Jindsey, Flint, Elemorn and Varis had completed the Lost Mine of Phandelver campaign in a somewhat tragic ending. Only Jindsey’s player decided to continue her character on. The other three are rolling new characters. Starting session 1 we will be introducing Lucius, the Tiefling Warlock, Cruliarrk the Aarakocra Monk, and Grognad the Deep Gnome Druid. They will be joining Jindsey who is now multi-classed as a Sorcerer with one level in Warlock due to a deal she made with a Devil.
The following was the cutscene that occurred between this and their next adventure.
Nezznar, the black spider, the Drow mage who had been pulling strings behind the scenes in an attempt to harness the wild magic of the Forge of Spells had been defeated — twice! Once as a spell slinging dark wizard and again as a monstrous Drider! Your band of heroes was victorious! But, to what end? You had trapped yourself within the hard rock walls of Wave Echo Cave with an ill-placed Firebolt and its resulting cave in. It was only through devilish intervention at the request of Jindsey that your party escaped.
At what cost did this come though? Had she sold her soul, or just a bit of it? The party didn’t know — all they knew was that they had escaped with their lives. Surely it was happily ever after for our heroes?
For some perhaps — The party, tired, hungry and feeling quite spent from their epic battles within the cave, decided to spend the first night making camp near the entrance to Wave Echo Cave that now lead only to a collapsed chamber.
Varis took first watch and the night was uneventful, filled with nothing but the normal sights and sounds of the Sword Coast. Compared to the ancient undead and Lolth-cursed monstrosities they had encountered within the cave, there wasn’t much that could scare Varis or his compatriots. It was Jindsey who took next watch, her eyes reflecting a strange pale yellow color signifying her newly gifted Dark Vision. Varis excused himself to the edge of the woods as one usually does after a long watch — but it was something in the look he gave Jindsey as he left that she knew he wouldn’t be coming back. After 30 minutes had passed, she half-heartedly looked for him, calling his name several times, but she knew he wouldn’t respond. In the morning she told Elemorn, Flint, and Sildar — no one was too surprised.
The journey from the cave back to Phandalin should have been only a days hike back through the hills near the base of the Sword Mountains. Perhaps it was because they had relied so heavily on the skills of Merida the Wood Elf during their journey there or perhaps because they were unable to focus given everything that had happened in the last 48 hours, but the three adventurers got turned around, following a path down the hills that dead ended in a sharp cliff. They were forced to backtrack several miles before once again finding the trail that would lead them back towards the road to Phandalin. Rather than push through, they camped once more, and found a convenient cave to shelter in for the night. It was a pleasant break from the typical tents they were used to, but no one realized that this particular cave connected — to the Underdark!
Flint had watch when the drow poison tipped arrows first started flying, but the superior dark vision of the dark elves meant he never even saw it coming. The first arrows hit Sildar in his sleep. Before he could even realize what had happened, Flint heard another volley of arrows fly through the air. His senses now heightened, his grip on his hammer tightened and his Dwarven blood pumped hard and fast within his veins — but all of this meant only that he could watch as if in slow motion as the arrows pierced the small halfling’s chest. Jinsey let out a single gasp, spraying blood straight up into the air before she was silent. Her small chest making fast, shallow movements as her lungs failed to take in any air. More blood ran slowly down the side of her cheek from her lips.
Flint’s shield was up in a flash, deflecting two more poison tipped arrows that were this time headed for him. He rushed over to Jinsey, giving her cover with his own body. He glanced to Sildar, knowing he would soon be dead too if the cleric failed. A prayer to Berronar Truesilver and his hands lit up with holy light as he healed the wounds within Jinsey. The poison though, still coursed through her veins and she struggled to even speak — but she would live. The arrows continued to come, one striking him in calf just above his greave. Flint only grimaced, stumbling but making his way to Sildar, who now lie in a small red pool.
Elemorn had been sleeping further from the small crevice that the Drow had crawled up through from their horrid Underdark. It was the holy light from Flint that awoke him, realizing only then how lucky he was as he noticed the arrows around him protruding from the ground. His long blue cloak waved in the air as he ran and began to make the sound of a deep drum beat A screeching, as if made by metal scraping against metal joined the chorus of the drum as Elemorn let out his own guttural scream and swung his sword wildly within the dark of the cave.
He never had a chance — blind within the dark, it was only his thick chain mail that kept the Drow blades from killing him immediately. In retrospect it was once again luck that these were low level drow slaves and not the elites who carry the Adamantine scimitars. Elemorn did finally see the faces of those vile elves when the bluish-white light of Wrath Of Righteousness filled the cave. When the last drow fell, Elemorn fell too, alive but dangerously close to death. He could only watch, struggling and failing to get back to his feet, as Flint was overwhelmed. Flint’s mighty Warhammer swung, taking at least one dark elf with him, but it wasn’t enough. He was slowing — missing strikes — the Drow poisin already working. Two black daggers peirced his back — his eyes went wide, but he gritted his teeth and swung once more. That swing connected with the jaw of a drow slave, but the short sword of that slave slide beneath and up and into the belly of Flint. The fire that had just been in his eyes quickly faded and he fell; first to his knees, then onto the ground.
Sildar screamed; half battle cry, half in agony at the pain of his compatriot. But even over that scream and through all the sounds of battle — everyone at that camp, even the drow finally heard what Flint had heard his whole life. The deep, but caring voice of a woman, was like a whisper on the wind and it said “My child, your work here is done, you have made me proud. Come now, and join your kin”. And with that — Flint, was gone.
The battle, unfortunately, was not over, and both Sildar and Elemorn — alive, but wounded — could give only a small chase as the few remaining from the Drow raiding party ran back into the cave easily carrying the body of the small halfling girl that had been like an annoying little sister to them — the kind of annoying little sister you love very deeply.
The two warriors searched through the cave system, but were never able to find the entrance to the Underdark the dark elves had used. As dawn approached, Elemorn was forced to put her fate into the hands of the gods and prayed to Ilmater. Perhaps this was the final pain he could handle — but as they finally set out for Phandalin, Elemorn could think of nothing the pain he had inflicted and that had been inflicted around him. He mourned his friend Flint. Could he have done something to save him? He worried for Jindsey. Was she alive? And if not, what of her soul? She had sold it to a Devil afterall – for all of them. He hung his head and vowed to re-devote himself to Ilmater at the abbey in Tethyr.
The tale of the Lost Mine of Phandelver had come to a close — not in glorious triumph but in sacrifice — as most TRULY great tales, usually do.
