S01E03 - The Fires and the Shadows
General Summary
Red Marshal’s Report: Riverdate, Tattermoon 3rd
Filed by Ennis Glave, Bridge-Watcher and Red Marshal of South Crossing
Filed under protest and mild duress
Right. So.
The River Festival kicked off all proper-like, full of song, stew, and starry-eyed optimism. Should’ve known better. The fog hung a bit thick that morning—should’ve known better twice.
Now, I’m no bard, but this is how I saw it—officially, of course.
The Roof-Hopper, the Bell, and the Blasted Goat-Man
Fyfe—the, uh, costumed goat fellow (I think it’s a costume)—got it in his head to jump atop the Town Hall bell tower. Said something about the Archivist AI, which I assume is either a spirit, a sneeze, or something from the big city.
Anyway, up he goes like it’s Tuesday. Roof tiles fly, and wouldn’t you know it? He rings the bell so hard it throws the sablekin off their step. Yes, sablekin. Little bony bog-snots with teeth and torch-hammers, dancing like it’s a wedding for ghosts.
Fire, Hammer, and Shirtless Heroics
While Fyfe played sky-goat, Davrim—our blacksmith, salt of the forge—hauled rain barrels to douse the flames the creatures started. Brave, that lad. Burned his own roof in the process. Accidental heroism, they call that.
Then there’s Brutus—bless his enormous, misunderstood heart. Tried to nab a sablekin, but the torch it dropped rolled into another roof. Fire. More fire. Fire everywhere.
Brutus patched himself up with a shirt (his own, thank the Light), then scooped up Davrim like a rucksack and ran through the streets like it was the War of Crows all over again.
The Square Showdown & That Which Shouldn’t Cross the Bridge
The skirmish thickened. Elder Stape calmed the villagers. Fyfe fell off the roof but landed like a leaf on soup.
Brutus wielded a table like a holy relic, swinging it to scatter the creatures. Davrim and Fyfe—together, mind you—deflected a psychic blast from some sort of... shaman? Warlock? Cranky spirit in a deer skull hat?
Whatever it was, Davrim clocked it off the bridge with his hammer. It yelped. They all stopped dancing.
Then the bridge—the old one that don’t exist anymore—flickered like a candle in the dark. And there, beyond it, came a figure in black armor. Glowing. Watching. Waiting. Don’t know what, don’t know who—but I know bad when I see it.
Aftermath: Bonfire & Bravado
With the sablekin scattered and the fog lifting, Davrim mentioned something about a bonfire. Said it like it was just another Tuesday. That’s the sort of stubbornness that keeps South Crossing standing.
As for me? I’m still here. Watching the river. Watching the bridge that ain’t a bridge. And writing reports no one reads. But I’ll keep writing ‘em. Because one day, when the river parts again...
Well. Someone ought to know we tried.
Brutus Vogar
Elder Stape
Davrim Harrows
Cherry
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