ROTR Session 7

In absence of tracks

Ever since the tense meeting with Mayor Kendra Deverin and the Sandpoint sentinels four days ago, the elven ranger Shalelu Andosana had been tirelessly scouting the hinterlands. The five Goblin tribes were gathering somewhere—plotting something—and time was slipping away.
For the first two days, she swept through the southern reaches, from Sandpoint to the Foxglove River. The lands were eerily quiet, the usual signs of goblin activity strangely absent. With little more than old tracks and scavenger dens to show for her efforts, she returned to Sandpoint briefly, just long enough to resupply and report her findings to Vannrik, Jinx, and Rabie. News of a stray Goblin attacking a local family only fueled her urgency. She stayed barely twenty minutes before setting out again, this time heading east.
Her first stop was Tickwood—a dense, shadowed stretch of forest that, while not known to house an entire goblin tribe, was too close to Sandpoint to ignore. As she moved through the trees, a disturbance in the snow caught her eye. A peculiar ring of crimson-stained frost marked the ground, accompanied by traces of lingering magic. Spellcasting. Shalelu knelt, brushing gloved fingers over the disturbed snow, recognizing the telltale signs of a familiar hand at work. Vannrik. A small smile ghosted across her lips. He had been here. What had he been up to? She was tempted to linger, to study his handiwork more closely, but time was pressing. No goblins had taken up residence here, and her path lay further north.
To the north of Tickwood sprawled Shank's Wood, a rugged expanse of pine and eucalyptus known as the stomping ground of the Seven Tooth goblins. The forest, tangled with game trails—goblin trails, as locals called them—was typically alive with chattering vermin. But something was wrong.
The goblin camps were abandoned. A few feeble sentries remained, barely capable of wielding rusted blades. These were not warriors—just scraps left behind to guard empty holdings.
The further east she ventured, the clearer the pattern became.
Southeast of Shank’s Wood, Mosswood stretched wide, its towering redwoods sheltering what had long been the largest goblin population in the region—a chaotic gathering of 34 goblin families. Normally, Mosswood teemed with the stink of goblin dens, the sound of chittering voices, the remains of half-eaten kills. But now?
Nothing.
The silence was wrong. No scavengers circled overhead. No bones littered the forest floor. The goblins had vanished.
Shalelu scouted further south, even venturing into the lonely Tors, but the truth was already clear: The Mosswood goblins had moved.
And there was only one place they could have gone.
Nettlewood.
The Thistletop goblins, infamous for their near-impenetrable hold along the coast, had always been the most secure tribe in the region. If the Mosswood goblins—and perhaps others—had gathered there, it meant one thing: this wasn’t a migration. It was a war camp.
Shalelu exhaled sharply, gripping the strap of her quiver.
She couldn't go in alone. This was bigger than just scouting now.
Turning westward, she set her sights on Sandpoint. They needed to know. And fast.

 

The missing bartender

Jinx stares down at the translated note in disbelief. The answers he had planned to seek about Tsuto had already found him.
Bethana gazes up at Jinx with wide, pleading eyes. "I think Ameiko is in trouble." she says, her voice trembling on the verge of breaking.
"I think she is." Rabie adds, consumed with the gravity of the situation.
"I think so too, but we will find her for you. Don't worry." Jinx reassures her, his heart aching at the worry etched into the halfling’s face.
"I hope so," Bethana whispers, squeezing Jinx’s hand with a quiet desperation. "You can do this," she adds, though it sounds more like she is trying to convince herself than him.
Jinx feels the faint pressure of her grasp. He places his other hand over hers and forces a smile, willing his confidence to be infectious. "Yes, I will do this. We will get her back."
As the Sentinels gather their belongings to set out, Vannrik leans closer to Jinx. "I don't know exactly how your divination works with the cards. Do you think you can find her that way?"
The gnome furrows his brow. "What do you mean, my friend?"
"Can you find her with your cards?" the Jadwiga clarifies.
Jinx shakes his head with a dismissive chuckle. "No, my cards don’t work like that. I could try to divine her fortune if we had time, but finding her location requires a different kind of magic."
Rabie, ever mindful of the tensions in the Kaijitsu Family family, redirects them back to the task at hand. "I think we should go to the Glassworks as soon as possible."
The others nod in agreement.

  Without hesitation, the sentinels set out. Vannrik swings the door open, stepping into the crisp morning air. The Glassworks looms beyond, their destination clear.
But in his haste, he nearly collides with Shalelu, who rushes toward the Rusty Dragonwith equal urgency.
Shalelu’s black eyes widen in surprise. "Ah, here you are! I have found some answers—I know where they are."
The Sentinels freeze in place.
"Please, tell us," Vannrik urges.
Shalelu exhales sharply. "I have searched everywhere but the Nettlewood. They must be there." She studies their faces, already reading the resolve in their expressions. They are planning their next move.
But she is not finished. Her voice lowers, heavy with something worse. "All the tribes' lands—all their holdings—are abandoned. They have emptied them completely. There must be hundreds of Goblins in the Nettlewood alone."
Jinx groans in frustration. The conspiracy behind the goblin attack and the threat to Sandpoint was finally coming into focus, but now, everything was unraveling at once. A floodgate of threats had burst open, and he needed to prioritize.
"We need to look into that," he says, "but we have more urgent matters."
Shalelu’s dark eyes narrow into slits. "What could be more urgent than this? Are there more stray goblins in town?"
"No," Jinx answers. "Ameiko is missing. We are on our way to find her. I suggest you join us—we’ll fill you in on the way."
Shock washes over Shalelu’s face. Ameiko was one of her dearest friends. "Ameiko is missing..." she repeats, as if saying it aloud will make it real.

  The four heroes rush westward toward the coast. Mid-stride, Shalelu skims through the note.
"Tsuto," she mutters, cursing under her breath. "I hoped we’d never have to hear from him again."

   

Toddbringer

The group reaches the imposing building. It looms over them, silent and still, its doors firmly shut. Tall glass windows stretch along the structure, a testament to the craft of its workers, but behind the glass, only thick curtains are visible—as if the building itself were hiding something.
Rabie instinctively moves toward the delivery entrance mentioned in the note and motions for the others to follow. The same silence greets them, thick with unease. Danger lurks beyond these walls. They proceed with caution.
"Do we just knock on the door?" Rabie asks.
"We can try, yes," Jinx answers, pressing his face against the window. He frowns, stepping back. "There is nothing to see through the windows, guys."
Rabie raps his knuckles against the wide wooden door in the pattern described in the letter. They wait, but the Glassworks remains silent, offering no answer.
While they stand there, Vannrik notices movement across the street. A few townsfolk have paused on their way to work, their curiosity piqued. The people of Sandpoint have always been a nosy lot.
Rabie tries the door, but it won’t budge. Just as he turns back to his companions, he catches sight of the gawkers. "Do you want me to ask them if they have seen Ameiko?"
If the building won’t give them answers, maybe the townsfolk will.

  "Ameiko?" One of the onlookers pipes up. "Well, she is normally serving breakfast at the Rusty Dragon around this time." A flicker of realization crosses her face—something interesting is happening, and she’s determined to find out what. "You know she doesn’t talk to her father. Why would you look for her here? Did something happen?"
Rabie, sensing the conversation heading in the wrong direction, scrambles for an excuse, but the woman presses on. "Is it true that Lonjiku came to the inn the other day?"
"It is true," Rabie answers. "But there was a small skirmish in the tavern, and we wanted to help Ameiko with cooling things down. We think she may have come here and want to show our support."
By now, more townspeople have gathered, pressing closer, their questions piling up faster than Rabie can answer. Then, a new voice cuts through the crowd.
"What’s going on here?" A woman named Katarina demands. "Are you working for Lonjiku? Tell him to give me my husband back! He was supposed to come home last night! I know that he wants to squeeze as many hours out of his workers as he can, but this is ridiculous!"
Rabie seizes the opportunity. "With pleasure!" he declares, feigning indignation. He turns to his companions. "Let’s try the front entrance and see where her husband is."
To his relief, the others play along.
Katarina marches beside Rabie while the rest of the townsfolk linger at a distance, watching closely. When the Sentinels reach the front entrance, they try the door—locked, just as before.
Katarina scowls. "Who does that man think he is? A jailor? He keeps my husband here all the time, now even overnight, and the doors are locked?" She slams her fist against the heavy wooden door like a battering ram. The sharp sound echoes through the quiet street, making Shalelu wince.
"Katarina, please calm down," Rabie shushes, lifting a hand in a placating gesture. Vannrik leans in, nodding along.
Before Katarina can answer, Jinx steps between her and Rabie, his tone light but firm. "Do you not believe this hero of Sandpoint? Did we not prove ourselves yet?"
Katarina’s face flushes with embarrassment. She exhales sharply, her anger giving way to reluctant trust. "You know what, I cannot stand that horrible boss of him anyway. You get my husband back and tell him that I'm taking care of the kids, -again!-"
  With that, she stomps off, with the rest of the crowd following her, leaving the Sentinels to their next obstacle.
 

Glass

With some embarrassment, Rabie produces a set of thieves’ tools from his bag. Without a word, he kneels by the lock and gets to work.
Jinx nudges the elven ranger beside him. "Shalelu, perhaps you can assist him?"
Shalelu watches Rabie’s careful hands moving over the lock’s intricate mechanisms and shakes her head. "I have no idea how to work locks. I normally roam the woodlands."
Jinx exhales sharply, tapping his foot against the ground. "Nevermind."
Shalelu glances at him, arching a brow at the assumption. "I will keep an eye out for more onlookers," she says sternly.
Rabie’s brow glistens with sweat as he painstakingly coaxes the stubborn lock. Jinx watches, unease settling in his gut. The Glassworks is the most prominent business in Sandpoint—Lonjiku must have spared no expense securing it. Rabie is clever, resourceful, but he’s no master thief. What if he can’t do this?
Vannrik must be thinking the same. He reaches into his pack and pulls out a heavy iron crowbar, letting its weight rest in his hands. "I have a different kind of key, if you're willing to go that route." His tone is careful—he won’t act without the group’s consent.
Rabie exhales, as if releasing a weight from his shoulders.
"That sounds like an interesting idea." Jinx, eager for a faster approach, takes a step back. "I'll take a step back."
With an outstretched arm, Rabie bids the Jadwiga to proceed.
Jinx points out the best angle for leverage while Rabie explains where the bolts are located, but Vannrik ignores the distractions. He trusts his own strength. Planting his feet, he grips the crowbar and pulls in a fluid, powerful motion. Once. Twice. Three times. CREAK. The thick wood splinters under the strain, right where it should, and the metal bolts bend against his sheer force.
There’s no disguising the break-in, but they have their entrance.
"Any idea what that door would have cost?" Vannrik asks, glancing at his companions.
"We are saving people," Rabie reassures. "I’m sure there is nothing to worry about."
Jinx grins, crossing his arms. "Yesss," he croaks, "We can just say that we found it like this."
Despite Vannrik’s chuckle, he quickly tucks the crowbar back into his pack.

  The Sentinels, with Shalelu and Vannrik leading the way, step into what appears to be a reception area. This is where customers would typically meet with a representative to commission custom glasswork or negotiate business deals. A desk stands at the center of the room, scattered with ledgers and papers. A quick glance at the records reveals no sign of Ameiko’s presence. Then again, she was never supposed to come in this way.
A low, steady hum lingers in the air—machinery or active forges in the distance, pulsing faintly beneath their feet. The stillness of the building unsettles them. To the north, a door leads to a narrow, windowless hallway. Another door waits on either side. The far wall, directly across from them, radiates a faint warmth to the touch. Shadows press against the edges of the corridor, thick and foreboding. Rabie wastes no time, murmuring an incantation. A soft, mottled light spreads from his raven, Ghurab, pushing back the darkness.
Vannrik studies the hallway, his gaze settling on the door to the right. “This should take us closer to the delivery entrance,” he says quietly. “Where Ameiko was supposed to go.”
Rabie frowns. The Glassworks, normally filled with the clamor of overworked laborers, is eerily silent. "It’s too calm. There is something strange going on. It’s best if we stay together," he warns.
Beyond the door, they step into the loading area. A wheelbarrow leans against the wall, its edges dusted with fine glass powder. Shelves line the walls, stocked with reagents used to tint glass—manganese for clear glass, cobalt for blue, and tin for white. Untreated glass is a murky green, while an excess of any reagent can turn it pitch black.
Three exits branch from the room. To the east, the large delivery entrance looms, securely shut. To the north, a smaller door remains closed and silent. From the west, waves of heat seep through the cracks of another door, carrying the unmistakable thrum of active furnaces.
The hum they heard earlier is louder here—persistent and heavy, like a heartbeat deep within the walls.
“Shall we check the furnaces first, to see if somebody is still at work?” Rabie asks.
"I suggest we do." The gnome answers taking a step back to give his taller friends some space. "Vannrik, after you!"

Into the furnace

As Vannrik pulls open the door, a wave of dry, suffocating heat washes over the group, sucking the moisture from their eyes. Beyond lies the glassworking room, a vast chamber dominated by roaring furnaces. A primary kiln blazes along the northeast wall, its alchemically treated wood burning with an unnatural blue light. Stone pipes snake southwest, feeding progressively smaller furnaces that keep molten glass at the precise temperature required to prevent shattering. Along the chamber’s far side, three massive, semicircular alcoves curve toward the sea, their glass-paneled walls shimmering with the reflections of the flames.
Then, the horror reveals itself.
Inside this room-sized oven, the Sentinels witness a gruesome display of goblin cruelty. The mutilated bodies of eight murdered workers lie scattered across the floor in various states of dismemberment. Some goblins gleefully toss severed limbs into the furnace, watching them burn with shrill laughter. Others cackle as they pour molten glass over the remains, creating grotesque, shimmering statues of their victims. A few race around the chamber, brandishing prongs of glowing, melted glass like makeshift weapons. The floor is littered with razor-sharp shards, which they sidestep with varying degrees of care
Through stinging eyes, Vannrik spots something—or someone—further in the room. A human figure sits motionless in a chair within one of the alcoves, his silhouette glinting in the firelight. But there is no time to dwell on it.
The chaos halts for the briefest of moments as eight goblins snap their heads toward the intruders.
Then, all hell breaks loose.
Vannrik surges forward, drawing his shield in one swift motion. But the goblins are just as eager, shrieking as they rush to meet him. Some wield their rusted dogslicers, while others snatch up jagged shards of glass, their toothy grins gleaming in the firelight. The closest goblins swarm him, their bloodlust fueled by the massacre they’ve already committed.
From the loading area, Jinx sees Vannrik’s charge and follows, sprinting into the furnace-lit chaos. He has no time to take in the gruesome spectacle—only to act.
"This is no time to thwart fate," he declares, his voice resolute. "I will decide what fate is!"
With a flick of his wrist, a harrow card appears in his hand—The Hammers.
The furnace’s fire casts deep crimson streaks across the room, colliding with the electric blue glow of Jinx’s magic. A crackling arc erupts from his fingertips, leaping between the nearest goblins. Their shrieks pierce the air, momentarily drowning out the relentless thrumming of the mighty furnaces.
One goblin, seething with hatred, locks eyes with Jinx. But before it can lunge, Shalelu steps in front of the Gnome.
The elven ranger angles her longbow awkwardly over a marble table, forced to adjust her aim in the tight quarters. Her fingers release the bowstring, and the arrow slams into the goblin’s chest with enough force to send it reeling backward. It clutches weakly at the shaft, its last breaths rattling out before it collapses lifelessly to the floor.
But the battle is far from over.
More goblins swarm in from all sides, eager to tear into their next victims. Rabie, frozen for a moment in the doorway, takes in the nightmarish scene. The realization crashes over him like a wave—
They are outnumbered. His friends are being overwhelmed.
"You'll pay for what you did." The witch growls through seething teeth.
Rabie feels his anger slip its leash, the thin membrane of restraint snapping as he taps into the raw resentment within. He channels it into a nearby foe, and the goblin's arm sags, the heavy metal prong in its grasp suddenly an unbearable weight.
Another goblin, unarmored and eager to stay close to his beloved flames, finally discards the corpse it had been toying with in the alcove. In its hands, a prong drips with a glowing glob of molten glass. It scans the room for an easy target—Jinx.
"Come here, Sizzleface..." it mutters in broken Taldane.
Keeping low, the goblin scurries behind a marble table, using the battlefield's chaos as cover. Before Jinx can react, it strikes—slamming the prong hard into the gnome’s arm. The molten glass spatters, searing through his pale, papery skin before hardening as it cools.
Nearby, another goblin leaps at Vannrik, cackling wildly. It arcs its weapon down in a brutal strike, aiming for the back of his head—but misjudges the jump. Instead, the scalding prong smacks into his collarbone, the molten goo splattering across his cloak. The acrid smell of burning fabric fills the air.
Vannrik barely has time to raise his shield before the goblin swings again. He deflects the follow-up blow and allows himself a moment to focus.
Then, he unleashes the clutch of winter.
A swirling blizzard of snow, ice, and howling wind erupts in the midst of the goblins. The weaker ones are hurled backward—one landing with a sickening crunch in a pile of shattered glass. It screeches, writhing in agony before its cries turn to a gurgle... then a whimper... then silence.
The goblin closest to Vannrik stands firm, wiping frost from its face, emboldened by its earlier success. It weathers the storm, but Vannrik douses himself with healing waters, ready for the fight to continue.
Another goblin, hesitant at the edge of the icy ring, flings its handful of glass shards at Vannrik—but they land harmlessly in the snow.
Meanwhile, Jinx winces through the pain. He pulls up the hood of his cloak, revealing the three ominous eyes beneath.
"You won't survive this draw!" he hisses.
The goblin who attacked him gulps audibly and takes a step back.
Jinx flicks his wrist, producing another harrow card. An arc of crackling electricity leaps between the pyro and the goblin in front of Vannrik. The pyro, already retreating, avoids the worst of the spell.
Vannrik’s assailant isn’t so lucky.
Electricity slams into the goblin’s body, its limbs jerking violently before it's flung against the furnace wall. It crumples to the ground—rigid, twitching, dead.
Shalelu looses two arrows but curses sharply in Elvish as they clatter harmlessly against the marble table. The goblin is too low, safely tucked beneath the surface, and her bow—designed for long-range combat—is ill-suited for such tight quarters.
Another goblin halts at the edge of the battlefield, terror flickering in its beady eyes. It looks at the bodies of its fallen kin, then throws its glass shards weakly in the Sentinels' direction before turning and fleeing.
The goblin that survived the icy blast scrambles to its feet. It doesn’t need any further encouragement.
"It’s them longshanks that stopped the raid! RUN!" it screeches before bolting after its fleeing companion.
But Rabie’s eyes are locked onto the last remaining enemy—the pyro. His purple gaze burns into the creature as he speaks, his voice low and commanding.
"Stop trying to kill my friends."
The goblin pales, its last shred of hope crumbling. It turns in desperation, sprinting for the nearest window. With a wild screech, it hurls itself at the glass with full force.
CRACK—
The glass from Kaijitsu's Glassworks, proving to be beautiful AND sturdy— doesn’t shatter. Instead, the goblin bounces off with a sickening thud and crashes to the ground.
Overhead, Ghurab circles, cawing ominously.
The goblin wails, clawing at the windowpane, salvation just inches away but hopelessly out of reach.
Vannrik shifts the lingering aura of winter into his signature watery crossbow. He levels his weapon and fires.
The bolt of ice pierces the back of a fleeing goblin. It collapses mid-stride, sliding limply across the bloodied floor. Another goblin—just feet from escape—suffers the same fate.
The tide has turned.
One of the remaining goblins fidgets desperately with the door on the far side of the room. The pyro, still dazed from its failed escape, frantically claws at the window, eyes darting for another way out.
Then it hears it.
Jinx’s voice, creeping into its mind, echoing in its skull.
"There is no escaping fate."
The gnome grins, slipping the Crown harrow card back into his deck. The goblin falls dead.
Shalelu, seeing her moment, leaps onto the table.
-Finally, some distance,- she thinks, drawing back an arrow.
She lets it fly.
The goblin jerks suddenly, its body going stiff. The arrow buries itself deep into its temple.
It doesn’t even have time to scream.
"That's more like it, Shalelu!" Jinx cheers.
"I just need my space," the elf smirks, stepping closer to inspect her kill.
The smirk vanishes.
Like Vannrik’s snow, melting against the floor.
"Oh no," she breathes. "You should see this." Her eyes are locked on the figure slumped in the chair.

 

The Father

The relief of victory was fleeting. Shalelu's face hardened into a grim mask as she beckoned the Sentinels closer. In the second alcove of the room stood a luxurious high chair, likely dragged in the workroom from one of the offices. Within sat a figure, dressed in a fur-lined black cloak, the fabric recognizable as Tian due to its myriad patterns. Layer upon layer of glass encased the figure, preserving a moment of final agony and terror. Revulsion crashed over the Sentinels as they beheld Lonjiku Kaijitsu, the Kaijitsu Family patriarch—forever imprisoned within his glass tomb.
"That's Ameiko's father," Shalelu says softly.
"He may not have been a good guy, but he didn’t deserve this," Jinx muses, trying to peel the hardened glass from his hands.
"Nobody deserves this," Shalelu murmurs.
Jinx wasn’t sure, but now wasn’t the time to argue.
As Vannrik tends to Jinx’s wounds, the harrower’s eyes drift to a pouch hanging from the nobleman's belt. He quickly glances at Shalelu—ensuring she isn't looking—before slipping it into his pocket. Later, he would find a silver flask and a set of loaded dice inside. Vannrik, meanwhile, carefully removes the nobleman's sheathed wakizashi. For safekeeping, of course.
Meanwhile, Rabie wanders the room and stumbles upon a dismembered corpse.
Davod.
"Poor Katarina Toddbringer."
Though the bodies had become mere playthings for the goblins, Rabie still recognizes the others as Glassworks employees.
"We will have to bring bad news, but remember, we are here looking for Ameiko," Jinx says, snapping out of his own distractions.
The Sentinels drag the goblin warrior—its skull still pierced by an arrow—away from the door across the room. Vannrik casts one last look at the carnage before they continue, his gaze lingering on the roaring furnaces.
-We need to find a safe way to turn those off,- he thinks.

The Sentinels press forward through the Glassworks, the silence thick and unsettling. Their path leads them into the display room, where once, sunlight might have danced across delicate glassware—bottles, window panes, and intricate sculptures, now coated in dust and neglect. The air is heavy with the scent of scorched glass and something fouler beneath it.
Through the storeroom and the cleaning room they pass, their footsteps echoing against the cold stone floor. Then, they enter the servants' quarters, where the walls are streaked with dark stains, the cots overturned, sheets soaked through with dried blood. This was where the workers were slaughtered, their bodies dragged away, leaving behind only grim remnants of their final struggle.
Beyond, a dining room and pantry, both ransacked. Plates shattered, food left to rot. Chairs lay toppled as if their occupants had been torn from them mid-meal. The smell of decay lingers here, a sharp contrast to the acrid heat from the furnaces.
Finally, the route takes them full circle, back to the loading area, where only one small door remains unopened.

The bastard

Beyond the door in the loading area, a staircase descends into darkness, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and musty air. Vannrik takes point, squinting into the gloom with a frustrated groan at the lack of visibility.
Rabie, sensing his struggle, raises a hand. With a whispered incantation, a soft, mottled light flares from Vannrik, illuminating the passageway in pale hues. The stairs lead to a large subterranean chamber, its walls hewn from bedrock. Several doors line the space, their purpose unknown, while a gaping hole in the western wall opens into a long, crude tunnel stretching beyond the reach of their light.
Vannrik studies the passage, narrowing his eyes. That must be where the goblins came from. It extends deep—too deep—perhaps even beneath Sandpoint itself.
“Let’s check the other rooms first,” he decides.
Weapons at the ready, the Sentinels gather as Vannrik pushes open the first door. Shields rise. Fingers tighten on hilts. Spells hum, eager for release. Trouble feels inevitable.
Inside, a cramped office awaits, the air thick with the lingering scent of liquor. Against the far wall stands a wide oaken desk, littered with small bottles. Behind it, a half-elf of Tian descent is mid-motion, securing his bow and quiver.
He freezes.
“Shit,” Tsuto curses.
Shalelu draws her bowstring taut, her sharp gaze locking onto him. But she hesitates—the same hesitation she sees in her companions. Her fingers strain against the string. Waiting.
“Tsuto,” Jinx calls from beyond the door.
Tsuto’s stance tightens. He takes a slow step backward, knocking an arrow of his own. Then, with a swift hook of his foot, he drags a chair forward, scraping it against the stone floor, using it as makeshift cover. He kneels behind its cover.
“What do you want?” he spits. “This does not concern you.”
Vannrik edges closer, a mere inch from the doorway. The air is charged, brittle as glass.
“Not a step closer,” Tsuto warns, the twang of his bowstring underscoring the threat.
Vannrik lifts his hands slightly. “We came looking for Ameiko,” he says evenly. “You sent her a letter, right?”
At the mention of his sister, Tsuto’s expression darkens. His face hardens to steel, and his hate-filled eyes gleam in the dim light. “You’re right,” he concedes, voice sharp. “I sent -her- a letter.” His arm aches with the strain and beads of sweat gather on his brow. “This does not concern you.” Tsuto repeats. Vannrik presses on. “We also just killed eight goblins. If she was here, she would’ve been in danger.”
A flicker of something crosses Tsuto’s face—anger? Doubt? His nose wrinkles at the implication. “You think I can’t protect my own sister?”
“We didn’t say that,” Vannrik replies, his voice calm but firm. “We didn’t even know you were here.” He gestures toward the bloodstained upper floors. “The goblins were still alive. And they killed her father—your father.”
A smirk ghosts across Tsuto’s lips—one of amusement, and something else entirely. He lets out a dry chuckle.
“You expect me to shed a tear for that man?”
“I’ve met him. I get it, trust me.” Vannrik is quick to intercept, seizing the chance to find common ground.
Rabie steps in, voice measured. “We’re not here to fight. We just want to help.”
“Unless we see more goblins,” Vannrik mutters under his breath.
Jinx’s patience snaps. “Where’s Ameiko?” the gnome demands.
Tsuto’s smirk grows wider—wider than it should be. It turns into laughter, cold and biting. His next words change everything.
“You think I don’t have more goblins?” he taunts, grinning ear to ear. “We have hundreds.”
The air in the room turns to ice.
“And there’s nothing you can do about it. Sandpoint will become a a burnt offering.”

The tension snaps like Shalelu's bowstring.
With two sharp thwunks, arrows plunge into the wooden desk chair, narrowly missing their mark. Shalelu bites her lip in frustration, already reaching for another arrow.
Tsuto seizes the opening.
He rises from cover, his own bow drawn in a blur of motion.
An arrow screams through the air—Vannrik flinches as it shatters against the stone wall, a mere inch from his face.
"Shit!" He ducks back behind the chair, cursing under his breath. Then, louder, his voice ringing with defiance:
"You think I'm afraid to die here? You're wrong!"
Rabie watches from the doorway, his sickly purple eyes narrowing as he studies Tsuto.
"We wanted to talk," he says, his voice low and laced with venom.
But Tsuto doesn’t flinch. His expression remains unreadable, unfazed. He has faced far worse than the witch’s gaze lately.
Rabie’s fingers twitch, anger bubbling beneath his skin.
"I need to tear him from his pedestal," he thinks.
His spell lashes out, seeking to drain Tsuto’s strength—but the bastard resists. Again.
Jinx shifts into position, his line of sight clearing through the doorway.
"We will get Ameiko. And you will die."
A sharp laugh cuts through the air, mocking and cold.
"I told you—I’m not afraid to die today!" Tsuto taunts. "There are ways back from the dead… and I have contingencies."
Jinx’s jaw tightens, his mind flashing to Bethana’s desperate face. He refuses to be swayed by Tsuto’s bravado.
"Watch this!"
With a flick of his wrist, he unleashes a rippling wave of energy. The magic washes over Tsuto, twisting at the edges of his mind, gnawing at his confidence, seeding fear and doubt.
Vannrik sees his chance.
He lunges forward, aiming to grapple and restrain their foe.
But Tsuto is too quick. He drops low, sliding beneath Vannrik’s outstretched arms. In a single, fluid motion, he hooks a leg behind the Jadwiga’s and sweeps him off his feet.
Vannrik crashes to the floor with a sharp smack.
But he doesn’t stop.
Even from the ground, he lunges again, arms snaking around Tsuto’s leg, trying to hold him down.
Tsuto twists free, springing back—then, with a single effortless motion, he lands atop the desk chair.
Another arrow whistles toward him. He ducks just in time.
Shalelu’s missed shot lands with a sharp clatter on the stone floor. She exhales sharply. Up close, it is, she decides.
The bow drops from her hand. She draws her sword and charges.
Tsuto is already moving.
He leaps from the chair to the wide oak desk, his body a blur of practiced agility. Within a second, he has his shortbow aimed directly at Shalelu.
The first arrow shatters against the stone wall behind her.
The second strikes true.
Shalelu cries out as the arrow buries itself deep behind her collarbone. She stumbles, her vision blurring as pain flares through her body.
Rabie steps into the room, standing firm beside Vannrik.
"He's alone," the witch murmurs to himself. "He's nothing."
He draws upon Ghurab’s power, the dark magic curling around his fingers as he channels a bane spell.
The air grows thick with unnatural energy.
The spell slinks into Tsuto, and this time—he falters. His confidence cracks.
Jinx, now inside the room, barely registers the sudden banging from another door down the hall.
He has no time to worry about that now.
He steps beside Rabie, his voice sharp and biting.
"You're going to rest in pieces! AMEIKO, WE'RE COMING!"
Magic coils into his words, laced with raw, cutting power. The force strikes Tsuto’s mind like a hammer, making him stagger back.
Vannrik scrambles upright, frost swirling around him.
With a motion of his hand, the swirling waters twist into a healing mist, dousing Shalelu. Her worst wounds mend, though the pain still lingers.
The rest of the water hardens into deadly icicles.
Vannrik hurls them at Tsuto.
The bastard, already reeling, can’t dodge in time.
He groans as the needles bite deep into his side, staining his white shirt with crimson.
Shalelu pushes forward, her sword flashing as she harasses Tsuto, forcing him into a weakened defensive stance.
But Tsuto won’t go down so easily.
He slings his bow over his shoulder, sidesteps her thrusting blade, and suddenly closes the distance.
His fist slams into her chin—a brutal uppercut.

Before she can even react, he drives his boot into her gut, the force lifting her off her feet.
Mid-air, she has no defense.
She slams into the wall with a sickening crack.
Then, stillness.
Rabie breaks his mantra for just a second, his breath catching as he watches her slump to the floor.
But his fury only intensifies.His purple eyes burn with rage as they lock onto Tsuto.
"You are nothing."
Something in Tsuto shifts. For the first time, panic flickers across his face.
Rabie lunges with his magic, wrapping the spell around Tsuto’s mind like iron chains.
Tsuto reels, clutching his temples as blood trickles from his nose. His breath comes short, uneven.
"She will come back for me," he mutters. "She would never leave me here."
Jinx takes a step forward, voice like a blade.
"You are less than nothing."
Tsuto flinches.
"Watch how death swallows you."
Jinx’s magic twists the void, reality warping as he casts.
Tsuto is shaking now, gripping onto the last scraps of his resolve.
"I will not follow Father Tobyn to whatever hell he has ended up in!" he groans. The smirk on his face is, forced, desperate, but reveals his knowledge about the Sentinels quest for Tobyn's remains.
And then—
He doesn’t see the ice needles coming.
Three pierce his throat.
The smirk shatters.
Blood gurgles up, bubbling at his lips.
He stumbles forward, trying to hold himself up—but his body betrays him.
With a final, sickening crash, Tsuto collapses at the foot of the desk.
Silence.
The only sound is the drip, drip, drip of Tsuto’s blood pooling on the cold stone floor.

 

The Heiress

Vannrik rushes past Tsuto’s corpse to reach Shalelu. With frantic fingers, he grabs one of the healing potions given to them by Mayor Deverin. Cradling the elf’s head with a steady hand, he tilts the vial to her lips, letting the healing liquid flow. She remains unconscious, but at least she is no longer at death’s door.
Seeing that Shalelu is in good hands, he turns and races into the hallway toward the other door. The banging from earlier echoes in his memory, as does his promise to Bethana. "I think she's behind this door!" he shouts to his fellow Sentinels. He grabs the handle and pulls, but the heavy padlock holds firm. From the other side, a faint, weak thud answers.
Rabie follows close behind, the rush of battle giving way to a dull ache of exhaustion. He hears Jinx cry out for Ameiko as Vannrik produces his crowbar. By the time the padlock crashes to the flagstone floor, Rabie has fully regained his senses.
The door swings open, revealing Ameiko Kaijitsu, innkeeper of the Rusty Dragon. She's bound and gagged, her wrists bruised from struggling. A makeshift straw mattress lies behind her. She staggers forward, expecting resistance from the door, but instead, she falls into waiting arms—Rabie and Jinx catch her before she can hit the floor. She thrashes for a moment, but when Jinx gently pulls away her blindfold, she freezes. Then, through tear-filled eyes, she exhales a shuddering breath of relief.
"Relax, relax. It's us," Jinx murmurs, his voice softer than before.
They free her from her binds and gag while Vannrik channels his power, healing the worst of her wounds.
Ameiko stirs at the sound of soft, uneven footsteps. She looks up just as Shalelu enters the doorway, bloodied but standing. The innkeeper's eyes narrow, conflicted.
"What about my brother?" Ameiko asks, her voice fragile. "Are we safe?"
Vannrik sighs, bracing himself. "Your brother tried to kill us." He lets the words settle.
Ameiko’s face goes pale. “So… he’s gone, then.”
"Yes," Jinx says solemnly. "You are the last Kaijitsu in town."
Ameiko's breath catches. She turns to Jinx, her expression tangled in shock and dread. "The last?" she repeats, barely above a whisper. "Did he—did he get Father too?"
Vannrik hesitates before admitting, "I have a strong suspicion that he was behind that as well."
Ameiko stumbles back, collapsing onto the mattress as the weight of the revelation crushes her. "So they're gone," she whispers, as if saying it aloud will make it real.
"They are," Rabie confirms.
Silence fills the room until Ameiko lifts her gaze, her eyes locking onto Shalelu. "It’s good that you’re here, too," she says, voice raw. "He wanted me to come with him. He said all of Sandpoint was doomed... that I was the only one worth saving. When I refused, he did this." She rubs at the bruises on her arms and legs. It will take time—maybe a long time—before she feels comfortable in her own skin again.
Then something shifts in her expression. A memory. A realization. She straightens suddenly, her voice urgent. "He was working with the goblins all along! He told me he stole Father Tobyn’s body. Where is Tsuto now?"
Vannrik extends a hand to help her up. "We’ll take you to him."
She recoils. "I don’t want to see him. He’s dead, right?"
When no one contradicts her, she nods sharply. "Go back to him. Look for a notebook. I saw him writing in a journal."
Rabie wastes no time, hurrying to the office. He spots the small leather journal just before the spreading pool of blood can swallow it. As he flips through the pages on his way back, his voice fills the hallway, reading aloud:
"The raid went about as planned. Few Thistletop Goblins perished and we were able to secure Tobyn's casket with ease while the rubes were distracted by the rest. I can't wait until the real raid. This town deserves a real burning."
Rabie's breath hitches as he turns the page, eyes scanning a rough sketch of Sandpoint—a battle plan.
"Ripnugget seems to favor the overwhelming land approach but I don't think it's the best plan. We should get the Quasits'aid. Get her freaks up from below via the smugglers tunnel in my fathers Glassworks in smaller but more focused strikes. The rest except Bruthazmus agree and I'm pretty sure the bugear's just being contrary to annoy me. My love's too distracted with the lower chambers to make a decision. Says that once Malfeshnekor's released and under her command we won't need to worry about being subtle. I hope she's right.."
Rabie’s fingers tighten on the journal as he flips to the final pages. His breath turns shallow as he reads:
"My love seems bent on going through with it. Nothing I can say convinces her of her beauty. She remains obsessed with removing what she calls her "Celestial taint" and replacing it with her Mother's Grace. Burning her fathers remains at Thistletop shrine seems to have started the transformation, but I can't say her new form is pleasing to me. Hopefully when she offers Sandpoint to Lamashtu's fires her new body won't be as hideous. Maybe I'll luck out. Succubi are demons to aren't they?"
The last page contains a detailed sketch of a woman. Her long white hair remains, but her body is changing—one arm is monstrous, grotesquely mutated, and bat-like wings sprout from her back.
Rabie’s face drains of color.
He knows those features.

  Nualia.