The air was thick with the salty tang of ocean air and the screams of gulls gliding overhead, some daring to swoop in amidst the rush of bodies looking for scraps of bread only to be kicked and sworn at. Sailors and porters called good-natured insults to one another, raucous laughter adding to the general commotion. Inky figures lurked in the narrow spaces between buildings, where furtive-looking folk would approach and disappear for a time before reappearing, some with disheveled clothes and stained lip prints on their collars, others with a staggering gait and glassy-eyed stupor. A few failed to reappear at all.

People bumped and jostled each other, either by honest mistake or by design; the nimble fingers of street urchins dipped deftly into pockets and pouches as they bobbed and weaved throughout the throng. More often than not they came up empty; locals knew the docks were the center of criminal activity. Every so often a sailor new-to-port or a tired dockhand was careless with where he placed his drinking coin, earning him favour from the urchins and ridicule from his peers. Perched upon a short stack of wine barrels, a halfling watched it all, taking in every detail with her sharp green eyes.

Her companion, a dwarf, looked up at her from the crumpled paper clutched in his fist. “Well, Trym?”

The halfling scratched her scarred nose. “Haven’t spotted him yet. Tell me again why I’m looking for this man?”

“Because I need good people for this job, and by all accounts he is good people.”

“Whose accounts?”

He shrugged. “Everyone’s.” 

Trym snorted. “And why are we not doing this alone and keeping your cousin’s fifty gold for ourselves?”

“It’s not fifty gold, Trym,” Orsik said, scratching his chin through his beard. “It’s ten gold per person, for no more than five people – Gundren was quite clear. And with the reports coming in from the rest of the Watch about the road, I don’t fancy our chances with just the two of us.” He stretched, sunlight glinting off his necklace. “Frankly, we could use all the help we can get.”

His heavy brow furrowed, and he thought back to the night Gundren had found him, newly discharged from his military duties and near-drunk in a fish-reeking tavern, loudly and publicly questioning his military service, his faith in his God, and every decision he’d ever made. 

“By Marthammor, look at the state of ya,” Gundren said, grabbing Orsik by the arm and dragging him out of the tavern and into the moonlit alley. He propped his cousin against a low stone wall. Orsik’s head lolled to the side. “Right,” Gundren grunted. “Brace yerself.” The resounding slap echoed off the walls and the tavern, as did the resulting howl. “I’ll know yer sober enough when ya can block the blows,” Gundren growled as he prepared to strike the other cheek. 

Orsik dodged, but badly – he stumbled over his own foot and landed face down in the dirt. Struggling to rise, he spat – a mixture of blood and dirt – and held up his hand. “W-wait,” he stammered. Gundren snorted at him, before grasping his arm and hoisting him to his feet.

“How’d you know I was here?” Orsik asked, massaging his cheek.

“Went by the barracks. One o’ the senior officers told me about what happened wi’ ya.” Gundren shook his head. “Disobeying a direct order? That’s not like you, Orsik.”

Orsik spat again, this time in anger. “Know what my time in Mintarn and in Neverwinter has taught me?” he demanded, eyes flashing. “It’s taught me that law and authority are not always right and good. And the people with authority are naught but bullying pricks, abusing the trust and faith that the people put in them. The people they’re supposed to protect, Gundren!” 

“Aye, aye, everyone with a bit o’ power turns into a prick, it’s true,” Gundren said, patting his cousin’s shoulder. “Are ye sober enough to discuss business now?”

“I’ve got all the time in the world, apparently,” Orsik grumbled. “Got nothing else to fill my days with now, have I?” He sighed heavily, head bowed. “What’s this business of yours, then?”

Gundren held a finger to his lips, before checking any possible hiding spots near where they stood. He thought he saw movement in a barrel’s shadow, but after staring long and hard at the place he judged it to be a trick of the flickering lamps. Returning his attention to Orsik, he rocked back and forth on his heels before whispering “we’ve found something.”

“We?”

“Me and th’ boys!” Gundren said. “Me brothers? Your other cousins, you dolt!”

“Right,” Orsik said, nodding slowly. “And…what did you find?”

“Ahhh, I’d rather not get into the details of it here,” he replied, “but it’s big. It’ll change the Rockseeker fortunes, that’s a certainty.”

Orsik closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So, you came down here to slap me in the face, and not tell me what, or where, this life-changing bounty is?”

“Look, all I need is for you to bring a wagon o’ supplies down to Phandalin, yeah?” Gundren said, still rocking. Orsik found the effect rather nauseating, but he supposed that was probably a result of the ale. “Listen, Orsik. Barthen’s Provisions, in Phandalin.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re my cousin, and because you’re probably in need of some gold. I’ll pay ya ta get the supplies to Barthen’s.”

Orsik’s eyes narrowed. “How much?”

“Ten gold. And if ya can find some friends, I’ll pay each of them ten gold as well. No more than four friends though, Orsik.”

Orsik thought about it, chewing on his bottom lip. “What if I don’t want to go to Phandalin?” He said. “I’m sure I can find gold here in Neverwinter.”

Gundren sighed, throwing his head back and quietly appealing to the Gods in their Planes. “Right, look. You don’t like bullies, yeah? Well, there’s a whole group of ‘em in Phandalin. Call themselves the Redbrands. And there’s a fella in Phandalin looking for help in dealin’ with ‘em, if you’re of a mind.”

“Hrmph.”

Gundren cursed. “All right, I’m gonna say a word to you now. It’s not a word I particularly like, and chances are good that ye’ll never hear me say it again…” he took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Please,” he muttered.

Orsik blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Ya heard me well enough, you ninny. Now will ye help me or no?”

“Oi,” Trym said loudly, jabbing the dwarf in the side of his head. “What’re you playing at?” The din of the docks rose again, and Orsik shook the memory fog away.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Do you see him?”

Trym shrugged. “I mean, I see somebody who could be him.” She pointed midway down the pier, at a young man laughing jovially with a group of grizzled old sailors. 

“Are you sure?”

“Nope,” Trym said as she hopped down from her barrel. “It’s hard to spot a hero complex from this distance. But he did just share half his lunch with a beggar, so that leads to the whole ‘good person’ thing you’re after.” She looked at Orsik. “Well?” she asked, tapping her foot.

“What?”

“Are we going to go and talk to him or are we just going to stand here staring at him?” She demanded, hands on her hips. 

Orsik smiled. “You know, you’re very impatient.”

“I know. It’s part of my charm. Now let’s shift it before we lose sight of ‘im.” Trym started towards the throng of people, and Orsik moved to keep up with her before he lost sight of her in the crowd. Trym was very good at disappearing in crowds.

He managed to stay with the halfling as she worked her way through the throng. After a few moments, they stood about five feet from the man, who was now indulging a group of young boys and their lumpy play-ball by juggling it back and forth on his knees. Peals of laughter issued forth from the boys as the man’s movements became more and more exaggerated.

Orsik studied the man. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with wavy dark hair cropped close above his ears and falling over one eyebrow. Pale blue eyes shone bright above his neatly trimmed short beard, and as he laughed with the children he displayed a dazzling smile of well-maintained teeth. Orsik grinned. This man certainly looked the part.

The man had noticed the dwarf and the halfling staring at him. He begged his excuses to the boys amidst their protests, and stepped towards the strangers. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“Master Brightwood, is it?” Orsik asked.

“That’s correct,” the man replied, still smiling but beginning to look politely confused.

“We heard you might be interested in some honest work,” Orsik said, extending his hand. “Orsik Ungart.”

“Anders Brightwood,” the man said, shaking his hand. “Say, you wouldn’t be the same Orsik Ungart at the center of that scene by the old bridge the other day?”

Trym snorted with laughter. Orsik and Anders looked at her. “Well, it can’t be a very common name around these parts, can it?” she said, eyebrows cocked. “We’re in Neverwinter. How many Orsiks could there be, let alone Orsik Ungarts?”

“Judging by your cavalier attitude, I’d say you would be the halfling that started the problem,” Anders said, his smile cooling but never quite disappearing.

Trym dipped and twirled in a comically exaggerated bow. “Trym Tosscobble.”

“What’s this honest work you speak of?” Anders asked, returning his full attention to the dwarf.

“We’re looking for help escorting a wagon of mining supplies to the town of Phandalin,” Orsik replied. 

“Honest enough,” Anders said. “Perchance might I inquire as to why you had my name?’

“Perchance, might I inquire as to the sudden need for big fancy words like ‘perchance’?” Trym said, grinning savagely.

Anders’ cheeks flushed. “Just because I work at the docks does not mean that I lack civility and refined conversation,” he said hotly.

Orsik sighed and shot Trym a hard look. “Please, Master Brightwood, ignore my companion. Her proximity to the ground seems to make her behave like a child.” Trym stared back at him, slowly crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue.

Anders rocked back on his heels. The smile had entirely faded. “You still haven’t told me why you want me.”

“The people ‘round here seem to think that you’re looking to expand your horizons,” Orsik said. “I’m tired of people who only care for themselves, and these people also seem to think that you’re a good, stalwart sort of man. The kind of man who could serve a better purpose than hauling sacks of grain from ship to storeroom.”

“Hm. And taking mining supplies to a lawless frontier town is a nobler cause, yes?” Anders said. He chewed on his lower lip. “You are correct in thinking that I seek to improve myself and my lot in life. And I mean no offense, Sir Dwarf, but I’m not entirely sure that departing in the company of a disgraced soldier and an impudent halfling thief -”

“Alleged thief,” Trym interjected. Anders stared at her. She waggled her eyebrows at him.

“I don’t think it would do much to improve my station,” the man finished.

“Maybe it could be a chance for all of us to improve ourselves,” Orsik urged. “Get out of the city, in fresher air and maybe gain a fresh perspective. And,” the dwarf added, “it should be an easy job. Ten gold, just for getting the supplies to a town that is not that far from here. Even if Phandalin isn’t where your fortunes lay, ten gold is a decent start to looking for them elsewhere.”

“Well, you’ve a point there,” Anders said, the friendly smile beginning to return to his face. “How many people have you recruited for this little adventure?”

“Well, if we can count you among us, we’ll be three,” Orsik said. “Gundren said he could pay no more than five, so -”

“Pardon me,” a clear, melodic voice called out, “but once you read this note I think you’ll find that there will be four of us on this journey.”

Anders, Orsik, and Trym all turned to look at the newcomer. Tall and fair-skinned, with cobalt blue eyes and shining dark hair coiled in a single braid that draped almost elegantly over her shoulder, the woman strode towards the dwarf and extended a folded piece of parchment to Orsik, which he accepted and unfolded. It was short and to the point:

Orsik,

I’ve hired this lass, Westra, for the Phandalin job. She’s handy with goblins and generous with her coin and drink. I’m still only paying for five people so if you’ve already hired a full team, get rid of one of them or convince someone to work for free.

Your cousin,

Gundren.

He shook his head and re-folded the parchment. “Well then, I suppose that leaves little room for argument. Westra, is it?”

“That’s correct. Westra Hornraven.”  The newcomer looked at the rest of the little group. “I must confess, I did read the note – I do hope I haven’t just put someone out of work?”

“So far it’s just me and Trym there,” Orsik said. 

“Anders is still deciding if he wants to be seen in our unsavory company,” Trym added.

“I’ll come,” Anders said quickly. 

Trym looked at him suspiciously. His cheeks were flushed again and his eyes were wide, his mouth slightly parted as he looked at Westra. Oh GODS, she thought, sighing heavily and rolling her eyes. Of course we would recruit a man who goes all moon-eyed over a pretty girl.

“Well then,” Orsik said brightly. “It seems we have our team. I’m not bothered about a fifth; maybe the wagon will travel faster without.” He looked at Westra and Anders. “Does the day after tomorrow suit you both for departure?”

“It does,” Westra replied. 

Anders didn’t reply, so Trym nudged him with her boot. “What? Oh. Yes, day after tomorrow will be fine,” he said, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair.

“Wonderful. We’ll meet at dawn, just outside the South Gate.” 

Westra nodded and shook each of their hands before turning and walking back the way she’d come. Her cloak was precisely the same shade of blue as her eyes.

“Hey Anders,” Trym said, nudging him with her boot again. “If you’re coming along for the pretty girl, can I have your share of the gold?”

—