Post by Castiel on Jun 8, 2015 14:24:08 GMT
Hello, so I'm running a DnD campaign with some friends irl going through the starter set campaign. I said I'd write up what happened and put it into story format. I thought you guys might appreciate reading the ongoing exploits as well.
The Lost Mines of Phandelver
Chapter 1 – Beginnings on the Triboar Trail
Gather round and hearken to the tale I have to tell. Great heroes may be found within, and tales of their stories and deeds I am sure you have heard. They might not look like much now, but great things often have humble beginnings, like the mighty oak that grows from the acorn.
A party ambles down the Triboar Trail towards Phandalin, letting the slow plodding of the oxen cart set the pace. They had been hired some days previously by the dwarf Grunden Rockseeker to escort a wagon of supplies for his expedition from the city of Neverwinter to Phandalin. Grunden had set off ahead of them; he had seemed very excited about the trip, although he had been secretive as to its purpose, only saying that he and his brothers had found “something big”. Whatever he had found, the promise of 10 gold pieces each upon the safe delivery of the wagon was enough to dissuade most questions, and so he set off with his companion, a human warrior named Sildar Hallwinter to “take care of business” ahead of the party’s arrival. Although bandits had been known to lurk in the area they had seen no sign of trouble for the last few days, and the atmosphere was relaxed.
The party had 5 members. Walking alongside one of the oxen was the hulking form of Faerith, a Gold-ancestry Dragonborn and Paladin of Dol Arrah. Her chainmail glittered in the sun, a heavy warhammer hung from her belt, a shield was on her arm with the symbol of Dol Arrah proudly emblazoned on its surface while across her back 5 heavy javelins were strapped. She was exchanging small-talk with Pephennas Merilinor, known as Riben the Rapier. A High Elf, a charlatan and a rogue, Riben lounged idly on the headboard, cleaning his nails with a dagger, having secured the easy riding position for himself, the rapier by which he had made his name in a scabbard on his hip and a shortbow and quiver on the headboard at his side. The wagon was driven by Erada Tealeaf, a Halfling and a druid, her familiarity with animals allowing her to guide the cart down the road. She wore leather armour and a scimitar and wooden shield rested within easy reach.
A yelp of pain drew her attention to the back of the wagon where the Wood Elf Latharen Nailo and the quiet half-elf cleric were walking, each doing their best to pretend that the other wasn’t there. Erada rolled her eyes while Faerith waved Riben to sheathe his sword and sit down again. Nailo was sucking at a small cut on one hand while glaring at the mouse he held in his other. Erada felt sorry for the mouse, the assassin was hopeless with the poor creature. If she was honest, she was surprised that he hadn’t sat on the unfortunate creature already. Latharen had two shortswords at his belt and wore close fitting leather armour. The cleric was something of an enigma, none of them knew much about him, not even his name. A mace hung at his belt and a shield faintly etched with the symbol of his god on his back over leather armour, a light crossbow on his hip, holding a staff as he walked. There was something about him that suggested he had spent a lot of time in the wild.
These then are our heroes. This then is their story.
The Lost Mines of Phandelver
Chapter 1 – Beginnings on the Triboar Trail
Gather round and hearken to the tale I have to tell. Great heroes may be found within, and tales of their stories and deeds I am sure you have heard. They might not look like much now, but great things often have humble beginnings, like the mighty oak that grows from the acorn.
A party ambles down the Triboar Trail towards Phandalin, letting the slow plodding of the oxen cart set the pace. They had been hired some days previously by the dwarf Grunden Rockseeker to escort a wagon of supplies for his expedition from the city of Neverwinter to Phandalin. Grunden had set off ahead of them; he had seemed very excited about the trip, although he had been secretive as to its purpose, only saying that he and his brothers had found “something big”. Whatever he had found, the promise of 10 gold pieces each upon the safe delivery of the wagon was enough to dissuade most questions, and so he set off with his companion, a human warrior named Sildar Hallwinter to “take care of business” ahead of the party’s arrival. Although bandits had been known to lurk in the area they had seen no sign of trouble for the last few days, and the atmosphere was relaxed.
The party had 5 members. Walking alongside one of the oxen was the hulking form of Faerith, a Gold-ancestry Dragonborn and Paladin of Dol Arrah. Her chainmail glittered in the sun, a heavy warhammer hung from her belt, a shield was on her arm with the symbol of Dol Arrah proudly emblazoned on its surface while across her back 5 heavy javelins were strapped. She was exchanging small-talk with Pephennas Merilinor, known as Riben the Rapier. A High Elf, a charlatan and a rogue, Riben lounged idly on the headboard, cleaning his nails with a dagger, having secured the easy riding position for himself, the rapier by which he had made his name in a scabbard on his hip and a shortbow and quiver on the headboard at his side. The wagon was driven by Erada Tealeaf, a Halfling and a druid, her familiarity with animals allowing her to guide the cart down the road. She wore leather armour and a scimitar and wooden shield rested within easy reach.
A yelp of pain drew her attention to the back of the wagon where the Wood Elf Latharen Nailo and the quiet half-elf cleric were walking, each doing their best to pretend that the other wasn’t there. Erada rolled her eyes while Faerith waved Riben to sheathe his sword and sit down again. Nailo was sucking at a small cut on one hand while glaring at the mouse he held in his other. Erada felt sorry for the mouse, the assassin was hopeless with the poor creature. If she was honest, she was surprised that he hadn’t sat on the unfortunate creature already. Latharen had two shortswords at his belt and wore close fitting leather armour. The cleric was something of an enigma, none of them knew much about him, not even his name. A mace hung at his belt and a shield faintly etched with the symbol of his god on his back over leather armour, a light crossbow on his hip, holding a staff as he walked. There was something about him that suggested he had spent a lot of time in the wild.
These then are our heroes. This then is their story.