The first harvest of the season brought with it several caravans of tradesmen, farmers, and merchants from the outlying towns to Neverwinter. Among these travelers is a simple farmer from Phandalin who carries with him a letter from one of the Rockseer brothers. The Dwarf had been with the caravan when they arrived but has since headed back for Phandalin to deal with business matters. Gundren took with him the trade wagon’s protector, Sildar Hallwinter. As such it falls to the farmer to acquire a small number of adventurers from Neverwinter to accompany him, and his wagon of goods, to Barthen’s Provisions. The route treks South along the High Road before veering East towards the Triboar Trail.

With the promise of pay being reason enough, Berrin is able to hire a human mercenary that simply goes by the name of ‘Gray.’ The pair agree to meet back at Neverwinter’s Southern most stable in two days' time. Berrin has set out to recruit at least one more willing traveler to accompany the wagon, knowing that there is greater strength in numbers. Meanwhile, Gray pays a visit to a favored blacksmith of his to ensure his armor is in decent enough shape to not cause any complications.

During their idle conversation, the half-moon elf blacksmith by the name of Zelana mentions that she has always wanted to visit Phandalin, having heard the stories of the lost mines. Albeit a bit wearily, Gray invites her to join him on the escort mission for Berrin. The half-elf agrees and sets about making the necessary arrangements for her absence from the forge. While Gray is able to secure a secondary member for their travels, Berrin has no such luck.

It is early morning on the second day since Berrin and Gray met. Leaning against one wall of the stable with a ceramic mug of black coffee clasped between her hands, Zelana waits. Her white-blond hair bound back away from her face in a bountiful ponytail and her smith’s hammer hanging from a loop on her leather belt.

Chewing on a sprig of grass the Phandalin born farmer in his work clothes and wide brimmed hat definitely looked a bit out of place in the big city, certainly no place a farmer could plant his crops. However it wasn't like the people of Neverwinter could farm their own fields, so if he was able to help feed the masses by Chauntea he would. "Cor blimey," he said pulling at the reigns of the mule pulling the cart around a bend in view of the stables "Millet, whoa slow yer self whoa!" thankfully his mule listened just stopping in front of the stable doors.

Berrin patted the mules rear from the coach seat before turning to look at the woman leaning against the large double doors to the stables "Ya'll the help that there Gray fella got?" sounding a bit skeptical the farmer pushed his hat back leaning over to squint at Zelana before shrugging "Blimey better'n no one I guess, what's yer name lady?"

The woman's thin brow arched high as the farmer took in her appearance. She pushed away from the stable doors with a grace befitting the elven half of her heritage. She had enough sense to not be rude, all too familiar in dealing with a variety of personalities from her occupation. She had to admit, just to herself, that she had yet to meet someone from Phandalin before. His accent was unique.

"Zelana," she answered plainly with a nod of greeting. "You must be Berrin?" She likely pronounced the name wrong, her city accent a vast contrast to his own country drawl.

"Cor, he went'n told you my name?" the farmer almost appeared surprised, quirking an eyebrow skeptically "That man's mouth is tighter'n a darned bear trap."

Berrin guffawed shaking his head in disbelief "Ow'n tarnation you get that sum' bitch to talk?" still leaning over the seat in the wagon, the farmer seemed genuinely intrigued.

"Mercenary logic," the half-elf answered as though such a thing should have been obvious. It helped that she and Gray had known one another, though to no further extent than exchanging idle conversation about the jobs he had been hired on in the prior years. It was a acquaintance much like any other she had with those who brought their armor to her mentor's shop for repairs. "It is a key point of information to know whom one has been hired to work for."

The blacksmith gave a shrug as her attention diverted to check over the supplies in the farmer's wagon. In addition to what she could only assume were Berrin's farming tools was a variety of mining gear and food. She pondered if some of the contents would be used during their trek, the salted pork and casket of ales of particular interest. She had packed rations so that even if the food was not for their consumption in any fashion, she would not go hungry.

Berrin snorted in reply "Right..." from beneath his hat the farmer rolled his eyes, if he'd ever heard a load of bull crap this would be it.

Once more he turned this time a coy smile upon his freckled face "Ain't ya'll that sure if'n it has more ta do with you?" he chuckled slightly, the implication of his words not so subtle as he gave the blacksmith a once-over yet before she could even protest their conversation was interrupted, as the aforementioned mercenary himself came into view from up the street winding his way up the byway with his hood pulled over his face. His boots clacked against the stone and a puff of smoke drifted from neath his hood where a pipe loosely hung, once the mercenary stopped by the wagon with a free hand he pulled off his hood looking between the two, bringing up the hand resting on the pommel of his sword to take the pipe from his mouth "So, you two done with the introductions?" his voice was deep and gruff much like his appearance.

Zelana's brow furrowed at the farmer's insinuation though before she had a chance to retort, the very mercenary in question arrived. She offered Gray the same cordial nod of a greeting as she had provided Berrin upon arrival. "Indeed."

She pushed the minor annoyance to the back of her mind with ease. She wasn’t there to amuse the farmer anyways. Whispers had swept through the region that the lost mines of Phandelver had been at long last located. If such a discovery were true, she wanted to be there. While that was not the precise task at hand, getting to Phandalin would put her closer to discovering the truth. She glanced between the two men with a curious expression playing at her features. She was packed and ready to get on the road. Hopefully, they were as well. “If it is just the three of us, we should get moving,” the half-elf suggested.

Berrin more perceptive than he'd let on didn't miss the way Zelana bristled slightly, stifling a guffaw into his fist the farmer did his best to let the topic be for now with a shrug of his shoulders. Gray looked between the two rolling his eyes slightly at the farmers attempt to hide his amusement, what it was the mercenary couldn't have cared less "I'll take point," Gray turned slightly taking a few steps before pausing to look back to Zelana and Berrin, placing the pipe back in his mouth "Zelana, bring up the rear." he gave her and Berrin a curt nod as if to dismiss them, the farmer looked to the blacksmith for a moment before grabbing the reigns "Ya heard em eh? Go on git, let's get moving mam'" with that he whipped at the reigns goading the mule forward.

The trio treks onward along the High Road, traveling South from Neverwinter. About midway through the second day a fire suddenly flares up among the high grass to the East of the well traversed route. A feminine figure can be made out running towards the group followed swiftly by a few bandits.

"Get her!" The lead bandit shouts to the others as they continue their pursuit.

A dark redhaired woman fumbles out from the nearly five-foot grass. Her fancy robes are worse for wear, her features scuffed with dirt, and hempen robe haphazardly bound around her hands. Frantic blue eyes dart between those chasing behind her and the white haired woman before her as she attempts to scramble back up onto her feet. "Help me, please!" she pleads.

Zelana casts a wry glance to the two men ahead on the trail accompanying the wagon. With a soft sigh she draws her crossbow and levels her attention on the nearest of the bandits just visible through the terrain. The crossbow bolt whizzes through the air, striking the first bandit in the shoulder. "We've got incoming!" Zelana calls out as she prepars her next shot, just incase neither of the humans had heard. She couldn't imagine that they would have missed what was going on, but one could never be certain. "At least this won't be an entirely uninteresting trek," the half-elf mutters to herself.

---

[Zelana's attack roll meets/beats AC score (with half cover)]

Each character can get a ranged attack in before initiative kicks in. If they do not have a ranged attack, proceed to initiative rolls.

Gray simply sighed muttering something under his breath about asking for more pay then draws his sword with a succinct shing as he pulled it from his sheath, Berrin with his best effort slowed the mule to a halt whistling loudly for all to hear "Oi! Oi! What'n the gods got ya'll chase'n a lady fer?" he shouted at the brigands "Let's all just stay our weapons a sec ere' before'n we do som'n stupid!"

The half elf turned a skeptical glance at the farmer, a narrow brow raised high over her honey colored eyes. Did he really think he could negotiate with outlaws? Was he so naïve to think they would just surrender and not attempt to plunder all the wagon wares as well? She muttered something in elvish under her breath.

To much of the surprise of the two women, the small crew of bandits slowed as they neared the edge of the grass. One of them stepped all the way forward, his mace still at the ready. He tilted his head back to inspect the collective before him, the dark gaze shifting from the two females to the mercenary before settling upon the seemingly harmless farmer. A sly grin rose to his lips as he considered the situation. "She's worth more than ya realize, farmboy. Give her back an' be on yer way."

Gray found himself looking at the redhead then the bandits, he was more inclined to just hand the woman over but the mercenary raised an eyebrow at the words 'worth something' it made him think. If she was as valuable as the bandit said, she might be worth a tidy sum to whomever was paying these piss drinking thugs "I'd think you should mind yourselves," he growled "If you know what's good for you I'd leave," he stepped forward in front of the redhead with his sword drawn "I hope you know who I am in case you decide to stay." he added leaning the more unscrupulous side of his reputation, he knew about quite a few gangs and they knew him so he was betting on the bandits to have heard about him.

The dark eyes of the self-assigned leader for the bandit gang roved towards Gray as the human spoke. With a laugh quickly subsiding, he set himself into a combative stance. Behind the lead bandit, a crossbow bolt whizzed through the air and past Gray's head to land firmly into the side of the wagon. A definitive curse of words followed the missed shot.

Having reloaded while the boys chit-chatted, Zelana took her own shot that wildly missed its own mark. With her own flurry of elven curse words she withdrew another bolt from the case to reset for the next round.

Another crossbow bolt snipes through the air, striking the wagon closer to Berrin's position.

Finally back to her feet, the dark haired girl glared at the bandit within sight. "Oh would you look at that? Can't even hit one of us and you think your the hot shot here? PATHETIC!" Her words called sharply through the air and with them the front man seemed to flinch ever-so-slightly.

---

Top of round: Berrin

Berrin yelps slightly, throwing Millet's reigns to the side as he leaps off the wagon before crawling behind it "Ya'll fuck'n ask'n fer trouble!" the farmer shouts from his cover.

---

Berrin takes the Dodge action.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, the point man of the bandits lunges towards Gray. His mind distracted by the taunting of the very girl he had been so recently pursuing, both swings of his mace miss the mercenary entirely.

---

Gray's turn

Sidestepping the bandit, with an amused snort the mercenary brings his sword down upon his assailant with one hand while the other sweeps his hood off.

---

[Attack Roll: 23 // Damage: 14 slashing]

The mercenaries strike cuts through the leather armor of the bandit point-man. A growling yelp of pain tears up from the man's throat.

Zelana takes aim once more on the ranged bandits in the grass, letting loose a bolt that strikes true to its target.

As Zelana's bolt flies into the grass, a volley from the others strike in on the adventurers. The first of which pierces into the half-elf's shoulder, drawing a colorful slurry of elven curses from the woman's lips once more. The second hits into the side of the wagon while the third just nearly strikes the farmer hiding behind cover.

Free of the bindings, the sorceress mutters a few words beneath her breath and gestures into the tall grass masking the view of the remaining bandits. While the ball of fire that lets loose from her palms misses its intended mark, the grass ignites in a momentary magical flame before rapidly extinguishing and leaving the three bandits holding light crossbows exposed.

---

Zelana Attack Nat20//Damage total 8
Lunesea Attack 9 - Misses

Back to top of round with Berrin

Berrin curses under his breath rolling away from the arrow, peering from behind the wagon. Before ducking back behind the wagon.

---

Berrin takes the Dodge action.

Stubborn as the bandits seemed to be, they were in no way eager to die in their pursuit of the well dressed girl.

"FALL BACK!" The point-man called out, cautiously stepping back from the engagement with an arm nursing the cut into his side.

---

Gray's action

Without a word Gray moves towards the point man with his sword poised to strike. Not breaking his stride the mercenary pursued the lead bandit, catching the mans knee with the kick of his boot driving the cur to kneel then without hesitation Gray grabbed the man by the shoulder and shoved the tip of his longsword between his shoulder blades with a sickening sound of flesh being pierced, using all his weight to drive the point through his chest. All the while the mercenary hadn't a hint of remorse or anger on his face as he dispatched the man.

---

[Attack Roll: 23 // Damage Roll: 14]