The Shadow Revealed

523WeShRe

As the orders from Cali were called out and the reluctant men started returning to their posts that’s when the crew and party realised it was too late. A metallic. unearthly screech tore through the air as massive boarding harpoons launched outward from portholes with thick ragged rope attaching each of them to the larger vessel. Each harpoon snaked forward, moving not with the random chaos of an abandoned ship – but with precision, with purpose as if guided by a force.

They struck the Stardrinker’s hull with power causing the ship to shudder after each impact. The harpoons, biting deep into its wood as the thick, aged ropes Grew taught as the larger ship pulled the Stardrinker back in line with it. For a moment after an foreboding quiet blanketed the ship as the crew reeled from the sudden attack. As Cali and Roth called back to ship demanding to be freed the silence was all that met their calls.

‘I know what this is,’ Cali muttered the colour draining from her face. ‘The Shadow.’ the words cut like a knife through the air and the crew started muttering to the gods that watched over those that sailed the sea, or anything that was watching that they would blessed another day to sail. But only the Shadow answered.

At first, it was subtle – the whisper of rope shifting against itself, the faint creak of tightening fibres – but within seconds, it turned into a monstrous, living force. The coiled mass of ropes, thick as serpents, unravelled from the ships masts and the deck, shooting down and outward like grasping limbs, searching, hunting. The Shadow revealed its final plan – to leave no prisoners alive.

One ensnared a deckhand first who was barely able to cry out before it wound around his arms, his legs, jerking him backward in a sickening snap. The ropes did not pull him overboard, nor did they drop him into the sea. They dragged him up and over the ripped wood, up the hull, through the broken railing and onto the deck where his cries began in earnest.

His scream, raw and desperate, cut short as a presence oozed out from the ship, outwards across the deck of the shorter ship.

And then the others were taken.

The second mate, Roth, fought against the ropes as they latched around his waist. He slashed at them with a knife, but they tightened, pulling him toward the edge. A sailor grabbed hold of him – two, then three – all trying to keep their second in the Stardrinker’s grasp.

The ship shuddered beneath them.

For a moment, it almost seemed like The Shadow breathed – a deep, guttural groan of wood bending, shifting, drawing closer.

Cali roared for them to cut the ropes, but the moment her voice rang out, one shot toward her, fast – faster than any natural movement. She ducked, rolling instinctively, grabbing hold of the wheel as it whipped past her.

The party had moments, seconds, to act before the ropes came for them, before the crew was gone, before The Shadow revealed more ropes and took them all beneath its deck to unimaginable horrors.

---

Deserter of the Gift

522WeDeGi

Night had fallen without incident, the first time since leaving the Wolfgard. As the group had suffered some casualties and injuries in most recent encounter with a mage who practiced necromancy. As such the party had been nominated to watch the wagon over the night. The attempts had become less frequent as the days went on and despite the attack at the town where they were meant to pick up the draft horses – which resulted in the fresh horses being killed – there had been no more attacks during the night.

This was probably due to Captain Argent taking an alternative route off the main road which meant that only truly experienced hunters and trackers would find them. As the crackle from the small fired cast a flickering light across the crew that remained with them the party noticed an empty space where a bedroll was earlier that night. Investigating they soon found one of the guards, Buhfed, trying to sneak out using one of the small tents as a block.

Stopping him he sighed, dropped his sack filled with a few days of supplies and turned around. His face was one of exhaustion but not shame or guilt. ‘I kinda expected you would catch me. I just wont play the royals game any more no matter the bonus they were payin’ me to make sure it played out.’ he looked in the direction of the wagon but it was out of the line of sight.

‘The king is the one who put out the bounty on the wagon. The spells on it to protect the contents? Pah! they are spells so the king and his spoilt brats can watch the fighting that we have to do to get it there on time. I was promised a captains job, comfortable with a small team to guard the halls in the palace – nothing happens in there. But I didn’t sign up to fight the undead or necromancers. We lost too many men, I didn’t sign up for this.’ he added, his lips trembling.

As he returned to the fire and spoke in a hushed voice that he was sure the spells would not be able to detect he told the party of what the plan was. Men, monsters, fiends of the gutters would fight tooth and nail for a chance to get the bounty on the wagon. The king would pay it too as his gift wasn’t something in the wagon – it was watching what happened outside of it as the party moved it across the land.

Since Edward and Anna had changed course he would up the ante, leak information as to where they were and it would get worse on their final day of travel and Buhfed wouldn’t have the blood of more people on his conscious. The bounty was only if the wagon was opened before it made it to the city and so if they still wanted the payout from the king – and to keep their reputations in tact they had to get it there fast.

The question was now, how? If what they had faced was just those who were unskilled what would happen if a group who was skilled caught up to them. The party needed a plan, they needed to let Anna and Edward Argent know.

---

The String Master

521WeStMa

The party absorbed the unnamed mans words and shifted anxiously, tension thickening in the stagnant air of the courtyard. A setup. A carefully crafted story meant to write them as thieves in a crime that never occurred.

The man’s smirk deepened. He slowly loosened the clasp of his cloak, letting it fall open, revealing a sash lined with delicate silver embroidery—a mark of high station, but worn subtly enough to avoid unwanted attention.

‘You misunderstand,’ he said smoothly, ‘the vault wasn’t robbed, because it never needed to be.’

The words hung in the air for a heartbeat too long. Then, realization struck like the tolling of a bell.

The string master, the person calling the shots and twisting the story – someone within the king’s own court – had no interest in the vault’s treasures. They weren’t after gold, nor jewels, nor the ancient artifacts locked behind enchanted barriers. What they wanted was something already outside those grand doors. Something in the party’s possession.

A relic, A weapon, A key. Something that they needed desperately enough to kill the party and take it from their corpses.

Whatever it was, they had it, and they had never known its value – until now.

The man started to hum as the party asked for more information. ‘If I do, you’ll have few choices: leave this city quietly and live, or stay and become hunted again, or work with me to bring the real villain to justice.’

The party exchanged glances. They had fought for their lives since the moment they’d stepped into this tangled web. Retreat was not an option. ‘You were chosen,’ he continued, circling them like a man used to being in charge. ‘You were the perfect scapegoats – troublemakers with enough skill to disappear if need be, but reckless enough that nobody would question your supposed ambition. The theft was fabricated because they needed a reason to pursue you. If the bounty hunters can’t kill you then hopefully they tire you out just enough to hand over what they need.’

His grin was razor-sharp. ‘Why am I telling you all of this? Because I have something they want, too and I won’t be parting with it.’ The weight of his statement settled. This wasn’t just a revelation – it was an alliance forged in quiet desperation.

The question wasn’t whether they could trust him. It was whether they could afford not to.

---

Chasing the Muse

520WeChMu

The party had found a different route that should take them out of harms way from the goblins territory. As they set up camp for the night they decided on a small fire to try and keep it smokeless and keeping it hidden by digging a deeper into a fire pit to avoid the light of the flame travelling too far.

Once the fire was set they retrieved their supplies to avoid trying to attract any wild creatures by hunting and cooking for their meal. But when they went to check what they had remaining they were greeted by a large hole cut into their bags – much of their supplies were missing.

As the night went on Reginald was strangely quiet, always staring off the way they had come and appearing to be listening to searching for something. When questioned he sighed and simply said ‘I fear that I will continue chasing the muse as the last day of travel has been uneventful.’ His attitude was wearing thin on the party – some of which were injured because of his previous actions.

As they settled down for the night the wagon driver offered to take the last watch to make sure they had a full nights sleep in case they needed to leave in a hurry. The party woke up to the sound of cracking wood and the dancing light of the fire as wood had been piled high into the pit. Reginald stood, awake, watching the direction they had come as his driver snored deeply – a wine skin of water tipped over in his lap.

‘I worried that the trail of food would not be enough. But I think this has done it. I saw something in the distance moving. Best wake up the rest of them as I believe I will finally have the inspiration I need for my masterpiece!’ he smiled broadly as he climbed to the top of his wagon and sat on the canvas with quill and parchment, waiting.

---