Glistening Shapes
Session: 2024-12-04
The news about the nephews came before they were out of Land Ho.
Nicholas and Brandon Felwind — Darrian's people, ahead of them by days, already in Serenholme asking after a man named Ern Lindsor who ran the salt operations. He filed the name. They were always a step behind something that had already moved.
The road east was uneventful into the afternoon. At a fork they came upon a wagon with the wheel off the axle — a man underneath working at it, his family standing clear. A woman and a boy of about twelve. Heading to Mistyvale, they said. The Senecas.
He did what could be done and they kept moving.
The second encounter came near dusk.
Rocky beach to the east. Slope rising to the west. Something on the wind that wasn't regular road-rot — saltier, older, the specific smell of something deep brought up into air where it didn't belong. Then a horn, somewhere west and distant. Then the shapes.
The same.
Glistening where the sea hadn't left them yet. Moving fast once they cleared the surf, same wrong geometry as the last group, same particular lack of concern about what they were moving toward. He had Spike Growth up before they closed range. Held it. Next, Moonbeam.
The fight was long. Longer than the first, and more pulling toward the water's edge — that was what they wanted, to drag things back with them. He was aware of the waterline the entire time. Twice something had hold of someone and he pushed the concentration against the urgency of it. He held the beam. He kept the coverage.
Victor did something mid-fight that Vath didn't have a name for. Something from the arm — long, dark, reaching in a way that wasn't the shape of anything he recognized. The party hit a different note for a half-second. Then they adapted. That's what you did.
When it ended the shapes went the same way as the ones before. Into the sand. Slowly, steadily, until there was nothing to account for them.
He stood at the waterline a moment longer than he needed to.
He should be able to breathe down there. He had made the choice. Coastal. He knew what that meant. This fight had just made it specific — what kind of knowledge he was working toward, and why it wasn't optional.
They made camp and slept. Two hours from Serenholme when he woke.