New Beginnings

As the wooden wheels creaked beneath the weight of the cart, Galdar tugged at the woolen cloak he wore over his armor. All of his men had removed theirs during the trip, preferring their warm coats and knit caps to the cold steel plates. But Galdar refused to follow suit: he had heard tell of goblin attacks along this route, and he was nothing if not prepared. Even as the freezing wind cut through his cloak and sent a shiver down his spine, he felt comfort knowing he was safe, his armor a shell to protect him from the dangers outside. Although, it’s not the goblins I’m worried about, he thought to himself, looking to the other people that sat in the cart with him and his men. He didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them. Their clothes were tattered and patched, the colors faded with years of wear and warped by dirt and grime. From the looks of them, they spent most of their days wallowing in some dive bar or lounging on some street corner, and their smell only confirmed Galdar’s suspicions. It reminded him of home. Galdar’s grip on his sword grew tighter at the thought.
A sudden jolt disrupted his thoughts as the cart lurched to a stop. The sun was rapidly falling behind the treeline: it would be night soon, and traveling in the dark was a foolish and dangerous endeavor. The caravan leader looked back and hollered to the rest of the three cart drivers: it was time to set up camp.
As people began grumbling and stepping off the cart to the frozen ground beneath, Galdar rose from his seat and stretched his back. His muscles ached from hours of sitting and bouncing on the hard wooden benches in the cart. It wasn’t the most comfortable wagon in the Sword Coast, but it was the best he could find on short notice. As he stood he looked to the men that sat across from him, those loyal enough to follow him from Waterdeep. They remained silent - they knew better than to speak out against Galdar after a long day of travel - but he didn’t need their words. He could read their thoughts in their defeated posture, in the pained expressions that they tried poorly to hide. Galdar confided in them for this reason: he always knew what they were thinking. He could see every twinge of doubt and ounce of regret in the lines of their face.
He feared he was losing them.
As he unpacked his supplies for the night, Galdar felt a familiar rage rising up within him. Not one month ago, he was in some noble’s parlor, drinking wine by a warm fire and conversing with the richest men and women in Waterdeep; now, he was freezing in the back of a ratty cart. Stay calm, Galdar, he reassured himself, his hands rising to massage his temples. These are the people of Mythrite. You can’t afford to lose control here. As he continued unpacking, his hands found the letter he received the night he left for Mythrite.

---

When he first received a letter from Lord Vilmonte’s manor, Galdar had a bad feeling about its contents. However, even he was prepared for what he read. Written upon the page were just three sentences. Three short sentences that spelled the end of his life in Waterdeep:
“I’ve heard from an informant in the City Guard that we have an unusual, unfamiliar relationship.
I would love to meet with you to discuss the terms of this relationship.
How about tomorrow?

Signed, Lord Vladamir Vilmonte”
Galdar’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t been in contact with Lord Vilmonte in decades. This letter could only mean one thing: he’d been found. And he knew what happened to people who ended up on Lord Vilmonte’s bad side.
Immediately, Galdar’s mind began racing, considering any option, any path he could take to dig his way out of the hole he found himself in. He paced his quarters in the barracks for nearly an hour, until he suddenly stopped. A faint memory had found its way into his mind, of a rumor he had heard when making his rounds in the local taverns and bars. A memory of a town in the wilderness known as Mythrite. He packed as many of his belongings he could spare in a blind panic, and sent a courier to gather seven of his most trusted soldiers. Galdar had worked too hard to get to this point. He wasn’t going to let some washed up noble rob him of all he had achieved. If he could just get some loyal followers to join him in Mythrite, then maybe…

---

“Pardon me.”
A harsh, female voice cut through Galdar’s daydream. As he looked to the foot of the cart, he saw a dwarven woman standing, hand on her hip, looking up at him. “Are you going to stand up on that cart all day, or are you going to get down here and help us set up camp?”
Galdar returned to his bags, unpacking the last of his supplies and stepping down from the before answering. “My apologies, apparently I was...lost in thought.”
“Ah, I see. I suppose these aren’t your preferred travelling conditions are they…” the woman paused for a moment before a wide smile stretched across her face. “...Captain Rougash.”
Galdar stopped in his tracks, a mixture of fear and confusion clouding his mind before he straightened himself. “I’m sorry, have we met?”
“Not yet. Name’s Kimdo Chestcaver. I’ve heard a lot about you, Galdar. You seem to be one of the more interesting people in this here caravan.”
“And, pray tell, how is it you know so much about me?”
“I like to do my research, never hurts when you’re traveling with such...unsavory company.” Kimdo pointed a thumb towards the campsite, where Galdar could see his men sitting around a hastily made fire. Sitting with them were two women, a human and a half elf, who were in the middle of a seemingly interesting conversation with them. “My girls are good at getting information out of people. Comes in real handy.”
Galdar looked back to the dwarven woman standing before him. For the briefest of moments his eyes flickered over her attire, her face, her hair. In an instant he sized her up. This Kimdo Chestcaver didn’t appear too different from the other riff-raff he had been traveling with: her clothes were worn and dirtied, her hair knotted and unkempt. It was clear she had been travelling for some time, likely before she joined up with the caravan. However, there was something else there, something rather unlike the sullen, dreary crowd that Galdar was used to. She had an energy to her, a punch behind every sentence she spoke. He could tell without a second glance that she wasn’t just another immigrant to Mythrite, another miner hoping to strike it rich in the Greypeak Mountains. She wanted more.
Galdar saw much of himself in her, and his usual stern expression was replaced with a wide grin. She could be useful. In one fluid movement, Galdar returned to his pack and removed the last of the whiskey he had brought with him for the journey.
“Care for a drink?”