A Flying Visit in Neverwinter

There certainly is no rest to be found when adventuring. Four days ago, we started our journey back in the direction of Neverwinter. We arrived yesterday and are already on the road again.
 
Immediately following our departure from Phandalin, still saddened by the little time we could spend in the re-prospering village, I could no longer compose myself. Regret and shame were gnawing at me ever since Halia told me her secret and it was about time to let go of the anguish and throw myself at the mercy of my companions. But, oh what joy! I could only marvel at the understanding and even appreciation they showed in the face of my candour. Truly, after all these years of spite and disregard I was confronted with outside of our group of close friends, how do I deserve such friendship? I will be forever grateful for Grum, Nysqwen and Archie. May they live long and prosper.
 
The next two days were quick to pass, smiles and laughter being constant attendants despite the prisoner in our company and the depressing notion of Gundren still being held captive or worse. We are beginning to understand that filling the day with worries does not lead to anything other than despair, so better to laugh as long as there is time while not losing focus of the dire tasks ahead. At some point during our travels, Nysqwen dubbed our oxen “Munchy” and “Crunchy”. She may not be the sharpest, but it is good natured humor, so why not? Our first night after leaving Phandalin behind, we spent in a small ditch Grum found. We were shielded against unwanted eyes there and got sufficient rest. We decided against a return to Skarg’s hideout, partly because of our dwindling supplies, partly due to the bandit on our carriage. Thus, we made good pace and reached the High Road before nightfall.
 
The second night was even more cosy than the first as we found shelter on the small farm of Bor and his family. We were allowed to sleep in his barn and even offered dinner and breakfast! The evening we spend merrily with the family and staff, feasting and dancing to a few of my humble tunes. It’s evenings like these that really illustrate why simple folk like us should look out for one another. Amidst the worries and pain of the world, spreading what mirth we can shall be our pursuit! And with all the pecuniary fortune we assembled so far, it seemed only right and proper to pay these kind folks some extra for their troubles.
 
After our third day of traveling, we drew close to Neverwinter. On the road during the day we might well have seen more people than in the last two weeks combined. Nysqwen grew increasingly more excited at the notion of seeing the sea again. By now, a faint smell of salt and the sound of collapsing waves signified its proximity. We set up our camp a few paces off the road again and quickly went to sleep. It was during Archie’s watch the beast appeared. Suddenly rattled awake by his desperate cry for help, we charged out of our tents. And faced a monstrosity. Its shoulders easily level with the top of the Dragonborn’s head, thick, dark fur covering a massive body and large, gleaming, unblinking eyes staring at us over a sharp beak. An owlbear, a fierce predator seldomly found so close to civilisation. And without warning, it charged at us. His speed and agility were astounding for a beast of such a mass and were it not for Archie’s early rallying cry and our combined forces, it might have torn us all to shreds. As it were, after a short but hefty fight the beast was worn down and put to sleep by a spell. Here we hesitated. It seemed like ruthless murder to just end its life while being helpless, yet we could not fathom a way to calm it enough to convince it of a peaceful departure from one another. Owlbears are fabled for their ferocity and anger and from our short time in the presence of one, we had every reason to believe these tales. Nysqwen offered to take care of the gruesome deed and swiftly decapitated the still sleeping creature. She also collected some trophies, something she certainly adopted during her upbringing, there must have been some brutal traditions there…
 
After our fight, we barely got any more sleep and so we continued our traveling early in the morning. The gates of Neverwinter soon sprouted from the misty morning air in front of us. The city certainly had seen better days and the chasm cleaving through our old district still spilled forth vile monsters. So, it was not an unfamiliar view to see the entry into the city well-guarded. After telling the guard about our whereabouts and pointing out the prisoner, we quickly ended up speaking to the captain on duty. He took care of the bandit in exchange for some gold coins. The Many-Arrow orcs in the northern district still seemed to keep to themselves and honour the contract, hence he appeared alarmed upon hearing about our skirmish with the scouting party at Wyvern Tor. Hopefully, the surrounding cities or this Lord’s Alliance can do something about the raids, Neverwinter stood witness to what determined orc forces can accomplish.
 
We already knew our stay would be short, thus we split up inside the city walls to mind our respective businesses. I headed towards the old ramshackle building, I knew I would find Anataea, to tell her about my adventures and catch up with what has befallen them since we departed. I wandered through the familiar alleys, excited about finally speaking to her again. I was all the more surprised to find the hovel abandoned. It did not look like a hasty departure, yet dust had begun to settle already. The broken chair still leaned against the wall, but that was the only thing reminding of its former inhabitants. Confused and slightly worried I jogged through the city to search for my friends at other often occupied spots until from a branching jitty, Sven emerged. The young orc was only 12 summers old, yet his voice was the deepest amongst us all, making him the bass in all our combined shows, and he always had showed tremendous amounts of talent for singing. Now his deep rumble startled me from my contemplations as he merrily greeted me. He said, they all moved to a new place about a week ago and promised to lead me there at once. As our way took us ever closer to Neverwinter River and abodes around us grew taller, broader and brighter, I wondered what Sven was up to. Before I could ask, he stopped in front of a large, well-built house right at the riverbank.
And in the doorframe, Anataea waited and smiled. Her joy at our reunion was genuine and matched mine, yet there was something going on I could not decipher. We went inside and sat down at a large, new table on comfortable chairs. My initial surprise about this new homestead she winked aside and just said, a certain benefactor had supported them with a significant amount of coin. She refused to elaborate this statement politely and so I began telling the tale of my past adventures. She was as good an audience as one can hope for and showed genuine interest. She had heard about an enclave of Harpers in the city and encouraged me to seek contact with them. In turn she recounted, that no further disappearances had to be endured during my absence, only Sven was chased by some hooded men one evening. Luckily however his strong legs facilitated his escape.
Following my tale, the conversation drifted into some small talk and I was glad she is doing as well as she is. She visibly struggled between wanting to tell me what was going on with the new house and for some reason being not allowed to do so. I did not begrudge her reluctance; there always were things we did not talk about combined with a mutual respect for each other’s secrets. She will have a good reason to leave me in the dark there. But her trust in me seemed to get the better of her at least to some degree, as she told me to look for someone named Birel if I’d desire to know more. Whatever is going on there, I will only enquire it to a point that does not cause any troubles for Anataea and the children. My own cursed curiosity however will bring me to do some investigation anyway, I know myself… Hopefully, the Aren affair will not repeat itself…
 
It was a real pleasure to finally be back home again and meet my friends, especially my mentor. When I left to run some more errands, I requested to give a performance with a few others in the Singing Anvil in the evening, to which they gladly agreed. Grum and the others were quite amused by our show, the atmosphere in the old inn was seldom as exuberant as it was yesterday. I invited Nysqwen to stay the night at our hoe, as she has no other place in Neverwinter and it probably was for the best that we could lean on each other on the way home, drunk as we were. Even Archie stayed longer than on other occasions and I think I even saw him drink some beer.
 
This morning we equipped ourselves with some new armour, my old leather garment certainly had seen better days and with Thundertree being our next stop, there is no end in sight to the fighting. Nysqwen has acquired an amazingly well-fitting set of half-plate, apparently made by a dwarf Archie knew. And so, before noon we were on the road again, traveling east towards the former village. It took the whole day to come within sight of the first signs of a lost civilisation and we are resting now before we will enter the ruins tomorrow. Grum found a message in druidic signs that spoke about a great danger from undead and something he called “plant-monster”. Are these the first tokens of Reidoth? Hopefully, we can still find him, and I pray to Mystra that he might know something about the location of Cragmaw Castle. Otherwise I don’t see another way how we might still have at least a slight chance of rescuing Gundren. But for now, let’s hope the night won’t reveal more terrors like the Owlbear fore Neverwinter.