Location: Butcher’s Alley ➤ Shrine of the Open Hand
Date: The Rainfall Stretch, Evening
Cast: Henk, Faellus, Pomeh, Elros, Kildrak (returned)
Guest stars: Zarek Vren (dead), Brakka Stonejaw (dead), Vern (alive-ish?), Lif (exasperated)

The alley stank of blood, rain, and regret.

High above the cobblestones, arrows flew. Pomeh and Faellus clashed with two rooftop assassins—guild agents sent to silence the package. In the end, Zarek Vren met a poet’s blade. His partner, Brakka Stonejaw, took one last spiteful shot into the cart before trying to flee, but was brought down by swift steel and relentless pursuit.

Below, Henk had been doing what Henk does best—charging forward, protecting the package, not asking questions. That is, until a meat hook slammed into his shoulder mid-stride. It was Butcher’s Alley, after all. He ripped himself free with brute force, staggering forward just as Elros caught up. Together, they slipped away before the guard’s distant cries grew nearer.

While the fight resolved above, Henk and Elros vanished down the alley, toward the meeting point.

The others weren’t far behind. Bloodied but not broken, Faellus and Pomeh regrouped and pressed on, the echo of the ambush still ringing in their bones.

Meanwhile, across the city, Kildrak returned to Trollskull Manor—his shoulders scarred from ritual, soul still echoing from his divine rite. The tavern was quiet but not empty. Lif, ever the disapproving ghostly barkeep, appeared with dripping sarcasm and a mess to complain about. Through spectral scribbles and blood-stained muttering, Kildrak got the gist: the crew was in trouble, and they’d left a mess. Again.

Map in hand and heart aflame, he set out with purpose—and a head full of sacred flame.

The party converged at the Shrine of the Open Hand, a serene courtyard touched by old magic and forgotten quiet. It should have been peaceful. Instead, it was waiting.

Reflections danced in the shrine’s pool. Faellus, Pomeh, and Henk found themselves drawn to the water, their faces rippling in silver—moving without them. Kildrak, ever watchful, shouted divine command to stop them. Only Faellus paused.

But it was too late.

From the mirrored surface rose not calm, but distortion—mirrorborn reflections of Henk, Pomeh, and Faellus. Their limbs were too long. Their faces were stretched and half-missing. Symbols of the Anti-Sheetar Cult scarred their skin. 

And there, in the holy courtyard, the second battle is about to begin…

What else did Kildrak bring back from the Rite?