Preparing for Phandalin
Bandalor emerges from his room late in the morning. The hours he stayed to drink and listen to the bard precluded his catching his colleagues before they departed.
Small matter. He would see them at dinner. As he did every morning, he stretched and offered alms to the rising sun. Of late, recurring dreams intruded in his sleep. Not the usual dreams of the failed crusade, but darker dreams, of a defiled altar surrounded by greenskins. Bandalor shook this off as too much Berduskan on too empty a stomach.
He quickly looked over his road pack, ensuring his possessions were not molested during what was likely an overly sound sleep. All appeared in order, and there was no indication the pouch he secured to his ankle nightly was moved by anything other than his nightmare flailing.
Gathering his things, Bandalor strolled into the common room to fight the sour stomach with a large breakfast and set to see if anyone in Neverwinter had a line on the whereabouts of an old companion…
[OOC] Sleeping in, I may have missed the pack. Regardless, going to eat, and then hit the market to ensure my road pack is road ready. If I made it in time, I eat quicker than I would like to catch up.