Meanwhile, in a rugged valley south of Firefall Territory.
Jagged rocks littered the ground, and dead, twisted trees crisscrossed beneath the moonlight like the shadows of menacing ghosts.
Unless you looked closely, it was hard to spot the sizable camp hidden among the low caves and the shadows of the dense woods.
Sharp wooden palisades surrounded the camp, with several dried corpses hanging from them, creaking against the wood in the night wind.
Compared with the proper Zhentarim, this bandit camp had no order whatsoever. Shabby hide tents stood crookedly together, while bones picked clean and broken ale jugs littered the ground.
A bonfire flickered in the middle of camp, lighting up a crowd of thugs with brutish faces and mismatched leather armor.
"Let's drink to our generous benefactor! Here's to the gold!" The bandits crowded around the fire, clinking rusty tankards and gulping down cheap ale.
This lavish life, funded by someone else, had them completely lost in revelry before the killing began.
The bandit chief, One-Eye Baron, lounged in a scarred oak chair, an arm around a trembling village woman as he carved into a half-raw piece of venison with his dagger.
"Boss," a sharp-featured underling crept closer and whispered, "the Yeland Family sent another message. They're pressuring us to hit the border villages in Firefall Territory within the next couple of days. They said if we don't act, we can forget about the next shipment of supplies and reward money."
"Fuck the Yeland Family!" the bandit chief spat a bloody wad of phlegm, a hint of apprehension and disgust in his eye. "Those old foxes want to eat meat without getting their hands dirty. They just keep sending us off to die. If we attract the attention of Cormyr's Purple Dragon Legion, those nobles will be the