Drake just grunts as he picks through the loot, but doesn't seem very interested. He rips the shirts of the dead Redbrands and wraps the cloth around his wounds, but anyone watching closely notices the wounds forcing the bullets out and closing behind them. By the time an hour has passed and they're getting ready to move out, the rough and tumble gunslinger barely looks like he's got a scratch on him. The only trace of his former injuries are a patch of raw-looking skin around his shoulder, but even that looks more like something rubbed him the wrong way than a gunshot wound.
"I'm ready to move when you all are. I'm about ready to find this Glasstaff and put a bullet through his brain. Killing these worthless idiots is bad enough, but these fat, shaggy goblins really piss me off."
Dom reloads his revolvers, but then draws his saber and dagger.
"Yeah, time to saddle up."
Dom sneaks forward to see what awaits them.
After checking the door, Siann nods and kneels in one of the corners, eyes closed, breathing even and deep...
... after a half hour her eyes pop open and she rises to her feet, "I'm ready."
Having taken their rest, the posse heads back into the room where they killed the drunken bandits, and out the door on the other side. This leads to a narrow corridor with another door opposite; the hall itself leads to some stairs that exit at the cavern with the crevasse and the strange eye being. With only one clear way forward, the group gathers up and opens the unexplored door.
The room on the other side appears to be a workshop of the magical variety, filled with bubbling and hissing sounds. A rat scurries across the floor to take refuge under a large wooden table, set up with all manner of strange devices and equipment, all of them currently steaming and stewing. There are bookshelves crowded with old tomes, as well as scrolls and sheaves of yellowed paper and parchment. The only other door in the room is on the left, currently closed.
Dom ignores all the bubbling and stewing devices. That stuff was beyond his ken. Instead he stealthily approached the next door. He signaled to the others to get ready. He kept his dagger in his left hand, as he slowly turned the knob...
While Dom is moving ahead, Jed stops for a moment to check the books, just looking at titles and the like. It might give some clue as to what they'll run in to up ahead if they know what the bandits are interested in.
Even as most of the posse is just moving into the room, Dom strides across the floor to the doorway. He tries to walk as quietly as possible, but just as he turns the knob and opens the door, one of the vials lets loose a particularly loud pop. The noise startles Dom, and he jerks the door open a bit faster than he meant to do.
As the room beyond the door comes into view, though, it's apparent the sudden opening didn't make too much of a difference. The room appears to be a bedchamber, more lavish than most of the other rooms the party's seen: there are clean scarlet drapes on the walls, a desk with a matching chair, and a large bed that looks quite comfortable with a large wooden chest at its foot. Currently crouched by that chest is a human man with a short, dark beard, wearing a red robe and an elegant ermine mantle. He turns to look at the door with wide, anxious eyes; clutched in one of his hands is a beautiful staff that appears entirely made from clear glass, and tucked into his other arm is a bundle of scrolls.
The man quickly straightens after seeing Dom, and he drops the scrolls back into the chest. "Ah, you must be the guests I've heard about. I apologize for any inconveniences you've experienced in my home, but I regret to say I'm at a loss as to the cause for your visit... nor do I have suitable entertainment for you at present. In lieu of such distraction, perhaps you might enlighten me as to your reason for coming here?"
"It was requested that someone deal with your two-bit thugs." Drake comes into view behind Dom, the typical skeptical look on the man's face. "They've been bothering the townsfolk, we offered to take care of the problem. That'd be why we're here, partner." He looks at the staff with a grin, then snorts. "Y'know, I didn't think the moniker 'Glasstaff' would be, well, literal."
"Mister, your little reign of terror ends now. And you have a lot to answer for. You don't strike me as the type to come in quietly to face justice, but just for my own peace of mind, I'm making a one-time offer. Surrender peacefully, and we won't kill you where you stand."
"But if you try anything funny, and I swear on my life we'll end you."
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"Or don't," Jed says, raising his gun and pointing it toward the robed man. "Don't works for me."
"Ah, yes. The unfortunate business my gentlemen have had to conduct?" The man gives a singly insincere smile and turns one hand in a gesture of feigned helplessness. "Well, I'm sorry to say, but it was necessary. As is this."
The mage thuds his staff on the floor, and emits a soft glow and a chime like a bell. A shimmering aura surrounds the man for a moment, but it fades from view even as he begins to move. He turns and dashes for the far wall of the room, where he pushes open what appeared to be a bookcase, revealing a secret stairwell beyond--which he begins to descend, rounding the corner and out of view!
Dom curses loudly and runs off after the apparent wizard. He catches up and tries to wrestle him to the ground.
"Dammit, Jed had the right of it." Drake moves after Dom and pulls out his long hunting knife, figuring it's better not to run the risk of shooting his companion in the back. When Dom tries to grab the man, Drake opts for the simpler choice and just tries to stab him in the gut.
The posse gives chase into the secret passage that Glasstaff opened, rushing to keep up with the wicked mage. Drake fires a shot that goes over the man's shoulder, ricocheting wildly in the enclosed space. Dom lunges forward, trying to grab the man around the waist to keep him from running, but the mage slips just too far away. Siann and Jed are close behind, but in the cramped stairwell there's no room for a shot.
Glasstaff hisses and keeps running, and when he throws open the door at the top of the stairs, he turns for a moment, his hand once more coming up in an arcane gesture. His eyes lock on Drake's, and as he speaks with eldritch power in a strange tongue, Drake feels his muscles slackening, and his joints locking into place, even as Glasstaff turns and darts out the door.
Drake stumbles forward as he feels his body tense up. He grits his teeth and tries to move, but he's stuck in place. "You're going to pay for this."
Once there's more room, Siann sprints forward towards the wizard, her sword scraping free as she launches her attack...
Then, her breath calming even in the heat of battle, she draws deep of her inner strength, launching a new furious assault on the man...
Jed rushes after the fleeing wizard, raising his pistol and opening fire.
Dom moves in and slices with his saber.
"You made your choice!"
It seems that Glasstaff's spell has the desired effect, as Drake's body betrays him and he remains rooted in place on the stairs. Still, that's only one out of four in the posse, and the others continue to give chase after the mage. As things spill out of the cramped passage into the room beyond--actually the large cavern, the passage's door a cleverly concealed section of the rough rock wall--they spread and attack. Jed's shot catches Glasstaff high in one thigh, causing the man to shriek in pain and stumble forward.
That stumble is just enough for Siann and Dom to leap forward with blades at the ready. Siann's sword slices his arm as he turns and tries to defend himself, but Dom's saber can't be stopped. It hacks straight through his upheld wrist and bites into the mage's gut, and he gives one final shout before collapsing. Blood begins to soak his stomach, from the cut there and the stump at the end of his arm, and the staff rolls out of his fingers. He isn't dead, but he will be soon unless someone works against it.
It's quiet in the cavern, and as the blood begins to pool, Drake feels his body under control once more. The fight's over, and the bandit mage sure isn't the winner.
Dom stands over him for a long moment, and considers whether or not he should help the man. But eventually, he gives everyone an apologetic look and lowers himself to try and stabilize the mage.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm too damned soft."
Dom takes the mage's belt and uses it to tie off the stump of an arm so he doesn't bleed out. Once that grim work is done, he then makes a point to assure that he has nothing he can use to cast any magic.
Drake just glares as Dom fixes up the mage, and once they're sure he won't bleed out Drake hauls the unconscious man over and props him up against a wall. He picks up the staff in one hand and kicks the man's severed hand away. "What the hell is this thing, anyway? Who carries around a glass stick?"
"A wizard with more balls than sense," Jed replies dryly as he makes his way down to the collapsed spell caster. "Nothin' I can do but wait I suppose. I'm not much for healin' without my special powers."
"Wasn't planning on waitin'. We're gonna drag his sorry carcass to the Sheriff and toss him in a cell. And if this wizard so much as looks at us funny we drop him like a bad habit."
"I can definitely get behind that."
Dom gets a wicked smile as he says, "Try not to have too much fun dragging him down the stairs."
"We can't just roll him down? Maybe kick him a few times for good measure?" Drake stops as he starts to haul the mage when Dom makes his remark, instead hoisting him up and handing the staff off to someone else. "I want someone to take a look at this thing, because it doesn't smell right to me. It might have some way for him to escape if he can get his hands on it."
"I want someone to take a look at this thing, because it doesn't smell right to me. It might have some way for him to escape if he can get his hands on it."
"I can cast a few spells, but I'm not a wizard," Dom says with a shrug. "I reckon there might be someone in town we can take that to. Actually, you bring up a good point there, Drake. Let's search this guy and make sure he doesn't have anything hidden away."
"That was my thought, too. I don't know anything about... spell books, incantations. None of that. We'll find someone to look into it." Drake helps Dom to look over the unconscious wizard, making sure the man doesn't have any surprises up his sleeves before they haul him out.
After taking down Glasstaff, Siann merely looks down at him, crumpled on the ground, a look of satisfaction on her face.
She steps away as Dom stems the bleeding , saving the mans life.
Her eyes go kind of soft at the man's kindness, thinking "Why would I ever have been afraid of revealing my secret to this man, and Jeb...they're my brother, uncle, father all wrapped into one, they'd never judge... but not now, now isn't the time."
As the others discuss the final disposition of the bandit leader, Siann keeps a lookout, stepping a bit away to investigate the cavern they find themselves in.
Dom considers for a moment, but eventually his kinder side wins out, and he crouches down to staunch the mage's bleeding. He's quick enough in his work, and shortly feels confident the man won't be dying before he's brought back to justice. The posse takes the moment to look things over, though, making sure the man doesn't have any surprises hidden on him. Siann also doubles back to the room where they found the bandit leader .
The man himself doesn't have much on his person: just scraps of parchment with scrawled notes, nothing of interest. The only item of note, in fact, is the glass staff that Dom and Drake look over. Neither of them are certain of what it does, although they both figure it's probably magical in some fashion.
In the bedroom, Siann glances at the chest and sees the bundle of scrolls the mage had been grabbing before the posse burst in. She looks over the rest of the room and soon moves to the desk, which is covered in papers and writing instruments. The first few sheets she examines are mundane--orders for magical and alchemical reagents from nearby settlements--but her eyes fall on a different-looking page: a letter, written in a fine, elegant hand.
My spies in Neverwinter tell me that strangers are due to arrive in Phandalin. They could be working for the dwarves. Capture them if you can, kill them if you must, but don't allow them to upset our plans. See that any dwarven maps in their possession are delivered to me with haste.
I'm counting on you, larno. Don't disappoint me.
At the bottom of the page, in place of any signature, is a curious symbol. It looks like a scorpion, etched in black ink.
"We need to head back to down, with him coming along. We'll haul this jackass in and let Elmer know the Redbrands shouldn't be a problem, at least not for the foreseeable future." Drake hauls the unconscious mage up onto his shoulder, and grunts under the weight. He raises an eyebrow when Siann returns with the letter. "What's this? Strangers? You don't suppose they're talking about us, do you? Dwarven maps... what are they talking about?" Drake looks at the symbol and frowns. "That doesn't look good, either."
"No idea," Jed says with a shrug. "But whatever it was, I'm sure it won't end well. Right now, let's just get this idiot back to town and make sure that things are taken care of."
"It might not be talking about us, to be fair. But Phandelver ain't the type of town to get a whole lot of visitors either. And I got plenty of maps of this area, but those I drew myself," Dom says with a shrug.
"We can ask this fella all sorts of questions once we have him locked up. For now, let's just get out of here."
When Siann returns with the strange letter, the posse ponders over it for a few moments. Whether or not it's referring to them isn't entirely clear, but it doesn't seem to bode well regardless. Dom peers at the symbol, but it isn't familiar to him--nobody in town ever used a symbol like that.
With nothing more of interest that they know about in these caverns, the party hogties the unconscious mage and hauls him back to the room they found with stairs up to the main level; as they leave the cavern, the strange creature watches them from the crevasse, but doesn't approach. They cross out through the dusty halls of the ruined manor and push open the doors to stand in the sunlight once more, looking down the long lane into Phandalin's town square. Down that road they march, four staunch figures who've cleared out the bandits harrying the town. As they pass by the few houses on their way to the town hall, townsfolk peer out from windows and doors, cautious and unsure.
The town hall itself has sturdy stone walls, a pitched wooden roof, and a bell tower poking up from its back. A postboard sits by the front door, with various notices nailed to its wooden surface. Most prominent is a WANTED poster, proclaiming a $200 reward for ORC RAIDERS NEAR WYVERN MESA, complete with the town's seal and an illegible signature, probably the mayor's.
The posse barely slows as they approach the doors of the town hall, casting only a scant glance at the notice board. They throw open the double wooden doors with a clatter and an undeniable air of power and righteousness. They step inside, standing all four abreast, and Dom unceremoniously, although carefully enough, dumps Glasstaff on the floor. The poor secretary inside looks up with a start, and upon seeing the bloodied body of the Redbrands' leader, she promptly collapses in her chair, stunned with shock. The entrance room is large, plain but pleasant, with the secretary's desk and chair, a stairway leading up and down, and a couple of doors to offices or closets.
A door upstairs opens and two men come out. The first is a familiar face to all present: Sild Winter, still with the bandages on his head, but otherwise looking much better. The second man, only Dom recognizes: a short, fat older fellow, with jowls aquiver under his bushy gray muttonchops. Harden West is about as soft as they come around these parts, a banker turned politician who's mostly mayor of Phandalin because no one else runs against him. As he looks down at the scene, his face reddens and sweat breaks out along his brow. "What... what have you..."
Whatever he's trying to get out, though, is cut off by an oath from Sild. "Holy Heironeous, hit me now," he exclaims, stepping forward and leaning on the balcony railing. Then he rushes down the stairs and kneels by the mage, turning him to look at his face. "By the gods," he mutters, looking up at the posse. "This is Ian Albrek. He was sent here to serve as Town Marshal. I'd heard they thought he was dead." He regards the mage a few seconds more, then stands. "But if you just... I'll be damned." He shakes his head as the realization hits him.
After the revelations are over, the fat man clears his throat, having come downstairs. "Yes, well, that's all well and good, but I can't abide this! These.... these buffoons have taken the law into their own hands, and probably ruined the town in the meanwhile!"
Sild turns and gives the man a hard look. "Harden West. Aren't you supposed to be the mayor? Aren't you supposed to see that your town is safe?" Sild's voice is edged and cold, and it's easy to see the Marshal in him yet. "I think these men just did what you should've done months ago. And you'll thank them for their trouble, proper-like, or I'll do it for you."
West sputters and sniffles, and Sild snorts and turns back to you. "Well, first you save me, then you save the town. I should think a reward is in order. How's a hundred dollars each sound to you folks? Half in bills, half in good coin. We'll have it for you tomorrow, won't we, Harden?" He shoots another steely glare the mayor's way, and the man stops his sniveling in a heartbeat. "And maybe we'll ask a few questions of Mister Albrek, here. For right now, I think you deserve a rest."
"I'm going to stay here and keep an eye on our friend. You three go and rest or whatever you do to unwind after a fight. I can take care of him if he gets rowdy." Jed waves off the rest of the group and stays behind to help out.
As the party leaves the town hall, they see a slim, well dressed man approaching with a handful of the townsfolk behind him. "There they are!" he calls out, waving a little too eagerly toward the group. "The heroes of the hour! Can you believe these fine gentlemen took care of those foul brigands all by themselves?" He throws an arm around a nearby townsman jovially, but releases him and steps forward before he can even respond. "I saw you fine folks carrying some fool trussed up like a turkey through town and I just knew that someone had finally dealt with the troubles besieging these fine people. You're genuine heroes my friends. Genuine heroes." He steps up and shakes their hands one at a time, whether they want him too or not. "Joseph Wilkes, entrepreneur, businessman, and traveling merchant. It is a true pleasure to meet all of you. I thought for sure I'd picked a dead end when I found out how much trouble these poor local folks had been having. Even my patented protective amulets can only ward off so much bad luck." He laughs at his own joke, patting Dom on the shoulder. "I think you all deserve a few drinks on us. What do you say folks?" The crowd attracts a few more onlookers at Joseph's extravagant praising and there's a general murmur of agreement, along with a few hollers and claps for the new local heroes. "Wonderful, wonderful. Well, the kegs certainly aren't going to open themselves! To the saloon my friends!"
Drake looks at the newcomer with skepticism, his eyes narrowed when the man brings up the protective amulets. When Joseph's eyes pass over his own, Drake shoots the man a knowing look. It'd never been his forte, exactly, but others in his outfit—his old outfit—had been men like him. Charming, unscrupulous. Willing to prey on people. Still, when the man mentions heading to the tavern, Drake nods. "Drinks are on you? If you're buying, I'll take a few rounds." He heads just out the door and looks at the poster about the orcs, before ripping it off the wall. They could take care of that after he got a round at the bar.
'W̪̳h̢̭̭̥̺̤͚a͢t͙͔̩͔̦̲͢'̶̟̳̪͚s͙ ̶͖̟̯t̼̺̝̭͔͖̼h̠̻̻̪̲e̵̻ ̼͙͉͉̠̠mà͕͖̙͇͎̖t̡̝͍̦ͅte̫̖̰̝̬r̥̪̼͇̤̼,͓̯̘ ͍͜D̪̩̗͍̕r̀a̴̝̭̦̟k͔͔̮͙̗e̶̝̩͙̩̩̗?̮̤̰̼̹ ͖̲͍̬ͅT̞̘o̫͕̤̠̟̣ͅo̥̯̥͓͟ ͕m̲̩a̼͟n̵y̱͉̹̝͉͜ͅ ̩͈̖͖̻̭̮f̮̥̣̝̟o̬̜͞x̱͢e̕s̠̝̥͞ ̲̠̤i̶̞̱̙̟̙̳n͎̥͉ ͍͓͈̮ţ͔̫̗̥h̗͈͟e͚̟ ͕͔̺̤̼͠h͔͚̙en̨ ̪̫̀h͙̦̟̙o͙̣͟u͏̬͉͖͕̰̼s̺͇͙͜ͅͅe̯̬̬̝?̹̺͠"