The moon hung low over Port Rumhaven, casting silver streaks across the cobblestones and flickering lanterns. It was All Spirits’ Eve in Barcadia, a night of masks, mischief, and festive mixes. Which, naturally, made it the perfect time for Tipple the Half Pint to visit the one party member most likely to be both elusive and already disguised: Flaskian the Concealed.
Tipple arrived under cover of dusk, his enchanted Ryecanthrope carriage parked discreetly behind a stack of empty barrels. The pups wore tiny ghost costumes (courtesy of Maltilda’s monastery seamstress), and one had already stolen a candied beet from a passing merchant. Tipple didn’t ask how.
Port Rumhaven was alive with revelers: masked rogues, spectral bards, and one suspiciously tipsy banshee, but Tipple knew better than to search for Flaskian directly. Instead, he stood in the town square and loudly declared, “I’m looking for someone who owes me a drink and probably already stole it.”
A shadow peeled itself from the alley wall.
“Bold of you to assume I owe you anything,” came the voice… smooth, amused, and unmistakably Flaskian.
Tipple turned with a grin. “Happy All Spirits’ Eve, you sneaky sip-thief.”
Flaskian stepped into view, cloaked in midnight blue and wearing a mask that shimmered like spilled moonlight. “I prefer ‘libation liberator.’ And you’re lucky I like you, bard. Most people who shout my name in public end up missing a sock.”
The two wandered through the festival, dodging cursed confetti and enchanted cider fountains. Flaskian guided Tipple through a maze of secret passageways and rooftop shortcuts, occasionally pausing to “borrow” a decorative lantern or a suspiciously unattended goblet.
Eventually, they arrived at Flaskian’s hideout, a rooftop garden lit by stolen candles and haunted by a very judgmental cat named Whisper. Tipple unfurled the scroll and explained the reunion plan.
Flaskian read it silently, then smirked. “A gathering of old friends, questionable drinks, and at least one dramatic entrance? Count me in.”
They added their message to the scroll in invisible ink, revealed only under moonlight:
As the night wore on, Tipple and Flaskian swapped stories, shared stolen sweets, and watched the stars flicker above Port Rumhaven. The scroll was one signature closer to completion, and the reunion one step nearer.
And somewhere in the shadows, Whisper the cat knocked over a goblet, stared at it, and disappeared into the night… just like Flaskian would.