Chapter 1: Meeting the Cuckold Moose

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A stout, well dressed dwarf waddles across the prestigious tavern. It was obvious he tried his best not to scuff the fine hard wood floors with his heavy feet. He approaches the young, animated barmaid who was wisping between tables without stop. She never really stopped, never for a nap or even a lunch break. The woman is pretty and friendly, a real people person amongst the rich crowd.

"Aimee, come here for a moment. I must speak with you."

The dwarf primmed his thick freshly cut beard as she comforted some dining guests. She quickly made her way over, smiling with closed lips the whole way.

"Yes, Darg...?"

She waited impatiently for his response.

"Dear, I must be frank, my cousin's tavern is struggling. I'm taking the deed over, Aimee... I'm planning on sending you over to lend a hand. It's one of the inns in Eversprings, you'd like it there."

A shaky, kind tone could be heard in his voice, it's obvious he cares for the girl. He was subtlety firing her from this particular establishment. Dargrin adored the innocent lass and didn't want to leave her with no options in an unsympathetic city like Waterdeep. Though she is great with the customers, there are a few too many expensive mistakes under her belt. Waterdeep is a costly city to operate from.

"I will arrange for a caravan to take you north to Neverwinter, then drop you at Eversprings. You will have a job and warm bed waiting for you on arrival. Caravan will be leaving a half hour after sunrise. Thank you, dear."

His voice choked up with emotions, like he was sending off a puppy into the woods. Aimee is more than capable; her blood runs cold with the Vampiric curse. Though she only let's a certain few know this, she recognized why he was emotional. His request was acceptable, she was ready for a change.

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He is up before the break of dawn, gear already carefully packed. Each item had their use and he knew how to use them exactly. Being trained by the funded army of Waterdeep, Gellbran was a seasoned soldier. The tall, human looking half-orc has been training since a young boy. His well-rounded expertise was followed in every platoon he joined in battle. Though, now, he is a sword for hire. A mercenary seeking gold just to survive and take care of his widowed mother.

The half-orc tossed his backpack onto the front seat of the wagon. This caravan is on a schedule, delayed a half hour for some barmaid. Gellbran wasn't particularly worried, however he never leaves a moment to crumble. The horses have been eagerly waiting. A plump, noble looking dwarf greets him briefly with the cargo, signs off then leaves before the sun crawls out. Shortly after, the described barmaid arrives. She says her friendly ‘hello’ and jumps on the wagon, clearly not suffering from early morning depression.

The travel was long and with frequent stops to pick up and trade supplies. The trip would take a tiring total of fifteen days to arrive at Neverwinter. High Road has been quiet in recent years and trade between the cities have been going well, Gelbran did not expect much trouble.

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The taproom was filled with countless mercenaries and the like. Many were regulars who would just come for the food, drink and live music. A fairly civil place for an ugly bunch.


A tall tiefling sits quietly at the corner table of The Cuckold Moose Inn. A small plate of food and beverage are the only two things accompany her. Despite being bleach white with deathly red eyes; no one seems to pay any attention to her. The inn was filled with a rough bunch, so she blended in rather well. She made no eye contact with her barmaid, who failed at her job anyways. The tiefling couldn’t help but feel alone, the foul memories of her home state stained her mind. Narfell was not home anymore, which is why she was so far from it now. Her home was on the road as her resident eldritch presence haunted her with its instability.

She looks across the crowded establishment, ignoring the belligerently drunk mercenaries and sees a female bronze dragonborn with fitting scale mail walk in. Maybe her shyness would dissipate talking to another female.

‘Hi, I’m Ebri Shaikoth… you can call me Shai.’ Ermm, don’t over think this. Just make a friend so you’re not alone.

She thought back and forth with herself as the dragonborn continued with her business. A new friend would be needed along the Sword Coast though. These areas are unfamiliar for a foreign tiefling, it’d help get established quicker.

---

whump!

The dragonborn firmly slams a blood stained cloth on the barkeep’s side countertop, a little lump evident inside. She looks the man in the eyes and opens the cloth to reveal a severed finger, blood barely hardened.

"Get Delrick out here."

Her words were firm and intentions obvious.

"Dammit, Xhava! Get that shit off my counter, Rick isn’t back till later."

The woman picked up the cloth and stashed it in her side pouch. The barkeep pulled out the rag tucked into his belt, wiping down the spot. He seemed a bit squeamish to the blood.

"Fuckin’ gross, ya hear. I’ll let him know you’ve brought another one. You know you can’t keep killing these ‘corrupt’ guards… Dammit, Xhava…"

She didn’t seem to overly care with what he thought of her actions. What she does is for her own purpose, what she believes is the right thing. It was natural for her.

"Whatever, Rehmein, just get me a mug of water for now then."

The slightly annoyed barkeep filled a small glass mug with water from under the counter, then slid it across to her. Rehmein tossed the bloody rag over his shoulder and continued on with his work. The inn was busy, dozens of people filled the pub section. Xhava lifted her drink for a gulp which turned into a chug, she had been tracking down a corrupt guard for the past two days. She doesn’t work with many breaks. The water was refreshing and much needed, maybe an ale wasn’t needed to hit the spot. The dragonborn place the mug down close, quickly noticing a note stuck to the bottom of the glass mug. She quickly opened the note to read, the pocketed it for later.

Xhava moved away from the front bar and found a seat along the wall, she accidentally nudged a short human on her way across the tavern. He stumbled into the large goliath who frequents the Cuckold Moose, his face wasn't pleased.

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"HEY! What the-"

The goliath aggressively stands up from his table, knocking over several of the drinks his legs are too large to properly fit underneath. His bear-like hands cracked the wood of the table as he stood up straight, towering the small man who bumped into him. The large mercenary was know for being a brute and being barbaric at times. He glared intensely at the itty-bitty human in front of him as he cowardly pleaded.

"Nithe, it was an accident... I swear! Th- the dragonborn shoved me. Please."

With one hand, the large goliath picked up the man, looking at the dragonborn at her table now. Skeinkaldr was easily the biggest person in the room. Everyone knew not to mess with him as he was the strongest and not overly kind. The man looked like a toy in his hands, stiff with fear.

"And you are the one who shoved me, Fihn. Don't let it happen again."

Nithe placed him back down on his feet, the entire tavern had stop to watch the show. Having to always prove himself as the toughest, he couldn't let this man get away without a scratch. His large right fist clinched and his face tightened with a fierceness.

"Grraghh!"

The goliath's huge knuckles planted themselves on the upper right eye of Fihn, wiping his head back violently. The small man flew back several feet, already unconscious, and landed on another table. Their drinks spilled, three or four mugs cracking on the pub's floor. Skeinkaldr squeezed his gigantic thighs under the table once again and continued on like nothing had happened. His drink was half full after the commotion, the barbarian would need a refill soon.

---

The further south he traveled, the more he can see the nature change to more lush green. Living north of Luskan never presented an opportunity to enjoy green rolling hills and full lively forests. He wasn't about to start enjoying them now. In fact, the bright sun casting its rays across the land just reminded him of his hatred for Pelor. The dark armoured and well equipped man looked up to the morning sun with a look of repugnance on his lifeless face, he spoke with a calm, confident tone.

"I am Malethor Adranath, "lament of the god", and I vow to erase your existence from the world."

Malethor has traveled all the way to Neverwinter, he was denied entry for several reasons. The guards of Neverwinter refuse countless people a day, many of which travel the short distance to Eversprings. So, after being denied, he traveled across the worn dirt road to the small village bloated with migrants. There are only a few buildings in town, most of which are inns. The most appealing of the lot was the one with a large moose head bolted to a wooden sign; The Cuckold Moose. The man with a second chance didn't need to sleep or eat, but the busiest establishment would be best to stop for the day. He did need to meditate and gather information for his goal.

The sturdy wooden door swung open with ease to expose the dozens of ugly mugs scarfing down food and drinking ale. A small, unconscious human was being shoved off a table, his head made a thud as it hit the floor. The men gathered their spilled drinks while another walked over to the bar to replace them. Malethor, scanned the rest of the room before fully walking through the entrance. He wondered if they would have a more private room, a twelve bed dorm filled with grunts doesn't have an appealing ring to it.

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The other mercenaries around Skeinkaldr gave an encouraging cheer as he declared another drink. Rehmein seemed like he was expecting it as he already poured the darker ale for the goliath. He placed the mug at the counters edge then shouted across the the room, tilting his head to find eye contact with him.

"Skeinkaldr, your tab is running high... Bifney won't appreciate the lack of tips."

The one barmaid, Bifney, sluggishly made her way over to grab the goliath's ale. She is a middle-aged, thicker woman with long dirty blonde hair. Bifney has been the only helping hand for Rehmein, Delrick just does his work from behind the scenes. Managing the work board is a job of his own. The barmaid was clearly tired and over worked. Skeinkaldr is one of the regulars of The Cuckold Moose, they are lenient with his tab as he is a valued mercenary.

"Here, ya brute. You're lucky your tattoos are cute."

Bifney glided one of her hands along his strong shoulder line as she spoke close to him, setting his fresh mug down and stealing the empty one. She gave him a smirk as she went off to continue her work.

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The wagon bumped along smoothly, the dirt road was compacted well from its frequent use. The shipment drop off went without a hitch and the small talk would make the ride to the reject town go by quickly. Gellbran guided the wagon's horses, though they practically directed themselves.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm red glow against the open green fields to Eversprings. The famous river just south made for soothing background noise.

The lively tavern paused for a moment as Malethor made his presence known. His ghoulish face and dark demeanor sent chills down the spines of the weaker travelers. The barmaid noticed the goliath slam his finished drink on the table, however she avoided that direction to avoid the Revenant. Though the lot continued back to their drinks and grub, everyone held a stare from the corner of their eyes.

Ebri and Xhava blended well, despite Abranath's shout about the gods in the cleric's direction. The two ladies were the only other females in the tavern besides the barmaid. The corner table discouraged any drunkards' attention, but wandering eyes grew in numbers the later the night becomes.

Neverwinter and Eversprings are one of the few places you can find decent work. Though due to that fact, the amount of mercenaries and people migrating north has increased greatly. The area is known to be magic dense with hidden treasures throughout. Everyone wants their hands in the pot of gold which slows any real treasure hunting down.

The live band has stopped playing shortly after Malethor approached Skeinkaldr. They've began to pack up their bardic instruments with plans to grab some food before heading out. The kitchen at the Cuckold Moose runs late into the night.

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The young vampire barmaid and the half-orc clean-cut mercenary continued along the flat road. The night did not slow their stride, feeling safer with the caravan's supplies already dropped off. Gellbran notices the amber glow coming from the town a short distance ahead; Eversprings. Aimee and him continued to chat, becoming more fairly familiar with each other as they neared the end of their journey to Eversprings.

The moon was climbing higher, sending a crisp light down to the land. The two would arrive at the Cuckold Moose within the hour, assuming they don't get side tracked.

The walking corpse caught a glimpse of Xhava's symbol. The symbol of blood droplets circling a humanoid skull was menacingly familiar. It could only be the Lord of Murder, god of death; Bhaal. Malethor knows the god favours violent and ritual killing, which is one of the reasons he is feared across Faerun. His Bhaalspawn haven't been seen recently, however he instilled terror into the minds of the common folk. It is not a symbol to be flaunting, not that Xhava is parading her Lord's symbol.

Malethor's unsettling presence draws the attention of several mercenaries, the have a look of wariness on their faces. They feel safe across the room, though are staring more than drinking ale at this point. Some of the other tavern patrons have retired to bed and the musicians have left leaving the space feeling larger than before.

The sound of wolves distracts the curious mercenaries from Xhava's, as wolves never wander this close to town. Two of the men stand up gathering some equipment to handle the problem, more so out of instinct to fight than anything else. The barmaid has a look on concern on her face, but Rehmein's concern with Skeinkaldr's tab seems more pressing. Bifney, the barmaid, brings the goliath a mug of water.

"Aye, love, Reh is cutting you off for the night. Might want to pay that tab, before you get into a scrap with him."

Eversprings was a good place to find work because of Neverwinter close by, however the past couple weeks have been particularly slow. Many of the mercenaries in the Cuckold Moose have exceeded their tab. Its never a good sign when you can't find work near a large city like Neverwinter.

Rehmein was overhearing the conversation about gods, as it was an interesting topic.

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Gellbran and Aimee have arrived at the footsteps of Eversprings, their travel was uneventful beyond the small talk. They had traveled a total of 15 days together and have become fairly comfortable with one another. Aimee was planning on heading for the Cuckold Moose to talk with Rehmein about the barmaid job while Gellbran was stopping in Eversprings to find work. The half-orc is currently driving an empty two horse wagon where he must drop it off to collect his reward. He is looking for Delrick who manages the work board.

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The two new quests arrived at the Cuckold Moose, one making more of a scene than the other. Gellbran stepped aside as she harassed the nearest dwarf thinking he was the barkeep Rehmein... who was actually a human. Delrick Helmyre is the owner of the Cuckold Moose and manages the bounties of the work board. Rehmein Alstein mainly runs the busy tavern while Delrick tends his business behind the scenes.

Reh notices the bubbly Miss Yrore shouting his name while hugging a dwarf, but doesn't speak up till after she finished.

"Hey, kid, come here. Dargrin informed me you'd be arriving, a little late... we just died down"

He picked his teeth with a small wooden stick as his counter tops were already spotless. Bifney poked her head out to catch a glimpse from the back kitchen, but then continued back to her work.

---

The others in the tavern found the stares of others decline, especially as it was getting late and many people had left for their lodging. The Cuckold Moose is significantly more empty, maybe at 25% capacity in the bar area. The building was fairly large, first floor being the bar and kitchen and a lounging area while upstairs was strictly rooms. There was a backroom with a sturdy door and a visible floor hatch under a stool next to the bar.

The goliath and revenant exit the tavern, the others still loiter at the bar. It was dark outside, however the moon provides a bright and elegant light. Neither have trouble seeing the wagon stationed a few meters away, though Malethor has no issues in the dark. The streets were quiet and any patrons from the tavern were nowhere to be seen, minus one man smoking up against the tavern's wall.

The tavern faces an open road that leads west to Neverwinter. There are no established roads the go any other direction.

The group was loaded in the cart with Gellbran guiding the horses. The roads are dark, yet everything shines from the cool silver moon. The few who have dark vision keep watch without any strain on their eyes. Neverwinter was only a short ride away. No more than four hours to the front gates where the caravan was ambushed.

The wagon's horses trotted along the dirt path, making Gellbran's job quite easy. The path seemed quiet and nothing seemed out of place. It was only a few hours ago the half-orc traveled this path, and the others have been on this road before. Xhava's whistling filled any silence in conversation between the group. The natural tune flowed through the night air, harmonizing with the crickets and the occasional bird.

The Goliath's torch radiated a light just off the set path, it lit just enough to see a potential attacker coming from the brush. As the wagon hopped over a fair sized stoned, it's wheels clunked. By an old fallen tree, the wagon's sounds frightened a Barn owl with tattered feathers as it hunted a small mouse. It flapped its wings hard when taking off from it's missed late night snack.

The revenant seemed to match the moons sliver glow, his deathly skin was as mysterious as the moon itself. He noticed nothing abnormal to his side of the wagon.

Xhava's chatter seemed to make the deep of night sail smoothly. Though noisy, her carelessness brought a calm to the group. The Goliath's instinctive sniffs invited a steamy, relaxed wind from the large horses leading... or it may have been from Gellbran, Skeinkaldr was unsure. The horses continued trotting regardless as the trail became a soft painted canvas of blurring green and blue. Ebri's worries may settle with the almost meditative journey thus far.

The group has been traveling for less than four hours, and all is still quiet. The trail led straight for another half kilometre then would fade up a hill. Some of the group recognized this section of trail, knowing Neverwinter was not much further.

The group reached the top of the hill and were no more than a few hundred meters away from Neverwinter's north gate. The hill is high enough to overlook the walls into the developed city, only several houses or buildings were lit with candle light.

The group haven't seen any noticeable tracks from the thugs, however their potential directions can be predictable. This is the gate Delrick mentioned his caravan was ambushed at. The scene is all clear now and the guards don't seem to be on high alert. Everyone except Xhava takes notice of the two guards stationed in front of the large reinforced wooden gates. The guards haven't yet spotted the wagon, but any closer and their hypnotic gaze would break. Working the night shift is tough, it changes a man.

World Map

"These guards are not trust worthy, words will not get us any answers with them". Gellbran pulls out his battleaxe and instantly a switch goes off in his head as his orc blood begins racing faster through his body. "I'll have to get the answers the good ol fashioned way."

With amazing athleticism, the half-Orc begins climbing the side of the barracks. He was moving too quick to realize how high the building stood. Though a challenge, Gellbran made the 30 foot climb to the top. The barracks roof was a staging ground for obvious defence of the wall. There seemed to be only one door that accessed the roof and it was attached to the city's wall. The actual wall was still shadowing over the barracks by another 15 feet. The door was not reinforced like the one below, however it was locked.

The group was gathered around the dead guards, with only Gellbran watching from his perch having his crossbow out. No one seemed to hassle him for the missed shot. The last guard was heading back the road they came and would soon disappear passed the moon's glow.

The Goliath was ready to track down the thugs' camp which shouldn't be too far south. Going around the city's walls would take too long.

Gellbran confidently hops off the barracks' roof, not realizing a thirty foot drop was decently high. Mid flight, the half-orc attempts to tuck and roll, but instead propels his legs directly at Skeinkaldr on the way to the ground. With the force of a drunken dwarf's dropkick in a scrappy tavern brawl, Gellbran unexpectedly knocks the Goliath to the dirt after an uncontrollable womanly scream. The rest of the group watched the spectacle happen with prime seats, only lacking freshly popped corn.

After impacting the large body of Skein, Gellbran's body was redirected to the wall of the barracks. His big half-orc head smashed against the cobbled walls and knocked him unconscious.

The half-Orc jolts back to consciousness pulling in a large breath, the fall winded him thoroughly. His neck aches and his head throbbed with patchy vision. The Goliath stood over him blocking out the moon and casting a shadow over his body.

The heat of battle has faded along with the fleeing guard and despite the fight being one sides, the half-orc's amateur antics has left the group weaker. Besides the singing of owls in the background, the area was now quiet. The moon shined down brightly on the dead bodies as Xhava looked through the loot.

The first few guards had nothing but the armour and spears and some coin; 12 gp, 200 sp. Figuring that the chatty guard would have something more, she spent more time searching through him. On the guard's right hip was a sheathed bronze dagger that looked in good condition. There was a large pouch of gold on the guard's other side. Upon opening it, Xhava's keen eye noticed that the gold was just plated lead.

The night was almost over, dawn was creeping across the land within a few hours. The group wasn't particularly tired, though they seemed to need a short rest.

The least obvious place was a small patchy forest south of te Neverwinter, so Xhava lead the group there. The camping spot was quiet, not even peeps from wildlife. It was awkward to sleep as the sun was creeping up from its slumber, though the group felt decently rested from their stop. Gellbran need to be patched up the most, his fall was quite serious. A tighter knit crew would have hassled him longer for being an over confident half-Orc. As the rested before heading back out, the dragonborn could tell there was something unique about the bronze dagger, though not able to put her scale covered finger on it yet. The Goliath could see Malethor and Ebri sitting patiently in the wagon that waited towards the southern road.

Not wasting any time, the group continued down the High Road. They were several miles south of Neverwinter when dawn broke and the sun slowly began to warm the open fields. A couple hours of mindless walking fly by when the Goliath spots another group east off the path. The rest of the group notices the large head of Skeinkaldr turn and sees the other group as well. It was obvious they were gearing up a wagon to move out.

The Goliath sees three men in cloaks, but is unable to tell any colours as the sun's light was over powering.

The group approaches the three men arranging their wagon. Skeinkaldr now could see that they wore red cloaks and were quite young, no more than 16 years old. One of them, a short kid with contrasting ginger hair, was startled by Xhava's almost quiet approach. Being young, they seemed frightened by the unsettling mercenaries. The stop loading their wagon and essentially froze in their boots.

The three boys see through Xhava's supposed inspection claim, but let her look into the wagon anyways. The short ginger kid speaks up nervously, "I-it's just camping equipment, we swear... " He doesn't seem to be lying as there is only camping gear in the wagon. Another one of the boy nudges him to keep him straight. A taller brown haired boy with a sturdy frame, his chin had several hairs to indicate a beard was on his horizon. He spoke sensing what they were looking for, "The other crew relayed it to Phandalin last night. We are just cleaning up camp." The boy didn't stop their inspection either.

The rage fuelled Goliath stamps out the boys head with his large warhammer. Blood, skull and brain matter splatters out, covering the adjacent in the mess. Despite moving back, the dragonborn got dirtied as well. The ginger boy fell to the floor in shock while the other living boy looked up at the Goliath with deer eyes.

The blade punctures the boy's soft stomach, blood gushing out in front of his shocked eyes. The boy's hair was vibrant orange compared to the crimson red of the blood. He fell to the ground, sword slipping out effortlessly, and continued to bleed to death. The last boy began crying, eyes filled with heavy tears. "Please, please... my mother will be heart broken. I was just trying to be like my brother, but I don't want to die like he did!" He put his hands together in prayer shape and pinched his eyes waiting for it all to end. These boys were not real thugs, just equipment lackeys.

The boy's stomach turns with anticipation, words fumble out of his mouth as he speaks. "We- They are the Redbrands. They are headed back to Phandalin with the mining equipment. There are more than a dozen, I dont know exact numbers... they never let me down into base." He makes eye contact with Xhava at the end of his shaky sentence.

The already frightened boy continued to shrivel inwards with each huff of the Goliath. His nerves had broke when his first companion had lost their head. Gellbran joined the scene late, however his blood hunting presence unsettled the boy further. Looking for more to bargain is life with, he spewed the last of the his small information pool. "The base is at the mansion in Phandalin, the basement is where the life of the group is. Only more important people are allowed down there, to avoid interference. My brother used to be allowed down there.... He's dead now. My brother told me about the hidden back entrance. Shipments go right around the back to this gate. You'd get stopped before that though, unless you came from the woods surrounding. The basement is dangerous though. I've heard strange noises from upstairs lately... There is talk of new "management", whatever that means. I just know someone new has been pulling strings. I don't ask questions. Ever. I just listen." The boy ran out of things to say and began stuttering, "My mom lives in town, just a farm woman. Hard working, especially since my brother joined father. If I don't make it back to her, please let her know I'm sorry and that I love her. Her name is Laila." returning to his wince, the boy bowed his head.

The boy's face goes more pale than his dead ginger friend that is being looted. The Goliath gathers a mere 3 copper coin, not even enough to pay to remove a stain from his equipment. The living boy began cautiously making his way back to town. Only willing to stop if the group decided he should stay or be dead.

The morning sun glowed a crisp yellow now, drops of dew glistening on top of the fields of grass. The group was sitting no more than 2 days away from the town of Phandalin. With the abandoned Redbrands' wagon stocked with supplies, the can easily continue on their way to the town. The surviving boy cut off the main road and seemed to disappear over a small hillside. High Road was well worn, it being the main trade road to Neverwinter. It was wide with compacted dirt keeping it fairly smooth. Looking out west, the coast line filled the horizon with a deep blue. To the party's east was open fields with only forest to look forward to if venturing too far; The Neverwinter Woods.

The party has found the halfway point of the supply thieves. The new wagon they found was just camping supplies, enough to restock their own stuff. The boys may have not been clear, but the Goliath knows the dwarf's mining supplies has been taking to the main base; the back entrance of the Redbrands' mansion in Phandalin. There doesn't seem to be anything of interest here anymore.

Xhava and Skeinkaldr lead the group onwards to Phandalin, fully stocked up on supplies. The Goliath held the two blood stained cloaks in his large hands, the dark red blood barely blended with the scarlet red of the cloaks. The dragonborn's whistling was enjoyable, it gave ambience to the otherwise quiet travels. A day flew by without trouble, it began and ended at te blink of an eye.

As the crisp morning dew sparkles in the warm sun, Gellbran stops the wagon at a crossroad. One path continued on east and the other headed south, labeled with a fairly new sign saying 'Phandalin'. The crossroad was pressed to a large escapement on its north side, trees lined its edges, casting shade onto the path.

The group of mercenaries continue onward to Phandalin, ignoring the crossroads. The wagon clunked over stones until the rutted track emerges from a wooded hillside, and you catch your first glimpse of Phandalin. The town consists of forty or fifty simple log buildings, some built on old fieldstone foundations. More old ruins- crumbling stone walls covered in ivy and briars-surround the newer houses and shops, showing how this must have been a much larger town in centuries past. Most of the newer buildings are set on the sides of the cart track, which widens into a muddy main street of sorts as it climbs toward a ruined manor house on a hillside at the east side of town.

As you approach, you see children playing on the town green and townsfolk tending to chores or running errands at shops. Many people look up and stare at the odd bunch. Their curious glances quickly fade back to their daily business, questionable patrons are common in this frontier town. They know to keep to themselves.

The tattooed Goliath and bronze Dragonborn stop for a moment at the town's center. Skeinkaldr's voice isn't discreet during the conversation, though no one seemed to hear over their own business. Before they could continue on the east path, an old beggar woman approaches the mercenaries from her spot beside the shrine not too far away.

"Excuse me, will your kindness spare a few coin for an old woman like me? I'm awfully hungry." her sentence seemed routine, besides actually looking rather hungry.

The lackluster appraiser, Skeinkaldr, can't place an accurate value on the necklace. However, he does notice the blood red ruby feels peculiar in his hand. The Goliath needs more time with the item to discern it's unknown details.

The three mercenaries can easily see the mansion from the town's centre, and just as easily see the dense pine tree forest to its south. The mansion say ontop of a layered hill with only one established road to its front steps. On the that single road leading to the mansion was a rundown tavern with a few scarlet cloaked men smoking and shooting the shit outside. The Goliath had no doubts they wore identical cloaks as the boys that were decaptiated earlier, though theirs aren't covered in blood.

The group can see that remains of a once sturdy wall bordered the town, separating the mansion from the common houses and farms. It was not a difficult obstacle to climb, though they can detour through a farm backyarding the forest.

The group head towards the farm, taking the quiet detour. The house seems vacant, or purposely seemingly so. All the wood shutters are closed and the fence leading out the back towards the forest was open. The field in the back was patchy with corn, the crop this season was fairing well.

Navigating through the woods is simple. The trees are tall with long trunks, allowing a clear line of sight towards the mansion's hill. Their bushy pine needle tops provide good coverage for even a Goliath. Perhaps someone will see him and mistaken his figure for a yeti. A small path only wide enough for a wagon trails along the hills side towards the far, back side. The group moves along the tree line until a large wooden gate stands tall within the hill's walls. The gate seems recently retrofitted of a natural cave mouth, and extremely well made.

The gate is locked, it thuds against a wooden crossbeam on the other side. Using Skeinkaldr as a gauge, Malethor and Xhava can see the two wooden doors of the gate stand twice the Goliath's height. It would need a compact door ram to get back here and knock this retrofitted hillside open. At the dragonborn's eye level, she notices a small entrance door fitted within the left side of the larger gate. It was obviously made for an average sized human. On the embedded door is a metal eye slit. It screeches a sharp metal against metal sound as it opens, revealing a pair of dark brown eyes.

The eyes, or the person behind them, speak. "Oi, what ya doin' back 'ere!?" You can see the eyes shift widely, confused what three intimidating travellers are doing at their back door.

The dragonborn sees the man's eye go into a dopey gaze. The metal eye slit shuts with any equally piercing sound. A moment passes with only silence behind the door. The quietness of the gate was ended by the sound of keys clinking together and then a satisfying unlocking sound. A scarlet cloaked man, not boy, stood in the doorway facing Xhava calmly. He wore no helmet, but had terrible helmet hair busy above his bushy eyebrows. His weapon was sheathed and door keys still in hand. "We can have a conversation now." he said plainly and nothing like his previous tone.

The Redbrand door man looked blankly at the dragonborn, his fear magically reserved. He looked into Xhava's eyes with honestly processing the situation. Still in a daze, he speaks. "Okay." The scarlet cloak thug turns his back to the mercenaries and walks through the small reinforced door into the hill side. The door remained open as he faded into it's darkness.

The Goliath steps forward and props the door open with his giant hand. Standing in front of the door, Skeinkaldr realizes fitting through the human sized door wouldn't be a cute squeeze for him.

In the influential city of Waterdeep, the Zhentarim faction had discreetly recruited Zephyr. They gave solace to an unfettered girl, when they noticed her innate ability to blend into a crowd. At the time, her name was Ellison Mackyll and was no longer shackled by her parents. The faction would remain anonymous to her until she proved herself valuable. The carefulness was due to the strong noble presence in the City of Splendors, trusting the wrong people happens far too often. She quickly showed her worth to the faction though, earning the right to join their ranks and become an official agent of Zhentarim. Shortly after, they sent her on a secret mission to Phandalin. Tasked to bring down the Redbrands’ leader before he becomes too powerful and influential. It was the perfect mission for rookie agent to advance further through the ranks.

The skilled rogue left Waterdeep immediately to begin her secret mission. While traveling north for a few days, she uncovered some useful information to advance. Zephyr intercepted a shipment destined for the Redbrands’ hideout. She easily used it as a Trojan horse to infiltrate their headquarters, moving one step closer to her mission’s goal.

Her patience was tested having to lay in a splintery wagon with a pickaxe poking her side, luckily only for a few hours. The surrounding room went quiet and only the sound of a snoring man could be heard. Popping her head up from the wagon filled with mining equipment, the blue skinned rogue determined it was safe to explore. She got out of the wagon, efficiently scanning the room for a disguise. An extra scarlet cloak was hanging on the chair the sleeping guard sat upon. Zephyr snagged it without a hitch and silently dressed into her new red disguise. The Redbrand guard continued to snore in his chair peacefully. With the conditions of being a woman and Air Genasi, it would take a skilled adventurer to maintain covertness amongst the more privileged Redbrands. Luckily for Zephyr, she had been trained well by the faction she served. To cut loose ties, the rogue ended the sleeping guard’s life and disposed of the body in a shipment crate. Just after she hid the body, a loud bang at the back wall’s gate startled her.
She ducked behind some barrels as a messy haired guard entered the room annoyed.

---

The natural born hunter lurked in the small forest of Phandalin. Hidden amongst the trees, Ryunir was knelt over a freshly pierced doe. He was a remarkable marksman, despite looking almost blind. At a young age, he was crowned the Mooshie Tournament champion. It was an archery event dedicated to a greatly renown ranger from the Silver Marches. Being a skilled archer brought small fame to his family’s farm.

The gifted ranger checked the doe for breathing, then pulled his accurately placed arrow out of the dead animal’s heart. The catch would turn into a fine meal and a few pretty coins. This small forest was quite some ways from his home town of Everlund, where the Codáver’s Farm once stood on its outskirts. That farm had been purposely burned to the ground long ago, its ashes joined those of his buried parents.

There were countless nights of doleful drinking for Ryunir, many of which in a hunters’ tavern called ‘Stag at Bay’. Those nights ended with him sloppily passed out on the streets of Everlund. It took a young priestess to discover his lost soul and liberate him from his drunkard ways. Sadly, the priestess’ guidance wasn’t enough to cure the wounds of his past. Ryunir’s travels has brought him far from those darker days, now roaming and taking the odd job to stay afloat.

The ranger quickly looked up at the sound of commotion in the distance. Three adventurers intrigued his keen eye. The three stood at the gate on the hill, he recognized it as an entrance to the Redbrand’s hideout. The manor was formerly owned by the Tresendar Family, before the orc raids to the prospering city. Barthen, a provision clerk and friend of Ryunir, shared that Aldith Tresendar’s legendary sword was hidden in the crypt below. As an avid archer, he could care less for a sword, though the piece of noble history interested him.

Ryunir watched as an intimidating, tattooed Goliath held open the small wooden door. The ghostly knight walked through the gate’s door into the darkness while their dragonborn companion smiled with a menacing grin as he faded to black. The ranger saw this as a rare, though dangerous opportunity.

---

Zephyr heard movement come from the gate and could see the guard reenter emotionless, a ghoul faced man followed. She remained in her hidden position behind the barrels in the corner.

Malethor entered the room beyond the door, the dim lighting contrasted the bright overcast outside. His eyes needed no time to adjust before he noticed the magically dazed guard standing perfectly straight beside the wagon. The room was clearly a receiving dock for shipments and the wagon ahead was still loaded with mining equipment. The gate was barred with a large wooden stop, though he probably was strong enough to remove it alone. There was an empty chair beside the door, but he wouldn't need to use it as a stepping stool to reach.