Meet me in Phandalin (22-24th Nightal, 1491 DR)

You've all met Leylin right before leaving Neverwinter. He is of a moon elf (also called as silver elves by some people) race, medium height (171cm), pale lilac skin, blue hair and bright blue eyes. Leylin wears finely made studded leather armor over traveler's clothes, that is usual combination for adventurers and mercenaries. Besides shortsword on his hip and light crossbow strapped to a backpack, he carries a lute, that he plays quite a lot. He is not exceptional musician, but has some skill.

Leylin will happily take reins of the vehicle if needed and chat away with anyone who is willing to share. He will tell you about his journeys around Sword Coast, mostly about taverns, ale, wine and music. Leylin is a very good listener, but when noone is talking - he is happy to speak himself or, if he isn't driving, to play some music.

If anyone asks how he ended in this group - Leylin will tell that Gundren is a friend of a friend and he also was in need of some coin lately.

Best keep our eyes open. I may not be from these parts, but I've heard tales of bandits around here. Names Amaris, by the way. My blue eyes dart back and forth amongst my companions. I brush my hair out of my eyes and prepare my bow in case we encounter trouble.

Sariel, a raven-haired young half elf with old eyes, rides in the back of the wagon, conserving her energy. She wears ashen, trail-worn clothes resemble those of a soldier's on a rough campaign. Wrapped around her is a cloak that looks like it was once azure blue, but the splendorous colour now only shows through in patches.

Sariel gazes out of a rip in the wagon's canvas cover at the passing countryside. Interesting to see the Sword Mountains from this side for a change she thought.

She had recently come from the forest of Kryptgarden on the other side, where she had been recruited to fight in her uncle's crusade against goblinkind for the last three years. Though triumphant, her uncle was slain in the final battle, and once again Sariel was all alone in the world.

As her uncle's company disbanded and returned to their families, Sariel felt like she was losing hers. But it wasn't the first time she lost a family, and she moved on. Die, migrate, or adjust - those were the only three choices in the world, according to her uncle. She wasn't ready to die, and she didn't know how to adjust, so she migrated - north, to Neverwinter, in search of problems you could solve with a sword. Maybe (she dared hope) a new family.

As it turns out, the Rockseekers were in need of swords, and they hired her as a caravan escort. She knew the job well; she did competently and they paid her fairly, but it wasn't enough. That black stain on her soul wasn't going to scrub off escorting mining gear. Yet, the most miraculous thing happened to her: last night Lathander, her father's deity, came to her in a dream and told her of a desecrated shrine deep in goblin territory.

Seek Sister Garaele, in the town of Phandalin, the vision told her.

In the morning, she heard Gundren was mounting another expedition - to Phandalin! Never a believer in conincidences, Sariel signed up immediately.

Are my father's gods watching me? Could this be my chance? But, not wanting to get her hopes up, she downplayed the potential for redemption.

Worst case, you add a few more goblins to your head count, she reasoned soberly.

But although she was certain that killing goblins made the world a better place, deep down she suspected that even if she killed every goblin in the world her soul would still be damned to the Shadowfell.

Sariel has so far enjoyed Leylin's company. The closest thing she's heard to a minstrel since joining up with her uncle was Stink Pete singing bawdry ballads with an out-of-tune harmonica, so to hear the moon elf's beautiful performances truly bring her in touch with that part of her soul that is good. She occasionally tries to sing along, quietly so that nobody can hear how bad she is at singing.

She opens up pretty easily with Leylin and shares some stories from the campaign. Mostly the happy ones or the funny ones, like the time old Sir Joriel lost his beard to his own alchemist fire, or when Flange the Dawn Rogue picked the lock on the supply cart and they ate like kings before the final battle.

When Amaris pipes up, she responds:

"Bandits, yes. Good thinking Amaris. We should probably be doing a greater show of force. Sometimes just seeing an extra sellsword on the wagon can make them count the odds too poor."

She produces her arcane focus, a smooth, jet-black stone, and creates an illusion (minor illusion) of the top of brutal looking half-orc with a huge greatsword sticking out from the top of the wagon, as if keeping watch.

Alongside the wagon walks the man with a permanent smile who seems to never be happy. The only things known of him is what was told to you by Gundren; he was admitted to an asylum at a fairly young age, gaining his freedom by escape, Rymente Copac, 24, human, male. The way Gundren spoke of him felt as if he was reciting paperwork, not information he gained by conversation.

The only interaction, if you can call it that, is his counting; every minute he can be heard mumbling to himself "Five hundred thirty-eight thousand, five hundred sixty minutes." Occasionally, he'll look to his shoulder and shush before continuing "Five hundred thirty-eight thousand, five hundred sixty-one minutes."

Since you've met him, you haven't seen him eat, whenever you've see him he has always been awake, and either his breathing his very faint, or you haven't even seen him breathe...just counting minutes. Despite this, he doesn't look starved, he doesn't look exhausted, and he doesn't show to be lacking oxygen.

Leylin approved of Amaris' ambitions and enjoyed Sariel's stories. He even tried to put some of them into musical form. As for Rymente... The part of the "escaped asylum" was obviously unexpected. Especially for such person to be assigned to be a guard. But Leylin wouldn't let it bother him for too long and concentrated his attention on more joyous things.

Leylin is thinking about any relevant rumors he heard lately...

"Bandits. Orcs and goblins were also seen around this path as well as some rumors of giants. But I wouldn't put much faith in the later, although greenskins can be considered a possible threat."

After saying that Leylin looked over the shoulder to his companions in the back.

"Better stay on your toes while we're out here. The good news is that Phandalin is about one-two days travel from here, so we just have to hope that we won't run into any trouble in that time."

Leylin flashed his infectious smile with those words and flicked the reins to make oxen move a little bit faster. It was probably a futile effort as those lazy animals were moving at a very steady pace the whole journey.

The only way to achieve glory is through battle. I hope something dares to test my mettle. I smile at Leylin as I spin an arrow between my fingers. Heroes are made through great accomplishments, not through mundane tasks.

By pulling the reins Leylin brought the cart to a stop.

"Well, Amaris, my friend - it appears that your prayers were heard."

And while he was saying that, Leylin picked his crossbow up and looked over to Sariel and Rymente.

"Anyone mind taking a look over there while me and Amaris will cover you? Better safe than sorry. Amaris, right side of the road is yours, I'll watch the left."