The Strangers Gather
The tavern was packed, save for a tense corner occupied by a contingent of highly polished Imperial soldiers. Scattered throughout the rest of the common room, several notable figures began to cross paths:
- William B Blue, a hunter of quiet disposition, sat twirling a custom-engineered alchemical pistol. It was a marvel of craftsmanship designed to deliver highly controlled, devastating blasts.
- Flack Flint, a spirited, 5’5” Harengon clad in remarkably well-tailored scale mail, sat nearby. Hammers, smithing tools, and holy symbols jingled from her gear. Intrigued by William’s weapon, she utilized her eyes of the eagle to inspect the metallurgy of his blast-resistant firearm.
- Conall Mhathghamhuin, a battle-worn dwarf with a waxed, braided orange beard and gnarled, scarred hands, sought a quiet table. Dressed in a clean, but nondescript military uniform bearing his family’s standing bear sigil, he desperately wanted to put distance between himself and the Imperial soldiers.
- Serukai, a black lizardfolk with a fox companion named Siiv sat at the bar in their brown jacket and bow strapped to their back. Siiv slunk quietly alongside Conall. Drawn by the scent of the dwarf’s cheese platter, Siiv sat expectantly, eagerly accepting scraps of cheese in quiet, well-trained obedience.
- Frank Turgolas, a remarkably short elf standing at 5’11” with sharp, white-cut hair, suddenly “woke up” from a nap beneath one of the tables. A smooth-talking rogue with a penchant for mischief, Frank immediately began looking for hands to shake and pockets to pick.
Old Ghosts and Thinly Veiled Threats
The fragile peace of the tavern shattered when Dura Azul, a formidable black orc Warden, marched over to Conall’s table. She was Conall’s former commanding officer from his days in the Imperial Army.
“I see you’ve come back already,” Dura sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. “What are you doing here?”
“I must make amends,” Conall replied quietly, keeping his gaze steady. “I must start where it all happened.”
Dura scoffed, warning him to clear out of the city before storming back to her table. Nearby, sitting quietly among the soldiers, was the legendary Blue Dragonborn himself: Marshal Luftven Nehlfeimmir, watching the exchange with cool interest.
As Conall sat in silence, a suspicious patron at an adjacent table leaned over to Frank. “What do you think about those Imperials over there?” the man whispered, his tone dripping with malice.
Frank, ever the diplomat, offered a handshake. But William B Blue sensed the underlying threat. Deciding to play a dangerous game of tavern politics, William tossed a handful of coins to the barkeep and loudly announced, “I’d like to buy a round of ale for the Marshal and his men—compliments of those fine gentlemen over there!” He pointed directly at the suspicious patrons.
The bandits stood up, their faces pale with fury. Their leader unsheathed his blade. “I don’t think that was the right move, my guy,” he growled. “Let’s show these Imperials what for!”
A Bar Fight to Make The Red Divide Even Redder
- The Opening Salvo: The Bandit Lord attempted to back away from Frank, shouting orders to his men. A bandit drew a light crossbow and fired at William, but the bolt sailed wide, hissing into the great stone fireplace.
- The Cheese Platter of Doom: Serukai, lacking a drawn weapon, snatched up Conall’s heavy wooden cheese platter and hurled it across the room. It struck a bandit squarely in the face, breaking his nose and leaving him dazed and covered in Gorgonzola.
- Dwarven Fury: Letting out a guttural roar, Conall Mhathghamhuin entered a blind rage. He leapt onto the wooden table, swung his massive great axe, and cleanly decapitated one of the charging bandits in a single, bloody stroke.
- Holy Radiance: Flack Flint stepped into the fray, calling upon her deity to cast Word of Radiance. A blinding flash of searing, holy light engulfed the remaining bandits. Moments later, she summoned a spectral, glowing spiritual hammer that hovered menacingly over the battlefield.
- The Chomp: Serukai rushed the cheese-covered bandit. With primal savagery, the lizardfolk clamped his jaws shut around the man’s throat, ripping it open.
- Double Tap: William B Blue drew his twin pistols. With deafening cracks that shook the tavern walls, he fired twice, putting a bullet cleanly between the eyes of two separate bandits, dropping them instantly.
- The Grapple: Conall leapt from the table and slammed the Bandit Lord against the wall, pinning him with his massive, scarred hands. “You dare draw steel in the Imperial city?” Conall bellowed, slamming his fist into the leader’s face and shattering his teeth.
- Defenestration: Flack’s spiritual hammer swung with bone-shattering force, sending the last standing henchman crashing through the tavern window, launching him into a tree outside.
- A Five-Gold Discount: While the Bandit Lord was pinned and bleeding, Frank casually slipped his hand into the leader’s pockets, pulling out five gold pieces. “This should cover the cheese,” Frank remarked with a grin.
A Marshal’s Proposition
As the ringing in everyone’s ears faded, the tavern fell dead silent. The floorboards were slick with blood, and several bodies lay in various states of dismemberment. The only sound was Serukai quietly continuing to feed on one of the fallen foes.
From the back of the room, Marshal Luftven Nehlfeimmir stood up, clapping slowly and loudly.
“Well,” the Marshal chuckled, surveying the carnage. “For a second there, I thought we were going to have to intervene. You lot certainly know how to handle yourselves.”
Dura Azul stood beside him, her face flushed with fury at the sight of Conall, but she remained silent under her commander’s gaze. Imperial guards marched in, taking custody of the heavily battered, javelin-pierced Bandit Lord.
“For your efforts in keeping the peace—and defending my honor, in a round-about way—I believe a reward is in order,” Marshal Luftven declared. “How does two thousand gold pieces sound?”
Frank immediately tried to negotiate for two thousand and two gold, but the Marshal simply laughed it off. Along with the gold, the Marshal offered the group a free week of lodging at the Red Divide and hinted at a grander job opportunity. “I will return tomorrow. Let’s hope there is less blood on the floor by then.”
Enter Pohk
As the Imperials departed, the tavern doors creaked open. Standing in the threshold was Pohk, a towering, 7’8” apefolk with warm amber eyes, carrying a massive quarterstaff carved of solid stone.
Pohk looked at the shattered window, then out at the tree. “There is a guy in the tree,” Pohk noted in a deep, booming voice. “Do you want me to get him down?”
After Luftven offered one hundred gold to get him down, Pohk reached out, grabbed the mangled bandit by the leg, and yanked him down. After leaving the body outside, he introduced himself to the chaotic group.
Turning In for the Night
The barkeep, Sar, slowly emerged from behind the counter, pale and trembling. His serving staff was already lining up to hand in their resignations.
“Sorry about the mess, Sar,” William said, trying to be helpful by returning the blood-stained cheese platter to the counter.
Sar handed over three room keys to the party, desperate to be rid of them for the night. As the group divided the keys and prepared to rest, they realized they had formed an unlikely, highly lethal alliance in less than thirty minutes.
While the others headed upstairs or settled into corners to sleep, Pohk made his way outside to the stables and found himself a comfy haystack to rest up against, and Serukai finished his late night snack in the shadows of the Red Divide.