As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of red and orange, a new chapter began for the Outlaws of Alkenstar. Their adventures had taken them to the farthest corners of the world, testing their mettle against the fiercest of foes. But tonight, they faced a different kind of challenge.
Episode 2: A Debt to Pay
In the heart of the bustling city, a clandestine meeting was taking place. Mercy, one of the fearless members of the rag tag group of the Outlaws, was locked in a tense negotiation with Sharkosa, a notorious collector with a penchant for rare and valuable artifacts. An unexpected twist of fate had intertwined their paths – Ambrose Mugland, a man they hardly knew, was in debt to Sharkosa.
Sharkosa’s demand rang clear in the dimly-lit room. Mugland’s debt needed to be settled, one way or another. The price was steep, either thousands in gold or an artifact of equal value. As the reality of the situation sank in, the room filled with a palpable tension, broken only by Sharkosa’s chilling words…
“Mugland’s debt must be settled,” she said, her words cutting through the tense silence. “But I have a proposition for you.”
She leaned back in her chair, a cruel smirk playing on her lips. “Christia Tombend, the wealthy socialite who’s been lining the pockets of that corrupt deputy Anjelique Loveless, owns a golden hand telescope. A one-of-a-kind item I’ve been itching to add to my collection.”
Her gaze turned steely as she fixed her eyes on Mercy. “I don’t care how you get it or who you have to remove from your path. Just bring me that telescope.”
The room filled with a palpable tension. Mercy simply nodded, her face a mask of calm determination. “Consider it done.”
Tychus stepped into the city planning office, a grand edifice of stone and glass.
The room hummed with the dull murmur of countless scribes at work, their quills scratching away on parchment. At the counter, a bespectacled clerk looked up, peering over half-moon glasses.
“Can I help you, sir?” he asked, his voice carrying the restrained impatience of a man interrupted.
“I’m here to inquire about some building plans,” Tychus began, maintaining an air of calm indifference. “For Christia Tombend’s manor.”
A slight arch of the clerk’s brow was the only indication of surprise. “And why would you need those?” he questioned, his tone sharpening.
Tychus hesitated briefly, choosing his words with care. “Well, I have an interest in architecture. Historical research, you understand.”
The clerk’s gaze remained skeptical. “That’s highly unusual. We don’t normally disclose such information without a valid reason.”
Feeling the heat of suspicion, Tychus changed tactics. “Actually, I’ve been contracted for a potential expansion project. Tombend is considering adding a west wing to her manor.”
The clerk’s eyes narrowed further. “Expansion project, you say? Do you have any documentation to support that claim?”
Tychus cursed inwardly. “Regrettably, I don’t have it on me. It was more of a… verbal agreement,” he said, hoping the lie sounded believable.
The clerk looked unimpressed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but without proper documentation, I can’t provide you with the plans.”
Tychus nodded, swallowing his disappointment. “Of course, I understand. My apologies for the inconvenience.” He retreated quickly, feeling the clerk’s suspicious gaze on his back.
As he left the office, Tychus couldn’t help but feel a tinge of frustration. He had risked exposure and come away with nothing. But there was no time to wallow in failure. The group was relying on him, and he would have to find another way to get the information they needed.
The city of Alkenstar was a marvel of industry and technology, but beneath its well-oiled exterior, the criminal underworld thrived.
It was in this world that Dr. Qwyk, the goblin gunslinger, found himself as he navigated the labyrinthine back alleys, intent on meeting an informant known only as “Rat.”
Rat’s place was a squalid hole-in-the-wall, hidden between two towering warehouses. Inside, the air was thick with stale ale and unwashed bodies. Rat was hunched over a rickety table, his eyes gleaming with a certain warmth as he greeted Qwyk. “Heard you’re lookin’ for some info,” he rasped.
Qwyk, his eyes sharp and calculating, tossed a pouch of gold onto the table. “I need details about Tombend’s manor,” he said. “There’s more where that came from if your information is useful.”
As Rat divulged secrets about guard rotations, secret entrances, and potential escape routes, Qwyk etched every word into his memory. But it was what Rat said next that truly caught his attention.
“Y’know, Qwyk,” Rat said, “they say anyone who’s ever knocked off the manor… well, they’re something of a legend round these parts.” He gave Qwyk a knowing look. “Not that I’m suggesting anything.”
Rat then leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Now this bit, very few people know about,” he said, referring to a secret entrance. “Tombend, she’s certain no one knows about it. Probably feels real smug about it too. But in this city, nothing stays hidden for long.”
As Qwyk left Rat’s place, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation. They were about to attempt something few had achieved, and if they succeeded, they would not just settle their debt, but also earn a place in Alkenstar’s criminal folklore. The thought brought a smirk to Qwyk’s face. Christia Tombend had no idea what was coming.
The pub was a lively place, humming with the energy of its patrons.
The air was rich with the scent of tobacco smoke and strong ale, mingling with the spicy aroma of roasting meats from the kitchen. Laughter echoed off the wooden walls, punctuated by the occasional discordant note from a bard strumming in the corner.
In this bustling scene, Mercy found Tiffany – a striking figure amidst the crowd. Her fiery red hair cascaded down her shoulders, capturing the dim light of the pub and setting her apart from the others. She had an allure that was undeniable, her high cheekbones and pouty lips lending her an air of quiet rebellion that belied her servant’s attire.
Mercy approached her with a friendly smile, “Mind if I join you?” she asked, gesturing to the empty seat across.
Tiffany shrugged nonchalantly, her emerald eyes flickering with curiosity as she looked up from her half-empty pint. “Suit yourself.”
As the evening wore on, their conversation deepened. Tiffany spoke of her employer, Christia Tombend, with a thinly veiled disdain. She painted a picture of a woman who, despite her social standing, treated her employees as mere fixtures of her household. “She barely knows we exist, unless something goes wrong,” Tiffany confessed, her voice bitter.
Mercy listened attentively, her eyes reflecting a sympathetic understanding. “You’re worth more than that, Tiffany,” she said, her voice firm. “And I can offer you something better.”
Tiffany looked surprised, but there was a spark of hope in her eyes. “What could you possibly offer?” she asked, her tone skeptical yet intrigued.
Mercy leaned in, her eyes glinting with determination. “A fresh start at ‘The Bards and the Bees’. A place where your hard work will be appreciated, where you’ll be more than just a… fixture.”
Tiffany considered the offer; her gaze softened, and a slow smile spread across her face. “That sounds…nice,” she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
As the night progressed, Tiffany opened up more about Tombend’s mansion – a double-winged, two-floored structure with a telescope in the northmost bedroom and a valuable weapon in Tombend’s office. She warned them about the Shield Marshals, emphasizing the need for caution.
By the end of the evening, Mercy had not only gained an invaluable ally but also critical information that could potentially tilt their mission in their favor. All she had to do now was share this with the rest of the group.
In the dim light of the tavern, the disparate group convened once more.
Their individual exploits had yielded a wealth of information, but now came the task of weaving it all into a coherent plan.
Miss Mercy was the first to break the silence, her voice carrying an undercurrent of amusement. “Well, I’ve got a plan,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “We paint Qwyk gold, let him pose as a statue, and gift him to Christia Tombend.”
The table erupted in laughter, the tension momentarily forgotten. Dr. Qwyk rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched in a reluctant smile. “You’re hilarious, Mercy. But I think my plan is a bit more… practical. I’ve discovered an emergency tunnel that should lead us straight into the manor.”
Tychus frowned at that, his failed attempt at obtaining manor blueprints still fresh in his mind. “I hope you’re right, Qwyk. I nearly got us caught at the city planning office.”
Cyrus chimed in then, his tone hopeful. “Perhaps we won’t need to break in at all. Tombend doesn’t have any grand affairs planned, but she will be out for most of the day soon. If we can get inside…”
Silas nodded, adding his own findings to the mix. “Getting in won’t be easy, though. The place is crawling with Shield Marshals. Loveless isn’t even trying to hide her corruption anymore.”
Mercy, however, seemed undeterred. “I may have found our ticket once we get in,” she said, a sly grin on her face. “Meet Tiffany, one of Tombend’s servants.” She gestured to a woman sitting at the bar, nursing a drink. “She’s agreed to help us. Says she can clear out the servants from any rooms we need.”
As the group took in this information, the atmosphere grew more serious. Each member of the party understood their role, and the stakes involved. The plan was risky, to say the least, but if they were successful, they would not only settle Mugland’s debt, but also strike a blow against the corruption plaguing their city.
The collective information they had gathered had given them a solid plan of action: infiltrate Tombend’s manor via the emergency tunnel, take advantage of her absence, navigate past the Shield Marshals, and with Tiffany’s help, find the golden hand telescope.
As the midday sun hangs over Alkenstar, the Outlaws find themselves huddled near the edge of Tombend’s vast estate.
Amid the sprawling gardens and ornate sculptures, they locate a well-hidden entrance to the secret tunnel – a small, nondescript statue of an owl with eyes that swivel to reveal a hidden latch.
The tunnel is narrow and claustrophobic, with earthen walls illuminated by faintly glowing lichen. The air is dank and musty, carrying the scent of damp soil and centuries-old stone. They move in single file, their footsteps echoing eerily in the confined space. After what feels like an eternity, they reach a door, cleverly camouflaged as part of the wall.
As they push it open, they find themselves in a breathtaking display room. In the center, a miniature planetarium spins lazily, its celestial bodies glinting under the soft light. Display cases line the room, filled with an assortment of valuables – exquisite jewelry, ancient artifacts, and rare manuscripts, each seemingly more precious than the last.
Tiffany is waiting for them, just as planned. She blends in seamlessly with the opulence of the room, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Put on those fancy hats and let’s get started,” she urges, motioning towards the Hats of Disguise they had brought along. As they don the hats, their appearances shift to resemble ordinary servants, a mild illusion that would allow them to move around the manor undetected.
Tychus casts Detect Magic, and his eyes widen at the sight of magical traps encasing every display. Each case is layered with intricate enchantments, designed to trigger alarms at the slightest disturbance. But the Outlaws aren’t deterred. They agree to smash and grab the contents of this room once they’ve secured the golden telescope.
With their disguises in place and Tiffany leading the way, they venture deeper into Tombend’s manor.
Stepping out of the display room, Tiffany leads the Outlaws deeper into the manor, their disguises as servants providing an effective cover. As they ascend a grand marble staircase, they encounter a pair of Shield Marshals, their armor glinting under the chandeliers’ warm glow.
The Marshals halt them with a casual wave. “What’s all this then?” one of them asks, his gaze scrutinizing. The other Marshal leans on his halberd, his eyes flicking over the disguised Outlaws. “Never seen you lot before,” he remarks, his tone nonchalant but his eyes sharp.
Tychus steps forward, adopting the meek demeanor of a servant. “We’re new hires, sir,” he offers, his voice trembling just enough to sell the lie. “From the agency… for the upcoming event?”
The Marshals exchange a glance before waving them off. “Carry on then,” the first one grunts, already losing interest. A close call, but their cover remains intact.
Tiffany guides them to a lavish office, its centerpiece a magical Rapier showcased in an alarmed display case. Dr. Qwyk steps forward, his nimble fingers working on the case’s lock while Mercy stands by, ready to assist. Tychus casts Diabolic Edict, empowering Qwyk with a surge of focus and determination. The Goblin’s fingers move with newfound precision, and with a soft click, the lock disengages.
Simultaneously, Biskos and Cyrus scan the room. They uncover correspondence between Loveless and Tombend, revealing a web of corruption that runs deeper than they had imagined. With swift efficiency, they pocket the letters, evidence that could prove useful in the future.
With the magical rapier securely in their possession, the Outlaws move on to their main objective: the golden hand telescope.
The runes on the rapier glow mysteriously, casting an otherworldly light that seems to promise untold power. But there’s no time to ponder its secrets now; the master bedroom awaits.
The bedroom is grand, befitting a woman of Tombend’s stature. Luxurious drapes frame a large balcony, where a Shield Marshal stands guard, his back to the room. Tychus steps forward, uttering the incantation for Suggestion. He projects his thoughts towards the Marshal, as he tells the man, “You’re done for the day. It’s time for a break.”
For a moment, everything hangs in the balance. The Marshal stiffens, his body language indicating that he’s caught between his duty and the compelling suggestion invading his thoughts. The Outlaws hold their collective breaths, the tension in the room palpable.
Then, the Marshal relaxes, muttering to himself about needing lunch, and saunters off the balcony. A sigh of relief sweeps through the group as their gamble pays off.
With the Marshal gone, Dr. Qwyk makes his move. The golden hand telescope is encased in a display case similar to the one housing the rapier. His fingers dance over the lock, deftly disarming the alarm with practiced ease. With a triumphant grin, he lifts the telescope from its velvet cushion, holding it up to the dim light spilling from the chandeliers.
As the Outlaws stand there, the golden telescope in their possession, they can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. They’ve infiltrated Tombend’s mansion, outwitted the Shield Marshals, and retrieved the telescope. Their mission is nearly complete, but they know better than to celebrate just yet. The hardest part is yet to come – getting out without being detected.
With the golden telescope now in their possession, the Outlaws decide to make one last stop before they retreat – Tombend’s wine room. Located just off the office they had previously visited, it’s a treasure trove of vintage wines and rare spirits, a collection that speaks volumes about Tombend’s opulence.
As they enter the room, their disguises as servants still intact, they begin to rummage through the room under the guise of cleaning. The clinking of bottles and soft murmurs fill the room, the tension mounting with each passing moment.
Suddenly, the door creaks open, and a Shield Marshal steps in. His gaze sweeps over the room, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the ‘servants’ bustling about. “What’s going on here?” he asks, his tone suspicious.
Qwyk, quick on his feet, steps forward. “We’re just…uh…cleaning,” he stammers, struggling to maintain his composure. His words hang in the air, doing little to assuage the Marshal’s suspicion.
Just when it seems like their cover might be blown, Mercy steps in. Her demeanor is calm, her voice steady as she says, “We’re tactically cleaning, sir. It’s a new method to get each room done more rapidly.”
The Marshal pauses for a moment, considering her words. Then, with a grunt of acknowledgment, he turns and walks away, leaving them to their ‘cleaning’.
Tiffany lets out a sigh of relief as the door closes behind the Marshal. The room is silent for a moment, the close call reminding them of the risks they’re taking. But they don’t have the luxury of dwelling on what could have gone wrong. They quickly return to their task, working with renewed haste to gather anything valuable before making their exit.
With their loot in hand, the Outlaws make their way to a room they’d discovered earlier – a treasure trove of valuables, from exquisite jewelry to rare manuscripts.
The centerpiece, a miniature planetarium, spins lazily in the middle of the room, its celestial bodies casting a soft glow on the display cases lining the walls.
Tychus had noted the magical traps guarding the room and suggested that they plunder it last, knowing that the alarms would inevitably go off. Now, as they stand at the threshold of the room, they brace themselves for the impending chaos.
First, they secure the doors, using forged keys to lock them from the inside. The click of the locks falling into place echoes in the room, a prelude to the pandemonium about to unfold.
Then, in unison, they swing their weapons, the sound of shattering glass filling the room as they smash the display cases. They move quickly, efficiently, grabbing whatever they can and stashing it away. The room is a whirlwind of activity, each member of the party focused on their task.
Suddenly, they hear the pounding of boots on the floor outside, growing louder with each passing second. “Whoever is in there, you’re fucking dead!” a voice bellows from behind the door. The guards have arrived, their attempts to break down the doors adding to the cacophony in the room.
Amidst the chaos, the Outlaws remain calm. They continue looting, their actions methodical despite the escalating tension. It’s only when they’ve cleared out the room that they make their way to the secret tunnel, their escape route.
Dr. Qwyk is the last to leave. But before he disappears into the tunnel, he tosses a vial of alchemist fire into the room. The resulting explosion sends a wave of heat surging through the tunnel, followed by a chorus of alarmed shouts from the guards.
“Shit, use the keys, idiots!” one of them yells, but it’s too late. The Outlaws have vanished into the secret tunnel, leaving the guards clueless and their loot gone. Their daring heist is a success, their escape as audacious as their infiltration. As they navigate through the tunnel, the sounds of confusion and frustration from Tombend’s mansion grow faint, replaced by the triumphant laughter of the Outlaws of Alkenstar.
Having successfully executed their daring plan, the Outlaws of Alkenstar make their triumphant return to the Barrel & Bullet Saloon.
The establishment, which has served as their base of operations, is bustling with patrons, the atmosphere buzzing with stories of the day’s events.
As they enter, laden with their spoils, Foebe Dunsmith, the brown-skinned dwarf who owns the saloon, spots them. A wry smile plays on her lips as she raises an eyebrow at their haul. “Looks like you’ve had quite the day,” she remarks, her voice filled with amusement.
Qwyk, the goblin gunslinger, grins at her, jangling his bag of holding for emphasis. “Look at what fell off the back of the train,” he quips, earning a round of laughter from his companions.
Foebe chuckles, shaking her head in disbelief. “Only you lot could make grand larceny sound like a casual stroll in the park.”
The banter continues as Qwyk opens his bag, revealing a selection of expensive wines pilfered from Tombend’s manor. Foebe’s eyes light up at the sight. “Now that’s a fine collection,” she says, reaching out to examine one of the bottles. “Mind if I keep a few?”
Qwyk shrugs, nonchalant. “Be my guest, Foebe. Consider it a token of our appreciation.”
With a nod of thanks, Foebe picks a few bottles, her eyes twinkling with delight. She then turns to the group, her gaze sweeping over each member. “You know,” she begins, her tone serious, “what you’ve done today is damn near legendary.”
The group exchanges glances, their expressions reflecting a mix of pride and surprise. They hadn’t expected such praise, especially from someone as hard to impress as Foebe.
Foebe continues, “Getting in and out of Tombend’s manor is one thing. But reaching into Christia Tombend’s pockets? That’ll hurt Anjelique Loveless more than any sword could.”
Among their spoils are two items of particular interest. One is a collection of correspondence between Loveless and Tombend, yet to be examined but promising a wealth of information about the inner workings of the city’s power dynamics. The other is Tombend’s infamous “little black book,” a detailed record of her romantic liaisons, complete with size ratings, performance ratings, and an array of other creative categories that elicited a few chuckles from the group.
These documents held potential secrets that could further tilt the scales in their favor, potentially exposing vulnerabilities in their opponents, or revealing alliances they could exploit. But for now, they had to deliver the prize to the Gilded Halls.
The Outlaws of Alkenstar, fresh from their audacious heist at Christia Tombend’s mansion, are now on a new mission.
They’re heading to the Gilded Halls, a grand edifice that serves as the lair for Sabora Sharkosa, the feared head of the Gilded Gunners.
They are to deliver the golden hand telescope they retrieved, a symbol of their daring and cunning.
As they navigate the labyrinthine streets of Alkenstar, Tychus breaks the silence, his voice echoing in the chilly night air. “Let’s see if Sharkosa is on the up and up,” he comments, casting a sideways glance at his companions. His words hang in the air, a stark reminder of the potential pitfalls of dealing with Sharkosa, known for her ruthless nature and manipulative tactics.
Upon reaching the Gilded Halls, they are ushered into the same opulent room they’d met Sharkosa in previously. The gold-laced carpet glimmers under the soft light, and the room is guarded by several Gilded Gunners, their presence a silent threat. In one corner, the Clockwork Gilded Gunner stands sentinel, its mechanical eyes scanning the room. On the couch, Ambrose Mugland is bound, his eyes wide with fear and anticipation.
Dr. Qwyk, the goblin gunslinger, leads the group. As they enter, he raises his weapon, revealing the golden telescope fastened to it. Sharkosa’s eyes narrow at the sight, her lips curling into a smirk. “You plan on handin’ that over Dr. Qwyk?” she asks, her voice as cold as steel.
There’s a brief pause before Qwyk unfastens the scope and tosses it to Sharkosa. As it arcs through the air, glinting in the dim light, Tychus chimes in, “Did anyone examine that scope by the way?”
The tension in the room is palpable as Tychus asks his question, the golden telescope hanging in mid-air like a harbinger of the impending chaos. His words echo ominously in the silence that follows, each syllable a stark reminder of their potential oversight. The Outlaws exchange quick, uneasy glances – a silent acknowledgment of the irony of their situation. They had planned an audacious heist, infiltrating Tombend’s mansion, avoiding Shield Marshals, and now stood within Sharkosa’s lair with their prize. Yet, they might have overlooked the most crucial detail.
As the golden telescope lands into Sharkosa’s hands, a sudden voice echoes from the prized object. It’s Loveless, her voice filled with unmistakable glee. “You five and you too Sharkosa, Ya’ll need to learn who to trust!” she taunts, her laughter filling the chamber. It’s a chilling sound that lasts for a fleeting moment before it is swallowed by the deafening explosion of a smoke bomb.
Just before the smoke fills the room, Cyrus’ eyes dart around, instinctively assessing the situation. He catches sight of Ambrose Mugland, looking even more nervous than usual. The man is practically a bundle of nerves, his eyes wide and darting around the room. His gaze also falls upon Drela, one of Sharkosa’s gang leaders. There’s a look on her face that Cyrus recognizes all too well – guilt mixed with anxiety. The pieces start to fall into place in his mind, but it’s all happening too fast.
In the blink of an eye, the room is engulfed in thick smoke. Visibility drops to nearly zero, and confusion reigns. Coughs and shouts fill the air as everyone tries to make sense of what just happened. The triumphant atmosphere has evaporated, replaced by uncertainty and the sting of betrayal. The Outlaws find themselves in a situation far more dangerous than they had anticipated – caught in a trap within the den of one of the city’s most feared underworld figures.
As Loveless’ laughter dies down, replaced by the muffled chaos of the smoke bomb, the Outlaws of Alkenstar spring into action.
The grandeur of the Gilded Halls is now obscured by a thick cloud of smoke, reducing visibility to near zero and transforming the once opulent room into a battlefield of shadows and uncertainty.
From the haze, the silhouette of Drela emerges, hastily untying Ambrose Mugland. Cyrus, having made his way over, watches the scene unfold with narrowed eyes. But the smoke is thick, and each passing second makes it harder to see.
It’s Dr. Qwyk who acts first. Thanks to his darkvision, he can make out the shapes in the smoke better than most. His weapon raised, he fires at Drela, hoping to distract her from freeing Mugland. But his shot goes wide, disappearing into the smoky abyss.
With an agility that belies his appearance, Mugland breaks free from his bonds. A gun slips into his hand, courtesy of Drela, and he fires blindly at the advancing shadow of Cyrus. The shot misses its mark, swallowed by the smoke. Seizing the opportunity, Mugland turns to escape through a nearby door, his diminutive form darting towards freedom.
“Not so fast you sawed-off varmint!” Cyrus roars, his voice cutting through the smoke-filled chaos. With a swift acrobatic tumble, he darts past Mugland, cutting off one of his escape routes. His movement is a blur, a shadow dancing in the smoke, positioning himself between Mugland and his freedom.
Meanwhile, Biskos, the monk with the mechanical arm, tries to navigate through the chaos towards Mugland. He stumbles, however, and ends up next to Drela instead. He swings his arm, but his attack misses its mark, his mechanical fist cutting through nothing but smoke.
Tychus, feeling a deep surge of anger towards Mugland, draws upon his catharsis. The emotion fuels him, granting him blinding speed as he charges towards the halfling. He tumbles past, deftly cutting off Mugland’s other avenue of escape. With a swift incantation, he casts a command spell, forcing Mugland to drop prone. His voice echoes in the room, a commanding force amidst the chaos.
The room, once a grand testament to Sharkosa’s wealth, is now a battlefield shrouded in smoke. Figures dart and weave in the haze, their actions punctuated by the sharp report of gunfire and the hiss of spells. Amidst this chaos, Miss Mercy stands tall. Her fingers dance in the air, weaving an intricate pattern as she casts Prestidigitation, attempting to clear the smoke. There’s a brief ripple in the air, like a sigh from the room itself, but the smoke proves too thick for the spell. Undeterred, Mercy raises her voice in song, her Bardic Inspire Courage ability filling the room with a melody that soars above the din, lending strength to her companions.
Dr. Qwyk fires yet again through the smoke, his aim guided by the faint outlines of figures. The gunshot echoes in the room, followed by a yelp of pain. “You hack scientist!” Ambrose Mugland’s voice cuts through the smoke, his insult aimed at Qwyk.
Cyrus, his eyes trained on Mugland, loads an acid vial into his alchemical crossbow. He takes aim, his gaze steady despite the swirling smoke, and fires. The bolt whistles through the air, striking Mugland with unerring accuracy. The impact pins him against a gilded statue, the acid eating away at his clothes. Fear flashes in his eyes, a stark contrast to his defiant words.
“Just so you know, horn head, I broke that Ruby of yours!” Mugland calls out, his voice echoing in the room. Tychus, the anger simmering within him now a roaring flame, retaliates by casting Boneshaker. The spell hits Mugland, shaking him to his core and eliciting a gasp of pain.
Meanwhile, Miss Mercy moves to join the rest of the party, her eyes fixed on Mugland. With a swift incantation, she casts Telekinetic Projectile, sending a barrage of debris hurtling towards the halfling. He cries out as he’s struck, his words a desperate threat. “I’m ordering Vanholes to kill ALL your girls when I get out of here!”
Throughout the chaos, Qwyk weaves his way around the maze-like room, his mind racing to cut off any escape route for Mugland. His movements are quick and precise, a testament to his determination and focus.
Biskos, the monk with a mechanical arm as hard as iron, emerges from the swirling smoke, his silhouette a formidable figure against the murky backdrop.
His eyes find their target, Mugland, and his lips curve into a grin that’s all sharp edges and merciless intent.
Sharkosa follows him out of the room, her gaze cold and calculating as she surveys the chaos. Her attention is riveted on Mugland, a cruel satisfaction gleaming in her eyes as she watches the halfling’s desperate attempts to escape.
In a bid for freedom, Mugland darts down a passage, only to step on a pressure plate. The sharp, mechanical click echoes through the corridor, followed by the heavy crash of a portcullis trapping him. “By the bloody hells!” he swears, spinning around to find another route, only to come face to face with Biskos’ predatory smile.
As Mugland tries to slip past the group, Biskos moves with lightning speed, blocking his path. The halfling skids to a halt, his expression shifting from surprise to resignation.
From the corner of the room, Miss Mercy begins to chant, her fingers tracing arcane symbols in the air. With a flick of her wrist, she casts a Telekinetic Projectile spell, targeting the most degrading object in sight – the bucket Mugland had been using for his personal relief. The bucket soars through the air, its unsavory contents sloshing about, before it connects with Mugland’s face. He falls to the ground, unconscious, the contents of the bucket splattered over him.
With their adversary incapacitated, the Outlaws of Alkenstar close in. They take turns dealing blows, each one calculated to incapacitate rather than kill. Each time Mugland falls unconscious, they revive him, only to knock him out again. It’s a brutal cycle, a stark reminder of the consequences of betrayal.
Sharkosa watches the scene unfold with a satisfied smile, her laughter echoing ominously in the smoke-filled room.
As the final echoes of their victory fade, the silence is shattered by the sharp sound of gunfire. Many shots ring out, the noise reverberating through the halls. A scream pierces the air – Dresa, former Lieutenant of the Gilded Gunners, has paid the ultimate price for her betrayal. Her voice rings out one last time before the silence claims her
Now, as they stand amongst the Gilded Halls, the Outlaws of Alkenstar look to the future. Whispers hint at new opportunities on the horizon, and perhaps it’s time for Miss Mercy to reclaim her past – the Bards and Bees Brothel.
They’ve grown stronger, more experienced, and they’ve proven they can turn the tables even when the odds are stacked against them.
