The mob approached the scene of the street fight. The group of thuggish-looking men were all adorned in red – cloaks, bandanas, bits of cloth cinched around their waists or tied around their arms – and many carried torches. One of them held the reins of a black horse, leading it along the dusty road. The drow turned and pointed at a pair of ruffians. “Go back to the hideout and tell Glasstaff that someone is ganking his men in the street, and that a mage walks with them. Now, I have business with the Cragmaw. Be gone.” He mounted his black horse. The Redbrand ruffians began to fan out. One of them stood guard on the porch of the alehouse while his companions began walking the path back towards the ruined manor. From the darkness, Ragnar aimed his crossbow and fired. The bolt hit one of the Redbrands in the neck, sending the man staggering sideways. Ragnar’s crossbow made a metallic zipping sound as the gear-driven loader stripped a bolt from the magazine slung beneath the weapon and reset the bowstring. If Ragnar had possessed eyebrows, he would’ve arched one in admiration at the quality craftsmanship. Varien stepped out from the alley next to the alehouse, intent on cutting the guard down before he could shout a warning. He raised his halberd for the killing strike and at the last moment realized the alehouse had a covered entrance. His weapon bit into the side of the overhanging roof, sticking fast. The guard’s eyes widened as he saw the paladin with his arms raised, and drew his sword. Xylon cast a firebolt that popped harmlessly in mid-air. Two buildings over, Theryn decided to take the drow out. As the dark elf dug his spurs into the flanks of his horse, the monk stepped out from the shadows and let loose a flurry of blows, aiming for pressure points with the butt end of his bo staff. He followed up with a devastating heel strike. The drow was rocked in his saddle, but stayed upright. He stared down at the monk and let the scarf fall from his face, revealing a twisted sneer. “So, you wish to play, do you?” The drow’s sword rang as he pulled it from its scabbard and swung it violently down at the monk. Theryn ducked out of the way of the hissing blade. The horse reared back on its hind legs, its hooves barely missing the monk’s head and chest. Theryn rolled to the side as the drow rode right over him, lashing the horse with the reins and shouting in a guttural tongue. The galloping horse and its rider disappeared into the darkness. Across the street, Erwen was alone with a trussed-up, unconscious Redbrand. The Halfling knew that if he gave away his position, the approaching Redbrands, who even now were poking around in piles of trash and peering in every discarded barrel nearby, would cut him to ribbons. Drawing on his druidic magic, Erwen igniting a small campfire about 35 feet away from his hiding place near a growth of bushes. It flickered in the darkness. The druid hoped against hope that it would distract the nearest thugs and give him time to plan an exit. Ragnar fired another crossbow bolt at a Redbrand and missed. Varien dislodged his halberd and jabbed it at the Redbrand, who parried the blow with his sword. Xylon cast firebolt again to no effect. The three Redbrands facing Xylon and Varien pressed their attack, swinging their swords with practiced skill. The paladin found himself fending off strike after strike, swords ringing off his shield while occasionally drawing blood. Theryn rushed at a pair of Redbrands who had witnessed his duel with the drow. His quarterstaff found nothing but air and soon the monk was desperately trying to keep from being perforated by a series of expert stabs from the ruffians. Erwen crept along the perimeter of the shed he was hiding behind and smiled as he realized that his ruse had drawn away a number of thugs from the road. He dragged the heavy body of the unconscious ruffian behind him. Ragnar fired a crossbow bolt and grinned as it struck its target squarely. His grin faded as he realized there were now four Redbrand thugs out for blood. Varien swung his halberd, catching one of the thugs and opening a gash in the man’s side. The paladin began to tire, blood running from a number of wounds. Xylon saw Varien wobbling and cast shield , throwing himself between the paladin and his foes. He absorbed most of the Redbrands’ assault with the help of the magical shield, but one stabbing blade found its way through the arcane armor, piercing the mage and causing him to immediately regret his decision. Theryn somersaulted backwards and put some distance between him and the menacing Redbrands. He ran around the corner of the outbuilding towards his companions. Ragnar did some mental arithmetic and decided he didn’t like the odds as the wizard’s blood joined the paladin’s in spilling onto the ground. From his pocket, he pulled out an obscene drawing he had intended to mail to Clockdrive, and instead pinned it to the wall of the alehouse. Then he was running as fast as he could for the nearest cover. Finding a safe spot, he turned about and snapped off another shot from his crossbow, dropping one of the Redbrands. Varien’s halberd stabbed over Xylon’s shoulder, impaling a Redbrand thug whose dying scream was choked with blood. Xylon cast firebolt in a flash, setting the nearest Redbrand’s cloak on fire. The remaining two Redbrands stabbed at the paladin repeatedly. Theryn appeared, his quarterstaff cracking off the head of a Redbrand, who stumbled and cursed. Erwen magically lit a second eerie campfire off in another direction and kept to the shadows. When the Redbrands weren’t looking, he hightailed it for another building to put between him and the thugs. He left the tied up body of the ruffian behind him. Moments later, he heard the surprised shouts as a pair of thugs stumbled across their comrade. He dove for the nearest cover. “Die!” shouted a Redbrand who had followed Theryn. He stabbed the paladin, who now looked like he could be felled by a stiff wind. “Worst battle cry ever!” shouted Ragnar from his hiding place. He fired another crossbow bolt, which embedded itself in the side of an abandoned wagon. Varien drew a javelin and threw it at an approaching ruffian. The throw was off, however, and the javelin began to tumble end over end, striking the Redbrand sideways instead of with the pointy end. Xylon’s cantrip burned a Redbrand to a crisp. Theryn lashed out with his quarterstaff, staving in the chest of the Redbrand who had stabbed Varien. Without looking, he knife-hand-chopped the Redbrand behind him, crushing the man’s windpipe. The sound of angry shouts and running feet told the adventurers that reinforcements were on the way. “Time to go,” Theryn said. The monk, the paladin, and the wizard ran for the treeline.