The Marshbeasts
The world fell away piece by piece the moment the planks of Embercrack’s walkway vanished behind us. One last push of the goblin’s oars, a groaning shift of wet timber, and then the boat slipped free like a hunted animal escaping a cage. No more stone walls. No more banners. No more accusing eyes drifting toward that room where a man no longer existed.
Only the marsh. Only the inlet. Only the slow pulse of the water all around us, endless and alive. The inlet swallowed us whole. The land dissolved behind us into a smear of shadows and reeds, as if the world itself erased every trace of where we’d been. The islands of Embercrack and Order of the Oak shrank into silhouettes: jagged black shapes, like teeth biting the horizon. Their torches became flickers, then sparks, then nothing.
The water stretched in every direction, a slick mirror broken by trembling reeds and long mats of green algae drifting like drowned hair. Every ripple carried its own whisper. The boat creaked with each breath of the wind. The air was thick, heavy with the smell of rot, peat, and the cold metallic tang of minerals rising from the muck beneath us. Life thrummed just below the surface. I could feel it. Hear it. Sense the movement of things too ancient or too patient to fear light.
A low fog clung to the top of the water, tendrils curling around the hull like fingers trying to claim us. The inlet was wide and the edges blurred into a tangle of crooked trees standing knee deep in the marsh, their roots twisted like skeleton hands. Branches sagged under the weight of grey moss, dripping steadily into the water.
My claws pierced through my master’s trousers and into his skin as the boat rocked. Every time the water lapped over the side, a jolt went through me. My ears flattened hard, twitching at shapes beneath the surface, shadows flickering, slithering, pausing as if something was tracking our movement.
I forced myself closer to him, burying my face into his shoulder. His warmth cut through the damp air. The bond throbbed gently between us, grounding, anchoring me in something solid. His hand settled on my thigh, thumb stroking once in reassurance, the motion slow and deliberate.
The goblin rowed with a quiet expertise that made no sense for a creature so chaotic. His small body leaned into each stroke, oars slicing through the murk with barely a ripple. His eyes stayed low, fixed on the shifting currents, watching for dead logs or the sudden black shape of a mire beast rising from beneath.
Behind us, Pontune sat rigid, arms folded tight across her chest. Her polished noble posture was useless out here, this world didn’t bend for titles or class. Her hair stuck to her temples from the moisture. Her boots were speckled with swamp spray. She looked like she hated every moment of existence.
Which, admittedly, made this a little easier to bear.
The inlet widened even further, until it felt as if we were adrift in a lake made entirely of secrets. No land. No markers. Just the sound of the oars, the crackle of distant insects, and the occasional splash far too large to be ignored.
A heron, skeletal and ghost-pale, drifted overhead, wings silent as it glided toward the reeds. Another cry echoed from deep inside the marsh, long, guttural, followed by the heavy slosh of something sinking back beneath the water.
My tail curled tighter around Master’s waist.
The sky above deepened to a purple grey, clouds heavy and swollen like they were holding their breath. The reflection on the inlet turned strange, oil slick patches of colour shimmering on the surface, broken only by the wake our little boat carved.
Pontune finally spoke, voice small and edged with reluctance. “How far until Mire Point?”
No one answered. Not because they didn’t know. But because the marsh didn’t care for clocks or distances. The inlet was a shifting creature. Routes changed. Land vanished. New streams formed overnight. Time moved strangely here.
Master rested his chin slightly, eyes scanning the fog ahead with that expression I knew too well, the detective stare, patient, unblinking, dissecting every detail the world tried to hide. Through the bond, a faint pulse of determination threaded into me, cool and focused.
I exhaled, long and slow. His thoughts steadied me more than the boat ever could.
The marsh went still first. That was always the warning, not the splash, not the cry, not the shadow. The silence. Every insect stopped chirping. Every reed stopped rustling. Even the oars slid through the water too quietly.
My ears snapped upright before my mind caught up. Then the water broke.
Twelve dark shapes surged from beneath the inlet’s skin, medium mire beasts, sleek as knives, strong as nightmares. Their backs cut the surface like blades, their jaws snapping, their bodies circling the boat in a tightening spiral. The sound of claws scraping wood rose all around us, a frantic chorus of wet, guttural growls.
The first one lunged. The boat lurched sideways so hard Pontune screamed. My tail bristled like a struck fuse. And the world narrowed into instinct.
My turn.
I didn’t think. I didn’t need to think. Bond humming. Fear burning. Master’s heartbeat a war drum slamming through my skull. I moved before anyone else could even breathe.
The beasts were swarming the port side, claws hooked over the rim, teeth bared, trying to heave their ugly bodies into our tiny wooden coffin. The boat rocked, water sloshed in, and one beast’s jaw snapped inches from my master’s leg.
Not happening. Never happening.
I lunged across the boat, the speed enough to jolt the hull but not capsize it, my spear flashing into my hands as if it had always been there.
Attack Roll Dex +4, proficiency +2, spear quality copper iron +4 d20 + 10 = 24
My spear punched clean through the skull of the first mire beast as it lunged again. Its jaws clamped once on the wood, then went slack. They all die the same. The beast slid off the side with a splash, dark blood clouding the water.
Two more surged up to replace it. I ripped my spear free and set my feet as wide as the rocking boat allowed. Another lunged for my master.
NO, NOT ALLOWED.
Second Attack, Protective Fury triggers because Master threatened, Attack Roll = d20 + 12 = 17 + 12 = 29
I stabbed downward with a scream that tore itself out of my throat, half laughter, half fury, ALL MINE. The spear tore through the creature’s eye and pinned it to the side of the boat. It writhed, shrieked, then went still as the water swallowed it.
I kicked its corpse off the spear, sending it sinking into the inlet like discarded garbage. My voice came out a ragged, manic snarl. “Touch him again and I’ll gut your entire species.” The remaining beasts didn’t care. They were in feeding frenzy now. Twelve became ten. Ten became nine as another body sank below.
But still, they came.
Claws raked the hull. Jaws snapped inches from our limbs. Damp, heavy bodies slammed into the wood. Pontune froze, hands shaking. The goblin hissed and raised an oar as a makeshift club. Master reached for his sword. And me? I planted myself between him and the water, tail lashing, ears flat, spear dripping black blood onto his boots.
“This boat isn’t sinking,” I growled, pupils blown wide, breath shaking with adrenaline and fury. “Not while I breathe.” I tightened my grip and bared my teeth.
The world snapped into a slow-burn clarity the moment my master moved. Not panicked. Not rushed. Not even startled. Just inevitable. Like the marsh itself held its breath so he could cut through it.
He drew the Redstone noble sword in one smooth, unbroken line of motion, the blade whispering from its sheath like it had been waiting for this exact heartbeat. His stance shifted only slightly, enough to keep perfect balance on the rocking boat, as if the chaos around us had politely stepped aside for him.
Then he acted. One stroke. One single, economical, artful stroke. And a mire beast died before it finished lunging. The steel carved through its jaw and skull with the quiet finality of a guillotine. There was no spray, no sloppy violence, just a clean split and a splash as the body folded into the inlet.
My tail coiled tighter around his waist, my breath catching in something dangerously close to adoration. He didn’t even blink. Didn’t break posture. He just shifted his grip and turned slightly, already ready for the next one.
He was beautiful when he killed like that. So, beautiful.
Then it was Pontune. I expected panic. I expected flinching, fear, useless noble theatrics. Her breath shook, yes, but she didn’t freeze. She pulled the longsword from her hip, house-made, polished, ceremonial at a glance but clearly functional. Her stance wasn’t perfect, but it was trained. Familiar movements. Someone had drilled this into her bones when she was barely old enough to speak to servants.
A mire beast lunged over the gunwale toward her face , she stepped back, angled her blade, and thrust. Not flashy. Not graceful. But competent. Her sword punched into the beast’s throat. It screeched, thrashed, knocked her backward against the boat’s side and she shoved it off with a grunt, sending the dying creature tumbling into the foam.
Pontune was pale. Her arms shook. But she didn’t break. Maybe nobles aren’t entirely useless after all. She even spat, furious, breathless. “Disgusting creatures!” A beast immediately lunged for her boot in response. She screamed again, but the moment of clarity had stuck. She kicked it square in the snout.
Then the goblin. Our rower wasn’t trained. He wasn’t noble. He wasn’t calm. He was… goblin. Which meant chaos. Instinct. Violence without theory. He raised the wooden oar like a club and bellowed something about “FILTHY WATER DOGS!” at the top of his lungs.
He swung with everything he had. The oar cracked across a mire beast’s skull with a wet thump that made the boat shudder. The creature recoiled, stunned and bleeding, before slipping back under.
The goblin grinned, manic and triumphant And then the oar snapped clean in half. He looked at the broken end in horror. “Oh no,” he whispered, “me favourite oar…” The two pieces splashed into the water. “YOU! STUPID! SWAMP! GHOULS!” he yelled at the beasts as if the water would apologise.
The beasts did not apologise. They surged again, jaws snapping, claws scraping the hull as the boat rocked harder and harder. Three slammed the starboard side. Two clambered halfway up the bow before sliding back. One nearly caught my tail before I whipped it away.
Pontune scrambled to keep her footing. The goblin armed himself with half an oar like a cudgel, holding it overhead as if intimidation alone would stop monsters. My master remained steady as a carved idol, sword dripping darkness, ready for the next precise strike.
Eight mire beasts remained. Eight hungry shadows with nothing but teeth and instinct. They surged. The first two came from the starboard side together, jaws cracking open wide enough to take off a leg. The boat slammed sideways, water spraying over us in cold sheets. I hissed, fur bristling, tail staggering into full bottle-brush panic for one blinding heartbeat.
Pontune shrieked as claws latched onto the rim of the hull. The goblin yelled something about “MY BOAT, YOU SWAMP PIGS!” Master didn’t move. Not an inch. Two beasts lunged for him. Their mistake.
The first mauled the side of the boat, jaws snapping shut inches from Master’s knee. Wooden splinters exploded into the air. The second launched over the gunwale entirely, its weight slamming onto my back like a falling boulder.
I hit the deck with a snarl, claws gouging grooves into the planks, its wet hide pressing against my shoulder blades, its teeth seeking my neck. The world narrowed to teeth and weight and the stink of wet fur.
The next pair went for Pontune. One clamped onto her boot, dragging her halfway to the side before Master’s hand shot out, fisting the collar of her leather armour and yanking her back upright. She gasped as the beast lost its grip and fell into the water again. Another lunged at her arm, she barely blocked with her sword, sparks flying as beast-teeth scraped the blade. She screamed something very noble and very useless.
Two more hammered the bow where the goblin stood. One got its claws hooked over the rim, the goblin smacked its knuckles with the broken oar handle. The beast didn’t care. It climbed anyway. The second slammed into the hull beneath him so hard his feet left the deck. He landed on his back, shouting, “STOP USING ME AS A DRUM!”
And the last two. Those came for me. One already had me pinned. The other tried to bite my legs, snapping and thrashing while I kicked at its snout. The boat swayed so violently it almost rolled, but the hull held. Some miracle of Mire carpentry. Or sheer spite.
Pinned under one beast, another ripping at my tail, water sloshing in around my knees, I should have been scared, but the bond came alive with Master’s calm. Cold. Steady. Lit like a lantern behind my eyes. My pulse steadied. My ears twitched back. My lips peeled to bare every fang I owned. I shoved upward with my shoulder, spear twisting in my grip.
ATTACK ONE
Roll: 10, Dex +4, Proficiency +2, Copper iron weapon quality +4 Total: 20
I drove my spear up through the stomach of the beast pinning me, a brutal upward ram that burst out through its spine. Hot black blood sprayed across my arm. The weight above me went slack. I rolled sideways as the corpse fell off me into the water with a splash.
ATTACK TWO
Roll: 3 Modifiers: +10, Total: 13
Even clumsy, even rushed, even with a beast snapping at my tail, I still struck true. The second mire beast lunged again. I twisted, planting my foot on the bench, and speared it through the jaw, pinning its mouth shut. It writhed violently, shaking the whole boat, its claws scraping furrows into the deck.
I snarled and twisted the spear hard. Bone cracked. The beast went still. Then slid off the blade and vanished into the deep.
Six remain. The boat rocks. The water boils with shadows. The marsh shrieks with hungry monsters. I breathe hard, fur soaked, blood dripping from my spear, tail thrashing behind me. Then I rise to my feet, planting myself between Master and the water, chest heaving, pupils blown wide with manic fury.
The world buckled beneath us as the remaining beasts circled, water churning like boiling tar. My breath came out in sharp, furious bursts, my tail lashing behind me, soaked but unbroken. Six left. Six too many. And all of them were fixated on my master. The marsh could collapse, the boat could split, the sky could drown but he moved like none of it mattered. Like the world existed only to give him something to cut through.
He stepped forward on the rocking wood, weight low, posture perfect. No fear. No hesitation. Cold noir precision burning behind his eyes. Two mire beasts lunged for him in a coordinated snap, jaws wide, their weight enough to capsize us if they hit together.
He didn’t let them. He pivoted left, letting the first beast overshoot, its teeth clamped into empty air where his leg had been a heartbeat before.
Then his blade flashed.
His sword tore through the first beast’s neck in a single, unbroken diagonal arc. No wasted motion. No struggle. Just execution. The creature spasmed once, then folded off the boat like wet rope.
He seized the seconds jaw with his free hand and yanked downward, slamming its skull against the gunwale with a crack that split the bone. The beast slithered into the water twitching.
Two more gone. My fur stood on end. The bond hummed with that terrifying, intoxicating calm of his. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to eviscerate every beast left. I wanted everything at once.
Pontune was drenched, shaking, hair plastered to her face, but she wasn’t collapsing. Panic clawed at the edges of her eyes, but she swallowed it and stepped forward with her sword raised.
Her blade wasn’t elegant anymore, it was survival. Instinct. Raw training drilled into children of her class for moments exactly like this. A beast lunged toward her torso. She planted her feet, gritted her teeth, and thrust.
The blade punched into the beast’s chest. It snapped at her, catching her vambrace with its teeth, but she shoved forward with a surprised, vicious cry. It toppled sideways off her sword and into the inlet. She stared at the ripples, breath sharp and jagged. “Filthy things,” she spat, voice cracking.
Now the goblin was drenched. Half an oar in one hand. Eyes wild. Teeth bared. And furious. “YOU THINK YOU CAN BREAK ME BOAT? BREAK ME OAR? YOU PICKED THE WRONG GOBLIN!” He leapt into the centre of the boat, far more agile than physics should allow, and swung the broken oar handle like a club.
He smashed the oar handle across the skull of another mire beast as it climbed onto the bow. The beast went limp mid-lunge and slid back into the water. The goblin raised the snapped half of the oar triumphantly. “STILL WORKS!” Then it immediately split in half again. Leaving him with something closer to a twig.
Suddenly all three remaining beasts lunged at once. One for Pontune. One for the goblin. One for MASTER. The boat rocked as though the inlet wanted to swallow it whole.
Its jaws snapped toward Pontune's calf, a brutal sideways bite meant to drag her out of the boat entirely. She twisted away, pivoting on instinct more than skill. The beast’s jaws clamped shut on wood instead of bone, sending splinters flying.
Her eyes widened in shock, she hadn’t expected to live through that. But her counterattack was already in motion. She stabbed downward with a trembling, desperate force. The beast thrashed, then stilled, stuck halfway onto the planks, bleeding into the inlet as she kicked it free.
This one didn’t lunge. It shot straight upward out of the water like a spear, jaws gaping for his forearm. The goblin shrieked, “NOT ME ARM!” Then dropped flat, letting the beast shoot clean over him. The creature landed inside the boat. Bad. Very bad.
But goblins aren’t prey. He smashed its snout with the last splinter of his oar. The splinter drove into the beast’s eye. It spasmed once. Then died in an ugly heap between our boots. “Ha!” the goblin roared, chest heaving. “THAT ONE FOR ME OAR!”
This one wasn’t like the others. It waited. Watched. Calculated. Then struck with the fastest lunge of the night, straight for Master's leg, not to kill, but to rip him off balance and topple the boat. I moved before the beast even broke the surface, pure bond-instinct, pure reflex. But he moved too.
My master stepped aside. A single sliding shift of weight. Timeless. Effortless. The beast’s jaws snapped on empty air where his leg had been a heartbeat ago. And because he always takes opportunities cleanly. His blade flashed downward, the strike so clean it didn’t even splash water. The sword parted the creature’s skull cleanly, a straight brutal drop, and the beast collapsed back into the inlet without even a cry.
Calm. Cold. Unmoving. He didn’t even break posture.
I rose slowly, shoulders heaving, my fur soaked, my breath ragged. Tail locking around my master’s waist. Claws still flexed. Adrenaline burning like wildfire. My voice came out low, trembling with victory and that unhinged hunger that always filled me when he was near danger.
“That was the last of them,” I whispered, brushing my cheek against his shoulder. “They couldn’t touch us. Not even once.” My spear dripped dark blood into the inlet.
Pontune slumped against the bench, shaking with leftover fear. The goblin wiped sweat from his brow, muttering curses about broken oars. But me ? I pressed myself firmly into my master’s side, tail curling tight, a purr rising unbidden from my throat.
The boat gave one last groan.... long, low, brokenm like the dying breath of an old creature that had held itself together far longer than physics should’ve allowed.
Then the hull crumpled. Not gracefully. Not slowly. It simply folded inward, the planks splitting under the weight of claws, bodies, and our own movements. Cold water surged up through the seams. Then over the sides. Then into our boots.
And then... It wasn’t a boat anymore. Just debris. Just driftwood. Just a sinking coffin giving up the ghost. I didn’t think. I didn’t breathe. I jumped. My legs coiled and launched me upward in one panic-fuelled burst, fur bristling, ears flat, instincts screaming. The inlet swallowed the boat below us.
I landed exactly where instinct demanded: On top of my master. My arms clamped around his head. My thighs locked around his shoulders. My tail wrapped around his throat with the strength of a drowning animal. I climbed him like a tree struck by lightning.
Cold marsh water splashed up his sides as the last of the boat vanished beneath us, the broken plank tips slurping downward with a final glug. The water swallowed Pontune to her waist. The goblin bobbed up like a cork, sputtering.
But me?
I was perched on my master’s shoulders like a feral crown, claws dug into his leather armour, desperately trying not to touch one molecule of water. My entire body trembled with instinctive terror, fur puffed out in a halo of soaked panic.
“MASTER” I gasped, voice cracking in a manic pitch, “THE WATER IS TOUCHING ME IN THE AIR,GET ME HIGHER, HIGHER.”
Physics did not care. Physics reminded me that he was an Alderian man, not a tree, and that I was a full-grown catgirl clinging to his upper body like a terrified barnacle. He sank a little under the extra weight. Just a little. His boots hit the muddy bed of the inlet beneath the water, but the marsh was deep, nearly chest-high on him.
Which meant the water was... I looked down. An inch from my toes. My pupils shrank into terrified pinpricks. I squeezed tighter, smothering him completely, burying his face into my stomach, my thighs clamped around his temples with enough force to snap a lesser man’s neck. My tail cocooned him as if that would somehow keep the water away from me.
“DON’T LET ME DROWN IN STINK,” I shrieked, shaking on top of him. “DON’T LET IT TOUCH MY TAIL, I’LL DIE, I SWEAR I’LL DIE, LIFT ME HIGHER OR I’LL”
He tried to speak, but I was wrapped so tightly around his head that only muffled choking emerged. The bond vibrated with his exasperation and a faint, dry thought of: You’re not drowning, you’re smothering me.
Pontune surfaced next to us with a gasp, flailing against the reeds, soaked from the ribs down, her noble composure shattered into a soggy heap.
“Where is the boat!?” she sputtered.
“It DEAD!” the goblin yelled, thrashing like a frog on fire. “IT VERY DEAD! WE IN MARSH NOW! ALL GONNA SMELL LIKE OLD ONION!”
My every muscle locked in horror. Old onion. That was… stink. Stink was… Death. My claws sank deeper into Master’s shoulders as I hissed a drenched shriek into the fog.
“MASTER FIX THIS FIX IT FIX IT I’M TOUCHING THE IDEA OF WATER I CAN FEEL IT WITH MY SOUL YOU HAVE TO SAVE ME I AM TOO BEAUTIFUL TO SMELL LIKE VEGETABLES”
He managed, somehow, to lift his face just enough to speak between my thighs. “Aliza I need to breathe.”
I froze. Tail stiff. Ears rigid. Heart in my throat. Then slowly, very reluctantly, I loosened my thighs just enough to let him inhale air instead of cat. Only a little. Barely. Enough to keep him alive while I continued to hold myself above the marsh water like a panicked wet owl perched on a drowning man.
His voice finally reached me properly: “It’s shallow. I can walk.”
Pontune spat water. “You can walk?! I’m sinking like a stone"
The goblin bobbed past her, kicking madly. “ME TOO! ME SHORT!”
@Senar2020
