It was nearly night and Clair had promised to meet with Marcus for drinks and some swapping of tales. She owed him at least one to make up for his recounting of courting the Spring Maiden. After surveying the Elder's livingroom to make sure she'd mended all the flooring she turned to Berthold. "Be seeing you later tonight. Should anything happen I'll be at the tavern."

Berthold cocked his head to one side. "Which tavern?"

Claire blinked. "There's more than one now?"

"Yea, there's the ‘Faerie's Folly’ and ‘A Touch of Rime’." Said Berthold.

She struggled to see if she could remember the name of the one that had been there when she visited years ago. "The Folly then, I think that's the one I went to before."

Berthold sat down in one of the chairs nearby. "You'd be right, the Touch was opened by a merchant from Leere." He explained.

Leere was one of the nearby cities, one that was built over the frozen waters of lake Aulis. The city had seen an influx of trade once the restrictions on dealings with Megiddo were eased, something House Whiteford had been all too pleased by. A local merchant being pushed out by those coming from the rest of Kasite, or even Megiddo, could explain their presence in Imerre.

“From the City on the Lake? Really?” Asked Clair.

Berthold shrugged. He’d never really left Imerre and the local forests in his lifetime so beyond gossip from passing traders he had little to go on. “Apparently.” He adjusted himself in the chair. “You ought to get going, sun’s nearly down.”

She nodded. “I’ll see you later, Berthold.”

“No problem, thanks for the help.” 

Clair opened the door to the outside. “Really, it was no issue.” She said and ducked out the door. 

It had been cold out during the day and now as the sun was beginning to sink under the treeline the chill came with full force, carried by air currents that blew through the streets of Imerre. She walked through the streets, relying on memory to find the Faerie’s Folly. On her way she saw plumes of smoke from the various house’s chimneys and smelled the scent of that night’s dinner. Before the rich amber of the setting sun faded she saw the Folly and outside it, leaning against the timber that made up the alehouse was the silhouette of a massive man; Marcus. 

He waved at her and cupped his hands together. “Clair! Took you long enough!” He shouted.

Clair smiled and began to run towards him over the tamped down snow. “Sorry!”

Marcus pushed the door to the tavern open. “C’mon I got us a table already.” 

He squeezed himself through the door and held it open for Clair with one large hand. She stepped into the warm air of the Faerie’s Folly. Inside it was loud with the sounds of people enjoying a meal and the scent of a deer roasting over the central firepit filled the air. Once she was entirely in the tavern Marcus closed the door and led her to a table. On it was a veritable slab of roasted venison and three mugs, two of which had the honey mead the Folly was known for. The third mug’s owner became apparent as a mess of black hair could be seen behind the meat. 

Vance got off their seat and ran over to pull a set of chairs out for their father and Clair. “Hello again, Miss Clair.” They smiled up at her. “And your chair, Da.” 

Marcus put a hand on the kid’s head and mussed their hair before taking a seat. “Good job, Vance. For remembering your manners you can cut the meat.” He leaned down and produced the bone knife the Maiden had gifted him. “Now try not to cut yourself.” 

Vance climbed up onto Marcus’ lap and took the knife. “Thanks, Da and I won’t," said Vance.

They began to cut off slices of venison and put them on the open space of the plate it rested upon. The blade cut through the meat as though it was sliding through air and Vance’s handling of it was incredibly deft, the influence from their mother was very clear. Clair took a small sip of the honey mead as she watched. The mead was as good as she remembered, sweet with a light bite of cinnamon and other local herbs. Vance held the blade by the flat and offered it back to their father who took it from the child. 

“All done," said Vance as they climbed off of Marcus and took their own seat.

Marcus cleaned off the knife and slid it back into its sheath. “Good job, kiddo.” He took a drink of his mead and smiled as it went down his throat. “So, as I recall, Clair. You, owe me a story.” He said as he bit into a piece of venison.

Clair hadn’t really had time to think about what story she would tell as the day had been busy. “Well, Marcus, I’m not sure what story you’d like to hear. I’ve been all around Lohr Baihl; travelled along the river Aulis through Kasite, served a lord for a year in the Lhoric Warring States and even…” She caught Vance leaning in as she talked. She met the kid’s eyes and put her hands up like claws. “Even faced down a cult of fish men in Tynan Weir.” 

Vance’s face had lit up. “Fish men?!” They made a face like a fish gasping for air. “Did you fight them underwater? Were they big like, Da?” Asked Vance.

“Bigger!” Clair made a gesture to try and show how large they had been. “About as tall as the ceiling here.” Vance gasped and Marcus chuckled as Clair continued to describe the creatures. “They had terrible claws with webbing between them and these awful needle like teeth.” 

“Weirborne monsters, eh?” Asked Marcus.

“Yes, they came through the Weir when one of the village’s fogeaters gave out.” Vance cocked their head to one side in confusion. “Err, they’re these machines that eat up the Weir fog and keep things like those fish men and worse from coming through.” After a small nod from Vance, Clair continued her story. “Anyhow, it was about a decade ago in a town called Ashford…”

Ashford was a small town on the eastmost isle of Tynan Weir. The town was built into a natural cove and had several fogeaters positioned along the cliff walls that surrounded it. It was often a chilly place and the cliffs would catch the low hanging marine layer as it rolled in. The people of Ashford were a simple folk who relied on their pair of ships granted to them by the admiralty for fishing and combing the ocean floor, they also possessed several skilled woodworkers. 

Their troubles had begun when one of the machines lodged in the cliffside had broken down and remained unnoticed for several days, though the admiralty stationed artificers could find no sign of Weirborne intrusion, it left the town wary. I arrived shortly after the first disappearances. I had originally been headed to Ashford to charter one of their ships to a neighboring isle and after an encounter with a swarm of Will-o-Wisps I wasn’t going to go without a fogeater equipped vessel.

My first move was to see the mayor of the town who told me about the missing townsfolk. He said they were those who lived on the fringes of town and that I should take a look for myself. He and a couple of the town militia accompanied me to one of the homes that had been ransacked. The door had been smashed in and there were signs of struggle. There was blood splatter across the room, but not enough to indicate a death. I told the mayor that I would stay at the home and watch for any sign of the attackers if it would secure me passage. He agreed and left with his escort. I was to watch alone. 

After settling in, I slept most of the day away and set about keeping watch that night. I watched the sunset as I prepared for a possible confrontation. The edge of my axe had worn down from use and repeated sharpenings. I turned it in the fading light and noted each new blemish and pit before saying a quick prayer over my amulet. I pressed the disc against the blade and my axe shimmered as it was repaired. The axe was still light, as without additional material the spell had to work with what was present. I sat down and watched the sun vanish under the horizon.

"Is that when the Fishmen came?" Vance practically bounced in their seat. 

Marcus reached a hand over and placed it on his child's head. "Now, let her tell the story, Vance."

Clair smiled. "It's okay, little Vance is almost right. I'm going to continue."

Once the sun had gone, lanterns lit up all over the town; hung from porches and poles. The scent of the sea also rushed in as the tide shifted. It would be another hour before anything caught my attention. It began as an increase in the ocean scent and then forms moving against the rocky cliffs of Ashford. I sat silently in the darkened home and watched as they approached

The door to the tavern slammed open. The next part of Clair's story died on her lips as she saw an injured man, his shirt stained scarlet, stumble further into the tavern, colliding with a chair and other patrons. She and Marcus stood up and headed over.

"Get somewhere safe, Vance, I don't like the look of this," said Marcus.

Clair nodded. "Neither do I."

The two of them pushed through the crowd over to the man who'd just burst in. He was frantic and had deep gashes along his back. Clair concentrated and said a small prayer as she set to mending the man's wounds.

"What happened to you?" Asked Clair.

He didn't answer, but instead pointed towards the door that led out into the cold streets of Imerre. In the darkness something shifted, half obscured by the snowfall.

Clair went still, her eyes fixed on the figure outside "Ghoul."

Marcus nodded and drew his knife as a claw wrapped around the side of the entryway. Pale skin hung loosely over long, thin fingers save where an ornate ring kept the flesh tight against bone.

"That's one o' them poor fools, what's left of 'em."

The pair readied themselves as tavern goers pressed towards the back of the building. The creature twisted, limbs distorting as it surged through the door and directly into Marcus who plunged his knife into the torso of the creature. It in turn sunk its clawed fingers into the massive man's torso and tossed him into the crowd of panicked villagers.

“Marcus!” shouted Clair as she stepped back.

Instinct took over as she pulled ambient magic together, condensing the moisture in the air into a spike of ice. She flung it toward the creature and it dug into its torso, the thing didn't even react as it swung a claw at Clair. She dodged out of the way by leaping over to one side. The ghoul used the momentum to twist and bring down its other claw, catching Clair as she tried to roll away tearing a chunk out of her side. The amount of force from the strike splintered the wooden flooring, briefly catching the ghoul’s claw. Marcus shouted and charged the temporarily stuck ghoul. Their bodies connected with a heavy thud before they two of them tumbled together and smashed into the side of the doorframe.

Clair held one hand to the wound on her side, crimson flooding out. She staggered as she stood and began to pull at the ambient magic once more. Faint motes of silvery-blue light coalesced around her free hand. Another crystalline shard of ice formed in the grasp. 

Marcus cried out as the ghoul smashed him against the wall. The creature then turned to face Clair, it shrieked loud enough that the few villagers that hadn't retreated further into the tavern clapped their hands over their ears. Clair felt her ears ring, but still loosed the shard of ice at the ghoul. It sailed through the air towards the ghoul's mouth. Before it impacted the ghoul, the creature caught it in a clawed hand and crushed it. The ghoul shrieked once more and rushed past Clair, knocking her aside. It reached down and scooped up its prey; the injured man who'd run to the tavern seeking safety. He screamed as the ghoul bolted into the cold night. 

Clair righted herself and ran out after it. "Get back here," she shouted as fresh snow crunched under her boots.

The ghoul loped on three of its limbs, one arm holding its prey close to its chest as it ran. Clair flung another shard of ice, but the ghoul turned off and towards the woods. She kept running after it, slinging shards as she did. 

"No!" Her foot landed on a buried stone and slipped to one side. "I won't let this–" she tried to take another step and tripped in the snow. 

Ahead she saw the ghoul vanish into the woods, cloaked in the snowfall

Back in the Folly, Marcus pulled himself up, the wounds he'd taken from the fight finally settling in. He winced as he steadied himself, pressing one of his hands against the wall. He looked at the townsfolk as they slowly filtered back into the room. There was fear in their eyes and whispered conversations. 

"You lot, let's get this place back in order." He straightened his back and pointed to a thin young man. "Thomas, clean up the blood. The rest of you, help right the tables."

Giving them something to do would help get their minds off what had just happened. The wounds in his side ached. He lifted an overturned table and with some help dragged it back to where I was meant to be.

Meanwhile the snowfall outside had grown more intense. Clair pressed on, out into the woods, led only by the faintest trail left by the ghoul. A trail that grew ever harder to keep up with as her progress was slowed by the deep and heavy snow. The biting chill in the air pressed through her winter clothing and down to her bones.

“I’m not going to be able to keep up pace at this rate,” she thought while gritting her teeth. Clair shook her head. “I can’t just let that monster get away with this, not again.”

She continued to trudge onwards, her movements slowing as her limbs started to go numb. The snow was thick and the snowfall was threatening to turn into a full blizzard. Clair lifted a leg from the nearly foot and a half deep snow to try and continue the chase. She took another step and a gust of wind knocked her against a nearby tree. There was a creaking noise that managed to pierce the roar of the wind and snow.

Clair turned her focus toward the sound. From behind the tree stepped a being that stood as tall as Marcus. Its body was composed of twisted roots that coiled around yellowed bones and wore a heavily rusted set of chain. Clair pulled back from the wilds knight. It stood, stock-still in the howling blizzard, eye sockets like black pits. The snow built up on its form as it waited. The knight raised a bony hand and pointed past her. Clair turned to look. There was another knight pointing and then another. 

She tried to move past the first one. "I need to go after that ghoul, allow me passage." 

The knight placed its other hand on the handle of its rusted axe, but otherwise did not move. The message was obvious; return to Imerre or be forced to.

Clair's mouth twitched. "Understood." 

She pulled her coat around herself and followed the knights' directions. Her demeanor was grim, the man that was taken would surely be dead soon and she had failed another soul. Her body ached from the cold as she continued to trudge onward, the winds roared all throughout the Nebelwald joined by the howling of wolves and the shriek of a ghoul.