GH 00 - "When One, Becomes Three"

Hello and welcome to Green Hunters of the Dragon Queen, a product of The Techno God, and a journey shared by myself, my Partner in Life, Kat, and some friends we’ve met along the way, Rachel and Jarod, who have given consent for their characters and tales to be shared here.
  Large portions of this content are published by Wizards of the Coast through several books under their IP, namely: Tyranny of Dragons, which also had collaboration from Kobold Press, and Dragon of Icespire Peak. I also pull inspiration from Fizban’s Treasury of Dragons, and have planned for at least one Quest from Candlekeep Mysteries to make an appearance. The foundation of lore from these books, mine and my players' creativity and passion, and little moments of spontaneity create this tale, and my scribing and reciting of it, is something I am happy to share with y’all.
  Now, settle in for,

Session 00, “When One, Becomes Three”

  The Forgotten Realms' Sword Coast is a place of many adventures to be had, journies to be forged, and tales to be spun, but a mythical fate brews to the East of this sprawling coast. A perilous journey of Dragons and cults, action and love, magic and awe, but every journey does indeed begin with a single step. 
  Neverwinter and the woods to their East, nestled underneath Mt. Hotenow crest with many a tale of their own. But, just to the South of them is where the bird's eye view begins to come into focus, along the Triboar Trail towards the small, and emerging town of Phandalin. Known to exist on the ruins of an ancient city, the town has begun to rebuild over the last 25 years. It was slow going at first, and scattered, little settlements and villages spreading as far as Neverwinter Wood's Southern edge. 
  In time, these scattered villages and towns, well, most of them, would fall into disarray, either because nature’s wild touch was too raw, or because the mines they had made dried up, or maybe it was because of the Orcs in the Hills and trails, worshippers of Talos - a powerful and mighty God whose portfolio encompasses the Tempest, the storm, the chaos of life. His destructive tendencies are reflected within those that revere him, and these Orcs are no exception.
  With so many threats and such chaos befalling the area, it is a wonder that Phandalin has survived thusly, but, as if things couldn’t get any worse, a fearsome dragon moved into the top of Icespire Peak a few months ago. It wasn’t really an issue until a couple weeks ago when its hunting ground expanded beyond the mountains and South of them. Now, the Dragon soars and roars over the region from time to time, and is always on the prowl for its next meal.
  From Neverwinter, the closest major city to the town, Zelana, a Water Genasi Sorcerer, takes a carriage to the edge of Phandalin, paid for by her Patron, a Dwarven fellow by the name of Captain Zoud, a relatively young Dwarven Soldier turned Noble after helping to repair and protect the city following the eruption of Mt. Hotenow in 1479 DR. He is her mentor and guide into the life of a Noble, still new as he is, his gruff and experience leading soldiers in battle has earned him a unique respect in Neverwinter.
  This courtesy has not extended to Zelana, as she is a ward in secret, but she understands the politics at play. Zoud has heard of an opportunity in Phandalin, a ruin worth delving, a mine worth setting up, a people with a need, it was her chance to ply the skills she had learned since a orphaned youth in his care, so she set foot on it’s dirt path off the carriage… and was underwhelmed. As she stretched her legs, her pet Sereena does as well, a hardy pet ratty that has been with her since her time on the streets in Neverwinter.
  Traipsing around the town, it had naught but two roads, and hardly even a store to call upon for coin to spend - but there was a well-sized tavern and inn known as the Green Dragon Inn. She decided to focus for now and would visit the lively music and large Firbolg hostess later. She knew she had to network, to make connections, and the first place to start for her would be the town’s leader. Unfortunately, he was not taking visitors right now, on account of the Dragon and his spiraling vortex of terror of a mind, but muffled through the door… words could be heard indicating that the best way to help would be to address the concerns on the board outside.
  Looking to the left, she would see it, and after looking at the many, many slips of cardstock upon the board, hammered by many-times-used nails, bent and hanging on to bits of metal and splinter from past hammerings. She reaches for one that catches her eye, food stores running low, and helping a town in need of such would help her to build a reputation for herself. This is what Zoud was talking about, but as she reached for the slip, another hand entered her peripheral and grabbed a hold of the other corner.
  The dark teal skin of the… elf, known as Orlais Jordana, contrasted her own, but only in shades of light. She came off as a sort of seafoam green, almost translucent in places, shimmering in others, but his skin was stark by comparison. A High-Seas Elf, rare enough to be unaware of their own existence, he sighs, and grunts a question to see if she would rather have help than to do it alone. They talk for a time, a few lines of discussion, she repels at first, but gives in when he asks only to split the bounty - and cares little for credit. They alert Townmaster Harbin, the small voice through the door, and make their way off to the North. Several miles of travel, and more time to talk, to take in surroundings, and for Zelana to feed her Sereena.
  Admittedly, there is more time spent in silence taking in surroundings for Zelana than conversation had, but they share enough to know they can trust one another. Oddly enough, names never come up. Six hours of travel on foot, with small breaks to boot, they make it to a crossroads, a 3 way intersection along the Triboar trail, and about 40 ft aways from it… a campfire crackles with an Orcish looking figure carving a wolf. Late afternoon now, the two of them famished, and ready for a longer rest, well, Zelana moreso, stop and consider an approach.
  Orlais takes a moment to assure her that he and his Orc dealings, as an Outlander and networker of sorts, have helped him to be proficient with ‘dealing with their kind’, but as he steps closer he sees no great fangs, no dark green skin, no death in their eyes. He gives greetings and approaches without much caution thinking, ‘this person has barely any Orc in them’, and asks if they can sit here for a spell, or even rest here for the rest of the day and evening. The Half-Orc, as it were, grunts in acknowledgement, telling them to stay away from her wolf and tent, and so they did.
  The next few hours they would ponder, observe nature, play with their pets, or otherwise prepare their hides until bed. No one would stay up to keep watch, as there was no need to, but Orlais, as an Elf, came to from their meditation to stir with distractions of the sale he meant to make earlier that day. The whole reason for him being here, the whole reason for his deviation from the norm was because something had happened to his Orc friends up the mountain, his nervousness became worry, and as it did a black blur dimmed past him in his panicked stride.
  Trying to make it out to defend himself, but the moonlight being blocked by the trees around them, he focuses his darkvision gaze and makes out a Blood Hawk, a favored pet of scouts and hunting parties, and attempts to make contact with a Thunderclap. The radius of it’s emergent resonance seemed to miss at first, but the creature would make another pass soon, luckily, the sound of the thunder that echoed beyond began to wake the others - not in time for two Orcs to come up on Reymira Peltstrider, the half-orc they had met earlier, and grab her. Struggling from the hulking masses attempting to drag her deep into the Woods, Zelena and Orlais try their damndest to help this stranger that gave them refuge in the gloom of the woods. Sereena sprawls towards Reymira’s tent, wanting to be safe from the Hawk.
  Magic shot into the dark, bolts of ice and fire spring from fingertips, crashes of thunder from spells, and icy armor shattering to strike down the Hawk, finally, a spell lands! One of the orcs is slowed, unable to carry on with their ally, and ruthless as they are, the Orc drops Reymira’s feet, draws a blade, and slashes the slowed one’s throat, yelling, “Talos cannot have you spilling the secrets of the tribe you weak fool.” Before darting off into the tree line.
  A final bolt of Chaotic Magic shoots out of Zelana’s hand as she yells, “Now, you burn.” The bolt somehow struck true through the darkness, through the trees the Orc had made it behind, and after the loud *whoosh* of the flame engulfing him, part of him, the trio could hear footsteps still racing off in the grass, and a deep guttural yell cursing them under Talos’ name as if a dying howl of a wolf.
  For now, the trio waited a few moments, to make sure the enemy Orc had indeed run off, the trio remained in the stillness of that moment after, and it was here, in the dying coals of the fire that they would finally exchange names.
  [Zelana, the Water Genasi Sorcerer, Urchin (Rachel Orlais Jordana, the High-Seas Elf Warlock, Outlander (Jarod and Reymira Peltstrider, the Half-Orc Monk, Hermit.]
  As they do, they begin to check the bodies of the Orc that was felled by his ally, and the Blood Hawk that had harassed Orlais.
  Zelana rushes over to check on Sereena, Reymira, and the body of the bled-out Orc - in that order. Sereena is okay, though shaken, and Reymira seems to not be surprised in the slightest. Zelana finds typical items that you would expect on an Orc in the tribes of this area, a greataxe, a few javelins, even a handaxe but upon delving a bit deeper into her investigation, she finds a… holy symbol. Reymira barely glances at it, as if to merely confirm with her own eyes what she already suspected, what they already had heard, a holy symbol of Talos, carved from the bones of the earth.
  Three arced bolts of lighting split at a single point, it hangs loose on a frayed bramble of a knot, the rope thread through a hole at the point where the bolts meet, like a needle’s eye.. The Stormlord and Destroyer Himself is personified in these bolts. He is the bringer of natural disaster, as a deity from Pandemonium, He thrives in chaos. He is the breaker of the darkness, but also the dark side of nature in of itself. Reymira shares this knowledge with the others, teachings from her Monastery, and as she does, Orlais is busy plucking away a handful of quality feathers that a fletcher might find use of from the Blood Hawk. He notices a warpaint upon the feathers as well - it seems that these Orcs keep track of their own with such paints, the symbol painted is not dissimilar to the holy symbol, but features an eye where the bolts would meet, bloodshot and redded.
  They finish their scouring of the campsite, and finish their rest until early morning. As Orlais and Zelana pack up their bedrolls and blankets, they talk amongst themselves and decide that Reymira might be helpful to add on to the task they undertake and ask her if she would like to join up. Reymira joins for her own reasons, knowing they are on her trail now… numbers will be better. As she finishes packing her tent supplies, she accepts, stating, “I know a shortcut down an old service road. It’ll save us a few hours.”
  [Unscripted Outro]