Harold looks at the Bard and says,"Well I'm not really that kind of merchant but I suppose I can have those items on hand for you tomorrow for say 5 Silver Pieces."

In reply to Narrator (msg # 21):

Tosses him a gold. "Keep the change" and then tips my hat.

Giving another pained, sidelong look to the bard;  “Very well then.  What word do you have of the roads to Phandalin?  Is this the wagon we’ll be taking?  When was it last maintained?  Are the draft animals provided or needs we make the lyrical laggard here sing them up?”

Harold turns to face Bandalous and states,"Good Sir I provide adequate services. The wagon has been inspected before the load started and the two Animals that will be pulling it are in fine health. If you would like to look at either please be my guess. Looking at your party here if this is all of them you should all be able to fit onto the Wagon if two of you are willing to ride in the back." He then turns to the bard and gives a smile and a thanks for the extra coin.

Before the party parts ways with the ill-looking man, Gwen thanks him. "Are there stables near the edge of Neverwinter where new arrivals tend to congregate? We might be in the market for horses of our own, and I'd like to talk to someone who's recently come from the south."

Walking away from Harlond's, she turns to the group.

"Well, there's no getting a look at the draft animals before tomorrow, but I guess the rig looks alright. I can drive a team, if need be. It might also do us well to not all be bound to the wagon. An additional mount would let us scout ahead more easily or respond quickly to threats. Thanks to Lyndian's hustle last night, I could just about shell out for a pony, although others of you might be stronger riders. What do you all say?"

She continues to drink in the bustle of the city, looking out for interesting shops, curious passers-by, or anything strange afoot in the reborn Neverwinter.

As you soak in the city. You see a wagon load of fired clay pots clattering down the
narrow street, pulled by a drab grey donkey. The cart's driver is an equally drab grandmother; the only spark of color on the wagon is the brightly colored scarf the old woman has wrapped around her mouth to keep out the road's dirt. Even the pots are
drab; simple unadorned grey clay splotched with brown. The woman lowers her scarf and spits a glob of inky black tobacco into the road.

Then Harold says, "Of course there is a stable near both southern gates. However if you were to go out the gate closer to the coast my cousin owns a stable and if you told him Harold sent you he may be able to cut you a deal. Arnold is his name and he runs the Coastal Stables. As far as news of the High Road well is safe as can be. Bandits is probably the biggest threat but the four of yous look capable enough by just the looks of ya to steer them in other directions. The Triboar Trail is probably a little bit more wild so who knows about your safety there. Anyway everything has been paid for and should be ready to pull out in late morning."

“Many thanks, Harold.  Any friend of Cousin Gundren is a friend of mine.”  Turning to the group, “Stables, then?  If any catch sight of barrel of wine, or the symbols of Tymora’s chosen, flag me.”

[OOC] I’m able to ride a mount.  Keeping my eyes peeled for a shrine to lady luck, and the overall religious activity in the rebuilding city in general. Fairly confident my pack is ready for the road, so think for Bandalor the only thing left is to collect as much information about the roads south before we go.

Heading through the Protectors Enclave looking for a temple Tymora you see and interesting sight. A brown-skinned glass blower works behind a hissing and popping fire pit that is separated from the walkway by a single round wooden rail a few feet away. Behind you can see the doors that are pulled across to close off the shop and tools after hours. Yellow light glistens off the long glass tube she plays like a flute, and within a few moments, the woman finishes her current project, a delicate black glass figurine in the shape of a crab. With callused fingers, she snaps off the crab's blow  tube and sets this latest creation aside onto a low table that's filled with a bedazzling glass menagerie in clear view, but just out of reach, of the passers by.

Then you see it her symbol.

You now stand in front of the temple of the Lady who Smiles. A male human with a Shaven head and dressed in red and gold robes approaches you. "Ah friends, travelers often seek the blessing of the Goddess of Luck." Looking at your attire and unwashed selves he continues, "Have you been on the road long?"

“Well met!  Had a couple days to beat the dust, but mail gathers rust if it isn’t worn in the light of day!  Hail, Tymora’s blessing to us all friend!  Any word where Sister Garaele may find Tymora’s favor?”

Bandalor pauses to engage the glassblower, inspecting the rest of his shop for further indications of a secret shrine or clandestine meeting place.

The man gains a pensive look for a moment and then his eyes light up, "Ah Sister Garaele, yes she is off down south in a small frointer town of Phandalin I believe. A small frointer town such as that could use the light of She who smiles dont you think? Why do you inqure of her?"

Turning your attention briefly to the glassblower you dont see anything out of the ordinary but find yourself very mesmerized by ther process.

Bandalor zones out a couple moments, as if caught in a recollection…

“Eh?  Sister Garaele…  we’ve not yet actually met, but in visions I am told she needs my assistance.  It seems just as odd to me as it must sound to all of you…  but in dreams and nightmares I cannot shake her call.”  Collecting himself, he steps back from the rail abutting the glassblower’s furnace.

“No matter.  Thankee.  I will look in Phandalin for the Sister.”

The Priest nods his head in the direction of the group and says, "Safe travels my friends and may she bless you on the road."

"Chasing the woman of your dreams, eh?" says Gwen with a wink and a smile. "All that remains when we reach Phandalin is to see exactly whose luck the Lady favors... hers, or yours?" She elbows the priest playfully as they leave the glassworks.

"Let's head to Arnold's stable... if his deals are as good as his cousin says, I should be able to buy a pony and saddle for the trip with the gold I've got. If anyone else is similarly inclined, I'll chip in for a larger horse instead. I don't mind relaxing in a wagon all the way to Phandalin as long as someone can see over the next hill."

[OoC: Gwen doesn't bring a high WIS to the table, but I clicked something in her background that gave her Animal Handling and Survival, two WIS skills. She does have a badass INT, so she's got good Investigation, but not Perception. If some other high WIS character wants to ride point, Gwen will get out of your way, but we don't have a traditional Rogue in the party and somebody needs to perceive something at some point.]

A you approach the Southern Gate that is closest to the coast you see a leathery gnome merchant has stopped to chat with a pair of human masons, and possibly make a sale. A sheaf of dried tobacco leaves protrudes from the gnome's backpack, and he hunches low under the weight. Leather pouches filled with sweet-smelling dried tobaccos and teas hang from the gnome's every button hole and from his braided rope belt.

And just like that you stand in front a decent sized stable. A relatively healthy man approaches you when you stop and look at the sign for Coastal Stables. "Ho there," he says, "You looking for mounts to head south? Where you headed Helmshold, Thornhold, Waterdeep maybe even Baulders Gate? Riding Horses are 90 gold, Ponies are 40 and Warhorses are 500." He says all this as he covers his eyes to shade them from the sun as he looks in your direction.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:24, Thu 26 Mar 2020.

Mustering as much bonhomie as the withdrawing cleric can present, Bandalor flouts as much of an awkward smile he can muster and engages the stablemaster.

“Well met!  Arnold, is it?  Cousin Gundren said you had the strongest steeds north of Waterdeep!  What word of the roads to Waterdeep, sir?  We’re on the road as his men, and have need of sturdy mounts and good information.”

[OOC]:  I’ve no objections to the Elf-Mage riding point;  but would seem I am the closest thing to a tank in the party.  What am I missing;  what is our plan?

Anything else we need to do prior to finding a nice tavern and suffering the bard’s endless libido?

Imbert wanders around grabbing various horses by the chin, whispering encouraging words and looking at their teeth.

[OoC]: I have a +2 Wis, animal handling, survival, perception, nature, a bow and my favorite terrain is forest.  Maybe I ride point?  I'm heading back to the glassblower.  It's a hobby of mine and I missed that part of the encounter.  This trip could last longer than advertised, since we have wagons we can get rations, water, ale, tents without worrying about encumberment.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:45, Fri 27 Mar 2020.

As you all are standing there talking to the Stable Master you see the ranger start examining some of the horse then stop frozen as if in deep thought then wordlessly head off back in the direction you came from.

Arnold thrown back a little by the abruptness of this says, "Strange friend you have there. Sorry never heard of a Gundren before only cousin I have is Harold. Sickley fellow I might add. As far as word from the road. Usual stuff some bandits here and there, goblins mostly though pesky varmits."

A few minutes pass and the ranger finds himself back in front of the glass blower by the temple. Both  the priest and the glass blower give the ranger an odd look as he approaches but both remain silent.

The glass blower is now working on an exquisite swan.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:20, Fri 27 Mar 2020.

Gwen claps her hands. "Ah-ha! I knew our party was cut from the right cloth! Master Imbert will ride point, and I will happily contribute to the purchase and upkeep of his mighty steed. A good point about provisions, too; we should lay in a solid store of luxuries since we're travelling in such style. In fact, now that I'm back in the wagon, I'm suddenly in the market for a pillow, a flask, and the biggest hat I can find..."

[OoC: Elf-Mage? More like Gnome-Mage. Although we prefer "Gnomage" as in "I'll bring all the Gnomage you can handle and then some."]

[OOC] All demi humans look the same to me...  ;/

Imbert studies the glassmaker's tools and the swan.
"That is a nice piece. " he says indicating the swan with his chin.  "I was apprenticed to a local artisan in my youth and made a few cups and bowls for the townsfolk.  My companion Lyndian Silvertune here is interested in a glass slide for his string instrument, do you mind if I make him one?  I have tools of my own and we can pay for the glass."

[To the Ranger and the Bard]

The glass blower looks up from her work and says, "Tis an odd request but spose I can be lettin you use me space for a small fee of course. Say 5 sp for the use of the space and the glass needed to make yer slide."



[To the Gnomling and Priest]

Arnold looks to the two of you and says, "So yer after a riding horse then? 90 gold for this fine beast here." He pats the neck of one of the horses in the stable which seems to be in good health and not to worse for wear. "Can also outfit yer horse for say 25 gold and include three weeks feed for the mount as well," the man says as he lifts his eyebrows.

Imbert passes over the coins and starts working on the tube for the slide.
"My companions and I are heading to Phandalin on the morrow.  Have you any news from that area?"
This message was lightly edited by the player at 20:07, Fri 27 Mar 2020.

The small woman replies while looking around your side as you start to work the glass, "Not one to know too much about the road m afraid. Most peoples I know are are local folk.Phandalin you say though. Tis a small frontier town?"

"Tis indeed, tis indeed.  Do you know Harold or Gundren?"

The small woman looks up at the ranger and say, "Can't say that I know a Gundren nor a Harold. Why does ye ask?"