The writhing thing that emerged from the deep that night was foreign to the pirates aboard the Chickadee. How could it be anything but that? How can one reconcile something so terrifically vast, where the swirling stormclouds in the strata above brazenly vacating its hulking silhouette? Amidst the chaos of wind and water, the creature emanated nothing but silence. How does one understand this? A silent pulse crashed into the ship and in a moment, Ren and the others could hear nothing but the pounding of their chests. Kaladri cried out something, but Ren could only tell this from the movement of the Orcish captain’s lips. Kaladri seemed to read the befuddled looks of her crew, then frantically waved toward one of the other sailors atop the deck.

The figure was cloaked and was choking back some of the violent surf that had just been quelled by the aberration. He scratched his horns and scrubbed some of the seafoam away to size up the creature. But looking upon it wasn’t necessary - this was a familiar feeling to this moment. This has happened before. “The Pact will always follow me,” the figure thought, centering himself and beginning the rituals necessary to reach out and touch this thing.

Above in the Crow’s Nest, Ren looked down and saw a crescendo of forms erupt from the Tiefling. Whirling black tentacles zipped through the sea and enraptured the form, cutting the silence instantly.

“Giacomo!” Kaladri screamed from the wheel, “Send that thing back down!” She turned hard port, directly into the path of the creature. This devil warlock came in handy, after all.

“I don’t know what it is, but I’ll try.” Giacomo responded, now chanting Old Words in a language that Ren always found unnerving. But his purpose aboard the ship was soon to be met, and any complaints to the other inhabitants of the ships would very soon see a resolution.

Here this person was from the Chickadee. What’s his angle? Out here to find me and to deliver some justice? To kill me? How is he alive?

That night in the storm was a while ago. A year now? Two? I thought he was dead for sure. Shouldn’t be too much of a surprise - always was something unsettling about Giacomo. Not in how he looks or anything like that. Mostly how he speaks. Always gave me the creeps.

I say hi to him. He says hi back. His voice sounds warm and nice, like being on a beach in Volos in the summer. Does it sound like Simon? Like Carson? I scratch my head and try to remember if it’s always sounded that way. Don’t think so. Don’t know if I don’t think so on the other hand. It’s strange. What questions was I asking about him before? He smiles as I scratch my head and try to think about it. I think that’s pretty nice too.

We were just getting back from the Blanchwood Mystic. Now’s the time to travel North and get our mark. I notice the ranger with us is more antsy when he’s on the boat - he needs to be active. I hope for his sake he’ll be quick to the scent of these Black Bell scalliwags.

Some time passes and some tales pass amongst us. I keep closer guard than usual. So many tilting events of late - I can’t keep my bearings straight. A lot more paths to take than I first thought. Which is the right one? I think that the others would have made some different choices, especially with Simon. The word wears on me like a summer storm, like wearing a cloak of rain that you can’t shake. The others have seen him but I don’t think they understand how bad he is. Will they think I’m bad if I tell them how I made him?

Åke and J stop the ship at dawn and get swallowed by the old forest. At least that’s what it looks like. They scout ahead to find the mark and are quicker and deadlier than I would be here. The old growth is eerie and silent mostly. Sometimes I hear some birds chirping or the others grumble about this and that. The silence is the toughest part. I glance over at Rinn for these silent parts, seeing if they want to break the silence. I don’t know if Rinn likes me. I don’t know if I like me.

Early in the afternoon they return and tell us what they find. They aren’t far and are a convoy. The mark’s a half-elf named Garcia. We talk about who to kill and who not to kill. Wait. No, we don’t do that. We talk about how to rescue Garcia and when to find him. Why did I first think about who to kill? The Black Bell is just mercenaries. Why worry about killing them?

As we near the convoy, the silence grows. Each step I take has no trace, and I think J’s responsible for that. I only feel my heartbeat racing. I lash out and stomp on the ground, trying to feel something. But nothing happens. The others look at me with darting eyes. I want to tell them to go to hell, but I think we might already be there.

Ahead in a clearing, we catch the light of a fire. It’s the convoy. The T.I.P. had talked about a plan when this happened, and I watched it unfold. It involved some magic at first and a way to sneak in without being seen. It made sense - there were lots of wagons around. But there’s only one word in my head right now and it’s hard to shake out and focus on other things. That word is kill.

A ball of fog gets thrown from our ranger as the camp starts to be roused. But we don’t hear anything. Someone in the back of my head tells me to kill. I don’t have anything to kill, so I wait. To my side, Giacomo, Rinn, and Åke wait with vigilant eyes. Dorian and J creep into the fog, with J becoming a giant spider that I think would make for a very good killer. Kill. No! We’re here to rescue Garcia from the Black Bell and get out safely. Kill.

I want to ask everyone else if they’re seeing or hearing this, but it seems like everyone is looking for things to come out of the fog. There’s nothing to see or hear now. Kill. No! No! I see the face of the demon lit by green balefire. It erupts from the fog with some of its spawn and they rush to attack us. One of them touches Rinn and the silence is pierced with a shriek. I release! Then again!

In front of me is not Simon or anything demonic at all. I see a woman in front of me, blood pouring from her armoured shoulder. My anchor’s wedged in her pauldron, resting inside warped metal. She looks up at me defiantly and with hateful eyes. I hear her breathing heavily, gasping for any available air. My skin feels very warm and is wet, like I’m covered in summer rain. I glance over at Rinn, who is shaking. She’s covered in it too, and its stinging iron scent tells me what it is. I pull out my anchor from the soldier’s pauldron and she shrieks again. Faintly, I hear Dorian telling me to run. So I do that too.