! Yes! And while one partakes of the second drink (Oh, is it the third drink already, well .... you have seen that sun outside, right? Blazing. Simply blazing!)

Wait, sorry, yes, we all do want to hear about Froko's terrible rash, but hush down for now ... it looks like that tall elegant one is talking about leaving? Hmmm ... well, thespians do come and go a lot ... let's see where this is going.

---

Indeed, where is it going?

Fiadh ... there are intrigues going on, and only some of them are yours.

You are wiser about two of your magic items, but no wiser about a third. And somewhat in the dark about what is exactly happening with Morning's Dawn.

Nobody at the inn knows the rider who came by last night, though the boy who cleans out the mugs suggests that maybe someone might know at the stables since it is possible the rider changed horses.

Fiadh and Merlow (if you follow) ... you manage to step aside into a side room. A few villagers suddenly remember important tasks in that very side room. One, apparently, stops by the inn on a regular basis to dust the windowpane in the side room. Another cleans that window. The third must stand eagerly awaiting a donkey cart from Village N. at that window. All of them are silent.

Well, silent until the Royal Minstrel of Aerdy arrives.

"What!" he shouts. "Window cleaning are we! Well, I could go in for some good window cleaning myself!" And he rips off his beard and whoosh-whish dusts the window down. The villagers are astounded ... and then smile and laugh. "Come now! More windows to clean back in the main room!" the Royal Minstrel explains, leading them through the door. "Get them done and come report to me. And, here, you'll need a beard!" he says, whisking his off again, but revealing he is wearing another one underneath. The villagers are too awestruck to protest, or to run (for this is what? that's right, this is definitive proof that one is surely a thespian and the danger to the village has not passed). And as the villagers head off bearded and duty-bound to dust a window, the Royal Minstrel closes the door behind them and turns the lock.

"Finally!" Adorable Friend Don't Kill says. "I thought they'd never leave us alone!"

Wait ... hadn't you given him goodbye coin and sent him on his way?

You did, you did. Your memory is entirely intact.

And he took the coin and popped over to the sheep farm on the outskirts of town. The farmer, being a normal human, didn't usually have any truck with goblins, but this one offered good coin for a fairly anemic lamb. Business is business.

Lamb bought, Sly Backstabber fleeced the wool for beards, eyebrows and more--so many costumes one can make with wool! And then ate the lamb. Hey, whose fault was it that he was forced to miss that last meal anyway? Yeah, that's right ... so he didn't feel guilty at all about taking the coin and spending it.

Then, bearded up and powdered down with a bit of chalk and bonemeal, he walked into town to buy some fine clothes. At that point, he was fairly sure in his appearance that he felt safe sleeping buried under straw in the stables, for once suffering a delightful bout of indigestion rather than kept awake by an emptiness in his belly.

But that doesn't mean he wasn't hungry the next morning.

And, hey, since he has found such a good gig, why would he ever risk losing it.

Arriving first at the inn, he took a seat downstairs, spent some more coin and made sure everyone--absolutely everyone--knew that this was the lot that had rid the countryside of zombies, a dragon (well, for a bit at least), and captured an entire castle (also for a bit, but still, a castle is a castle). Oh, and they had rescued a crazy dwarf who--and ignore the dwarf if he does this--can't tell his gnomes from his goblins, but is a good friend of Sildar.

And now, a few courses later ... here he is, back with you! In your little secret conference, just the three of you.

"Yes, just three of us!" Adorable Friend Don't Kill says with a smile. "But please call me PlumBlossom, the Royal Ministrel for now. It's ... uh, what my name really means in goblin!"

He approaches the two of you quickly, without much regard for personal space, and reaches into your cloak.

"Here, Great Merlow!" he says, handing you the frame for a crossbow. "I told you I could make a good one! This is a special one. Good against most things. But very good against bad humans. I've found most humans to be bad. It is my gift! Now, I understand we are leaving somewhere? Where?"

---

The three window dusters, beard in hand, might have been disappointed to miss out on overhearing any hushed conversations between the magic elf and the jauntily dressed hobbit, but any disappointment would have been forgotten as soon as they reentered the breakfast room and saw the small, smelly one with a bear hat staring at the table.

"Ohhh! It's going to dance!" one of the window-dusters said to another.

The other agreed with an eager nod. And this would be magnificent because 1) Who doesn't love a good bear dance? and 2) A bear dance would certainly provide more evidence in the ongoing debate about whether these are heroes or thespians!

And, Nuala, here's the thing ... a few minutes later, they did think you were dancing. But they weren't sure if they liked it, or if it was one of those dances that shouldn't be performed in public.

We'll get to the dance in a bit.

Right now, let's go back to the dwarf. Mad dwarf Gundren whose terror, vulnerability, and danger apparently strikes some pity in you, the one who could sympathize what it is like to be both dread predator and prey.

"Gundren," you ask as you hold his beard with both hands, forcing his head, if not his eyes, to face you. "Who hurt you? Why?"

For long, long, long seconds, he returns your stare. In his own eyes, you see that the madness shines, then dims, then shines again.

Then he speaks ...

"Sobriety!" Gundren laughs as Sildar joins in, and the two of them pick up their oversized wooden mugs and drink another, their fifth already, to welcome the morning.

"It's okay," Sildar says to you. "I remember this ... there are horrors which must be dulled, even if by drink and ..."

And that's all he said, because as you leaned into Gundren, something else detected you and your nature.

The table runner cloth called your name--your dwarf name. The table runner cloth called your name--your bear name. And then it called you a name--a fairly rude one at that! Was it speaking in your mind? In your head?

And then, the cloth leapt from the table and snaked around your neck, squeezing, squeezing and cutting off your air, causing your body to jerk.

"Is that a dance?" one of the window-dusters asks?

"No...that's...well, that's something else," says another window-duster, pretending they have no idea what that is.

And, actually, they don't. It is neither of those things that the humans suspect.

You don't know what it is, but you feel it is trying to kill you. The cloth digs deeper into you and you feel a lack of air causing your head to float ...

---

Ayore, you have seen none of this. Your sword and even your soul-mate knights are unable to provide any rescue to Nuala.

For you are off seeking a gold chain whose significance is quite clear to you, even if it might not be entirely clear to others.

And as you approach the blacksmith's you hear a shout, an alarm from the few town militia members unlucky enough to have drawn guard duty today and totally unable to find any excuse to stop by the inn.

They are young, nervous ... peasants with spears.

You've seen the type. Maybe once, long ago, you were their type--untried and unable to muster bravery when duty calls.

And they know who they are. And though they are slightly ashamed, they are not fools. They see you and recognize you as someone who could lead.

"Sir, Hero Redcape Criminal, Sir ... uh ... Not Criminal Sir?" one says, entirely flustered and unsure how to address you. Thankfully his stuttering allows his mate time to gather enough composure to put together some words.

"An orc, sir. A very large one. With sword, shield and ... a flag?"

He points to a hill at the edge of the village, and you can easily make out the orc that he speaks of. He isn't carrying a sword, it's more of some type of katana ... but it is impressive. As is the shield, but not the flag. It's no war flag or blood-drenched banner ... it's a white flag. A parlay?

The orc, it appears, has been waiting and watching as the militia ran to you. Sensing that you are finally someone he can talk to, he strides forward in confident, muscular leaps that indicate--had he wanted to--he could have sliced down the militia members in 3 seconds or less.

"Knight," he says, addressing you. "I haven't come to wipe out your puny town today. Maybe we never will. I've come to offer you a deal," he says, entirely ignoring the militia members and keeping his eyes focused on you.

"The dragon-worshipers have returned. They have already wiped out the hobgoblins an the goblins. They will turn on us. And I know your village would rejoice at this ... but make no mistake, they will then turn on you. We orcs know of a place, a magic place. Send your knights in with us--if you have four or five who are not these, "he says, flexing his muscle and making a small feint to the militia members, one of whom drops his spear in fear, the other who stumbles backwards and falls on his back. "And we can find a place to join magic to our weapons to face the dragon. If we do that, we give you 10 years of peace-promise."

The orc looks at you and waits.

He doesn't ask if you have the authority to speak for the town.

Maybe he is dumb and doesn't know to.

Maybe he doesn't care.

Or maybe he has already assessed the town, and knows exactly who he is speaking to.

For whatever reason, you seem to think that he will take your word as Phandalin's promise.

OOC Over to you! It seemed like there were a lot of story threads going on around the breakfast table, so I've moved up the story only a tiny bit and tried to cover everything from the night before. Please let me know if there is anything important that I missed responding to. ElderOblex, I think all of the compelled rolls are on you. That table runner is trying to do Nuala in! Let's consider you in combat. You can reply with Nuala's actions up to three rounds before anyone else (Merlow and Fiadh) will be able to notice you and rush in (should they choose). Gundren and Sildar are there and might or might not take action. What I need from you for the first response is 1) a Constitution saving throw and 2) any action and associated rolls you wish to take in addition to the saving throw. If you are only able to make one post this week, then I'll run with that, otherwise (as I promised) we could go up to 3 mini-rounds to see what happens. Also .. since you are the only player who reacted positive to Gundren, you and Gundren are going to play a game called "Descent into Madness." Each turn you interact with Gundren with some positive roleplaying, you can add on a charisma roll to see how Gundren responds. Give me, please, your charisma roll for this interaction. There is no proficiency for empathy, but you can call it Persuasion or Insight if that benefits your roll and if the roleplay backs it. Redworm ... the goblin--whatever his true name is--seems to speak most to you. Right now he is holding out that crossbow to you and seems quite eager for you to accept it. You can interact in any way you wish, of course, but he is hoping for some response. PlaidPeregrine ... of everyone, you have the most non-compelled response. If you wish to leave or carry out any plan around that, then you can move that forward. Or you can stay close to the inn and interact if you wish. Alemar ... you kind of sense that nothing else is possible without first answering this orc. If you want, though, you can answer and move on to other tasks. While ElderO is in round-replies, we'll just assume you left fairly early and are a bit ahead of the rest of the group, so that when you get done what you need to done, you can return to the inn and catch them at whatever moment they will be at whichever week (in real world time) you return to them.

[Alemar]

Full Circle Ayore grimaced at the militia's beckoning 'A Criminal, eh? a "SIR" Criminal even... Were I truly but a Criminal, I would sever their sword-arms from their bodies for that slight...' The thought brought a smile to the Half-Elf's face, and a chuckle that likely caused him to look quite Insanemad to the gathered guards. But rather than draw down on these inexperienced farmhands, Ayore turned to meet their source of concern. A veteran combatant, the same as he was... Ayore listened to the proposal quietly, and as the Orc feinted towards the militia, Ayore's eyes narrowed in judging contemplation. But he managed to restrain his surprise, and remained calmly in control of his Con Save passedemotions. Instead he nodded towards the Orc, correcting his story. "The Dragon is named Venomfang, I know of him. And actually, it wasn't the Wyrm's little cult that cleared out the goblins, that was me and my 'friends'. Though I suppose you could say the cult did help a little..." Ayore conceded the point. "I know as well as you that the Dragon will continue to be a thorn in the side of many until it is dealt with. So I will ask my friends to aid you, though I do not control any actions but my own." The Paladin thrust out his hand, expecting to shake on his promise. (assuming the Orc does) Then retracted it back to rest by his sheath. "Tell me where you would have us go, how many warriors you can bring yourself, and I will discuss it with them; Or let me go back about my business. I still have errands to run, and the day is far from over, as is the opportunity for violence to be meted."

OOPC Assuming this interaction is over, Ayore will proceed back to the Smithy. He will do his best to ignore all but direct threats from the Militia, and procure a thick gold chain which he will attach to the left shoulder of his cloak if possible. After that he would go back to the tavern, to make good on his promise to talk to the others about the Orc's offer, but it's not his intention to return to the group until his little errand is complete.

 

Aid of the Soulmates
Solaris Knight 1   Noctus Knight 2 Invoked Remis Tabard Knight   Fodn Bugbear

 

Ayore, Paladin of the Ancients
Vital Statistics Armor Class: 18 Hit Points: 44/44 Hit Dice : 5d10 Gear Greatsword +6 to hit 2d6+4 Melee Weapon Javelin +4 to hit 1d6+2 30-120 feet Spells Lay on Hands 25/25 5 uses removes 1 disease or 1 poison effect Level 1 4/4 Pg. 219Bless , Pg. 230Cure Wounds , Pg. 237Ensnaring Strike , Pg. 275Shield of Faith , Pg. 277Speak w/ Animals , Level 2 2/2 Pg. 257Magic Weapon

[bananabadger]

Alemar, the orc studies your hand with a mix of bemusement and wariness.

After a few seconds, a small sigh and a visible expression of "the things I do for my tribe," he grasps your hand.
The grip, unexpectedly is light and a mere brush of formality before he pulls his hand back in and, when he thinks you are not looking, wipes it on his pants.

"We say we can defeat humans with a ratio of 1:3, so you send 1-3, we send me. You send up to 6, we send 2," he says. "We will wait for you at Wyvern Tor if you decide to go. Not the next sunrise, but the one after."

He flexes again, you suspect just to scare the two lads with you. One stands, more or less, the other falls back and onto the ground again. By the time he stands, the orc has turned his back and strode back up the hill, and down the other side.

"Can you believe that?" one of the lads asks the other. "Did you see how I stood up to him?" the one who didn't fall asks the other.

They don't say anything to you. You're too cool in their eyes. You're so cool, in fact, that they stick to you like glue and follow you all the way to the smithy, and right when you need to enter to negotiate a price for your braid, they finally get up the courage to talk to you.

"You'll take us, right?" says the one who fell. "I mean, we' re ready now. Battle-tested, you see. We'll do great. Just tell us what to do and all. One of us at each of your sides! Nobody can stop us!"

The other one, apparently as foolish as his partner, nods in agreement.

The smithy will do the braid. You supply the gold and he'll make you anything, he says. He didn't stay in business by taking sides in Phandalin's shifting politics. Half of the swords on each side of the street battles were made by him.

One of your tag-alongs seem to know him, and the lad's eyes bulge at the price the smithy demands.

"Of course 150 gold pieces is the price," the smithy retorts. "I'll need 2 pounds of gold, so that's 100 coins right there, and I don't see any of it. Then I'll need to work two days and hire somebody tougher than you two for security since everyone in town will know I've got gold all around me. And I'll miss other commissions...as you can tell, there's a wave of coins flooding this town, and those who run an inn or cater to heroes are finally buying what they've wanted, including a few orders in to me."

The lads talk him down a bit. If they do the security and get one of their cousins, you know, Lengir, the large one ... then the smithy will only ask for 140. Deal? The braids would be ready in 2 days.

The lads--Ghen and Pallic are their names--will also be ready in two days. There's no need asking Lengir to come alone. Sure, he's big, but he eats a lot. And, ummm, they think he might have some type of cough that could spread.

---

When you resolve the details of the job, if you do, and then return to the inn ... you found it is more than the two lads waiting for you.

Remember, Phandalin is a small town. People overhear. People talk.

There are at least 10 people lined up, each eager to convince you that they should be hired to go into the treasure room with you. Somehow, the bits about a dragon, undead, etc ... none of that really matters.

"Well, I'll just kind of hide behind your shield, won't I, Sir? Then your Uncle Moa wil pop! out and hit them with my sling ... did that to a wolf once!"

Others just say they thought you needed someone to help carry away all the treasure and maybe hold the torches. "But an honest one, that will be me," says Granny Anna. The others admit that, well, yes ... if your sole criteria is honesty, you probably couldn't do worse than Granny Anna.

Rumor is you are paying 20 gold for each hireling. Actually, that's all been debated and decided as fact five minutes ago. The current debate is how much of the percentage of treasure each hireling gets to take.

Without being bidden, they line up in a faint resemblance of military inspection and step forward one by one to give you their names.

Granny Anna and Uncle Moa are first.

Then there's Vikora (Vikora, the witch, sir! she makes sure you realize. Potent stuff!)

A rather tall, lanky lad who smells of pig. He forgets to tell you his name.

Faolino, who is, yes, a baker now. But in his days he once fought for the Duke!

Krist, a father of 6. He once helped fight off orcs. Knows how to use a spear and even taught his kids. Has too many mouths to feed, so he has to earn some money. He'll give you 3 of his kids for the price of one.

Sylo, a dandy. Says he is good with invigorating songs and poetry. Would you like to hear one now?

The smithy. How did he get here ahead of you? He reckons he has time to do your braid and then go on the adventure. Swings a hammer, as you know.

Gestin, the butcher. Who better with a knife than he?

Truko, who insists a wooden leg is an advantage cause the undead can chew on it and he won't feel a thing. Bring em all and he'll give them a bite!

And finally Arcinta, the wife of Krist. She's actually the one who fought off orcs and taught their kids to use spears while Krist was drunk. She'll give you 3 kids for the price of one AND throw in Krist at no extra charge.

"So. Who are you choosing?" Granny Anna asks for the group.

[Alemar]

The Price of doing Business The price was outrageous, and Ayore couldn't help but feel he was being taken advantage of; But sometimes you had to pay for the things you really wanted... He knew he should have probably shopped around a bit, maybe tried some of the Jewelers in Waterdeep, or Neverwinter, but he was in neither of those places at the moment. So resigned to his fate, he agreed to the Dwarf's conditions. "I'm surprised you don't have the requested materials, and need to smelt my coin. Though I guess that a small town wouldn't need gold bars laying around attracting unwanted attention..." The Paladin thought a moment on the cost a bit further, debating the rates before continuing. "10 gold isn't enough of a hardship to me to give you any reason to slack off on your work. So I will pay you the full 150 so that you may hire who you need as security, or perhaps keep it for your wages. But if it doesn't weigh what it's supposed to when it's done, or if the quality isn't the best damned thing you've ever smithed? Well, we'll just hope it doesn't come to that..." Ayore didn't want to threaten retribution on the man, but this was taking a large portion of his entire life's savings... And as he reached into his purse, and began pulling out the requested coinage, a lump of nerves began to well up in his throat. A lump that rose ever higher, in relation to the tower of coins he was stacking on the merchant's table. As he turned to leave, Ghen, and Pallic, caught his eye. Their dumbfounding smiles all the proof he needed that they were ill prepared for actual combat, and only in it for the potential payoff. He resolved in that moment, that had absolutely no intention of bringing them along to their deaths. But he wouldn't tell them an outright "No". He was worried that his denial would simply cause them to do something foolish, in a misguided attempt to prove themselves to him. If his previous companions wouldn't come along to aid the Orcs? Then he'd simply have to go on his own. No innocent deaths from the town if he could prevent it! He would die alone, rather than be surrounded by their corpses if it came to that... Ayore was dismayed to see the large crowd of peasants and workmen gathered, obviously laying in wait for him. His uncertainty about the wisdom of showing his wealth only grew, and the lump that had been gathering in his throat immediately fell, hardening into a pit in his stomach... What had he gotten himself into, and how was he going to make it out of this? Listening to each of the people in turn did not instill confidence in these folk. Even the Smith, the man who had already gotten most of his coin was there looking for more! After they had all given their pitch, and returned to their inspection line, Ayore moved to the old woman at the front. An idea in his mind of how he might delay this disaster, Or at least put a lid on it to prevent it from boiling over into any more trouble in the streets. "I'll need to talk to Sildar, I hear he's placed himself in some sort of position of power in the town? So he'll be able to assist me in making my choice. Perhaps one of these Militia can help me with getting him to a quiet place where we can talk uninterrupted? But as for the rest of you all, how about this Granny? I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, or cause bad blood to form between those who gets chosen, and those who don't. The job doesn't start for 2 or 3 days... So why don't I send some kind of magical note to those Sildar and I have chosen... That way, nobody knows who gets one, and who doesn't. So nobody will be upset, or jealous?" Ayore did his best to try and Persuasion Check : 16convince the crowd to disperse and wait for his message. He felt this entire thing was about to get out of hand, and he seriously considered going back to the Smithy, taking back his coin, and leaving this muddy piss-hole before greed caused the sleepy little village of Phandalin to erupt.

 

Aid of the Soulmates
Solaris Knight 1   Noctus Knight 2 Invoked Remis Tabard Knight   Fodn Bugbear

 

Ayore, Paladin of the Ancients
Vital Statistics Armor Class: 18 Hit Points: 44/44 Hit Dice : 5d10 Gear Greatsword +6 to hit 2d6+4 Melee Weapon Javelin +4 to hit 1d6+2 30-120 feet Spells Lay on Hands 25/25 5 uses removes 1 disease or 1 poison effect Level 1 4/4 Pg. 219Bless , Pg. 230Cure Wounds , Pg. 237Ensnaring Strike , Pg. 275Shield of Faith , Pg. 277Speak w/ Animals , Level 2 2/2 Pg. 257Magic Weapon

[bananabadger]

We Never Needed Words, Bear by Angie Pickman

Nuala ... how do you go into rage?

Rage is something that, by definition, one can't control. But do you try to control its onset? Can you tell it when to sweep over you? Turn it off and on like a lever? Or is it something, that, over the years you have come to realize you can--at best--allow? Do you give in to the rage and feel it wash over you, enveloping yourself in your own ursine anger?

It's fitting that your rage takes the form of the bear, because the animals say that the bear was the first who taught them rage ... and peace.

It was long ago, before winter and nights came to the world. There were a greater variety of animals, a wider circle of life that ate and hunted one another, but what is a few kills among the kingdom? Wolves will be wolves and squirrels will be squirrels--no hard feelings there. Besides, the days were lovely, warm, and eternal sunshine. The animals never even slept.

Until the owls came.

Some say the owls emerged from eggs which had laid in nests in the highest trees from time beginning.

Others say the owls were washed into the world, like a beached whale ahead of the oncoming waves of darkness.

The owls, being owls, sampled the world's buffet of mice and chimpmunks ... and tried to warn the others. Nights are coming. You must learn, as did we, to live in darkness. But the other animals just said: "What are they taking about? Who are they talking about?" and then they mocked the owls. "Night who? Whooooo? Whooooo?"

The owls, having tried to warn the others, merely shrugged and ate more chipmunks.

But they were right, of course, night came. And you can imagine how frightful it must have been for creatures who had never known it? Plunged into darkness and cold without the sun? Not knowing if each night would continue on indefinitely, if the sun would or would not appear again? Each animal responded in kind. The trikolgos gave up hope and died in despair. The lizards hid under rocks. The ostriches cowered on the ground afraid that a sky which smothered the sun but also smother them. The wolves cried so pitifully that their laments punched a hole in the night and a bit of round, silvered sun broke through the darkness. The bears ... well they alternated between rage and contemplation.

"That's the spirit!" said the badgers when the bears would roar and claw and gnash at the night. "Rage! Rage! Rage against this unlight!" They would urge the bears into deeper frenzies, running madly in circles at their heels, nipping each other and sometimes a bear, which would only extend its rage.

But eventually the bears would collapse from all their bellowing and roaring and slashing ... and they would fall on the ground, often just before morning broke ... and the sun would rise and the badgers would squeal in triumph: "The rage of the bear has saved us again!" And then badgers, being badgers--the original punks of the world--would go urinate on some rocks and tear into some chipmunks. And chipmunks, being chipmunks--the original stoics of the world--would say: "Geez, man, the owls just hunted us all night, and now badgers in the day? All we can do is puff our cheeks, think of our gods, and enjoy life while we can, the few, short seconds of bliss ... and for this, we are grateful." And the bears, being bears, would sleep off their exhaustion, awake hungry, grumpy, and ... surrounded by badgers who would egg them on to rage again as the night began to fall.

This went on for many years. It was also a cycle of life, but more vicious and less tranquil, particularly for the chipmunks, but for any creature, even the badgers who seemed to be enjoying it, but were being shaped into cruel, goading souls.

One day though, and we are no longer sure which day, one bear, and we are no longer sure which bear, had had enough.

"The night will be with us always," it said to the others. "We must learn how to adapt. For some, this will be easy, for others less so. Those who find it easy, like the owls and the bats and the aye-ayes and the raccoons and the scorpions and the..."

"Yeah, yeah, we know, all the night lovers think this is great," interrupted the badgers, "but what should the others do?"

"They should sleep," said the bear.

"Sleep? Are you kidding us?" said the chipmunk. "We'll be nothing more than stagnant dishes of butter for those guys," and here they pointed at the owls and the aye-ayes and the raccoons and the scorpions and the ...

"Hey! Your fault you are so tasty!" said the badgers before the point could point at them.

"We will sleep wisely," said the bear.

And so the bear walked with each animal, much to the chagrin of the owls and other night creatures, and taught them where to hide and how to hide so that they could sleep in peace. Some went into the trees, others under the rocks (where they found the lizards had been doing nothing but partying, licking toads and drinking cactus juice ever since the night had come) and some, like the bear, hid in crevices and caves. Others massed together and slept in snuggle piles for safety. And the bear was right ... they were safe, more or less. It was a new circle of life, not like the first because it was dark, and not like the second, because animals were ... well, less grumpy. Amazing what this sleep thing could do.

It was a new life. But it, too, was good.

Until the winter came.

"Ok, crew, we're going to have to double-up our pitiful cries," said the wolves who approached all problems the same way. And maybe they had something ... who would tell them differently? Their cries did keep that hole punched in the sky, even if the sun stayed around less often. "Not good enough," said the crickets freezing under rocks. "We'll be your warm-up band." And so they, too, added their song. (Even though, as any cricket knows, they aren't really singing to punch a hole in the sky ... they are actually an alien reconnaissance crew, sent ahead to the Earth, and sending back their reports in hyper-sonic tunes across the universe, back to their planet, where invading forces are already gathering. But that is a calamity that has yet to strike and is not part of this tale.)

"You know what stupidity is?" said a badger, back when this expression was fresh and not coopted by business types and gazelle relations specialists, "Stupidity is doing the same thing to solve every problem!"

"Are you calling us stupid?" asked a wolf. It wasn't a taunt, but a question. The wolf, not being the brightest, genuinely didn't know who the badger was calling stupid and really wanted to pile in on the mockery, it just needed to know who they were mocking.

"No, he's calling me stupid," said the bear.

The badger, for once, was silent. But he winked at the wolf.

The bear ignored them. Instead the bear did stupid. It walked with each of the animals and taught them how to wait out the winter. "We will accept it, but adapt," said the bear. Some animals accepted it willingly. The chipmunks were like: "Hey, it's kind of warm and fuzzy and all sorts of good vibes in our night nests. You say it will be the same but longer! We're in!" The turtles were like: "What brumin... bruminwhat?"

And the bear explained that brumination was kind of like hibernation, but involved burying oneself underground. And the turtles looked at him, expecting the joke to land, and then--realizing the bear was serious--gave it a try. They never learned to love the dirt in their nostrils, but they had to admit it kinda worked for them.

The cockatoos and the parrots and the rufus motmots, all those who considered themselves already beautiful without months more of beauty sleep, took to the skies and flew to areas where winter had not yet come.

"Good riddance, fancy flying foo-foos!" taunted the badgers.

"Who you calling fancy flying foo-foos?" asked the wolves. It was a genuine question.

But here's a secret ... and you might know this, Nuala, since you are kind of a bear.

The real fancy, flying foo-foos? Those are the bears. Because, yes, the bears hibernated to avoid the ravages of the long nights of winter. And, yes, the hibernation allows them and others to survive and also to reduce the impact on the earth when it is fragile and snow-smothered.

But the real reason bears love to hibernate ... because hibernation brings the longest dreams. Dreams of eternally warm springs, dreams of making friends with two-headed owl bears and hearing double the bear jokes and double the bear snorts!

And, best of all ... dreams of flying. Call them fancy, flying foo-foos if you wish, bear don't care. Because in their dreams bears know when they fly that they are graceful, majestic ... things of beauty.

And, Nuala, you realize you have suspected And because you got a 17 on your saving throw!this for a long time.

At least from the moment this story began. Oh, but of course, this isn't a story. You are not reading this. You are not dreaming this. You are seeing this as a vision, because your neck is being chocked by a table cloth ... which is actually an ursine scarf ... and your head is light ... and it grows lighter ... and you see colors and visions that you are meant to see.

Those standing around you, they don't see it. They see you struggling against the chokehold of the cloth. They see you making jerky motions, like a dance. They see someone--a bear-girl, a dwarf, a bear, a bear-girl-dwarf--double over in pain and then rise on the tips of your toes. They see your eyes bulge and your head rise to the heavens ... and then they see you rise, your tiptoes leave the floor. Nuala, they see you fly.

And at this moment you realize. This is not a tale you have seen. This is a lesson. A training. This is an initiation. An attunement. You have been chosen. For you are wearing a most rare magical scarf of the flying bears of Tethyr.

Nuala ... you can fly.

For as long as you wear the scarf.

Or at least until the alien cricket invasion crushes us down.

 

Nuala ... you can fly.

The scarf grants you the Fly spell (but without the need for concentration or components) for 1d4+4 rounds to be used a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus per long rest. You may use multiple instances of the ability in one instance by holding the hand of a willing (or grappling the hand/appendage/body of an unwilling) creature. For example, if you held the hand of one willing creature, that would be two uses of the ability. If you held the hand of two creatures, that would be three uses. You can use your mouth to include a total of three other creatures, but no more. This item can be attuned only by awakened bears, or by dwarf-girls in bear form.

[ElderOblex]

The Night Before Critmas Nobody wants to see a bear dancing. It's a dull, gimmicky, honestly thespian thing to do; the kind of spectacle only two-bit nomadic carnivals do before they slit your throat and take your money anyway. No, Nuala was not dancing. Was this what it felt like, to have the warm embrace of a mother over her cubs? Did her mother ever embrace her like this piece of drapery? Did her mother love her? Did she miss her? Did she even have a mother? Was she... raging? Perhaps. Nuala could feel the strength thicken her sinew; she felt deeply the pop of joints and the rushing of blood, the elongating of hair and snout and tooth and claw... It was... a different kind of warmth. Not comforting so much as... invigorating. Vivifying. Emboldening. Or maybe she wasn't? Maybe this was all a dream? Everything feels... light... ? Nuala realized she was floating inches from the floor. She might have no recollection of having a mother, but... she always felt safe in heights. Then the grip on her neck suddenly loosened. She fell hard, on all fours, still in her thin dwarf form, hacking and gasping for breath. ".......W-wha..?" --- When she talked to Gundren, wearing the striped scarf, she saw something more than just the madness. Another spark that was dim, but was there all the same. A spark of hope. Perhaps this wound would heal after all......?

Mechanics   Move: Action: but using Charisma, so -1 for Cha but +3 for InsightInsight roll for Gundren: Dice Roll: 1d20+2 (14)+2 Total = 16 (16) Bonus: Free Action: Reaction: Current Effect: Conditions: should be eaten within 12 hoursGoodberries available: 10/10 Stat Block   Nuala, Level 5 Hill Dwarf Druid/Barbearian (Outlander) HP: 57/57 | AC: 16 w/ shield14 Initiative: +1 | Speed: 25' | Senses: Darkvision 60', Passive Perception 15 Saving Throws Str +1 | Dex +1 Con +3 | Int +2 | Wis +5 | Cha -1 Abilities: Str 13 | Dex 12 | Con 16 | Int 10 | Wis 16 | Cha 8 Class Features: BA to Wild Shape, CR1 no fly/swimCombat Wild Shape | BA to enter | +2 dmg | adv to Str | resist all types but psychicRage, Bear Totem | Unarmored Def | advantage on Dexterity saving throws against effects that you can see, such as traps and spells. To gain this benefit, you can't be blinded, deafened, or incapacitated.Danger Sense | When you make your first attack on your turn, you can decide to attack recklessly. Doing so gives you advantage on melee weapon attack rolls using Strength during this turn, but attack rolls against you have advantage until your next turn.Reckless Attack Spellcasting: Save DC: 13 | Attack Bonus +5 | Slots: 3/3| | Guidance, Produce FlameCantrips | Goodberry, Healing Word, Entangle, Speak w/ Animals (R)Level 1 | Beast Sense (R)Level 2   Recharge on a Short RestRemaining: 2/2 Brown Bear Giant Spider Dire Wolf Giant Hyena Ape Warhorse Giant Badger

[PlaidPeregrine]

Fiadh (Fee-a) Q’atali There is a ridiculous amount of people visiting the Inn this morning. Fiadh thought, faintly smiling but tilting her head graciously when attention was received but definitely not held onto. When she spoke, and those around her listened, the mug-boy was quite wise, and for this the noble Elf placed a silver on his tray as he breezed by. The side room looked quiet enough, but the following was obvious. Yes, this tavern and inn kept itself tidy, but this is a bit much. It's quite unsophisticated, having been in manors, an estate or two even, and this absurd window cleaning when one obviously wanted privacy, well…such things would not pass muster. Fiadh raised a brow at the collection, waving her hand at Merlow to accompany her. Then the bearded Royal Minstrel appeared out of the blue with the bravery and good humor to shoo the locals to the main room. His actions were impressive, and therefore Fiadh was quite impressed as she watched until the room had settled down, unlike the dust that caught the beams of sunlight and lingered in the air. The door being locked caused her to squint an eye at the Royal Goblin. "PlumBlossom." A smirk graced her bowed lips. "Pardon me for my limited exposure to the Goblin language, but I was not the best student, nor was I exposed to how clever and smart Goblins were. You do look as though you should be teaching at the Bard College just outside Waterdeep. Bravo, PlumBlossom." The quietly stressed Warlock watched PlumBlossom gift Merlow with a crossbow, finding this rather of interest. "Do you not need such a weapon with Humans, as well as others, being particular with their prejudices? You are risking your well-being to catch-up with us. I don't understand why when you can be free or free-er of danger." It did puzzle her as to why he did not run for the hills, or the caves, plus he was exceptionally smart, and…for one who was supposed to be educated, really did not know anymore than Goblins tended to be tribal and opportunistic, stealing when they were able to, and attacked as a group. If any were seen in Waterdeep, it was at night, more than likely up to no good or moving from ship to dock and back again as messengers for their shipmates. "We are not going anywhere, PlumBlossom. I, unfortunately, have to leave. I'm to pack, talk with the stables, buy some supplies, and I will be on my way. If I stay much longer…well, my friend is in danger and such things I take with all seriousness. I will not be responsible for her death if I do not follow the kidnapper's 'advice'." Fiadh's expression was certainly one of irritation and concern as she tried to think this through. Her slender shoulders lifted and fell in a graceful shrug. "My parents would be more than happy to see me, or I can go to the Coast and take a ship for a nice distraction as that would keep any temptation to return off the table. I will see where Fate takes me. What do you plan on doing, PlumBlossom? Do you want to stay in my room for a few nights? The bed is comfortable, and the wood is well stocked." Fiadh did not see the harm in offering the Goblin, the one who chose to be with the ones who killed his friends, possibly family, a room at the Inn. If he was an actual friend, then that would be good. If he was not, then the others would know to jam the chair under their doorknob at night and place a stick of wood in their window frame. Of course, it is much easier to trust, but now knowing Dawn was under threat, and what she saw was a fake, a possible illusion...Her trust did not come as easy as her generosity.

 

Fiadh's Stat Block Fiadh (fee-a) Rose Q’atali Level 5 | Half Elf | Warlock (Feywild) | HP: 35/35, AC: 15 Initiative: +3 | Speed: 30ft | Passive Perception: 13 | Darkvision (60ft) Abilities: Str 8, Dex 16, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 12, Cha 18 Skills: Perception (+3) | Investigation (+2) | Acrobatics (+3) | Athletics (-1) | Stealth (+3) | Insight (+1) | Persuasion (+6) | Intimidation (+4) | Performance (+4) | Deception (+4) | Medicine (+3) / Healing Kit (full) | History (+2) | Arcana (+2) | Survival (+1) Saves: Str -1, Dex +3, Con +2, Int 0, prof-Wis +3, prof-Charisma +6 Proficiencies: Simple Weapons | Light Armor | Card Games Patron Gifted Ability: Fey Presence:Frightened or Charmed until end of my next turn. 10 ft cube. Wis saving throw vs 13 (Spell Save DC) Spellcasting: Ability: +4 | Save DC: 14 | Attack Bonus: +6 | Spells known: 6. Two Spell Slots are at Level: 3 Known Cantrips: Eldritch Blast (2 beams), Prestidigitation, Frostbite | Spells (Slots Left: 2/2): Cure Light Wounds, Hex, Faerie Fire, Shadow Blade, Dispel Magic, Gaseous Form| Invocations: Book of Ancient Secrets - Spells are: Identify and Detect Magic. Agonizing Blast: Add Charisma bonus to damage, Mask of Many Faces (Disguise Self). Spells Cast: Pact of the Tome: Book of Shadows Cantrips: Minor Illusion, Shillelagh, Guidance Weapons: Daggers - prof: (Thrown: 30/120ft): To Hit (+5) | 1d4 Piercing+3 Staff - prof: Attack (+1) |1d6/1d8 Bludgeoning -1 [/COLOR]

 

Moves and Actions Initiative: Free Action: Movement: Action: Just Chatting and trying to get a sense of PlumBlossom. Dice Insight: d20+1 (4)+1 Total = 5 Bonus Action: Reaction: [b]Object Interaction/Other:

[Redworm]

Merlow Halfhide - Bard for hire "Plum Blossom is it now, eh?" Merlow inquired of the wooly-bearded goblin. How was it that this strange creature was now so adept at disguise and fluent with words? Was it really a goblin standing afore them? Merlow reached out to take the offered crossbow frame from the goblin and thanked it. "This is some fine workmanship...er, work-goblin-ship," she corrected herself. "After all you've been through it is most kind of you to gift me such a bow. Good against bad people you say? Excellent, I will stop by the provisions store to see if they have any silk bow-strings, perfect for a bow of this quality," hoping to charm this friendly but strange new potential addition to the party. "As Fiadh has to leave soon I need to have some private time with her to talk of 'ladies' matters, so if you wouldn't mind giving us a moment?" Merlow attempted to lace her tone with persuasion = 11heavier charm than a cute cat cuddling up to your leg with a view to getting some cream, fresh from the goat, as she held the door slightly ajar indicating the goblin to take its leave.   Merlow's stat block (full sheet link) HP: 33/33 | Armor Class:16 | Saves: Str 0; Dex +7; Con +1; Int 0; Wis 0; Chr +6 | Abilities: Str 0(10); Dex +4(18); Con +1(12); Int 0(10); Wis 0(11); Chr +3(16) Senses: Passive Perception 13 | Initiative: +5 | Move: 25' | Conditions: (None) Default melee: +7 to hit, 1d8+4 piercingRapier | Alternate melee: +7 to hit, 1d4+4 piercingDagger | Ranged weapon: +7 to hit, range 80/320, 1d8+4 piercingLight crossbow | Spell attack: +6 to hit, Spell Save DC 14Flute focus Feat: Reroll a 1 on d20Lucky | Advantage on saving throws against being frightened.Brave | Hide behind creatures one size larger - (DEX check)Natural Stealth | Move through a space of creature one size larger.Nimbleness | Use bonus action to give 1d6 Inspiration to use within 10 mins.Bardic Inspiration 3/3 LR | When creature within 60' rolls attack, ability or damage use reaction to minus Bardic Inspiration dice roll.Cutting words | Double proficiency bonus - Deception, Persuasion.Expertise Spells: Cantrips: You create up to four torch-sized lights within range, making them appear as torches, lanterns, or glowing orbs that hover in the air for the duration. You can also combine the four lights into one glowing vaguely humanoid form of Medium size. Whichever form you choose, each light sheds dim light in a 10-foot radius. As a bonus action on your turn, you can move the lights up to 60 feet to a new spot within range. A light must be within 20 feet of another light created by this spell, and a light winks out if it exceeds the spell's range.Dancing lights | A spectral, floating hand appears at a point you choose within range. The hand lasts for the duration or until you dismiss it as an action. The hand vanishes if it is ever more than 30 feet away from you or if you cast this spell again. You can use your action to control the hand. You can use the hand to manipulate an object, open an unlocked door or container, stow or retrieve an item from an open container, or pour the contents out of a vial. You can move the hand up to 30 feet each time you use it. The hand can't attack, activate magic items, or carry more than 10 pounds. Mage Hand | You unleash a string of insults laced with subtle enchantments at a creature you can see within range. If the target can hear you (though it need not understand you), it must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw or take 1d4 psychic damage and have disadvantage on the next attack roll it makes before the end of its next turn. Vicious mockery Level 1: You attempt to charm a humanoid you can see within range (2nd lvl=2 ‘people’, 3rd lvl=3 'people'). It must make a Wisdom saving throw, and does so with advantage if you or your companions are fighting it. If it fails the saving throw, it is charmed by you until the spell ends or until you or your companions do anything harmful to it. The charmed creature regards you as a friendly acquaintance. When the spell ends, the creature knows it was charmed by you.Charm person | You make yourself--including your clothing, armor, weapons, and other belongings on your person--look different until the spell ends or until you use your action to dismiss it. You can seem 1 foot shorter or taller and can appear thin, fat, or in between. You can't change your body type, so you must adopt a form that has the same basic arrangement of limbs. Otherwise, the extent of the illusion is up to you. The changes wrought by this spell fail to hold up to physical inspection. For example, if you use this spell to add a hat to your outfit, objects pass through the hat, and anyone who touches it would feel nothing or would feel your head and hair. If you use this spell to appear thinner than you are, the hand of someone who reaches out to touch you would bump into you while it was seemingly still in midair. To discern that you are disguised, a creature can use its action to inspect your appearance and must succeed on an Intelligence (Investigation) check against your spell save DC. Disguise self | A creature of your choice that you can see within range regains hit points equal to 1d4+3 (2nd lvl=2d4+3, rd lvl=3d4+3). This spell has no effect on undead or constructs.Healing word | This spell sends creatures into a magical slumber for 1 minute. Roll 5d8; the total is how many hit points of creatures this spell can affect (2nd lvl=7d8, 3rd lvl=9d8) Creatures within 20 feet of a point you choose within range are affected in ascending order of their current hit points (ignoring unconscious creatures). Starting with the creature that has the lowest current hit points, each creature affected by this spell falls unconscious until the spell ends, the sleeper takes damage, or someone uses an action to shake or slap the sleeper awake. Subtract each creature's hit points from the total before moving on to the creature with the next lowest hit points. A creature's hit points must be equal to or less than the remaining total for that creature to be affected. Undead and creatures immune to being charmed aren't affected by this spell.Sleep | A wave of thunderous force sweeps out from you. Each creature in a 15-foot cube originating from you must make a Constitution saving throw. On a failed save, a creature takes 2d8 thunder damage and is pushed 10 feet away from you. On a successful save, the creature takes half as much damage and isn't pushed (2nd lvl=3d8) In addition, unsecured objects that are completely within the area of effect are automatically pushed 10 feet away from you by the spell's effect, and the spell emits a thunderous boom audible out to 300 feet.(2nd lvl=3d8, 3rd lvl=4d8)Thunderwave | This spell creates an invisible, mindless, shapeless, Medium force that performs simple tasks at your command until the spell ends (1 hour). The servant springs into existence in an unoccupied space on the ground within 60ft. It has AC 10, 1 hit point, and a Strength of 2, and it can't attack. If it drops to 0 hit points, the spell ends. Unseen Servant Level 2: You touch a creature and can end either one disease or one condition afflicting it. The condition can be blinded, deafened, paralyzed, or poisoned.Lesser Restoration Leve 3: A 10-foot-radius immobile dome of force springs into existence around and above you and remains stationary for the duration. The spell ends if you leave its area. Nine creatures of Medium size or smaller can fit inside the dome with you. The spell fails if its area includes a larger creature or more than nine creatures. Creatures and objects within the dome when you cast this spell can move through it freely. All other creatures and objects are barred from passing through it. Spells and other magical effects can't extend through the dome or be cast through it. The atmosphere inside the space is comfortable and dry, regardless of the weather outside. Until the spell ends, you can command the interior to become dimly lit or dark. The dome is opaque from the outside, of any color you choose, but it is transparent from the inside.Tiny Hut Spell Slots: Lvl 1: 4/4 | Lvl 2: 3/3 | Lvl 3: 2/2 Skills: +9 Deception, Persuasion | +7 Acrobatics | +6 Performance | +5 Sleight of hand, Stealth | +4 Intimidation | +3 Animal handling, Nature, Perception, Survival | +1 Arcana, Athletics, History, Insight, Investigation, Medicine, Religion| Merlow’s Actions Turn Summary Move: Action: charm Plum Blossom to leave the room Additional: - Object interaction: - Bonus action: - Reaction:

[bananabadger]

A magic letter? some in the crowd of would-be-heroes mutter skeptically. It's clear that a few of them are having none of this ... that is until Vikora--the one who told you she was a witch--spoke up.

"Of course! Well known, magic letters are. Not my type of magic, of course, a bit common. School of Epistolary, of course. Not the strongest school ... but it exists, and can come about in many ways." she says, looking around daring the other villagers to defy her wisdom. Which they do, rightfully suspecting that this is no wisdom at all.

"School of Piss Idolatry?" mocks the one in fancy dress, that would by Sylo. "Is that the magic practiced by whizz-ards?"

A few of the crowd catch his joke and laugh. The rest don't catch his joke, but laugh. They don't trust magic letters and hope that Vikora is wrong ... but they aren't going to defy you, Ayore, the RedBrand turned village hero ... so they defy those who spoke for you.

"You'll see! You'll see!" screams Vikora, as you stomps away, turning to shout out the last word. "The letters can come in many forms, some say a dead bird at your doorstop. All I know is I will be ready! I will look for the signs, because the good soldier will call me, and I will hear the call!"

The others, not having anything to say nor anyone left to challenge, disperse per your command, Ayore ... each with a pleading look, some whispering directions to your house, just in case the magic needs to know where to send that letter.

It takes awhile for a wanna-be-peasant army to disperse. They don't follow commands to march and march quickly, they linger, they gossip, they argue among themselves, one gains the courage to rush back and ask you another question such as "What if I can't read? Will the magic letter speak to me?" or "Why don't I just follow you around, I don't mind, and that way you won't have to waste the parchment ... useful stuff that parchment for ... well, errr ... for something."

It's nearly noon by the time you return to the inn, passing the small bridge over the rocky creek bed and taking the main streets. If you wish, you could literally follow the smell of late breakfasts, ale, and sweaty crowds who are still milling about.

A few of them--apparently there were residents who didn't muster for the peasant army this morning, though it seemed like everyone was there--nudge each other when they see you approach.

"Bear-Girl Knight," they say reverently as they bow their heads to you.

"Yes, yes, the little wild thing can fly!" comes the loud, unmistakable voice of Gundren, who is all but being carried by Sildar. Both reek of ale, the only difference being that Gundren seems to be a chatty reeker and Sildar seems to be a quiet reeker.

But he does speak when necessary.

"Ayore, help me, will you? He needs to sleep off the morning and I can't get him across the bridge alone ... your flying bear will wait for you, she isn't going anywhere."

---

Nuala ... are you going anywhere?

Of course, theoretically you can, you're your own dwarf.

But it will be difficult.

As your feet touch the ground and your mind returns from thoughts of your mother-possible, there is a ring of reverent silence all around you. The silence covers even Gudren, who had been talking nonstop. The drunk dwarf regards you with a look that breaks through the haze of his drinking. He nods, then mutters to Sildar.

"I think ... I ... we go now," he finally says.

And Sildar nods and begins the arduous task of herding a drunk dwarf body toward and through the door. It takes an ungodly amount of time, not helped at all by the rush of villagers who are now crowding around to place a hand on you and bow.

"Bear-girl," they say with astonishment and wonder, which is weird, because hadn't you always been that ... it seems to take flying for you to be fully seen.

And it doesn't end.

As soon as one villager lays a hand on you and backs away, another approaches. It is not a rude or untoward touch, it is done with respect and fear, but even the reverential crowding of pilgrims is still a crowding. They crowd you. They back away and they return, laying small trinkets at your feet. "Bear-girl," they say. "Bear-girl."

---

"Silk strings? I've already thought of those," says Plumblossom with alacrity. "Not bad ones, at that!"

He waits for praise ... or maybe a tip? Really, it's hard to tell with this one.

Merlow, you don't have much of an idea what Plum...whatever he is calling himself, is up to. You can see your attempt to persuade him works ... but only somewhat. Not because you persuaded him, but because he is willing to follow your orders.

That's certainly more than you are picking up, Fiadh. This goblin is inscrutable.

"Sure, I will go up to your room, Fiadh, Killer of my Kin, and I will guard it for you should you decide to return one day, and I will ensure the bed can be laid on and does not contain any terrible traps or poisons within it. This I will do, or my name is not Plumblossom!" he says with a flourish, and then adds ... "By the way, does that sound ... you know, impressive. I was thinking about adding 'The Magnificent' on the end of it. Or The Fey-Walker or something like that. Ideas?"

He leaves, closing the door and shouting at a few villagers trying to poke their heads inside. "They are busy! The heroes cannot be bothered! Bring me soup to the rooms! All the rooms! All the soup! The knight will pay when he comes!"

Merlow, Fiadh ... for now you are free to plan and set your plans in motion.

---

Nuala ... it doesn't end. It has now been at least an hour, and villagers you have never seen before continue to make the trek to approach you and bow. If you have growled, they will have given up laying their hands on you ... but, oh they want to ...

A few grannies have gathered in the corner of the inn with an air of determination and purpose ... they have a large cloth and are working earnestly on it with needles and threads. Surely they don't think they could create another scarf? The colors, at least, don't seem to match. They see you seeing them ... and they attempt to block your view.

---

Ayore, it is a long walk back ... you have time to talk with Sildar if you wish. Or with Gundren, though he seems not to be making much sense.

Actually, if you think of all that is happening, none of could really be said to make much sense.

Of course, as one wise man said--probably a soldier and no fool from the school of epistolary--there are those who seem to try to understand the sense of things, there are those who do make sense of things, and then there are those who make the things happen and let others try to make sense of it.

Which one are you?

OOC OK, I hope you don't feel like we are lagging. There was a lot of dialogue that I felt deserved a response, and it seemed at least Fiadh and Merlow were still on the verge of a major action. I propose that we pick up the narrative on the next morning. If you are okay with that, go ahead and post and play out your actions. If you come to a fork in the narrative, I'd be happy to jump in with a quick volley to resolve any action/possibilities and then you can resume with whatever else you would like to have done before the morning arrives. Little will happen in the town beyond what you choose to do this night. True, there is a report that some kids must have shoplifted from the general store again. Some ribbons and silk strings have been found missing when they did inventory in the evening. That's a shame, because the group of grannies in the inn would have liked a few more ribbons for their project. And there might be wolves again. Farmer Tlai lost all of his pigeons. The pigeon house was filled with feathers, but no blood, as if the wolves had preferred to take their birds and eat them on the outskirts of town. Merlow, if you do get around to attuning to the crossbow, you'll find that it doesn't, alas, make you fly. It's no scarf and you're no bear-girl. But you are a crackerjack shooter, and the crossbow senses that. It speaks to you in an eager voice. "A little one! A lucky one! A skilled one!" it says with glee. "You will find my powers will grow if you allow me to shoot down humans! Filthy creatures, they are. I reward those who defend against them!" It doesn't require an answer from you, but you do sense it has granted you some initial powers (Crossbow +1 (+2 against humans or half-humans)). Phandalin has changed since you were first here. Rumors of your adventure, sightings of a dragon, talk of a hidden treasure, a vacuum of power, and the flight of the bear-girl seem to have shaken this village out of its stupor. Maybe it was better off in the stupor, because the villagers are behaving somewhat foolishly, not quite as foolish as a drunk, traumatized dwarf, but rash and careless in many ways. And they look to you all for direction.