Beginning credits: In This Moment - "In The Air Tonight" [Official Lyric Video]
FADE IN:
EXT. FOGOR ISLE – ALLEYWAY BEYOND THE WAREHOUSE – NIGHT
Background Music shifts: Epic Fight | D&D/TTRPG Battle/Combat/Fight Music | 1 Hour
The party moves swiftly, water still clinging to their boots, the air thick with the scent of battle and damp stone. Fleetwood leads, his movements purposeful. Clarion keeps pace, her eyes flicking ahead, focused. Greegan and Felonious follow—but their thoughts linger elsewhere.
CUT TO:
Greegan stealing a glance at Silverleaf, watching her closely.
Felonious adjusting his grip on his staff, his mind working through what he just heard.
Silverleaf walking stiffly, her movements controlled but not quite calm.
Felonious frowns, his thoughts circling around two whispered words— "Mother. Father."
EXTREME CLOSE-UP:
His expression tightening—realization flickering through him.
The memory of Silverleaf’s fire-laced arrows, the fury in her stance.
The hesitation, the horror that followed.
Greegan mutters, voice low.
GREEGAN: "Never seen anything shake her like that."
Felonious nods slowly, choosing his words carefully.
FELONIOUS: " That fight got to her, and I think I know why."
Silverleaf keeps moving—but the weight of the past has not left her.
One battle is over, but the fight inside her still rages.
CUT TO:
Crowds murmuring, pointing toward the end of the dock.
A group of orcs—moving fast, working with urgency.
A massive crate—wood creaking under its weight, magical energy bleeding from its seams.
A ship—dark-hulled, bearing the flag of the Black Eagle Barony.
EXTREME CLOSE-UP:
Felonious inhaling sharply, his fingers twitching with restrained instinct.
Clarion stiffening beside him, feeling the raw magic spilling into the air.
Fleetwood narrowing his eyes, assessing the situation.
Greegan muttering, already predicting where this is headed.
Silverleaf exhaling slowly, eyes sharp, tracking every movement.
The ship—The Crimson Wench—looms like a specter, its deck crawling with activity.
CUT TO:
An orc shouting orders—urgent, strained.
Others hauling the crate, muscles straining.
The magical presence growing stronger, unstable.
Felonious' jaw tightens.
FELONIOUS: "Whatever is in that crate—Bargle is trying to get it out of here. And it doesn’t seem happy about that."
Clarion exhales, keeping her voice level.
CLARION: "We can’t let that happen."
Fleetwood flicks his gaze toward the others—toward Silverleaf, Greegan, Felonious.
FLEETWOOD: "So. How do we stop them?"
Felonious exhales sharply, eyes locked onto the orcs, the crate, the Crimson Wench swaying in the tide.
Subtlety be damned.
FELONIOUS: "Silverleaf. I need power. Clarion—a blessing. Now."
CUT TO:
Silverleaf hesitating just a fraction—then nodding, reaching out, magic crackling between them.
Clarion gripping her holy symbol, murmuring a prayer, divine energy surging toward Felonious.
Fleetwood drawing his sword, bracing for the inevitable retaliation.
Greegan shifting his stance, ready to strike.
Felonious raises his hands, magic coalescing, fire igniting in his palms.
Felonious: (Speaking Draconic, translation) “Burn! Burn! Give to me the breath of the great wyrm! Give me the power! Burn! Burn!”
Clarion: (Speaking Celestial, translation) “Give him the fist of Ixion! The breath of Pyro!”
Silverleaf: (Speaking Elven, translation) “Bring fire upon the earth!”
Then—Felonious unleashes it.
EXTREME CLOSE-UP:
A massive fireball, larger than any we have yet seen him conjure, roaring through the air, consuming everything in its path.
The ship’s hull erupting, wood splintering, the force sending shockwaves across the dock.
Orcs shouting, scrambling, arrows flying.
CUT TO:
Felonious’ magical shield flickering to life—arrows striking and deflecting before fading.
Clarion taking a step forward, arrows glancing off her armor.
Silverleaf leaping aside, instincts razor-sharp.
Fleetwood narrowing his eyes, pressing forward.
Greegan grinning slightly—chaos was exactly what he wanted.
Felonious’ shield sputters out—but it has done its job. The ship is crippled. The enemy is scattered. Now—they move.
Camera pans to:
The Crimson Wench groans, its hull shattered, the ship listing heavily in the water. Then—the captain’s cabin bursts open. Marla storms onto the deck, eyes ablaze with pure, unchecked rage.
CUT TO:
Her boots hitting the planks hard, her movements sharp, furious.
Orcs scrambling, trying to stabilize the ship, trying to salvage what remains.
Felonious standing tall, his fire spell’s heat still lingering in the air.
Clarion bracing for retaliation, her shield firm.
Fleetwood tightening his grip on his weapon, watching her carefully.
Greegan flicking his gaze toward Felonious, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Silverleaf exhaling slowly, her posture controlled, but ready.
Marla screams, frustration pouring out in every syllable.
MARLA: "First my tavern—now my ship?!"
EXTREME CLOSE-UP:
Her hands clenching into fists, knuckles white with fury.
Her eyes darting to the magical wreckage, jaw tightening.
Her breath sharp, heavy, violent.
Then—she turns, her voice cutting through the chaos.
CUT TO:
A darkened doorway on the ship’s deck.
Shadows shifting—movement within.
Marla snarls, directing her rage into the unseen depths.
MARLA: "Bargle! You worthless coward! You were supposed to prevent this!"
The air crackles. The silence stretches. And then—the shadows shift further. Something—or **someone—is about to step into view.
The battle rages in earnest now, chaos spilling across the sinking deck.
Fleetwood and the party push forward, blades cutting through defenses, spells crackling in the storm of motion. Then—the ship tilts sharply, groaning under its own wounds.
CUT TO:
The massive crate sliding, wood scraping violently against the planks.
Orcs stumbling, trying to regain footing as the ship lists further.
Silverleaf leaping onto a higher part of the deck, keeping her balance.
Clarion gripping the railing, her expression tense but controlled.
Greegan nearly losing his footing, catching himself just in time.
Felonious holding steady, watching the crate’s trajectory.
The crate tips—gravity pulling it toward the water.
Then—an errant piece of rigging catches it, snapping taut, halting the descent just short of the abyss.
EXTREME CLOSE-UP:
The crate hanging precariously, magical energy radiating outward.
Felonious narrowing his eyes, sensing the unstable force within.
Clarion inhaling slowly, realizing this balance won’t hold for long.
Fleetwood tightening his grip—ready to make a move.
Then—from below deck—
A scream.
BARGLE (O.S.): "NOOOOOO!"
CUT TO:
The cabin below shaking—movement, footsteps, something happening within.
Marla spinning toward the sound, her fury doubling.
Silverleaf pulling an arrow, eyes sharp, focused.
Felonious tilting his head, grinning slightly.
FELONIOUS: "Ah. There he is. Smoked out at last!"
The fight isn’t over. The crate isn’t safe. And Bargle—is about to make his next move.
The air erupts with fire, twin spells colliding in a perfectly synchronized inferno—Felonious and Silverleaf unleashing their power together.
The blast roars downward, consuming the cabin below in an explosion of magic-fueled flames.
CUT TO:
Marla twisting away just in time—but the heat still sears her, smoke curling off her armor.
Her eyes widening—rage snapping through them like a lightning strike.
Orcs stumbling, scrambling as the fire spreads.
Felonious straightening, satisfied, barely winded.
Silverleaf exhaling, her own fire reflected in her expression.
Then—Clarion.
EXTREME CLOSE-UP:
Her lips curling into the unmistakable shape of pure glee.
The divine warrior reveling, if only for a moment, in the righteous destruction.
Fleetwood pushing forward, his focus unshaken.
Greegan slipping past a fallen orc, moving with the momentum of the fight.
CUT TO:
Clarion reaching the crate, her stance firm, commanding.
Fleetwood gripping the edge, assessing its balance, its position.
Greegan scanning the rigging, considering their next move.
The crate still teeters, caught by fate or luck—but only just. Below deck—Bargle’s screams of frustration still echo. And Marla—**burned, furious, and unrelenting—**is not done.
The Crimson Wench groans, its ruined hull sinking further into the dark waters.
Marla screams, her fury spilling out in unchecked rage.
MARLA: "Get them! Kill them all, you worthless dogs!"
But—the orcs hesitate. They look to the fire. To the wreckage. To the sinking ship.
To Fleetwood, who—without hesitation—lifts the massive crate, muscles straining but unwavering. Then—he leaps, hitting the dock with force, dropping the crate just short of disaster.
CUT TO:
Clarion landing beside him, steel-sharp and ready.
Greegan rolling as he hits the dock, already scanning for advantage.
Felonious stepping onto solid ground, magic flickering at his fingertips.
Silverleaf flipping effortlessly onto the dock, her fire still smoldering.
The Crimson Wench lists further, her bow tilting unnaturally.
Background music shifts: What Time Is It?
Then—a new scream.
BARGLE (O.S.): "Nooooooo! That’s mine! Mine!"
EXTREME CLOSE-UP:
Dark energy crackling from the ruined cabin.
A rush of movement—unnatural, violent.
Then—Bargle explodes into view, levitating over the docks, his robes billowing, his eyes burning with unhinged rage.
CUT TO:
Silverleaf, lips curling, recovering something of herself.
Her fingers lifting to her nose, thumb extended, taunting, defiant.
A raspberry—a pure, simple insult.
Bargle snarls, his fingers twitching. Fleetwood steps forward, his stance commanding, his grip firm on his weapon. The crate sits, humming with raw magic. The air tightens—something terrible is about to be unleashed.
The air crackles, tension wound tight like a coiled spring.
Felonious and Bargle face off each other, Felonious standing on the dock, and Bargle hovering over the harbor, magic thrumming between them—a duel in the dark, the kind that belongs in whispered legends.
CUT TO:
Bargle sneering, eyes wild, hands alight with chaotic energy, robes and beard blowing in the wind.
Felonious steady, his fingers curling around power—not desperate, but controlled.
The dock creaking , waves lapping violently against ruined wood.
Fleetwood gripping his weapon, watching—ready if the spellwork fails.
Greegan shifting slightly, anticipation flickering through his stance.
Felonious and Bargle: (Both yelling in Draconic, magical energy turning the air various colors)
Then—it happens.
EXTREME CLOSE-UP:
Bargle hurls his spell forward—a massive surge of magical force, raw, furious, unhinged.
Felonious snaps his own magic into place, a shield shimmering into existence.
The impact—a thunderous collision, two forces meeting, neither willing to yield.
For a moment—pure silence.
Then—the spell turns.
CUT TO:
Bargle’s eyes widening in realization—too late.
The magic snapping back, twisting, reversing course.
His body sent careening, propelled by his own spell, robes on fire.
Bargle: (Channeling the Disney character Goofy) “Ya-ha-ha-hooo-eeee!”
A distant, echoing splash as his body skips over the water several times and then he vanishes into the depths of the Volaga far downstream.
Felonious exhales, lowering his hands. Then—he grins.
FELONIOUS: "Now *that's* how it’s done, you cheap-trick huckster!"
CUT TO:
Greegan watching Bargle’s distant trajectory, considering.
Fleetwood cracking a faint smile, but not relaxing just yet.
Silverleaf folding her arms, thoroughly satisfied.
Greegan shakes his head.
GREEGAN: "He’s going to be mad when he gets out of there."
Felonious tilts his head, noticing something. Marla—still burning with rage, her gaze locked on the sea, murder bright in her eyes. Felonious smirks.
FELONIOUS: "You mean, *if* he gets out of there."
Greegan nods, satisfied.
GREEGAN: "‘If’ is good."
The night settles, but only for a breath.
FADE TO BLACK.
MONTAGE SEQUENCE:
INT. REGENT’S HALL – DAY
Fleetwood, Clarion, Silverleaf, Felonious, and Greegan stand before Patriarch Sherlaine, the Orb of Gygar resting in the revered regent’s hands.
CUT TO:
Sherlaine studying the artifact, nodding with solemn approval.
Fleetwood exchanging glances with Clarion—relieved, yet ever watchful.
Felonious smirking, already itching for the next adventure.
Greegan making a sharp remark, which Silverleaf pointedly ignores.
The regent’s voice ringing clear—a promise that the realm is safer today than it was yesterday.
The party leaves the hall not as wanderers, not just adventurers—but as legends.
FADE TO:
INT. THE JUGGLING OGRE – NIGHT
Ale mugs slam onto the table, laughter spilling into the smoky air as celebration reigns supreme.
CUT TO:
Fleetwood raising a glass, his usual stoicism softened just enough.
Clarion radiant in victory, her hand resting in Fleetwood’s.
Silverleaf enjoying herself—almost suspiciously.
Felonious telling some grand, likely exaggerated tale.
Greegan laughing, stealing another drink without shame.
The revelry rolls onward, the firelight dancing, the night filled with triumph.
Yet—elsewhere, far from laughter and warmth…
FADE TO:
INT. UNKNOWN CHAMBER – NIGHT
A crack of magical energy—Bargle teleports in, robes scorched, face twisted in fury.
CUT TO:
His fists clenched, body trembling with barely controlled rage.
His voice a snarl, spitting curses into the void.
His breath uneven as he turns, preparing to unleash his next move.
Bargle: (Mutters) “Interfering thaumaturgic twit! How dare he? I taught him everything he knows. Everything of worth, anyway. It was mine! I had it! In my hands.”
Then—he stops.
EXTREME CLOSE-UP:
His eyes flicking upward—realizing who waits for him.
**The shadows shifting, revealing the looming figure of the Black Eagle Baron.
The Baron’s expression—cold. Calculating. Unforgiving.
CUT TO:
Bargle stiffening, swallowing hard, his fury abruptly tempered.
The Baron stepping forward—slow, deliberate, heavy with judgment.
The silence stretches, thick with menace. Bargle, for the first time in years, does not speak.
FADE TO BLACK.
End Credits run over Along The Way