Chapter 2: The Nothic's Tribute

Before a potential confrontation in the Miner's Exchange, Poppy sought solace in the town's modest shrine. Sister Garaele, a woman with eyes as clear as mountain springs, listened intently as Poppy recounted her unsettling visions of a desecrated altar. The sister's brow furrowed with concern, her fingers tracing the worn wooden beads of her prayer necklace.

"A darkness lingers here, child," she murmured, her voice soft as a whisper. "Take these healing potions, may they offer you strength on your path."

With a grateful nod, Poppy pocketed the vials and, accompanied by Preci, ventured to the Miner's Exchange. Halia Thornton, the establishment's proprietor, a woman whose sharp gaze missed nothing, greeted them with a curt nod.

"News travels fast in Phandalin," she said, her voice as cold as the coins she counted. "I hear you're looking for the Rockseekers. I know where they made camp, but information comes at a price."

In exchange for the location, Poppy and Preci agreed to report back any findings. Thornton's eyes gleamed as she dangled a more lucrative offer. "One hundred gold pieces," she rasped, "to rid this town of the Redbrands' leader, Iarno Albrek, better known as Glasstaff."

As they made their way back to the inn, Sister Garaele intercepted Poppy, her voice hushed and urgent. "Seek out the Banshee," she pleaded. "Ask her of the Lost Spellbook. It may hold the answers you seek."

Later that night, Clive, Freya, and Hanef stumbled into the inn, battered and bruised. Their tales of the Redbrands' brutality ignited a fire of vengeance in Eldon's eyes.

Guided by Eldon's knowledge of a secret tunnel, they infiltrated the Redbrands' hideout. The ensuing fight was a blur of steel and shadow. Four ruffians lay dead, their stolen gold returned, Clive's ancestral axe reclaimed. But victory had a bitter taste.

A Nothic, its single eye gleaming in the dim light, watched from a crevice. It demanded tribute, the corpses of the fallen ruffians. Hanef, with a guttural curse, tossed one into the darkness. The creature fed, leaving a pile of gold as grotesque payment.

"Who is in the other room?" Preci inquired, her voice barely a whisper.

The Nothic's eye flickered. "A prisoner," it rasped. "But not the one you seek."

The air grew heavy with dread. The Redbrands' secrets ran deeper than they had imagined, and the path ahead promised only darkness and danger.