The Wandering Isles: Session 56

The group began in uncertainty. Exhausted and low on supplies, they debated their next steps—returning to Ashrest, pushing onward to an unknown town, or finding another way entirely. With options thinning and tension rising, Amaedrianna scouted for help. Eldrin stepped up, locating a nearby camel they named Jürgen, a small win in a landscape of doubts.

Their conversation turned toward the figure they had rescued—the woman sealed away in silence. Weslyn examined the magical bindings that contained her, unveiling the enchantments woven into his own tattoos. They pulsed with mysterious energies: fey conjurations, necromantic flickers, divinatory threads—magic that seemed to echo with life, death, and seasons themselves. Even his companion, Chicken the fox, proved stranger than fiction. Faintly tethered to another realm, shimmering just beyond full clarity, the creature remained elusive even under magical sight.

But Weslyn wasn’t alone in that moment. From the corner of his vision, something immense emerged—a presence cloaked in forest-scented dread and violet shadow. Its antlered silhouette loomed invisibly, stitched into reality like roots beneath the skin of the world. Measured. Watched. Changed. And then… gone. He stood shaken, uncertain if what he saw had truly left, or simply withdrawn from view.

In the aftermath, Weslyn turned to Eldrin—the one among them he strangely didn’t feel familiar with. He asked for sleep, and Eldrin obliged. What followed was a journey through dream: a walk through memories of home, family, firelight… and then darker places. They explored the moment Eldrin was taken—and saved. But they weren’t alone. Even in dreams, figures watched: Virethorn… and another. Vathros. Neither belonged there. And yet, there they were.

Elsewhere, Dash handed Slate his jacket as a makeshift pillow. A note fell from the pocket—one Dash had once received: a reminder that someone believed dead may not be. While Amaedrianna and Dash kept watch, their conversation wandered to gods, bloodlines, and legacies. She spoke of whispers from the Lunar Kin, of angelic ancestry, of a power she didn’t fully understand. Dash spoke of home—of Palperroth—and his plans to return. But her warnings were clear: if he hoped to change the world, it would require more than courage. It would require tearing down the regime… and those who propped it up.

Their moment ended with the flash of red eyes, ominous and watching. Eos was still trying to understand her staff. Slate, after inspecting the tent, returned the jacket. Eos tossed it at Dash, frustrated with his earlier disregard aboard the ship. The two confronted their tension, setting new ground between them—an agreement built on honesty, patience, and respect. And then, Eos tapped into the staff’s power.

It responded with brilliance. A moonlit fox shimmered into being, summoned like an echo of celestial memory—cast in light that bent and danced through the air like starlit mist. But something went wrong. The magic surged beyond her control, flinging both Eos and Dash into unconsciousness.

In that vision-state, Eos walked calmly through a ship. Dash, bewildered, panicked. Pain confirmed it wasn’t just a dream. Outside, Amaedrianna tried to wake them—her slap landed, but they did not stir. Within the dream, a sea serpent rose from the depths. Weslyn and Eos stood calm. Dash raised his blade, bracing for death. And then… it stopped.

Amaedrianna gripped the staff, blocking its light. And just like that—they woke. Soaked. Breathless. Changed. The dream had bled into the real.

Weslyn tried once more to look beyond the veil. Magic burned into his sight. And so did a name: Virethorn. He panicked. He ran. He screamed for them to escape into the book tied to Vathros. Eos summoned a portal—dark and hissing with smoke—and vanished inside. Hatsu and Eldrin followed. Weslyn hesitated, then fled through it.

Amaedrianna paused. Dash stood, uncertain. The others gone.

Smoke swirled.

From it, Vathros emerged.

What followed was not a fight. It was surrender. Dash didn’t resist. He didn’t scream. He changed. Slowly. Elegantly. Terrifyingly.

Skin turned pale, then violet. Eyes glassed over. Teeth fell. Tentacles unfurled. A mouth opened where no mouth had been. There was no agony. No cry. Only transformation. The man was gone—what remained was something older.

Something listening.

And as the new creature lifted its hood and stepped forward, it smiled without smiling. Spoke without words. Promised what Dash wanted most.

All it required… was patience. And a thrall.

With calm precision, Dash bent to pick up the book, turned… and walked.

Not as himself.

Not anymore.