Session 21: An Unexpected Guest

The morning sun glimmered over the broad waters of the Reik as the Dandy Fraulein rocked gently against Altdorf’s bustling quay. Stout ropes creaked under the weight of the newly acquired barrels of cheap wine, a less-than-glamorous cargo that nonetheless felt like a triumph to those who had faced far darker perils in recent days. Even so, tension weighed in the air. The shadows of wanted posters bearing familiar faces loomed in every alley and thoroughfare of the Empire’s capital, and a quiet unease crept into the crew’s hearts. Thus, they worked swiftly—finalizing a profitable if modest arrangement, paying off the last of the dock fees, and escaping the city’s dense aura of intrigue without tempting further scrutiny.

Once they pushed off from Altdorf, the river’s cool breath brought a welcome sense of promise. Tall trees lined the banks, and damp morning winds ruffled sails and moods alike. Qavitrae guided the tiller with calm precision. While her poise appeared unshakable, inside she felt the old vigilance stirring—an awareness of eyes on her back and rumors running wild. At times, she caught Wanda glancing at her scar and Thindruk absently fingering a wanted poster—both silent reminders that Altdorf’s bribe-hungry officials and prying agents might not be the only ones interested in them.

Each dawn saw them prowling farther upstream. News carried by passing riverboats floated across the Dandy Fraulein’s deck: ominous tidings of the Emperor’s illness, a Crown Prince gone astray, and a lost scion of Ostland rumored dead in mountain ambush. Whispers of political tension bled through every tale. Thindruk, ever the raconteur, gathered stray bits of information from other boat captains, weaving them into a tapestry of rumor that only heightened everyone’s sense of lurking crisis. Nora and Wanda, sharing ropes and duties on deck, stole worried glances at the tree-lined shore, wary that any side current or drifting traveler might bring unexpected threats.

On a cool morning, with pale light just cresting the far bank, a single black crow swooped down the Fraulein’s hatchway. Thindruk spotted it: a streak of dark feathers vanishing into the depths of the hold. His blood quickened, and he beckoned Nora to help him investigate. They found a woman crouched in the shadows—finely dressed, yet her luxurious garments were threaded with animal bones and odd trinkets that set the hairs on the back of Nora’s neck on end. Beside the stranger stood a wolf, sleek and silent, baring its teeth at intruders.

In a fluid, almost dismissive gesture, the woman tossed a pouch of coins at Thindruk’s feet and proclaimed herself a passenger now—here to travel south and claiming any danger that followed would be her own burden. Her name was Usapia Balakanyan. Every word from her lips held an edge of unspoken secrets, and the wolf—Bran—remained tense at her side. Qavitrae, summoned below, peered at Usapia through centuries-honed caution. In the faint swirl of intangible energies she perceived, there was no corruption, no vile warp to the magic around this stranger—only the primal, brown-hued stirrings of the wild. An Amber wizard, then. Still dangerous, still a mystery, but not a direct agent of the darkness they all feared. And so, with coins clinking in Thindruk’s hand, the wizard and her wolf found a corner of the hold for themselves, insisting on privacy while swearing no harm to the Dandy Fraulein’s crew.

Yet the ship’s mood shifted: Wanda, reflecting on her old life as a bailiff, felt her instincts gnaw at her. Was Usapia running from something that might yet catch them? In half-whispered corners, Felrick and Nora shared worries about ambush, witch hunters, and the chaos that always seemed to shadow unorthodox magic. Qavitrae, however, issued a guarded acceptance—she would not bar the wizard’s path so long as no threat arose from it.

After a night of uneasy rest, the Fraulein’s journey continued. A telltale rock formation shaped like a bull’s head soon rose along the forested bank, and Qavitrae guided the vessel to shore. She spoke little of her purpose, only that she had a task in the Reichwald’s depths. The group followed her into thick woods where old boughs and underbrush seemed to tower like silent sentinels. Even Nora—accustomed to travel by foot—felt the weight of ancient eyes upon them. Soon they reached a gnarled oak of staggering age, with roots woven through earth and stone like colossal serpents. An unsettled hush hung in the clearing.

Here, Qavitrae knelt without ceremony, digging into the tangled roots. It looked to the others as if the oak surrendered its secrets willingly, for the soil parted far too easily. From beneath moss and centuries’ worth of fallen leaves, Qavitrae lifted two graceful blades. Their metal shimmered in soft daylight, curved lines hinting at elven forging lost to modern craftsmen. Eyes locked on these relics, Qavitrae silently recalled old wars and older oaths. She pressed damp earth across her hands, an ancient ritual of remembrance, then strapped Seath and Oramnir to her back as though they were long-lost companions greeting her once more.

They returned to the Fraulein just past midday. Usapia looked on from the shadows, her wolf’s ears pricked. If she recognized the significance of those elven blades, she spoke nothing of it. By afternoon, the ship’s sails caught a steady breeze. Eddies of tension, however, still rippled among the crew—especially when their gaze drifted to Usapia’s chosen hiding spot. She might be no foe, but secrets still wound through her presence.

Another dawn brought an ominous sight. Near a bend of the Reik, a listing riverboat had drifted against the shallow bank. Bodies floated in the water around it—faces turned to the sky and limbs swollen with the bloat of sudden death. Red smears stained the vessel’s hull, glinting wetly in the morning sun. No sign of a living soul moved among the carnage; an eerie hush lay over the scene. Memories of past horrors weighed on the Fraulein’s deck, recalling an overturned carriage and the grotesque violence they had once encountered on the road. Now, a fresh tableau of blood and silent dread confronted them.

The Fraulein’s crew peered over the railing at the floating corpses, uncertain whether to dock or pass by. Dread settled in each heart: Wanda’s jaw clenched at the likelihood of bureaucrats or wardens suspecting their involvement if they found the scene first. Felrick laid a hand on one of his weapons, bracing for trouble that might yet lurk in the stained boat’s shadows. Nora’s eyes flicked around, scanning for threats on the tree line. Thindruk gripped the purse of coins Usapia had given him only days before, wondering if more ill omen followed that coin than it was worth. And Qavitrae, newly armed with millennia-old blades, felt the familiar stirrings of destiny—of conflict and sorrow that she had once tried to leave buried beneath an ancient oak.

River water lapped at the blood-streaked hull. A hush settled over the Dandy Fraulein’s deck, anticipation coiling like a serpent in the gloom. Whether they chose to investigate or not, the weight of this discovery fell upon them all, and once again the Reik promised no easy passage.