D&D 5E Lost Mine of Phandelver

[KirayaTiDrekan]

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

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

OOC: In your first post, please include a physical description of your character, how the character has interacted with the rest of the group over the last few days, and where they are in the marching order. One or two characters will need to be driving the wagon. The rest should be riding in the back of the wagon or on foot in front of, next to, or behind the wagon.

The wagon is being drawn by two oxen and is full of mining tools and supplies, as well as food. Dozens of sacks of flour, several casks of salted pork, two kegs of strong ale, shovels, picks, and crowbars (about a dozen of each), and five lanterns with a small barrel of oil. The approximate value of all the supplies is 100 gold pieces.

The triboar trail is a heavily traveled trail leading off from the High Road, consisting of two rutted dirt tracks, carved by the wheels of dozens of wagons, with a grassy hump between them. Forest crowds in on the trail on either side.

It is about midday, though the forest shields the group from the worst of the sun.

 

[industrygothica]

"Dat burnit!" swears Prophet as his bald head knocks against an oil barrel. "Ain't seen a hole yet that didn't look good fer runnin' through, have ye?" he bellowed. He folded up his hands under his pointed white beard and grumbled, much like he had for the majority of the journey thus far. Then his teeth jarred from another bump in the road. "Now you did that one on purpose, and don't be saying ye didn't!"

And the wagon rolled on...

 

[Lord Sessadore]

Aenwyr walks beside the wagon, shoulder-length black hair loose and bearskin cloak thrown back in the heat of the day. A few small, random braids frame his face, wider and stronger than usual for an elf, with bright green eyes. Tribal tattoos in forest green ink encroach from his hairline, jaw, and chin. He has an oak walking staff in his left hand, though he does not seem to need it, a scimitar on his left hip, and an amulet of woven, living holly branches on a simple leather cord around his neck.

After Prophet's latest complaint, Aenwyr replied, "No, still haven't seen any tunnels," with a small smile. While Prophet's complaints were not necessarily pleasant to listen to all day, the dwarf reminded Aenwyr of a badger he had once known - ornery with a temper, but did not mean any harm by it. And liked to be underground, of course. He chose to ignore the rest of the grumbles, thinking it would make little difference to Prophet either way.

As they continue along the Triboar, the druid conjures a glowing orb above his right palm, which was accompanied by the occasional ... miniature cloud? The elf flips his hand so it is palm down and closes it over the orb, causing the magical effect to fade. "Sunny tomorrow as well, though we may see thunder and rain."

 

[Brother Dave]

Laucian perches lightly on the seat of the wagon next to the driver, his back straight and his blue eyes staring absently at the road ahead and his golden blond hair shining as they move into another patch of sunlight. The fine links of his chain mail gleam against his fine gold and red clothing. An elegant rapier rests in a scabbard at his waist, canted up and to the side so it can be easily drawn without interfering with his seat, and a polished shield engraved with a stylized lily wreathed with oak leaves is propped at his feet. The dark polished wood and steel of a crossbow juts up at an angle over his left shoulder.

A scowl mars his features as the coarse dwarf swears again, but he resists the urge to turn and admonish him. He has suffered in silence for the most part since beginning this journey, and sees no reason to break his silence and speak to these...ruffians...now. To be fair, some of them might prove useful in the event of an altercation, but still....

I cannot believe I agreed to this, escorting mining supplies like a lowly caravan guard. Mining supplies! Who is going to want to steal mining supplies? Surely this is not what Sildar meant when he hinted at adventure and opportunity...

Or...did Sildar have an ulterior motive? Am I really along to protect one of these others? Someone of great importance...? It certainly makes more sense than hiring eight guards to protect a simple load of supplies. But...which one? Surely not one of the dwarves.

He glances sideways at the elf in the bearskin cloak walking along beside the wagon, then snorts quietly and returns his gaze to the front. And certainly not him. I mean, really, who wears a bearskin in the summer?

He considers the other elves, including the half-blood. I suppose it could be any of the others, though. I don't understand why would he not trust me with the information. Unless...could this be some kind of test? Of my resolve, perhaps? He is a knight, after all, and Mother and Father seemed to hold him in some regard.... Could Mother have arranged this? Yes, that must be it. It seems I must prove myself even at this. He raises his chin and puts one hand on the hilt of his rapier. I will not let her down.

 

[Phoenix8008]

Sitting in the back of the wagon, watching the trail roll away behind them, Garuk tried to keep his conversation quiet so that the others weren't bothered by it. The hood on his dark cloak was pulled up over his bald head to keep the sun from burning his pale skin. Though there was not much skin that wasn't already covered by his scale mail armor. If there had been anyone close enough to look up under his hood, all they would see was the dwarf's icy blue eyes framed within the white skull that he painted on his face each morning after shaving himself again to keep the course stubble away.

"I don't know how much further to the town, Grandfather. Perhaps half a day I'd guess.", Garuk said. 'You need to try harder to get on Gundren's good side when you meet him again in town. Ye've got to find out from him how to get to the mine and find me, by Moradin!', spoke a voice that only Garuk could hear. "I know, Grandfather Adrik!" Garuk snapped a little too loudly. He looked around guiltily to see if any of the others had noticed before continuing more quietly. "Ye've talked about little else since the time I started hearing you. Just let me rest for a bit now. I can't concentrate on these notes with you jabbering all the time, and I'm never going to get this spell straight if I can't study it further."

The other voice must have relented, for the conversation stopped there for now as Garuk instinctively felt over his shoulder to make sure his battleaxe was still close at hand, before pulling his knees up in front of his chest and opening his spellbook across them to start reading and studying again.

[sblock=Link to character detailshttp://www.enworld.org/forum/showthread.php?368364-Rogues-Gallery-Lost-Mine-of-Phandelver&p=6405172#post6405172[/sblock]

 

[pathfinderq1]

Slender and graceful as one might expect from her half-elven heritage, Mina trotted light-footed along behind the wagon- she had tried riding on top of the piled goods for a day or two, but the small wagon was simply too crowded. More particularly, too crowded with dwarves, especially given that most of them seemed to be constantly grumbling- either to themselves, to one another, or simply too anyone nearby. She didn't speak their language (yet), and even trying to pronounce a word here and there made her throat ache. At least by having them riding up on the wagon, the stout fellows didn't slow the pace of their travel- and there was still enough room on the wagon for her heavy traveling pack; she only carried her bow in hand, a quiver of slender arrows on one hip, and her harpcase slung at her back. In the warmth of midday, she had pushed back the hood of her cloak as well, allowing her red-tinged golden hair to show like a banner, catching a stray sunbeam now and then through the canopy of trees above.

For now, she ambled along contentedly- the weather had been mostly good and the trail was no worse than some of the forest paths back home on the family estate. The trees were different this par north, though, and she kept testing her knowledge as they passed through the countryside, trying to name each unfamiliar specimen. She had only had to ask the druid one or two questions. Still, her glittering green eyes scanned the forest around them, more alert for new sights than for danger.

She had introduced herself to the others several days ago as "Mina of Silverbrook" and she didn't really think that any of them was likely to recognize the name of her family estate, not this far from Cormyr, but there wasn't much chance of hiding her heritage, either her elven blood or her status. Not when she used the tricks of magic to keep herself properly clean despite the rigors of travel, and not when she entertained the camp each night (except, perhaps, for the dwarves) with songs and tales in a number of languages. She had also managed to get the names of at least most of the group, and had scribbled them down on a spare piece of parchment- surely this expedition would be worthy of a ballad of their own...

 

[Xeterog]

Not much stands out about the dwarf driving the cart except for the large shield on his back and a battleaxe lying near him on the drivers seat. "Now Prophet, if you don't like my driving so much, maybe you should walk for a bit. Might do your legs some good.", Treygar says with a huge grin on his face. "Look There!, I think I see another one...", the red-bearded dwarf can't keep from laughing now, almost knocking his battleaxe off it's perch on the seat beside him.

 

[Queenie]

OOC: Who are the two driving the wagon?

 

[Lord Sessadore]

[sblock=OOC]Looks like Treygar (dwarf barbarian) is driving and Laucian (elf noble fighter) is riding shotgun, with the other two dwarves riding in the back of the wagon. Correct me if I'm wrong, anyone. [/sblock]

 

[industrygothica]

[sblock=OOC]Looks like Treygar (dwarf barbarian) is driving and Laucian (elf noble fighter) is riding shotgun, with the other two dwarves riding in the back of the wagon. Correct me if I'm wrong, anyone. [/sblock]

OOC: Looks about right to me.