It has been 4 days since the nautiloid ship crashed onto the Sword Coast. 4 Days since you escaped with a tadpole implanted in your brain and a suspension of dread which makes you question just when you will turn. But you are not alone in this. Others were infected with you and you've since befriended them. Or at least something similar to that. One of which particularly catches your ire. Tav.

Night falls on your quaint camp, the only sounds in the air being the buzz of cicadas and the gentle crackle of the campfire. Tav, your troubled Dragonborn companion, stands away from the rest of your company with a dagger in hand, utterly absorbed in the blade's shine. Like a knife of pure moonlight fit for slaughter.