\part{Goblin Arrows}

\chapter{Introduction}

Stories start in many places. They also, and the difference here might be a matter of opinion, start at many times. This one started over five hundred years ago, in a cave around a week south of Neverwinter\footnote{To complicate things further, sometimes, a place and a time are the same thing.}. 

It also started when two kids stole Barry's notebook full of poems and laughed so hard they didn't see Minna coming up behind them, both fists raised.

\textbf{[Minna introduction]}

Or it started later, in a throne room in Waterdeep, where Barry thought he was kissing the son of just another successful merchant, who turned out to also be very powerful within Waterdeep indeed.

\textbf{[Barry introduction]}

The story may have started when Aloshi left the remote underground temple, where she was raised, and set out to see the world and help it.

\textbf{[Aloshi introduction]}

When Aldram, The Guide of Candlekeep, asked Rinn to take over from master reader Coulder, after he passed away, another thread of our story spun out into the world -- in Rinn's case, at quite some speed.

\textbf{[Rinn introduction]}

Our story also started when Laryssa sealed her pact with a fey, who did no state their name---nor the price.

\textbf{[Laryssa introduction]}

Or when Homak, the barbarian, was conscripted into service.

\textbf{[Homak introduction]}

\bigskip

\noindent One could argue, quite persuasively, that this story started in a tavern in Neverwinter, about a week ago. 

Our nascent adventurers were enjoying a mug of ale\footnote{Or other beverage of choice.}, when they were approached by an excited looking dwarf. ``Ah, I was expecting to find a group like this in here. You are adventurers, correct? Very good, very good,'' he says as he takes a seat on the bench, squeezing everyone else closer together. ``I have an offer for you.'' He spends but a moment looking at your faces for confirmation before he continues: ``I require a delivery of some provisions from Neverwinter to Barthen’s supplies in Phandalin, for which I propose to compensate each of you 10 gold pieces.'' Having flooded you in information, and not an insignificant amount of spittle, he looks at you expectantly. 

    \textbf{[Some RP]}

``The name’s Gundren Rockseeker, by the way.''

Perhaps this story started a few days later when Gundren, eager to ``take care of some business ahead of time,'' and his good friend Sildar Hallwinter, a member of the famous Griffon Cavalry in the great city of Waterdeep, made off for Phandalin on horseback.

\chapter{Goblin Ambush}

Luckily for us, the story has one beginning, and it is two days down the High Road from Neverwinter. On a wagon full of mining supplies. 

    \textbf{[Marching order]}

You come to a fork in the road and turn left off the High Road onto Triboar Trail. After another half-day of driving, as you come around a bend in the road, you spot two dead horses. You see crude black-feathered arrows sprouting from the limp carcasses sprawled about fifty feet ahead of you. The woods press close to the trail here, with a steep embankment and dense thickets on either side.

    \textbf{[On inspecting horses]}

The saddlebags have been looted. Among the detritus strewn across the road, you spot an empty map case. Conspicuous by its absence are two riders and a map.

    \textbf{[Failed perception check]}

Out of the surrounding woods, issue two arrows and a scream: ``Now!''



\chapter{Cragmaw Hideout}

We are playing Dungeons \& Dragons, and, yet, so far, our adventure has been thoroughly devoid of both. A dragon, of course, would probably end it somewhat prematurely, which means there is but one destination for our heroes in training.

You come upon a small stream, issuing from an opening in the hillside. The tunnel mouth is surrounded by thickets, but you can see a dry path leading into the hill on the east bank of the stream.

\section*{Flood!}

Above the bubbling of the waterfall, you hear what sounds like the sounds of hammering.

    \textbf{[Allow for reaction -- Gives advantage]}

A mighty roar fills your ears, as water fills the tunnel itself, surging in from above like the wrath of gods.

\section*{Goblin leader}

``Truce!'' you hear a goblin yell. ``Truce, or the human dies!'' You spot a goblin standing proud on the upper ledge, holding a sword to the neck of a badly beaten human. 

    \textbf{[Perception -- Passive]}

[DC10] The human looks familiar.

[DC15] As you look, you notice that the human is Sildar Hallwinter, the man you saw depart together with Gundren a few days before you left Neverwinter.

``Get him, lads\footnote{Sildar calls everyone holding a weapon ``lad'' and everyone wearing a skirt ``lass''.}! You can do it!'' he manages to shout, before the goblin slaps him into silence.

``I have a deal for you!'' the goblin proposes. ``On the other side of this cave you will find a bugbear, whose name is Klarg, as he keeps reminding us. Bring me his head, and I will let the human go.''

\section*{Returning Klarg’s head to Yeemik}

``Good! Now, on the matter of... custody fees, for the good lodging and meals we have kindly provided our friend here. Say, 50 gold pieces?''

\section*{After saving Sildar}

``You’re the lads Gundren hired, aren’t you! Thank you for pulling my pickle out of the fire; I haven’t been this stuck since... Well, never mind now, help me get out of here!'' He looks rather worse for wear, or worse for goblin, as the case may be.

\chapter{Epilogue}

\section*{Good ending}

When you exit the cave, weighed down with newfound riches and a limping warrior, the sun fills your eyes with glorious relief. As your lungs empty of smoke and goblin, you reflect on the experience you’ve all been through together.

    \textbf{[Gain a level]}

You make your way back to your wagon by the Triboar Trail at a leisurely pace, chatting in the slightly forced way that people who have just been through an ordeal together do. After loading up your wagon with the spoils, you continue your trip toward Phandalin, in silence.

\section*{Bad ending}

In stories, the hero emerges triumphant from the lair: the dragon slain, the maiden saved. In reality, adventuring exacts a toll.

When you exit the cave, the sun stabs your eyes and the cold air washes your lungs clean of the stink of fire and goblins. Loss stretches the silence between you, as you make your way down to your wagon. As you continue your trip toward Phandalin, you each, alone, contemplate what you have just experienced.

    \textbf{[Gain a level]}
