Entry 11: The Last Light and Dark Revelations
Age 28 - Session 1 Events
Well, THAT escalated quickly.
What started as a simple evening at Hope’s Call - nursing a drink, critiquing painfully off-key entertainment, and methodically working through their surprisingly decent fried fish - turned into exactly the kind of night that reminds me why I love my new companions and hate cosmic horror in equal measure.
I’d positioned myself perfectly in the corner booth, of course. Old habits from my scout training die hard, even when I’m trying to enjoy a peaceful meal. Seafoam eyes scanning the room, long arms casually within reach of weapons, forest-green hood casting just enough shadow to read everyone’s body language without them reading mine.
Then someone screamed outside.
The sound cut through the tavern’s warm atmosphere like a corrupted blade through healthy bark. Not just any scream - the specific kind of terror that means something has gone very, very wrong. My companions didn’t hesitate. Vaerenth bolted for the door first, Aster close behind, Augustus following with that methodical Guardian pace.
I love that they run toward danger instead of away from it.
What we found outside Last Light’s walls was everything my oracle visions had been trying to prepare me for, and somehow still worse than expected. A soldier - Nicholas Vakvom, as we learned - being hunted through misty marshland by skeletal undead. Armored skeleton warriors, a bone archer, and something spider-like with too many limbs that made my Umbra scars itch just looking at it.
The combat was… refreshing. After years of fighting alone, coordinating with people who understand tactics and don’t panic at the sight of danger was almost therapeutic. I took some hits - 2 armor damage, 2 health, managed to heal 1 back - but watching Aster devastate enemies with those Arcane Gauntlets while Vaerenth picked off targets with her shortbow made me remember why teamwork can be more effective than lone wolf tactics.
We saved Nicholas. That’s what matters.
But then things got… complicated.
Some rival adventuring group decided to make a play for community leadership by publicly accusing us of causing the undead attacks. Classic political maneuvering during a crisis. They went after Vaerenth first, calling her a drunk. Then tried to implicate the whole party in the supernatural threats.
I may have made things worse by successfully pickpocketing their leader. And getting caught. In my defense, his purse was practically begging to be liberated, and sometimes you have to test whether rivals are competent enough to notice basic theft. Answer: barely.
But then Hart - this brilliant exile from some northern canopy settlement - asked the perfect question: “Where were you when there was actual danger?”
Critical success. Crowd turned on the rivals instantly. “Another drunkard!” they shouted, completely destroying the challengers’ credibility. Hart and Vaerenth shared this epic high-five that probably sealed their friendship forever. Even cosmic horror can’t dampen the joy of watching perfectly executed social combat.
Huntmaster Reese Blackwood handled the aftermath with admirable fairness - demanded I return the stolen gold (which I did, because honor matters even when dealing with incompetent rivals) but didn’t punish the theft. Then he gave us the mission that changes everything.
Craven Vakvom is not missing. He’s hunting his own son.
Nicholas revealed the horrible truth: his father, the former expedition leader who took Last Light’s strongest defenders to Shulk Chasm and never returned, personally attacked him with undead forces. Not transformed. Not corrupted into something mindless. Actively, deliberately hunting his own child.
This isn’t a rescue mission anymore. It’s an execution.
The official story is still “search for Craven, save him if possible.” But Blackwood’s private admission - “I don’t exactly believe that he lives” - combined with my oracle sight showing the true scope of threat… We’re going to kill a father who betrayed everything he once protected.
My companions handled the revelation better than I expected. No panic about undead. No hesitation about crossing dangerous waters to reach Shulk Chasm. When I explained I’d been tracking an aetherweave-sensitive person and the trail led toward Last Light, they didn’t dismiss it as madness. They offered to help me continue the search.
That level of trust and acceptance… I’d forgotten what it felt like.
We shared drinks and tea before launching the expedition (Augustus’s idea - proper fellow, that one), and I found myself talking about Bright-Claw, about Whisper-Steps, about the terrible weight of necessary choices. They understood. Not the oracle sight, maybe never that, but the burden of doing what others can’t or won’t.
For the first time in years, I’m not carrying this alone.
The boat journey through Slithermarsh started peacefully enough. Time to process what we’d learned, plan our approach to Shulk Chasm, maybe even enjoy traveling with people who don’t flinch when I shadow-step.
Then we found Meyer’s End.
Small laketown. Shambling townsfolk. Central pyre burning low and fading.
And that’s a big problem.
My scars are practically vibrating with warning. The way those people move… not quite corrupted, not quite alive, not quite dead. And that pyre - in the Age of Umbra, when Sacred Pyres keep the darkness at bay, a dying flame usually means something terrible is about to be unleashed.
The oracle visions are clearer now. I can see the threads connecting everything: Craven’s betrayal, the undead in the marsh, this failing pyre, the aetherweave-sensitive person I’ve been tracking. It’s all part of something larger. Something that’s been building while I was learning to trust again.
We’re sitting in our boat, looking at Meyer’s End with its Soggy Boot tavern and shambling inhabitants. The pyre flickers. My scars pulse. My companions wait for guidance.
Classic Age of Umbra moment: help the mysterious town with the dying protective fire, or continue to the mission that might prevent worse corruption from spreading?
Either way, we’re not alone anymore. Whatever horrors await in Meyer’s End or Shulk Chasm, we’ll face them together. And somehow, despite the cosmic threat pressing against reality’s boundaries, despite Craven Vakvom’s family-destroying betrayal, despite the dying pyre and shambling townsfolk…
I find myself grinning.
Because tonight I learned that my new companions run toward screams instead of away from them. Because they trust a monster like me to watch their backs. Because when Hart asked that devastating question, she wasn’t just destroying rivals - she was protecting our reputation and our mission.
Tomorrow we’ll decide whether to investigate Meyer’s End or push directly toward Shulk Chasm. Tonight, I’m going to enjoy being part of a team that actually understands what it means to stand between the darkness and the light.
My name is Captain Howling Banjo. I am the shadow between hope and despair. I am the oracle-touched guardian of reality itself.
And I am no longer alone in this fight.
Oh, and I definitely need to plan a proper prank involving their bedrolls and some strategically placed bioluminescent fungi from Thornhaven Reach. Some traditions really are sacred, even at the edge of cosmic horror.
Especially then.
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