Bloodied Maps and Rising Tides

Goblan hauls himself out of the wet tunnel and freezes in a dry chamber lined with rotting parchment and stone shelves. The roar of the cistern pounds faintly behind him.

At the center, a ledger lies open on a pedestal. Its map is clear, and the courier route destination Goblan has been hunting is marked in ink.

Fresh waxed cord snags on a broken shelf beside the pedestal, and the open sluice means the water below is already rising. If Goblan lingers, the mercenaries can close in from the tunnel behind him.

He reaches the ledger first, its damp leather creaking under his hand. The path beyond the city is there, waiting, but so is the risk of leaving a clear trail.

Somewhere in the cistern passage, bootsteps splash closer. Goblan has the lead, for now.

Goblan tears the marked map free from the ledger and folds it beneath his armor, leaving the damp book open on the pedestal.

His words vanish into the stone, carried toward the sluice and the man who opened it. Goblan turns before the approaching splashes can find him.

He slips between the shelves, keeping to the chamber’s deepest shadows. Rotting parchment brushes his shoulders as he finds a narrow service passage beyond the shelves.

Bootsteps enter the distant tunnel behind him, but Goblan is already gone, descending into the dry passage with the courier route secured against his chest.