1.2.4 Over claw and tide
brelka betrays the hand
Opening Monologue¶
This section is read immediately after one of the session introduction sections. It lays out 3 simple things;
The flames take hold fast, devouring the Uzzikh warehouse in hungry tongues of heat and light. Old, dry timber snaps and crackles as the bottled fire spreads, sending plumes of black smoke curling into the night sky. Bloodsnout and his loyalists fought fiercely, but now their bodies fuel the blaze. Their story ends here, in smoke and cinders.
You linger in the shadows just long enough to watch the fire grow, the sudden burst of heat spilling across the darkened streets. Then you move—you have to move. You skulk through the back alleys with Veylith and the rescued elves, your group pressing tight together as you slip between rows of abandoned buildings.
But something feels... off.
A feeling gnaws at the edges of your mind, something unknowable—the unmistakable sense of being watched, though you don't know from where. The streets around you are alive with the distant cries of “Fire!”, yet you cannot shake the weight of unseen eyes. A deep orange full moon glares down from above, silver light spilling across the rooftops and casting long, jagged shadows along your path. Too bright. Too open. Too exposed.
But no one stops you. No one follows.
You navigate the twisting streets until you reach The Tattered Loom, a worn, unassuming tailor shop in the Western Elf Shallows. Inside, fine garments hang from wooden racks, the scent of dye and fabric masking the mustiness of age. The owner sleeps upstairs, unaware of the hidden cellar beneath the shop—a secret place, long ago built by elven hands.
Down below, in the cool, damp refuge beneath the floorboards, the elves are safe—for now. Veylith turns to you, exhaustion heavy in his young sharp elven features. He nods, eyes lingering on yours. He will remember your kindness to his people
For a while, you rest. Wounds are tended, breaths are caught, and the night stretches on.
Eventually, you make your way back to The Black Tide Tavern. But something is wrong. The Tide is rowdy—too rowdy. The doors swing open to a packed house, far busier than it should be at this hour. At this time of night, the only souls usually left are the regular drunks, the ones too lost to care about the time. But tonight… the place hums with restless energy, laughter louder than usual, eyes flicking toward you the moment you step inside.
Something is different. Something is off.
And you are still being watched.
Scene 1¶
Betrayal at the Tide¶
Brelka moves on Kvarrac
Players walk through tavern to the backroom¶
-rowdy -way busier than usual -lots of new faces
Meeting with Kvarrac and Varka¶
-debrief -varka will mention that she needs you to get some more cheese from out the back
The air in the Black Tide Tavern’s backroom is thick with the scent of smoke, sweat, and old ale. Kvarrac and Varka sit across from you, their expressions sharp with concern as they listen to your report—the rescue of Veylith and the elves, the bloodied end of Bloodsnout, and the flames that swallowed the Uzzikh warehouse.
But it’s the tavern itself that gnaws at you, the unnatural hum of energy beyond these walls. Too many people. Too much movement. Varka has noticed it too. She leans in, voice low.
“I don’t know why it’s this busy,” she mutters, casting a glance toward the door. “But it’s not right. No one’s slumped over their cups, no one’s just here to drown the day. They’re awake, alert. Watching. Waiting. It’s like everything’s urgent. Like something’s coming.”
She hesitates before adding, “Could be a new drug. Something we don’t know about. If it is, we need to find out who’s pushing it.”
Then the doors slam open.
Brelka and Grettir march into the backroom, their boots thudding heavily against the wooden floorboards. Flanking them are two figures you don’t recognize—ordinary patrons, or so you thought. But now, standing beside Brelka and Grettir, you see it: they fidget, restless, jittery with nervous energy. Just like Brelka was the last time you saw her. And now, standing together, it’s painfully clear. They are not subtle anymore.
Brelka commands the room, her presence a jagged blade of mocking confidence and barely contained fury. She flashes a wicked grin and spreads her arms wide.
“Well, well. Look at the little pups, running around, sticking their necks out. Congratulations.”
The venom in her voice is unmistakable, her sarcasm dripping with antagonistic humor. She strides forward, closing the space between you with brisk, almost predatory movements.
Behind her, Grettir’s scarred face twists into a cruel smile, the kind that betrays the real reason they’re here.
Then, Brelka’s tone darkens.
“You wouldn’t have had to take such risks, of course, if Kvarrac here didn’t go making deals with filth. With garbage. With weak, pathetic elves.”
The insult lingers in the air, but Brelka’s focus is already shifting, her gaze locking onto Kvarrac. A slow, knowing smile spreads across her face.
“I remember the promises you made, Kvarrac. The ones from all those years ago. When I found you—half-starved and desperate—in those same smuggling caves. You were hunted then, weren’t you? The Guild wanted you dead. The Chosen wanted you gutted. Even the elves—the ones you protect so dearly now—shunned you.”
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Only scorn.
“For some reason, I thought your weakness back then was temporary.” She tilts her head. “I even wanted revenge on the same bastards who wanted you gone. So we made a family—Varka, you, and me. The three first fingers of the Hand.”
She stops now, turning her sharp gaze toward the group, pausing on each of you.
“But you… you forgot what we were doing this for, didn’t you?” She spits the words. “No more lordlings found in alleys. No more dead orcs who strayed too far. The guards used to be too scared to come to Mongeet. You got soft, Kvarrac. You stopped being a killer. You started playing caretaker. to orphans”
A heavy silence hangs over the room, but Brelka isn’t finished.
She turns back to Kvarrac, closing the last few steps between them. Her voice lowers, almost conspiratorial.
“Unfortunately, you already know this, don’t you?”
A cruel smirk tugs at the corner of her lips.
“You think you can just walk away? You think you can just… leave?” She leans in, close enough to whisper. “Maybe that’s something you learned from your Ratfolk kin.”
Then, her voice drops even lower—a whisper like a blade pressed to the throat.
“But I’ve heard another fact about rats.”
Her eyes gleam as she murmurs:
“When food is scarce… they eat each other.”
Steel flashes.
Brelka drives her dagger into Kvarrac’s chest—once, twice, again, and again—quick, brutal, merciless. Blood spills down his tunic as he chokes, eyes wide with shock.
And then she changes.
Her body twists, contorts, flesh warping and breaking as thick, matted fur bursts through her skin. Her fingers elongate into clawed, grasping things, her face stretching into a hideous, rodent-like snarl.
The others—the ones she brought—change with her.
Then, from the shadows, from the cracks in the walls, from beneath the floorboards—they come.
The wood shatters, splitting apart as a swarm of giant rats pours into the room, their chittering screams filling the air.
Roll initiative.
Attack on the Tide¶
-players defend the tavern
Session Notes¶
- Varka killed 5 monsters including Grettir (holy fuck)
- Brawn is a hero, but one of those heroes who is super reckless and dies like straight away so no-one realises how heroic they are! :p
- Brelka got away
- Grettir died
- Attack on the tavern was cool, monsters getting a little dull
- Good ol fashion murderin some rats