This is a fictionalized account of a recent scene in my Tuesday Dungeons & Dragons group’s campaign. We, The Winding Wanderers, are about to take on the Big Bad, Vincent Somain, so I wanted to immortalize our calm before the storm in the best way I can. A few of the characters below are the OC’s of my friends: the elven Elora, the goliath Ailani, the gnomish Faye, and my own neurotic human Isabel. Other characters belong to our Dungeon Master: Esme, Kimmad, Gerbo, and others.

While it’s a Fifth Edition campaign, the events have been adapted for dramatic intent. Isabel herself is a homebrewed Warlock with magical control of shadows and the mind with a shadowcat familiar named Tiruva. My love for Jay Kristoff’s heroine Mia Corvere and the bloody world of Nevernight is on full, shameless display here.

Imitation is the highest form of flattery, they say.

*Character art in the image above by @monroe.bays on Instagram

The shadows rested softly as indeterminate night settled in the subterranean enclave of Derstagon.

It had been Isabel’s idea, originally. The whirlwind of events of the past few weeks had left the Winding Wanderers with little time to rest, let alone breathe. Their flight from Port Descilyr, just days prior, now felt like ages ago. The group of now wanted criminals had chosen refuge in the shadows of Derstagon out of necessity. Even so, Isabel felt a creeping suspicion that her days here were numbered; the long arm of the government would eventually reach them here, too. So, wanting to avoid thinking about that for just a few hours, Isabel had proposed one last night of revelry to remind them all of better times. 

Isabel floated from conversation to conversation, hugging the periphery of the crowd but avoiding the solitude she normally sought. Tiruva walked before her and she followed his not-shape as it weaved through the legs of her friends. She stopped her perambulation, taking a moment to catch up with Kimmad. The draconic sorcerer’s shadow wolf lay curled around his feet. Tiruva’s form rippled slightly as he rubbed against the beast, a movement Isabel had come to understand as his approximation of purring.

Putting all her effort into not talking strategy for once, Isabel inquired about Kimmad’s life here in Derstagon. She still found herself fascinated by the collection of shadow magic users under the mountain. The failed mine notwithstanding, Derstagon seemed to her to be a tight-knit society devoted to their… philosophy? God? She still wasn’t entirely sure, her own connection to the dark making it all the more confusing. On the few opportunities she put any thought into what may come after, Isabel hoped to spend some time here researching and maybe learning a bit more about herself. Kimmad’s own connection with his shadowwolf seemed as good a place as any to start. 

After a few minutes, Kimmad frowned at his empty cup and excused himself to track down the nearest bottle of wine. As he turned away his wolf rose up, stretched luxuriously, and followed him. Isabel smirked, noticing its shadow was slightly too dark. With the slightest of mental pushes, Isabel called out to Tiruva. The cat’s eyes flashed momentarily like the moon appearing through thick clouds as he faded and the wolf into the crowd.

“Made a new friend, I see,” Isabel remarked then took a sip of wine.

. . . don’t be so surprised . . . He whispered into her thoughts, projecting the nonchalance only a cat could muster. . . he’s not so bad, for a smelly dog . . . 

“Indeed?” Isabel laughed at the thought. “Well, don’t get him into any trouble. You and your grand machinations against the Oppressor can wait one night.”

. . . no promises, Isabel . . . 

Leaving her daemon familiar to his endless plotting, Isabel made for the center of the party. As had become the norm in Derstagon, every large group gravitated towards the outsized persona of Gerbo Thistlepeak. The small man stood upon a central table, leading his rapt audience in some folk song Isabel had never heard before. From the sound of things, very few of his listeners had either, as the only other clear voice she could hear was that of his daughter Faye; the rest seemed perfectly happy to incoherently follow the tune and swing their mugs around. 

Personally more inclined to enjoy such an event from the outside, Isabel scanned the crowd for Ailani, expecting them to be at least slightly more subdued than the rest. Their towering stature, normally simple enough to spot, was nowhere in sight. Isabel glanced at her Band of the Found out of habit. Its enchantment enabled it to always locate its partner, no matter the distance. The compass was stationary, pointing straight at a small group, at the center of which stood Elora. She stood arm-in-arm with her brother, his voice one of the few to actually enunciate the words of Gerbo’s song. On her other side stood Embrel. The genasi was one of the few not singing along, his eyes on Elora as a soft smile graced his features. 

They’ve grown . . . close, Isabel thought before putting that away to think about later. 

Remembering Ailani had given their Band to Elora, Isabel pulled the Shadowtag Coin she’d bonded to them out of her pocket and studied its face. Its simple enchantment allowed one to easily follow the path of another. The lights in its eyes pointed straight at a wall but continued to move, fast enough to tell Isabel that Ailani was close by and clearly walking somewhere. 

Frowning, Isabel kept watching the coin. Ailani wasn’t usually one to disappear like this without warning, but as long as they were still somewhere in Derstagon it wasn’t a big deal. Isabel was about to go off in search of her friend when she felt her hair shift on her right side as if in a light breeze.

. . . you’re going to give yourself another headache if you pinch your eyebrows so much . . . Tiruva perched on her shoulder, his soft voice breaking her concentration. She glanced over at the shadow cat and he licked his paw then ran it across his incorporeal head. 

“You felt that, huh?”

. . . Isabel, we share thoughts, consciously or otherwise . . . He fixed one green eye on her . . . when you get occupied with a conundrum, my head feels like it’s wrapped in wool until you snap out of it . . .

“Ah, right,” Isabel said, shaking her head slightly. “I forgot. Again. I’m sorry, you know I tend to get caught up in my head sometimes. 

. . . a perfectly useful skill most of the time. Perhaps follow your own advice and try to relax . . . 

Though well meaning, Tiruva’s words only reminded Isabel about the coming day. In just a couple hours, the Winding Wanderers were going to be back in Ascyran. Their last handful of visits had only confirmed to the group that that’s where Somain, Chaucer, and everyone else was holed up. The lion’s den, so to speak. 

If their battle yesterday was anything to judge by, Lord Somain had long figured out the best ways to counter Tiruva and Isabel’s skills. The ever-present light in the underground cathedral had turned Isabel completely ineffectual, her greatest strength weaponized against her.

Deep under the mountain here in Derstagon, Isabel felt a connection to her powers far stronger than nearly anywhere else. It made sense to her that this of all places would be the home to others touched by the dark. After getting back last night, she had experimented with the shadows, trying to come up with an idea she could work with against Somain. In recent weeks she had felt her mastery of the dark and her connection with it strengthening to sometimes frightening results. She was fairly certain she could bring it through long enough to make a dent in any magical light, but that will – 

. . . you’re doing it again . . . Tiruva chided, wrapping his tail around the back of Isabel’s neck. 

“Sorry,” Isabel sighed, trying to center herself. 

She was moderately successful at this when a small cheer rose up behind her. Faye raced past her and Isabel turned to see what was happening. Faye pushed aside partiers’ knees on her way to the door, her giggling piercing through even as she disappeared from view. Isabel glanced up and saw the cause of the commotion.

Ailani had returned, and sure enough the Shadowtag Coin was pointing straight ahead. A rare flush graced their stony grey features as they smiled at the ragtag assembly. They suddenly held a cup of wine, likely Faye’s doing, and waded into the party. 

Isabel made to step forward and welcome them back when she realized they weren’t alone. Ailani reached back with their free hand and pulled another figure into the throng. Esme, clad in a delicate yellow dress, shyly greeted her friends as she was pulled through the door. A pink bow in her hair accentuated the absurd saccharinity of her appearance. Her golden dress was as surprisingly bright in the room as the sun itself would be, dispersing any shadow remaining upon the revelers.

Isabel froze. Subconsciously she pulled, the shadows around the room flickering and grasping toward her. Colors became muted as the light failed to bring them out. The grand fireplace sank into embers, the wall sconces dimmed to a weak flicker. Isabel’s shadow flared, distorting like a heat mirage. Everyone nearby was too focused on the new arrivals to notice, but Tiruva tensed, hissing soft enough that only Isabel could hear. He sank into her shoulder, his shadow and mind joining hers, massaging out the freeze that had overcome her thoughts. 

Isabel smiled. She chided herself silently for her oversight, for forgetting that Esme, like Isabel, naturally kept to herself. She took a deep breath and stepped forward to welcome her friends back to the party, happy that Ailani remembered to invite Esme. She collected Tiruva into her arms and the shadows rested softly once more.