Location: Viridia’s Reach
Filed by: Investigator Drogash “Clubs” Vark
Status: Cult disrupted. Survivors rescued. Casualties: 1 priest, 9 cultists. Suspected survivors at large.
Scene I: Root Warrens
The murder scene was nestled in the heart of the Root Warrens—a part of Viridia’s Reach so gnarled and dense that even the sun had to fight for space between the bark. Drogash “Clubs” Vark crouched over the body of a young girl, her features peaceful in death, but the ritual circle surrounding her anything but.
Symbols had been scorched into the floor. Coils of incense still drifted in the air. Whatever this was, it wasn’t just a crime—it was a rite.
He’d seen stabbings, robberies, even enchanted smuggling rings. But this? This was old.
And for something this deep and strange, he needed someone worse than reliable.
He needed Doc.
Scene II: Nymphaeum Tavern
The Nymphaeum Tavern was built around the curve of a giant branch, lit by sun-orbs and flowering lanterns. At the back, lounging with a drink in paw and both feet propped up on a barrel, was Doc—a silver-furred Tabaxi with amber eyes, a crimson vest, and two pistols holstered like sleeping gods.
Clubs approached, arms crossed. “Doc. Need your help. Got a dead girl, blood glyphs, cult symbols I can’t read.”
Doc opened one eye lazily, swirling his glass. “So naturally, you came to a half-drunk gunslinger with questionable morals. Flattered.”
Clubs shrugged. “Didn’t say you were my first choice.”
Doc stood, gave a low, theatrical bow. “Lead the way, lawman. Let’s go introduce some very bad people to very bad consequences.”
Scene III: Into the Cult’s Lair
Doc’s contacts led them to an old cistern shrine hidden deep beneath Viridia’s aqueduct roots. They approached through dripping tunnels overgrown with moss and strange, throbbing vines.
Inside: a half-dozen cultists chanted around three bound girls. At the far end, a high priest with horned regalia raised a ritual dagger over the altar.
Clubs narrowed his eyes. “Same plan?”
Doc spun his pistol. “Kick in the door, break their toys, shoot the rest.”
They moved.
Clubs surged forward with a battle-cry, smashing his club into the nearest cultist with a crack that echoed off the roots. The man collapsed without a sound.
Doc flowed behind him, feline grace matched by the lightning speed of his guns. Two shots, two robed figures collapsed—one with a hole in the throat, the other clean between the eyes.
A cultist hurled a firebolt; Clubs blocked it with a swing, slamming his attacker into the altar hard enough to splinter it.
Doc ducked low, shot one in the leg, then another in the heart as he fell.
Then came the priest. He roared, summoning black tendrils from the bark, grabbing the girls as shields.
Clubs charged forward. “Not today.”
He slammed his club into the floor, shattering the edge of the altar and knocking the priest off balance. Doc leapt forward, rolled beneath a grabbing shadow, and shot the priest’s casting hand.
The girls screamed. A cultist came up behind Clubs and stabbed him in the side.
“Dammit!”
Doc turned, eyes glowing. He pulled a strange silver pistol—etched with healing runes—and called out, “Don’t move.”
Clubs blinked. “Wait, what?”
BANG.
“GAAAAH! YOU SHOT ME AGAIN!”
“And you’re healed,” Doc said smugly, blowing smoke off the barrel. “Like rippin’ off a bandage… with a bullet.”
Clubs blinked. The wound was gone. The pain wasn’t.
“That is the dumbest, most effective thing I’ve ever felt.”
Doc winked. “You’re welcome.”
Scene IV: The Shootout at the Verdant Arch
They freed the girls and burst into the open air of Verdant Arch Plaza—sunlight filtering through stained glass canopies, vines trembling underfoot.
Behind them, cultists came flooding out. Fifteen? Maybe twenty? All armed. All furious.
Doc dove behind a flower planter. “Well, partner, seems like we’ve upset the neighbors.”
Clubs grabbed a vine-strung banner and yanked it down to create a barrier. “We hold them off here. Long enough for the girls to reach the Peacekeepers.”
Doc didn’t argue. Just reloaded.
The cultists charged.
The next thirty seconds were fire and fury.
Clubs cracked skulls, his club moving in tight, practiced arcs. One cultist tried to stab him from behind—Doc shot the blade from his hand and the man from his feet.
Two more dropped to precise shots from Doc’s twin pistols. Another fell when Clubs shattered his ribs with a head-on charge.
But there were too many.
“Doc! We’re getting overwhelmed!”
Doc growled. “Time to run, sugar!”
They grabbed the girls and bolted across the bridge to the Peacekeeper watchpost. Behind them, cultists hesitated—then stopped entirely as Peacekeeper Wardens emerged, full armor gleaming with solar plates, crossbows raised.
The cult scattered into the shadows, leaving behind their wounded.
Scene V: The Offer
Later, as the sun dipped below the canopy, Clubs and Doc leaned against a railing overlooking the canopy of Viridia’s Reach. Windchimes tinkled from a nearby glider line.
“You didn’t have to come,” Clubs said quietly.
Doc shrugged. “Would’ve been bored otherwise.”
“You saved lives.” Clubs looked over. “I know you float from town to town. But we’ve got a place that could use someone like you.”
Doc tilted his head.
“I’m serious. The Wandering Tavern. We’re not perfect. But we fight for people who don’t have anyone else. You’ve got skills, a terrifying approach to healing, and a talent for raising hell in the right direction.”
Doc’s tail flicked.
“You offering me a job, Detective?”
“I’m offering you a home.”
A long pause.
Doc finally smiled—a real one. “Well… hell. I guess I could stick around. Someone’s gotta shoot you when you get stabbed again.”
Clubs laughed. “You’re a menace.”
“And you’re a bulldozer with morals.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Then Doc offered his paw.
“Alright, partner. Lead the way.”
Clubs shook it. “Welcome to the Tavern, Doc.”