Gameplay - The Dragon Who Asked Too Much

Sounds fair.

"Right, Lets find a market for this."

Hehsh huddles with his compatriots before vender, getting the basics of haggling down. He's not sure he gets the finer points down, but he understands the basic idea. Make them take less of your money, while you get more of their money. It was a simple enough concept. Hehsh presented the parties spoils and the merchant named his price. "More," said Hehsh simply. His arms are crossed and he looks down on the man and growls idly. He repeats the process until a satisfactory price is reached.

The negotiators are able to talk the Smith's into 2/3s of regular (PHB) prices.

Selling most of the previous group loot only, 2 breastplates, 8 hand axes, 4 shields, 5 longswords, 2 longbows, 2 chainmails, and the lamellar armor, you net 1140 x 2/3 = 760 gp. Split 4 ways thats 190gp each.

Ruby's eyes bulge at the absolute pile of gold they now have. "That's a lot of money. I don't think I've ever seen so much in one place."

"Such a generous amount. Lets try to spend it wisely and not on frivolous trinkets." Hasan says as he stows the pouch in his pack in the attempts to forget it is there. "Are there any more stops we need to make before we head out west?"

Looking at the pile, Hehsh hesitiantly hands over the parties share. Like Ruby, he has never seen that much gold before and he is feeling the very draconic feeling of greed. When Hasan speaks up, he snaps out of it. "I would like to purchase some health potions. Just to be safe."

I think we should check the place in our dream as soon as we finish shopping.

"Agreed"

After spending a few hours haggling with merchants, unloading your war loot and buying supplies, you head into the hills. Your footsteps have the path illuminated too you in a dream, and without any real awareness of the passage of time, you ascend inland from the seaside town.

As the heat of the day's sun peaks, clouds roll in and a thick rain begins. Your footing becomes treacherous, and even the lightest on their feet spend time slipping and crawling on their hands and knees. At the top of the fateful hill, the site of an atrocity you somehow witnessed, you also reach the eye of the storm. Cold, wet, and filled with an unspoken despondency, you find a small altar.

You see the altar, and despite your early day ambition, you hesitate to approach.

What do you do?