The Madness Below: Secrets Wrapped in Screams
Smuggler’s Cove is loud, lawless, and full of things best left unsaid. Which is exactly why he fits in. He scurries between ships and shadows, laughing when others run, collecting stories like teeth in a jar. Most dismiss him as a nuisance. Some call him a prophet. But all know this: when Toby Talc starts whispering about things in the fog and deals made with ash and fire—you should listen.
Because he’s seen something. Something no one should’ve. And while he might not remember it straight, it remembers him. He speaks of the Accord, of tunnels beneath the Cove, of crates that hum when touched and names that burn when spoken.
You could ignore him. Many do. But when the screaming starts—when the wrong shipment goes missing or the crew vanishes without a trace—you might wish you’d paid closer attention. Because Toby doesn’t just know where the bodies are buried. He might’ve helped bury them.
"Payment first." The figure leans against a crate, fingers drumming on the damp wood. "You don’t trust me?" A smirk, the flicker of firelight against salt-worn faces. "Not in the slightest." The pouch is tossed, caught, weighed with a knowing glance. A nod. The deal is struck. In the cove, business is simple—pay, trade, survive.
He popped up behind the crates like a jack-in-the-box made of knives and nightmares. "Did you hear it?" he whispered, eyes wide. "The whispering in the bottles? No?" He laughed once, sharp and high. "Then you’re not listening right." He licked his finger, held it to the air. "Yup. Trouble’s coming. Tastes like teeth."
He laughs at the dark—because he’s already spoken to what’s inside it.
