I am not in control of this story.

Like any tale, it has its own characters, a plot, a beginning and, eventually, an end. But this story will be driven by more than words on a page. This story is driven by chance.

Throughout the tale, I will be using the basic rules of Dungeons and Dragons. Whenever a character needs to barter with a merchant, land a blow, or even just get in someone’s pants, I’ll roll a die. The outcome may be shifted by a character’s proficiencies or disadvantages, but in the end, the result of this adventure will be determined as much by these dice rolls as by my writing.

Some characters may die. Hell, some could die within the first five chapters. That will be out of my hands. It feels weird to say that. I sincerely do hope that doesn’t happen, but it could. Characters might suffer incredible loss or take an unexpectedly easy victory or two. Part of the thrill of this kind of writing is that I have to adapt to that: the randomness of it all.

So, without further ado, let the adventure begin.

***

Chapter 1- Setting Sail

The scent of the sea stung Ryka’s nose, but it was a scent he knew he’d need to endure if he were to get home. The bustling town of Purmont lay just on the border of the human kingdom of Praeas, but as it was a coastal town and a place of trade, its people were wonderfully diverse. He saw a number of beastkin from his own land milling about with the furless folk and it already reminded him of home, where he was eager to return. He saw one or two wolfkin, some who shared his dark fur and were complaining about the sun aloud. He considered how he might be able to use this, maybe a line something like, “Let’s get out of the heat and make our own.” Eh, he’d have to work on it.

His ears perked as he heard the soft, non-corporeal voice laugh in the back of his mind. "You can't honestly believe that line will work, Ryka."

His ears flicked back and he smirked.

"You never know," he thought silently in reply. "Someone might think it's clever."

His hand went to the ornate red hilt of the dagger, nestled in its sheath on his right hip—the source of his power and the home of the spirit who lent it to him.

"My centuries of knowledge aren't for nothing, you know." Shadowfang said, a light laugh still in her voice.

He allowed himself a laugh, out loud, ignoring the odd looks he got from passersby. His hand lingered a moment longer on the hilt, lightly grasping the worn ridges in the metal grip that fit perfectly in his hold, padded fingertips tracing the arcane blood sigils engraved into the rounded pommel and wicked sharp spines of the crossguard. And for just a moment, he could feel the power pulsing through it, matched with his heart beat. It was warm and intense, but comfortingly so, filling him with all the things that set his heart racing: excitement, pride, power, lust, with just a touch of anger and fear. Its warmth was good, not like the icky, sweltering, harsh heat of the sun overhead. Ryka didn't understand how anyone lived in these places.

His hand left the dagger and his dark eyes, almost as black as his fur, scanned the dock, looking for a ship that seemed willing to take passengers and ready to make way, but the heat was muddling his head. He’d have to check with the dockmaster, and so he made his way down to the weathered yet well-built looking wooden building by the docks, where he found a human woman barking orders to the workers. She was a middle-aged woman with sun-kissed skin, brown hair tied into a practical bun, a tricorn hat sitting neatly atop her head. Ryka didn’t take to humans, and she struck him as kind of a hardass, so he kept their relationship professional and brief.

“I’m looking to board a ship to Talidran,” he said once she had a moment.

“‘Cross the Lamalu Sea?” the woman said. “We’ve got a few comin’ and goin’—trade ships, mostly—but it’ll be a few days’ journey.”

Ryka nodded. “What’ve you got? I’m not looking for anything fancy.”

“Well, there’s the… what was it? Fazin? Farzan? Something like that,” she said, rifling through the pages of what he assumed was a manifest.

“Ah, the Fa'zahn,” she said, tapping the page.

“Swift Wind, I believe it means, in the tabaxi tongue," Shadowfang said in his mind.

“Tabaxi name, tabaxi crew,” the dockmaster murmured, “captain’d by a… Darkhide.”

Ryka lit up. It couldn’t be…

“Shay Darkhide?” he laughed. “Black-furred Tabaxi?”

“That’s the one,” the woman said.

"Oh, I remember her," Shadowfang hummed. "She was sweet."

“Have they left yet? Which ship was that?” he asked.

“Due to depart soon,” the dockmaster said, glancing up. “She’s just there.”

The woman pointed straight out at the dock full of ships, to a strong wooden vessel with a big hull. Its crew, a number of tabaxi of varying fur colors, were loading crates and barrels onto the boat. And there, on the dock, overseeing all this, was the captain herself.

Ryka ran down the dock, feet pounding into the planks as soon as he saw her, pushing through the crowd of bustling dockworkers, traders, and travelers. He’d met hundreds, maybe thousands of partners in his life, some of whom he’d paid for the privilege, but very few had left a similar impression to Shay Darkhide.

“Morning, Captain!” he called as he got close.

Her ears perked and she straightened, her tail stopping its idle swishing and going rigid. She turned and those golden eyes set on him again, wide with surprise and bright as the sun above.

“Ryka?” she laughed. “Ryka Woodwalker? By the Goddess, it’s been years!”

He laughed and they joined in a tight, firm embrace—firmer than he’d been expecting. She’d definitely put on some muscle in her time at sea, no longer the thin, lithe little rogue he once knew.

“Look at you, captain of your own ship!” he said, pulling back, but still holding both her shoulders, giving one a firm pat.

“I suppose I have you to thank for it,” she said, grinning and flashing sharp teeth. “Some days, I’m not sure how I made it this far.”

“Ah, you’d have been just fine,” he told her. “I just gave you some gold, I didn’t put you at the helm.”

“Still you flatter me,” she said. "And still I am in your debt."

“Well, I have an idea how you can repay me," he said, smirking, a smirk that widened into a big grin as she cocked an eyebrow. "And it's not that. I was just headed back across to Talidran. This must be fate!”

“It must be,” she laughed.

“Here,” he said, reaching for a crate. “Let me…”

He grunted, attempting to hoist it up, but managed to get it only a few inches off the ground before setting it back down.

“Heavier than it looks,” he huffed.

“This wouldn’t be an attempt to impress me in the hopes of joining me in my quarters, would it?” she asked, putting a hand on one hip.

"Honestly, I was hoping you'd be out of spare rooms and that would be the only option," he said, grinning again.

He tried again, this time succeeding in lifting the crate, striding forward and carrying it onto the dock.

“Oh, so you're just showing off?” she called as he set it with the others. He laughed.

***

It was here that Aecra joined the passengers of the Fa'zahn. Seeing the wolfkin offer his aid to the crew, she figured she could do the same.

“If you’re offering passage across the Lamalu, I don’t mind a bit of work myself,” she said, hooking her talons under the nearest crate and hoisting it without any trouble. “Where do you want it?”

The tabaxi turned and saw the white-feathered aarakocra, the feline's yellow eyes taking in her toned physique with what seemed like just a hint of interest. Those eyes widened and flashed with surprise as they flicked to the diamond-studded bracers at her wrists, the finely-cut white gems glistening in the bright sun, but the tabaxi quickly snapped back to professionalism and nodded toward the nearest mast of the ship, where the other crates were stacked, being carried down into the hold. Aecra spread her wings and pumped them, lifting off the ground and swooping over to the deck, setting the crate down gracefully.

She turned back to see the tabaxi captain looking impressed, the wolfkin looking more so. His eyes wandered her form—and unlike the captain's gaze, his held a definite interest and no professionalism whatsoever—admiring her white feathers and red robes before making their way up to her face, where his eyes met hers and he seemed to apologize with his gaze.

She got this a lot; the monk robes gave the impression of celibacy, but she assured him with her own gaze that this was not the case, a smirk curving at the edge of her gray beak, her blue eyes sparkling. The captain didn’t seem perturbed by the fact that Aecra had drawn his gaze when only moments before he’d flirted with her, instead donning a smirk of her own, evidently used to this behavior from the wolfkin. Given the apparent promiscuity of the canine, she allowed herself to indulge in a sweeping glimpse of his dark fur and toned muscles, covered in black leather armor with red embellishments. Very nice.

“Aecra, warrior of the Order of the Diamond,” she introduced with a low bow.

“An aarakocra monk,” the wolfkin said with a charming laugh. “Don’t see many of those, especially not in this part of the world.”

Aecra smiled. “I’m proud to be one of the few of my kind among my order. If you don’t mind having me aboard?” she said, turning back to the captain.

“I’ve yet to see a downside,” the tabaxi chuckled, a warmer laugh than the wolfkin's.

Aecra moved to grab another crate, but the next proved to be more than she could handle and didn't budge.

“Let me give you a hand with that,” came a new voice.

***

And here Karik joined them, as they looked up and saw him: a mighty, towering, white wolfkin with pure white fur and eyes as blue as the sky, much like the aarakocra, only instead of monk robes, he was adorned with heavy armor emblazoned with gold embellishments and the symbol of a Sun across the chest; the icon of Avita, Goddess of Creation.

Karik saw the way their eyes lit as they saw him, and he was actually glad the aarakocra hadn't managed to lift the crate, for she might have dropped it in surprise. But as uncomfortable as his fame had once made him, he was used to this reaction by now, and gave a simple bow, little more than a slow nod, and walked over to lift the crate. He did so with some effort, but not too much, and made sure to have a good grip on it to avoid dropping it, then walked over and placed it with the others.

“Aren't you…” the dark-furred wolfkin trailed off.

“Karik Winterglade, at your service,” he said, with a deeper bow this time.

“The Hero of Haven Brook?” the aarakocra asked. Karik nodded politely.

"Did you really fight off two-thousand demons?" the wolfkin asked, eyes wide.

"Two hundred fifty," Karik chuckled nervously.

"Oh," the black-furred wolfkin said. "Well, still."

“The Goddess’s own chosen one, helping stow cargo on my ship?” the tabaxi chuckled. “No one’s going to believe this one.”

The other tabaxi on the crew had stopped loading the crates and were gathering on the deck to get a look at him as well. He felt a slight pang of guilt knowing his presence disrupted things.

“Well, as it happens, I was hoping to get a ride as well,” Karik said. “I'm happy to pay a fair price.”

“Is that the Hallowed Blade?” the wolfkin asked.

“Would you like to see it?” Karik asked, drawing the holy greatsword from his back and laying the five foot blade flat across his palm.

“Oh, no, I don't think I’m worthy of holding that thing,” he chuckled, holding up his hands and backing away. Karik heard him murmur, “No offense,” under his breath, and thought it odd the wolfkin would choose to say this part quietly, especially since the remark didn't seem directed toward him, but he paid it no mind.

He offered the hilt of the blade to the aarakocra, who considered a moment before reaching out to grasp the handle. It was clear from how she gripped it that she'd never used a blade of this length before, nor perhaps any blade, as monks were trained to fight with their hands, but she had no problem lifting it, which was a feat of strength in itself.

“It's a very nice sword,” she said, admiring the crossguard and detailed hilt, also stylized with a blazing sun, before looking at the shining blade.

“Do you feel anything?” the black wolfkin asked.

“No,” the monk said thoughtfully. “But it's still a very nice sword.”

She turned the blade and passed it hilt-first back to Karik, who took it with a shared nod and allowed himself a moment to relish in the warmth that passed through him when he held it; Her light. He took a quick second to admire the design of the blade itself, lamenting that he didn't do so often enough, and then returned it to the sheath at his back, feeling it slide into place with a familiar weight and a satisfying ring of metal.

“It was heavier than I expected,” the monk said, “but then it seems you're certainly blessed enough to handle it.”

Karik was stunned, a soft blush lighting his cheeks, which turned quickly to a darker one as the words sank in. It wasn't just that a monk, of all people, was flirting with him; he'd have probably been no less stunned had the remark come from the apparently openly flirty wolfkin. Karik was never sure how to accept compliments.

“I…” he trailed, cleared his throat, then awkwardly said, “Thank you.”

“Does anyone need any help carrying anything else?” he asked quickly.

***

This was where the final member introduced herself.

“Well, as long as you're offering…” she said, maneuvering her unfamiliar lips and tongue in a practiced manner to mimic the accent of the elven woman she currently portrayed. If any of them saw through her disguise, they didn't show it, but she did notice the eyes of the tabaxi wander the shinier parts of her fine robes before glancing away quickly, guilt flashing in her yellow eyes for but a moment. Ven knew how to recognize a fellow thief, though the captain of this vessel appeared retired from that life, her interest in Ven’s apparent wealth nothing more than an old habit dying hard.

She didn't recognize the big, muscled wolfkin everyone had been gawping at, but she’d been following him through the town awhile; he'd been a good distraction while she slipped through the shadows before donning her current disguise. Naked as she felt in this form, she was used to slipping into the role of featherless peoples by now, and knew how to play the part of a stuffy noble. The white wolfkin came over and accepted her bags with a smile, and it almost hurt her, not only to take advantage of him, but to barely acknowledge his kindness, all for the sake of disguise. He had a good heart.

If she were still a holy figure, she might have seen the divine aura emanating from him, or vice versa. She'd been afraid at first that the Holy Symbol of Ravenkind might glow in his presence, but it had been inactive since her last adventure. She wondered if in fact he might recognize her were she in her real form, black feathers and all, given the reputation she’d gained during her time in Barovia. Her own holy aura might have faded long since, but the story of her exploits was only just reaching other lands.

And then there was Aecra. She was the same as when they'd met not but so many months ago; her distrust of nobility seemed to have lessened somewhat, but was still evident from the scowl on her face as Ven stepped toward the gangplank. Perhaps, Ven thought, she’d sneak into her cabin later, when her disguise had worn off and the other passengers and crew were asleep. Most of them, anyway. That other wolfkin and the captain were definitely going to be up late.

With how he glanced at Aecra and the other two from time to time and yet his wandering eyes had never passed over Ven’s shapely elven disguise more than once, she figured the darker wolfkin only had eyes for other beastkin, not the featherless, flightless species of this continent. A shame she couldn't risk dropping the disguise and revealing her true form—both he and the captain seemed her type. The white wolfkin wasn't bad, either, honestly, but he seemed too pure and innocent to flirt with, let alone try to seduce.

As she strode forward to board the ship, she stepped up to the captain promptly and said, “I’d like your finest cabin, and a place to store things of particular value.” The sea captain might've been out of the game awhile, but she still seemed to catch the Thieves’ Cant—"I need a place to hide in case the authorities come looking."

“I think you'll find any of our cabins very much to your liking,” the feline replied with a knowing smile.

Before they'd set off, Ven had already marked anyone worth stealing from. The crew were all good folk, just trying to get by, and they knew enough to keep their pockets guarded—Ven wouldn't have stolen a coin from any one of them if she wanted to. She wouldn't dare steal from Karik, the supposed “Chosen One”, not that there would've been any point; he seemed to believe in the charitable ideals of his church to a fault, giving his coin away at every turn. He was the kind of person she wished she'd met earlier in life. Maybe then she'd have gone down a different path. But no, she knew well enough by now the path she was set on was for the better.

Playing the part of the rich snob, she did find herself bumping elbows with plenty of good marks. Her socialization with the more elegant passengers of the vessel involved lots of elaborate gestures, drawing the eye and distracting from her hand in their pockets. Soon enough, though, she did turn in for the night, not to sleep, but because her shifted form would only hold up an hour after she'd first cast the spell, and it would have been unbecoming to sprout wings and feathers beneath her fine robes.

She did keep one eye on Aecra when she wasn't busy picking pockets and freeing dangling bracelets and necklaces from their owners. She overheard the monk introduce herself to the Chosen One—Karik—and the handsome dark-furred wolfkin, whose name she learned was Rykarah, “‘Ryka’, for short,” as he said when flirting with every member of the crew whose eye he managed to catch.

Ven had stopped stealing from well-meaning folk after her stint in Barovia, but she did still take a keen interest in his dagger, the black hilt adorned with flowing, ruby red designs and symbols she couldn't identify, but which she suspected were of some arcane nature. And then there was that thing he kept doing where his ears perked and he'd sort of lose focus; sometimes he dropped a hand to his side to caress the hilt. She suspected he might have some sort of spell he was casting through it. Was he contacting someone telepathically, reporting to somewhere else? She cursed her lack of aptitude in the arcane arts again and found herself wishing for her old friend Katra, a kitsune, cunning sorceress and fellow thief who could see into others' minds, and the one she'd obtained her treasured Ring of Alter Self from, to which she owed her current disguise.

Yet despite his obvious familiarity with Captain Darkhide, Ryka didn't appear to be a part of the trade himself, nor was he apparently ever a part of it, as she'd noticed he hadn't picked up her Thieves’ Cant between her and the captain earlier.

Her suspicions about his career were piqued when she caught a quick exchange between him and the tabaxi late into the voyage, when they were out of earshot of the rest of the passengers and crew:

The feline had glanced over and locked eyes with him, and said, "So, you're still…?"

He glanced back, meeting her gaze, and nodded. His usual suaveness and charm vanished with his smile, replaced by a straight back and a grim frown, his tail stopping its slow, idle swish.

"If I weren't still in it, I wouldn't be standing here," he said. "You don't really get out."

Captain Darkhide had also said something about him clearing her debt, and there was a moment of quiet genuineness between the two, something that was not quite romance, so Ven came to understand he was as pure-hearted as the rest of them underneath all the blustering. And yet, the rest of him was still a mystery, one that both intrigued her and made her move cautiously, always keeping one eye on him.

She felt an odd underlying kinship with Karik; although her own connection with the Goddess had been more indirect and was severed after that whole thing with Zarovitch ended. A part of her missed that divine light, the warmth of it, the way people had looked at her. But she knew the spotlight wasn't for her. It was time to sink back into the shadows.

And above all, Ven was glad Aecra was doing well. Even if it was only a one-night stand, Aecra was one of the first people Ven had truly connected with after rejoining the world, breaking free of that accursed land. She'd have to reunite with Aecra later.

***

Author's Note

Those of you familiar with my writing will note that I'm a big fan of the "charming rogue" archetype, for which I blame Disney's Robin Hood. Stupid sexy foxes. Well, intentionally or not, a charming and roguish bi/pansexual wolf guy always seems to end up in my stories, which is where Ryka comes in.

Except, wait, calling Ryka the charming rogue might be confusing because Ven is actually the party's rogue in this adventure, while Ryka is a blood hunter. But whatever.

Anyway, what I've gotten really good at over time is creating characters who adhere to the charming rogue stereotype while also making them distinct from each other--at least I hope. My own fursona, Shade, for example, has a slightly more obvious soft side than most of my other wolfy charmers. Ryka, meanwhile, well… He's got his own… issues. You'll see what I mean.

That's not to say the other characters don't have well-developed backstories of their own. Ven in particular is an interesting case in that she was previously used in a playthrough of the Curse of Strahd module, which I dropped hints about in her intro.

I'm excited to get this going and see how it all goes. I just hope no one perma-dies in chapter two, lol.