The Hoard of the Dragon Queen was a small 5th Edition D&D game we ran on Discord. It was done in Text only.

	Your travels take you far. Further then most get to see in their lives. Your travels also bring you compatriots truer than any other could wish for. Together, you toil the lands of Faerûn.
	You find yourself on a rambling wagon, part of a larger caravan. Behind you to the south lies the path to Amn. You passed through it on a journey that took several days. Your journey continues on as you now have arrived at the south of the Sword Coast. This caravan moves through out the known lands as a charitable service done by paladins, priest and altruists. It's company mostly divides itself between travelers, small merchants and adventurers traveling with a bit of security in numbers. The sky is slightly overcast as clouds spread over the horizon. Thinly forested plains lay before you off the weathered stomped in path. The wind from the West brings in the slight hint of salt in the air. your wagon lightly rocks as mighty steeds trudge onward in their pace. You are in what is lovingly called the "barbed bunk", one of a series of large top-covered wagons that house adventures in simple commendations. These wagons are marked with metal bells used to sound alarm and feature ramps to allow heavier armored units to more easily exit the cart. Around you a few fellow travelers rest. Some have been here before you, some only recently jumped on. You have already seen others leave, too. The light buzzing of constant conversation surrounds you.
	You see a slim elven women with light brown hair and tanned olive skin sitting chatting amongst a few adventurers. Her body language seems casual and relaxed as is the conversation she is a part of ...and quite frankly, I’ve never had an issue with those folk. They always seemed genuine to me, must be a ~you~ thing my friend! she says with a laugh among the group while sipping on a light beverage
	A young dragonborn sits tucked in between a few other adventures, his beady black eyes darting left and right, curiously listening to other travelers their boisterous stories and off handed jokes. His hands are busy carving a small piece of wood with a small knife in to what looks to be a crude miniature horse. When a few people laugh he quietly laughs too, regardless he gets the joke or not. He puts away his woodcarving tool, and searches his bag. He clears his throat inaudibly and in contrast to his soft, dragonlike characteristics, with an oddly human like voice, clear and articulated, albeit filled with a sense of uncertainty speaks: H-hi, sorry, does anyone know when the next stop with supplies is coming? his eyes darting through the cart in hopes anyone was paying attention to him
	A voice emanates from the Flayleaf scented cloud to the left of him: Exactly 2402 seconds from this exact moment young'un Between the multicolored swirls of smoke escaping his wood pipe that seem to morph into various birds of prey, you make out the outline of a scruffy and skinny big-eyed elderly halfling with a whimsical smile.
	Enthralled by the smoky creatures, the dragonborn raises a talon-clawed hand and pokes one of the birds. Distracted he says "Thank you sir!". He turns his head back and looks at the Halfling with a curious smile You look old, you must be at least 100! I'm turning 10 soon! His gaze turning again to the colorful swirls and a strand of smoke enters the Dragonborns nostrils, causing him to give a little cough and a few harmless sparks emit from his mouth Do you know anyone here? I'm travelling alone
	Old enough to know better, young enough to do it anyways. At least I don't have to worry about dying young anymore he winks at the dragonborn As he whispers something under his breath a small stone ashtray appears in his hand in which he empties his pipe. I'm and will be Spyeye Dawnblossom of the Greenshire, well met!
	The youngling pipes up and smiles again I'm Archy Plant Sir, nice to meet you.
	Do you know this one? hums a classic tune by Earth Wind and Shire while he points to Archy's instrument (bagpipes?)
	Archy's eyes open wide, he reaches for his bagpipes and asks Spyeye That was wonderful! Can you hum that again?
	As Spyeye rubs some pocketlint between his fingers a faint melody can be heard
	Archy closes his eyes and listens carefully, moving his head subtilty to the beat. He lowers his bagpipes. "I don't think I can play that..."He said with a disappointed tone "I will remember the melody and practice, for sure Mister! If i've got it nailed down i'll come and look for you and play it! I promise!" Archy start humming the same melody
	A pale looking dwarf is emptying out the contents of his backpack, complaining to himself. "...the fourth time in two weeks I've lost the damn thing, probably left a trail of ink like a squid with the shits!" He clearly can't find what he's looking for and starts begrudgingly putting his belongings back into the bag.
	Taking notice of the juvenile Dragonborn’s conversation with an amused smile she says to herself So Young, but full of hope and enthusiasm.. rare to see these days Noticing the dwarf digging through his kit she saunters over and says Greetings sir dwarf, missing something are we? Would you like any help? The names Slaen by the way. she offers her forearm in acknowledgement with a kind smile.
	While clasping the elf's forearm firmly, an arrogant grin peeks through his black, sloppily braided beard. "Oh, buying me a new bottle are ya? Mighty generous! Name's Garbek, pleasure to meet ya!"
	With a presumptuous grin she slightly squeezes Garbek’s forearm Well that entirely depends.. what kind of ‘bottle’ are we talking about?
	"Very tempted to say ale, lass, but I don't think it sticks to paper as well as ink. I'll let you pick which one ya get me. Both are equally helpful in different ways." Garbek tries to give a friendly wink, but ends up blinking instead.
	The wagon driver takes a moment to look back and smirk at the buzzing conversations. Between him trying to hum along and small laughter at the missing ink leave him in good spirits. The day passes slowly to dusk. Golden rays shine their last lights over the horizon and the wind picks up. On the far distance a small inkling of lights can be seen. To the North you can see the road leading to Greenest, a small settlement on the south of the Sword Coast. You catch the driver pantomiming holding the small collection of lights in the distance in his hand with a smile on his face. He takes a a deep swig of a canteen as he turns his heads towards the interior of the wagon.
	"Alright everyone! We're gonna set up for tonight! Mind your belongings and pitch in where you can."
	The caravan of wagons and carts starts to veer off the road and comes to a stop on a lush, green plain. The different drivers start forming their wagons into a circle. Various roughed looking types flow from one of the wagons. They carry wood, steel utensils and a large collection of packed meals. They start to build a campfire under the supervision of a heavy plated, half-elf woman. With an almost spotless face and jagged ears piercing her short, black hair, you recognize her as the Caravan Master. With a stern face she surveys the setting up of this nights camp, breaking every few moments to point and direct any questions. Those around you in the wagon slowly pack their things together and make ready to find a spot by the fire to enjoy their dinner. Some start unpacking some of their gear as they step off the wagons. A collection of Halflings scurry out of their wagon and begin to set up a make-shift counter and racks to display their wares. Humans in colorful robes sit Indian style on finely woven mats and are surrounded by smoking, drinking and other paraphernalia for vices.
	As people and beings find their place for the next few hours, the Caravan workers get the fire going by a clever application of those who can wield magic. The armored caravan guards stand at their designated positions by the openings between wagons and carts. Night has fallen. The last rays of sunlight are broken by the horizon and starts slowly blink into existence above you. Chatter, clanking of cups and the soft roar of the fire fills the air.
	Gauging the Dwarfs intention with the wink/blink, Slaen nods kindly. Upon hearing the driver's shout she releases her grasp on Garbek's forearm and spins to listen. "Looks like we should get set up then, need a hand?" She says back to the dwarf.
	Archy crouches down and packs his belongings. His eye catching a small vial that rolled under one of the seats. "This must have fallen out of the Dwarf's backpack" He thinks to himself. As he reaches for the vial and getting up, he knocks his head on one of the baggage shelves, causing the vial to fall and shatter besides his feet, covering his pants and clawed feet with black ink. Slightly panicked he regains his posture and looks around if anyone saw that. With a slight frown he climbs outside of the cart, looking for the Dwarf to deliver him the bad news "E-excuse me sir Dwarf? I think i have might found your lost item... Although it's going to be difficult to put back in the vial..." Archy looks sad at the black stains covering his pants and feet "I found it and dropped it... i'm sorry... please allow me to repay you, although i do not have the coins right now, i'm sure to work for it soon"
	Archy looks at the Elf standing next to the dwarf, and says with a slight smile "And greetings to you my lady, sorry to interrupt..."
	In the shadowy corner of the room you see a pair of deep glowing red dots staring your way. You hear the sound of an old leather-bound tome slam shut with a loud noise which is easily absorbed by the wooden walls. Whatever it is that is sitting there in the dark heaves an agitated and raspy sigh. The creature stirring in the corner moves into the light. Holding an old book in his left hand and in the other his bag with belongings you spot a tall figure walking towards you. His long and pointy black horns almost scrape the ceiling of the room. His skin is charcoal black with a grey shimmer. Solid red orbs for eyes glow brightly. his hair is long, black and straight and seems to be tangled up in his horns and unto the spikes that are on the sharp features of his face. In a weird way he is handsome, yet the wrinkles in his forehead indicate that he frowns almost consistently. With long strides he slowly passes you ignoring any form of eye contact, as his hooves firmly keep stepping onto the floor. You hear a rattle and a hiss. In draconic the Tiefling in a low rumble says : ghergo hofiba! (Draconic for “ Young fool!”) The tall fiendish figure moves towards the door
	Looking between the sad young Dragonborn fumbling in front of her and the dwarf and before any potential conflict ensues, Slaen jumps in and says: ”Mistakes happen young one, how about we split the price of the ink for Garbek and we can get you squared away?”
	"My dragon-lad, don't feel too bad about it. I'm sure we'll come across some more in the near future, and when that time comes, I won't deny ya the opportunity to right yer wrong!" Garbek stands up straight and moves his hands through his messy beard in an attempt to fix it. It is now messy in a different way, no real improvement was made. He looks at Slaen and Archy and suggests: "Let's make ourselves useful shall we?" The dwarf moves towards the exit of the wagon, putting a hand on the tiefling's back as he passes. "If yer gonna tell off that dragon whelp, say it in a language we can all understand, ya bellyacher!" he says playfully as he walks out.
	The tiefling turns his horned head slowly towards the Dwarf and it is noticeable that a grin plays his face. "Ugh. Having trouble with Arcane and You: Volume 23. The writing of those mages reap more chaos than the massacres of Tempus himself. " The demonesque creature falls quiet and suddenly searches through the ragged pockets. He hunches down a little by bending his knees, takes out a vial of black ink and holds it towards the dwarf. "I'm still reading through this mess. You can borrow this in the meanwhile in case you need it." He then looks at the scaled one and squints his eyes. "Just don't let the little one drop it again. Ink isn't cheap in particular. Oh and the name's Ra'Sha"
	Archy turns, crosses his arms and straightens himself. Standing 6 feet tall already, with awkward long limbs sticking out of his clothes that are clearly too small and at the end of their use. His playful and curious face now forced in an attempt to look brave and serious he looks at the fiendish creature. "I-im not that little, Mister. " And in draconic "And certainly no fool! A-And you look like a devil! are you a devil?" Archy squints back at Ra'Sha, lunges in a squat and without taking his eyes of him, he whispers to Garbek, loud enough to hear: "Don't take the ink, I think that person is a Devil of some sorts. W-what do we do?"
	"Ah devil. that makes 583! Ra curls his lips and makes a clicking sound. He patiently looks at the dwarf, ink still in his hands.
	Watching the conversation unfold, Slaen packs up her things into neat and organised sections for efficient packing, and hops out of the caravan to [find a warm place to settle down] while saying: ”I’ll let you boys settle this one, see you outside!”
	Outside the bonfire forms and lashes it small flames back and forth. 2 Lightly armored guards are taking turns stoking the fire and getting their iron spit set up after a convoluted handshake with the elderly, robed man who lit the starting embers for them. Some of the more worker types stack the packs of food near it and help set up a small counter. Many of the other travelers start sitting near the fire. Some simply on the ground and others on blankets. Laughter and the clinking and clattering of various mugs echo through the plains and the sun finally fully sets. What was first just a flat plain is now almost a tiny settlement, brimming with life. One worker type runs out of his wagon with an arm full of small instruments. He brings the flutes, small lutes and drums to his group close by the bonfire. Laughter is exchanged and they begin tuning and quickly practicing a few riffs, melodies and drum beats.
	You know that the Caravan sells the food stocks they have for a low price and would give you water for near-nothing if you don't happen to have any of either. Next to the simple rations they have stocked, fresh killed meat is also available for a price, the only requirement is to cook it yourself. While some of the meat from the morning hunt is being taken out of the carts and readied for the fire spit, a small dispatch of hunter types make their way into the wilderness after signing off with the Caravan Master.
	Archy's suspicion of Ra quickly fades when the smell of cooked food starts drifting towards him. A growl emerges from his stomach and he walks to one of the communal cooking pots, politely asking if he can get a bowl for some of his last remaining copper. His hunger now sated, he looks at the fellowship of musicians, looking for eye contact with one of them and points to his bagpipes, waiting for acknowledgement he can join in the merry making.
	As Archy approaches the small cooking array, he is greeted by friendly faces and is invited to have a look at the decent selection of meals. One of the workers behind the counter does notice the light pouch in Archy's hand. He gives a slight smirk as he slides him a small pack of dried meat next to his actual order. With a polite nod he turns his attention to the next person in the small line.
	Archy manages to lock eyes for a moment with one of the casual performers. The stocky, Dwarven woman with braided, dark blonde hair beckons you with a smile. She moves slightly to the side on the rug she's on, welcoming Archy to join her.
	"Hello there! Come, come! That's an interesting tool you have there. I recognize some sorts of flutes in there, but... Hmmm." "Ah, what am I wondering for! Please, show me!"
	The somewhat old looking Dwarven woman holds her small harp to her side. Small patches of rust on hand-made iron reinforcements betray it to be an old, but cared for instrument. She plucks a few softs notes before starting a Glissando to help Archy join in.
	He smiles "They're like flutes you can play at the same time! Listen..!" Archy steps on the rug, closes his eyes and listens to the melody and rhythm the woman is playing on her harp. He places the old and patched instrument under his arm and joins in with a sudden low droning note, and a second note playing an upbeat melody that seems to invite the caravanners to listen, drink and dance
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