Passing beyond the high, guarded stone walls that surround the city of Neverwinter, the old wagon rolls along a well-trodden gravel road, leaving behind the sounds of a bustling, growing, city. The human pups collect autumn flowers from the ground still within the shadow of the city’s gates, occasionally glancing up to watch with curiosity as the goblin warrior travel by.
On the road, Gruulix passes musicians and merchants heading towards the city, as the sun peeks out through the myriad clouds above. A particularly keen ear can pick up the distant roar of powerful waves crashing against the cliffs beyond the nearby dunes. The morning air is brisk and energizes the soul, dragonflies whisk and dart through the tall grasses stirred by the wagon’s passing. The melodic chirping of birds from a nearby grove provides music for traveling through the peaceful countryside.
As the day winds on, the sun rolling across the sky and painting the horizon with lovely shades of orange and purple, Gruulix arrives at Helm’s Hold. A town contained behind thick stone walls that are marked by countless battles, shadowed by the cathedral to Helm for whom the town was named. The goblin spends the night at the Hungry Flame Inn. It is a pleasant enough establishment, though it doesn’t compare to the more ostentatious accommodations Gundren provided in Neverwinter.
The dwarf had been eager for Gruulix’s assistance, though he had been vague on the details. Between the eager and energetic couplings on the dwarf’s bed, he would only divulge that he and his brothers had found “something big.” He was more than happy to pay Gruulix a tidy little sum of ten gold pieces to escort a wagon of his supplies safely to Barthen’s Provisions, a trading post in the town of Phandalin. When the goblin awoke, Gundren had left a note informing her that he had left, needing to arrive in Phandalin early to “take care of business.”
The next morning, Gruulix leaves Helm’s Hold behind to get back on the road, spending the day traveling along the High Road, the wagon’s sluggish oxen pulling it across the last of grassy hillocks that have become rather familiar to the goblin. Off the well-worn path to either side, rich grasslands stretch silently swaying in the gentle breeze. A goshawk glides overhead like a kite, spying the land below in search of its next catch, as a spooked brown hare hops past the wagon. Night comes swiftly enough and Gruulix finds a promising campsite by the side of the road, resting without incident.
The next morning is crisp and wet as a low-lying fog slowly rises in tune with the sun climbing past the horizon. The grass glitters like emeralds when the morning’s light shimmers off the dew drops hanging from them. Within the next hour, Gruulix spots a welcome sight as she reaches the turn-off that takes the wagon onto the Triboar Trail which leads to Phandalin.
It is close to midday as Gruulix’s wagon is approaching the side road that leads south to Phandalin. As she comes around a bend, she stumbles across the scene of a recent battle. The woods press close to the trail here, with a steam embankment and dense thickets on either side. Two horses wander the road, sniffing at what looks like ransacked personal effects lying in the road.
Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
Gruulix
