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'''The Lost Mine of Phandelver''' begins with your Player Characters being contacted by a Dwarf merchant named Gundren Rockseeker. He may be an old friend of the family, or a professional patron, or perhaps he was there for you when you hit rock bottom and gave you a hand up. No matter how you know the man, he found you in the city of Neverwinter and invited you to join him at the Moonstone Mask, his favorite inn and festhall. There the old rascal showed his shining face; despite his braided beard and Dwarven wrinkles, when he flashed that winning smile of his you remembered just how young he actually was (in Dwarf-years, anyway). He was always remarkably free of the melancholy that seemed to afflict his fellows, approaching life with a boundless optimism, and seeing possibility and profit where others only saw misery and misfortune. In his company was a tall Human man with dark brown hair going silvery-grey at the temples and a long, dropping mustache, clad in understated midnight blue doublet with silver piping. Judging by his build and bearing, the man was an old warrior, no stranger to the battlefield or the halls of lords. This man Gundren introduced to you as Sildar Hallwinter, an old friend with influential connections in the courts of Neverwinter. Between toasts to old times and old friends, and some of the best roast mutton and quality companionship the city has to offer, Gundren hinted at his plot with eyes glinting, inviting you to partake in what he promised would keep you all in thick beer and rich clothing for the rest of your days.  
 
'''The Lost Mine of Phandelver''' begins with your Player Characters being contacted by a Dwarf merchant named Gundren Rockseeker. He may be an old friend of the family, or a professional patron, or perhaps he was there for you when you hit rock bottom and gave you a hand up. No matter how you know the man, he found you in the city of Neverwinter and invited you to join him at the Moonstone Mask, his favorite inn and festhall. There the old rascal showed his shining face; despite his braided beard and Dwarven wrinkles, when he flashed that winning smile of his you remembered just how young he actually was (in Dwarf-years, anyway). He was always remarkably free of the melancholy that seemed to afflict his fellows, approaching life with a boundless optimism, and seeing possibility and profit where others only saw misery and misfortune. In his company was a tall Human man with dark brown hair going silvery-grey at the temples and a long, dropping mustache, clad in understated midnight blue doublet with silver piping. Judging by his build and bearing, the man was an old warrior, no stranger to the battlefield or the halls of lords. This man Gundren introduced to you as Sildar Hallwinter, an old friend with influential connections in the courts of Neverwinter. Between toasts to old times and old friends, and some of the best roast mutton and quality companionship the city has to offer, Gundren hinted at his plot with eyes glinting, inviting you to partake in what he promised would keep you all in thick beer and rich clothing for the rest of your days.  
  
βˆ’
"I've a wagon headed out to Phandalin, about a day east of the High Road and south of the Triboar Trail, in the foothills of the Sword Mountains. Not much more than a mining camp these days, but t'were a thrivin' town when I was a lad. An' it will be again, once our work be done!" He flashed his winning smile and winked at a passing barmaid before draining another flagon and wiping the foam from his beard with the back of his hand. "Come an' work for me, this one last time. I'll pay ye a more-than-generous wage to guard me wagon to Phandalin, an' we can discuss things like 'investment' and 'percentages of profits' once the wheels really start turnin' on this." He held up his hand to allay any further questions, and unrolled a detailed contract scribed in rigid Dethek glyphs and the curlier, more organic letters of the common trade tongue. "I've already spoken too freely. There'll be time for explanations when there are fewer claim-jumpers within earshot. Just sign along the dotted line and take joy in your evening here; I've paid for all of ye, as a gesture of good faith. Just don't run up my tab ''too'' dearly, friends." Once everyone's signatures were collected at the bottom of the contract, he rolled it up, thrust it into his jerkin, and clambered off of his stool. "Meet my men out by the stable at dawn; the wagon should be packed and the oxen watered. As the contract said: ten gold dragons upon safe delivery of goods to Barthen's Provisions, in Phandalin. I look forward to seein' ye there. Sildar and I are wasting no time; there's matters what need attendin' to afore any o' this can get underway, so I'll be leavin' ahead of ye. By the time ye arrive, all should be in order. Axe high, friends - I go!"
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"I've a wagon headed out to Phandalin, about a day east of the High Road and south of the Triboar Trail, in the foothills of the Sword Mountains. Not much more than a mining camp these days, but t'were a thrivin' town when I was a lad. An' it will be again, once our work be done!" He flashed his winning smile and winked at a passing barmaid before draining another flagon and wiping the foam from his beard with the back of his hand. "Come an' work for me, this one last time. I'll pay ye a more-than-generous wage to guard me wagon to Phandalin, an' we can discuss things like 'investment' and 'percentages of profits' once the wheels really start turnin' on this." He held up his hand to allay any further questions, and unrolled a detailed contract scribed in rigid Dethek glyphs and the curlier, more organic letters of the common trade tongue. "I've already spoken too freely. There'll be time for explanations when there are fewer claim-jumpers within earshot. Just sign along the dotted line and take joy in your evening here; I've paid for all of ye, as a gesture of good faith. Just don't run up my tab ''too'' dearly, friends." Once everyone's signatures were collected at the bottom of the contract, he rolled it up, thrust it into his jerkin, and clambered off of his stool. "Meet my men out by the stable at dawn; the wagon should be packed and the oxen watered. As the contract said: ten gold crowns upon safe delivery of goods to Barthen's Provisions, in Phandalin. I look forward to seein' ye there. Sildar and I are wasting no time; there's matters what need attendin' to afore any o' this can get underway, so I'll be leavin' ahead of ye. By the time ye arrive, all should be in order. Axe high, friends - I go!"
  
βˆ’
How you spent your evening at the Moonstone Mask will likely live on in your memories for quite some time to come, but by dawn you had mustered from bed and began to make your preparations for travel; by noon you had passed between the great gates of Neverwinter and were beginning your journey upon the hard High Road, bound for the south - and ''adventure!''
+
How you spent your evening at the Moonstone Mask will likely live on in your memories for quite some time to come, but by dawn you had mustered from bed and began to make your preparations for travel; by noon you had passed between the great gates of Neverwinter and were beginning your journey upon the hard High Road, bound for the south - and adventure.

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