02/05/2026: The Bandits Attack

Worried that the bandits will attack, Jeff watches two of them closely. One uses curious hand signals to ask a question of the second rogue: “I thought Captain Grack said we’d kill them. Why is he telling them now that if they give us their gold and weapons we’ll let them go?”

The second rogue, rolling his eyes at his comrade’s lack of insight, answers in the same sorts of hand signals, “The Cap is making them give over all their valuables, then we take them down!”

No one in the group of mourners understands what is being said, save one. Jeff, a rogue trained in the shadows of Waterdeep, has command of Thieves’ Cant, the secret language of the underworld. His eyes widen as he understands the intent. “They’re going to betray us!” he shouts, his voice carrying across the gravestones and echoing against the nearby mausoleum.

The group wheels to face their attackers, the rasp of steel against leather filling the air as weapons are drawn. The three henchmen are slight and poorly armed, but their leader is a more formidable specimen—thick-necked and scarred, with eyes that glitter even in the gloom.

Sean charges forward, a dagger gripped in each hand, and slashes at the man on his right. The bandit’s rapier flashes upward in a vicious counterstrike, tangling in Sean’s dreadlocks with a sickening tug. Cursing, the bandit quickly pulls out his own dagger and slashes through two of the dreads to free his blade. Blood wells from Sean’s scalp as the bandit slices him again, then grabs one of barbarian’s wrists in a brutal attempt to disarm him.

Sean jerks his hand back, maintaining his grip on the weapon, but his scalp wound drips into his eyes, blurring his vision. The bandit, also bleeding from Sean’s initial strike, snarls and drops back a step. His cocky sneer has vanished—he’s cautious now, surprised that at least one of these novice adventurers is willing to fight back.

Bob appears at Sean’s elbow, his hands already glowing with divine energy as he casts Cure Wounds. The laceration knits closed beneath a warm wash of golden light, and Sean nods his thanks. Bob then slips behind the barbarian’s broad shoulders, hoping desperately to stay out of the front lines.

“Wait!” A hollow, tinny voice rings out.

All eyes turn to Dante, the warforged, whose metallic frame gleams in the dim light as they confront the bandit captain. “There must be some way for us to all walk out of here tonight,” they begin, their voice resonating like a brass bell.

Eyes narrowing, the captain snarls, “The lawyer spoke of an inheritance…a large one. Give it to us and we’ll let you go free!” Spittle flies from his lips.

“It’s large enough that you can have half and be satisfied,” Dante tells him evenly.

“How much?” the captain presses, stepping closer, greed sharpening his features.

Viktor gasps, “Don’t tell him how much!”

Without hesitation, Dante confesses, “10,000 gold.”

A predatory grin spreads across the captain’s face. “Make a blood pact with me, then, wizard! Give me your hand!” He gestures sharply at his three henchmen. “You lot—watch them while we make the Oath.”

Following their captain’s order, the bandits draw weapons on the rest of the group, though their eyes drift toward the time-honored ritual about to unfold.

Reluctantly, Dante presents their hand. They wince as the bandit captain draws a blade across both their palms with practiced ease, his orcish blood mingling with the viscous oily blood of the warforged’s. The bandit captain intones, his voice dripping with satisfaction, “I, Grack of the Red Eye Thieves’ Guild, will spare the life of Dante the Wizard in exchange for half their inheritance…5,000 gold pieces.”

Dante nods stiffly, then pulls their hand away, oil and blood dripping to the ground.

As this unfolds, Jayce stealthily edges out of the group’s view, melting into the gloom surrounding the mausoleum. He whispers an incantation and casts Jump upon himself, then springs silently upward, his boots landing without sound on the structure’s cold stone roof.

The only one to see this is Viktor, who slips behind the mausoleum’s shadow. Jayce reaches down and hauls him up with surprising strength. Together they crouch low, watching what unfolds below. Things are beginning to go sideways.

“Betray me and earn the enmity of the Red Eyes,” Grack says with vicious satisfaction, wiping his bloody palm on his vest. “There are 400 of us within Waterdeep, and we will hunt you down like rabbits. Now—I’ll take my 5,000 gold.” He extends his hand expectantly.

Dante blinks. “Um, we have to do this thing before we get the 10,000…” they explain.

Grack’s face darkens like a thundercloud. “Is this some kind of trick?”

Jeremiah realizes that the negotiations have broken down irretrievably. Without warning, the monk explodes into motion, leaping at the henchman closest to him. His foot connects with the man’s chest in a thunderous kick that echoes off the mausoleum walls. The bandit crashes backward onto the ground and lies still, the breath knocked from his lungs.

Dante realizes they’ve made a terrible mistake by agreeing to the blood oath. They lunge at the captain with a desperate Poison Spray cantrip, a cloud of noxious green mist erupting from their oozing palm. The captain reels back, momentarily distracted, giving Dante the precious seconds they need to flee.

The bandit captain spins around to confront them, murder blazing in his eyes. “You will pay dearly for that, oath-breaker!” he roars.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​