In Vallaki… you don’t stop the horror. You watch it.
The party splits.
Vestri gathers whispers at the Blue Water Inn—and finds only grief. Urwin has lost everything. Elsewhere, walls are climbed. Rules are ignored. The city is entered anyway.
Inside, the Watcher house breathes death. Karl waits. Preserved. Not gone. A fake mark is stitched into flesh.
Because in this Vallaki—you are what the system says you are.
Then the screaming starts. A market. Broken stalls. Panic. Children in red lotus robes. A stag. Not dead. Not alive. Suffering. They chant. They carve. They offer it up to Ibrynn. “Bear witness. Do not intervene.” The stag breaks free.
Not violent. Desperate.
The guards arrive. Order is restored. The stag is killed. Because pain doesn’t matter. Only obedience does.
Merlin sees the truth. And does nothing. Because sometimes survival means letting the wrong thing happen.
The children are taken. Still chanting. Still believing. The city closes in again. Questions. Marks. Weapons.
Elrohir talks fast. The Mad Mage talks nonsense. It works.
(It shouldn’t.)
Refuge is needed. The inn is unsafe. The streets are watched. So they choose the worst option: The desecrated church.
Inside—faith is gone.
Zombies work as slaves. A monument to Bane rises from stolen labor. Oleg leaves. The dead are dropped beneath the floor. Waiting. The party remains. Above ground. Below them—something stirs.
And in Vallaki, for the first time— they understand the rule completely: If you see something wrong… you weren’t supposed to stop it.
