Skirmish at the Crossroads

As the dust settles over the churned mud of the battlefield, the scent of ozone and iron lingers in the air. The Warlock lies slumped over a pile of discarded crates, their dark robes still smoldering from the final exchange of spells. Nearby, the three Rangers remain where they fell among the tall grass, their camouflage having failed them against the party's resolve. Searching the bodies reveals a mix of rugged frontier gear and a few curiosities gathered by the Warlock from less savory sources. The spoils represent a significant windfall for adventurers just starting to make their mark on the world.