A whistling sound pierced the silence as
black-fletched arrows began raining out of the bushes and briars.
Ragnar jumped from the back of the wagon
and ducked low behind some bushes.
An arrow struck the dirt between Erwen’s
knees, joined quickly by a second.
Theryn glanced to his left and saw that an
arrow had lodged itself in the buckboard right beside him.
Xylon raised his hand to cast a defensive
spell and felt the sickening stab of an arrow striking home as a wave of pain
rolled up and down his arm.
There was a thud as two arrows embedded
themselves in Varien’s shield. The paladin rushed in front of the wizard and
druid to protect them from the hail of arrows.
Ragnar stealthily slipped into the patch of
tangling briars, his eyes searching for the source of the ambush. He saw a bush
rustling suspiciously and readied an attack.
In a rush of falling leaves, a snarling
goblin dashed out from the bush, running headlong at the paladin. Varien tried
to parry, but the goblin’s scimitar lashed out before he could bring his shield
down, slicing into him.
Theryn jumped as a second arrow hit him in
the arm. He jumped down from the wagon’s seat and joined the fray, charging
towards the goblin that was swinging his scimitar wildly at Varien and Xylon.
The monk hit the goblin with his bo staff,
following through with a vicious heel strike that drove pieces of the goblin’s
nose up into its brain, killing it instantly.
Xylon dove for the cover offered by an
eroded escarpment, followed quickly by Erwin. The druid cast a healing spell on
the wizard.
Varien sought cover behind the nearest dead
horse and flinched as more arrows rained down, one of them striking the horse
and splattering blood on his face.
There was another goblin battle cry as a
scimitar-carrying humanoid jumped from out of nowhere to land next to Varien.
He swung his scimitar down, striking the paladin before Theryn stepped in and
knocked him senseless with his staff.
Ragnar breathed in a great gulp of breath
and unleashed his lightning attack, sending a rippling cone of electrified energy
searing across the bushes and briars before him in the hopes that he would
spook the hidden ambushers into revealing themselves.
The paladin cast a healing spell on
himself. Varien took note that arrows were flying at him from two directions
and scrambled up the southern embankment. There was a solitary tree several
feet away from him, and he saw the black flash of an arrow arc towards him from
behind cover. The arrow landed a few inches from his boot. From behind the
tree, he heard a hoarse goblin curse.
There was an earth-shaking roar as a
heavily-armed hobgoblin emerged from the bushes, slamming his longsword against
his shield in a display of arrogance.
He strode into the centre of the path and
dared the party to do something.
Xylon stepped out from behind cover and
cast magic missile at the hobgoblin. Three bolts of magical force arced over
the path and struck the hobgoblin square in his armored chest.
The hobgoblin laughed with contempt, and
then pointed his longsword at the wizard. “You die first,” he growled.
Varien hefted his halberd and charged
towards the goblin hiding behind the tree.
“Listen, let’s talk about this!” the goblin
squeaked.
Erwen threw a javelin at the now-visible
goblin and missed.
In a rage, Varien swung the halberd overhead
and cleaved the goblin in two.
Ragnar charged from the briar patch,
swinging his sword wildly in a vain attempt to flush out the ambusher. The
moment he broke cover, an arrow caught him in the arm.
He heard a laugh from a nearby tree.
Theryn charged across the battlefield and
drove his staff deep into the hobgoblin’s sternum, and with his free hand
landed a series of critical blows on the humanoid’s upper body.
The hobgoblin stumbled back, a confused
expression twisting his features.
“I...die…first?” he croaked, then fell to
his knees and pitched sideways into the dirt.
Ragnar rushed to the tree and shook it
violently.
A goblin fell out of it, rolling and
jumping to its feet. “Screw this!” it shouted and took off into the bushes.
Erwen climbed the northern embankment and
started off after the fleeing goblin. He cast an ice knife and sent it flying
through the air, trailing snowflakes, where it struck the creature, which gave
a shout of pain before disappearing into the thick tangle of briars and
saplings.
The druid made as if to give chase, but saw
his traveling companions were unwilling to follow. Half of them had injuries to attend to.
Xylon checked the hobgoblin’s pockets for
loot as the others examined the fallen horses.
The horses definitely belonged to Sildar
Hallwinter and Gundren Rockseeker. Their saddlebags had been looted, and the
party soon divined that two bodies, humanoid in shape, had been dragged north
along a trail that the lone goblin had fled down.
Xylon picked up the empty map case. He
recalled that Gundren wore it on a bandolier while journeying with them from
Neverwinter, and seemed interested in keeping its contents safe.
The party argued about what to do next,
with some feeling they owed an obligation to finish the job for which they had
been hired, and others feeling as though they needed to search for Sildar and
Gundren.
Finally it was decided that the group
should continue on to Phandalin, deliver their goods, take a well-deserved
rest, and then come back to this point on the trail and begin their search for
the missing human and dwarf.
It was less than half a day’s ride to their destination. The
rutted track emerged from a wooded hillside, and they caught their first glimpse of
Phandalin. The town consisted of forty or fifty simple log buildings, some
built on old fieldstone foundations. More old ruins – crumbling stone walls
covered in ivy and briars – surrounded the newer houses and shops, showing how
at one time this must have been a larger town. Most of the newer buildings were
set on the sides of the cart track, which widened into a muddy main street of
sorts, climbing eastward toward a ruined manor house on an imposing hillside at
the edge of town.
They could see children playing on the town green and townsfolk
tending to chores and running errands at shops. Many of them looked up at their
approach, but all returned to their business as the wagon passed them by.
As it happened, Barthen’s Provisions was the first large
business on the main road into town. Varien steered the wagon towards a
hitching post as the proprietor, a lanky, bald-headed man, stepped out onto the
covered porch in welcome.
“Ah, you must be Rockseeker’s wagon of goods! We’ve been
expecting you,” the man said. “The name’s Elmar Barthen. Actually, I was
expecting Gundren! Where is the old dwarf, anyway?”
Varien sighed grimly. “Taken by goblins on the trail.”
“We have proof,” Ragnar said, holding up the severed head of the
hobgoblin.
“Oh no!” Barthen said, wringing his hands. “As if we don’t have
enough trouble in town, now there are bandits on the road attacking everyone
who rides on through.” He shook his head. “Gundren’s a good friend of mine, and
he and his brothers had just had a great stroke of luck prospecting in the
hills, or so they said.”
He looked around, a tense expression on his face. “Listen, let’s
conclude our business indoors, yes? My clerks will sort you out.”
He opened the door. “Ander! Thistle! Get that wagon stowed
behind the building and unloaded promptly. We don’t want the Redbrands showing
up to take their slice, now do we?”
He turned to the group. “Listen, Gundren’s two brothers are
going to want to hear about his disappearance. They’re camped somewhere outside
of town and I haven’t seen them in a tenday or so, but I’m expecting them to
return any day now to resupply from the goods you’ve just brought into town.
But you need to go back out there and bring Gundren home safely.”
“What’s this about trouble in town?” Erwen asked.
Elmar sighed heavily and shut the door to his trading post.
“It’s the Redbrands. They’re a gang of ruffians who have all but taken over
this town, making it hard on everyone with shaking down businesses and flouting
what little authority our Townmaster possesses. But I’m getting ahead of
myself. Ander?”
A clerk stepped up with a small pouch of coins.
Barthen smiled weakly. “Well, at least I can pay you for an
honest day’s work, braving the trails full of goblins and whatnot. Here’s ten
gold apiece, as promised.”
Erwen politely refused the payment as the rest of the group
pocketed their earnings.
“You know, for the right price we could take care of these
Redbrands for you,” Ragnar said, eyeing the trader’s coin purse.
Barthen shook his head. “Won’t do, unfortunately. If word got
back to the Redbrands that I offered to pay money to have their skulls cracked,
well, me and my family wouldn’t be safe here in Phandalin anymore.” He peered
out the window nervously, then turned back to the party.
“But, if you’re fixing to teach those hooligans a lesson, then
you should check out the Sleeping Giant Taphouse down the main road a ways.
That’s where they hang out when they’re not shaking me down for protection
money or leering at every farmer’s daughter from here to Triboar.”
“Where can we get lodgings for the night?” Varien asked.
“The Stonehill Inn’s the ticket,” Barthen said. “Good place,
good food, good people. And the Redbrands don’t bother most people there.”
“Do you deal in flash-bangs?” Ragnar asked, checking the shelves
laden with bedrolls, mining supplies, and other sundries.
Barthen shook his head. “No, but if you’re looking for more
exotic goods, you’d better try Lionshield Coster down the road. I stock goods
to outfit prospectors and farmers for the most part.”
Varien thanked them, and Barthen ushered them out, locking the
door as he began closing up shop for the evening.
The party went on down the road to the Stonehill Inn, which was
a large, newly-built roadhouse of fieldstone and rough-hewn timbers at the
centre of town.
The inn’s common room was filled with locals nursing mugs of ale
or cider, all of them eyeing the newcomers with curiosity.
The innkeeper was a young man named Toblen Stonehill. Varien
asked for five rooms, and Stonehill said the rate was 5 silver a night.
Erwen smiled and quietly cast charm
on the innkeeper.
Toblen’s eyes glazed over slightly. “Ah, Erwen my old friend. You
know your money’s no good here." He handed Erwen a key. To the rest of the party, he said, "We’re just about to serve supper in the common
room. Elsa will take care of you. She’s a good girl.”
Erwen and Theryn retired to their rooms for the night while Xylon
headed for the bar and Ragnar took a seat in the common room, setting out some
correspondence and ordering dinner. Varien stowed his armor in his room and
joined Xylon in the common room.
Xylon knocked back a few drinks and engaged Elsa, a comely lass if
every there was one, in conversation.
“You must be new in town,” Elsa said, pouring Xylon a drink.
“Where did you come from?”
“Yes,” Xylon said. “I’m just in from Neverwinter.”
“Oh, Neverwinter?” Elsa said cheerily, Xylon following every
bounce of her bosom with a lecherous eye. “My cousin lives in Neverwinter! We
have so much fun when I go to visit!”
“Do you?” Xylon said.
“Are you an adventurer?” Elsa asked. She leaned forward, giving
Xylon a bird’s eye view down the front of her homespun peasant’s bodice. “Are
you on an adventure right now?”
“Well, actually,” Xylon said, “I-”
“You know, Daren Edermath, the orchard keeper?” Elsa said
brightly. “He’s always coming in here and telling stories about all the
adventures he had when he was younger. You should talk to him!”
“Yeah, uh,” Xylon said absently, his gaze drifting away from the
barmaid to focus on a conversation that was taking place near the kitchen.
The innkeeper was speaking closely with a tall, plain-looking
woman who kept dabbing her teary eyes with the corner of her kitchen apron.
From the kitchen stepped a young boy of nine or ten carrying a platter full of
freshly baked dinner rolls. The innkeeper patted the boy on the head as he
walked by, which caused the woman to sob all the harder.
“What’s their story?” Xylon asked.
Elsa frowned. “That’s Trilena Stonehill, the innkeeper’s wife.
She’s sort of my boss. She’s upset because of what happened to Thel Dendrar. He
was a local woodcarver who stood up to the Redbrand a tenday ago when they came
by his shop and leered at his wife Mirna.” Elsa’s lower lip quavered. “They
killed him right there in the street. A whole bunch of people saw it happen,
but nobody can do anything to stop the Redbrands. And now Mirna and kids have
gone missing too. So sad.”
Varien placed a silver coin on the bar and went upstairs.
Ragner put away his correspondence and went to his room for the
night.
Xylon shrugged and downed another drink. He decided he would
take a stroll around town to see what he could see.
Only a little tipsy, he left the Stonehill Inn and found that
Phandalin had all but rolled up the sidewalks and gone to bed for the night.
Every door was closed, every window shuttered. It was eerie, as if the people
of Phandalin had reason to fear nightfall.
He found himself wandering towards the only sound in town – a
ruckus emanating from the Sleeping Giant tap house, a ramshackle taproom at the
east end of Phandalin. Using his darkvision, Xylon crept towards the bar. He
could hear the sound of badly played music, breaking crockery, and harsh
laughter coming from inside.
In his room at the inn, Theryn’s eyes snapped open. He sighed
and got dressed.
Xylon noticed the four ruffians sitting on empty ale barrels under
the covered front porch of the taproom a second before they noticed him. Their
leader, a thug with a lantern jaw, hopped off his barrel and nodded to his
buddies, who followed him off the porch. The ruffians stepped out into the road
to confront the wizard. Each man was wearing a grimy scarlet cloak.
Xylon straightened up and thought quickly. “Hey there. I have
some information your boss might be interested in.”
“You have some information, do you?” The thug asked.
“That’s right.” Xylon said.
“And you think our boss might be interested, do you?” The thug
asked in mock seriousness. His friends chuckled.
“Yes,” Xylon said.
“Well, I’ll tell you what, I’m interested in what you’ve got in
your pockets. Turn ‘em out. Now.”
Xylon gulped. He dug around in his pocket and came up with a
handful of gold coins, handing each thug about five pieces.
“All right, what else you got?” The lantern-jawed thug reached
for Xylon’s jerkin.
Xylon jerked back out of the thug’s grasp and spun on his heel.
“Oh ho!” the lead thug said. “Get ‘em, boys!”
Xylon ran, the ruffians hot on his heels. He reached over his
shoulder and cast firebolt . It spun
through the air and popped like a holiday firecracker.
“Watch out, we’ve got a badass over here!” One of the thugs
shouted, his friends laughing harshly.
Frantically, Xylon tried to put more distance between himself
and the ruffians as he high-tailed it back to the inn. He tried another fire
bolt, which fizzled.
One of the thugs lunged at Xylon and grabbed him by the leg. The
other thugs laughed and whooped as they caught up to the struggling wizard.
As they barreled past, Theryn stepped out of the shadows. "If you poke the cub, you get the bear."
“Push off, stranger,” one of the ruffians grunted. “Unless you
want to get in line to get your ass kicked.”
“See, that’s going to be a problem,” Theryn said, and whipped
his bo staff around in what he hoped was an intimidating flourish.
The thugs shrugged at one another.
Xylon cast frost bolt
at the thug holding his leg. Ice and frost began covering the man’s upper body.
“Hey!” the thug shouted, his breath fogging.
“Oh, that is it!” The lead thug swung a hard right at the wizard,
but missed and socked one of his companions right in the eye. The second thug
went down like a ton of bricks, vomiting a gutful of beer explosively into the
street.
“Whoops, sorry, Chad!” the lead thug shouted. He gave Xylon a left
hook and connected, knocking the wind out of the wizard.
Theryn thrust his bo staff at the nearest thug, who let out an
“oof!” as he followed through with a knife hand chop that staggered his target.
The last thug began to draw his sword from its scabbard.
Xylon let out another fire bolt, which singed the cloak of the
thug at his feet.
The lead thug swung his fist around at the wizard again, but
Xylon dodged and put a hitching post between the thug’s fist and his face.
There was a solid crack as the man’s hand hit the unyielding wooden post. “Ow!”
he shouted.
The melee in the street woke Ragnar up from his sleep. Grabbing
his sword, he jumped out the window, slide down the tiled roof of the inn, and
landed in the street a few feet away from the struggle.
“Who has awakened me from my slumber!” he roared in his best
dragon roar.
“The Redbrands, that’s who!” shouted the thugs.
Ragnar charged and slashed at the leader.
The thug jerked back and pulled out his sword with his unbroken
hand. He deftly ran the Dragonborn rogue through.
Ragnar coughed once and fell to his knees, realizing too late he
had left his armor in his room at the inn.
Theryn brained the nearest thug with his staff, crushing the man’s
skull. As the thug sprawled to the ground, he sidestepped and gave another
Redbrand gangster a backhanded strike.
Xylon’s firebolt set a
thug’s cape on fire. The man struggled to his feet, trying to put out the
blaze.
Theryn struck the lead thug right in his prominent jaw,
shattering it. The force of the blow broke the man’s neck and he fell dead.
Xylon remembered his first aid training and stabilized the
unconscious Ragnar.
The last thug, his cape still smoking, fled the scene, throwing
away his sword and running towards the eastern edge of town. Theryn let him go.
Theryn loped into the inn and roused his companions while Xylon
went through the pockets of the dead or unconscious Redbrand thugs. A couple of
the capes weren’t too grimy to steal.
Erwen and Varien joined the group in the street, taking in the carnage.
The paladin hurriedly donned his armor.
A healing spell was cast on Ragnar, getting him back on his feet
as his stab wound knitted together.
Varien bound the unconscious Redbrand thug and intended to question him later.
While the party discussed what to do next, Xylon’s sharp eyes
took notice of movement at the ruined manor house at the far edge of town.
Several pinpricks of light, likely torches, were snaking down the uneven road
that led from the ruins to Phandalin proper. It looked like someone was
interested in what had happened in the street.
Quickly the party sought refuge in alleyways on either side of
the street. They tensely waited for the group to approach.
There were more than a dozen Redbrands, each wearing red cloaks
in varying degrees of cleanliness. In their lead was a tall, thin Drow – a dark
elf.
The drow examined the two bodies, their pockets stiffly
upturned. He turned to the assembled throng of thugs.
“Fan out and find out who did this,” he growled.
Then he turned his head and looked directly at Xylon’s hiding
place.