In Shifting Form, Tarian’s grief and guilt leave him brooding in the meeting hall, hunched over a cracked table with dagger in hand. His friend Keldon tries to pull him back from despair, but their exchange takes a sinister turn when a monstrous impostor invades their bond. What begins as self-recrimination erupts into suspicion, steel, and the chilling revelation that trust is more fragile than ever.
Every strike of Tarian’s dagger echoes his fractured alliances, and when the shapeshifter reveals itself, the cost of vulnerability becomes undeniable. Shifting Form blends tense friendship, sudden violence, and eerie transformation into a tale of doubt and survival.
I chose Washed Out to accompany this tale, not one of my more eerie pieces, but the one steeped in melancholy. Its drifting saxophone lines mirror the sorrow eating at Tarian’s soul, while the clarinet’s grounding voice underscores the weight left in the wake of broken alliances, hinting at something more to come.
When I got to this point in the overarching tale, I wanted to amp up the danger and further explore the world the colonists discovered themselves in. As a result, I dropped myself into this situation and asked, “How could this be made worse?” It didn’t take long for me to discover a truly devastating turn to take and explore. After they were stripped of their alliances, they must contend not only with looming threats but also with dangers wearing familiar faces. The story asks a haunting question: how do you fight when you can’t be sure who stands beside you?
📌 Don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe for weekly original stories, original blues music, and magical storytelling.
🛡️ New episodes every week, don’t miss what’s coming next.
If you enjoyed the story and are looking for something else consider my book, Dead Man’s Hand
Click here or use Rumble, if you prefer, to experience this mingling of story and music that is good for the soul.
Tarian sat in solitary silence, taking in the emptiness of the meeting hall. The crack ran the entire length of the conference table, and the sneering crevasse mocked him. He gripped the hilt of his dagger with white knuckles. Tarian lifted the tip of the blade and rammed it into the pockmarked slab. He twisted the knife, enlarging the hole as he took a deep breath. As the seconds ticked away, he stabbed its point into the table several times.
Between strikes, the door swung inward. Keldon stepped inside, eyeing his friend’s assault on the ruined furniture before letting out a sigh. Tarian drove the blade into the wood again, and Keldon claimed an empty seat. He waited for his friend to stop, but the knife didn’t cease. He cleared his throat as he leaned toward his friend. “If everything were normal, I wouldn’t butt into your affairs.”
“Why are you starting the habit?” Tarian asked as he drove the dagger into the table.
Keldon lifted two fingers. “Two reasons. First, sitting here and wallowing over what’s happened for weeks isn’t healthy.”
“And the second?” Tarian asked, plunging the blade through the wood.
“You’re damaging the table.”
“It’s already cracked, Kel.” Tarian laid the dagger down. “This wooden slab isn’t going to be useful for any upcoming meeting with our allies.”
“You seem sure about that.”
.
.
.
Or if you would simply prefer to read the story, click here.
Have a wonderful day my friends!