The weight of the hooded figure's request settled heavily on Brieg's chest. His mother's compass, with a worn leather pouch clutching the only tangible memory he had of her, felt searing hot in his palm. "There has to be another way," he pleaded.

The figure tilted his head, the moonlight glinting off his single, piercing blue eye. "Perhaps," he rasped, his voice a gravelly whisper. "Offer something of equal value. Perhaps a rare map that was salvaged from a forgotten tomb, depicting hidden pathways within the Canyons."

Brieg rummaged through his pack, finally pulling out a rolled-up parchment. It was a scavenged map, its edges singed and brittle, but detailed markings revealed a network of ancient tunnels rumored to exist beneath the Canyons. "This might be what you seek," he offered tentatively.

The hooded figure snatched the map, his bony fingers tracing the intricate lines. A flicker of satisfaction crossed his features before he unfurled a scroll of his own. Unlike Brieg's weathered map, this one was pristine, crafted from a strange, luminescent material. It pulsed with an otherworldly glow, depicting the Canyons in intricate detail. "A bargain then," the figure rasped, his voice laced with a hint of amusement. He handed the glowing map to Brieg, its warmth tingling in his palm.

Lucienne, ever the scholar, approached the hooded figure with cautious curiosity. "May I examine your map?" she inquired, her voice filled with scholarly zeal. However, the figure recoiled with a hiss, his face contorting in disgust. "Begone, scholar!" he snarled, his voice dripping with disdain. "Your magic stench pollutes the air!"

Lucienne blinked, taken aback by the hostility. "But," she stammered, her explanation was cut short by a dismissive wave of the figure's hand.

Gustav, sensing the escalating tension, stepped forward. His weathered face remained stoic, but his voice boomed with gruff authority. "We have a common goal here, hooded one. Perhaps with less superstition, and more cooperation."

The hooded figure fell silent, his blue eye darting between the team members. A grudging nod acknowledged Gustav's words, but the animosity lingered in the air.

Meanwhile, Vandil, ever the opportunist, had slipped away unnoticed. His nimble fingers skimmed along dusty shelves, searching for hidden treasures. A loose plank caught his eye. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he pried it open, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside, nestled amongst ancient scrolls, lay a leather-bound journal with faded ink scrawled across its pages. The contents needed further examining. Nevertheless, a satisfied smirk played on Vandil's lips as he pocketed the journal.

Anya, a silent observer throughout the exchange, finally spoke. Her voice, raspy with age, held a hint of foreboding. "Remember," she rasped, "the Canyons hold secrets both wondrous and terrible. Tread carefully." Her cryptic words hung in the air, adding another layer of intrigue to the already perilous journey.

With the deal struck, the hooded figure led them out of the war room. Their destination, however, wasn't the rickety Iron Sparrow. Instead, they found themselves standing before a magnificent vessel docked by the city's crumbling wharf. The "Diligent Miracle," its polished hull gleaming in the pale sunlight, dwarfed their previous transport. A crew of well-dressed men and women, their faces etched with unsettling smiles, awaited them on deck.

Climbing aboard, the team was ushered into a lavish dining hall. A feast fit for royalty awaited them -roasted game birds, glistening pastries, and goblets overflowing with spiced wine. The extravagant hospitality felt out of place, fueling their suspicion. Lucienne, ever observant, noticed a strange symbol etched into the silverware, a symbol she vaguely recognized from forgotten dark texts. Her brow furrowed in concern.

Vandil, true to his nature took advantage of the distraction. While others feigned enjoyment - he slipped away, his nimble fingers relieving unsuspecting crew members of various trinkets. His exploration led him to a hidden hatch below deck. Curiosity gnawed at him, and without hesitation, he pried it open.

A horrifying stench assaulted his senses as he descended into the dark, damp hold. The screams of unseen creatures echoed off the damp walls. Through the flickering torchlight he stumbled upon a horrifying sight - a macabre ritual room, its walls adorned with sinister looking symbols. In the center, a cauldron bubbled with an unspeakable concoction, a human arm floated to the top. The realization slammed into Vandil like a physical blow - these weren't benevolent hosts, they were monsters. Panic clawed at his throat, the weight of his stolen trinkets suddenly insignificant. He needed to warn the others.

Scrambling back up the rickety ladder, he burst into the dining hall, his face pale and eyes wide with terror. "Cannibals!" he shrieked, his voice cracking. "This whole crew, they're-!"

Before he could finish, a commotion erupted at the other end of the room. Lucienne, having grown increasingly uneasy with the lavish feast, decided to explore the lower decks. Following a narrow corridor, the flickering torchlight revealed murals depicting scenes of ritualistic sacrifice. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she rounded a corner and stumbled upon the horrifying tableau - a ritual room similar to what Vandil had discovered.

The sight that greeted her was enough to turn her stomach. Crouched figures, their faces obscured by grotesque masks, chanted in a guttural tongue as they tossed wriggling forms into the bubbling cauldron. Lucienne, fueled by a primal surge of fear and disgust, grabbed a nearby metal pitcher and hurled it with all her might. The projectile clanged against a nearby brazier, sending sparks flying and igniting a stack of nearby parchments.

Pandemonium erupted. The cultists, their rituals interrupted, whipped around, their faces twisted into snarls of rage. Lucienne, adrenaline coursing through her veins, bolted for the nearest exit, the guttural screams of the cultists echoing in her ears. She sprinted through the dark corridors, desperately searching for an escape route.

Meanwhile, Gustav, enjoying a hearty meal and a rare opportunity for camaraderie with some of the ship's privateer soldiers, noticed a shift in the atmosphere. The jovial chatter gave way to hushed whispers and nervous glances. One of the privateers, eyeing Gustav's impressive firearm - A PMM-22 rifle, an Anti Material rifle chambered in 20×102mm used in the Glecian army - reached out a hand to stroke the barrel.

"That's a fine piece of craftsmanship there, stranger," the privateer drawled, his voice laced with a hint of avarice. Gustav, sensing trouble, gripped his weapon tighter. "Admire from a distance, friend," he rumbled, his voice leaving no room for argument.

The privateer's smile faltered, replaced by a grimace. He exchanged a furtive glance with his companions, a silent communication passing between them. In a flash, they lunged for Gustav, their greed overcoming any sense of loyalty.

A brutal brawl erupted in the dining hall. Gustav, a veteran of many battles, fought with the ferocity of a cornered wolf. His powerful blows sent chairs flying and bodies crashing to the floor. One by one he disarmed his attackers, their initial bravado replaced by fear and regret.

Brieg, alerted by the commotion, rushed into the dining hall just in time to witness the tail end of the fight. Gustav, battered but unbowed, stood amidst the wreckage, his weapon pointed at a whimpering privateer. Relief washed over Brieg, quickly replaced by a surge of anger when he saw the hooded figure, who had remained strangely silent throughout the chaos, attempting to slip away unnoticed.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Hey!" Brieg yelled, lunging towards the figure. The hooded figure whirled around, a glint of steel flashing in the dim light. A hidden blade, wickedly curved and razor-sharp, materialized in his hand. Brieg barely dodged the surprise attack, the blade singing past his ear.

Realization dawned on Brieg - this wasn't a guide, but a traitor. Enraged, he lunged forward, grappling with the figure. The fight spilled out of the dining hall and onto the deck, the wind whipping at their tangled forms. Brieg, fueled by adrenaline and betrayal, managed to overpower the figure, pinning him to the deck. He wrenched the blade from his grasp and pressed it against his throat.

"Who are you?" Brieg snarled, his voice hoarse with fury. "And what have you done?"

The hooded figure, his face obscured in shadow, let out a chilling laugh. "Foolish boy," he rasped. "You think you've won?" He gestured towards the front of the ship, where a horrifying sight unfolded. The crew, their true nature revealed, had converged on the dock, their eyes glowing with a feral hunger. Panic surged through Lucienne. Trapped below deck, the flickering torchlight offered little comfort as she stumbled through the labyrinthine corridors. Every creak and groan echoed in her ears, morphing into the phantom growls of unseen horrors. She had to find the others, warn them of the impending attack.

Above deck, the fight between Brieg and the hooded figure reached a fever pitch. Brieg, fueled by righteous fury, pressed the stolen blade against the traitor's throat. "Talk!" he roared.

The hooded figure cackled, a sound devoid of humor. "You'll all be devoured," he rasped, his voice laced with a twisted glee. "Delicious morsels for the Great Maw!"

Before Brieg could pry any further information a bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. It was Vandil, his voice raw with terror, echoing from somewhere near the stern. Brieg snarled, a primal urge to protect his team overriding his interrogation. With a shove, he sent the hooded figure sprawling onto the deck.

Gustav, having subdued the last of the privateers, emerged from the dining hall, his face grim. He took in the scene -Brieg grappling with the traitor, the approaching horde of cultists, and the faint cries for help. "Looks like we have bigger problems," he rumbled, his voice laced with grim pragmatism.

Lucienne finally burst onto the deck, her face pale and streaked with soot. "Cannibalistic cultists!" she gasped, her voice trembling. "They're everywhere!"

Brieg glanced at the approaching figures, their eyes glowing with a predatory hunger. They were vastly outnumbered, hopelessly outmatched in a straight fight. "We need to get out of here," he declared, urgency lacing his voice. But escape routes were limited. The only way off the ship was across the rickety gangplank, now teeming with ravenous cultists.

Suddenly, a loud CRACK echoed across the deck. The cultists closest to the gangplank stumbled back in surprise. A thick, oily black liquid began seeping from beneath the wooden planks, the pungent smell of burning oil filling the air. Vandil, ever resourceful, had managed to sabotage the oil reserves creating a makeshift barrier between them and the approaching horde.

"Clever trick, street rat," Gustav rumbled with a hint of grudging respect.

But the reprieve was temporary. The flames from the burning oil licked hungrily at the wooden planks threatening to engulf the entire gangplank. They needed another way out, and fast.

A desperate plan sparked in Brieg's mind. He darted towards the hooded figure, who was attempting to slink away unnoticed in the chaos. "The map!" he yelled, grabbing the traitor by his cloak. "There has to be another way off this ship!"

The hooded figure snarled, but seeing no other option, hissed, "The crows' nest! There's a hidden escape pod!" He pointed towards the top of the main mast, a rickety crows' nest swaying precariously in the wind.

Hope flickered in Brieg's eyes. It was a risky proposition, but their only chance. "Everyone to the crows' nest!" he shouted, his voice ringing with authority.

As one, they scrambled towards the mast, the burning oil creating a flickering wall of fire between them and the advancing cultists. The climb was perilous, the wind whipping at them as they navigated the creaking ropes and swaying ladders. Just as they reached the crows' nest, the flames engulfed the last remnants of the gangplank, cutting off their pursuers.

Panting and heaving, they huddled together in the cramped crows' nest. Below, the cultists roared in frustration, their grotesque forms illuminated by the dancing flames. Lucienne, her voice barely a whisper, asked the question that hung heavy in the air. "What now?"

Brieg stared out at the desolate landscape, a reflection of their own predicament. The escape pod, a rusty metal sphere nestled precariously within the crows' nest, offered a glimmer of hope, but its destination was as uncertain as their fate.

"We need a plan," Gustav rumbled, his voice heavy with concern. "That escape pod can't hold us all for long, and whatever's out there might not be any friendlier than these cultists."

Lucienne huddled closer to Vandil, her scholarly mind racing. "Perhaps," she murmured, "the traitor's map mentioned something about the pod's functionality. A manual, perhaps?"

As if on cue, Vandil sheepishly produced the leather-bound journal he'd swiped from the hidden compartment. "Found this down below," he mumbled, avoiding Brieg's glare.

Brieg snatched the book, his anger momentarily overshadowed by the need for information. The faded ink revealed technical diagrams and cryptic instructions. "It seems the pod can be programmed for a specific landing zone," he muttered, tracing the symbols with his finger. "But the power source is weak. We might have enough for a one-way trip, but not enough to choose the destination."

A heavy silence descended upon the group. They were trapped, hurtling towards an unknown location with dwindling resources and a single, desperate hope -that wherever they landed, it would be preferable to a fiery demise aboard the "Diligent Miracle."

Suddenly, a guttural roar echoed from below. The flames fueled by the burning oil had begun to lick at the ship's hull. Smoke billowed into the night sky, painting the scene in an orange glow.

"We don't have much time," Gustav barked, his gruff voice laced with urgency. "We need to prep the pod and figure out a rough landing zone based on the map."

Brieg, ever the tinkerer, dove into the technical aspects of the escape pod. Lucienne, with her knowledge of navigation, pored over the map alongside him, searching for any landmark that might offer a potential haven. Vandil, despite his usual flippant demeanor, remained uncharacteristically silent, his gaze fixed on the approaching wall of flames.

Brieg cursed under his breath. The escape pod was functional, its controls a mix of arcane symbols and rudimentary levers - a true testiment to the cobbled-together technology of this forsaken world. But the map, while offering potential landing zones, lacked the detail needed for a precise landing.

"We're looking at a crash landing," he announced, his voice grim. "Somewhere in the northern quadrant of the Canyons, based on this map."

Lucienne frowned, tracing a finger along a faint inscription on the map. "There's a cluster of faint lights marked here," she pointed. "It could be a settlement, an outpost of some kind." A sliver of hope flickered in her eyes.

"Settlements in the Canyons?" Vandil scoffed, finally breaking his silence. "More likely a bandit camp or worse."

Gustav, ever the pragmatist, cut through their bickering. "Doesn't matter. It's the best lead we have." He clapped Brieg on the shoulder. "Prep the pod, kid. We're going for a bumpy ride."

Brieg nodded grimly, his fingers flying across the controls. With a jolt and a hiss of escaping air, the escape pod lurched free of the crows' nest,first rising up harnessing the innate Art of Flame energy from the pod, then plummeting towards the dark expanse below as flames from the burning "Diligent Miracle" licked at the sky behind them.

Their descent was a harrowing blur of wind and disorientation. The pod bucked and rattled, the thin metal groaning under the stress. Just as Brieg began to fear complete structural failure, a slight jolt of light pierced the darkness below. The cluster of lights Lucienne had identified grew in the distance just outside the forest, transforming into skyline that appeared to be a settlement of sorts.

"Brace yourselves!" Brieg yelled. The pod slammed into the thick canopy of a sprawling spruce forest with a sickening crunch. Silence descended, broken only by the groaning of twisted metal and the distant roar of the burning ship, now a fading ember in the night sky.