Moonshire - Player Registration

Summaries of played D&D storyline are written below

As the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the town of Royal Oak, anticipation buzzed through the streets. Amid the sturdy buildings and cobblestone streets, inside the grand mansion of Landlord Jonas McAllister, preparations were underway for a momentous occasion. The landlord was on the cusp of a significant promotion - to the esteemed rank of Baron. The news had spread like wildfire, and Duke Mark Oldenwright himself was set to grace the event with his presence, journeying from the capital of Silverdale for the occasion.

In honor of his impending elevation, Jonas had extended his generous invitations far and wide, summoning his closest companions to join him in celebration. The mansion that was located among the clustered dwellings of Royal Oak, stood as a beacon of festivity amidst the town's humble abodes. Within its walls, the main room had been transformed into a scene of lavish indulgence, with tables laden with an array of delicacies and libations, tended to by diligent servants. The air was alive with the tantalizing aroma of culinary delights, promising a feast fit for a noble gathering.

Friends and acquaintances from both near and far were beckoned by Jonas to partake in a grand banquet within the hallowed halls of his abode. The air hummed with anticipation as Jonas welcomed many travellers and extended his hand in friendship to his trusted allies.

As twilight descended upon the town, the mansion came alive with a symphony of laughter and merriment. The main room, adorned with rich tapestries of ancient lore and flickering candlelight, served as the epicenter of the festivities. Tables groaned under the weight of sumptuous fare, while servants flitted about, their graceful movements a testament to their dedication.

Rosamund Pike, the valiant paladin, traversed the room with a watchful eye, his gaze sweeping over the assembled guests and the ornate decorations that adorned the mansion's interior. He strode through the bustling festivity with a sense of purpose. Standing tall and commanding, his presence exuded an aura of strength and determination. Clad in his steel, gleaming armor, his form is both formidable and noble, having an unwavering dedication to justice.

As he traversed the main room where the banquet is planned, he found himself drawn to the opposite side, where a cluster of dedicated servants diligently poured wine and beer for the guests.

Among the servants stood a young blonde barmaid, her eyes bright with enthusiasm as she attended to her duties. Catching sight of Rosamund's approach, she offered him a warm smile, the dimples on her cheeks accentuating her youthful charm. Drawn to a corner where dedicated servants dispensed libations, he engaged in conversation with the young barmaid, her blonde locks a cascade of sunlight. Her gratitude for her recent employment under Jonas's benevolent wing warmed Rosamund's heart.

"I'm so glad Jonas hired me," she confided to him, her voice tinged with sincerity. "It's been such a wonderful opportunity to be a part of this celebration." Her words carried a genuine sense of gratitude, reflecting the joy of someone who had found purpose in their newfound employment.

As Rosamund mingled further among the guests, his attention was drawn to a figure cloaked in azure, his form draped in chain mail. Approaching with cautious curiosity, Rosamund spotted Rufus, a figure with a shadowed past. With a sense of recognition, he made his way towards the man, his footsteps purposeful and determined. Drawing closer, he addressed the man by name, his tone firm yet cordial.

"Rufus," Rosamund greeted, his voice carrying a note of caution and seriousness. "How are you faring these days?"

Rufus, taken aback by the sudden approach, met Rosamund's gaze with a mixture of surprise and apprehension.

Rufus: "Rosamund, good to see a familiar face. I've found myself in Lord Ado Untermire's service. Times have changed, as have I." "I've been keeping well," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of unease. "I've taken up a new position as an army sergeant for Lord Ado Untermire."

Rosamund's expression tightened imperceptibly, his instincts on high alert. Rufus's uneasy demeanor hinted at secrets untold as he spoke of his newfound allegiance to Lord Ado Untermire. He observed Rufus closely, noting the subtle signs of discomfort that betrayed the man's unease. "Is everything alright?" Rosamund inquired, his concern evident in his voice.

Rufus hesitated, casting a wary glance towards Rosamund before responding. "I... I need to attend to some security rounds," he muttered, his words rushed and uncertain. "To ensure the safety of the mansion and my lord." Rufus excused himself as quickly moved away.

With a nod of understanding, Rosamund stepped back, allowing Rufus to fulfill his duties. Yet, beneath the surface, a sense of unease lingered, prompting him to remain vigilant as he continued to navigate the bustling gathering.

As the night unfolded, old friends and new faces mingled amidst the banquet tables, their laughter echoing against the ornate walls. Yet beneath the veneer of celebration, whispers of discontent rippled through the crowd, casting shadows upon Jonas's noble aspirations.

As Rosamund made his way through the crowd, his gaze fell upon familiar faces amidst the sea of guests. Jet, the spirited adventuring lady, caught his eye with a welcoming smile, while Brother Hemlock, a wandering priest, exuded an air of quiet wisdom. Their presence brought a sense of camaraderie amidst the opulent surroundings. They greeted him warmly, their camaraderie a welcome respite from the whispers of unease that lingered in the air.

Joining their company, Rosamund found himself face to face with Caerbannog, a rabbit warlock whose presence never failed to elicit both curiosity and amusement. Despite the unusual sight, Caerbannog's inclusion in their group felt natural, a testament to the bond forged through shared adventures.

As the group exchanged greetings and shared tales of their recent exploits, laughter mingled with the lively chatter that filled the air. Rosamund, though being strict, smiled as he listened to their banter, a welcome respite from the weight of responsibility that often accompanied their quests.

However, not all the guests seemed to share in their joviality. Rosamund couldn't help but notice a few raised eyebrows and whispered comments regarding the banquet tables laden with an assortment of food and drink, including the mention of rabbit stew. Ignoring the murmurs, Rosamund focused on the warmth of his companions' presence, grateful for their unwavering support amidst the festivities.

Amidst the bustling crowd, another figure caught Rosamund's attention. Crunk, the affable halfling, made his entrance with an infectious energy that drew others into his orbit. Engaging in lively conversation with the group, Crunk's presence added an additional layer of mirth to their gathering, further solidifying the bonds of friendship that bound them together.

Crunk: "Quite the affair Jonas has put together. The decorations are splendid, don't you think?"

Brother Hemlock was eyeing around: "It's quite the feast, yes!"

Caerbannog: "And there is a large banquet"

Jet moved forward to the talking group: "hi guys, nice to see you again"

As laughter echoed and glasses clinked, Rosamund's senses remained keenly attuned to the subtle undercurrents that threaded through the room. Suspicion gnawed at his thoughts, prompting him to seek out Rufus, yet the elusive figure remained elusive, melting into the shadows of the mansion. Circulating through the room with purposeful strides, he scanned the faces of the guests, his keen eyes searching for any sign of the elusive figure.

Approaching the servants discreetly, Rosamund inquired about Rufus's whereabouts. "Excuse me," he began, "have you seen Rufus around? It's imperative that I speak with him."

One of the servants, a young maid with a nervous demeanor, hesitated before responding. "I'm sorry, sir," she murmured, avoiding his gaze. "I haven't seen Rufus. He must be somewhere else in the building."

Undeterred, Rosamund's gaze drifted towards the town's guard, their vigilant presence being an important part of security at such gatherings. Alongside them stood nobles, each accompanied by their retinue of private guards, a visual reminder of the hierarchy that permeated noble society.

Approaching one of the guards, Rosamund inquired further. "Good evening," he greeted respectfully. "Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary tonight? I'm searching for a man named Rufus, and I fear he may be up to no good."

The guard, a stern-looking figure with a steely gaze, regarded Rosamund with suspicion. "I haven't seen Rufus," he replied curtly. "But if he's causing trouble, we'll be sure to handle it."

Despite the bustling activity and jovial atmosphere, Rosamund remained vigilant, his senses attuned to any hint of danger lurking beneath the surface. With Rufus still eluding him, he resolved to remain vigilant, determined to uncover the truth behind the disquieting presence of the man in the blue cloak.

As the murmurs of conversation quieted, a hush fell over the room as a servant stepped forward, signaling the commencement of Jonas McAllister's speech. With all eyes turned towards him, Jonas stood tall, his presence commanding attention as he prepared to address the assembled guests.

"Dear friends and esteemed acquaintances," Jonas began, his voice resonating with authority and warmth. "I am truly honored to see so many familiar faces gathered here tonight to celebrate this momentous occasion with me."

With a gracious smile, Jonas cast his gaze across the room, acknowledging the diverse assembly of guests who had come to share in his joy. "As I prepare to ascend to the esteemed rank of Baron," he continued, "I am filled with gratitude for the unwavering support of each and every one of you."

A ripple of applause rippled through the room, echoing the sentiments of respect and admiration for Jonas's accomplishments. Emboldened by the show of appreciation, Jonas's expression softened, his words imbued with sincerity as he expressed his commitment to serving his newfound role with diligence and integrity.

"I pledge to do my utmost to fulfill the duties entrusted to me as a Baron," Jonas declared, his voice resolute. "From overseeing the myriad trading guilds that shape the fabric of our region to upholding the values of honor and prosperity, I shall endeavor to lead with wisdom and compassion."

With eloquence befitting his newfound station, Jonas addressed his guests, expressing gratitude for their presence and outlining his vision for the future. His resolve to uproot the tendrils of illegal trade routes drew murmurs of dissent from some quarters. Not all the nobles shared in their enthusiasm.

As Brother Hemlock and Caerbannog mingled among the guests, their ears caught the muted conversations of the nobles, their voices carrying the weight of clandestine discussions. Caerbannog's keen senses picked up on the subtle undertones of disapproval emanating from certain quarters, particularly from the likes of Lord Ado Untermire, whose displeasure was palpable. Huddled together in whispered tones, the nobles spoke of Jonas McAllister's past endeavors, acknowledging his efforts to combat these routes would have a small chance of success.

Also Landlord Rick Foster, his expression stoic and unyielding, voiced his dissent regarding Jonas's proposed budget to tackle the opium trade. His reservations underscored the complexities and conflicting interests that permeated the noble hierarchy, highlighting the challenges that lay ahead for Jonas in navigating the intricate web of politics and intrigue.

Meanwhile, amidst the lively banter and joviality of the evening, Rollo Youngblood and Tim of Olddale, two young local landlords, added to the merriment with their boisterous applause and jovial jests. Fuelled by copious amounts of alcohol, their laughter echoed through the hall as they reveled in the festive atmosphere.

Rollo Youngblood and Tim of Olddale, their laughter ringing out like a bell, approached the duo with overflowing tankards of ale in hand.

"Ah, Brother Hemlock! Caerbannog!" Rollo exclaimed, clapping a hand on Caerbannog's shoulder. "Join us in toasting Jonas's imminent ascension to the rank of Baron!"

Tim, his cheeks flushed with drink, added with a hearty laugh, "Indeed! Let us raise our glasses high and cheer for our friend's success!"

As the jovial banter continued, Landlord Rick Foster approached, his expression stern and unwavering.

"I trust you're all enjoying the festivities," he remarked, his tone laced with a hint of skepticism.

Brother Hemlock, ever diplomatic, replied with a respectful nod. "Indeed, my lord. It's a pleasure to witness such a joyous occasion."

Jonas' Taster moved to the banquet tables and took some of the food, tasting it: "Mmm, exquisite."

Suddenly, the taster feels dizzy like the room is spinning around him

Taster: "Aargh!"

He collapses to the ground

Jonas McAllister's voice faltered mid-sentence, his expression twisting into one of shock and concern. "What... what is the meaning of this?" he exclaimed, his gaze darting frantically around the room.

Brother Hemlock sprang into action, his gift as a healer taking over as he rushed to the fallen servant's side. Kneeling beside him, he quickly assessed the man's condition, his heart sinking at the sight of the telltale signs of poisoning.

Amidst the revelry, the evening took a dark turn as Jonas's taster fell victim to poisoning, sending shockwaves through the gathering. As the taster collapsed, a hushed gasp rippled through the room, shattering the air of celebration. Panic seized the guests, and chaos threatened to descend upon the banquet hall.

"What's happened?" one guest exclaimed, their tone laced with disbelief.

"I heard he took just one sip, and then... this," another whispered, their words barely audible over the commotion.

One guest hesitatingly said: "Is he alright? Someone, call for help!"

Other guest: "Quickly, get a healer! He's been poisoned!"

Brother Hemlock: "Stand back, everyone! Give him room to breathe!"

Brother Hemlock can't help feeling a somewhat familiar situation. He himself, once consuming a deadly hemlock plant by mistake, once teetered on the brink of death until the benevolent intervention of the lady of the forest and guardian of life Mielikki, spared his life. This divine intervention led him down a new path as a cleric. Because of this he more intensely and furiously did his best to see if he could find any remedy.

Councillor: "Wine! Check the wine! It might be tainted."

Rosamund, his voice cutting through the din, called out commands with authority. "Clear the area! We need space for the healers to work," he directed, his tone firm yet reassuring.

In a brazen display of treachery, a band of assailants, cloaked in brown robes, emerged from the kitchen, launching a daring assault upon the noble host.

In a blaze of steel and sorcery, Rosamund and his stalwart companions, Crunk, Jet, Caerbannog, and Brother Hemlock, rallied to defend their friend against the onslaught. The clash of arms reverberated through the halls as the party waged a desperate battle against their would-be assassins.

Brother Hemlock pulled a surprised and shocked Jonas behind him: "By the grace of Mielikki! Jonas, take cover!"

With steel in hand and spells on their lips, Rosamund and his companions rallied to defend their friend against the onslaught.

In the ensuing melee, Rosamund, alongside his trusted allies, waged a fierce battle against the intruders. Caerbannog's mystical prowess and Jet's agility proved invaluable, while Crunk's nimbleness and Brother Hemlock's healing arts turned the tide of battle.

Rosamund, his sword gleaming in the dim light, steps forward to meet the first assailant head-on. With a mighty swing, he clashes swords with his opponent, the clash of steel ringing out like a bell in the air. "You dare threaten Lord Jonas under his own roof? You'll pay dearly for your treachery!" Rosamund's voice carries a fierce determination as he parries blow after blow, his movements fluid and precise.

"You think you can stop us? You're nothing but pests to be squashed!" one of the assailants snarls, his voice dripping with contempt as he lunges forward with his sword.

With a swift and decisive strike, Rosamund Pike dispatched one of the guards who dared to threaten Lord Jonas. As the foe fell, Rosamund's attention turned to the mages, their sinister presence a harbinger of danger.

Jet, her agile form darting between foes, engages with two attackers at once, her daggers flashing in the flickering light of the torches. "Come on, you cowards! Is this the best you've got?" she taunts, her voice laced with a hint of amusement as she deftly dodges their strikes and retaliates with quick, calculated strikes of her own.

Crunk, his sword swinging through the air with devastating force, bellows a fierce battle cry as he charges into the fray, his every strike sending foes tumbling to the ground. "No one threatens Lord Jonas and lives to tell the tale!" he shouted as he maneuvered through their enemies with unmatched ferocity.

Also the guards of the different nobles attacked the assailants as well, defending their masters fiercely with their swords and axes.

The red-robed mages chant incantations, causing Crunk to temporary lose balance, their voices rising above the chaos of combat. "Your feeble defense is no match for our power!" they sneer, unleashing bolts of arcane energy at Caerbannog, who narrowly dodges out of harm's way.

One priest in long red robes wearing a brown cloak tried to touch Caerbannog, chanting an unknown incantation, but the bunny dodged out of the way.

Crunk avoided some blows and said back in defiance. "Is that all you've got? I've faced tougher foes than you in my sleep!"

Rosamund fought with valor, his sword flashing in the dim light of the banquet hall as he pressed the attack against the mages. Caerbannog's relentless assault bolstered his own, driving the enemy back with a relentless tide of fury.

Then suddenly, Caerbannog unleashed a primal fury, his usually benign form contorting into something altogether more fearsome. With teeth bared and eyes blazing, the rabbit warlock surged forward, heedless of the chaos erupting around him.

The sight of Caerbannog's transformation struck terror into the hearts of the guards, their resolve faltering in the face of such unearthly ferocity. They stumbled backward, their composure shattered by the unexpected onslaught.

Amidst the chaos, the other guests recoiled in horror at the sight of the monstrous rabbit-warlock, their cries of alarm mingling with the clash of steel and the crackle of arcane energy.

Together, Rosamund and Caerbannog became a force to be reckoned with, their combined strength striking fear into the hearts of those who dared to threaten their lord and comrades.

Crunk: "Stay back, you scoundrels! Jonas, get to safety!"

As the clash of arms reverberated through the halls, the party fought valiantly against their would-be assassins, their determination unyielding in the face of danger.

Amidst the chaos, the blond barmaid suddenly attempted to hold a noble hostage, which caught the party off guard.

With a fierce glint in her eye, the barmaid pressed the dagger against the noble's throat, her grip firm and unyielding as she issued her demands.

"Drop your weapons! And back off, all of you!" she snarled, her voice dripping with venom as she tightened her hold on her trembling captive.

In a shaky voice, the noble, sweat beading on his brow, issued a command to heed her words. "Do...do as she says," he pleaded, his voice trembling with fear as he urged for compliance.

With lightning reflexes, Crunk swiftly closed the distance, his movements fluid as he aimed his weapon at her hand. The sharp crack of his shot pierced the air, the bullet grazing her hand and causing her to wince in pain as the dagger clattered to the ground. In an instant, he stood between her and the noble, a stalwart shield against further harm.

"What in blazes do you think you're doing?" Crunk thundered, his voice booming over the din as he moved swiftly to intercept her, his massive frame imposing as he stepped between her and her intended victim.

"Let him go, lass," he commanded, his tone firm and unwavering as he extended a hand toward the frightened noble, ready to shield him from any further harm.

With a sharp intake of breath, the maid recoiled, her injured hand cradled against her chest as she stumbled backward, the fire in her eyes dimming momentarily in the face of Crunk's resolute stance

The party, together with the different elite guards of the nobles, attacked the assailants from all sides. They were now wounded and thrown backwards way past the banquet table. Soon the battle was over. The assailands had to surrender.

With the assailants vanquished, Jonas collapsed in his chair, being worned out and shaking with nervousness from the unexpectedd event. He turned to his allies, entreating them to uncover the truth behind the attack. United in purpose, Rosamund and his companions vowed to stand against further threats, their resolve unshakable in the face of adversity.

Jonas said in a shocked and exhausted voice: "By the gods, this was terrible, just terrible."

After pausing for a while, he added, "My friends, we must uncover the identity of those who seek to harm me. Together, we shall root out this treachery and restore peace to Royal Oak."

With a sense of urgency, Rosamund turned to his companions, his determination evident in his steely gaze. "I suspect it was Rufus! We cannot allow him and his master to escape unpunished," he declared, his voice resolute. "Jonas's safety is paramount, and we must uncover the truth behind this cowardly attack."

Jonas, his expression grave, nodded in agreement. Determined to root out the traitors, Jonas asked his son Dougle McAllister to accompany the companions and interrogate the servants, seeking clues amidst the chaos. The young Dougle stretched his arms widely in the air and proudly told his father he will not fail.

"Dougle, guide our friends in pursuit of these villains," he instructed his son, his tone commanding yet tinged with concern. Dougle replied, "Yes, Father, together, we shall ensure justice is served and prevent any further harm from befalling our household. Some of the people that you hired proved to be very untrustworthy!"

Dougle, his face set in determination, stepped forward to lead the group. "We will not rest until we have uncovered the truth and brought those responsible to justice," he affirmed, his voice unwavering as he prepared to embark on their quest.

With their resolve hardened and their purpose clear, the party set forth, their unity forged in the face of adversity. Bound by loyalty and duty, they ventured into the unknown, determined to unravel the mystery surrounding the attack on Jonas McAllister and bring the perpetrators to justice.

As chaos threatened to engulf the room, Jonas turned to Pierro, the seasoned entertainer known for his ability to lighten even the heaviest of atmospheres. "Pierro, we need your talents to quell the rising tension," he implored, his voice urgent yet tinged with a hint of desperation. "Please, do whatever you can to calm the distraught guests."

Pierro, a lively man with wide, curly orange hair and a red nose, nodded solemnly in response to Jonas's plea. "I'll do my best, my lord," he assured, his voice carrying a note of reassurance as he prepared to fulfill his role in diffusing the mounting tension. With a flourish, Pierro retrieved his juggling balls, his movements fluid and practiced as he stepped into the center of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, please, allow me to offer a distraction from the turmoil," he called out, his voice projecting above the din as he sought to capture the attention of the anxious crowd.

With each skillful toss and catch of the vibrant balls, Pierro wove a mesmerizing display of dexterity and grace, his movements showing his years of honing his craft. As the rhythmic patter of applause filled the air, the atmosphere in the room began to shift, the tension slowly giving way to a sense of calm.

With resolve in their hearts and purpose in their steps, Rosamund and his companions embarked on a quest for answers, their bond of friendship forged in the crucible of adversity.

Their investigation led them to the kitchen, where whispers of a mysterious figure in blue robes who went past, stirred intrigue. As the group ventured into the bustling kitchen, the aroma of savory dishes filled the air, mingling with the sound of pots clanging and servants bustling about their tasks. Rosamund pike led the way, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of their elusive quarry.

Approaching the cooks, Rosamund Pike addressed them with a respectful nod. "We're in need of your assistance," he began, his tone earnest as he explained their quest to apprehend the culprit responsible for the evening's chaos. "Have any of you seen a man in blue robes pass through here?"

One of the cooks, a stout woman with flour-dusted hands, nodded eagerly. "Aye, I saw him," she confirmed, her brow furrowing in concern. "He went down that hallway, towards the toilets."

With a determined nod, Dougle motioned for the group to follow as they made their way down the corridor. The walls seemed to close in around them, the dim lighting casting eerie shadows as they pressed forward in pursuit of their elusive quarry.

As the party converged upon the locked lavatories, their collective resolve to uncover the truth burning ever brighter, they encountered Bon, the apprehension palpable in his demeanor as he stood guard over the keys.

"Bon, we need access to those lavatories," Rosamund urged, his voice tinged with urgency. "The answers we seek may lie within."

Bon, visibly unsettled by the gravity of the situation, hesitated, citing the need for authorization from Jonas McAllister before granting entry. But Rosamund, sensing the urgency of the moment, took decisive action.

With a firm yet measured grip, Rosamund seized Bon's collar, his iron glove imparting a sense of solemnity to his words. "We understand the protocol, but time is of the essence. Lives may hang in the balance," he explained, his tone unwavering yet respectful. "Bon. We implore you to unlock those doors."

Though nervous and hesitant, Bon relented under the weight of Rosamund's plea. With trembling hands, he yielded the keys, allowing the party access to the sealed lavatories. As the doors swung open, the party braced themselves for the revelations that awaited them within.

The toilets were surprisingly spacious, each boasting a wooden seat and a small window perched high on the wall. Caerbannog wasted no time in leaping into one of the stalls, followed closely by Brother Hemlock. Meanwhile, Jet and Crunk set about inspecting the others, their eyes scanning the dimly lit interiors for any sign of their elusive quarry.

As Caerbannog surveyed his surroundings, he noticed something peculiar—the toilets seemed to be interconnected, with a hole near the ceiling providing a passage between them. Without hesitation, he made his move, vaulting effortlessly from one stall to the next with the grace of a seasoned acrobat.

From his vantage point, Caerbannog could see the others below, their faces contorted in confusion as they watched his agile movements. Rosamund's voice rang out above the commotion, his tone laced with bewilderment.

"Caerbannog, what in blazes are you doing up there?" he demanded, his brow furrowed in frustration. "This is no time for acrobatics—focus on the task at hand!"

Undeterred, Caerbannog continued his aerial reconnaissance, determined to uncover the secrets hidden within the labyrinthine confines of the mansion's plumbing.

As the party debated the possibility of Lord Ado's escape through the drains, tensions rose, and Rosamund's determination to uncover the truth intensified. With each passing moment, the urgency of their mission became more apparent.

Rosamund: Come on, Bon, we need to inspect the toilet. It could hold valuable clues about the assailants.

Bon: But Rosamund, it's filthy down there! Can't we just leave this to someone else?

"Bon, we haven't much time to waste," Rosamund asserted firmly, his eyes piercing with resolve. "Check for any signs of Lord Ado's passage. We must leave no stone unturned."

Bon's reluctance was palpable, but Rosamund's insistence brooked no argument. With a forceful grip, Rosamund dragged Bon down into the depths of the toilet, his forceful descent into the murky unknown was showing Rosamund's unwavering pursuit of justice. Then, the unmistakable scent of flushed toilets clung to Bon like an invisible shroud, a lingering reminder of their unenviable task.

Crunk couldn't help but voice his concerns. "Hey, isn't that a bit... forceful?" he whispered to Jet, his brow furrowed with uncertainty.

Jet nodded in agreement, her expression reflecting a similar unease. "Yeah, this seems a bit... extreme."

Yet, as they searched tirelessly for any trace of Lord Ado's escape, their efforts were met with frustration. Despite their thorough examination, the drains revealed no secrets, leaving the party grasping for answers in a sea of uncertainty.

As he emerged, the faint light filtering through the open windows offered little solace, casting shadows of doubt upon the next course of action. But with determination in their hearts, the party resolved to press onward, their resolve unbroken, as they delved deeper into the mysteries that lay hidden within the confines of Jonas McAllister's mansion.

As they made their way through the hallway, the unmistakable scent emanating from Bon grew stronger with each step. Jet wrinkled her nose in disgust, unable to ignore the offensive odor any longer.

Crunk: asking to Rosamund Do we really have to keep walking with such a smelly person?

Rosamund: responding back: yes, since we are not sure if he is innocent or not, we'll just have to endure it for now.

As they inquired around the hallway, Dada, a butler, nervously shifted from foot to foot as Rosamund and Dougle approached him. His eyes darted around, searching for an escape route, but there was none.

"Have you seen Ado Untermire?" Rosamund's voice was firm, his grip on Dada tightening with each passing moment.

Dada hesitated, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "Y-yes, he went upstairs," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rosamund grabbed Data firmly, pulling the protesting Dada along with Bon. With the rest of the party trailing behind, they made their way down the hallway, their footsteps echoing ominously in the silence.

As they ascended the staircase, a sudden twang split the air, followed by the whistle of an arrow slicing through the space where Caerbannog had been moments before. The warlock's quick reflexes had saved him from the concealed trap.

Upon reaching the upper floor, the party found themselves in a hallway adorned with faded red carpets, their once vibrant hues muted by time. Along the walls hung paintings of idyllic landscapes, their serene beauty a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding within the mansion. A suit of armor stood sentinel at the end of the corridor, casting eerie shadows in the dim light.

As tensions simmered and suspicions brewed, the party embarked on a quest for answers, delving into the labyrinthine corridors of Jonas's mansion. With each step, they uncovered clues that hinted at a deeper conspiracy lurking in the shadows.

As they explored the rooms, each one revealed a semblance of elegance, adorned with antique furnishings and the soft glow of candlelight. Despite the grandeur, the atmosphere was tense with the looming threat of danger.

Dodging yet another crossbow bolt trap, the party stumbled upon a man cloaked in red, cowering within a closet. Dougle's inquiry prompted the man to identify himself as Councillor, a representative from the neighboring town of New Haven. His nerves palpable, he implored the adventurers for permission to leave.

Councillor: nervously "Hi sirs, lady. I'm just a council member who has come to visit Lord Jonas. I hid when hearing so much commotion down the hallway. Can I please go now?"

Rosamund's resounding "NO" echoed through the room, leaving no room for negotiation. He interrupted him, voice firm "Silence, and follow. Your innocence or guilt will be determined soon enough."

Cornelius: "Please, good sirs and madam, spare me this ordeal. I assure you, I mean no harm. Ten gold pieces, and I'll vanish from your sight."

When Cornelius offered gold in exchange for his release, Rosamund's patience wore thin. With a firm grip on both Councillor and Dada, the party pressed on down the hallway, determined to unravel the mysteries lurking within the mansion.

Rosamund: with a steely gaze "Your gold means nothing in the face of treachery. We seek answers, not bribes. Now come along, both of you. There's more to uncover here, and I won't be delayed by your schemes."

The party walked down a long hallway with many opened window shutters on one side.

Crunk: "Oi, Jet, take a look at the house across! What d'ya make of them green skins over there?"

Jet: peering out the window "Hmm, looks like orcs. But what are they doing with those humans in cloaks?"

Crunk: "Can't be up to any good, I reckon. Look at 'em, armed to the teeth!"

Dougle: furrowing his brow "This ain't right. Orcs might be tolerated, but not when they're sneaking around armed like that. Could they be planning something against my father's house?"

Jet: "Could be. Should we do something about it?"

Dougle: "We'll need to keep an eye on 'em. Let's inform the others and figure out a plan."

Cornelius: "I really must attend to matters with Lord Jonas McAllister. Can you pleaaase release me now?"

Rosamund said irritated: "Fine, be on your way. But remember..., we'll be watching."

Cornelius: nods hastily "Thank you, thank you!"

Cornelius quickly scurries away, disappearing down the hallway.

As the party traversed the dimly lit hallway, they reached a door where a middle-aged man emerged, looking disoriented and under the influence of some drug. His movements were sluggish, and his gaze unfocused. He greeted them with a half-hearted attempt at a smile, clearly struggling to maintain his balance.

The room itself was dimly lit, with a single flickering candle casting long shadows across the walls. The air was heavy with the scent of incense, adding to the disorienting atmosphere.

Man: dizzy and drugged "I... I don't know what's happened. I feel strange..."

Dougle: "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

The man's speech was slurred, and he seemed to be in a state of confusion. He gestured towards a nearby chair where he had left his cloak, only to find it missing, replaced by a different one of a striking blue hue.

Man: "My cloak... It's gone. And... there's a different one here."

Rosamund whispered to himself, 'aaah, he has been with us the whole time!'

Dougle examined the cloak and recognized it immediately.

Dougle: "That's Ado Untermire's cloak!"

Rosamund's frustration was palpable as he realized the gravity of the situation.

Rosamund: realization dawning "We've been fooled! The person we let go earlier was Lord Ado Untermire, not Cornelius!"

His voice betrayed a mixture of anger and disappointment as he addressed the group.

Rosamund: frustrated "Drat! He got away!"

The scene was chaotic, the air thick with tension as the party regrouped, shaken but determined to press on in their pursuit of Ado Untermire.

As Caerbannog and Crunk rapidly followed the trail of Ado's footsteps back to the stairs, they ascended cautiously, wary of any further traps that might lie in wait. Suddenly, without warning, a massive iron ball hurtled down the staircase, crashing towards them with deadly force. Caught off guard, Caerbannog bore the brunt of the impact, the heavy metal sphere slamming into him with enough force to send him tumbling to the ground.

Crunk: alarmed "Look out!"

Caerbannog: yelping in pain "Ouch!"

Brother Hemlock sprang into action, his hands raised in prayer as he called upon divine magic to mend Caerbannog's wounds. A warm glow enveloped the injured rabbit warlock as the healing energy surged through him, easing his pain and restoring him to health.

Brother Hemlock: chanting "By the grace of Mielikki, be healed!"

Caerbannog: grateful "Thank you, Brother Hemlock. That was close."

As they ascended the stairs, the party's keen eyes caught sight of Lord Ado standing near an open window, his silhouette framed against the dim light filtering in from outside. In the distance, across the garden, figures could be seen lurking in the neighboring building, poised to carry out some sinister plan. Ado's presence seemed to signal their nefarious intentions, a silent command to proceed with their clandestine operation.

Rosamund: gritting his teeth "There he is! Quick, before he can signal them any further!"

With swift determination, the members of the party surged forward, all jumping and converging on Ado with a flurry of movement. In moments, they had him surrounded, their faces set in grim determination as they closed in on their target.

Rosamund: firmly "You're coming with us, Ado. Don't even think about resisting."

Ado, sensing the futility of defiance, raised his hands in surrender, his expression a mix of resignation and apprehension as he acquiesced to their demands.

Ado: sighing "Alright, you win. I surrender."

With Ado now in their custody, the party wasted no time in securing him, ensuring that he could cause no further trouble. Their victory, however, was tempered by the realization that their adversaries across the garden still posed a threat, their intentions shrouded in shadow and mystery.

As the party descended the stairs, they found Jonas McAllister waiting anxiously below, his brow furrowed with concern. Upon hearing their account of the events that transpired upstairs, his expression shifted from worry to a mix of relief and admiration.

Jonas: with a sense of pride "Well done, everyone. Your quick thinking and bravery have undoubtedly saved us from further harm. I couldn't be prouder of the investigative work led by my son, Dougle, and the unwavering dedication of Rosamund Pike."

Jonas: with a warm smile "And Dougle, my boy, it seems you've finally found your stride. I couldn't be prouder."

Dougle: rolling his eyes "Oh, come on, Dad. You don't mean that."

Jonas: playfully but with a hint of sternness "Of course, I do. It's good to see my son stepping up and taking responsibility like a true adult."

Siegfried, the guard captain of Royal Oak, stepped forward, his demeanor stern yet appreciative as he addressed the group.

Siegfried: nodding approvingly "Your efforts have not gone unnoticed. We will ensure that the surviving assailants are brought to justice swiftly. Royal Oak owes you a debt of gratitude."

With their mission accomplished and justice set in motion, the party breathed a collective sigh of relief, knowing that their actions had helped safeguard the peace and security of Jonas McAllister's household and the town of Royal Oak.

Rosamund: firmly gripping Ado's collar "You may think you're entitled to noble rights, but as a prisoner, you've forfeited any such privileges."

Rosamund's grip tightened on Ado's collar as he confronted him, his voice dripping with determination.

Siegfried, the stalwart captain of the Royal Oak guard, stepped forward, his expression a mix of frustration and duty.

Siegfried: "Rosamund, I understand your frustration, but we must adhere to the law. A noble, as despicable as they may be, is entitled to due process. Besides, beating up a noble for interrogation is highly punishable by law, and we cannot afford to undermine the justice system."

Rosamund: reluctantly releasing his grip "Fine. But mark my words, justice will prevail, one way or another."

The tension in the room was palpable as the party grappled with the implications of their capture. They had Ado cornered, but the complexities of the law threatened to unravel their hard-won progress.

Jet: "This isn't over. There are likely more people involved, possibly in that building next to Jonas's house. We need to act fast before they slip away."

Jet's words echoed through the room, underscoring the urgency of the situation.

Jonas provided some context about the neighboring building, explaining its history and current state of disrepair.

Jonas: "That building was once a bustling trading post for merchants in our town. But as time passed, it fell into disrepair. There have been talks of demolishing it, but for now, it's being rented out to merchants from various places."

Jonas acknowledged the potential he saw in his son and the group's capabilities, entrusting them with the task of further investigation.

Jonas: "Seeing the way you've handled things tonight, Dougle, I have faith in your abilities. Rosamund Pike, and the rest of you, I'm asking for your help in this matter. Investigate this neighboring building and find out what's going on."

Their investigation led them to a neighboring building, once a trading post now harboring secrets of its own. Jonas implored his allies to delve into the depths of the unknown, to root out the evil that threatened to undermine his reign.

With determination in their hearts and steel in their hands, Rosamund and his companions ventured forth, ready to confront the darkness that lurked within the heart of Royal Oak.

As the moon cast its silvery glow over the town of Royal Oak, the intrepid band of adventurers emerged from Jonas McAllister's mansion, their resolve unwavering in the face of adversity. The group exited the mansion and strolled along the chiseled path winding through the garden towards the gate. With purpose in their hearts, they traversed the winding path that led through the verdant garden, their footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestones.

Jet, ever the agile rogue, seized the opportunity to climb the imposing iron fence encircling the stone warehouse, her nimble form disappearing into the shadows with practiced ease. Meanwhile, the rest of the party approached the weathered door, where a burly guardian stood sentinel, his watchful gaze piercing the darkness.

Meanwhile, Crunk attempted to follow suit, but his efforts were fraught with difficulty, narrowly avoiding injury from the sharp iron spears crowning the fence.

The remaining members of the party approached the door of the stone warehouse and rapped on it firmly. A rugged, muscular man, clad in coarse fur and bearing an axe on his back, swung the door open and scrutinized them intently.

Guardian: "What's your business?" he grunted, eyeing them warily.

In response, the party declared their intent to conduct business and presented their intriguing wares. Satisfied, the man gruffly ushered them inside, allowing the group to enter the warehouse.

Rosamund: "We come seeking trade and opportunity. We have wares to exchange."

With a grunt of assent, the guardian swung open the door, ushering the party into the dimly lit interior of the warehouse.

The rooms within the warehouse exuded a rugged simplicity, their walls fashioned from rough-hewn stone and unadorned rock. Beds were conspicuously absent, leaving travelers to make do with makeshift accommodations. The air hung heavy with dampness, lending a clammy feel to the halls, while a faint mist seemed to drift through the corridors, shrouding the surroundings in a mysterious haze.

Yet, unbeknownst to them, Jet had already infiltrated the upper chambers, her keen eyes surveying the scene with silent vigilance.

She scaled the wall of the warehouse with practiced agility. She slipped in through an open window with silent grace, landing inside without a sound. In the dimly lit interior, she found herself in a hallway, the air thick with the scent of sweat and musty stone. Peering cautiously around a corner, she beheld a vast main room on the first floor, filled with over 30 rugged individuals—warriors, mercenaries, and even orcs. Amidst them loomed a massive, greenish half-ogre, his sand-colored skin blending with the shadows as he gripped a hefty club in one hand. Unnoticed by the occupants, Jet silently surveyed the scene, her senses on high alert.

When walking out the door, a man approached her. The exchange with the warrior unfolded as he inquired about Jet's identity, prompting her to pose as a trader seeking business opportunities within the warehouse.

Warrior: "Who goes there? What's your business?"

Jet: "I'm a trader, looking to strike some deals. Heard this place might have what I'm looking for."

Warrior: "Trader, huh? Alright, come with me. Just watch out for Undo, he's not one for chitchat."

Satisfied with her response, the warrior escorted her to a designated room for her use.

As Jet descended the stone stairs from the first floor to the ground level, the party gathered at the foot of the staircase, their eyes following her movements with a mix of relief and anticipation. The rough-hewn walls of the warehouse seemed to close in around them, casting long shadows in the flickering torchlight.

Rosamund: "Good to see you're safe, Jet. Find anything interesting up there?"

Jet: "A gathering of rogues and mercenaries, it seems. And one particularly formidable half-ogre."

Crunk: "Well, we're here now. Let's see what we can uncover."

The party engaged in cautious conversation with some of the warehouse's inhabitants, probing for information amidst the scent of ale and sweat that hung heavy in the air. To the side of the wallway, their attention was drawn to one room which seemed packed with many things. They decided to check it out.

As they entered a smaller side room, the scent of aged wood and fermenting liquids filled their nostrils. Barrels and caskets lined the walls, casting elongated shadows in the dim light. Crunk wrinkled his nose at the musty odor, eyeing the room with cautious curiosity.

Crunk: "Reminds me of my uncle's cellar, only with less rats."

Jet: "The place is very damp. Let's see what is here."

Their attention was drawn to the corner where two orcs engaged in hushed conversation. Pluck's gravelly voice reverberated in the air, carrying their words across the room.

Pluck: "I'd give me left tusk for a taste of that stuff, but it's off-limits to the likes of us."

As one of the orcs left, Rosamund exchanged a knowing glance with Jet, a silent agreement passing between them. They shared a common goal, and the prospect of uncovering the truth spurred them onward.

Rosamund: "Excuse me. We couldn't help but overhear your discussion. Might you know where this 'stuff' is kept?"

Pluck's eyes narrowed as he regarded Rosamund, sizing him up with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. After a moment's hesitation, he relented, a sly grin spreading across his rugged features.

Pluck: "Aye, I might know a thing or two. Follow me."

With a deft motion, Pluck revealed a hidden compartment located beneath the ale cask. Rosamund's beheld the small pouches that were laying within, his fingers itching to uncover their secrets.

Pluck, a rough-looking orc, led them to a concealed cache, revealing pouches of illicit opium hidden within the depths of a cask.

Rosamund: "This is getting interesting."

Dougle's curiosity got the better of him, and without heed to Rosamund's warning, he inhaled deeply. His eyes widened as a wave of intoxication washed over him, leaving him swaying on unsteady feet.

Dougle: "Whoa, that packs a punch!"

Rosamund's admonishment was lost on Dougle as he succumbed to the opium's effects. He sighed in exasperation, his brow furrowing with concern.

Rosamund: "Foolish boy, that is opium hidden there! We're here on a mission, not for a leisurely high."

Turning his attention back to Pluck, Rosamund offered him a pouch of opium, watching with a mix of amusement and frustration as he too soon succumbed to its seductive embrace.

Pluck: grunts "Pluck... sleepy... Pluck lie down..." yawns heavily

With Pluck's snores echoing in the room, the party exchanged uneasy glances, realizing they had stumbled upon more than they bargained for.

But their reconnaissance was interrupted by the arrival of a sinister figure, accompanied by a pair of ominous black hounds, signaling the entrance of yet more nefarious traders. The group walked past into the main hallway.

Rosamund's expression hardened as he surveyed the room, his lips drawn into a tight line. "This place is a nest of thieves, corrupt traders, and illegal activities," he declared, his voice firm. "We need to put an end to it."

As the party strategized their next move, Rosamund proposed a plan of destruction, recognizing the warehouse as a den of corruption that must be eradicated.

As the group convened to discuss their next move, Rosamund's gaze flickered over the surroundings, seeking any sign of vulnerability. "Is there anything that could burn?" he inquired, his eyes settling on Crunk.

Crunk's face lit up with a mischievous grin. "Of course," he replied eagerly. "The room where Pluck is holed up... it's filled with barrels of ale and strong drink like whiskey."

Rosamund nodded, a plan forming in his mind. "Then let's set it ablaze," he declared resolutely.

With a careful but swift hand, the party traced a trail of gunpowder from outside into the room, setting the stage for their fiery resolution.

The party then made sure no one was paying attention to them and extended the trail of gunpowder outside.

With grim determination, they set their plan in motion, igniting a trail of gunpowder that snaked its way through the warehouse, culminating in a thunderous explosion that rent the night asunder. With a steady grip, Rosamund ignited the fuse with a torch, the flame flickering to life and casting dancing shadows across the room. As they hastily retreated, a deafening explosion reverberated through the warehouse, the sound echoing off the stone walls.

The barrels of alcohol erupted in a fiery spectacle, flames licking the air as the heat intensified. The force of the blast sent shockwaves rippling through the building, causing more explosions to ripple through the warehouse like a chain reaction. With a thunderous crash, the stone walls crumbled inward, the structure collapsing in on itself with an earth-shattering noise.

In the aftermath, only rubble remained, the once bustling warehouse reduced to ruins in a matter of moments. The party stood amidst the wreckage, their mission accomplished but at what cost?

Jet: That... was quite the explosion

Crunk: "I've never seen anything like it," murmured Crunk, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a sense of wonder.

With the dust settling around them, Caerbannog let out a low whistle. "Well, I'd say that certainly takes care of all the illegal smuggling activities."

As the flames consumed the crumbling remnants of the tradehouse, the party retreated to the safety of Jonas's mansion, their hearts heavy with the weight of their deeds.

Jonas's eyes widened in shock as Dougle recounted the events that had unfolded at the warehouse. Concern etched deep lines into his face as he surveyed the smoke-choked street outside.

"What in the world..." Jonas began, his voice trailing off as he struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the destruction.

"We had to act, Father," Dougle interjected, his tone earnest. "There was no other choice."

Jonas nodded slowly, his expression grave. "You did what you had to do, son. But we must ensure the safety of our home now. Quickly, close all the windows. We cannot let this smoke seep inside."

The servants sprang into action, rushing to comply with Jonas's orders as the party watched on, their hearts heavy with the weight of their actions.

As dawn broke over the smoldering ruins of the warehouse, the party emerged from Jonas's house to find a scene of bustling activity. Captain Siegfried and his guards were already on site, meticulously inspecting the debris for any signs of danger. The once-grand warehouse lay in ruins, its walls reduced to rubble and its contents consumed by flames.

Amidst the chaos, the townsfolk rallied together, carrying buckets of water to douse the lingering embers and prevent any further spread of fire. The air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke, a stark reminder of the events that had transpired just hours before.

Rosamund exchanged a grim nod with Siegfried as they surveyed the scene, a silent acknowledgment of the challenges that lay ahead. It would take time to rebuild what had been lost, but for now, their focus remained on ensuring the safety and security of Royal Oak.

Siegfried: "This will not go unnoticed. The town will feel the repercussions of this event. With the harvest festival fast approaching, we had hoped for a time of celebration and unity. Now, it seems we must contend with yet another challenge."

His gaze darkened as he mentioned the ongoing murders plaguing Royal Oak, a grim reminder of the shadow that loomed over their community. "Every week, another life lost," he murmured, his voice tinged with frustration. "We cannot allow this cycle of violence to continue unchecked."

The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on Siegfried's shoulders as he turned to address the gathered townsfolk, his determination unwavering despite the trials that lay ahead.

Brother Hemlock furrowed his brow in concern, his eyes reflecting the gravity of Siegfried's words. "Another life lost every week?" he echoed, his voice filled with a mixture of shock and sadness. "This is truly troubling news. We must act swiftly to bring an end to this senseless violence."

Dougle, sensing the urgency of the situation, nodded in agreement. "You're right, Brother Hemlock," he replied, his tone resolute. "We need to speak with Mayor Rothan Blackshield immediately. Perhaps he can shed some light on these disturbing events."

With a shared determination to uncover the truth behind the recent spate of murders, the group turned their attention to the town hall, their resolve strengthened by the need to protect their community from further harm.

The party left for the townhall in the middle of the village.

Inside the town hall, the atmosphere was hushed, the air heavy with anticipation as the party awaited their audience with Mayor Rothan Blackshield. As they were ushered into his office, they were greeted by the mayor's stern yet welcoming countenance, his eyes keen with curiosity.

Mayor Rothan Blackshield was writing about extending an offer of compensation for each person that was involved in the collapsing of the warehouse.

"Welcome, my friends," Rothan began as he looked up, his voice carrying the weight of authority tempered with genuine concern. "How can I help you?"

"We are deeply troubled by these senseless acts of violence," Brother Hemlock spoke up, his voice resonating with conviction. "We just spoke to Siegfried the guard captain and seek your guidance and assistance in unraveling this mystery, that we may put an end to the suffering of our townsfolk."

He paused for a moment, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing. "As you know, every week we lose another member of our community to these senseless murders," he explained, his tone laced with frustration. "Despite our best efforts, we have been unable to apprehend the perpetrators. Earlier on, we sent out two, no three different groups that investigated these murders. Even our most skilled guards and adventurers have vanished without a trace!"

Dougle: And what about the thieves guild, can they be involved in the murders?

Mayor Rothan Blackshield: "I personally doubt it. You see, the presence of the Thieves Guild in our town serves a peculiar purpose. Bruno, the leader, ensures that no nefarious elements disrupt the peace and safety of Royal Oak, such as unaware thieves from outside robbing our townsfolk. However, recent developments have led me to suspect that they may be involved in more than just petty theft."

Rosamund: "Opium smuggling..., perhaps?"

Mayor Rothan Blackshield sighed: "Precisely. It seems their interests extend beyond simple thievery. We must tread carefully in our investigations."

Rothan's eyes rested on Dougle, a silent acknowledgment of the burden he was about to place upon him. "Dougle, I know your father well, and I trust in your abilities," he said, his voice tinged with urgency. "I implore you and your companions to uncover the truth behind these killings. The people of Royal Oak deserve justice, and it is up to you to deliver it."

Rosamund's voice cut through the tension in the room, his tone resolute as he addressed Rothan and the rest of the group. "I am taking young Dougle under my guidance," he declared, his gaze unwavering as he met the mayor's eyes. "Together, we will navigate the shadows that haunt our town and uncover the truth behind these heinous crimes."

As Brother Hemlock voiced their collective inquiry, Rothan Blackshield's expression softened slightly, recognizing the validity of their question. "Of course," he responded, his voice carrying a note of understanding. "For your efforts in aiding our town and bringing these perpetrators to justice, I offer a reward of 2,000 gold pieces."

With a practiced hand, Rothan retrieved a small safe hidden behind a painting, revealing a trove of treasures within. Among them were shimmering red gems and vials of potent potions, each promising aid in their upcoming endeavors. With a gracious gesture, he offered them to the party, a token of gratitude for their willingness to undertake this perilous task.

However, he cautioned them to maintain discretion, emphasizing the importance of keeping their investigation discreet during the bustling harvest festival. As Dougle accepted the official letter bearing Rothan's seal, a tangible sense of purpose settled over the group, their resolve strengthened by the weight of their newfound responsibilities.

With a sense of purpose renewed, the party exchanged determined glances, ready to embark on their quest to uncover the truth behind the Royal Oak murders.

As the party was walking back from the Towns hall, Rosamund and Dougle find it strange that the thieves guild ensure safety in this town of royal oak.

Rosamund: "It's quite odd, isn't it? A thieves guild ensuring safety?"

Dougle: "Indeed. One would expect them to be causing trouble, not preventing it."

Crunk: "Appearances can be deceiving. Sometimes, those with less-than-honorable professions find it beneficial to maintain order, at least on the surface."

Rosamund: "Let's see. Rothan seems to suspect they're involved in more than just keeping the peace"

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the town square, Dougle McAllister's frustration boiled over when thinking about everything that happened so shortly ago. As the group gathered in the bustling town square, Dougle's irritation simmered palpably in the air, his words carrying the weight of recent events. "Enough is enough," he declared, his voice ringing out amidst the crowd. "We can't sit idly by while these murderers run rampant through our town."

Caerbannog couldn't resist a wry comment, his tone laced with sarcasm as he quipped, "Ah yes, truly the epitome of stealth and subtlety. Shouting our plans for an 'undercover mission' to the entire town square. I'm sure the murderers are shaking in their boots."

His words drew a few chuckles from the group, a brief moment of levity amidst the tension. Yet, underlying the jest was a reminder of the importance of discretion and caution in their endeavors, a lesson not lost on the rabbit warlock.

Meanwhile, Brother Hemlock emerged from the zoo, his brow furrowed with concern as he relayed rumors of a mysterious dinosaur being relocated to the local menagerie.

As Mortel approached the group, her steps deliberate yet determined, she cleared her throat to announce her presence. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," she began, her voice steady despite the underlying sadness in her tone. "My name is Mortel, and I've come seeking justice for my son."

The party turned to face her, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity. Mortel's presence commanded attention, her demeanor reflecting both strength and vulnerability in equal measure.

"I may not look like it at first hand," she continued, her gaze sweeping over each member of the group, "but I assure you, I've seen my fair share of battles. I may be old, but I'm not afraid to fight for what's right."

Mortel: "My son's murderer must be brought to justice. I will not rest until he faces retribution!"

Rosamund regarded her with respect, recognizing the fire that burned within her. "We welcome you, Mortel," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "Your courage and determination are an inspiration to us all."

Mortel nodded gracefully, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you," she said simply, her voice tinged with emotion. "Together, I believe we can make a difference."

As Mortel finished speaking, another figure stepped forward, his presence less imposing but no less determined. "Greetings, good people," he began, his voice smooth and persuasive. "My name is Kaerun, and I couldn't help but overhear your discussion about murders and rewards."

His words were met with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism from the group, who regarded him with cautious interest. Kaerun's easy smile did little to alleviate their doubts, but there was an undeniable charisma about him that drew them in.

"I may not have the battle-hardened experience of some," he continued, his tone confident yet humble, "but I bring with me a keen intellect and a sharp wit. I assure you, I can be of great assistance in unraveling this mystery."

Rosamund eyed Kaerun warily, his skepticism clear in his expression. "And what makes you think you're up to the task?" he questioned, his voice edged with suspicion.

Kaerun flashed a confident grin, undeterred by Dougle's doubt. "I've got skills you wouldn't believe," he boasted, his tone brimming with confidence. "You won't regret having me on your team."

The party looked around and searched for Jet, but could not find her. After looking everywhere for a while, they decided to give up on her. Jet's absence weighed on the group, a silent reminder of the unpredictable nature of their chosen path. Despite her departure, her presence lingered in their memories, such as the camaraderie they had shared on their previous adventures.

However with the departing of one person, also they welcomed the two new additions in the forms of Mortal and Kaerun, eager to prove their worth in their quest for justice.

Dougle and Rosamund decided to go to the barracks to visit Guard Captain Siegfried, their expressions tense with anticipation as they sought information about the recent murders.

Siegfried wondered why they were asking this and Dougle showed him the official letter with seal from Rothan Blackshield to do the undercover research of finding the cause of the murders in Royal Oak.

As Siegfried recounted the grisly details of each murder, a somber silence fell over the group. Each description painted a picture of violence and brutality, leaving them with a sense of unease.

"One body, struck on the head with maybe...a shovel or spade," Siegfried began, his voice carrying the weight of the tragedy. "Another, a brutal assault with a most likely a club near the marshes. A victim bearing the marks of a sword, discovered in the alleys of our town. And one has been poisoned, a silent killer lurking among us. Finally, a gruesome combination of slashing and strangulation, the body hidden in a rain barrel near the countryside."

Dougle and Rosamund exchanged grim looks, the gravity of their task weighing heavily upon them. "We must find the truth behind these murders," Dougle declared, his voice tinged with determination. "And bring justice to those who have been wronged."

Siegfried's demeanor was grim as he confirmed their suspicions, revealing that the bodies of the victims had been laid to rest in the graveyard under the watchful eye of Emerson, the graveyard's owner.

"As much as I wish I could provide more clarity," Siegfried admitted with a furrowed brow, "I'm afraid I don't know all the causes of death exactly. Emerson, the graveyard's keeper, keeps meticulous records of each passing. He'll have the details you seek."

"We need to speak with Emerson," Rosamund stated, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. "He may have information that could aid us in our investigation."

Siegfried nodded in agreement, his features etched with concern. "Emerson can be found at the graveyard," he replied, gesturing toward the direction of the somber burial grounds. "But be cautious. He's a private man, and these are troubling times."

Rosamund exchanged a glance with Dougle, their determination undeterred by the lack of information. "Then to the graveyard we go," Rosamund declared, his voice firm. "We'll uncover the truth, one way or another."

As the party made their way through the graveyard, their footsteps echoed softly against the stone pathways, the sound mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. Rows of graves lined the paths, each adorned with flowers and tokens of remembrance. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the branches of ancient trees, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow on the ground below.

Approaching a figure clad in long brown robes, the party inquired about Emerson's whereabouts. The servant, his face partially obscured by the folds of his hood, nodded in response. "Emerson is in the morgue, just ahead," he replied in a hushed tone, gesturing towards a stone building nestled amidst the graves.

Rosamund stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. "Thank you for your assistance," he said with a nod of appreciation before the party continued on their path towards the morgue, anticipation and trepidation mingling in their hearts.

As they approached the stone morgue in the middle of the graveyard, their senses heightened, wary of the secrets that lay within the morgue's confines. The ever-watchful bird circling above caught their attention, a silent observer in the sky.

The party couldn't help but notice the peculiar behavior of the bird as it circled overhead. Its movements seemed almost calculated, as though it were observing them with a keen intelligence. Caerbannog squinted up at the sky, his curiosity piqued by the bird's behavior.

The bird's sharp cry pierced the air, its raucous call drawing the party's attention to its sudden descent toward the back of the morgue. Dougle's brow furrowed as he watched the bird's flight path, a sense of unease settling over him.

"Do you think it's going straight to Emerson?" he murmured, voicing the question that lingered in all their minds. Rosamund glanced at him, his expression reflecting a mixture of concern and determination.

"It's worth checking," Rosamund replied, his tone resolute as he quickened his pace toward the morgue's entrance. With a shared nod of agreement, the party followed suit, their anticipation building with each step as they prepared to confront the mysteries that awaited them within.

As they approached the morgue, Dougle's expression darkened with suspicion. "Something doesn't feel quite right. I don't trust these servants, and then there is that bird" he muttered under his breath, casting a wary glance at the figure in brown robes.

Rosamund placed a reassuring hand on Dougle's shoulder, his voice steady. "We'll proceed with caution," he replied, his tone firm. "But for now, let's focus on finding Emerson." With a determined nod, the group continued on their path, their senses alert to any potential danger lurking in the shadows of the graveyard.

Upon entering the morgue, the sight of rows of wooden shutters containing lifeless forms sent a chill down their spines. Each shutter held the remains of a soul departed, marked with either a green or red label, signifying their final journey.

Caerbannog, guided by an otherworldly connection, approached the body of Mortel's son. With a solemn reverence, he communed with the departed spirit, unraveling the tragic tale of his demise. Stabbed by someone named Bill amidst the serene backdrop of the marshes, his life extinguished for stumbling upon a forbidden truth.

As the spirit of Mortel's son spoke through the ethereal veil between worlds, his words painted a haunting picture of intrigue and danger. With a heavy heart, he recounted the moment of his untimely demise, a stark warning echoing in his spectral voice. The image of cloaked figures, their intentions shrouded in mystery, conjuring the spectral visage of a red gemstone hung ominously in the air. He saw something he shouldn't have seen...

The revelation sent a shiver through the assembled party, the weight of his words casting a pall over their quest for justice. Yet, fueled by determination and righteous fury, they vowed to uncover the truth behind the sinister machinations lurking in the shadows, guided by the memory of Mortel's son and the promise of retribution.

As Caerbannog communed with another spirit of an unfortunate victim, another layer of the dark tapestry unfurled before the party's eyes. The scene painted by the deceased revealed a chilling tableau of violence and chaos.

The echoes of the town square rang in his ears as the spirit recounted the harrowing events of that fateful day. A clown, garishly adorned in colorful attire, wielding a large object with deadly intent, struck down the victim amidst the bustling crowds. The presence of a colored ball, innocently rolling nearby, served as a macabre backdrop to the sinister act unfolding before their eyes.

The revelation hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the darkness that lurked beneath the surface of their seemingly tranquil town. With newfound resolve, the party vowed to unearth the secrets hidden within the shadows, justice fueling their quest for truth.

The group saw in the distance further down the morgue, a diminutive figure cloaked in black, his features obscured by the dim light filtering through the dusty windows. His bald head gleamed faintly in the wan illumination, framed by patches of hair clinging stubbornly to the sides, a stark contrast to the darkness that enveloped him.

The group walked up to the man, who introduced himself as Emerson, who is the owner of this graveyard in the outskirts of Royal Oak.

Kaerun: "Mister Emerson, do you know anything about these murders that have been happening in the past weeks?"

Emerson grins nervously: "I assure you, I know nothing of these heinous acts."

Kaerun concentrated himself using a supernatural power "He's lying. His thoughts are filled with darkness. He doesn't want us to find out anything. He's evil!"

The party looked at Kaerun and most of them murmured in disbelief

Brother Hemlock: "Hold on a moment. How can you be so sure? Mind-reading? That's... unusual."

Crunk: "Yeah, ain't that some fancy magic? I've never seen nothin' like it."

Kaerun: insistently "I know what I sensed. He's hiding something, I'm sure of it."

Rosamund: cautiously "We need to tread carefully here. Accusations like that can't be made lightly."

Dougle: "But what if he's right? What if Emerson's hiding something important?"

Rosamund: "We don't have any proof, Dougle. We can't just apprehend him without evidence."

Kaerun: growing impatient "Fine, but mark my words, there's darkness in this man's heart."

Kaerun drew his blade and his impulsive strike cleaved through the stifling air of the morgue. Emerson recoiled in shock, his eyes widening with alarm as he stumbled backward, his hands raised in a feeble attempt to ward off the sudden onslaught. His fear hung in the air as Kaerun's blade arced toward its target, its gleaming edge poised to rend flesh from bone in a single, fateful stroke.

Emerson: "No, please! What are you doing?"

Kaerun: "He's hiding something, I know it!"

Before Kaerun's blade could find its mark, Crunk sprang into action, his stout form interposing itself between the frenzied attacker and his intended victim. With a swift, decisive motion, Crunk seized Kaerun's arm, halting the lethal descent of the blade mere inches from Emerson's trembling form.

Crunk: "Whoa there, Kaerun! We can't go around attacking folks without proof!"

Kaerun: "But he's lying! I can sense it!"

Rosamund: "Enough! We'll find another way to get the truth."

Brother Hemlock: "Indeed, violence is not the answer. Let us proceed with caution and prudence."

Reluctantly, Kaerun lowered his blade, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the fervor of his righteous indignation ebbed away, leaving behind a bitter taste of frustration and doubt. As the tension in the room gradually dissipated, the group exchanged wary glances, each member acutely aware of the precariousness of their situation and the weight of the secrets that lay hidden within the shadows of the morgue's cold, stone walls.

The party decides to leave the graveyard to its own and head downtown again. Also they have heared some passers-by talking about a performance in Rupert's Inn tonight, two clowns of Royal Oak, Binky and Pierro are going to give a performance.

Dougle: Alright, I'm going to head to the barracks to see if I can dig up any information about this Bill character. Maybe someone there knows something useful.

Rosamund: Sounds like a plan. I'll join you.

Crunk: Aye, and what about us? Should we go see these clowns, then?

Brother Hemlock: It might not be a bad idea. We might pick up some useful information while we're there, or at least have a bit of entertainment to lighten the mood.

Mortel: I'll come with you lot. Never been one for barracks and such. Rather see a good show.

Kaerun: Count me in too. I could use a bit of distraction after that scene with Emerson. We'll meet you back here later.

As Dougle and Rosamund entered the barracks, they were greeted by the sight of soldiers going about their daily duties, the clatter of armor and the faint scent of oil permeating the air. Making their way through the bustling corridors, they approached a stern-looking man with a grizzled beard, presumably Sergeant Jake, who stood overseeing the training of recruits.

Dougle: Excuse me, Sergeant Jake. We're looking for some information about one of your soldiers, Bill. Do you have a moment?

Sergeant Jake: Aye, yes who are you and why are you asking this?

Rosamund: Dougle, show him the papers.

Dougle sighed and took out the official papers with the seal of mayor Rothan Blackshield on them, about doing an undercover operations to find out about the murders of royal oak.

Sergeant Jake's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he scanned the official papers presented by Dougle. He glanced between the papers and the two adventurers before him, clearly taken aback by the revelation.

Sergeant Jake: Well, I'll be... surprised. You lot are doing a secret undercover operation?!

Rosamund: We're just doing our part to help uncover the truth behind these murders, Sergeant. Every bit of information counts.

Sergeant Jake: Well, what do you need to know about Bill?

Rosamund: We've heard he's been patrolling near the graveyard. Could you tell us more about him?

Sergeant Jake: Bill's a bit of a hothead, if you ask me. But he gets the job done. Patrols the northern outskirts with a couple of his mates. Keeps an eye on things, you know? But if there's anything fishy going on, he's usually the first to sniff it out.

Dougle: Any idea why he might be up there?

Sergeant Jake: No clue. That's his post, plain and simple. Anything else?

Rosamund: Actually, yes. We've also heard about a man named Bruno who's supposedly running a thieves guild in town. Is that true?

Sergeant Jake: sighs Aye, it's true. Bruno's got his fingers in many pies around here. But he keeps the riffraff in check, so the captain turns a blind eye. Keeps the peace, or so they say.

Sergeant Jake: We have heared rumours of men of Bruno dealing with Lord Ignatus of Silverdale, though we are not entirely sure what his role is in all of this. Maybe he is somehow involved with the opium.

Dougle: "Lord Ignatus? Involved in smuggling? But he's a noble! Why would he risk his reputation like that?"

Rosamund: "Appearances can be deceiving, as they say. It wouldn't be the first time a noble was involved in illicit activities. We'll have to tread carefully then. If he's involved, we need solid evidence before we confront him."

When asking some more questions, they also learn about a doctor named Zivorski who travels frequently between New Haven and Royal Oak. Because there is only one doctor for two neighbouring towns, when he's not available, his assistant Binky tends to the wounded, or they seek help at the shrine from a priest.

Dougle: Interesting... Well, thanks for your time, Sergeant. We'll be on our way.

With that, Dougle and Rosamund left the barracks, their minds buzzing with newfound information and the weight of their task ahead.

Dougle: So, it seems Bill isn't exactly the friendliest character around here. And he's patrolling near the graveyard with two others. Could be worth checking out.

Rosamund: Agreed. But what about this Bruno character? Why would the mayor tolerate someone running a thieves guild in our town?

Dougle: I'm not sure, but it sounds like there's more to this than meets the eye. And those reports of possible raids on nearby farms... We might need to look into that too.

Rosamund: Definitely. Let's gather the others and head back to the inn. We've got some planning to do.

As the group entered Rupert's Inn, the lively chatter and clinking of tankards filled the air. The inn was bustling with patrons eager for entertainment after a long day's work. The stage was set for Pierro's performance, with colorful banners hanging from the rafters and a spotlight illuminating the center. Binky could unfortunately not attend, due to a headache.

Pierro, adorned in vibrant attire, took the stage with a flourish, his jovial demeanor immediately captivating the audience. His jokes, though simple, elicited hearty laughter from the crowd, providing a welcome respite from the day's worries.

Pierro, amidst the laughter and applause of his audience, regaled them with tales from his unconventional career path. "Ah, you see," he chuckled, "being a clown isn't just about pratfalls and painted faces. No, no, my friends. Why, I've even dabbled in the fine art of accounting!"

With a twinkle in his eye, he continued, "Some might say, 'Pierro, how can you possibly juggle numbers when you're always juggling balls?' But let me tell you, my friends, balancing debits and credits is just another form of clowning around, if you ask me!"

Pierro looked at the audience with amusement and said: "anyways, why did they close the graveyard?"

- Silence -

Pierro answered: "Because people were 'dying' to get in!" Pierro's jest echoed through the room, followed by some laughter from the spectators. Another quip followed, drawing chuckles from all corners of the inn.

Amidst the laughter, Pierro proceeded with his daring act, selecting an unwilling volunteer from the audience. Kaerun, though hesitant, stepped forward, his apprehension palpable. As Pierro prepared to enact his illusion, tension hung in the air, mingling with the anticipation of the crowd.

Kaerun walked up the stage and entered a man sized cardboard box that was especially prepared for him.

With a dramatic flourish, Pierro began his performance, sliding some swords on different spots into the box. Each movement executed with precision. The sight of swords piercing the box containing Kaerun sent murmurs of excitement through the audience. Gasps followed as fake blood trickled from the box, heightening the illusion's suspense.

As Kaerun emerged unscathed, relieved applause erupted from the crowd, mingling with Pierro's triumphant laughter.

As dusk settled over the town, Dougle led the group on their next venture, determined to unravel the mysteries that lay ahead. With the evening air thick with anticipation, they set out to find Bill and investigate Binky's home on Clown's Road.

They walked north outside of the town and followed a gravelly path that ran parallel to the graveyard, aiming to find Bill somewhere.

Their path crossed with two female bards, Crystal and Elara, whose melodic voices floated through the night air. Kaerun, ever the charmer, struck up a conversation with them, discussing the possibility of a collaborative performance.

As they ventured onward, their journey took an unexpected turn as they stumbled upon Binky the clown in the distance, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a nervous energy.

At the sight of the party, the clown, his usual grin vanished, replaced by a look of sheer panic. Without a moment's hesitation, he turned on his heels and bolted straight the other way, his colorful attire a blur as he tried to disappear into the night.

"Hold it right there, clown!" Rosamund's command rang out, cutting through the air like a blade. But despite his authoritative tone, Binky didn't heed his words, his fear propelling him onward, his form quickly vanishing on the gravel path into the night.

The party immedeately decided to pursue him, rapidly dashing after him.

Binky: "You've got it all wrong! I swear, I'm innocent! You've got the wrong clown!"

Rosamund pursuing him fervently: "That's what they all say!"

His frantic protestations fell on deaf ears until Caerbannog's display of power brought him to a reluctant surrender.

As the party caught up with Binky, he gasped for breath, his chest heaving as he struggled to speak. "Wait! You've got it all wrong! I heard things... at the inn," he managed between ragged breaths. "Bill the Merchant, Bill the soldier... they were talkin' about a guy named Dan. Said he knew too much. Eventhough he is in prison, they were plannin' to take care of him," he blurted out, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to convey the information.

Rosamund's eyes narrowed as he processed the implications. "Dan? Who's Dan?" he asked, his voice tense with urgency.

Binky shook his head, his expression troubled. "I dunno, they didn't say. But they made it sound serious. And as for my hammer... it's gone, stolen from me," he added, a note of frustration creeping into his voice.

Kaerun, ever vigilant, delved into Binky's thoughts, searching for any trace of guilt or deception. Yet, to his surprise, he found none, but did take over a big headache. As he seemed innocent, Binky's testimony shed light on a troubling revelation.

The party decided to continue to walk through the grass, walking parallel to the town of royal oak. They kept walking westwards where Binky's house would be.

Suddenly, the sight of the dead animal handler from the Zoo, lying in the grass sent a chill down the party's spines. Caerbannog approached cautiously, his senses attuned to the scene before him.

"What happened here?" Rosamund asked, his voice low with concern.

Caerbannog lowered his head, his bunny-like form radiating intensity as he probed the spirit of the fallen handler. "Bill and Bill... they fed him to the dinosaur," he growled, his voice filled with righteous anger.

The implications hung heavy in the air as the group exchanged grim glances. "Several men, and a few robed spellcasters," Caerbannog continued, his tone grave. "We're dealing with something bigger than we thought."

Kaerun decided to track their traces. He looked around and found their tracks. The path led them back east, the winding trail weaving through the countryside with Kaerun navigating effortlessly at the forefront. The air was thick with anticipation, the tension palpable as they pressed onward towards their destination.

As the party approached the wall of the graveyard, Kaerun's keen eyesight caught sight of movement in the distance. "There they are," he whispered, gesturing towards the figures gathered near the graveyard wall.

Rosamund tightened his grip on his weapon, his expression determined. "Stay alert, everyone," he cautioned, scanning the scene before them.

The group observed the gathering from a safe distance, noting the ominous presence of some black-robed figures, soldiers, and presumably the two Bills. Their attention was drawn to an elderly lady among them, accompanied by a towering dinosaur, a sight that sent a shiver down their spines.

"Something's not right here," Brother Hemlock muttered, his voice tinged with concern.

Before they could react, Kaerun spotted movement in the distance away from the group, near the bushes. "More of them," he warned, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the threat.

With tension thick in the air, the party prepared themselves for whatever confrontation lay ahead.

As the party approached the dimly lit torches near the graveyard wall on the hill, the scene before them unfolded like a sinister tableau. Two figures clad in ominous black robes stood beside two equally foreboding priests, their presence casting long shadows in the flickering light. Among them stood Bill the merchant and Bill the soldier, flanked by two corrupt soldiers, their faces twisted with malice.

An old woman walking with a staff, a hunched figure with an air of malevolence, stood nearby, her wrinkled visage betraying years of dark dealings. Near her loomed a fearsome sight—a dinosaur, its massive form outlined against the night sky, a silent sentinel guarding the group.

And there, in the distance, stood two figures cloaked in long brown robes, their intentions shrouded in mystery as they observed the gathering from afar.

Dougle's voice broke the tense silence, his words tinged with disbelief and apprehension. "Wow, there are quite a lot of them," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the assembled group. "Looks like all the bad guys decided to have a little reunion. Do you think they're here for the opium deal?"

Brother Hemlock, his expression darkening with disdain, said with a heavy breath. "Those blasted clowns have caused enough trouble," he muttered, his distaste for their adversaries evident in his voice.

Jean val Jean, his drow features obscured by the darkness, shifted restlessly in the shadows, his anticipation palpable as he prepared for a stealthy assault.

Meanwhile, Zood, the towering barbarian, stood at the ready, his muscles tensed for action as he awaited the party's decision.

Dougle remarked, "We can't let them continue their nefarious schemes unchecked. It's time to put an end to this."

Jean val Jean nodded in agreement, his eyes gleaming with determination. "We can take them by surprise if we act swiftly," he suggested, his mind already racing with strategies.

Crunk, his grip tightening on his axe, let out a low growl of anticipation. "I've been itching for a fight, I'll just follow you" he admitted, his dwarven features set in a fierce scowl.

Brother Hemlock's voice cut through the tension like a knife, his tone filled with unease as he regarded the looming silhouette of the dinosaur. "So, there's the dinosaur," he remarked, a note of trepidation coloring his words.

With a shared glance and a silent nod of agreement, the party steeled themselves for the confrontation ahead, their resolve unwavering as they prepared to confront the darkness lurking within the shadows of the graveyard.

After observing the situation, they decided to have a go for it. With their resolve hardened and their weapons at the ready, the party advanced towards their enemies, their steps echoing in the stillness of the night as they prepared to confront the forces of darkness head-on.