Act 1. Masks

Luna stopped cold at the alleyway. Something was amiss; the warm embrace of the moon took on a harsher, colder, meaner feel. Every hair on the back of his neck stood up as his sensitive nostrils detected the faint scent of rot—rotting food, rotting meat, rotting flesh. A shiver passed through his body as he sensed a locus of unholiness off to the side (Divine Blessing - sense presence of unholy forces). Slowly Luna unsheathed his mace and carefully scanned the alley, not entering it just yet.

As his eyes and ears adjusted, Luna could make out a faint, shuffling humanoid form with eyes like smoldering coals, the stench of decay wafting from its form. Lady of Silver, a ghoul! flashed through Luna's mind. The undead are an abomination in the eyes of my mistress! Realizing his plight, Luna realized that going up alone against such a foe would be foolish. Gripping his mace tightly, he screamed, CALL THE WATCH, THE UNDEAD ARE AMONG US!.

Briar let out a slow sigh, the tension in his shoulders ebbing as it became clear Kael wasn’t here to start a fight—at least not yet. But the realization that his old rival had come crawling out of the shadows only to ask for help weighed heavier than the dagger still half-drawn in his hand.
Typical Kael.

With a quiet grunt, Briar slid the blade back into its sheath and turned toward his satchel, the worn leather creaking as he dug through its contents. A wrapped ration—flatbread and dried meat—and a battered waterskin emerged a moment later. He held them out without ceremony, his voice calm but firm.

"Sit. Eat and drink," Briar said, nodding toward an overturned crate nearby. "Take a breath while I think this through."
Briar leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely laced. "I don’t have a lot in the way of spare coin right now," he admitted, voice low. "Work’s been... tight." He studied Kael’s face, trying to read what was left beneath the bruises and weariness. "How much are we talking?"

Kael took the ration with a grunt that might’ve been thanks and dropped onto the crate like his legs had given up pretending they were steady. He tore into the flatbread with the kind of hunger that said he hadn’t eaten anything that wasn’t scavenged or stolen in days.

Between bites, he muttered, "Twenty gold would get me out of the city. Enough for a spot on a merchant wagon or a ship to Neverwinter, maybe a bribe or two along the way."

He paused, chewing slower now, thinking it through.

"But if I want to stay gone... if I want to not end up dead in a gutter in Daggerford because some dockhand got paid to recognize my face..." He let out a slow breath, looking down at his hands. "I’d need more. Forty. Maybe a little more, if I’m honest."

Luna glanced about. The street was empty—no foot traffic, no passing guard, no flickering lanterns in nearby windows. Just the alley, the darkness, and the thing.

Realizing his plight, Luna knew charging blindly into such a foe would be suicide. Still, he would not cower.

---

He gripped the haft of his mace in one hand and raised his holy symbol high with the other. The silver crescent of Selûne caught a sliver of moonlight as Luna planted his feet and called out, voice ringing:
The echo of his shout had barely faded when he began the rite. "Selûne, Lady of Silver, light in the night, I beseech you! Let your radiant grace scatter this foul shadow—turn this creature from your servant’s path!"Moonlight shimmered faintly on the edges of his symbol. For a heartbeat, the silver glow surged—and the ghoul paused, one clawed hand twitching mid-step, lips curling back in a hideous grimace.

But the light flickered… and then failed. Tonight, his divine blessing was not enough.

The ghoul hissed low and resumed its advance. Its long limbs flexed with inhuman speed, claws scraping across stone. It was still coming.

Luna’s blood went cold. He braced himself.

Alone, with only faith and steel.

Briar shook his head slowly, a deep, weary sigh slipping from his chest as he leaned back on the crate. He rubbed the bridge of his nose between two fingers, not in frustration—but something close to resignation.
"I don’t have that kind of coin on me at all, Kael," he said finally, voice edged with guilt and honesty. "I might soon… but even then, it’s not guaranteed. And it’s not all mine to give."

He glanced at Kael again—really looked at him this time. The hollow cheeks, the tense jaw, the faint tremble in his hands as he held the ration. Hunger clung to him like another layer of grime. This wasn’t a ruse. Kael was running on fumes.
"Have you tried going to Branric?" Briar asked, softer now. "Or the Harpers? Someone must still owe you a favor. You didn’t burn every bridge, right?"


Briar sighed again, this time with a faint shake of his head, like he was already regretting what he was about to offer. He stood and stretched, tugging his coat tighter around himself.
"Come on," he muttered. "You need something more than dried meat and water. There’s a place two alleys down—serves hot stew and bread for a few coppers. No questions asked, and no one looks twice at a familiar face looking worse for wear."

Kael didn’t move right away. He stared down at the half-eaten ration in his hand, jaw tight, eyes flicking briefly toward Briar’s satchel—then his belt.

Lunareth watched the beautiful light of his goddess fade away. M'lady, it seems your will is that I prove my devotions through action; so be it, and may I find favor in your eyes. Steeling himself for the combat, Luna cried out "Let your moon be my light, and I shall let my mace be your shining symbol" as he closed the gap to the reeking, wretched beast and swung his mace.

Briar
Kael’s breath hitched, and something hardened in his eyes—shame giving way to desperation’s final edge. Wordless, he slid his hand under his coat and drew a narrow, wicked little blade. It caught the faint light seeping through the slats, glinting like something pulled from a nightmare.

"Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Briar," Kael said, voice hoarse. "Just give me the backpack."

Briar didn’t move. His gaze didn’t leave Kael’s, steady and quiet as ever—but the refusal was clear in the set of his jaw.

"I know better than anyone you don’t keep coin on your hip for real. But if even that pouch is full, you must have a lot more on your pack. Hand it over. Now.", Kael demanded.

Briar’s hand shifted subtly toward his side, not quite drawing a weapon yet, but not hiding his intent either. "No."

Kael’s jaw clenched. He lunged, blade flashing, going not for a kill—but to maim. A cut across the arm. A hamstring. Just enough to drop Briar, grab the pack, and run.

But Briar had known him too long not to see it coming.

Lunareth
With a surge of adrenaline and righteous fervor, Luna charged. The ghoul's snarling visage grew closer—too close—and Luna swung wide, putting the weight of prayer and desperation behind the blow.

But the ghoul ducked low with unnatural speed, and the mace whistled past its foul shoulder, striking only the air.

The creature lashed forward in turn, jaws yawning unnaturally wide.

Briar’s eyes tracked the motion of Kael’s hand with a sharp instinct honed over years of close calls—but he didn’t flinch. Not at first. The glint of steel didn’t scare him. It was the look in Kael’s eyes that made his stomach twist—a mixture of desperation, pain, and something darker flickering just beneath the surface.

"Kael," Briar said flatly, voice low and tight with frustration. "Knock this shit off. I’m trying to help you."

But the words didn’t seem to land. Kael’s grip on the dagger only tightened, his stance shifting—half defensive, half poised for something rash. Briar stayed perfectly still, not out of fear, but calculation. He’d fought Kael before. He knew the man’s tempo, the way he moved when he meant business. He waited, reading every twitch of Kael’s muscles like a gambler watching dice tumble.

And then Kael lunged.

Briar reacted instantly, surging forward with one hand outstretched, aiming to snatch the blade from Kael’s grasp before it could reach him—but he was off by a breath. A half-step too slow. The dagger slid past his fingers like water, Kael’s movement sharper and less predictable than Briar remembered.

The failed grab threw Briar slightly off balance, his boots scraping against the warped floorboards. He stumbled back a step, cursing under his breath.

Briar
Kael tried two things, very quickly, almost simultaneously. First was to stab Briar in the arm. Second was to hit him in the face with the back of the dagger.

The ghoul's slavering jaws dripped foul and purulent ichor as it closed on Lunareth. A wave of fetid breath presaged the arrival of the horrible, jagged teeth.

---

Much to his chagrin, Luna was off-balance from his failed attack. He was clearly out of practice. As he struggled to bring the heavy mace back into position, he felt a wave of nausea pass through him as the ghoul's teeth pierced his flesh leaving a jagged cut along his upper right arm. A wave of dizziness swept through his body, but soon passed due to his elvish nature. However, that wave was debilitating enough that he was unable to evade the foul claws of the creature, which raked along his side.

Dripping blood, Luna whispered another prayer to his patroness. If it be your will that tonight is my time to face your judgement, so be it. Guide my hand as I fight against the creatures of the dark and the night, and protect the innocents who wander in the moonlight under your gaze. Mentally fortified, Luna attacked again; understanding from the failure of his original prayer that Selûne wanted him to act.

---

Selûne must have glanced at Lunareth, ever so briefly. As the ghoul was bringing its arms into line for another raking attack, Luna's mace dipped low and smashed meatily into the ghouls ribs. The force of the blow caused the ghoul to bend forward. Taking advantage, Luna did not drow the mace back, but shifted his grip and drove the haft straight into the ghoul's forehead with a might crack.

Luna
The thing let out a warbling hiss, its clawed fingers twitching in midair, before it dropped like a sack of offal to the cobblestones. There it lay, limbs splayed, spasming once… twice… then still. The reek of undeath clung to the air.Then something clicked faintly on the stone. A small black gemstone—glossy and sharply cut—tumbled from the ghoul’s slackened jaw. It bounced once and rolled to a stop near Luna’s boot, glinting dully in the dim streetlight. Obsidian, or something like it. Luna didn't know exactly what it was—but he had a gut feeling: it was worth something. Maybe gold. Maybe more.

The ghoul was dead. But what in Selûne’s name had it been doing here, carrying that in its mouth?

Lunareth Vaeloria bent over, retching up everything he ate that day. Waves of acidic bile spewed forth from his mouth in some kind of reaction to his near death. Where was the watch? Why did no one come? he thought frantically. As he slowly straightened up, he looked over the decomposing corpse of the ghoul, and catching his eye was a darkly shining gemstone. Luna leaned in for a closer look.

Kael lunged again, eyes wild and jaw clenched, his dagger slicing through the air with vicious intent. There was no hesitation in his movement this time—only the desperation of a man running out of options.

Briar saw it coming, and this time he moved without thinking, instincts flaring. Steel sang as he whipped out his own dagger and caught Kael’s blade mid-arc—metal clashing against metal in a flash of sparks. The impact rattled through his arm, the blades screeching as they locked for a heartbeat.

Then Kael did something Briar hadn’t expected. He released his grip on the dagger entirely.

"What—?" Briar started, but Kael was already moving.

In one fluid motion, Kael let the weapon fall, twisted under Briar’s guard, and caught the dagger by the handle again—reversed. Before Briar could react, the point of the blade drove into the meat of his thigh with a sickening crunch of flesh and gristle.

"Agh—shit!" Briar cried out, pain exploding up his leg like fire. His knee buckled, nearly dropping him to the ground, but years of street-fighting grit kicked in. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he dropped his center of gravity and threw his full weight forward in a brutal tackle.

The two of them crashed to the floorboards with a thud that echoed through the dilapidated hideout. Briar pinned Kael beneath him, blood already soaking through his trousers from the stab wound, and slammed his forearm across Kael’s chest to keep him down.

With his free hand, Briar flipped his dagger in his grip and drove the pommel toward Kael’s face, aiming to knock him cold. But Kael jerked his head to the side at the last second, and the butt of the dagger thudded uselessly into the dusty floor.

"Damn it, Kael!" Briar snarled, sweat slicking his brow, his voice a mixture of rage and desperation. "You don’t want to do this!"

Lunareth
Lunareth Vaeloria wiped the bile from his lips with the edge of his sleeve, breath ragged and shivering. His stomach still lurched, but the wave of nausea had passed. He straightened slowly, joints aching, as his eyes settled once more on the tiny black gemstone glinting near the fallen ghoul.

He crouched and picked it up, rolling it between his fingers.

For a moment, his stomach churned again—but not from pain. From recognition.

Onyx…? he thought, heart skipping. But no—it was close, yet not quite. His training in the House of the Moon had included many long nights studying the relics and symbols of the enemy. Onyx, deep and pure, had a sinister gleam to it—polished to a luster that reflected light like liquid midnight.

But this was not that.

Obsidian. Similar at a glance, but duller. Where onyx shimmered with shadowed depths, obsidian seemed brittle, almost glasslike—more fragile, more chaotic. A natural volcanic glass, not a true gemstone. Its shine was harsher, colder, and it bore tiny imperfections along its edges—flaws.

Luna furrowed his brow. This isn’t Shar’s sacred gemstone, he thought. But perhaps… a lesser echo?

Could it be that obsidian, lacking the depth and power of onyx, still held some residual affinity to necromantic forces? Could it be a cheaper substitute—a flawed anchor for a lesser undead spirit?

Luna turned the dark shard between his fingers again, the weight of his realization settling on him like a winter cloak.

If someone has found a way to substitute obsidian for onyx in necromantic rituals, Luna thought, a chill creeping into his bones, then they’ve discovered a means to create undead more easily… and at a fraction of the cost.

Onyx required specific conditions to form—true gemstones born of both time and pressure, rare enough to be valuable even outside their unholy associations. But obsidian could be found in any land that had once known volcanic fire. Shattered and scattered by the earth’s fury, it was crude, plentiful… and cheaper.

Briar
Kael snarled beneath him, writhing like a trapped animal, blood from Briar's thigh wound smearing across their tangled forms. "I need the godsdamned gold, Briar!" he spat, voice cracking under the weight of desperation. "You don’t get it—if I don’t disappear, I’m dead!" He twisted violently, trying to buck Briar off.