A cool autumn evening makes its presence known through the sea breeze, the waking of the crickets, and the rising terror of the villagers. There is struggle in every direction, as battles are yet unresolved in the far distance. Amidst it all was the horror of the dead exuding their malcontent at all who reside on the island. It goes without saying that the people are holding on by bare threads. Their faith and resilience, however, does not show signs of breaking from even this harrowing situation.

    Baird and Mors arrived by a small djong, the ferryman offering such a trip for free at the promise that this chimera would hunt down the source of their woes. With little else to turn to, they were more than glad for even the idea of  capable adventurers finding a way to cleanse this most recent blight.

    The twisted beastman stepped up the shore on heavy, beleaguered hooves that sunk into the sand. "Who do you bet is behind this? Rebels or Crown?" Mors squawked in the tone of gallows' humor. Baird responded with a sort of dejection, "Please, let's not speak with irreverence. This is practically war we are threading the needle between. My bet is that the people need to persevere through this, not a faction." A moment passes as the boar sighs deeply, "Crown." Mors can only be described as frowning in satisfaction.

    They made their way up and onto much more solid ground. A few minutes ahead resides one of the temple-villages, Nobufukko, said to suffer the worst of the hauntings. Baird swears that if it is ghosts again, he just might lose it..

---

Howls of the Past

Inmo disembarks from the quaint wooden boat, her eyes shimmering with appreciation as she expresses gratitude to the skilled boatman who expertly guided her through the gentle waves. The boatman, weathered by the sea and sun, meets her gaze with a warm smile and a nod, acknowledging her thanks.

With a respectful nod in return, Inmo bids him farewell and steps onto the worn wooden pier, feeling the slight give of the planks beneath her boots. The scent of salt and seaweed fills the air, mingling with the tang of fish and the distant call of gulls.

A refreshing sea breeze tousles her long, wavy hair as Inmo absentmindedly twirls a stray strand that has escaped her hood. "Let's see," she murmurs, casting a contemplative gaze towards the horizon. "If I recall correctly, Sunset Pass should be in this direction."

With purposeful strides, Inmo sets out on her journey, her eyes savouring the natural beauty that surrounds her. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the tranquil waters. She pauses briefly, captivated by the sight of Baird and Mors. A spark of curiosity flickers in her eyes, but she quickly looks away, not wanting to intrude or seem impolite.

With a gentle smile, she continues on her path, eager to reach her destination.

    Mors looks to one side, seeing the proper landing just a bit away. They would've gotten off there, if not for the other boat already there, and Baird's insistence for expedience. There, the vulture watches Inmo step to the walkway, her resplendently kind airs bringing a glad smirk to his face.

    Breaking his newly acquired brother from the distraction, Baird clarified his thoughts, "The--it isn't a temple-village, what's the word.." "Monastery." "Monastery! The monastery for Sunset Pass is up ahead. It has been hit the hardest, so..." Suddenly he stops their movement as a memory comes back to him. He learned not too long ago not to rush headfirst into a tenuous situation. He should stop, assess, and get help from those better at figuring things out than the ponderous boar. Mors doesn't quite count considering he is relatively ignorant of the wider world, even by Baird's standards.

    Having halted right in the middle of the road to Sunset Pass, Baird looks around to see who might be able to help coordinate with him. "Huh? What are you looking for?" "Someone." Thus he lands on Inmo on her way to the town.

    Raising a deeply scarred hand as gently as possible, Baird tried to get the attention of the kindly woman veiled with mystique, "Ah, uh, pardon, friend! Would you happen to know anything or anyone who'd know about the most recent rumors? The ones of nightly horrors terrorizing the locals." "We are here to aid! Few things worse than a whole populace sent through sleeplessness." They cap off the inquiry with smiles, Baird's was warm and beaming while Mors felt perfunctory. Even in such dire circumstances, both ultimately were gregarious sorts.

Inmo's warm and inviting smile lit up her face as she gracefully approached the curious duo, her long, flowing cloak billowing behind her in the gentle sea breeze. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and determination, reflecting the fire within her. "I'd like to think I'm rather caught up on the subject," she said with a hint of amusement in her melodious voice, her words carrying a musical lilt. "The rebel military group, known as the Onibanwan, and the Crown's loyal forces are at odds as usual, each accusing the other of being behind the rumors of spirits haunting the village. They're fighting like schoolchildren." Inmo couldn't help but roll her eyes at the group's antics, a gesture that spoke volumes about her exasperation.

"Most of the sightings have been at the abandoned mine on the outskirts of the village," she continued, her voice tinged with a sense of urgency, her words echoing a deep concern. "So they assume that's where the alleged hauntings are originating from." With a nod towards the direction of the mine, she added, "I'm actually on my way to investigate. Would you like to travel together? It would be safer and more efficient if we join forces."

    The peering heads pondered a moment, then look to each other. A wordless conversation went on as the two simply expressed and gestured with their heads. Mors raised a brow while tilting toward Inmo. Baird returned a toothy grimace. Mors looks to the furtive constellation in front of them and bobs side-to-side. Baird lowers his face while looking up. Mors nods solemnly, but with confidence. Baird makes something of a challenger's pout.

    "Splendid, we agree." they each said in unison.
    "Baird Sickleclaw. Glad to meet you"
    "Mors, it is our pleasure to have your company."

    Baird, however, followed up with a stipulation, "If things get hairy at any point, the 'Go' word is 'Specter'." The spiral-laden body of this somewhat grotesque creature presented a remarkably courteous bow. "Shall we?" After introductions concluded, a hand lightly beckoned as the beastman turned toward the direction of the cave. They believed it was good to head out while the sun was still in the sky. Perhaps whatever is really behind this with show itself best between now and the witching hour.

    Up, between the monastery and Sunset Pass, across a stretch of bamboo thicket, a storied grotto carved into the rock face. The path was paved in flat stones leading a serpentine route between shuttering veils of reeds. Due to the vivid, dim color of the natural scenery, what resides between the shoots seemed like a visual cacophony. If there was danger, it was keeping itself unseen, and if it wished to be hidden, that cave had many means in and around the area.

Inmo found herself completely engrossed by the wordless interaction between the mysterious pair. She couldn't help but wonder if their profound connection allowed them to communicate through some form of telepathy or if their shared experiences enabled them to understand each other without the need for spoken language. The way their eyes met and their subtle gestures intertwined hinted at a deep, unspoken bond that intrigued Inmo. It seemed as if they were exchanging a complex web of emotions, thoughts, and intentions through their silent communication, leaving Inmo in awe of their extraordinary connection.

As they agreed to join her, Inmo welcomed them with a warm smile and a gracious nod, radiating both warmth and confidence. "Inmo. Inmo Breanvose," she introduced herself.

Her smile widened as she marveled at their ability to convey subtle cues. "Impressive, let's proceed," she remarked, fascinated by their unspoken coordination.

As memories of her own childhood spent in similar woods flooded her mind, Inmo followed the pair into the dense thicket. Despite the nostalgic pull, she was mindful not to let her guard down in this familiar yet perilous terrain. The tall, abundant vegetation provided ample cover, and she remained vigilant, keenly aware of the potential dangers lurking within.

Moving ahead, Inmo shadowed her new companions, skillfully navigating the path that ultimately led them to the grotto. Standing beside Baird and Mors, she awaited their signal, ready to proceed as soon as they gave the go-ahead.

    The rustling of the leaves in the gentle wind, the glimmering light that cascades through the canopy, the satisfying click of both boots and hooves on the hard stairway. Under other circumstances, this would be a place of immeasurable delight to the boar-vulture. But this wasn't a date or a vacation, evident by what they would be gifted upon reaching the top of the steps.

    The mouth of the cave appeared as they crested the final bend. Statues of reverence to ascetics and the magnanimous silently watched the two rise to meet them. Dusk shrouded the entrance with stark shadows. Lights could be seen from deep within the recess. The complex pillar structure ensured no one could see too deep without entering in, however. But before they could take another step, the gift arrived. An arrow, shot from somewhere above- and behind. By the time either turned, all that could be seen was the swaying of the bamboo by, perhaps not only, the breeze.
    
    The arrow was masterfully crafted and was caught exactly between the stones. Whoever fired it was deliberate and well honed. Along with the arrow was a piece of paper stuck through on the shaft. It read: [Return to your masters and tell them we will not abide your presence, dogs!]

    "Masters? What masters? Have you been sent by someone? Baird and I heed none." Mors first interrogated the paper as if it'd answer, but turned to Inmo in case there was an answer.

Inmo stood amidst the lush greenery, her emerald eyes reflecting her bewilderment as she furrowed her brow and spoke. "I don't heed anyone either. I simply want to help, having spent my entire childhood on the Isles," she explained, her voice carrying a hint of frustration.

Her slender fingers delicately examined the gorgeously crafted arrow, turning it over meticulously to scrutinize every minute detail. As she did so, she absentmindedly twirled a long strand of her blondish hair with her other hand, a habit she had developed to aid her thinking process. "What I can tell you is that whoever is trying to drive us away is remarkably skilled at their craft. This is an impressive shot," she observed, her eyes narrowing in intense concentration.

Inmo scanned the surrounding area, her gaze darting across the landscape in a desperate attempt to identify the source of the arrow, but to no avail. "I believe the only way for us to gather more information is to press on," she stated firmly, her unwavering gaze lingering on the arrow with a mix of apprehension and determination. "But we must proceed with extreme caution."

A silent plea for agreement flickered in her eyes as she looked at her companions, a blend of determination and nervousness etched across her features, her unspoken request hanging in the air.

    "Tenuous politically charged danger." "Unknown enemy of impressive skill." "A foreboding cave that might actually hold terrifying horrors." "What are we waiting for?"

    Indeed the organizers of this situation could feasibly prepare for many things, but a pair of adventurers imported on behalf of the people were not in mind. Baird had faced his fear of ghosts plenty to not run away now. Mors simply doesn't back down from a challenge. With a pat on Inmo's back, they boldly strode forward. Even though they noticed a passing shadow being cast from the torchlight within the cave.

    From beyond the pillars was a curious sight. Piles of makeshift tools and stashed gear, both Crown and Oniwanban. Some of the most strange pieces being rusted old gear hung up above the haphazard pile of decent equipment. Bluish cloaks all torn in various ways. And, eerily, what looked like... fog?

    The room began to pour with a misty substance. Quickly the investigators would find it to be smoke, particularly one of incense. A figure took shape as they walked from around a large stone. With a flailing censer, the smoke shrouded most of the space deeper in. The brazier that lit the room dimmed. The figure stepped through the obscuring plumes, revealing itself as a haunting sight of torn fabrics draped thinly over an elven shape. Silhouettes began to appear from beneath the substance's wisps.

    During all of this, Baird and Mors would stand frozen, unsure of what to do.

    The enigmatic creature would boom outward, "For which side are you loyal?"

Amid the tension, Inmo inhales deeply, feeling the weight of the moment in the pit of her stomach, and steps forward, maintaining her composure in the face of imminent danger. Her recent encounters with the enigmatic tribes of the forest have honed her diplomatic skills, and she remains unfazed as she addresses the situation.

"We speak for neither faction," she begins, her voice steady and clear, "My companions, Baird and Mors, have just arrived, responding to the troubling rumours," she explains, motioning towards them. "I am here because this is the place I call home, and I cannot stand by while it is threatened."

Surveying the torn cloaks scattered around, Inmo assumes them to belong to either the Crown or Onibanwan. She glances at her similar cloak, reluctantly acknowledging that removing it would demonstrate her lack of allegiance to either side. With a deep, unsteady breath, she removes her cloak and drapes it over her shoulder, revealing her distinctive silver skin. Despite her apprehension, she meets the gaze of the elven figure before her, her now unobscured emerald eyes reflecting both determination and compassion.

"As I mentioned before," she continues, her voice unwavering, "we are not aligned with the Crown or Onibanwan. Our only intent is to offer assistance and support," she asserts, her words resonating with conviction.

    The assembly stilled for a moment. Murmurs and whispers can be heard as they study the intruders, turning to each other to make quiet comments. Seeing Inmo's courageous reveal cleanly snapped Baird back to the present. Her accented color and radiance instead stole his attention a moment before he shook himself free of staring. Mama taught her boy manners, after all. Mors took notice but kept his focus on the possible threat on the other side of the room.


    "... p...aps a sp.?" | "W.y bri.. ..at mo.ster?" | "We ca. .se th..." | "Th.. ..n't ..ow, jus. st.y c..m." | "..ey enda..ger ou. pl.., we ...uld .... them." | "Sh! ..ey can h... y..!"

    Baird had relaxed a good amount, Mors grew a frustrated expression. They lowered down beside Inmo to make their own commentary, "These are unlike any ghosts I've ever seen. Smells fishy." "Who even are these clowns?" After a series of shushes and groans, the procession waited for a heavy silence to fill the room once more.

    After an adequate pause, the censer-bearer addressed the adventurers again, "You come here to help, but your home needs you to drive an enemy from her shores. Raze their camps and break their standards, only then will we be at peace!"

Inmo delicately twirls a strand of her tousled, dirty blonde hair as she furrows her brow, her emerald eyes reflecting deep concern. Her mind races with the implications of the overheard conversation. In a hushed tone, she confides in her companions, "I can't shake the feeling that something is not right here." If she interpreted the tiny bits of conversation correctly, they said she and her companions could "endanger our play." What could they mean...?

Her gaze shifts from the elven figure to Baird and Mors, her troubled expression conveying unease. "It seems they harbour a strong animosity towards the Crown and Onibanwan. There might be a whole other faction at play here..." Her thoughts spin as she wonders about the potential ramifications of this newfound information.

Pausing momentarily, she furrows her brow before addressing her companions, remembering the chosen code word. "Do you think Specter is our best course of action...?" The weight of the decision hangs heavy in the air as she grapples with the potential consequences of their next move.

Inmo, becoming known among those she's travelled with for her knack for diplomacy, carefully evaluates her options and awaits Baird's and Mors' input. She understands that the current circumstances may necessitate a departure from her usual approach to ensure the safety of everyone involved, including the villagers. The gravity of the situation is not lost on her, and she knows that the decisions made in the coming moments could have far-reaching effects for everyone involved.

    Inmo's thoughtfulness of the situation comforted Baird, he was glad to have an ally in this strange place. Mors was losing his patience at the attempts at intimidation and manipulation. They rubbed a hand at the scars across their chest as they pondered a moment.

    Mors talked from the side of his beak, "Screw this. I say specter..."

    Baird thought quickly on what to do. What matters is that the world be made aware that this really wasn't a ploy by either side, but something else entirely. They'd need proof, but what would suffice? How could they get it? He thought that the first plan should be the simplest. He called out at the tenebrous crowd, "Who are you? Why do you want us to fight?"

    Already they were back to whispers, but were drowned out by the false phantom, "We are the dead who seek justice. The-"

    Like a smashed glass, Mors let out a guttural hiss, "Oh, bullshit. We aren't children cowering at mom's story, talk to us like people!" Baird would admit later that Mors practically read his mind.

    After some further muttering, one of them would step through the fog. "He's right, let's really tell them." The rest whether reluctantly or not followed suit. The one in the center took off the veil on their head. These were mostly all moon elves and a couple humans. They all stepped closer as a couple walked the edges of the cave to block the entrance.

    The censer-bearer spoke again, "We are here to stoke the rebellion. The royals of that damnable island of haughty fools deserve to have every lord and lady across Charon show them that being named after Solaria does not make you the precious fathers of the world!" Several members made small cheers in agreement as he continued, "There are no innocent bystanders left. Either you sit by and let the loyalist mutts exact tithe of the people or you do something to stop them." 
    
    Immediately Baird thinks of the suffering, and what others are being driven to do, "The people? Those same people you are endlessly aggravating and endangering with this charade? The people you are goading into charging at a vastly greater force so you can hide in this cave away from the fighting?" He then looks closer at the armor and weapons they are wielding. Those are not from the Crescent Isles or Sol City. That's Moonglade kit. "Who are you guys?"
    
    "They have their force. Join the Oniwanban and fight back."

Inmo turned towards Mors with a solemn expression. She then shifted her gaze to Baird, silently hoping for his agreement. Her eyes, filled with concern, reflected the weight of the situation as she spoke passionately, her voice trembling with emotion.

Inmo's narrowed eyes bore into the censer-bearer, her frustration evident in the deep furrow of her brow, intensifying with each spoken word. "Aggravating the conflict between the royals and the rebels only exacerbates the situation! There are undoubtedly innocent bystanders caught amid this chaos!" Her words echoed in the tense silence, resonating with an urgency that could not be ignored.

The tension in the atmosphere was tangible as she shifted her attention to the central figure, her determination giving way to mounting anger. With a firm stance, she extended her hand, poised to conjure a fire bolt if needed. "And my friend did ask you a question. Who exactly are you people? What are you gaining from this...?" The air crackled with the intensity of her words, and her unwavering resolve left no room for doubt.

Inmo's eyes narrowed into a steely gaze as she fixed her glare on them, her chest rising and falling with each deep breath as she fought to control the seething anger bubbling within her, determined not to let it consume her entirely.

    A thick unease coats everyone. Inmo's brewing fire in her voice, the surrounding foes placing hands onto their weapons, and the abomination subconsciously flexing their stance. The standoff begun with the unspoken and unavoidable truth that violence would be the only thing these foreign warriors would understand at this point.

    "We are the reckoning for the complacent. We are the voice of the true Moonglade. We are-!" 
    
    It was during this clear call to action that Baird looked to Inmo for a moment, "Trust me a second." A deep breath. He would place his hands over her ears and keep them shut. Just as the last words were coming out, bows and blades were being drawn and readied. Before their impeccable aim could be trained to loose spells, arrows, and charges at the adventuring pair, a rumbling vibration burst forth from the beastman's chest. What may feel like a small explosion sends a radiating wave of dust backwards. It was a roar so mighty that bones may be felt shaking in their sockets.^[1] All of the opposition threw free hands onto their ears, but it was too late. Anyone around the monster with the ability to hear would have the sickening ring of tinnitus drowning out every other muted sound. At least for a moment. Baird would release Inmo's ears here, if he was granted the trust to have closed them.
    
    Confusion and pain would buy the three time to make the first move. The hybrid wasted not a second, sprinting for the bowmen at one side. One would fall flat once the torso-sized fist of the boar crashed into them. The other would pull themselves together long enough to grab an arrow and slam it into Baird's side. A heinous squeal shakes the air as he backhands the retaliator. Rushing back to Inmo, the monstrous fighter seeks to cover his companion's back.

---

^[1]Howls of the Damned (metaphorical)