Chapter 1: Arrows and Ill Omens

The grimy streets of Neverwinter stank of piss and ambition. Gundren Rockseeker, a dwarf with a face like a cracked anvil, had offered them a deal: haul a wagonload of supplies to Phandalin, a dirt-poor settlement a few days' ride southeast. Ten gold pieces each for safe delivery to Barthen's Provisions, a name that stank of watered-down ale and stale bread. Rockseeker himself had bolted ahead on horseback, accompanied by a muscle-bound oaf named Sildar Hallwinter, muttering something about "business."

The High Road south had been a gruelling slog, the sun baking the wagon's canvas like a roasted pig. Now, they'd veered onto the Triboar Trail, a snake's path that slithered through bandit country. The air hung heavy with the promise of trouble, a silent threat that clung to the shadows beneath the trees.

The road to Phandalin was a scar on the land, rutted and mud-caked. The wagon creaked and groaned beneath its load, a symphony of misery under the unforgiving sun. Hanef Iceblood, a dwarf with a beard as white as winter's frost, wiped sweat from his brow. "By the Bearded Lady," he cursed, "this sun's hotter than a dragon's breath."

Eldon, halfling rogue with a sly smirk, perched atop a barrel of ale. "Just think of the gold waiting for us in Phandalin, my friend," he chirped. "Maybe even a few loose gems in some goblin's pocket."

Freya, a woman of few words and sharper edges, grunted from her position at the rear of the wagon. "Goblins aren't known for their riches," she muttered, her hand tightening around the hilt of her sword.

Preci, the water genasi, her eyes scanning the horizon with the keenness of a hawk, offered a different perspective. "Oh, Freya, don't be such a gloom-monger! Goblins are notoriously bad at hiding shiny things. We might find a whole hoard of treasure if we're lucky!"

Sir Clive Lionheart, a knight with a jaw set firm as iron, surveyed the surrounding woods with a practiced eye. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he cautioned. "First, we must reach Phandalin. And that," he added, his voice grim, "may prove more difficult than anticipated."

The trail twisted through the woods like a dark scar, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Suddenly, a grim tableau emerged from the gloom: two horses, their flanks pierced with black-feathered arrows, lay sprawled across the path like discarded toys. The woods pressed in, a claustrophobic tangle of branches and shadow, the steep embankment on either side a silent threat.

A cold dread slithered down Hanef's spine. "By the Bearded Lady's hairy arse," he muttered, "this doesn't bode well."

Eldon's grin faltered, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow. "Looks like we've got company," he hissed, his voice barely a whisper.

Freya's hand tightened on her sword hilt, her knuckles white. "Gobbers," she growled, her eyes scanning the tree line for movement.

Preci's playful demeanour vanished, replaced by a grim determination. "Or worse," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.

Sir Clive drew his ancestral greataxe, the sunlight glinting off its polished steel. "Prepare yourselves," he commanded, his voice a rumble of thunder. 

The adventurers leaped into action. Hanef, his warhammer a blur, smashed through the goblin ranks, his battle cries echoing through the trees. Eldon, a shadow in the underbrush, dispatched his foes with silent efficiency. Freya, her blades a whirlwind of death, danced through the chaos, her strikes swift and deadly. Preci, with the grace of a water dancer, unleashed a torrent of arrows, each finding its mark with uncanny precision as the last of the goblins were downed.

In the aftermath of the ambush, Eldon, ever the opportunist, darted towards the fallen horses. A quick rummage through the saddlebags confirmed his suspicions: they'd been stripped clean. A discarded leather map case lay nearby, its contents long gone.

"Looks like we weren't the only ones looking for a quick profit," he quipped, a wry smile twisting his lips. "These goblins have a taste for the finer things in life."

Hanef, still catching his breath, scowled. "Or they're just desperate enough to steal from corpses. Either way, it's a grim reminder of the dangers we face on this road."

Freya grunted in agreement, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Keep your guard up," she warned. "There may be more of them lurking in the shadows."

Preci, her playful demeanour temporarily subdued, shivered. "This place gives me the creeps," she whispered. "Let's get out of here."

Sir Clive, his greataxe still held high, nodded solemnly. "We shall press on," he declared, his voice resolute. "But we shall tread carefully, for danger may yet lurk on the path ahead."

The rutted track crawled from the woods like a wounded snake, spitting them out onto a vista of ramshackle buildings. Phandalin, they called it. A few dozen hovels cobbled together from logs and the ghosts of older, grander structures. Crumbling stone walls, choked with ivy and thorns, hinted at a past grandeur long since turned to dust. The track, a scar of mud and churned earth, widened into a sorry excuse for a main street as it snaked towards a skeletal manor house perched on a hill, its empty windows like the eye sockets of a skull.

Children scampered in the dirt, their laughter a hollow echo in the grim landscape. Townsfolk, faces etched with the hardship of frontier life, went about their business, casting wary glances at the newcomers before returning to their labours. Their eyes, dull as tarnished coins, held no welcome, only a weary resignation. This was Phandalin, a town where hope went to die and dreams withered in the dust.

After making enquiries around the town, the party found that Gundren Rockseeker, the dwarf who'd hired them, was absent. Barthen, the merchant they’d been told to contact, refused to honour their contract, his beady eyes glinting with greed.

Eldon, ever the opportunist, saw a chance for profit. He quickly bartered the wagon's supplies, pocketing a meagre sum that barely covered their expenses.

"You sold us short, you slippery snake!" Hanef roared, his beard bristling with rage.

Eldon shrugged, unrepentant. "Better a few coins than none, my friend. We can't eat promises, can we?"

In the Stonehill Inn, the party found solace in ale and rumours. Talk of the Redbrands, a gang of thugs who ruled Phandalin with an iron fist, filled the air. Eldon's face darkened as he revealed his past with the gang.

"Right, then," Eldon began, his voice low and raspy, a shadow of the usual cheer. He leaned back against the rough-hewn wood of the Stonehill Inn's bar, his eyes scanning the dimly lit room for eavesdroppers. "Truth be told, I've had my own run-ins with those Redbrand bastards."

Freya raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Oh? And what sort of 'run-ins' might those be, Quickshadow?"

Eldon let out a hollow chuckle. "I used to be one of them. A long time ago, mind you. Before they went completely to the shits."

Hanef's eyes narrowed. "You were a Redbrand? A thief? A brigand?"

"More like a… let's say, a 'liberator of excess wealth'," Eldon retorted with a sardonic grin. "Never did much harm, just a bit of light finger work. Nothing to get your panties in a twist about, eh, cleric?"

Preci leaned in, her eyes wide with curiosity. "But why did you leave them, Eldon? Did they wrong you?"

A flicker of pain crossed Eldon's face, quickly replaced by a mask of bitterness. "Let's just say they weren't too keen on my career aspirations. We had a falling out, a misunderstanding, if you will. And let's just say I barely escaped with my hide intact."

"So, they left you for dead?" Sir Clive's voice boomed through the tavern, a hint of disgust in his tone.

"Something like that," Eldon mumbled, swirling the dregs of his ale. "But what's past is past. Now, it's time for a bit of payback."

A predatory grin spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with a cold, calculating light. "And trust me, friends, when I say I know exactly where to stick the knife."

Freya's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "Sounds like a bloody good time."

Preci, ever the optimist, tried to lighten the mood. "Well, at least we have a new lead to follow," she said, her voice like a bubbling brook. "Maybe this Redbrand mess will lead us to something even bigger and better!"

The party split in two, each member drawn by their own dark star. Freya, Clive, and Hanef, fuelled by ale and vengeance, stalked towards The Sleeping Giant, a tavern where the Redbrands festered like a boil.  Eldon, Preci and Poppy took a less head on approach, deciding to investigate why the Redbrands were giving the Miner's Exchange a wide berth. 

The Miner's Exchange stood defiant, its windows gleaming like greedy eyes in the grimy heart of Phandalin. While other shops cowered under the Redbrands' shadow, this place thrived. Eldon, senses honed by a lifetime in the gutters, smelled a rat. A fat one.

Poppy, her scholarly mind buzzing with possibilities, saw a puzzle begging to be solved. Preci, ever the optimist, saw only shiny rocks and potential treasures. But Eldon knew better. There was a darkness lurking beneath the polished surface, a secret waiting to be unearthed.

They moved as one, a strange trio united by a common curiosity. Their steps were silent, their eyes sharp. They were predators stalking their prey, drawn by the scent of deceit and the promise of gold.

On the other side of town, The Sleeping Giant was packed with scowling thugs, their raucous laughter a grating insult to decent folk. Hanef, his dwarfish pride wounded by a sneering remark, didn't hesitate to answer with a fist to the teeth.

The brawl erupted like a wildfire, bodies crashing against tables, mugs shattering on the floor. But three against a dozen was a losing game. Soon enough, Hanef, Clive, and Freya were dragged out back, beaten bloody, and left for dead.

They awoke in the cool night air, their purses lighter and Sir Clive's ancestral axe gone. It was a grim welcome to Phandalin, a town where shadows danced deeper than the roots of ancient trees. As they licked their wounds and tasted the bitter tang of defeat, they knew one thing: this was just the beginning. Their quest for gold had turned into a fight for survival, and the Redbrands had just made themselves their first enemy.