Moonshire - Player Summaries

Nestled within a light bushy area, the Abbey of the Whispering Winds stood as a serene sanctuary, just 20 miles from the bustling town of Royal Oak. The abbey’s stone walls and wooden beams blended seamlessly with the surrounding greenery, creating a peaceful retreat for those who sought solace and spiritual growth.

Grimmold Rockborne, a towering goliath with chiseled features and ashen-gray skin etched with tribal tattoos, stood in the courtyard, practicing his forms. His movements were precise and fluid, a harmonious blend of strength and grace. The quietude of the abbey was interrupted by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds.

A young acolyte, panting slightly from his hurried approach, held out a sealed letter. “Acolyte Rockborne, a message for you from the town of Royal Oak.”

Grimmold took the letter, noting the mayor’s seal, and broke it open. The message inside was brief but urgent: Mayor Rothan Blackshield requested his presence as soon as possible. Memories of their past encounters came flooding back. The mayor was not one to send for help lightly.

Deciding to leave immediately, Grimmold prepared for the journey. He packed his travel gear with practiced efficiency and made his way to the monastery's shrine. There, encased in an ornate bottle, was Selene, a mysterious blue djinn. Her azure form shimmered within the glass, her features relaxed and serene.

“Selene, we have a summons from Royal Oak,” Grimmold said, gently tapping the bottle.

With a swirl of mist and light, Selene emerged from the bottle, her blue skin and flowing garments a stark contrast to the monastery’s muted tones. She stretched languidly, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Royal Oak, you say? It’s been a while since I’ve been out and about. Let’s go, Grimmold. I can’t wait to see what adventures await!”

Grimmold nodded, a rare smile tugging at his lips. Together, they set off, walking through the light bushy area that surrounded the abbey and making their way toward Royal Oak. The journey was pleasant, filled with shared stories and laughter. Selene’s cheerful disposition and Grimmold’s steadfast nature made for a harmonious companionship.

As they approached Royal Oak, the town was abuzz with activity. Preparations for the annual harvest festival were in full swing. Bright banners decorated the streets, and the air was filled with the scent of fresh produce and blooming flowers. People bustled about, their faces alight with anticipation.

At the town gates, two guards stood watch. Clad in standard-issue armor and helmets, they straightened up as Grimmold and Selene approached, their eyes widening at the sight of the imposing goliath and his ethereal companion.

“Halt! State your business,” one of the guards demanded, his voice wavering slightly.

Grimmold stepped forward, his presence commanding. “I am Grimmold Rockborne. I received a letter from Mayor Rothan Blackshield. He requested my presence.”

The guards exchanged uneasy glances. The younger guard, a freckled youth with a mop of red hair, stammered a bit, “Y-yes, of course. Travelers are welcome, I am sure it is urgent.”

The older guard, with a weathered face with some wrinkles, nodded hesitantly. “Yes, of course. You may pass. The mayor’s residence is straight ahead.”

Entering the town, Selene couldn’t contain her excitement. “Look, Grimmold! All these people, all these colors... it's beautiful!” Her voice was filled with childlike wonder.

Grimmold’s stern expression softened as he glanced at his companion. “It is indeed, Selene. This festival brings the town together. It's a time of joy and celebration.”

They made their way through the lively streets, taking in the sights and sounds of the festival preparations. Children ran past them, their laughter ringing through the air, while vendors called out to potential customers, showcasing their wares. The atmosphere was one of communal joy and anticipation.

Selene looked around excitedely “The town is truly enchanting.”

As they continued towards the mayor’s residence, they entered a busy town's square with many people walking around. Grimmold felt a sense of anticipation. He knew Rothan well; the mayor was a man of integrity and spontaneity. When he visited the abbey they forged a bond of friendship and mutual respect.

The sense of urgency in the letter lingered in his mind. Whatever awaited them, Grimmold was ready to face it, together with the spirited Selene. The stage was set for the challenges to come.

The central town square of Royal Oak was alive with preparations for the upcoming annual harvest festival. The air was filled with the chatter of excited townsfolk and the clatter of wagon wheels on cobblestones. Heavy carts laden with logs, flowers, fruits, and vegetables trundled through the square, adding to the bustling atmosphere. Brightly colored stalls lined the streets, vendors setting up their displays of goods in anticipation of the festival.

Arth Arkani, a kind-hearted human cleric of life, stood near the town’s old water well. Dressed in simple robes and adorned with symbols of Michakal, the goddess of healing and love, he blessed the people who came to fill their buckets. His voice was gentle yet strong as he intoned blessings, his hands moving gracefully as he invoked the goddess's grace.

“May Michakal’s love and healing flow through these waters,” Arth said, placing a hand over the well. The people who received his blessings thanked him warmly, their faces showing gratitude.

An old man with a staff approached the well, his steps slow but steady. Arth greeted him with a kind smile and extended his blessing. “May Michakal’s light guide your path.”

The old man, his face lined with years of wisdom, smiled back. “Thank you, young cleric. It is heartening to see so many visitors to our blessed town of Royal Oak.” He pointed with his staff to the massive oak tree in the distance, its ancient branches spreading wide. “Our town was formed around that very tree. It has stood for centuries, a symbol of strength and unity.”

Nearby, a man with vibrant orange hair, a red nose, and a yellow suit adorned with sparkling accents caught the attention of passersby. Pierro, a talented clown, was juggling an array of colorful balls, his movements fluid and precise. His infectious laughter and animated expressions drew a growing crowd of onlookers, their faces alight with amusement.

Selene, her eyes wide with excitement, tugged at Grimmold’s arm. “Look, Grimmold! Let’s watch!” Her voice was filled with childlike wonder.

Grimmold nodded, his stern demeanor softening as he followed Selene to join the crowd. They stood among the townspeople, watching as Pierro’s performance unfolded. The clown’s skillful juggling was complemented by playful antics, eliciting laughter and applause from the audience.

As Pierro entertained the audience with his antics, there were some musicians present that were playing somewhat further away on the town's square. Grimmold Rockborne, feeling the urge to join in the festivities near Pierro, stepped forward with his flute. With practiced ease, he began playing a soothing melody that intertwined with the lively music of the band, adding a new layer of depth to the performance. The crowd, already enthralled by Pierro's showmanship, now found themselves enchanted by Grimmold's musical contribution.

As Piero finished his dazzling performance, he threw his hat down onto the cobblestones, and the crowd eagerly tossed copper and silver coins into it, their laughter and cheers giving Pierro a warm feeling.

Not far behind, Hawk Tuah, an imposing orc barbarian with a muscular build and fierce demeanor, approached the scene, intrigued by the collaborative effort unfolding before him. He reached into his pouch, retrieving a copper coin, and dropped it into Pierro's hat as a token of appreciation. Hawk then walked over to Grimmold and placed another copper coin near him, acknowledging his skillful flute performance amidst the festive backdrop.

As Hawk approached Grimmold and placed the copper coin in his hat, he nodded with a grunt, saying, "Here you are." Grimmold, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected gesture and frowing his eyebrows, looked up with a slight smile and replied, "Thank you," his surprise evident in his tone.

As the performance ended, Pierro took a bow, his face beaming with joy. He waved to the crowd, thanking them for their applause before moving on to the next part of the square, continuing to spread joy wherever he went.

Their spirits lifted by the festive atmosphere, Grimmold and Selene continued to explore the square. The vibrant energy of Royal Oak’s preparations for the harvest festival was contagious, filling them with a sense of warmth and camaraderie.

Arth Arkani, having seen enough of the bustling town square and especially the lively performance by Pierro, made his way into Rupert's Finest Inn. The large, old inn stood proudly with its black wooden beams overhead, exuding an air of rustic charm. Inside, the atmosphere was warm and inviting, filled with the hum of busy conversations and the clinking of mugs.

Behind the counter, the barman worked tirelessly, serving a diverse crowd of patrons. Peasants, officials, citizens, travelers, and merchants sat around the inn, each table abuzz with activity. Among them, groups of other races mingled, including a table of dwarves and a gnome, their laughter and chatter adding to the lively ambiance.

Being able to somewhat navigate past the crowded tables, Arth carefully stepped around the very busy and animated dwarves who were drinking ale. Their voices boomed through the inn, and he overheard one particularly loud dwarf with a vibrant orange beard regaling his companions.

"And then she says to me," the dwarf roared, waving his tankard for emphasis, "the sister of my mother-in-law, mind you, 'You'll never guess what I found in that cellar!' I tell you, lads, I would never, ever ever say such a thing to my niece!"

Arth sighed, shaking his head slightly as he approached a blonde waitress who was weaving through the tables with practiced ease. "Excuse me, I'd like to order the day's special," he said, offering a silver piece.

The waitress nodded with a friendly smile. "Coming right up! The chicken special with pineapple and raisins is a favorite today."

Arth found a quieter corner to sit, grateful for a moment's respite from the din. As he waited for his meal, he took in the sights and sounds of the inn, appreciating the vibrant tapestry of life that filled Rupert's Finest.

Just as Arth was settling in, the door to the inn swung open with a creak, and Hawk Tuah, the orc barbarian, strode inside. Clad in rugged leather armor, Hawk exuded an air of raw power and determination. As he entered Rupert's Finest Inn, his eyes were scanning the room, observing everything that was going on.

A waiter quickly approached him, eyeing the enormous two-handed sword strapped to his back. "Excuse me, sir," the waiter began politely, "we ask that all larger weapons be placed near the door for the safety of our patrons. Only daggers or smaller sized equipment can stay with you." Hawk glanced around, his brow furrowed. "Where put sword?" he grunted. The waiter gestured towards a row of open wooden boxes filled with various weapons, including axes and short swords. "You can place it in one of these boxes, or we have a private safe for a small fee." Hawk, uninterested in spending money on securing his weapon, strode over to the open boxes and slid his massive sword into an empty slot. Satisfied, he turned and headed towards the bar, leaving the formidable blade resting among the other patrons' armaments.

He approached the bar with a heavy step, and greeted the innkeeper. The innkeeper, a burly man with a friendly smile, greeted him. "Welcome! What can I get for you?"

Hawk, speaking in his usual simple and direct manner, replied, "Want real food. What you serve?"

The innkeeper chuckled. "We've got roast boar for three silvers. It's a pretty big piece."

Hawk's eyes lit up. "Roast boar good. I take."

As Hawk sat on a high wooden chair behind the bar, Pierro the clown, wearing his bright yellow suit with sparkling accents, took a seat next to him. With a wide grin, Pierro extended his hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you, friend!"

Hawk, wary but polite, reached out to shake Pierro's hand. To his surprise, the hand came loose, revealing itself to be a wooden prop, making it seem as though Pierro's hand had fallen off.

Pierro chuckled, clearly amused by his own joke. "Oops!"

Hawk, not amused in the slightest, scowled and sending it skittering across the floor. "Not funny," he grumbled.

Pierro sighed dramatically, bending down to retrieve his wooden hand. "Some people just don't understand humor," he muttered, shaking his head as he reattached the hand.

Arth Arkani, sitting in his corner and waiting for his food, couldn't help but overhear the extremely loud dwarves nearby. Their conversation had taken a decidedly rowdy turn.

"And from there.., things started getting really, really dirty!" one dwarf bellowed, causing Arth to sigh in exasperation. Seeking some different conversation, he made his way to the bar.

Meanwhile, Grimmold and Selene entered Rupert's Finest Inn, their stomachs rumbling with hunger. Standing at the bar, they ordered the chicken special. The innkeeper, a burly man with a broad smile, assured them, "The meat is really fresh." He then yelled at a servant to go to the chicken coop behind the inn. Moments later, the sounds of clucking chickens were followed by frantic squawking, and then silence.

Arth, overhearing this, turned to Grimmold and remarked dryly, "Yes, the food is really fresh here!"

The inn was growing busier by the minute. Hawk Tuah was now being served a huge portion of roast boar, the meat spilling over the edges of his plate. As he dug into his meal, Ash Grillem, a curious halfling ranger, approached the bar, intrigued by the commotion.

"What's that you've got there?" Ash asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

"Roast boar," Hawk grunted, tearing off a piece of meat. "It's good."

Ash nodded, clearly impressed. "I want to taste all the food in the world!" he declared enthusiastically.

Hawk, skeptical, chuckled. "That's impossible." He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small coal stone, handing it to Ash. "Here, taste this."

To Hawk's extreme surprise, Ash took the stone and took a bite of it, chewing thoughtfully. The sight left Hawk, Grimmold, and Arth staring in astonishment.

Ash replied, grinning. "Not bad, but I've had better!"

Hawk shook his head, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "You're a strange one, halfling." And he tossed him a small piece of his roast beef.

Pierro opened a well-worn briefcase. He began to sift through a stack of papers and forms, his face taking on a surprisingly serious expression. Hawk, curious about the unusual sight, asked, "What that?" Pierro glanced up and smiled, "Oh, this? I'm also an accountant. Just checking some bills for parts of the town, like the reinforcement of some peasant huts in the north, this has to be approved." Grimmold, overhearing this, mumbled to himself, "Okay..., that is really a weird job combination."

The group received their food, and Arth suggested, "Let's sit together at that table over here!" Pierro, always enthusiastic, chimed in, "Good idea!" They settled down at the table, enjoying their meals amid the lively atmosphere of Rupert's Finest Inn.

Ash looked at Arth and asked him, 'What brings you to Royal Oak?'

Arth replied firmly, 'I have received a letter from my friend Rothan Blackshield, who is the mayor here of this town. He told me he needs help, so I will go and visit him.'

Hawk looked at Arth and said, 'Yes me too got letter, from Rothan!'

Selene, her voice tinged with curiosity, added, "Hey, we received a letter too! Rothan must really need our help."

Arth being surprised, nodded thoughtfully. "Alright, so we all know Rothan then? It seems we all know him to some degree. He must have gathered us here for a significant reason, Rothan must be facing some troubles."

As they ate further, Arth turned to Hawk, curious about their connections to Rothan. "Hawk, where do you know Rothan from?" he asked directly.

Hawk paused briefly between bites of roast boar, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Rothan… helped village. Protect from bandits," he grunted, his words simple but filled with meaning.

Arth nodded, absorbing the information. "I see. So, you've worked together in the past."

Turning his attention to Pierro, Arth sighed softly. "Pierro, do you have a performance scheduled? Perhaps you should go and prepare." Pierro, sensing the subtle suggestion, smiled warmly. "Actually, I do have one lined up," he replied with a wink, rising from the table gracefully. "I'll see you all later!"

Suddenly amidst the bustling crowd and the aroma of hearty meals, a trio of acrobats dressed in vibrant green outfits took to the stage. With graceful flips and impressive feats of balance, they captivated the audience with their synchronized movements. The innkeeper asked a welcome applause for the brothers of the Green Brigade. Each acrobat moved with precision, their performance a testament to years of practice and camaraderie.

As the trio continued their breathtaking routine, seamlessly hurling each other through the air and forming human pyramids with effortless agility, the audience cheered in awe. The acrobats' synchronized flips and intricate formations painted a picture of harmony and skill, drawing the attention of everyone in the inn.

However, the highlight of their act came when one of the acrobats diverged from the routine. Breaking away from the group, he approached a table where a solitary man in green was quietly enjoying his drink. What ensued was a silent yet dramatic play of accusations and gestures, culminating in a theatrically exaggerated slap across the man's face. He then grabbed the man and threw him backwards. In a well-rehearsed move, the other two acrobats swiftly caught their companion, seamlessly integrating the surprising interlude into their performance.

The audience erupted in applause and laughter, thoroughly entertained by the unexpected twist in the acrobats' act. The trio bowed gracefully before leaving the stage, their green costumes shimmering under the warm glow of the inn's lights.

Hawk Tuah said to the group, "one moment" as he swiftly rose from his seat, his massive form towering over the tables. With purposeful strides, he approached the acrobats who had just finished their dazzling performance. "Here you are," Hawk rumbled in his deep voice, tossing a copper piece into their hats with a nod of approval

After the acrobats left the stage, Pierro, known for his penchant for spectacle, stood before the crowd with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Tomorrow night at Rupert's Finest Inn," he announced dramatically, "things will be a bit different than expected. The entry fee is one silver piece, and I will astound you with a daring feat involving a volunteer inside a box, pierced by swords!"

Gasps and murmurs spread through the audience. The people talked in a mix of anticipation and apprehension, eager to see what the unpredictable Pierro had in store for them tomorrow evening with his daring performance.

As the group sat together discussing their letters from Rothan Blackshield at Rupert's Finest Inn, Hawk Tuah suddenly spoke up with a grim expression. "I read murders happening here. Must investigate before harvest festival next week."

His words hung heavily in the air, shocking the others. "Murders?" Arth exclaimed, his voice filled with concern. "That wasn't mentioned in our letters!"

Hawk nodded solemnly. "Yes, bad things going on here."

Arth's brow furrowed deeply, his usual calm demeanor momentarily faltering. "Murders?" he exclaimed, disbelief coloring his voice. "That's... unexpected."

Ash' eyes widened in concern, her typically playful demeanor giving way to a somber expression. "Murders?" he repeated softly, as if trying to grasp the gravity of the situation. "We should act quickly," he suggested, his voice low with urgency.

Grimmold, always stoic and composed, nodded thoughtfully. "We need to find out what's going on," he agreed, his mind already calculating the implications of such disturbing news.

Selene, breaking the tension with practicality, redirected the conversation. "Where does Rothan live?"

Arth nodded in agreement. "The Town Hall is where he usually operates from, we should get an appointment."

Ash Grillem, ever eager for action, suggested, "Let's go there now and find out more."

Grimmold and Selene exchanged a glance, considering the late hour and the gravity of the situation. "It's already late," Grimmold said thoughtfully. "Let's finish eating and go there tomorrow."

Selene nodded in agreement. "Yes, tomorrow will be better."

As the night deepened and the festive atmosphere of Royal Oak began to quiet down, the group decided it was time to rest. Arth approached the innkeeper at the bar and inquired about a room for the night. The innkeeper, always ready with a deal, mentioned, "We have a 20% discount on our luxurious rooms, normally costing one gold piece."

Arth shook his head with a polite smile. "I'll just take a regular room, thank you," he said, handing over a single silver piece. The innkeeper nodded and handed him a key.

Grimmold, adhering to his monkish simplicity, approached the innkeeper with a different request. "Is there somewhere outside I can sleep?" he asked.

The innkeeper considered for a moment and then replied, "For one copper coin, you can sleep in the hay out back."

Grimmold handed over a copper coin and made his way to the haystack outside the inn. Selene, now back in her bottle, was carefully placed among Grimmold's robes, the bottle emitting a soft glow that provided a gentle, reassuring light.

As the town settled into the calm of the night, a man walked through the streets, ringing a bell and announcing, "It's 10 o'clock, and all is safe in the town of Royal Oak." His voice echoed softly, a comforting reminder of the town's watchfulness.

Another man, carrying a long stick, made his rounds lighting the torches and lamps placed strategically around the town. Some were affixed to poles, while others were set near the entrances of houses, casting a warm glow that flickered gently in the cool night air.

Grimmold, nestled in the hay, listened to the sounds of the town settling down. The distant clanging of the bell and the soft flickering of the newly lit torches created a peaceful ambiance. He closed his eyes, finding solace in the simplicity of his surroundings, Selene's bottle nestled securely by his side.

The next morning, Grimmold was awakened by the crowing of a rooster from the chicken coop. He gently tapped the bottle containing Selene, who emerged in a swirl of blue mist. "Good morning, Selene. How did you sleep?"

Selene stretched and smiled. "Quite well, thank you, Grimmold. It's always peaceful when you're around."

As the sun climbed higher, the rest of the group stirred and gathered in the central room of Rupert's Finest Inn for breakfast. Arth, spotting a long line at the counter where breakfast was served, sighed with mild frustration. "I could really go for some croissants and fruit juice," he muttered to himself, eyeing the queue.

At the front of the line, the two dwarves from the previous night were loudly conversing. "If it was my mother-in-law, I would definitely have said that to her niece. Hopefully, she wouldn't come. If it was my niece, however..."

Their animated conversation continued as Ash Grillem, ever the resourceful halfling, made a sly attempt to weave his way through the line unnoticed. However, his progress was halted when he reached the dwarves at the front, their thick armor forming an impenetrable barrier.

"Stale bread," one of the dwarves demanded. The innkeeper, sighing and raising his eyebrows, searched for the oldest, hardest bread he could find. Unfortunately, he didn't have the traditional dwarven stale bread, which was known for being so tough it could double as a weapon.

Ash, undeterred, asked for some pineapple juice. The innkeeper shook his head. "Sorry, lad. We don't have any. If we did, it would be expensive. There are expeditions from the tropical woods coming in a few days for the harvest festival. They'll bring a variety of tropical fruits and vegetables. Merchants will be selling all sorts of things in the town square then. But it's a long journey from the tropical woods, far south beneath Phalanx."

With a small sigh, Ash settled for glasses of fruit mix and some croissants. He paid a few silver coins and carefully carried the tray back to the rest of the group, who had found a table. Setting down the tray, Ash smiled. "Breakfast is served."

The group, now assembled and ready to start the day, began their meal, discussing their plans to visit Rothan Blackshield and uncover the troubles plaguing Royal Oak. As they ate, the inn buzzed with the sounds of other patrons, each absorbed in their own conversations and plans for the day ahead.

Arth sat on a wooden bench outside Rupert's Finest Inn, observing the lively activity in the town's square. Merchants were busy raising and decorating their stalls, preparing for the upcoming harvest festival. A wagon cart trundled by, filled with cages of birds. The loud cackling of chickens filled the air—likely destined for the inn, Arth surmised. Among the birds were some exotic tropical specimens, including a vibrant parrot, which were being carried to merchants setting up their stalls.

As the rest of the group emerged from the inn, they were greeted by a group of soldiers marching through the square, their voices ringing out with calls for enlistment. "Soldiers needed! Strong, brave men wanted! Join the army and enjoy great food and free lodging!" The mention of food caught Ash Grillem's attention, and he looked up with interest.

The leader of the soldiers, Corporal Dan, approached the party with a friendly demeanor. "Greetings there, strangers. I am corporal Dan from the military of Royal Oak. What brings you to our town?" he asked.

Arth, curious, greeted the military and responded, "We are here for the annual harvest festival, and we like the lively atmosphere. It's nice and peaceful."

Corporal Dan nodded in agreement.

Arth then asked back, "What about you, what do you do around here?"

Dan explained, "We're military and being on patrol. That is something which is really needed with the coming festivities around here next week. It will attract many people to our town. I like this nice old town, I have been around now for some years."

He continued, "You know, We could use strong individuals to join the army and help with patrol duties. It’s not just about fighting—there's also a lot of social work involved, like repairing peasant farms, resolving disputes between farmers and merchants, and more."

Turning to Grimmold, Dan added, "Spellcasters like mages and priests can start as corporals in the army. It took me eight years to earn that rank, and it would be great to have you on board. What do you say?"

Grimmold smiled politely and shook his head. "Thank you for the offer, but I'll have to decline."

With the soldier’s offer declined, the group continued on their way, heading towards the Town Hall. The bustling square and the day's earlier activities provided a backdrop of vibrant energy as they made their way through Royal Oak, ready to uncover more about the Seleneerious troubles that awaited them.

The group made their way across the bustling town plaza and soon arrived at the Town Hall, a venerable wooden edifice with an air of dignified history. The large wooden doors stood open, inviting visitors into the interior. Red carpets stretched from the entrance to a nearby room, giving the space a touch of ceremonial grandeur. This waiting room, though modest, offered a sense of anticipation with its warm wooden paneling and comfortable, yet understated furnishings.

Inside the main hall, the atmosphere was lively but orderly. Bulletin boards stood prominently in the center, covered with various notices and announcements. The rich scent of polished wood mingled with the faint aroma of ink and paper, a testament to the many official documents that had passed through these walls. The sunlight streaming through tall windows cast a gentle glow on the red carpets, creating a serene contrast to the bustling activity within.

At the wooden counter, a servant sat behind a stack of paperwork, focusing intently on his tasks. The group approached and inquired about speaking with Rothan Blackshield. The servant, glancing up from his work, informed them that Rothan was extremely busy and could only spare time for them in a few days.

The servant, said, "Lord Rothan is extremely busy and can only spare time for you in two days' time."

The group's faces fell, their frustration evident. "Two days?" Ash exclaimed, incredulous. "We have urgent business. We need to see him sooner!"

The servant shook his head apologetically. "I'm sorry, but his schedule is packed."

The group's faces fell, their frustration evident.

In response, Ash Grillem produced a letter he had received, emphasizing the urgency of their visit. The rest of the party also confirmed they had received similar letters.

Ash pulled out the letter. "Look, he sent us this. Rothan needs our help urgently."

The servant's eyes widened as he read the letter. "Oh, I see. Please wait here. I'll inform him immediately." He hurriedly bolted through a side door, leaving the group in tense anticipation.

As they waited, Grimmold's curiosity led him to peer over the counter. His gaze fell upon a pile of papers, the top sheet detailing an urgent request for 500 gold pieces to repair peasant huts damaged under Seleneerious circumstances. The sight added an undercurrent of intrigue to the already tense situation.

Moments later, the servant returned, breathless. "Lord Rothan will see you in 15 minutes."

As the group prepared to meet Rothan, Arth reminded them of his noble title, advising them to address him in a proper way. Arth said, "Rothan is a landlord, so we should address him as Sir or Lord Rothan."

The group nodded in agreement and were escorted through the waiting room.

In the distance, a middle-aged man with a black beard and wearing a green vest stood by an open door. It was Rothan Blackshield. As he saw the group, a broad smile spread across his face, and he called out warmly, “Ah, it’s you! I recognize you. Friends, come in!”

Some members of the group addressed him as “Sir,” but Rothan quickly waved away the formalities with a chuckle. "No, no. There is no need for all that, just call me Rothan!" he said, welcoming them into his office. The room was warmly lit and decorated with maps and various documents, setting the stage for the serious conversation to come.

The group settled into the cozy yet solemn atmosphere of Rothan's office. Rothan's demeanor shifted to a more serious tone as he began to explain the gravity of the situation. "Welcome welcome, please be seated on one of the chairs. I called you here for something severe," he started. "I know each of you from the past and I really appreciate the good relations I have with you, and of course, I am very glad that each of you has taken effort to travel here!"

He continued "You see, every week, one or two people are murdered in Royal Oak. Captain Siegfried and the army have been investigating, but they’ve found nothing. Recently, we brought in a mercenary group and an adventurer team, but they both vanished without a trace!"

Grimmold asked "But murders happen from time to time around here, do they not?"

Rothan answered "Yes, people are found dead now and then, perhaps by brigands or by criminal activities. You always have those in the lands. However, this is something else! Also people that seem very innocent have been killed, and regularly!"

Grimmold said "So you mean people who normally do not get themselves into any trouble?"

Rothan replied "Yes, people who have always lived in this town, who barely went anywhere have been brutally murdered."

Selene leaned forward, concern etched on her face. Her tone was stern, but polite, "Why call us, a group of outsiders, for this?"

Rothan sighed, leaning back in his chair. "This operation needs to stay low profile. Gossip spreads like wildfire, and we can’t afford to have rumors of murders scaring people away. The annual harvest festival is a major event that attracts thousands of tourists from far and wide. Friends, family, and druids come to bless the first of the harvest in the nearby towns. If word gets out about these murders, it would devastate our festival attendance and cripple our economy."

Understanding the delicacy of the situation, the group nodded. Rothan continued, "That's why I’ve asked you all, who know few people here, to investigate discreetly. Your unfamiliarity with the town’s social circles will help keep things under wraps."

Rothan stood up, walking to the back of the room. He moved a painting aside to reveal a safe, from which he retrieved a wooden box. Opening it, he took out some wax and heated it with a candle. Carefully, he stamped the hot wax onto a document, marking it with his official seal. "This will authorize you to investigate the murders on my behalf. Show it to anyone who questions your presence here."

Grimmold accepted the scroll with a nod, carefully tucking it inside his clothing. The group felt the weight of their mission settle upon them as they prepared to delve into the Seleneerious and dangerous investigation that lay ahead.

Ash, ever the inquisitive ranger, leaned forward. "What kind of wounds are we talking about? Do you have names of the victims?"

Rothan was clearly distressed, a shadow crossing his face. "The wounds vary—some have been stabbed, others strangled, some hit by a large weapon. I don’t have too many details myself. Captain Siegfried should have those specifics."

Ash, undeterred, asked, "Is there any reward for this?"

Before Rothan could answer, Grimmold, the ever-humble monk, interjected. "A reward isn’t really necessary."

Rothan smiled and nodded. "I understand, but I want to ensure your safety." He retrieved a few magic purple potions from his desk. "These are potions of serious wound healing. They should help if you run into trouble."

The group thanked Rothan and made their way to the army barracks located north of town. The barracks was a sturdy, imposing structure, surrounded by a bustling plaza where about 30 soldiers milled about, talking, training, and tending to their gear. The air was filled with the sounds of clanking metal and murmured conversations. The building itself was made of stone, with thick walls and narrow windows, designed for defense as much as for shelter. Training dummies and weapon racks lined the perimeter, and a few soldiers were sparring in a makeshift arena, honing their skills.

Approaching a soldier near the entrance, the group inquired about Captain Siegfried. The soldier nodded and led them into the barracks, through a series of corridors, to a separate room. Inside, a middle-aged man with a big black mustache and plate armor greeted them. His demeanor was both friendly and strict.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, his voice resonating with authority.

Grimmold stepped forward and showed Siegfried the letter from Rothan. The captain’s eyes widened in surprise. "You’re working undercover for Rothan?" he said, a mix of curiosity and skepticism in his tone. "Very well, let's see how we can help each other."

Arth leaned forward, his face serious. "Captain Siegfried, can you tell us more about the murders?"

Siegfried's expression grew solemn. "There have been a variety of murders, at least one every week. The causes are varied, and each case seems more perplexing than the last."

Arth continued, "What were the most recent murders? And do you have any details about the causes?"

Siegfried pulled out his registration log and began to read. "Two weeks ago, Victor the librarian was found dead. He was slashed, hit by a big weapon, and poisoned. It's real sad since he worked loyally for 40 years and did no one harm. It doesn't make sense! He was found in a rain barrel.", he said with much emotion in his voice. He continued, "Then, just last week, Timmy, a twelve-year-old boy, was found dead. He had marks of strangulation and peckings, like a bird had attacked him. He was discovered in an alley near the Town Square."

Siegfried continued, "In the weeks before these recent murders, there have been a variety of victims: a medic, a priest, a construction worker, a peasant, and an old man. The methods of killing are just as varied. Some were slashed, likely by a sword, others were hit by a large weapon, strangled, or poisoned. Disturbingly, some victims suffered more than one type of wound."

He paused, flipping a few pages in his log. "Three weeks ago, a woman named Dena was found dead. She had been drugged and overdosed. The circumstances are murky—it's possible it was related to opium deals rather than the series of murders. But given the pattern of violence, we can't rule anything out."

Grimmold frowned, unsure if Dena’s death was part of the same pattern or an unrelated crime. The complexity and randomness of the cases left the group with much to ponder.

Arth turned to Siegfried with a determined expression. "Where are the bodies kept?"

Siegfried replied, "They are in the graveyard, located north of Royal Oak on a hill. It's surrounded by a large black iron fence, and there's a morgue in the middle. The graveyard is coordinated by the undertaker Emerson, he has servants there who help him."

Arth, with a furrowed brow, asked, "What happens with the bodies?"

Siegfried explained, "Some bodies will be buried after the family comes for the funeral, while others are cremated. The decision usually depends on the family's wishes and, in some cases, the nature of the death. Emerson will consult with the families."

The room fell silent as the gravity of the situation sank in. Ash broke the silence. "Captain, can we get a military rank that allows us to investigate without being hassled by the soldiers? It would make our job easier."

Selene nodded in agreement. "It would help us move around freely and not be stopped constantly."

Siegfried thought for a moment, his brow furrowing. "I can make you a Vice Officer. This rank is above corporal and sergeant but below any officer rank. This way, you won't be assigned emergency tasks or regular duties by the local corporals or sergeants. You can move freely and investigate without interference. Even, the food and officer sleeping quarters are better too."

Ash asked, "What accommodations do the soldiers usually get?"

Siegfried replied, "Usually the soldiers sleep in the barracks on a wooden bed with a blanket and a straw pillow. And in a tent on the road. Also the food is a nice big pot of stew. The vice officers and officers meals are a bit more refined. But if you go in through the normal way starting as a soldier, it will take you two years to become a veteran soldier and maybe an additional two or three years maximally to become a specialist or a corporal."

Ash nodded, understanding the significance of the rank. "That sounds perfect."

Siegfried stood up, a serious look on his face. "Follow me. We'll get you outfitted with the necessary armor."

The group followed Siegfried through the barracks to the armory. As they walked, the weight of their new mission settled on their shoulders. They knew that solving these murders would not only bring justice to the victims but also protect the people of Royal Oak from further harm.

As they all walked through the barracks to the armory, the man behind the counter looked up and asked what they wanted. Ash, thinking quickly, said, "I am Vice Officer Hemia Brightings from Stone's Way. I'm here to pick up my armor." The armorer glanced at Siegfried, who gave a confirming nod, and then provided Ash with chainmail adorned with two blue stripes, indicating his rank, along with the symbol of the town of Royal Oak. Ash donned the armor, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders.

They then asked Siegfried where Timmy's parents lived and made their way there. The path led them to a back alley where the streets were in poor condition, water puddles dotted the uneven road, and fences were in desperate need of repair. Laundry hung limply on poles, and through a window, an old lady could be seen baking a pie.

Arriving at Timmy's home, they knocked on the door. A wary woman and a man answered, their faces lined with grief and suspicion. Ash asked if they were Timmy's parents, and they nodded, their eyes filled with distrust. "What do you want?" the man asked gruffly.

"We're here to help," Ash replied, gesturing to Arth, who stood behind him in his priestly uniform, offering a reassuring presence.

The couple exchanged skeptical glances. "We don't need any help from the military," the woman said, eyeing Ash's armor with disdain. "And we don't need any spiritual help either," she added, her gaze shifting to Arth.

Arth stepped forward, speaking gently. "We understand your pain and loss. We're not here to convert you or impose. We're here to find out what happened to your son and to stop it from happening to anyone else."

The couple hesitated, the man's eyes flicking between Ash's determined expression and Arth's compassionate demeanor. "Why should we trust you?" the husband asked, his voice booming and thick with emotion.

Grimmold, sensing the need for honesty, spoke up. "We were called here by Rothan Blackshield himself to investigate these murders discreetly. We're not just the regular soldiers or priests you see. We care about finding the truth and bringing justice to Timmy and others who have suffered."

The couple's resolve wavered, and finally, the woman stepped aside, allowing them to enter. "Alright," she said quietly. "Come in. We'll tell you what we know."

Timmy's mother began, her voice heavy with sorrow. "Timmy was out and didn't come home for dinner. He was probably out playing with friends. When I went to look for him in the evening, it was already dark, and I couldn't find him anywhere. When I reached the Town Square, there were soldiers and priests around. Sergeant Jake told me that his body had been taken to the graveyard."

She paused, her eyes welling up with tears. "I wanted to go there, but he said I wasn't allowed to see him because he was in the morgue for observation! So needless to say, I of course went to the graveyard. When I arrived on the hill, I ran to the morgue. The servants stopped me there and wouldn’t let me into the part where my son was. Can you imagine this?"

Grimmold nodded sadly and shook his head, his face a mask of grief and empathy. "This is unfair... It's unimaginable." he said softly, almost to himself. "It's very, very unfair."

Arth, sensing the family's pain, stepped forward and gently placed a reassuring hand on Timmy's mother's shoulder. "I'm so sorry for your loss. We have enough information for now," he said softly. "We'll do everything we can to find out what happened."

As they stepped away from the house, he gathered the group and spoke in a low voice. "We should head to the graveyard now. Let's speak with Emerson, the undertaker. He might have more information about Timmy and the other victims." The group nodded in agreement, ready to take the next step.

As the group left Timmy's family behind and made their way north toward the graveyard, they passed through narrow alleys, the cobblestones slick with morning dew. Along the way, they noticed a group of dwarves and gnomes hauling several large boxes, engaged in a lively discussion.

One dwarf with a thick, braided beard was enthusiastically explaining, "The 'Brewmaster 2000' is going to be a hit at the market! Coffee like you've never tasted before! We can supply an infinite amount of coffee beans, just throw them in and off you go!

Another Gnome said, "And wait till they see our Orc detection machine - that should sure make us some money!" The others nodded in agreement, their faces glowing with excitement.

As Arth walked away with the group, he also overheard two men engaged in an animated conversation. “Did you hear about the beggar near the town square?” one man asked urgently. “He’s been muttering about seeing some horrifying things lately. He almost seems traumatized.” His companion responded, “I heard he’s been too shaken to even speak properly. They say he saw something that’s left him completely rattled.” Eventhough Arth's interest was piqued by this rumour, he decided to proceed further to the graveyard.

Continuing their way northward, the adventurers ventured to the edge of the town and soon spotted the hill that housed the graveyard. Situated within firm stone walls, its large black iron gates standing stark against the early morning light. Families and individuals moved in and out of the graveyard, their faces reflecting the various emotions of loss and remembrance. Some simply walked past the graves for a regular visit.

As the party made their way toward the graveyard, Arth's eyes were drawn to a black raven perched on the stone wall that lined the path. The bird sat unnervingly still, its glossy feathers gleaming in the morning light. Its beady eyes seemed to follow their every step, almost as if it were silently observing their movements. Arth felt a slight chill, brushing off the uneasy feeling as just his imagination, but he couldn't shake the sense that the raven's presence was more than just a coincidence.

Ascending the hill and passing through the imposing gate, the group found themselves on neatly paved paths here and there lined with chiseled stone markers. The grassy fields to either side were dotted with gravestones, some fresh with flowers, others worn by time. Hooded servants in sandy-colored robes tended to the graves, their long sleeves and capes giving them a solemn, almost ethereal presence.

In the distance, they spotted the morgue—a square, sturdy stone building with two large black doors, slightly ajar. The group approached the building, stepping inside to find a sober, stone waiting room. Alcoves dedicated to various gods lined the walls, offering a space for quiet reflection and prayer. Hawk looked at them with curiousity.

Arth noticed Hawk's observation and turned to him as they entered. "Do you believe in any gods, Hawk?" he asked gently.

Hawk, glancing at the alcoves, replied in his gruff manner, "That's... a private question. I mainly believe in myself."

Arth nodded, respecting the response, and made his way to an alcove dedicated to Michakal, the goddess of healing. Kneeling before the basin of water at the bottom, he offered a silent prayer, his eyes tracing the symbols of two flowing streams carved into the wall. The room was quiet, the atmosphere heavy with reverence and a touch of melancholy as the group prepared for what lay ahead.

Ash, scanning the quiet morgue, caught sight of a servant and called out to him. "Excuse me, can you help us? We're looking for a boy named Timmy. He was brought in about two weeks ago."

The servant blinked, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. "I'm sorry, I don't know anyone by that name."

Ash frowned and pressed further, his tone firmer this time. "A young boy, around 10 or 12 years old. He was found in an alley near the Town Square."

The servant hesitated, looking at his armour, and then turned to check a large, dusty ledger. As he flipped through the pages, his unease became apparent—his hands trembled slightly, and his eyes darted nervously over the entries. Grimmold, sensing the servant's discomfort, subtly urged Ash to keep pressing.

"Look," Ash said, leaning in, "this is important. Are you sure there's nothing in there about him?"

The servant's eyes flicked up, then back down to the book. "I... I don't see anything here. But—" He paused, swallowing hard, "—perhaps you should wait here. I'll check with someone else. I'll be back in a bit."

But the group was not in a waiting mood. "No, we'll come with you" Arth said, his voice leaving little room for argument.

The servant, clearly unnerved, nodded and led them outside, where he spotted another servant. "Dalton," he called out, "do you remember anything about a boy named Timmy being brought in?"

Dalton, a bit older and with more confidence, scratched his head thoughtfully. "Ah, yes, I remember now. The boy was brought in, but he wasn't kept in the usual place. He was moved to the back of the morgue for observation."

Arth's face hardened. "His parents weren't even allowed to see him. That doesn't seem right!"

Dalton looked genuinely surprised. "They weren't? That’s not how we handle things. Families should always be allowed to visit."

He added with a slight frown, "However, there are special cases—like murders, diseases, or lethal poisoning—where an autopsy is required first. That usually takes a few days. Emerson checks each of the cases himself. After we finish, the army must give its approval before anything else can happen. But still, Timmy's family should have been allowed to see him, even if it was just for a short time."

Arth, his brow furrowing in thought, asked, "And who typically handles that? The approval and all?"

Dalton glanced back at the priest. "That would be Sergeant Jake. He usually oversees such matters here in Royal Oak."

Arth nodded, absorbing the information, then said, "Then we need to see Emerson now. Timmy's parents can't wait."

Dalton gestured down the dim corridor. "Emerson’s in the back of the morgue, working on something. I'll take you to him."

With a determined nod, Dalton motioned for them to follow, and together with the first servant, they led the group into the morgue.

As Dalton opened two iron doors, the atmosphere instantly grew heavier as they passed through a long dimly lit corridor, the stone walls cold and unwelcoming. The group’s collective tension rose, knowing they were close to uncovering something important, yet feeling the weight of the morgue’s secrets pressing in on them.

On the left side, large iron doors exuded a faint smell of sulfur. Grimmold wrinkled his nose at the faint but unmistakable burning smell. Leaning in toward the group, he whispered, "That smell... it’s likely coming from where they incinerate the bodies. Afterward, the remains are probably reduced to ash and placed in urns."

Hawk nodded solemnly, his eyes narrowing at the heavy doors as they continued down the pathway.

To the right, rows of small wooden doors lined the wall, each just large enough to fit a body, even the side of an orc. The group noticed that each door was marked with a label—some green, others red.

As they walked down the narrow pathway, Arth's curiosity got the better of him. He gestured toward the small wooden doors with the colored labels and asked, "What do the green and red labels on these doors mean?"

Dalton, glancing at the doors, replied, "The green ones are for bodies that will be buried, while the red ones mark those set for cremation."

The other servant chimed in, adding, "It's how we keep track of where each body is headed. Keeps things... organized."

Arth nodded thoughtfully, taking in the grim efficiency of the morgue's operations.

As they continued deeper into the morgue, the air growing colder and the atmosphere heavier with each step. The sense of unease lingered as they followed Dalton, their minds turning over the new details, wondering what more they would uncover as they approached Emerson's workspace.

After passing these ominous signs, the group arrived at another thick, ashen-grey iron door. Dalton knocked firmly on the heavy iron door. After a moment, it creaked open, revealing a hooded servant with a stern expression. His eyes, barely visible beneath the shadow of his hood, narrowed as he took in the group. “What do you want?” he snapped, his tone harsh and impatient.

Dalton, keeping his voice steady, replied, “We need to see Emerson.”

The hooded servant shook his head, the shadows around his face deepening. “We’re in the middle of an inspection of new corpses. We don’t have time for interruptions.”

Ash stepped forward, his voice calm but authoritative. “This isn’t a request. We’re here with an order, we need to see Timmy. Now.”

The servant’s eyes flicked down to the vice officer’s armor Ash wore, noting the two blue stripes that signified his rank. For a moment, there was silence as the servant weighed his options. Finally, with a reluctant grumble, he said, “Fine, but make it quick,” and he slowly pulled the door open wider, allowing the group to enter.

The servant led the party into the room of the morgue, a stark, sterile space illuminated by flickering torches. Inside, they found Emerson, a short, bald man of around sixty years old, with a sparse goatee and a stark bald patch at the center of his head. He was clad in dark attire, with a large black book slung across his back and a belt adorned with various tools, vials, and a sturdy shovel. Emerson looked up from his work and fixed his sharp gaze on the group.

"What brings you here?" he asked in a gruff tone.

Ash stepped forward with authority. "We're here to see Timmy. We need to inspect the body."

Emerson's expression remained guarded. "The body was brought in by the military and is under inspection. Normally, I would require approval from both Sergeant Jake and myself."

Ash didn’t waver. "I am Vice Officer Hemia Brightings, and I hereby approve the inspection."

Emerson's eyes narrowed slightly before a slow grin spread across his face. "Very well. I'll need you to sign a confirmation."

Emerson opened a small wooden box and took out a quill and writing ink. Without hesitation, Ash agreed and took the offered paper, signing it with a decisive stroke. Emerson, still smirking, gestured toward a heavy wooden door. "Follow me..."

As the party walked around the room of the morgue, Ash immediately noticed the flurry of activity around several newly arrived corpses. His gaze narrowed as he asked, "What are you working on here?"

One of the servants, who was carefully inspecting a charred body, looked up and replied, "We've had some corpses come in with severe burn wounds. There was a farm on the outskirts of town, set ablaze by rebels. The bodies were brought here for examination and proper rites."

The servant's tone was grim, and the air in the room felt heavy with the weight of yet another tragedy in Royal Oak. Ash exchanged a concerned glance with the others, realizing that the chaos in the town was even more widespread than they had thought.

The group then followed him a row of wooden shutters. The air was heavy with anticipation as he approached the specific coffin labeled with Timmy's name.

Emerson and a servant worked together to carefully slide out the coffin, their movements deliberate and somber. As the heavy lid was lifted, the sight of Timmy's small, bluish form was met with a collective, quiet gasp from the group. The body was professionally conserved by embalming. The young boy's body bore clear signs of violence—strangulation marks around his neck, vicious peck wounds that seemed inflicted by a bird, and several large dents as if he'd been struck by a heavy bludgeoning weapon.

Ash also inquired about the latest victim, Victor the Librarian. Emerson's usually composed demeanor faltered as he mentioned Victor, a man he had known for decades. "Victor was a good man," Emerson began, his voice tinged with sorrow. "He worked tirelessly for 40 years, starting as a humble servant and eventually becoming the assistant head librarian. He was just a few years away from retirement, and then... they found him dead in a rain barrel last week. Such a senseless loss."

Emerson and the servants led the group to Victor's coffin, where they began to examine the body. Victor had suffered a brutal end—his body bore some wounds that looked like they were made by a slashing weapon such as a sword, his bones showed signs of being struck by a heavy, bludgeoning weapon, and, like Timmy, he had been poisoned. Arth, concerned, asked what kind of poison had been used.

"Standard Willow Vine poison," Emerson replied, his voice steady but his expression grim. "It's a common enough toxin, but deadly in the right hands."

Arth, shaking his head in dismay, muttered, "This is terrible... How could anyone do this?"

Grimmold, his expression darkening, turned to Emerson. "Is this normal? Do you often find bodies with wounds from different causes like this?"

Emerson, his tone now carrying an eerie, reflective quality, replied, "No, it’s uncommon, but in recent months... it has happened, now and then."

He paused, his gaze distant as he spoke more thoughtfully, "What is this desire... that drives man from deep inside?"
He paused again, "What is this primal urge that compels someone to do,... what they do not wish to?"
And continued, "What is this burning sensation, that makes one lose their sanity and commit the unthinkable?"
Then concluded, "A sane man would say, never-...nevermore."

Arth raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the sudden poetic turn, while Grimmold, ever the philosopher, nodded, grasping the deeper implications of Emerson's musings.

Meanwhile, Ash had subtly moved behind Grimmold, her lips moving in a near-silent chant as she cast a spell to detect poison. Her senses tingled as she detected traces of something toxic behind a small door in the wall. Quietly, she relayed this discovery to Grimmold, who nodded and turned back to Emerson.

"Do you keep poisons here?" Grimmold inquired, his tone neutral but probing.

Emerson nodded, unfazed. "Yes, we keep samples of different poisons extracted from bodies, as well as substances like opium. They’re stored safely for examination and... other purposes." His eyes gleamed with a hint of something unspoken as he spoke.

Ash, feeling the weight of responsibility from signing the approval, spoke up with determination, "We should tell Timmy's parents immediately. They deserve to know and see their son."

Arth agreed, nodding firmly. "Yes, it's the right thing to do. Let’s go get them and bring them here."

Without delay, the group exited the somber atmosphere of the morgue and hurried back through the town's winding back alleys. When they reached Timmy's parents, the news was met with tears and a mixture of sorrow and relief. Timmy's mother clutched Arth's arm, her eyes red from crying, and Timmy's father, though stoic, seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders as he prepared to see his son one last time.

As they made their way back to the graveyard, Arth couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that had been gnawing at him. He glanced up and, sure enough, there it was again—a black raven, flying along with them, almost as if it were watching their every move. He nudged Hawk, who lumbered beside him, and pointed out the bird.

"Look, that bird is following us!" Arth whispered, his voice tinged with unease.

Hawk, ever the pragmatist, glanced up and shrugged. "It's just a bird," he grunted dismissively, his simple orcish nature not easily swayed by omens.

Arth sighed, feeling A BIT uneasy, but let the matter drop for now. As they continued on their way, they passed the same group of dwarves and gnomes, who were deep in conversation about the "Brewmaster 2000" and where to collect the best coffee beans. Zippy the gnome, they mentioned, had everything perfectly arranged at the Town Square Soon.

Finally, the group reached the hill leading to the graveyard. Arth noticed a servant leaving in the distance, walking away with a purposeful stride. He wondered briefly where the servant might be going, perhaps enjoying a day off, but the thought quickly slipped away as they approached the morgue once more, the gravity of the situation at hand pulling him back to the task before them.

As the party re-entered the back room of the morgue, they were greeted by Emerson, Dalton, and the servant who had first contacted them. The room was filled with the murmur of their work as they moved around the bodies and tools. Arth glanced around, noticing the absence of the third servant. "Where did the other servant go?" he asked.

Emerson looked up from his tasks and replied, "He left to attend to something."

Timmy's parents were led to the body of their son. Their grief transformed into a mix of relief and joy as they finally saw him. Overwhelmed with gratitude, they offered a small bag of silver and copper coins to the group. Arth, though hesitant, accepted the money with a nod, thinking it might be best to donate it to Michakal.

The party then returned to their investigation. They discovered that Timmy’s body had been embalmed with a combustible powder, which included sulfur. Ash, raising an eyebrow, asked, "Why is it embalmed with this powder?"

Emerson and Dalton both denied any such practice when Ash confronted them. "I assure you, there’s been no embalming with combustible powders," Emerson said firmly. "We only use standard procedures for preservation." Dalton nodded in agreement, adding, "It's not our practice to use such substances for standard embalming."

Grimmold, rubbing the powder off his finger and showing it to the servants, said, “This doesn’t look like standard procedure to me.”

Emerson, now looking increasingly uncomfortable, said, "It must be a misunderstanding. We only use these powders for specific cases, usually for bodies destined for cremation."

Dalton added, “It's possible that there was an error in the record. We’ll double-check everything immediately.”

Arth, being a devoted priest of Michakal, lady of life, watched Grimmold's actions with growing discomfort as well. As the monk nonchalantly rubbed the powder off the corpse, revealing it on his fingers to the servants, Arth couldn't help but grimace.

Turning to Timmy’s parents, Ash asked, "What are your plans for Timmy?"

"He should be buried," the mother responded firmly.

Ash turned back to Emerson, his expression hardening. "This was supposed to be a burial, not a cremation!"

Emerson, visibly nervous, began to blame his two servants for the mistake. He pulled out his black book and with a forced grin, muttered, "There seems to have been an error in the records. The ink tag indicates 'cremation,' but it was just a mistake. I’ll ensure that the body is given a proper burial as it should be."

The atmosphere in the room grew tense as the gravity of the mistake settled over everyone.

Ash, feeling a growing thirst from the tension and the warm atmosphere of the morgue, politely asked if they had something to drink. One of the servants promptly fetched a small barrel from his supplies and poured a generous measure of wine into a cup for Ash. The rich, dark liquid gleamed invitingly. Meanwhile, the rest of the group decided to take some old, stale water in chipped cups. Emerson said that the wine is a bit still and dry, like many things in the graveyard. It comes from a small local distillery here in Royal Oak.

Grimmold started to meticulously rub off the compound from Timmy's body, his movements were deliberate and precise. Each stroke of his cloth was measured, as he worked to reveal the truth beneath the embalming substance. Arth watched him with a mix of curiosity and concern, his brows furrowed as he observed this unusual practice.

Arth took a step back, his unease evident in his expression. "Grimmold," he said softly, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and disapproval, "We should be more respectful. The dead deserve dignity, not...this."

Grimmold glanced up briefly, his expression calm and matter-of-fact, and then continued rubbing the body.

As Emerson's frustration boiled over, he turned to the nervous servant, his voice rising in anger. “You were responsible for the embalming, weren’t you? How could you make such a grave mistake?”

The servant’s hands trembled as he replied, “N-no, I didn’t do it! Someone else—someone I don’t know—handled the embalming. I swear, it wasn’t me!”

The servant’s eyes darted nervously around the room. “I—I really have to go,” he stammered, attempting to squeeze past Hawk.

Hawk, watching intently, stepped closer to the servant, his massive frame blocking the exit. “You’re not going anywhere until we get some answers,” Hawk growled, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

The servant tried to maneuver around the big orc, but Hawk planted his feet firmly, crossing his arms. “You’ll stay right here. We need to know who else had access to the embalming room.”

Emerson, seeing the tension, snapped at the servant, “If you’re not the one who did this, then who else could have? You need to explain yourself!”

The servant swallowed hard, clearly overwhelmed. “I—I don't know what to tell you, just please let me go. I don’t know much. I was just another assistant. The actual embalmer can be anyone.”

Dalton, now looking concerned, added, “We’ll investigate and make sure that we find out who it was.”

As the party prepared to leave the morgue, Dalton approached Arth discreetly, tugging at his sleeve to get his attention. The group had just finished their inspection and was ready to pursue other leads, like finding out and speaking with Timmy’s friends, searching the missing servant, talking with a local beggar who has seen more, or perhaps with army sergeant Jake. There are multiple options.

“Could we have a word outside the graveyard?” Dalton asked quietly, casting a nervous glance around to ensure they weren’t overheard.

Ash, sensing the urgency in Dalton's voice, nodded in agreement. The group followed Dalton out of the graveyard and into a quieter area nearby.

Dalton took a deep breath and began, “I’ve been here for years, and I’ve seen some odd things, but this—” he gestured vaguely towards the morgue, “—the embalming with combustible material, it seems deliberate. I can’t shake the feeling that it was done on purpose. Emerson’s been having these outbursts lately, and it’s clear he doesn’t trust me, despite my years of service. I’m worried.”

Arth looked at Dalton with a thoughtful expression. “We appreciate you sharing this. We’ll keep it in mind as we investigate further.”

Ash added, “Thank you for coming forward, Dalton. We’ll make sure this information is considered in our search for the truth.”

Dalton nodded gratefully and gave a small, relieved smile. “Thank you. I hope you find the answers you’re looking for. Good luck.”

With that, the party bade Dalton farewell and returned to their investigation, now with additional suspicions about Emerson’s practices and Dalton's integrity.

As the group walked back through the town's winding streets, their minds were occupied with what to do next. Arth suggested they should look out for a beggar, someone who might have seen something unusual. The rest of the group agreed, and they began to scan the streets for any sign of him.

As they moved forward, Ash noticed the black bird again, the same one that had been watching them at the graveyard. This time, it flew down and landed on the shoulder of an old woman who was carrying a bowl of green apples. "Arth," Ash said quietly, pointing out the bird. "It's that bird again!"

Arth frowned, recognizing the familiar presence. "It’s been watching us," he murmured.

The group approached the old woman, and Ash asked her about the bird. The woman, with a dry and crackling voice, replied, "This bird is called 'Beo.' It belongs to Emerson, the caretaker." She introduced herself as 'Granny,' a name well-known to the people of Royal Oak.

Ash, curious, asked where she was headed. "I'm bringing these apples to Bill the merchant's stand on the town square," Granny replied.

Hawk, feeling a bit peckish, bought two apples from her, offering a silver and a copper coin. Granny took the coins without complaint, pocketing the silver with a glint in her eye.

As they stood there, discussing their next move, Granny suddenly muttered under her breath, "Stupid rats are around here, not good for the children playing." Without warning, she chanted softly, and a small bolt of lightning shot from her finger, incinerating a group of rats nearby.

Arth gasped, startled by the unexpected display of magic. He turned to say something to Granny, but she had already begun to walk away. Before Arth could blink, she disappeared around the corner, leaving the group standing there, more puzzled than before.

As the group stood in the fading evening light, Ash began to chant softly, invoking a minor power that allowed him to speak with animals. The others watched curiously as he approached the raven, offering it some cheese. The bird cocked its head and, to their astonishment, replied, "Greetings, stranger."

Ash began conversing with the raven in its own language, making a series of ‘krah’ sounds. The rest of the group exchanged bewildered glances, with Selene raising an eyebrow and Hawk muttering, "I didn’t know Ash could talk to birds… Is that normal?"

Arth shook his head slowly, his priestly robes fluttering in the evening breeze. "It’s definitely not common in where I come from," he murmured, half-amused, half-wary.

Ash, undeterred by his companions' reactions, continued his chat with the raven. He asked the bird if it had seen the murderers causing chaos in the town. The raven’s reply was unsettlingly casual: "Oh yes, I have seen many murders around here..."

Selene crossed her arms, watching Ash with a mix of suspicion and interest. "This is getting weirder by the minute," she whispered to Grimmold, who merely nodded in agreement, eyes fixed on Ash’s strange conversation.

Ash then asked the raven if it knew of any murderers, to which the bird cawed back, "Krahh... go to the thieves' guild!"

"And how should we get there?" Ash inquired, still in bird-speak. The raven flapped its wings and responded, "Knock three times! Krahhh!...Follow me!" before taking off into a side alley.

Ash turned to the others, his expression serious. "We need to follow the raven to the thieves guild where we need to knock three times on a door."

Selene and Arth exchanged a glance, both clearly skeptical. "Thieves' guild...? I have my doubts, Ash," Arth said, his voice edged with concern. "But… if you think this is the way, then let's go."

The group hurried after the raven, eventually finding themselves in an alley that ended in a fence.

"Now what?" Ash asked aloud, half-expecting the bird to have flown off. Instead, the raven perched on the fence and cawed, "Kraahhh...the plank of the fence at the end of the alley!"

Hawk walked in front to the back of the alley, flexing his muscular arms, pushed against the indicated plank. It gave way easily, revealing a passage under the fence that led into another alley.

They crawled through, emerging into a darker, more dilapidated area of the town. The buildings here were run-down, with sagging roofs and crumbling walls. Puddles of stagnant water dotted the ground, and the only light came from the occasional flicker of a candle through a grimy window.

"This place is giving me the creeps," Arth muttered, her eyes darting around as they took in the dismal surroundings. "I don’t like this at all."

The raven continued to guide them, its cawing echoing eerily in the narrow, darkening streets. They followed it northward until they hit another dead end in the distance.

Selene and Hawk, blessed with better night vision in the evening, could see a figure sitting on a box at the end of the alley. The person, noticing them, quickly scrambled under a loose fence plank and disappeared. Selene looked in the distance pointed this out to the others. "There! Someone just slipped through that plank. We should check it out."

As they pushed through the fence again, they found themselves in an even more derelict alley. To their right, square buildings loomed twenty feet high, while to the left, smaller houses with pointed roofs leaned precariously. Quite some of the buildings here were abandoned, their doors hanging off hinges, leading into nothing but pitch-black interiors. Some candles and a few lanterns could be seen here and there through the windows, a handful of people seeming to live in this neglected area of the town. Since so few people lived here, these alleys were really dark in the night and not all of the group could see well in the darkness.

Arth’s unease grew palpable. "I really, really don’t like where this is going," he muttered, glancing around nervously. "Are we really doing the right thing by chasing after some flying, cawing bird in the dead of night?"

Ash, resolute, simply nodded. "We’ve come this far. Let’s see where it leads."

The group found themselves surrounded by a narrow, ominous alley with boxes and barrels stacked haphazardly against the crumbling walls. The group quickly assessed their surroundings, noticing the wooden objects lining the alley. The dim light barely illuminated the narrow passage, but it was enough for Selene and Hawk to spot movement on the rooftops. Human figures could be made out, silhouetted against the evening sky, who were drawing their bows. Also one of the windows where a candle flickered, they caught sight of a shadowy figure watching them intently.

Sensing the tension, the party moved cautiously forward. Hawk, ever the bold orc, stepped ahead of the group with his arms wide open. "We come here in peace!" he bellowed, his deep voice echoing through the alley. But his words were met with hostility; arrows suddenly rained down from the rooftops, striking his armor with sharp, metallic thuds. The impact barely staggered him, his thick armor absorbing most of the damage.

Seeing the ambush unfold, Ash quickly ducked behind a nearby barrel, his movements swift and precise as he sought cover. He scanned the area, planning his next move, his heart pounding as he prepared for a counterattack.

Arth, however, was walking forward without hesitation. As he took a step, a heavy iron ball dropped from the roof above, crashing onto his shoulder with brutal force. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through his body, causing him to stagger and clutch his wounded arm. The pain seared through him, and he gritted his teeth, struggling to stay upright.

Realizing they were under attack, the party sprang into action. Hawk roared in fury going into a primordial rage, unsheathing his weapon, while Selene crouched low, readying her Seleneical powers, eyes darting from shadow to shadow, seeking out their hidden assailants. Ash, still concealed, prepared his bow ready to fire back to the attackers. Arth, despite the searing pain, steeled himself, his hand gripping the holy symbol of Michakal, ready to defend his companions.

With a fierce battle cry, Hawk took out a javelin from his backpack. As he prepared to throw, the weapon began to shimmer with an almost holy light, a blessing from his orcish ancestors. He hurled his javelin high into the night sky, the weapon arcing through the darkness before striking an archer perched 20 feet above. The impact sent the archer reeling, his bow clattering to the roof as he struggled to maintain his balance. He quickly picked up the bow, trying to recover himself.

Simultaneously, Selene focused her energy, releasing a bolt of magical blue force that streaked through the air, striking another archer on a lower roof. The blast wounded him severely, causing him to stagger back, clutching his side in pain.

The battle had begun, and the once silent alley was now alive with the sounds of clashing steel, the twang of bowstrings, and the cries of combatants. The party, now fully aware of the danger they were in, fought with every ounce of their strength and cunning, determined to survive this deadly encounter.

The figures on the rooftops had the advantage, partially concealed behind iron railings, making them difficult targets in the dim evening light, especially for those in the party who couldn’t see in the dark.

Ash, hidden behind a barrel, carefully aimed at one of the shadowy figures above. With a steady hand, he released an arrow that flew true, striking the man squarely in the chest. The force of the impact caused the man to stumble forward, losing his balance. He toppled over the railing and fell to the ground with a heavy thud, landing right in front of Arth.

Arth, seizing the opportunity, quickly raised his mace and brought it down with a resounding crack on the man’s shoulder. The blow left the man severely wounded, but still desperate. He drew a dagger and lunged at Arth, the blade flashing in the low light. Arth, caught off guard by the sudden attack, barely managed to step back in time as the dagger missed him by inches.

Then, one of the archers hurled an explosive oil flask from the rooftop. The glass shattered on the ground with a fiery explosion, flames erupting instantly. Arth, reacting quickly, managed to dodge to the side, though the blast grazed him, leaving a minor burn on his arm. The opponent laying in front of Arth, already injured, was caught in the full brunt of the explosion. The flames consumed him in seconds, reducing him to a smoldering heap as the fire spread across the cobblestones.

Meanwhile, Selene, noticing chanting from behind the window, quickly focused her energy. She conjured a bolt of blue, forceful light and hurled it toward the source of the sound. The magical projectile struck the figure behind the window, causing the chant to cease abruptly as the candlelight was extinguished, plunging the room into darkness. A moment of tense silence followed, but the absence of chanting suggested Selene’s attack had hit its mark.

Hawk, spotting the target behind the window through the gloom, took out another javeling which he gripped tightly. With a mighty heave, he hurled the javelin toward the darkened window. There was a moment of silence before a loud grunt of pain echoed from the shadows. Hawk’s keen senses told him all he needed to know—the person in the window wouldn’t trouble them anymore.

The tide of battle seemed to be turning in the party’s favor, but they remained vigilant, knowing that more dangers could still be lurking in the darkened alleyways and behind hidden corners. The night was far from over, and the group prepared themselves for whatever might come next.

As the archers on the roof continued to rain arrows down from their concealed positions, Hawk gritted his teeth and prepared another javelin. The weapon once again glowed with a shimmering, holy light, cutting through the darkness as he hurled it at one of the archers. The javelin struck true, embedding itself in the archer’s side. The man let out a pained cry and, in a panic, turned to flee, disappearing over the edge of the roof in the opposite direction.

Meanwhile, Ash, determined to gain a better vantage point, had spotted a narrow alley between two houses. He noticed a wooden ladder propped up against one of the buildings and quickly began to climb. Halfway up, one of the rickety planks gave way beneath his foot, causing him to dangle precariously for a moment. Gritting his teeth, Ash pulled himself up with sheer determination, finally reaching the top of the building.

From his new perch, Ash had a clear view of the remaining archers. Taking advantage of their focus on the ground battle, he silently nocked an arrow and fired at them from behind. The arrow struck one of the archers square in the back, causing him to stumble forward in shock. "Where did that come from?" one of the archers shouted in alarm, frantically looking around. "We’re being hit from behind!" another yelled, their voices tinged with fear as they tried to pinpoint the source of the unseen attack.

Arth, watching Ash's climb, moved toward the building and positioned himself at the entrance. The oak door hung loosely on its hinges, half broken and barely attached to the frame. Arth stood at the doorway, keeping a vigilant eye on the street, prepared for any new threats that might emerge.

Suddenly, Hawk, who had been enraged by the ongoing fight, felt a strange presence invade his mind. His eyes glazed over as he was mentally compelled to attack his own ally, Arth. With a roar of fury, Hawk charged at Arth, his weapon raised. Arth, sensing something was wrong, held up his hand and shouted, "Hawk, snap out of it!" For a moment, Hawk hesitated, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. The unseen force loosened its grip, and Hawk blinked, the wild rage in his eyes fading. Breathing heavily, he lowered his weapon, regaining control. "I… I’m sorry," he muttered, his voice still tinged with the remnants of the rage he’d just overcome.

Arth nodded, recognizing the influence of some enchanting magic but thankful it soon seems to have worn off. The group remained on high alert, knowing the fight was far from over and that they were up against more than just physical threats.

Arth glanced around the old, decayed room, his eyes locking onto a narrow staircase leading upwards. Without hesitation, he dashed up the stairs, eager to join Ash on the rooftop. Hawk, still shaking off the remnants of his earlier rage, followed close behind, Selene following shortly.

Arth and Selene cautiously ascended the creaking wooden stairs, their footsteps echoing in the darkened building. Before they reached the top, they quickly checked the small, once dimly lit room. There, they saw the mage they had targeted earlier, sprawled lifelessly across a disheveled bed. The javelin Hawk had thrown was embedded deeply in the mage's chest, its shaft still glowing faintly with holy light. The force of the impact had thrown the mage back, leaving him in a twisted, unnatural position on the bed. The scene was eerily silent, the mage's lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

As they reached the roof, they saw the last archer, eyes wide with fear, making a desperate bid for escape. He leaped five feet to the next building, narrowly dodging Ash’s arrows that whizzed past him. The archer didn't look back, fleeing into the darkened townscape until he was swallowed by the night.

With the immediate danger passed, Arth took a moment to tend to his wounds. He chanted a healing prayer to Michakal, the soft white glow of divine energy enveloping his injured shoulder where the iron ball had struck. The pain ebbed away, leaving behind only a dull ache as the flesh knit itself back together.

Seeking more information, Arth invoked another prayer, this time to detect the presence of magic. His senses sharpened, and he felt a faint, lingering aura of magic nearby—nothing strong, but enough to suggest that something unusual was at play.

The group regrouped on the rooftop, and together they searched through the bodies of the fallen. They found a few pieces of useful equipment: studded leather armor, short bows, a handful of copper and silver coins, and a few more intriguing items. Among the loot was a flask of explosive oil, a small pouch of red dust, and a light blue potion. Both the potion and the dust emitted a faint magical aura, hinting at their potential power.

As they examined the items, Arth expressed his growing suspicion that they had been deliberately led into this ambush. “It feels like that raven lured us here,” he said, his brow furrowed with concern. “This all feels too convenient.”

Ash, however, shook his head. “The raven told us to follow it to the thieves' guild,” he reminded the group. “We haven’t even knocked on the door there yet. We might be close to finding out what’s really going on.”

Selene and Hawk exchanged glances, considering Ash’s words. Though Arth was wary, he couldn’t dismiss the possibility that they were on the right track. After a moment of silence, he nodded slowly. “Alright,” he conceded. “But we need to be careful. Whatever we’re walking into, it’s not going to be easy.”

The group, still cautious, agreed to continue their pursuit. With the memory of the raven’s strange guidance and the ambush fresh in their minds, they knew they had to be ready for anything as they moved forward. The night was far from over, and the town of Royal Oak held many more secrets waiting to be uncovered.

After descending from the rooftop, the party settled briefly inside the abandoned building, taking a moment to catch their breath. The lifeless mage still lay on the bed, a grim reminder of the battle that had just unfolded.

Meanwhile, Grimmold, who had been guarding the entrance to the alleyways, decided it was time to regroup with his comrades. He began navigating the maze of narrow back alleys, calling out to the party as he moved. His voice echoed faintly through the dim streets.

Grimmold’s heavy footsteps echoed through the narrow alleys as he advanced, his eyes scanning the darkened path ahead. His brow furrowed in concentration as he heard distant, muffled shouting. It was Ash, though the voice was faint and distant. He stopped in his tracks, his instincts on high alert, then raised his hand to cup his mouth.

"Where are you, lads?" Grimmold bellowed, his deep voice reverberating off the brick walls around him.

He waited for a response, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, but only faint echoes reached him. His impatience grew, and he moved forward, determined to find the group. The labyrinthine alleys made navigation difficult, the narrow passages feeling like a maze. His boot caught on a loose cobblestone, causing him to grunt in frustration.

Ash, hearing Grimmold’s distant voice, informed the others. Selene suggested Grimmold was likely trying to locate them, so Ash climbed back up to the rooftop and shouted in reply, his voice carrying over the rooftops to guide Grimmold.

Ash, now on the rooftop, caught a clearer sense of Grimmold’s call. He leaned over the edge, squinting into the dim light.

"There! That’s Grimmold," Ash said to the group, waving his arm wildly.

"He’s getting closer," Selene observed, looking down at the alley below. "But this place is tricky. We should guide him."

Ash nodded, turned back toward the street, and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Grimmold! Over here!" His voice was louder this time, carrying further.

Following the faint sounds of Ash’s call, Grimmold weaved through the alleys until he reached the end of the fence. The voice still sounded distant. He followed the sound, winding through the alleys, muttering to himself about the confusing layout. Eventually, he reached a section of fence where the wooden planks appeared loose and worn. He paused, inspecting them for a moment. His sharp eyes noticed that the boards had been shifted recently. Pressing against one, it creaked and moved, revealing a small passage just large enough for a person to slip through.

"Hmph. Clever," he muttered.

Pushing through the gap, Grimmold emerged into a wider alley. The scene that greeted him was grim. Bodies of the assailants lay scattered on the ground, lifeless and strewn across the dirt. The aftermath of the fight was evident in the scorch marks and debris, and Grimmold's eyes narrowed as he knelt beside one of the corpses.

"Looks like they’ve been busy," he muttered to himself, inspecting the wounds. The fight had been brutal. The attackers were clearly defeated. Did they stand much of a chance? His gaze traveled over the marks of arcane magic that still lingered in the air.

Rising to his feet, Grimmold scanned the rooftops. Above him, he saw the shadow of Ash, his figure silhouetted against the faint light of the setting sun. Grimmold waved to signal he was close.

"I’m comin' up!" he shouted.

Up on the roof, Ash crossed his arms and smirked. "Took him long enough."

The party stepped outside into the alleyway, a sense of relief washing over them as they reunited with Grimmold. Selene grinned and gave him a solid hug, followed by the others, who greeted him warmly.

“Good to see you again, Grimmold,” Arth said, patting him on the back. “But we should move. Maybe we can search for that beggar we heard about.”

Ash, however, shook his head in disagreement. “No, no, we haven’t gone to the thieves’ guild yet. The bird said to find it and knock three times. That’s our lead.”

Hawk gave Ash a concerned look. “Ash, about that bird- I think it has been manipulating me. I nearly attacked Arth because of it!”

“I know, I know,” Ash replied, a bit defensively. “But I still think the bird’s information was legit. We’ve got to try.”

Grimmold and Hawk exchanged a glance, both of them nodding. “Either way, we need to search for this thieves’ guild,” Grimmold said. “If the bird wasn’t lying, it’s somewhere close. We should investigate.”

The group made their way down the alley, searching for any sign of the hidden entrance. At the far end, Grimmold and Hawk spotted a sturdy oak door, its wood worn but still strong. It stood ominously at the end of the alley, as if daring them to approach.

“There it is,” Hawk said quietly, eyeing the door. “Let’s see if we can get in.”

Grimmold gave a nod, and with a grin, Hawk pulled out a small but heavy battering ram from his inventory. Together, they positioned themselves in front of the door.

“Ready?” Grimmold asked, gripping the ram tightly.

“Let’s bash it in,” Hawk replied.

Hawk grabbed one end and Grimmold the other. With a mighty heave, the two of them swung the ram into the door. The heavy thud echoed through the alley, but instead of giving way, the door emitted a sudden burst of crackling energy. Lightning shot out from the door, striking Grimmold and Hawk, who were thrown back slightly, their bodies jolting from the electric shock. Both were instantly shocked by an electrical trap hidden within the door. The shock that sent the bolts of energy through their bodies was not too strong.

“Damn it!” Grimmold said, shaking his arms as the shock left his system. Hawk groaned, clearly feeling the effect as well.

“It's trapped,” Hawk muttered, rubbing his hands.

Despite the pain, they weren’t ready to give up. With gritted teeth, they swung the ram again. The impact shook the door, but once more, they were met with another surge of electricity.

Before they could react any further, their muscles suddenly tensed, locking up entirely. Both Grimmold and Hawk found themselves paralyzed, unable to move as the door stood unyielding before them. Hawk and Grimmold were now frozen in place.

“Ugh… I can’t… move,” Hawk groaned, his face twisted in pain.

Grimmold grunted in frustration, trying to force his body to respond, but the electricity held him in place. “Some kind of… paralyzing trap.”

Behind them, Ash and Selene looked on with concern. “Great. Now what?” Ash muttered.

As the party stood paralyzed by the magical trap, a small hatch in the oak door suddenly slid open at eye level. A pair of eyes peered through the crack, studying the group with clear suspicion. After a moment, the hatch shut, and to everyone’s surprise, the door creaked open. Standing in the doorway were several rogues clad in leather armor, light crossbows slung at their sides, and short swords ready at their waists.

One man with a long green cloak, stepped forward, giving the the group a bemused look. "I’m Burat," he said, his voice a low, commanding growl. "And I’m one of the people in charge here. And what in the name of all that’s sane are you doing, trying to bash down our door in the middle of the night? Are you out of your minds? You lot are playing with your lives!"

Grimmold and Hawk exchanged quick glances as they felt the paralyzing spell begin to fade, regaining their movement slowly. Hawk, shaking off the last bit of stiffness, rubbed his arms and spoke up. "That door was about to come down. We’ve faced tougher barriers before."

Burat chuckled darkly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Very unlikely. This oakwood door has stood firm for years, through worse than the two of you smashing it with a ram. Moreover, we have mages guarding this place for a reason—to stop people like you from doing something stupid. You're lucky our mages stopped you before something worse did. Did you really think you could just bash your way into a well-guarded guild of thieves?"

Arth stepped forward, keeping his hands visible, trying to ease the tension. "We weren’t here to cause trouble. We were just looking for information, but things got a little... complicated."

"Complicated?" Burat scoffed. "You nearly got yourselves fried. That door’s not just a barrier, it’s a defense mechanism. You should count yourselves lucky."

Ash, always one to play it cool, added, "Look, we didn’t know the door was rigged like that. We just thought—well, no harm in knocking with a little extra force, right?"

Burat shook his head, his eyes narrowing. "I’d say there was plenty of harm. If our mages hadn't intervened and cast a spell to paralyze you, you might’ve lost more than just your pride." He motioned for his men to stand down, their hands still hovering near their crossbows. "So, what is it you want? And make it good, or we’ll finish what the trap started."

Grimmold, ever blunt, took a step closer, still eyeing Burat warily. "We’ve come for information, plain and simple. And we’re not leaving until we get it."

Burat raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Information? You’re willing to risk your lives for some intel?" Some of the other rogues, standing in a line with their crossbows still loosely hanging at their sides, determinedly asked in unison, “So what exactly do you want?”

Arth, stepping forward with a determined glare, responded, "We’re looking for the murderers of Timmy."

Burat furrowed his brow and glanced at his colleagues, his voice skeptical. "Timmy? Never heard of any Timmy." He then turned to his fellow rogues, suspicion dripping from his words. "Sounds like a lie to me."

Arth's eyes narrowed and he snapped back, "It's not a lie!" he retorted, frustrated.

Before the tension could escalate, one of the rogues, a man dressed in leather armor with a long brown cloak, prodded Burat in his side. "Wait a minute," he said, his tone more thoughtful. "I’ve heard of a kid named Timmy who was killed around the town’s square not long ago." He turned his face to Burat. "This story could be true."

Ash, unable to contain his frustration, chimed in. "True or not, I didn’t appreciate the ambush in the alleys outside. Your people shooting at us from the rooftops before we even got here—that’s not how I imagined this would go."

Burat looked genuinely surprised. "Ambush? Rooftops?" Without another word, he sprinted past the group, followed by a few of his men, rushing outside to investigate the bodies littered in the alley.

Arth, Ash, and the others followed at a distance as Burat and a few of his men knelt beside the corpses, inspecting the bodies strewn across the ground. Burat stood, brushing dust off his hands, looking back at the group. "These aren’t our men," he said firmly. "We use crossbows, not short bows like these." He held up an arrow for emphasis. "Whoever attacked you isn’t part of our guild."

Burat added, 'And besides, we don’t randomly attack people in the alleys.'

Ash exchanged a look with Arth, still unconvinced but sensing some truth in Burat’s words.

Burat, wiping his hands on his cloak, motioned for them to follow him into the guild. "So this business is with a murdered kid? You’d better take it up with Bruno. He’s the one you’ll want to speak to." He thought for a second. 'Alright, then. Come inside—but know this, one wrong move, and you won’t be walking back out."

With a final glance between the party members, they cautiously followed Burat and his rogues into the dimly lit thieves' guild, the weight of the encounter still heavy in the air. With that, the tension eased ever so slightly, and the group followed Burat, still wary but ready to meet Bruno and uncover more about Timmy’s fate.

The party followed Burat into the thieves’ guild, their footsteps echoing off the stone floor as they soon entered a large barracks-like room. Oil lamps flickered on the walls, casting dancing shadows across the wooden benches and tables scattered around the space. The scent of old wood and oil filled the air, and the dim lighting gave the room a heavy, secretive atmosphere.

As they stepped further inside, the party was hit with an unexpected sight, around fifty thieves stood in formation, their crossbow bolts aimed directly at them. The tension was palpable, and the party instinctively tensed, ready for anything.

Burat turned around with a smirk, gesturing to the men. "See?" he said, almost smugly. "All the men here have crossbow bolts!", "Now you can relax" His eyes gleamed with a hint of satisfaction, as if proving a point. 'The thieves remained silent, their eyes trained on the group.

"Alright, alright, we get it," Ash nervously muttered under his breath, exchanging a quick glance with Burat, who remained calm but watchful.

They were led through a series of smaller rooms, each one filled with an assortment of items that caught the party’s eye—open closets containing medi-kits, climbing tools, and thieves’ kits. It was clear this guild was well-prepared for all manner of operations.

Finally, they were brought into a more private room, where a middle-aged man sat with his feet propped up on a chair. He wore a green beret adorned with a feather, and his black ring beard framed his face neatly. His cloak was draped casually over another chair beside him. He looked up from scrutinizing some documents as the party entered.

"Ah, our visitors," the man said, his voice smooth but commanding. He slowly lowered his feet and stood, sizing up the group. "I’m Bruno, leader of this guild. So, what brings you to my door, bashing it down like you own the place?"

Arth stepped forward, locking eyes with Bruno. "We’re looking for the ones responsible for the death of a boy named Timmy on behalf of his family. We heard your people might know something."

Arth took a step forward, also addressing Bruno. "We came to investigate the murder of Timmy on behalf of his family. Vice Officer Ash has come all the way from Stone's Way to the east."

Bruno raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly. "Timmy hmm...? And what makes you think we’d know anything about that?"

Bruno’s eyes narrowed, skepticism clear in his gaze. "I don't believe that. For starters, this is not a vice officer," he said, eyeing Ash intently. "When Ash went undercover to investigate the murderers. When he was in his barracks to don his armour, I had a man there who works for me and briefed me on this."

Arth, undeterred, chimed in. "We're here just for information on investigating his death."

Bruno frowned lightly, stroking his beard as he walked around the room. "Well, information’s a valuable thing, and nothing comes for free. But your story about Timmy, this is something I would like to hear more about"

Bruno paused, "So what is the -real reason- you came here at my guild?"

Arth scratched his head, looking confused. "Uhh.., well.., we came to investigate the murders for Rothan Blackshield."

Bruno sat down and leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful look on his face. "You’re not from this town, so that may be true. Rothan Blackshield also hired me and offered 2,000 gold pieces to solve these murders. However, the complete puzzle doesn’t fall into place yet."

Arth nodded. "Rothan Blackshield hired a variety of men, including the army and other adventuring groups. Some of them have disappeared."

Bruno’s expression grew more serious. "Yes, this is interesting. It seems there’s more to this than just local trouble. Let’s hear what you’ve uncovered so far and see if we can put together the pieces of this puzzle."

The party gathered around Bruno, laying out the details they had on the murders. Bruno listened intently, then began to share his own insights.

“The murders from three to four weeks ago—an Army Medic and a Priest—were likely committed by someone from the military. We suspect both an officer and a soldier might have been involved. Rotten fruit was found at the scene, and I have reason to believe the priest was poisoned by it,” Bruno explained.

Arth’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know Beo, the raven, or Emerson?”

Bruno shook his head, a look of disdain crossing his face. “I don’t trust them for a single silver piece. I’m almost certain they’re involved in these murders.”

Bruno continued, “One interesting juicy detail, one of my men overheard something at the marketplace. A man named Vigilantius claimed he saw a murder happen in town. He is a a black robed mage and is known to prefer the quiet, and he roams the forests north of Royal Oak during the night. He rarely comes into town, and his residence is a Seleneery to most.”

Arth nodded thoughtfully. “That sounds like another promising lead. We should look into Vigilantius and also find that beggar who might have witnessed something.”

Grimmold and the rest of the party murmured their agreement, ready to pursue these new leads in the search for the truth behind the murders.

As the party continued their discussion with Bruno, a rogue hurriedly entered the room and approached Bruno. “One of the fleeing archers was killed on the roofs by our men,” the rogue reported. “The other managed to escape.”

Bruno nodded in acknowledgment. “Those could very well be associated with Lord Ignatus of Silverdale. He’s known for smuggling illegal opium into nearby towns and making quite a profit. It’s plausible that these men were part of Ignatus’s operation, and their activities might be running parallel to the murders.”

Arth frowned. “So, there’s a chance these murders and these smuggling operations are connected?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Bruno replied. “We haven’t found any logos or identifying marks on the bodies. It seems they use innuendo and subtle signals to communicate and identify each other.”

Ash looked thoughtful. “That complicates things. We’ll then need to dig deeper into this Ignatus’s operations and find out if there’s a connection to the murders.”

With this new piece of information, the party prepared to pursue their next leads, determined to unravel the tangled web of intrigue and violence that had engulfed Royal Oak.

Bruno reached into a drawer and pulled out a heavy bag. He set it on the table and opened it, revealing a kilo of white opium. With a sly grin, he asked Arth if he knew the current price.

“Do you know the current market price for this, Arth?” Bruno asked, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

Arth, caught off guard by the sudden display, looked at the bag and shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t. Can you enlighten me?”

Bruno said, "the price is 1:1. And this is one kilo of white powder"

Arth, now thinking, was scratching his head.

Grimmold said, "that would be 1,000 gold pieces in total..."

Bruno nodded and explained, “Indeed, the price is 1:1—one gram equals one gold piece, which is a pretty good market price at the moment.”

Understanding dawned on Arth. “So this bag is worth 1,000 gold pieces?”

“Exactly,” Bruno confirmed. “Lord Ignatus is rumoured to deliver 20 to 30 kilograms of opium each month to surrounding towns. You can imagine the scale of his operation and the profits he’s raking in. He smuggles it using caravans or other methods.”

Hawk’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of money!”

Bruno continued, “Ignatus often deals samples to buyers in advance. To verify the authenticity of the opium, you need a toolkit. By heating and dropping the oil on specific powders, you can see if it stays white—real opium.”

Arth remembered a red powder found among their defeated enemies' possessions and shared this with Bruno. The thief leader summoned a rogue who brought a toolkit. The rogue analyzed the red powder and confirmed, “Yes, this is indeed opium.”

Bruno nodded. “Here, you can take this kilo. It might be useful for identifying other opium.”

Grimmold chuckled, “With 1,000 gold pieces now in our pockets, we could throw a party.”

Arth sighed, not quite sharing Grimmold’s enthusiasm. He said, “That’s one way to look at it. But we still have a lot of work ahead of us.”

The weight of their discoveries and the grim reality of their investigation hung heavy as they prepared to move forward, still determined to unravel the Seleneery

The group thanked Bruno for the discussion and made their way out of the room, walking back through the dimly lit halls of the thieves' guild. As they entered the main room, the scene was bustling with activity. Rogues sat around tables, counting piles of gold coins and carefully evaluating red gemstones under the flickering light of oil lamps. Others were meticulously inspecting their tools—grapnels, hooks, lock picks—ensuring everything was in perfect condition. Conversations buzzed through the room, as some thieves exchanged tips and strategies, while others casually chatted and laughed among themselves.

The atmosphere was alive with the constant hum of secretive business, the essence of the thieves’ world laid bare before them. Arth glanced around with a sense of unease, while Ash kept his eyes on their exit, eager to leave this den of criminals behind. Selene gave a nod of acknowledgment to a few of the rogues as they passed, but her mind was elsewhere, still turning over the clues they'd gathered. Hawk and Grimmold, on the other hand, seemed less affected, more intrigued by the underground life that pulsed within the walls.

As they stepped out into the cooler night air, the weight of their mission settled back over them. The guild had given them leads, but the Seleneery was far from solved.

The group exited the thieves' guild and found themselves back in the shadowy alley, the cool night air a stark contrast to the dim hustle of the guild's inner rooms. As they gathered in a small circle, Arth suggested cautiously, "Should we really be hunting for some black-robed mage in the middle of the night? A dark forest seems like the last place we want to be right now." His voice carried a tone of weariness mixed with dread.

Selene chimed in, “I have to agree with Arth. The idea of stumbling around the woods at night trying to find Vigilantius just sounds like inviting trouble.” She glanced at Grimmold, who nodded in agreement.

"I agree, better we rest first," Grimmold said gruffly. “Besides, nothing good ever happens in the dead of night in these parts.”

Ash, ever the pragmatic one, added, “Let’s head back to Rupert’s Finest Inn. We could use a break and the night’s still young. Maybe we’ll get some more information in the morning.”

Selene suddenly raised her hands with a grin, “And let’s not forget, we still have Pierro's and Binky's clown show! Hooray, let’s go see the clowns!”

Arth threw his hands up in the air, groaning, “Oh no, not the clowns. Anything but that!” His expression was one of utter despair, as if the thought of sitting through a clown show was more terrifying than facing down dark mages in the woods.

The rest of the group, despite Arth's reluctance, began making their way back toward the inn, laughing and teasing him along the way. The promise of rest—and an evening of comic relief—beckoned them forward.

As the party arrived at the bustling Town’s Square, they were greeted by a sea of people. Multi-colored lights flashed from inside Rupert’s Finest Inn, casting a festive glow over the square. Hundreds of townsfolk—humans, dwarves, gnomes, halflings, and even a few orcs—mingled outside, their voices a chorus of laughter and chatter. Tankards of beer clinked together as groups huddled around wooden benches, toasting the lively evening. The noise inside the inn was even louder, a cacophony of cheers and applause hinting at the raucous performance underway.

When the group approached the inn’s entrance, two brawny men blocked their path, arms crossed. “One silver piece each for the performance,” one of the men grunted, eyes scanning the party.

Arth, frowning, stepped forward. "We already have rooms here. We shouldn’t have to pay extra just to enter," he protested, his voice tinged with frustration.

The guards didn’t budge. “Performance fee,” one said flatly, clearly unimpressed by Arth’s objection.

With a sigh and some grumbling, the group dug into their pouches, handing over the silver coins. Once the toll was paid, they stepped into the inn.

The interior was a whirlwind of chaos. The main room was packed with hundreds of patrons, from all walks of life. Tables were crowded with people sitting shoulder to shoulder, while others stood wherever they could find space. The bar, swamped by thirsty patrons, was nearly impossible to reach. The air was thick with laughter, clinking mugs, and the booming sounds of Pierro and Binky’s performance echoing from the far end of the room.

Ash scanned the room with a chuckle, “I don’t think we’re getting a drink anytime soon.”

Selene, ever excited, clapped her hands. “Who cares about drinks? Let’s find a good spot to see the clowns!”

Arth groaned, rubbing his temples. “By Michakal and the other gods, what have we gotten ourselves into?”

Pierro and Binky were in full swing with their performance. The crowd roared with laughter as Pierro delivered his jokes. "Did you know I was an accountant before I became a clown?" Pierro asked with a grin. "Well, an accountant’s job is just clowning around anyway, right?" The punchline hit, drawing hearty chuckles from the audience. Pierro continued, "And why did they close the graveyard? Because people were dying to get in!" More laughter echoed through the packed room, the atmosphere electric with mirth.

Suddenly, Pierro shifted gears and placed a hat on the stage table. With a flourish, he reached inside and dramatically pulled out a golden snake. The crowd gasped in surprise, though many knew this had to be part of the act. Binky, wide-eyed and pretending to be alarmed, waved his arms frantically.

"Pierro! Have you lost your mind?" Binky yelled, his voice quivering with exaggerated fear. "You can’t summon a highly poisonous snake with all these people here! Are you trying to get us killed?" His voice rose in mock outrage as he scolded his partner.

Pierro smirked, clearly enjoying the chaos. "Relax, Binky. I’ve got this under control," he said with a wink to the audience.

As they bickered back and forth, the golden snake slithered off the stage unnoticed, winding its way toward the crowd. The audience, at first laughing, had some people started looking around nervously as they questioned whether the snake was still part of the show.

From the corner of the room, Ash leaned forward, a little nervous, eyes narrowing. “Uh… is that part of the act?” he whispered to Selene, who was giggling at the clowns' antics.

Selene shrugged. “Probably. But it’s a good one, isn’t it?”

Meanwhile, Arth sighed heavily, his arms crossed. “Of course, the night has to end with a runaway snake,” he muttered under his breath.

As the next act began, Pierro and Binky scanned the crowd for a volunteer, and before anyone else could react, Selene shot both hands up excitedly. “Me! Me!” she called out, bouncing on her toes.

The clowns grinned at her enthusiasm, each taking one of her hands and guiding her towards the stage. The crowd murmured in anticipation as she was asked to lie down on a long table, her torso fitting neatly into a chest that was part of the act. “Wait... you’re going to saw me in half?” Selene asked with wide eyes, half excited, half unsure.

“Of course!” Pierro said, winking. “Don’t worry, it’s completely safe. We’ve done this... many times.”

Binky, holding a large book, began flipping through the pages. “Let’s see... sawing someone in half... ah, Chapter 31. Hmm, step one: get a volunteer. Done! Step two: don't panic.” He exaggeratedly squinted at the book, mumbling aloud as though he was inexperienced. This drew laughter from the audience, who were now eagerly anticipating the trick.

While Pierro distracted the crowd with more jokes, Binky leaned over to whisper in Selene's ear, "The saw is hollow. Nothing’s going to happen to you. We use mirrors behind the stage to make it look like your legs and body are separate."

Selene nodded, her excitement growing as she understood how the trick worked. Pierro made a big show of wielding the saw and began the "cutting." The audience gasped in wonder, leaning forward in their seats as the illusion unfolded. There were audible gasps of "Oooh" and "Aahh" as Selene appeared to be sawed in half.

Meanwhile, Grimmold, ever the showman himself, decided to add his own flair to the scene. Chanting softly, he caused a small plume of smoke to rise dramatically from the chest just as Selene was "reassembled." When Selene stepped out of the chest, whole and unharmed, she was met with thunderous applause from the audience.

Pierro and Binky took exaggerated bows, gesturing to Selene, who gave a playful curtsy, reveling in the spotlight. The crowd cheered even louder, with some shouting, "Bravo!" and "Amazing!"

Arth, watching from the back, shook his head with a smile. “Leave it to Selene to make a spectacle even more... spectacular,” he muttered, though he couldn’t help but clap along.

After the performance, Arth waded through the crowd toward the bar, hoping to quench his thirst. But when he arrived, he was faced with a line of at least fifteen people all clamoring for drinks. Grumbling, he resigned himself to the wait, catching snippets of conversations around him to pass the time.

He overheard a now very familiar dwarf with an orange beard, gesticulating wildly and speaking in a loud, emotional voice. "What do you mean, 'with his niece'?!" the dwarf exclaimed to his companion. "And what do you mean with 'but it was dark'? Like that's some kind of excuse!" Arth shook his head, amused, remembering seeing this dwarf before, always in some heated discussion.

Nearby, two gnomes were talking in hushed tones, sharing rumors about a black-robed mage named Vigilantius. "He walks in the northern forest at night," one gnome whispered. "Creepy, since he's a necromancer. But they say he's friendly... as long as you treat him right. Maybe he's just lonely."

While Arth waited in line, Grimmold decided to approach Binky, who was chatting with other patrons after his performance. "That was quite the show!" Grimmold said, striking up a conversation.

Binky beamed. "Thanks, mate! You know, I didn’t always do this. I actually studied to become an anaesthetist in Silverdale."

Grimmold scratched his head. "An anaes... now what is that?"

"An anaesthetist!" Binky said proudly. "It’s someone who sedates people before surgery. The army even said I could join as a vice officer if I finished my studies. But, well... I prefer helping the local doctor here. And I’ve got my own method for sedation," he added with a grin, pulling out an enormous two-handed hammer nearly two meters tall.

Grimmold’s eyes widened as he took the hammer in his hands. It was heavier than it looked. "This... for sedation?"

"Yep!" Binky nodded. "Smithy in Royal Oak made it for me. Works wonders in keeping the patients nice and quiet."

Grimmold chuckled. "I suppose that would knock someone out, all right."

Feeling parched, Grimmold mentioned he was thirsty. Binky, always eager to help, winked and said, "No worries, I’ll get you a drink." Without hesitation, Binky dashed past the long line of people at the bar, much to Arth’s dismay, and returned moments later with two drinks.

"Here you go!" Binky said, handing one to Grimmold.

Arth, still stuck in line, threw his hands up in frustration. "I’ve been waiting forever, and this guy just waltzes right past!"

Binky shrugged with a grin. "Perks of being tonight’s star, my friend! Performers always get served first."

When Grimmold returned to the group, Hawk raised an eyebrow and remarked, "That huge hammer Binky has could surely be a murder weapon!"

Grimmold, nodding thoughtfully, replied, "Yeah, the bruises and impact could match a weapon like that. But honestly, Binky seemed pretty relaxed. I don’t think he’s acting strange enough to be involved in the murders. He said it was made at the smithy."

Hawk frowned. "Wait, they make the clowns at the smithy?"

Grimmold gave him an irritated look. "No, the hammer! They make the hammer at the smithy, not the clowns."

The group shared a chuckle before deciding to call it a night. The excitement of the evening had worn them out. Grimmold headed to the hayloft, where the innkeeper had told him he could sleep, while Selene, with a mischievous grin, nestled herself comfortably with a bottle, possibly indulging in some late-night drink before turning in.

Arth, Ash, and Hawk each made their way to their own beds, ready for a night of rest before whatever the next day would bring.

The party got up the next morning, and as they sat around the breakfast table, Arth mentioned, "We’ve got plenty of leads to follow, but I think we should start by finding that beggar who might’ve seen something about little Timmy's murder."

Around them, some patrons were still sleeping off the festivities from the previous night, draped over tables, slumped in chairs, and even lying under the furniture. After a hearty meal, they left the inn and headed toward the alleys near the town's square, where beggars often gathered.

There were plenty of beggars in sight, and soon they spotted one who had lost a leg. Arth, playing the role of Hawk, handed him a silver piece and asked if he’d seen anything strange related to Timmy’s murder. The beggar shifted nervously, shaking his head. "No, sir, I haven’t seen anything."

Arth then inquired about the beggar's missing leg. The man pointed a gnarled finger toward Hawk and said bitterly, "Orcs did that to me. Orcs! ... That’s why I hate 'em."

Hawk, standing tall beside Arth, crossed his arms and replied evenly, "Not all orcs are the same, old man."

The beggar gave Hawk a wary look, but said nothing more.

Meanwhile, Selene had wandered over to another beggar, one who reeked of filth and neglect. She sat down beside him and asked softly if he’d seen anything suspicious. The man scratched his scruffy beard and muttered, "Nah, haven’t seen nothin’ strange as of lately, lass. However, bad things happen ‘round here all the time... it spooks people. I have had my fair share, but old Sep down the alley, yeah he is really traumatized like he experienced some horror event!"

Selene stood up, nodding toward the group. "Looks like we’ve got another name to chase- Sep!"

The party immediately hurried down the alley toward Old Sep, who was just a few paces away. They approached the frail old man and looked at him. Sep was hunched over, barely able to sit upright, his body showing the weight of his many years. His clothes were tattered, and he looked as though he hadn’t eaten in days. When Ash spoke to him gently, asking if he had any information about Timmy, Sep’s voice wavered as he rambled about his past. "I used to sail," he muttered, "on boats to the Eastern Islands... but no one ever comes back from there now. Something's wrong there... really really wrong."

Arth, eager to stay on track, leaned closer and asked about Timmy’s murder. At the mention of the boy's name, Sep's whole demeanor changed. His body tensed, and fear took over his face. His eyes widened, darting around the alley as though someone might be watching.

Ash stepped forward, his tone soothing. "It’s alright, Sep. We’re here to help. You’re safe with us."

"Please, just tell us what you know," Arth urged, his voice low but pressing.

Sep hesitated, his voice very shaky. "I... I saw something... last week." His eyes filled with terror as he continued. "There was a soldier... he strangled the little boy. But there was more... there was an old woman there too, leaning on a staff. And... and a clown..." Sep’s voice dropped to a whisper. "But not a normal clown... no. His face... it had sharp teeth, like a monster. His eyes were blood red. A horror clown!"

Grimmold, ever skeptical, raised an eyebrow and muttered, "Well, some clowns are like that..." But the sarcasm in his voice didn’t cut through the tension hanging in the air.

Sep wasn’t finished. He continued in a trembling voice, "Across the plaza... there was a man, a figure in black robes. He just stood there... watching. He didn’t move, didn’t try to stop it." Sep’s voice quivered. "Just watched, like he was waiting for something to happen."

Ash exchanged glances with the others. "Sounds like that could be a mage."

Arth, frowning, rubbed his chin. "We’re not sure yet, but it’s definitely another lead. Sep, you’ve been a great help. Thank you."

Arth, desperate for any more leads, turned to Old Sep. "Do you know anything about the illegal opium trade? I’ve got some here. Do you want a sniff?"

Sep, already worn out and emotionally unstable, hesitated before nodding. "Yes... just a little, gimme!" he croaked. Arth carefully opened the bag of opium and Sep immedeately took a deep inhalation.

In an instant, Sep’s eyes widened in shock and then closed as he collapsed to the ground. The party watched in horror as his body went limp. Grimmold was the first to react, rushing over to check Sep’s pulse. His face fell as he announced, "He’s dead!"

The party was stunned into silence. Arth’s face turned pale as the reality of what had happened sank in. Selene’s eyes were wide with disbelief. "What have you done, Arth? We were trying to help him!"

Grimmold’s frustration was evident as he shouted, "You’ve just killed old Sep! What were you thinking?"

Arth, in a state of shock and guilt, could only stammer, "I... I didn’t know it would kill him. I just wanted to get more information..."

Ash voice was a mix of anger and concern. "You’re a priest! How could you not know this could happen?"

Arth knelt down in front of Sep’s lifeless body, his hands trembling as the weight of what had just happened sank in.

Arth’s voice was shaky, trying to defend himself. "I... I didn’t mean for this to happen. He just took a sniff! How was I supposed to know he’d die from it?" His words sounded more desperate with every syllable.

Grimmold’s face was stern. "This man was already fragile! A deep breath like that? It’s no wonder he’s dead now. We’ve got another body in the alley, and it's your doing!"

Selene, standing nearby, shook her head in disbelief. "What kind of priest are you, Arth? Offering opium to an old beggar?" Her voice was carried deep disappointment.

Panic gripped Arth as the reality of the situation hit him. He wasn’t ready to accept that Sep’s death was on his hands. "No, no... I can fix this. He raised his hands over Sep’s body, muttering words under his breath, calling on the divine power of Michakal. His hands glowed softly with a radiant energy as he began casting a power named Spare the Dying.

The magic radiated from Arth’s hands, soft golden threads of light weaving down toward Sep’s still form. However as it seemed the spell might take hold, the light flickered—and vanished. The energy stopped at Sep’s cold skin, unable to penetrate his body.

Arth gasped in disbelief. "No... it’s not working. Why isn’t it working?"

Grimmold sighed, exasperated. "Because the man’s already gone..."

The alley has immedeately grown quiet, with beggars having fled the scene. The weight of Sep’s death hung heavily over the group.

Ash looked around, his eyes scanning the alley. "Maybe we need to get out of here. The beggars have scattered—they may've seen what just happened, and we don’t need more trouble."

Selene nodded. "He's right. If word spreads that we’re responsible for another death, we’ll have every guard in this town on our backs."

Grimmold glared at him. "We clean up this mess, that’s what."

The party stood in uneasy silence, staring at the lifeless body of Old Sep. Arth, still pale from the shock of the beggar's sudden death, was the first to speak. "We need to leave. Now. Before the town guards show up."

Grimmold crossed his arms, his frustration clear. "And what about Sep? You think we can just walk away and leave his corpse here in the alley?"

Arth sighed deeply. "No, he deserves better than that. We’ll take him to the graveyard. Ash and I can handle it. We’ll make sure he’s dealt with properly, out of sight before anyone notices."

The group exchanged hesitant glances. Selene shook her head. "I don’t know if this is the right way to handle it, Arth. He was a person, not just another casualty. He should be respected, not hidden away."

Grimmold nodded in agreement. "The man deserves some dignity, even if he was just a beggar."

Arth, guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders, bent down and carefully wrapped Sep’s body in a tattered blanket. He lifted the frail corpse onto his back, his face grim with determination. "I’ll make sure he’s dealt with properly. He didn’t deserve this."

Ash, ever practical, stepped forward to help. "I’ll come with you. We’ll be quick, and we’ll make sure no one sees."

As they prepared to leave the alley, the rest of the party remained unsure, but the urgency of the situation kept them moving. Grim faces all around, they headed for the graveyard, knowing that with each passing moment, their involvement in Sep’s death became harder to hide.

As Arth and Ash made their way up the hill towards the graveyard, the weight of Sep’s body felt heavier with each step. The morning sun had risen, casting a soft light on the town, and people were beginning to stir. Several townsfolk walked in and out of the cemetery, some carrying flowers, others tending to the graves of their loved ones. The open cemetery gate swung lazily in the breeze, inviting them in, yet the scene felt anything but peaceful to the two men.

The flowerbeds surrounding the graves were meticulously kept, offering a strange contrast to the grim task Arth and Ash were about to undertake. As they neared the entrance, Arth’s eyes caught a familiar sight—a black bird perched on a low-hanging branch near one of the cemetery walls. Its glossy feathers gleamed in the sunlight, and its beady eyes seemed fixed on them.

As Arth and Ash passed under the cemetery gate, just as they approached, the black bird on the branch cocked its head, watching them with gleaming eyes. Then, suddenly, the bird let out a sharp screech, its call lingering in the air longer than normal. But this wasn’t a regular bird call—there was something unnerving about it as it was mocking from its perch, almost as if the bird itself knew the trouble they were in and was taking delight in their misfortune.

"Hii... hihihi... hiiiii!" the bird cackled, its voice sharp and vicious, like nails scraping against stone. The eerie laugh echoed through the cemetery, sending a shiver down their spines.

Arth winced at the sound, a chill running down his spine. "That bird...!" he muttered, glancing at Ash. "It's almost like it's laughing at us."

Ash, always level-headed, narrowed his eyes at the creature. "Let's ignore it. We have enough to worry about." But even he couldn’t help but feel the unease creeping in.

The screech continued to echo faintly in the background as they passed through the cemetery gates, both men painfully aware that something—or someone—seemed to be watching them.

Grimmold, Selene, and Hawk split from Arth and Ash, determined to find more clues from any children Timmy might have played with near his home. The streets were quiet, but soon Selene spotted a young boy, dressed sharply in a neat grey suit.

She approached him with a warm smile. "Hello there! How are you today?"

The boy barely glanced at her, his expression cool and indifferent. "Do you always speak to strangers like this?" he asked, with a slight sneer. "I'm the son of a noble, you know. One day, I'll inherit my father's mansion."

Selene raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the arrogance of the child. "Are you by chance Lord Ignatus's son?" she inquired, half out of curiosity.

The boy scoffed. "Hardly," he replied, his tone dripping with superiority.

Selene rolled her eyes internally. What an arrogant child, she thought, and without another word, she turned and walked away. She knew she wasn't going to get any useful information from him.

As Grimmold and Hawk stood at the street corner, they noticed a group of children passing by, guided by two teachers. The kids were lively, their chatter filling the air with youthful energy. Hawk, seizing the moment, called out to them.

"Hey! Any of you know a boy named Timmy?"

In an instant, the children's focus shifted. They all spoke at once, their voices overlapping in excitement. "We do! We do!" one child exclaimed, and another added, "We also have a school project! We want to try our first-aid bandages!"

Before Hawk could protest, the entire group was surrounding him. The children were small compared to the massive orc, barely reaching his waist, but their little hands moved swiftly as they began wrapping him in bandages from head to toe. "Hold on, wait—" Hawk, towering over them, tried to object, his deep voice rumbling with warning, but it was too late. The children's enthusiasm was unstoppable, and despite his size and strength, Hawk was nearly transformed into a human-sized mummy. The layers of cloth wound tightly around his muscular frame, making it difficult even for someone as large and powerful as him to move. His hulking figure, wrapped from head to toe, looked comically out of place amidst the giggling children.

Grimmold watched, barely holding back laughter, while the two teachers rushed forward, their faces filled with embarrassment.

"We're sorry!" one of them apologized. "The children get a bit... overenthusiastic with their projects."

"Well, at least they’ve got good technique," Hawk muttered, shaking his head.

In the aftermath of the chaos, the children became more focused. "Timmy," one girl said, "he used to play with his two best friends a lot. They're over by the old well near his house most days."

Grimmold nodded, grateful for the lead and let the children play on with their first aid project.

As Arth and Ash made their way through the quiet cemetery, they approached a servant near the entrance, a middle-aged man wearing a sandy-colored robe. Arth shifted the weight of Sep's wrapped body on his shoulder and asked, "Where should we take someone who's recently passed?"

The servant, without looking too surprised at the sight, replied in a steady tone, "Due to the recent murders and the ongoing festivities, every body must be inspected first. You'll need to take it to the morgue."

Arth nodded and thanked him, though a slight unease crept over him. He and Ash continued toward the morgue, nestled quietly in the center of the graveyard. The structure was dark and somber, its stone walls weathered and stained from years of use.

Entering the morgue, the air turned colder, and a musty scent hung in the air. The space was divided, with a row of ovens to the left and rows of coffin doors to the right. The doors were labelled with either a green tag for burial or a red tag for cremation. Sep's body still lay draped over Arth's shoulder, growing heavier with each step.

After a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, Arth approached a set of coffin doors. His eyes flicked over the red and green labels, and he chose one without any tag—the coffin being unmarked and unlabelled. With quiet precision, he carefully placed Sep's wrapped corpse into the slot, sliding the body into the hollow space. Now the corpse being put in an empty hole would make sure it bypassed the mandatory inspection routine.

After securing the body of Sep in one of the unlabelled coffin slots inside the morgue, Arth carefully made his way back to the front hall. He needed to ensure the body would not attract any unnecessary attention. As he searched through the morgue's drawers, his eyes fell upon a set of colored labels, neatly stacked in one of the compartments. There were the two types he'd seen before: green for burial and red for cremation. Without hesitating, Arth picked up a red label, knowing full well what it signified.

His mind raced. Attaching a cremation label would make sure no one inspected Sep’s body too closely before it was burned. He glanced around, confirming no one was watching, then quietly made his way back to the coffin slot where Sep’s body lay. Arth attached the red label to the door, ensuring it was securely in place. Arth stepped back and muttered to himself, “Mission accomplished.”

Ash stood nearby, his eyes scanning the room nervously. "You sure about this?" he muttered.

Turning to Ash, Arth nodded. "It’s done. Let’s get out of here before anyone starts asking questions." Together, they slipped out of the morgue, leaving Sep’s unmarked resting place behind, hidden in the maze of the dead.

"We don't have time for more questions," Arth replied, sealing the door with a soft click. His fingers lingered on the cold metal for a moment before stepping back.

As he turned to leave, his heart raced a little faster than usual. He knew this could be risky, but he needed to cover his tracks. No one could trace Sep’s death back to them, and with the chaos of the recent murders and festivities, this would just be one more body that passed through unnoticed.

Ash froze in place as he spotted three familiar figures at the far end of the morgue hallway: Granny, Emerson, and Bill the Merchant. His instincts kicked in, and he decided to move closer, blending into the flow of mourners who were there to visit their deceased relatives. He kept his movements subtle, ensuring he stayed unnoticed as he approached.

Granny, dressed in her usual tattered shawl, raised her gnarled staff into the air, her voice sharp and filled with agitation. "You two should be taking more care with the dead! And with everything else around here! Especially now—when Lord Ignatus arrives, everything must be secure!"

Bill the Merchant, his hands trembling as usual, nervously glanced at Emerson. "This was usually handled by the other Bill..." he stammered.

Granny scowled, her expression hard as stone. "I don’t care which Bill handles it! What I do care about is the fact that more people have seen things they shouldn’t have. They must be dealt with—before they cause any more trouble!"

Emerson, the undertaker with his small beard and gleaming bald spot, casually flipped through the pages of his black ledger. He barely looked up as he responded, his tone indifferent. "Well, they’re not dead yet, but according to the book..." He paused, tracing his finger along a line. "They soon will be."

Ash’s heart raced as he listened to the exchange. His eyes darted between the trio, realizing they were planning something far darker than he had imagined. He slipped back into the crowd, careful to remain unnoticed, the weight of their conversation pressing heavily on his mind.

He hurried back to Arth—and fast.

As Arth and Ash walked down the hill, leaving the graveyard behind, the unsettling black bird flew in lazy circles above them, its dark form almost blending with the morning sky. Arth couldn’t help but glance up at it, a sour expression crossing his face.

"I really wish I had a crossbow right now..." he muttered under his breath, irritation creeping into his voice.

Ash, ever the pragmatist, glanced at the bird before shaking his head. "Even if you did, it’s probably out of range," he said. "Besides, you’d be wasting a bolt on a tiny target like that."

Arth shot him a frustrated look. "It's not just the bird. Something about it bothers me. Feels like it's mocking us. It was screeching like it had a sense of humor."

Ash smirked and replied, "Well, whether it's just a bird or something more... ominous, we don’t have time to worry about it now. We've got bigger problems."

As they continued down the path, the bird eventually vanished from view, but its eerie presence left a lingering discomfort in the air.

As they approached Grimmold, Selene, and Hawk, Arth and Ash couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of Hawk, still wrapped in layers of bandages like a clumsy orc mummy. With an annoyed grunt, Hawk flexed his muscles and easily tore the bandages apart, scattering cloth everywhere.

Hawk said firmly with a deep voice, "Thanks, kids. And, uh, maybe next time, less bandages, huh?"

The children giggled, and the teachers gave one more round of apologies before guiding the group away. Hawk gave a final glance at the remaining bandages and sighed. "Next time, you ask the questions, Arth."

Arth raised an eyebrow. "Anything useful come out of... all this?" he asked, gesturing at the remnants of Hawk's makeshift bandage armor.

Hawk shrugged, shaking off the bits of cloth, though a few strips still dangled loosely from his arms. "Yeah, I found out where Timmy’s friends live. Should be to the north."

"Great," Arth replied, eager to follow up on the lead. They began to walk when Hawk suddenly scratched his head.

"Wait. No. The kids should be to the west," Hawk corrected himself, causing Arth to frown.

"Also fine," Arth said, changing direction with a shrug. But after a few steps, Hawk stopped them again.

"Actually, no, it's to the east," he said, pointing in yet another direction.

Arth’s patience finally snapped. "Hawk! Do you even know where they are?" His voice was filled with frustration.

Hawk grinned, seemingly unaffected by Arth’s irritation, and confidently pointed in yet another direction. Without a word, he strode toward a house, and to everyone’s surprise, it was actually the right one.

Arth let out a long, exasperated sigh. "Finally..."

The group stood in front of the house as the boy recounted the events of the day Timmy disappeared. Ash and Arth listened closely, taking mental notes while Grimmold crossed his arms, pondering the implications.

“So you were all playing hide and seek, huh?” Arth said, glancing at Ash. “And Timmy just didn’t come out when it was time to go home?”

The boy nodded, fidgeting a little. “Yeah, we all thought he was hiding really well, but... he just never came out. We figured he went home another way, but then the next day, we heard he was missing.”

Hawk, leaning against the doorframe, decided to probe further. “Did you see anyone else in the alleys that day?”

The boy scratched his chin in thought. “Well... there was that army guy, Sergeant... Jake? I think that’s his name. He was just kinda walking around.”

Hearing this, Grimmold narrowed his eyes. "Jake, huh? That’s suspicious. What was he doing, just wandering the alleys?"

The boy shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t talk to him.”

Ash and Grimmold exchanged glances, silently acknowledging this new piece of information. Sergeant Jake might have more to do with this than they initially thought.

Hawk, however, was already lost in his own world. He pulled out some wood from his pack and began to whittle it down, his hands moving with surprising skill. As he carved, he muttered, “Let’s see if we can get a face on this guy... maybe jog some memories.”

The boy watched in fascination as the small piece of wood took shape, slowly resembling the face of Sergeant Jake. Hawk then held it up to the boy. "This look about right?"

The boy squinted and then nodded. “Yeah, that’s him!”

Grimmold raised an eyebrow at the orc’s sudden artistic endeavor but didn’t comment. Hawk, satisfied with his work, stashed the little statue in his backpack.

“Anything else?” Ash prompted.

The boy hesitated for a moment. “Uh... yeah. I saw Binky the clown too. He was pacing around one of the alleys, saying he couldn’t find his hammer. He seemed really worried. I’ve seen him looking for it a lot lately.”

The mention of Binky drew everyone’s attention. Grimmold rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering the possibility that the missing hammer could be connected to the case, "Could be that Binky is schizophrenic...?"

Arth sighed. “This whole town’s like one big circus... literally.”

“More and more pieces,” Ash murmured. “But the puzzle still isn’t clear. You know what, let's go to the library.”

On the way to the library, the party met a group of ten military men who came to a halt upon seeing them. The leader of the group, Sergeant Reynold, introduced himself and glanced at Ash, noticing the Vice Officer armor he was wearing. Reynold seemed relieved, hoping Ash could shed some light on what was going to happen with the northern parts of the town.

"Greetings vice officer," Reynold addressed Ash respectfully, "the northern parts of the town were attacked by brigands again. Unfortunately we weren't there in time to prevent the damage. Now we’ve been tasked with helping to repair the farms. I hoped you could share a little light on any planned improvements on the repairs and the fortifications for the town’s protection."

Ash, being undercover, kept his composure and responded calmly, "That’s something I’ll have to check with Captain Siegfried. I’m sure he’s already considering the best course of action for the area."

Sergeant Reynold nodded but looked concerned. "I hope so. With the upcoming harvest festival and the recent troubles, we’re stretched thin. The last thing we need is more chaos. If the brigands strike again, we might not be able to respond fast enough. The last thing we need is chaos during such a crucial time. We can’t afford more surprises.”

Hearing this, Arth had an idea. He stepped forward and interjected, “Actually, Sergeant Reynold, there may be a way we could help each other out. My companions and I are investigating the recent murders, and we’ve reason to believe that whatever’s going on in the northern parts of town might be connected to our investigation. What if your men helped us tonight? We could look into these leads together, and it might prevent any more trouble in the long run.”

Reynold shook his head. "We’ve already got orders from Captain Siegfried. We’re to focus on farm repairs and patrol duty for the week. The captain won’t take it lightly if we abandon those tasks, especially with all the incidents cropping up."

Grimmold chimed in, “What if we could provide you with some valuable information?"

Reynold raised an eyebrow. “What sort of information?”

Grimmold replied, “Wouldn’t it be better to have more eyes in the forest?” Surely you don’t want to wait until more people get hurt, do you? If we can get some information on the brigands or the killers, it might save you more work down the line. We might be able to uncover leads that could help you before any further incidents occur.”

Reynold sighed and thought for a moment. "Look, I understand the urgency, but we’re understaffed. If we divert our efforts, it could leave the town vulnerable, especially with the festival coming up. If you can bring me something solid—proof or a lead that the two problems are connected—then I can try to convince Captain Siegfried to divert a few men to help. But until then, I can’t make any promises."

Arth glanced at Ash and the others. It wasn’t a full commitment, but it was something. “All right, Sergeant Reynold. We’ll find what we need.”

Grimmold added, "We’ll do our best. The safety of the town is our priority as well.”

With that, the group set off in different directions, the military contingent patrolling further down the streets, and the group heading down the library.

The town's library is an imposing two-story wooden building with tall, narrow windows, some of which are adorned with glass panes. As the group entered the library, its wooden beams and old structure creaked as they walked. The scent of old parchment and dust filled the air. The atmosphere in the library was thick with a sense of loss and lingering curiosity. Dust motes danced in the beams of sunlight filtering through the stained glass, casting colorful patterns on the wooden floor.

Once walking around inside, the space felt cluttered but organized, with stacks of books teetering on shelves and papers scattered across the desks. Arth, Ash, and Grimmold set to work, the air buzzing with their shared purpose.

They looked around and soon spotted an older woman behind the counter, diligently organizing a stack of books. Her silver hair was tied in a neat bun, and her wrinkled face showed a deep sadness beneath her polite demeanor.

The group approached, and Arth stepped forward to introduce them. "Good morning, we were hoping to speak with the one in charge here. We’ve heard of the recent loss of Victor, the librarian?"

The woman looked up, her eyes softening at the mention of Victor. "Ah, yes, I’m Falandra. I’m now in charge here after the unfortunate death of poor Victor. Forty years he worked here—loyal, hardworking, never missed a day. But now… he’s gone...

The party looked her and Arth asked, "What happened?"

Falandra paused for a while and said with a heavy breath, "Some of the towns people found him, you know. In a rain barrel, of all places, in some alley. No one should die like that!"

Ash and Arth exchanged a concerned glance. "We’re sorry for your loss," Ash said, his voice somber. "That’s a terrible way to go. Did anything strange happen leading up to his death? Any suspicious activity?"

Falandra mentioned this can better be discussed in a private area. She gestured for the party to follow her as she led them to the back room, the place where Victor and Falandra would normally do their administrative work.

Falandra frowned, folding her hands, first talking softly and then slowly returned to her normal voice. "Well, there was something. A few days before his death, Sergeant Jake, together with a colleague, stormed in here—didn't even bother with a warrant! He ransacked the shelves and rifled through the drawers. He was rude, really. And to make it worse, he didn’t even clean up after himself. He just took a few books and left, without any explanation."

Grimmold narrowed his eyes. "Which books did he take?"

"I’m not entirely sure," Falandra replied. "Victor had been working on something before all of this, reading through a number of books for over a month. But whatever they were, I don’t think Sergeant Jake got all of them. Victor had likely taken some with him... maybe they’re at his house. But you’d have to deal with the military to get access since they have the key. It’s only been a week, after all."

Grimmold approached the first desk, opening drawers filled with assorted papers and old quills. “Let’s see if there’s anything here worth noting,” he muttered, rifling through the documents. Most were mundane records of library usage, but a few caught his eye: lists of books checked out by patrons that were overdue or not returned, some of which seemed unusual. Yet he wasn't sure if any of these books were read by Victor.

Meanwhile, Arth examined the shelves. “If Falandra mentioned that Sergeant Jake took a few books...” he said, pulling one off the shelf. It was a dusty tome on local legends, its spine cracked with age. “Then we should find out which ones!”

Ash focused on the second desk, where he noticed some ledgers tucked beneath a pile of papers. Flipping it open, he scanned the entries. .”hmmm...some fines, some investments in books, not sure if there is anything relevant here."

Arth continued the conversation, flipping through the local legends book. “If Jake took books for example related to local history or magic, it might be worth searching for those. You never know which of the books could hold clues.”

“Let’s find out what he took,” Ash suggested, closing the ledger and looking around. “Maybe Falandra can more precisely recall which books were missing.”

Arth, his curiosity piqued, leaned forward and asked Falandra, "Do you think Victor was onto something before he died? Something that might explain why Sergeant Jake was so keen on getting his hands on those books?"

Falandra nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I do. In the last month, Victor was deeply engrossed in a set of books—more so than usual. He took them home to study. Whatever Victor was working on, it’s likely still there."

She hesitated for a moment and then added, "And there’s something else. A woman—a blonde, wearing a brown cloak, came by after Jake left. She seemed hurried, and asked for the same books Victor had been reading. I think she took one book too."

Grimmold, processing all this, thought aloud, "This could be a lead. If Victor was studying something important, it’s likely noted in the register of borrowed books. If Victor had been reading those books, that could give us a clue as to what he was researching."

He turned to Falandra. "Can we see the register of borrowed books?"

Falandra nodded. "The register is behind the counter, in the main hall. Feel free to take a look."

Grimmold thanked her and walked back over to the counter in the main room. Flipping open the old register, he began to scan the records, searching for the books Victor had borrowed. He carefully jotted down their titles, a sense of excitement building within him. He was making sure to get them all—each one could be a crucial clue, knowing that these might be the key to unraveling the Seleneery surrounding Victor's death. The mention of the blond lady with the brown cloak sparked a thought; perhaps she was tied to Victor's research or even the recent murders.

Meanwhile, Arth and Ash discussed Falandra’s information. “So, we need to track down Victor’s borrowed books,” Arth said, pacing slightly. “And this blond lady—she might have taken something important.”

Ash nodded. “If we can find her, she could lead us to more answers. And we need to figure out where the military has taken the key to Victor’s house. There might be more clues inside.”

When Grimmold returned, he shared his findings with the group, having some excitement in his voice, his notes clutched tightly in his hand. “I found the titles Victor borrowed. It seems like he was deep into some interesting topics. We should check out these books.”

“Agreed,” Arth said, determination in his voice. “Let’s head back to the square and see if anyone has seen her. Maybe one of the vendors or townsfolk noticed something. And then there is also this lead where Ash has spotted Granny, Emerson and Bill in the morgue, and also maybe the second child Timmy played with.”

With their next destination set, the group gathered their thoughts, feeling the weight of their discoveries pressing down on them. The pieces were starting to fit, and the looming Seleneery of Timmy’s murder, Victor’s death, and the strange occurrences in town urged them forward. They stepped out of the library into the bustling town square, ready to chase down their next lead.

As the party strolled back to the square, the group huddled together, discussing their next steps. Avas suggested that he, Grimmold, and Selene head to Victor the Librarian’s house, hoping to uncover any valuable items or perhaps locate the books Victor had been reading before his death.

“I think we should split up again,” Avas suggested, glancing at Grimmold and Selene. “Victor’s house might have some useful stuff, maybe even those books he was reading.”

Grimmold nodded. “A good place to start. Plus, it might give us some clues Jake didn’t manage to grab. I bet that guy missed something.”

Selene, adjusting her cloak, chimed in, “And it’s not far. We can get in and out quickly.”

Ash crossed his arms, looking thoughtful. “Alright, but what about Sergeant Jake? He might still have something of Victor’s, maybe even hidden away at the barracks.”

Hawk grunted, towering over them, arms folded across his chest. “Barracks aren’t exactly easy to stroll through. You really think you can just waltz in there and search his stuff?”

Ash smirked. “I’ve still got this vice officer armor. I’m sure I can pull rank if needed, and with you at my side, they might think twice before asking too many questions.”

Arth agreed with the plan. "I believe you can pull this off. You two check the barracks, see what you can dig up. The rest of us will search Victor’s house.”

So in the meanwhile, Ash and Hawk would make their way to the military barracks. Their goal: search through Sergeant Jake’s locker or belongings, hoping to discover if any of Victor’s books or notes had ended up in Jake’s possession. Ash, still posing as a vice officer, could use his rank to gain access to areas otherwise off-limits, while Hawk’s imposing presence as a towering orc could help keep any potential obstacles in check.

As they started to split, Grimmold called back, “And remember, if you find something that could tie Jake to all this, don’t keep it to yourself. The sooner we know, the better.”

Ash gave him a thumbs up, and the group parted ways.

“Stay sharp,” Avas said as they moved toward their respective targets, their footsteps echoing as the festival celebrations buzzed faintly in the background.

Arth, Grimmold, and Selene walked through the southern part of town, where the landscape shifted from tightly packed buildings to more spread-out farms. The southern part was quieter, with modest farmhouses sitting 5 to 10 feet apart, allowing for small plots of land and gardens between them. It was a peaceful area, with a more open feel than the bustling center of town. The homes were mostly wooden, with thatched or shingled roofs, and the smell of fresh soil and crops hung in the air

As they approached Victor's house, they spotted a familiar figure working in the small garden beside it. The woman, with her greying hair tucked under a tattered shawl, was unmistakable—it was Granny. She was hunched over, pulling weeds and tending to the plants with slow, deliberate movements.

Arth’s eyes widened in alarm. "That's Granny! Everyone hide!" he whispered urgently, quickly pulling the group around the corner of a nearby building.

As the group pressed themselves against the corner of a nearby building, Arth whispered urgently, "We need to stay out of sight. We can't risk her seeing us."

Grimmold frowned, peeking cautiously around the edge. "This is Victor's house... what could she be doing here?"

Selene, crouched low behind them, furrowed her brow. "Maybe she's looking for something—or someone. We already know she’s been mixed up in some shady things. She might be after the books."

Arth nodded. "Or worse. We need to find out what she's doing, but we can’t just barge in."

Grimmold thought for a moment. "We could wait until she leaves, but who knows how long that'll be. Or we could try sneaking around the back, see if we can find another way in without her noticing."

"Agreed," Arth whispered. "But whatever we do, let’s keep quiet and stay low. We can't afford to blow this."

Arth mulled over their previous encounter with Granny and the information Ash picked up at the graveyard, the cryptic conversation with Emerson and Bill. "We know she's not just a harmless old woman... and she knows something about us too," he whispered to Grimmold and Selene. His voice carried a cautious tone, as if navigating a delicate balance between suspicion and necessity. "I guess there's a standoff of sorts here," he continued quietly. "We’ve seen some things of her, but so she has of us. It would be a superficial conversation with many drastic undertones. As long as she doesn’t know we’re onto her here, we have some breathing room."

While he scanned the skies, his eyes darted around, half-expecting the familiar screech of that annoying raven. Thankfully, it was absent this time, allowing him a moment of relief.

As they stayed hidden, a group of soldiers strolled by, greeting Granny warmly. She responded with a cheerful "hello" in her crackling voice, continuing to weed Victor's garden, as though she had no care in the world. The contrast between her friendly demeanor and the suspicions swirling around her made Arth’s stomach churn. "She’s got them fooled," he muttered under his breath.

The party cautiously approached the front of Victor’s house, but found the door locked and the shutters drawn tightly. There was no easy way inside, and Granny’s presence in the garden made sneaking in even more challenging.

Arth was about to suggest another approach when something caught his eye—a large rat scurrying between the bushes, unnervingly bigger than most he’d seen. The creature darted toward Granny, who smiled and called out softly, "Here, Morty..."

The rat obediently came to her, and she fed it some nuts from her pocket.

Arth whispered to Grimmold and Selene, "She has more animals at her disposal than we thought... we need to be extra careful."

Grimmold looked at Selene thoughtfully, an idea forming in his mind. "Say," he asked, his voice low, "couldn't you do something with a familiar, change yourself into it?"

Arth, listening intently, raised an eyebrow. Selene nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Yes, I can perform a ritual to summon a spiritual familiar for a short time. I could call upon a cat."

"Perfect," Grimmold said, pleased with the plan. "Can you summon it now?"

Selene sighed, beginning to prepare herself for the ritual. "Sure, but it will take about an hour to complete."

"An hour??" Arth echoed, incredulous. "What are we supposed to do in the meantime? Sit around and stare at the sky?"

Grimmold, calm and collected as ever, shrugged. "Pretty much. We don’t want to rush this and blow our chance. There’s nothing else to do but wait."

However, after 45 minutes of waiting, Granny suddenly left, clutching a plate of apples in her gnarled hands. Arth nudged Grimmold in the side, his voice a mix of excitement and urgency. "Hey, look! Granny's left the garden!"

Grimmold glanced over, a dry smile creeping across his face. "Yes, what a surprise for Selene."

Arth quickly scanned the area, hoping to catch sight of the rat, but it had vanished, disappearing into the tall, unkempt grass of Victor's garden. "We should seize this opportunity," Arth urged, glancing at Selene. I guess her cat should be ready soon.

Grimmold peered through the window, noting it was slightly ajar. Taking a deep breath, he awkwardly climbed through the opening, squeezing himself into the dimly lit room. Dust motes danced in the air, illuminated by the slanting sunlight filtering through the grime-covered glass.

Inside, the space felt abandoned, as if it had been ransacked recently. A half-damaged table stood in the center, cluttered with a few scattered books. The bookshelf leaned precariously against the wall, its contents—more books—spilling over and lying haphazardly on the floor below. The atmosphere was stale, thick with neglect; dust coated every surface, and the couch looked as if it hadn't been sat on in ages.

Grimmold stepped cautiously toward the adjoining room, which appeared to be a small kitchen. Pots and pans hung askew, their metallic surfaces dull and coated in dust. A plate of apples sat unattended on the counter, some of them starting to wither. He could feel the weight of secrets in the air, a reminder that Victor's presence lingered here, even in his absence.

Grimmold rummaged through the clutter, his fingers brushing against dust-covered books and debris. Among the mess, he stumbled upon a small iron chest tucked away in a corner. His heart quickened—this could be something significant. However, disappointment set in when he found it was locked tight. The chest bore signs of age, but for some reason the military must have left it here, a glimmer of hope in an otherwise dreary situation.

Turning his attention to the rest of the room, Grimmold spotted a wooden door leading upwards. He approached it, but it, too, was locked. Determined, he pulled out a pin and a dagger from his belongings, trying to pick the lock. After several frustrating attempts, the stubborn door refused to yield. He sighed, realizing that his makeshift tools were no match for the lock’s craftsmanship. Defeated, he leaned back against the wall, contemplating his next move.

As the cat moved gracefully through the room, Selene felt a surge of excitement. Through its eyes, she took in the details of the dusty space. The scent of the apples lingered in the air, oddly pungent, hinting that there is something wrong with them. But it was the strong odor coming from under the couch that piqued her curiosity.

The cat slipped beneath the couch, her small form easily fitting in the tight space. Selene’s heart raced as she sensed the feline's excitement; there was something hidden. She peeked into a small wooden chest and searched through it with her paws, the sound of bottles rattling softly inside. Moments later, the cat emerged with a small iron key clutched in its mouth.

As it approached Grimmold, the cat dropped the key at his feet, the metal gleaming faintly. Selene's connection to the cat allowed her to convey her thoughts: This might open the iron chest!

Grimmold's eyes lit up with intrigue as he picked up the key, contemplating their next move. "Well done, Selene," he said, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Let's see what secrets this key might unlock."

Grimmold carefully turned the key, and with a satisfying click, the chest unlocked. Inside, he looked together with the Cat and found several items neatly arranged: a set of books, potions, a finely crafted dagger, and some blank sheets of paper.

Grimmold locked the chest again and made his way out of the house.

As the sky began to dim, Arth glanced at the horizon and mentioned, "We should head back to the inn and check these papers. Before it’s getting dark, too dark to see."

Grimmold nodded, "we shouldn't stick around here."

The party gathered the books, potions, and papers, and made their way out of Victor’s house. Just as they started down the road, the familiar black raven swooped in from nowhere, perching atop a nearby building. Its beady eyes fixed on Arth, almost as if it had something to say.

Arth glared up at the bird but quickly decided to ignore it, muttering under his breath, “Not this annoying creature again..." He quickened his pace, leaving the bird behind.

As the group crossed the bustling town plaza, many merchants were done for the day building off their stables and heading home.

On the plaza, Pierro strummed his guitar, a playful glint in his eye as he sang, "Wouldn't it be nice to have a clown,...
To lift you up when you feel down?
I know someone who's after the balls
But she’s gone before the night calls!"

Laughter erupted from the audience, the light-hearted jest bringing smiles all around.

Arth sighed and decides not to focus on the clown.

Arth overheard a couple of merchants gossiping nearby. "Did you hear? They’re bringing in a dinosaur from Silverdale," one merchant said excitedly. "A gift from the council, destined for the zoo in Royal Oak."

The other merchant frowned, clearly puzzled. "A dinosaur? Why? What’s the council planning?"

"Who knows," the first replied. "Maybe to make a big impression during the annual harvest festival. Word is, Bill the merchant will guide the beast to the zoo."

Intrigued, Arth quickly relayed the conversation to Grimmold and Selene. "They're bringing in a dinosaur," he said, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

Selene’s eyes widened in excitement. "A dinosaur? Is that even real? I’ve never seen one in person. Imagine how huge it must be!"

But Arth wasn’t as thrilled. "Sure, it's impressive, but we should keep an eye on this. With everyone’s attention focused on the dinosaur, it could easily be a cover for something else—like an illegal opium caravan, or even a planned murder."

Grimmold nodded thoughtfully, his mind already racing through possibilities. "You might be right. If the council wants this to be a grand spectacle, the town will be distracted. Perfect time for someone to act under the radar."

Selene, still caught up in the idea of the massive creature, smiled. "We have to see it though, right?"

Arth grinned. "Oh, we'll watch it closely... but not for the reasons everyone else will."

As the group continued through the plaza, Arth’s ear caught a now-familiar voice. It was the orange-bearded dwarf from earlier, speaking loudly to another dwarf.

"A dinosaur, really? That's nothing!" the orange-bearded dwarf boasted. "In my days near Stone's Way, the dinosaurs were as tall as the highest tower. So huge, they could bite at the clouds!"

The other dwarf rolled his eyes. "Riight... good for your niece."

The first dwarf waved his hand dismissively. "My niece is into anything, and you know what she did now...?"

Arth smirked and decided not to get drawn into yet another one of the dwarf’s long-winded tales. He motioned for the group to keep moving, choosing to focus on the more pressing matters ahead.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the town, Ash and Hawk rejoined the group. Their expressions were a mix of frustration and intrigue.

Ash sighed. "We managed to get into the military barracks but got kicked out before we could search thoroughly. However, we did learn one strange thing—Sergeant Jake's cabin has a large hammer inside. It's not something you'd expect him to have."

Arth furrowed his brow. "A hammer? That’s... odd, especially for Jake. Maybe it’s connected to Binky and his missing hammer."

"Could be," Ash nodded. "But we didn’t get enough time to dig deeper."

"Strange indeed," Arth said, pondering over the new information. "Let’s sit down and discuss this properly at the inn, along with everything else we’ve found today."

The group walked into the inn, which was reasonably busy for the beginning of the evening. The sound of clinking mugs and chatter filled the room as they found a table near the center. After ordering drinks and settling down, Selene’s eyes wandered across the dimly lit room. In the corner, near a small candle flickering on a worn-out table, she spotted a hooded figure sitting alone, eating quietly.

Something about the way the figure moved seemed familiar. As she studied him, the figure subtly beckoned for her to approach. Without hesitation, Selene stood up, her curiosity piqued.

“I’ll be right back,” she told the group before walking over.

As she approached the table, the hooded figure lowered his cloak slightly, revealing his face. It was Dalton, one of the servants from the graveyard, working under Emerson.

Selene sat down across from him and immediately noticed his demeanor—he was extremely panicked, his hands trembling as he fidgeted with the utensils on the table. His eyes darted around the room, clearly nervous about being seen.

“What brings you here, Dalton?” Selene asked, her voice calm but with a hint of concern.

Dalton’s face was pale, and he struggled to keep his voice steady. “Selene... I didn’t know where else to go. Someone is after me!”

Selene listened closely to Dalton’s panicked words, watching his every movement. His face was pale, and his hands shook as he nervously tugged at his cloak. The candlelight flickered, casting eerie shadows as he spoke.

“I barely made it out alive!” Dalton whispered, his voice filled with terror. “Someone’s trying to murder me! I didn’t know who else to turn to, so I came to find you.”

Selene leaned in, her brow furrowing. “Try to...murder you? Who...? What happened, Dalton? You need to calm down and explain everything.”

Dalton took a shaky breath. “It was at the morgue. I went there to assist Emerson with some routine inspections of the bodies. Sergeant Jake was there too, talking with Emerson, along with this hooded soldier who I didn’t recognize.”

Dalton’s voice wavered as he continued. “When Emerson and Jake walked away to talk privately, the hooded soldier stayed behind. I was sorting through some tools when, suddenly, the soldier grabbed me from behind and threw a cord around my neck! He tried to strangle me—he was trying to kill me, Selene!”

Selene gasped softly, eyes wide. “That's terrible! How did you escape?”

“I was lucky,” Dalton said, his voice barely a whisper. “I threw myself backward as hard as I could. We crashed into a table full of glasses and potions, and the noise must have startled him. That gave me just enough time to break free and run. I haven’t stopped running since. I didn’t know where to go—I’ve been hiding all day!”

Dalton’s hands fumbled with a mug of water, nearly spilling it as he drank.

“This is serious,” Selene said, frowning.

Dalton’s eyes widened with fear as he leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “I haven’t slept for a whole daya. I’ve been wandering around Royal Oak, panicked, not knowing where to go. I tried to find you all because I thought you could help me!”

Dalton shook his head frantically. “You need to help me! I can’t go back. Else I’m dead for sure!”

Selene gently placed a hand on his arm, offering reassurance. “You don’t have to go back. Stay with us for now. We’ll protect you, and we’ll figure out a way to expose them.”

Selene told Dalton to wait for a bit and quickly relayed Dalton’s story to Arth and Grimmold, who were surprised by hearing this shocking news. “This is serious,” Grimmold, who was on the verge of going to bed, said rubbing his temples. “If Sergeant Jake and a soldier are involved, it could mean they’re not just covering up the murders, but actively trying to eliminate anyone who gets too close to the truth.”

Arth nodded, deep in thought. “We need to figure out what they’re planning. They’re targeting Dalton, and there might be others in danger as well.”

Determined to ensure Dalton’s safety, Arth made his way to the innkeeper. “I’d like to order some roast chickens for our table and a room for Dalton, please.”

After placing the order, he returned and handed the key to Dalton, who looked both grateful and anxious. “Hey Dalton, we'll help you. You’ll be safer in your own room. Just lock the door and don’t let anyone in,” Arth instructed.

Dalton nodded fervently, clutching the key as if it were a lifeline. “Thank you! I’ll be careful.”

Once in their room, Selene, Arth, and Grimmold gathered around a small table, the flickering candle casting shadows on their faces. “This situation seems grave,” Selene began, her brow furrowed.

“We need to stay vigilant,” Arth replied. “If we can gather more information on what Jake and the soldier are planning, it might help us anticipate their next move. We should also keep an eye on Dalton. He might have more insights or be targeted again.”

Arth thought deeply and said, "About staying vigilant, also we would go out for the night to see this Vigilantius guy walking around in the forest also. Are we still up for that, finding a black robed necromancer in the black of the night, in the forest?"

Grimmold and Selene nodded, that was still something pending.

As they formulated their plans, the weight of the night settled around them, each aware that the dangers lurking in the shadows of Royal Oak were far from over.

Now that they were safely in their room, Arth wanted to open the chest. He had been waiting for a long time and was almost dying from excitement. He urged Grimmold to take the key and open the chest again. "It's time," he urged, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Grimmold, please—just open it already. I can't stand it any longer!"

Grimmold turned the key and opened the chest while saying sarcastically, "yes, yes, don't be so impatient"

Grimmold inspected the books, while Arth eagerly grabbed the potions, his curiosity piqued.

"Let me take a closer look at these," Arth muttered, sitting down and starting to investigate the potions. He hoped to identify what they might be. Meanwhile, he handed the dagger to Selene, who admired its craftsmanship.

"This is a masterwork," Arth commented, "should be useful for you, Selene."

"Thank you," Selene said, testing the balance of the blade in her hand. It felt right—light, but deadly.

Grimmold, on the other hand, was more interested in the books. He picked them up one by one, noting their titles aloud:

Book of Jafar - The Dark Age
Book of Benedict the Abbot - Forming of the Republic
Creation of the Universe Story
Book of the Great Library

"These could contain valuable information," he said, his eyes scanning over the worn covers. "They’re probably connected to what Victor was researching before his death."

Arth nodded, pocketing the books. "We’ll go through them later—let’s keep moving before Granny or anyone else shows up again."

Arth glanced over to Grimmold and said, “These are all historical books—detailing the evolution of the continent and stories about the gods of this world."

Hearing this, Selene perked up. “Can I have a look?" she asked with curiosity.

Grimmold handed the books over, and Selene began flipping through the pages, studying the illustrations for anything unusual or intriguing.

Meanwhile, Arth finished inspecting the potions. "These two light purple potions are potions of invisibility," he said with a grin, "and this red ink... it's invisible ink."

“Invisible ink?” Grimmold repeated, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Then maybe Victor wrote something right here on these blank papers, and we just can’t see it yet!”

Arth chuckled, giving Grimmold a light pat on the shoulder. “Nice thinking! Let’s see if we can reveal any hidden messages.”

Arth said to Grimmold he would like to see the papers in Victor's iron chest. He rummaged through the chest and discovered that between the books were some blank papers, which looked like they had just been used as bookmarks. Arth took an oil lamp and held the papers close to it.

Just as he thought, some transparent text lit up. It was written by invisible ink. Everyone looked at it, captivated by the unfolding Seleneery. On the papers of Victor, some words were visible:

Lifestones!
Dark age!
Group of Emerson, Ignatus, evil magical bird
Watch out

Arth’s eyes widened as the transparent text revealed itself in the warm glow of the oil lamp. He leaned in closer, the flickering light casting shadows across the words that danced before them.

“Lifestones?” he muttered, piecing together the fragments of information. “That sounds important.”

Grimmold walked over to the table, slowly coming into the view of the oil lamp. He squinted at the paper. “And the mention of a ‘dark age’—that can’t be good. It sounds like Victor was onto something significant.”

Selene leaned forward, intrigued. “We know of Emerson and Ignatus. It seems like they all may be involved in something darker than we realized.”

Arth nodded, his mind racing. “This is definitely worth investigating. The connection between these names and the recent murders could be vital.”

Grimmold frowned, looking at the last line. “‘Watch out’… It feels like a warning. We should tread carefully.”

The trio exchanged glances, the gravity of their discovery settling in. With each revelation, the tangled web of intrigue in Royal Oak deepened, drawing them further into the Seleneery surrounding Victor’s death and the dangerous forces at play.

“Let’s make a plan,” Arth said, his determination renewed. “Let's see if we can connect the dots. The sooner we act, the better.”

Selene and Grimmold nodded in agreement, ready to delve deeper into the enigma surrounding the papers.

Grimmold shook the chest a bit and felt there was something more in it. "Hmm, it doesn't feel entirely empty. There may be something additional hiddein in here". He cut open the velvet lining inside and found a pair of iron bracers adorned with a green dragon symbol. Arth checked them over and identified them as magical bracers of protection. "These will surely come in handy in combat," he remarked, pleased with their discovery.

After the party finished their dinner in their room, they decided to have a chat with Dalton. They made sure to listen for any strange sounds coming from his room, grateful for their close proximity to guard him. With the evening settling in, they felt a mix of anticipation and concern about what is to come.

As the group sat in their dimly lit room, the glow of the full moon filtered through the window, casting pale silver light over the scene.

As the group sat in their room, Arth turned to Selene. "Can you go get Dalton? You’ve spoken with him the most, maybe he'll open up more with you around," he suggested, his tone gentle yet firm. Selene nodded and stood, her eyes filled with concern as she made her way to Dalton’s room.

Selene knocked softly, and the door creaked open to reveal a very pale and anxious Dalton. His eyes darted around as if expecting danger to leap from the shadows. "Dalton," Selene said in a calming voice, "we need to talk. Can you come to our room? We're all in this together."

Dalton hesitated, his hands fidgeting at his sides, but finally nodded. "Okay," he whispered, his voice shaky. With one last glance down the hallway, he followed her, his steps uncertain.

Once back in the room, the tension was palpable. Dalton sat down cautiously, his back hunched and his eyes still darting between the party members. Grimmold, leaning forward with a frown, wasted no time. "Dalton, have you seen anyone... anything strange when you were working at the morgue?"

Dalton’s face paled further. His voice wavered as he began to speak, emotions bubbling to the surface. "I... I saw Sergeant Jake," he muttered, "with Emerson. They were talking and heading outside. Then... when I was alone, a soldier—one of Jake’s men—he... he tried to strangle me from behind!" His voice cracked as the memory resurfaced, his hands clutching the table like a lifeline. "I barely escaped by pushing myself backwards as hard as I could, crashing the table behind me... I thought I was going to die. Luckily the soldier was thrown off guard."

Grimmold's brow furrowed deeper as he considered the situation. "It’s almost like a setup," he murmured thoughtfully. "Jake’s soldier knew exactly what to do, didn’t he? Like it was planned from the start." His voice was steady, but the implication behind his words sent a chill through the room.

Arth leaned in, his expression darkening. "It almost seems like they are cleaning up witnesses."

Dalton looked down, his hands trembling. "I don’t know why they want me dead... I’m just a servant. I don’t know anything important."

Selene placed a hand on Dalton’s shoulder, trying to comfort him. "Eventhough they see you as some sort of threat, you are safe with us," she said softly.

Dalton swallowed hard, clearly still terrified but reassured by their presence. "What do I do now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"We’ll protect you," Arth said firmly, his eyes meeting Grimmold's. "But we need to be smart about this. No one can know where you are for now."

Arth and Ash exchanged a look, the tension in the room thickening as they both voiced their next plan. "We need to head north, into the woods," Arth said, his voice low but determined. "There’s a necromancer, this Vigilantius, dressed in black robes. He might have some answers about the murders."

Ash nodded in agreement. "Even though it’s late, we can’t wait until morning. The longer we sit here, the more time we lose. And besides, it's rumoured that he is only wandering around...at night"

"How fitting", Arth thought.

Dalton’s face turned pale again. His hands trembled slightly as he looked at them with a mix of fear and resignation. "The woods... at night? That sounds dangerous. But... I don’t really have anywhere else to go, do I?"

Grimmold turned to Dalton and asked him, "Do you have anything you need, or can use?"

Dalton answered, this time more calmly, "I am quite good with the bow. When I was young I hunted a lot of times in the woods with my father.". He then suddenly looked down at his empty hands and added, "However, I left my bow at the morgue..."

Grimmold, always pragmatic, placed a steady hand on Dalton’s shoulder. "You’re coming with us, and we’ll make sure you’re armed. Wait here." With that, he turned and made his way downstairs to the inn's tavern, where Rupert, the innkeeper, was serving a few late-night guests.

Grimmold approached the bar, striking up a conversation with Rupert, the grizzled owner of Rupert’s Finest Inn. "Evening, Rupert. How are you? It must have been quite busy for you."

Rupert looked back and Grimmold and nodded, "Oh yeah, definitely with this hectic performance yesterday"

Grimmold ordered a drink and continued talking to Rupert, "So, have you seen anything odd around here lately?"

Rupert scratched his beard and nodded, his voice low. "Now that you mention it, indeed! Just tonight I noticed some cloaked folk in leather armor skulking about. It looked like they were searching for someone or something. They seemed to be up to any good.". He paused, "They weren’t thieves guild members either—I’d know them if they were! I have seen quite some in the past years"

Grimmold’s eyes narrowed. "You think they’re looking for someone?"

Rupert leaned in, his voice even quieter. "Could be. Strange thing is, they were hardly here for food or drink. Mostly just lurking. Not a good sign."

Grimmold tapped his fingers on the bar, thinking quickly. "We’re heading out on some business, but one of our friends needs a bow. You got one lying around?"

Rupert smiled knowingly and nodded. "I have one, a longbow, yes. Not a fancy one, but it’ll do. If you want to borrow it, that's okay with me. Wait here." He called one of his waiters over, and soon the young man returned with a worn but functional longbow and a quiver of arrows.

Grimmold accepted the weapon with a grateful nod. "Appreciate it, Rupert. You’ve been a big help."

"Take care of yourselves," Rupert said as Grimmold headed back upstairs. "Especially with those creeps hanging around."

Back in the room, Grimmold handed the bow and arrows to Dalton. The nervous servant’s face brightened slightly as he took the weapon, running his fingers along the wood. "Thank you... this will help."

Grimmold gave Dalton a reassuring nod. "Also, there's been some odd activity around the inn. I overheard people sneaking about. Keep your eyes open."

Dalton glanced at the bow before looking up at Grimmold, his face drawn with concern. "Speaking of sneaky types," he murmured, "I heard a rumor while working at the morgue. People say there's a hidden Trading Guild in the city. No one knows exactly where, but it’s supposed to be a shadowy network, dealing in all sorts of illicit goods."

Grimmold raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A Trading Guild, you say? Well, that's certainly interesting to keep in mind."

Arth nodded approvingly. "Good. Now we can’t waste any more time. Let’s head out and find this Vigilantius. Whatever’s happening in this town, it’s tied to something bigger—and we’re running out of time."

As the party gathered their things, preparing to venture into the dark woods, Dalton clutched the longbow tightly, the weight of the night’s dangers settling heavily on his shoulders. Though fearful, he knew there was no turning back now.

The group gathered downstairs quietly, each of them aware of the dangers lurking outside. They exchanged quick glances, preparing themselves for what lay ahead. "We need to move carefully," Arth muttered, glancing towards the front of the inn, where the streets seemed unusually tense. "Let’s take the backdoor and avoid any unwanted attention."

They slipped out into the dark alley behind Rupert's Finest Inn, the wooden door closing softly behind them. The narrow alley was dimly lit by a single lantern flickering on the wall above, casting long, eerie shadows. Against one of the walls sat a few beggars, wrapped in tattered blankets, their faces drawn with exhaustion. It definitely wasn't the warmest time of the day for them. Further down the alley, a drunken soldier leaned heavily over a rain barrel, muttering incoherently to himself, lost in his own stupor.

Ash looked at the soldier, then down at his own vice officer armor, which gleamed subtly in the faint light. "I’d better take this off," he said quietly. "We don’t need any extra attention tonight." He began removing his armor and stashed it away in his backpack, the heavy load being felt on his back.

Once ready, the party moved cautiously through the twisting alleys, their steps muffled on the cobblestone. They passed a few late-night stragglers, including a man with a long stick in hand, tapping at the lamps and torches along the streets to keep them lit. He paid them no mind as they pressed forward, focused on his nightly duties.

As they reached the northern edge of Royal Oak, the town gave way to more open spaces. The cold wind whipped through the high grass, rustling the trees that loomed in the distance. The road split here into three directions, north, west and east. To their left, the faint silhouette of the town's Zoo was barely visible in the moonlight. To their right, further off, the graveyard stood like a dark sentinel, its stone walls lined with burning torches casting an orange glow across the horizon.

The party paused, taking in the scene. Arth’s eyes scanned the horizon, the cold night air biting at their exposed faces. "The woods are just to the north here," he said quietly. "That’s where we’ll probably find Vigilantius."

Selene pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, glancing around in the night. She was able to see much better than most people in her group.

Grimmold looked around, "Stay sharp. We don’t know who—or what—might be waiting for us out there."

With a final glance at each other, they pushed onward, the town of Royal Oak shrinking behind them as they made their way toward the shadows of the forest.

As the party ventured further north, the landscape became more rugged and untamed with every mile. Narrow sand paths branched off from the main road, twisting left and right into the shadows of the dense forest. The trees grew taller, their canopies swaying in the cold night wind. Arth stopped, scanning the darkened woods. "We need to leave the main road soon," he said, his voice low. "If Vigilantius is hiding out here, he won't be near the open paths."

Arth then turned to Ash, "Think you can track anything? We might find something useful—like footprints."

Ash nodded, his eyes sharp as he crouched down, brushing his fingers over the ground. He circled the area, inspecting the forest floor for any signs of life. After a few moments, he straightened and beckoned the group over to a patch of bushes nearby. "Look at this," he said, pointing at the ground. Large paw imprints were pressed deep into the soft earth—imprints far larger than anything that could belong to a common animal.

Arth’s eyes widened as he examined the tracks. "That has to be the dinosaur I heard about at the marketplace," he whispered. "These prints are fresh."

The party followed the footprints deeper into the forest. The path led them through tangled roots and thick underbrush until they came upon a gruesome scene. Two bodies lay sprawled on the ground, their blood soaking into the earth. Arth, Grimmold, Selene and Ash approached cautiously, while Dalton stayed behind on the main road, his face pale and unwilling to come any closer.

Arth crouched beside the first body. "This one’s been bitten clean in half," he muttered, his voice grim. The other corpse had deep puncture wounds, likely from the massive teeth of whatever had attacked them. "It's terrible," Arth added, shaking his head. "This must be our dinosaur 'friend'."

Grimmold knelt beside the bodies, his expression somber but calculating. "Merchants," he observed, noting the velvet blue robe of one and the brown leather of the other. He rifled through their belongings and found a few pouches filled with spices—pepper, saffron, paprika, turmeric. "These will come in handy," Grimmold said, tucking the pouches into his pack with a nod. Ash, who had a voracious appetite, eyed the spices eagerly.

While inspecting further, Grimmold also came across a few crumpled papers near the bodies. "These are sales records," he said, scanning them quickly. "But there are no names or identifying details. It looks like they may have just been out here on some routine trade route?"

Ash frowned, looking around warily. "Routine trade or not, whatever killed them is still out here."

The party exchanged glances, the air heavy with tension. Whatever had taken down the two merchants was no ordinary predator. The dinosaur, or something else lurking in these woods, had made its presence known. The night around them seemed to grow colder, the wind whispering ominously through the trees.

Selene, eager to get a better vantage point, looked up at the towering trees and grinned. Without saying a word, she began climbing up one of the thicker trunks, her hands and feet skillfully finding purchase on the rough bark. "I’ll get a better view from up here," she called down, her voice determined. The full moon bathed the forest in a pale, silvery glow, and the branches cast long, delicate shadows across the ground. From her high perch, Selene scanned the horizon, her eyes narrowing as she tried to spot anything out of the ordinary.

The view was breathtaking. The forest stretched out in all directions, illuminated by the moonlight. But no sign of movement or danger. The wind rustled through the leaves, and for a moment, the eerie quiet was almost peaceful.

"I can’t see anything from here!" Selene shouted down, her voice echoing in the stillness of the night. Undeterred, she decided to try her luck with another tree. "I am going to jump to another one!", she shouted down.

Arth and the rest of the group looked upwards.

A nearby branch looked close enough to leap to for Selene, and with a quick intake of breath, she sprang from her position, reaching out for the next tree.

But she had miscalculated.

Selene's fingers grazed the branch, but it was just out of reach. Her body twisted mid-air as gravity took hold, pulling her downward. A sharp gasp escaped her as she plummeted toward the ground, the impact inevitable.

Before she hit the forest floor, however, she was caught—quite unexpectedly—by a pair of strong arms. "Ooof!" Grimmold grunted, the wind knocked out of him as Selene crashed into him. He staggered a bit under her weight but managed to keep his footing, holding her securely in his arms. His expression was a mix of surprise and amusement.

"You always were one for dramatic entrances," he muttered, setting her back on her feet.

Selene, her cheeks slightly flushed from both the fall and the close call, brushed herself off and shot Grimmold a sheepish grin. "I was just testing your reflexes," she quipped, though she winced slightly, still feeling the jarring impact of her near fall.

The party veered off the main road and ventured down a sandy path that cut deeper into the forest. The path was narrower and more overgrown, but still walkable, the wind rustling the branches overhead as they moved quietly. Selene, with her keen ability to see in the dark, walked slightly ahead, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. Suddenly, she halted, her body tensing.

"Hold up," she whispered, turning to the group. "There’s something ahead—figures. A lot of them. Black-cloaked... could be trouble."

Arth's brow furrowed, the weight of the night settling in as he processed this. "A large group of dark figures? Out here in the middle of the night??" he muttered under his breath, feeling a surge of unease. He glanced at Grimmold, hoping for some insight.

Grimmold stroked his chin, his face thoughtful. "It could be Vigilantius... or worse. We might be walking into a dangerous situation."

Arth's heart pounded in his chest, his instincts telling him to be cautious. "We approach carefully," he instructed, his voice low but firm. "No sudden moves, and keep quiet. We don’t know who they are or what they’re doing."

Ash nodded, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. Dalton, still jittery from the night's earlier revelations, clutched his borrowed bow tightly, his knuckles white from the pressure.

The forest seemed to hold its breath as the party crept forward, each step deliberate and silent. The sandy path crunched faintly underfoot, and the moonlight flickered through the trees, casting strange shadows on the ground. As they drew closer, the dark shapes Selene had seen became clearer, but they could not make out the figures.

Arth signaled for the group to stop as they crouched down behind the cover of some bushes. His pulse quickened as he watched the figures move. Something felt off, they seemed to be moving slowly and purposefully, almost mechanically. He exchanged a glance with Grimmold, whose face was set in grim determination.

Selene continued looking at the group that was slowly walking away from them. "I can see them," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "There’s a large group of black figures. They’re too far to make out clearly, but something’s off."

Grimmold, his expression thoughtful, glanced at Arth before turning his attention to Selene. "Even if it is Vigilantius, we can’t just walk in without knowing what we’re facing. That could be suicide."

Selene, who had been watching the figures closely, suddenly seemed to have an idea. She straightened up and looked at the others, a spark of determination in her eyes. "Wait. I can get a closer look without putting us all at risk."

Arth raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "How?"

"My familiar—my cat," Selene replied, already preparing herself mentally. "I can send her ahead. She can get closer to them without being noticed. I’ll see through her eyes."

Grimmold, though still tense, nodded in approval. "That’s smart. If they’re dangerous, we’ll have some warning."

Selene seated down on the forest floor, her legs crossed, and quickly entered a trance. Her eyes were closed as she channeled her senses into her cat familiar. The rest of the party stood around her in tense silence, waiting.

The cat moved cautiously through the brush, slipping silently closer to the group of dark figures. As it approached, Selene felt a strange, cold energy.

When her cat approached the group closer, suddenly two black, hovering figures floated out from the group, their red glowing eyes fixed on the cat. The figures glided effortlessly over the ground, their forms transparent and ethereal, like shadows given shape. The cat froze, overwhelmed by an oppressive sense of dread as the ghostly figures drifted toward it, their hands reaching out, as if to grasp something unseen.

Selene’s heart raced as she loudly thought, "no, no, no, not good!", and she quickly pulled her familiar back, not wanting to risk it any longer. The figures stopped, their eerie, glowing eyes still following the retreating cat. Selene snapped out of her trance, her face pale. The figures floated back to the group.

Grimmold, who had been watching her closely, stepped forward, concern etched on his face. "What did you see?"

Selene shuddered slightly, still shaking off the unsettling sensation. "Undead. Skeletons in armor, marching steadily. But there were also... ghost-like beings and other forms. Then there were these black shadows, floating, transparent... with red eyes. They were trying to touch my cat. It was... wrong, unnatural."

Arth, who had been pacing in the background, stopped in his tracks. His expression hardened, and his eyes flicked from Selene to the rest of the party. "Undead," he repeated, his voice heavy with realization. "No wonder they were moving so steadily, without any sign of life. It makes sense now."

Grimmold’s brow furrowed, his grip tightening on his staff. "If they’re undead, then this isn’t just a random group. This is serious. Vigilantius must be controlling them. He’s known to dabble in dark magic—necromancy."

The party huddled closer, their expressions serious as they discussed their next move. The undead ahead were no ordinary threat, and they would need to proceed carefully if they hoped to survive the night.

As the party debated heatedly in the cold, dark night, their conversation swung back and forth like a pendulum.

"We should wait and think this through," Arth said, his brow furrowed with concern. "We don't know what we're dealing with."

"Okay, they don't seem to move that fast, but if we wait too long, they might disappear!" Ash countered. "We can't lose the trail."

Selene stayed quiet, still shaken from her earlier experience with the cat familiar, while Dalton fidgeted nervously in the background, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting danger from every shadow.

The arguments carried on, growing more frantic. "Approach!" "No, wait!" "We should be cautious!" "We don’t have time for caution!"

The tension rose until finally, Grimmold, standing tall and exasperated with the indecision, threw up his hands. "You know what? Enough of this." His voice cut through the bickering like a blade. "I’ll just go." And without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and started walking directly toward the ominous group of dark figures.

"Grimmold!" Arth hissed in alarm, but the monk paid no attention. The rest of the party fell silent, watching in stunned surprise as Grimmold, with a calm stride, approached the group. His heart raced beneath his composed exterior, but he kept his steps steady and deliberate.

As he neared the figures, Grimmold saw their unnerving stillness. Some of faces of the group were obscured in shadow, others showed a skeletal, a ghoulish or spectral appearance. Alltogether the group seemed to contain various undead. Except for one in the center—a man draped in velvet black robes. Grimmold’s voice was strong, despite the tightness in his throat. "Vigilantius?" he called out loudly.

At the sound of his voice, the entire group froze in place. The figures halted as if caught in time, and the air grew colder around them. Slowly, the robed figure in the middle turned, his eyes glinting with something ancient and unsettling.

"Yes?" the man answered, his voice smooth, carrying over the stillness of the night.

Grimmold swallowed hard, fighting the nervous tremor threatening to overtake him. He forced himself to speak clearly. "We seek your help... regarding the murders in Royal Oak."

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Vigilantius moved, his hands slowly lifting to remove the hood of his cloak. Beneath it was a face worn by time, but his eyes sparkled with keen intelligence—and something far darker.

"Brave of you," Vigilantius said, his voice almost amused, "to approach me here, in the dead of night. Most don’t... come so willingly."

Grimmold stiffened, but his resolve held. "We need information. There are innocent lives at stake."

Vigilantius smiled, though the expression never quite reached his eyes. "Interesting, this must be a really important cause", he said dryly.

Grimmold stood his ground. "Yes it is, we need to stop these killings."

Vigilantius studied him for a long moment, then asked, "Who are you, to speak with such conviction?"

Grimmold hesitated only briefly. "I am Grimmold, a monk of the Abbey of the Whispering Winds."

At that, Vigilantius raised an eyebrow, his dark smile widening. "Ah... the Abbey," he said, his tone laced with a mix of nostalgia. "I’ve visited there... sometimes. The monks do keep a fine garden of herbs." He chuckled, the sound cold and sharp. "And I usually don’t bring my group with me when I make a visit."

Grimmold's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the undead. He glanced at the still figures surrounding Vigilantius, realizing they were more than just men—they were the undead that Selene had sensed.

Still, he kept his voice steady. "We hoped you were able to help us. A young boy named Timmy is the last one who has been killed."

Vigilantius, still watching Grimmold with those unsettling, gleaming eyes, stood firm as he spoke. “I was in Royal Oak recently, you know,” he began, his voice low and contemplative, almost as if he was recalling a distant memory. “Without my... companions,” he added, gesturing vaguely to the still, lifeless forms surrounding him. “I came to visit the market. There are things one can find there, rare spices, and other useful wares. It's especially busy with the coming harvest festival and I am not such a fan of the druids with their beliefs about renewal and life beginning anew. The life I give... is eternal. Quiet, and peaceful.”

He smiled, a strange, unsettling grin that sent a chill down Grimmold’s spine. “No chaos, no struggle, no fleeting moments to be snuffed out by fate. Just... stillness.”

Grimmold nodded carefully, listening. There was a strange weight in Vigilantius' words, as if the man—or creature—was carefully selecting each one.

“But as evening fell," Vigilantius continued, his tone dropping, "I saw something troubling. An innocent boy, strangled in the shadows of the alleys. His life taken far too soon."

Grimmold stiffened, a chill running down his spine at the casual mention of such a brutal act. “You saw it happen?” he asked cautiously.

Vigilantius turned to face Grimmold directly, his eyes narrowing. "I more than saw it, monk," he said, his voice carrying an ominous weight. "I sensed it. I... somehow ... always sense when something ... like that is about to occur. The pain, the loss... It calls out."

Grimmold swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. The cold wind howled through the trees as Vigilantius spoke, his voice as eerie as the night itself.

"The ones who did that," Vigilantius continued, his voice suddenly harder, more dangerous, "they should feel their guilt for all eternity. Such deeds..." He shook his head slowly, as if disappointed. "It is very bad business, killing a young soul before their time has truly come."

Grimmold felt an odd sense of kinship with Vigilantius in that moment—however strange and unsettling the man seemed, he had a clear disdain for unjust deaths. "I agree," Grimmold said softly, his voice filled with the weight of his own convictions. "It’s a terrible crime."

Vigilantius studied him for a moment longer, then nodded in agreement, his expression momentarily softening.

But then, as if shifting gears, Vigilantius' gaze flicked past Grimmold, toward the rest of the party who waited far backwards. His eyes gleamed with interest. "I sense something... among your friends," he said, his voice trailing off as if lost in thought. "There is a life energy over there."

Grimmold followed Vigilantius' gaze, feeling a strange tension building in the air. He thought for a moment before replying, "That would be Arth, our Michakal Priest."

“I see,” Vigilantius murmured, his voice soft but sharp, like the edge of a blade. “Michakal, the bringer of light. How... interesting.”

Grimmold felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, unsure whether Vigilantius' interest was a good or a bad thing. He tried to stay calm, watching as Vigilantius’ smile lingered for a moment longer before fading away.

The eerie silence of the forest seemed to deepen as suddenly two black transparent ghostly beings drifted closer, their red-glowing eyes fixed on Grimmold. The air grew heavier, as if the very moonlight above had turned colder.

Grimmold's breath quickened, "wait a minute!", he immedeately took a cautious step back, glancing nervously between the ghostlike beings and Vigilantius.

"Don't worry," Vigilantius said, his voice almost too calm for the situation. He raised one hand in a gesture of reassurance. "These two wraiths are just... curious. They don't bite." he added, a faint amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.

The wraiths hovered ominously, their claws stretching outwards like twisted shadows. They again slowly drifted closer to Grimmold, their red glowing hollow eyes flicking hungrily toward him, as if it could taste his fear in the air.

Grimmold's heart raced. He instinctively tried to step back again, his body tensing in preparation for a fight. But before he could react further, the wraiths suddenly froze, its hunger-filled gazes fading into a passive, almost docile stance.

Vigilantius gave a soft chuckle. "Yes, it's quite peaceful here in the forest, under the full moon, when one is not disturbed by the living. And I see more than just this full moon, there is another moon,... it's beautiful and serene" He then glanced around at the trees, then at his large group of undead, the two wraiths were gliding silently by Grimmold's side. "And what could be more serene than wandering among the non-living, far from the noise of the world?"

Suddenly from out of the large group of undead a dark greenish humanoid, a ghoul, was looking right at him, smiling hungrily.

However, when Vigilantius looked backward, it's facial expression immedeately changed, as nothing ever happened. It blinked, then seemed to look away.

Vigilantius smiled and said, "You need not fear the wraiths, nor any undead," he said, gesturing towards the the large group around him. "They are simply part of my company. They will not harm you. Why let fear disrupt this peaceful night."

Grimmold nodded, his wariness still present, but a sense of understanding was starting to form. Vigilantius, while unnerving, wasn’t lying about his control over the undead. That was clear.

“So we seek your help," Grimmold finally said, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "To uncover the truth behind the murders and stop this madness in Royal Oak."

Vigilantius considered his words, his eyes flicking between Grimmold and the rest of the party. After what felt like an eternity, he nodded slowly.

Vigilantius stood still, his voice low but clear. "I will help you," he said. His eyes met Grimmold’s, and for a fleeting moment, there was something almost human in his expression, though it quickly vanished.

“I travel these lands,” Vigilantius continued, his voice smooth and unhurried. “I have... no fixed home,... I go where the wind takes me. When visiting Royal Oak, I 'found' something of great interest—a strangling cord, the very one used on that boy in Royal Oak. Along with it, a letter from Lord Ignatus, addressed to Sergeant Jake.”

Grimmold felt his pulse quicken and really wondered how Vigilantius acquired these. This was the break they needed. "A letter from Ignatus to Jake?" he repeated, trying to mask his eagerness. "That could be enough to expose Sergeant Jake. That is certainly interesting evidence."

Vigilantius nodded slowly. "It certainly may be. The letter and cord are both in a small hut near a stream not far from here, where I have been last. They will be yours if you wish, no conditions attached. But... ” His voice trailed off as he glanced toward the thick darkness of the forest.

“There is something... curious,” he continued. “I sent my disciple, Darius, to that hut. He was supposed to retrieve two skeletal warriors I had just created through a ritual." His brow furrowed, a rare show of concern crossing his otherwise stoic face. "Strangely enough, he has not returned. Usually, he completes such tasks in a matter of hours, but it’s been a day now.”

Grimmold listened carefully, sensing where this was leading. Vigilantius’ expression hardened. "I don't know what has delayed him, maybe he just has been busy. If you could investigate and ask him to return to me, then the letter and the cord will definitively be waiting for you in that hut. It is... a small price to pay for something of such great value to your investigation."

Grimmold hesitated for a moment. "You’re asking us to find your disciple?”

Grimmold turned back to Vigilantius. “We’ll look into it.”

Vigilantius smiled, his cold eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "Good. Follow the stream north from here. You’ll find the hut, it is not so far from here, just two or three miles.”

Vigilantius took a deliberate step forward, his eyes locked with Grimmold's as he extended his hand, his long, pale fingers beckoning in the moonlight. His voice was smooth, almost mocking in its calm. "A gesture of goodwill," he said, his tone faintly amused.

Grimmold, wary and tense, studied the necromancer's outstretched hand. The air between them was thick with unspoken danger, the shadows of the forest stretching long as the night pressed in. Vigilantius’s hand looked cold—unnaturally so. The pale skin and dark, mottled veins sent a shiver down Grimmold’s spine. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some twisted trickery behind this offer.

Grimmold hesitated. He had to thread carefully.

With a sharp breath, Grimmold finally took a cautious step forward, extending his own hand slowly to meet the necromancer’s. Vigilantius’s hand, though firm, felt almost as if it were made of ice beneath Grimmold’s touch. But to his surprise, no dark magic surged through him, no malevolent force seized his mind. It was just... cold, like the ground.

Then, from within his robe, Vigilantius produced a small, black book, its cover marked in faded, icy blue letters. He held it out to Grimmold with a deliberate motion. "Because you’ve shown such... bravery," he said, "I offer this to you. A gift. A guide, if you will, to the creatures of my kind. ‘The Small Book of the Undead.’"

Grimmold’s eyes flicked to the book, the pale blue letters stark against the black cover. It looked ancient, its edges worn, as if it had passed through many hands—none of them kind.

Grimmold hesitated for a moment longer before reaching out, taking the book with a wary hand. He flicked it open briefly, catching glimpses of detailed sketches and strange, cryptic symbols alongside descriptions of creatures that he could barely comprehend. Lesser undead—wraiths, ghouls, specters. And... more.

Vigilantius’s smile widened. "Inside, you’ll find descriptions of most of the lesser undead. Where they roam, what powers they possess. I’m certain it will come in handy for you, especially in the days to come." His eyes gleamed, as if knowing something Grimmold didn’t.

Vigilantius also gave Grimmold an appendix, a small book of a few pages titled: 'Bird of Evil Omen"—and Grimmold immediately recognized the name. That bird that had been harassing near Arth earlier, causing irritation. Grimmold opened the small appendix carefully, noting the oddly thin paper. His eyes scanned over the delicate script, which described the bird in far more detail than he'd expected. "Ah, here we go, it's a magical creature with supernatural abilities" he muttered, reading aloud, "its feathers are of great value, especially to collectors and practitioners of magic. When Grimmold mentioned this, Vigilantius himself seemed to look quite eager, "Yes he said, these feathers are really useful for my components, but they are expensive too"

Grimmold thanked Vigilantius and bade him farewell. As Grimmold turned to leave, he gave one last look at Vigilantius, who stood still for a moment, his undead horde quietly shifting behind him like shadows in the dark. The necromancer’s cold, piercing smile faded as he headed northwards and slowly disappeared into the rising mist, blending with the eerie atmosphere of the night.

The chill in the air seemed to grow heavier as Grimmold made his way back to his friends. He could feel the weight of the information pressing down on him, the unease it would bring to the party.

The party stood together, waiting in tense silence. The shadows of the trees stretched long across the sandy path, the moonlight filtering through the leaves above.

"Grimmold," Arth asked, his voice low and cautious, "what did he say? What did you learn?"

Grimmold stepped into the light, his face solemn, and slowly began to recount everything that had transpired. He told them about Vigilantius’s help, how he had mentioned the cord and the letter—the potential evidence against Sergeant Jake that were in an abandoned hut near a stream. He shared the details about Vigilantius’s wandering nature, how he had no permanent home, simply traveling where the wind blew. He also explained about Vigilantius' disciple Darius who went to the hut and did not return to his master yet.

Grimmold reached into his satchel and pulled out the small black book with its peculiar blue lettering: "The Small Book of the Undead." He held it up, letting the dim moonlight catch on its worn cover. "Vigilantius gave this to me," Grimmold said

Arth’s face twisted with distaste, his brow furrowing as he stared at the book, as though the mere sight of it soured the air around them. "Grimmold," he said, his voice tight, "I am not so sure that is a good thing".

“And," Grimmold hesitated for a moment, locking eyes with his companions, "a small book about the bird of ill omen. It’s no ordinary bird—it’s a magical creature."

Arth frowned. "That thing? The one that drove me crazy many times. You think it’s connected to all of this?"

Grimmold nodded. "Maybe, Vigilantius didn’t give us all the answers"

Ash clapped a reassuring hand on Selene’s shoulder, his voice grim but steady. “We’ll stick together. We’ve faced worse than this.”

Dalton, who had been listening silently, shifted uneasily. “So, what now? We keep following the path north?”

Grimmold turned to the group, his face grave but resolute. "A possibility is to go to Vigilantius’s disciple, Darius, who should be at the hut."

The tension between the trees seemed to thicken, the shadows whispering of things unseen. The party gathered their gear, ready to continue north, their footsteps soft but firm against the dirt path. They couldn’t shake the feeling that the forest itself was watching them, waiting for them to make the next move.

As they walked in silence, the night grew darker, the moon now hidden behind thick clouds. And though their hearts beat heavy with foreboding, they knew there was no turning back now.

The answers lay ahead.

The dark woods were still illuminated by the fullness of the moon that stood radiantly amidst the black skies. Its rays blotted out even light of other stars as it set a hubris filled atmosphere for the valiant party. Grimmold joined up with the others, immediately asking Arth to drop his prepared spell. He told the party of his encounter with Viglirantius, the necromancer. Due to it, it was swiftly decided that the party would continue to travel north, in search of a small lodge that was located near the river. The keen eyes of Selene, paired with the sharp ears of Grimmold helped them locate the cabin quickly as Ash guided them north.

There was however a simple obstacle that was now in their way. A shallow stream that quickly became a deep murky darkness. Hawk did not hold his horses and swiftly swam across, followed by Selene. To prevent the less agile party members from getting into any problems, a rope was tied to a spear and with a mighty throw it was tossed back by Hawk with little effort. Unfortunately the rope wasn’t long enough, and a second rope was tied to it and fired back across the water, landing neatly at the feet of Hawk. Both Grimmold and Hawk held the rope tightly as Dalton and Ash made use of it, making their travels a little easier.

Arth however had other plans, he scoured the sandy banks, and found a dingy nearby that he wanted to use to get across, without it, and with the heavy armour he wore, he would otherwise surely have to go for a bottom-walk. And no self respecting cleric was going to go through that. He encountered bones of multiple humanoids, small ones in his little boat and after a quick prayer he pulled the boat over to where the party had almost finished their movement across the waters. Arth and Grimmold stepped into the boat, and secured the rope to it. With both Hawk and Grimmold pulling on the rope they quickly got to dry land and across.

Selene, ever restless and curious, had looked around the little shack, finding traces of dark rituals and through a cracked window she noticed a number of undead on the inside and checked them out by poofing her cat familiar back into existence. The poor spirit had to pay for its dues immediately as it went inside with all nine of its lives, being poofed out of existence as fast as it had been resummoned. A smaller undead and a larger one, both sporting weapons immediately swung at the poor feline spirit.

The party devised a plan to get the jump on the undead, Arth and Grimmold readied a battering ram, Selene and Ash readied their eldritch blast and arrows respectively and Hawk had his large blade att he ready. Clearly already feeling a rage build up inside himself. Opening the door unveiled a quickness no one expected from the undead as they immediately swung at them. Luckily Hawk was fleet of foot and he threw himself at the undead, taking blow after blow.

The skirmish that ensued lasted no more then a minute but left Hawk battered, bruised and salted. The party standing triumphantly over not just two undead, but also a slime like undead creature.

If anything the party had learned from this that to bludgeon these skeletal creatures was the way to go, and that the amorphous acidic creature they had encountered was near impossible to damage with natural means. Luckily the magic of Selene had a substantial impact on the slime. And there was a definite mention there for the radiance that was emitted with every blow that Hawk delivered. Viglirantius was clearly a dangerous mage, but he had promised that they would be able to find the murder weapon that was used to end poor Timmy his life here, a garotte. And additionally a note with incrementing proof. The orders that were passed down by presumably Jake, the army sergeant of Royal Oak.

After their battle Arth helped Hawk out by channeling the power of his divine patron, mending his wounds. Regardless of being stitched up magically, coming back from a near death experience would obviously take its toll on any being. Even an orcish brute of his size. As such Hawk took a moment to recuperate, and Selene decided to keep a watchfull eye over him.

The rest of the party divided some simple jobs among themselves. Ash and Grimmold looked around inside the house and Arth would scout around with Dalton, who seemed like he wouldn’t be able to stomach the scene inside the hut.

Little did they know that the outside of the shack wasn’t much better off. Arth took a good amount of time performing a ritual where he was able to peer through the Weave and get into contact with any residual magic that still lingered in this place.To his surprise he found traces of a level 7 necromancy spell. In a way the ritualistic signs, the bones and the overall feeling of the place all fell together like puzzle pieces.

In the meantime Arth and Grimmold came to the conclusion that the inside of this place had long since been ransacked, and underneath some of the rubble they found the body of Darius, the disciple of Viglirantius. The only other thing of interest they encountered was a magically sealed drawer. While the little table hadn’t survived the drawers themselves had remained intact and were locked.

Grimmold soon found the letter Vigilantius has been talking about and shared it of course with the rest of the group. The letter was an official one and read the following,

- Dear Jake,
I trust thou art well in health and I care for your reputation, as well as for your family. Make sure these gems are delivered to the respected soldiers. If corporal Dan switches guard on day 15 when the sun stands at 3, then the bags will move through into the trading guild; Largo will be aware
Another issue, as you know, Jonas McAllister's promotion is the day after, and we must deal with him too. We have the men ready to leave the Trading Guild waiting for Lord Ado's sign
If you need any reinforcements, which I doubt, Bill can get you the contacts from the Traveller's Inn
And make sure you deal with anyone who knows too much about the stones as I am waiting for validation from my contact point in Vortax. Pantanix should be taken care of and not wait until he is in the crowd of celebrators, as well as Orek and also this seemingly untraceable rogue lady ... Please accept these potions and necklace as a token of my appreciation. More will follow
Trust having you sufficiently informed
Lord Ignatus (the letter is sealed with a red horse logo

The group discussed the letter and this letter raised more questions to them than it had answers. Still, this letter seems to be at least enough evidence against sergeant Jake

When they were in the process of reclaiming Darius his body, Arth entered the gruesome scene, having left Dalton with Selene and Hawk.

A simple glance was enough for the wise cleric to see more then the other two. Picking wounds, a bird had been a part of this. Most likely the bird of bad omen had messed around during the ritual causing the death of this poor man and the main reason why this ritual of Viglirantius had gone so horribly wrong.

Ash skimmed through the belongings of Darius and found a key that would likely open up the magically trapped drawer.

Grimmold moved the top of the table outside, to prevent any other damage to the house, and was then the one to open the drawers one at a time. First a set of artisans tools was found. When looking at the ornate woodcarving tools, these had likely been used to carve runes into bones, but not a word was spoken about this. Additionally there was note and the weapon that had been used to take the life of poor timmy, a strangling cord. In the second drawer a spell was woven that imbued Grimmold with negative energy, with his goliath built he was able to harden himself against the brunt of it and with some hefty exhales produced thick plumes of black smoke over his breath.

Inside were a bundle of magical scrolls that Arth then identified. Without further warning he tore up some of them, explaining that these were for foul rituals that would lead to no good.

Grimmold and Arth had a small falling out over what to do with the body of the apprentice, Grimmold had promised that he would return Darius to his master, and reluctantly Arth eventually allowed Grimmold to do this.

To cleanse the place as much as possible, Arth did however say a prayer to Mishakal before lighting the shack ablaze. As none of the remains would do any good to anyone in the future. With the fire in their wake, the party used a boat to get going again, heading back to the other side of the stream, only making a short stop to deliver the body of Darius into the capable hands of one of Viglirantius his boney underlings. Ash was feeling braver this time, and he accompanied Grimmold out in the open to hand over Darius to Boney number 4, a skeleton that walked back from Vigilantius group who carefully took over the body.

Unbeknownst to the party, the cleansing fire of Mishakal had started to take a hold of the surrounding woods, pumping bellowing black smoke into that already dark skies.

As their trek continued, suddenly the party seemed to be followed by a wraith,

As the party made their way back to Royal Oak from their unsettling encounter with Vigilantius, the air grew colder, and an ominous presence trailed behind them. One of Vigilantius' wraiths had silently followed, its translucent, shadowy form gliding through the trees. Arth couldn’t shake the growing unease—every time he glanced back, the wraith’s red glowing eyes seemed fixed on him.

As the wraith continued to follow them, Arth's nerves were clearly wearing thin. He kept glancing over his shoulder, his face growing more and more irritated. “Why is it still here?” he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with annoyance. “I swear, if it hovers any closer, I’m going to lose it.”

Grimmold, trying to keep the mood light, chuckled. “It’s just curious, Arth. Maybe it likes you.”

Arth shot him a sharp look. “Curious? It’s a floating shadow, Grimmold! I didn’t sign up for this kind of haunting!”

The party walked in tense silence, the eerie figure floating just out of reach, like a ghostly shadow keeping its distance. Grimmold, trying to ease the tension, turned to the wraith and asked, "How’s it going, then?" in a half-nervous, half-humorous tone. The wraith didn’t answer, of course. It simply hovered there, its hollow eyes gleaming with a cold, otherworldly light as if studying Grimmold, or perhaps the life that pulsed around him.

As the distant lights of Royal Oak came into view, the wraith abruptly halted, hovering still for a moment. Then, without a sound, it slowly drifted away into the darkness, leaving the party standing in the eerie calm of the night. Arth exhaled, finally able to breathe easy as the chilling presence vanished.

“Thank Michakal!” Arth blurted out with relief, throwing his hands in the air. “I thought it’d never leave. Creepiest escort ever.” He gave Grimmold a half-irritated, half-relieved glance. “Next time, you chat with your undead friends far, far away from me.”

The party then progressed back into the streets of Royal Oak again, it almost becoming dawn. They decided to quickly hit the hay, definitely needing to sleep at least until half the next day with everything that happened.

As Ash, Grimmold, and Selene made their way down to the common room for breakfast, the smell of sizzling meat and freshly baked bread filled the air. The innkeeper, Rupert, greeted them with a wide grin. "Morning, good folk. Looks like you’re off early. Have you heard the news?" he asked, wiping his hands on a cloth as he spoke. "The army's patrolling, chasing down a so-called 'horror clown' that's been terrorizing the town. Everyone’s saying it’s probably Binky behind all the chaos."

Grimmold raised an eyebrow at the mention of the name. "Binky, you say? I spoke to him during his performance last night. Such a nice man. Even let me hold his big hammer, a real show of hospitality." He chuckled, clearly amused by the memory of his conversation with the clown. "I don't know about him being a 'horror,' though. He seemed more... eccentric than sinister."

Rupert then asked, as he wiped a glass with a cloth, "So, how was your evening?", his eyes flickering between the group. He had been curious ever since they'd returned so late.

Grimmold, leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, "We paid a visit to Vigilantius yesterday," he said, his tone low and almost playful.

At the mention of the name, Rupert swallowed. He set the glass down quickly and glanced around, as if checking that no one else was listening. "Vigilantius?" he whispered nervously. "Well... you rather than me." His eyes darted toward the door, as though the very mention of the necromancer might summon something dark. "That man’s got a... presence. Spooky, if you ask me."

Grimmold chuckled, clearly amused by Rupert's reaction. "Oh, he's definitely an interesting character. But he did offer us some help." He leaned back, trying to look as casual as possible. "Not everyone’s as open to his... methods, though."

The party then ordered their meals, ate it and quickly left the inn, thanking Rupert. As the town gradually came to life in the morning, merchant stalls were being set up, people walking were about, carrying a variety of items such as buckets, woods and various decorations. The party looked around and went quickly on their way.

They then walked towards the Zoo north of Royal Oak. The stone walls rose high around it, enclosing the zoo like a secret little world on the hill. As they passed through the zoo’s stone gates, the crisp air of the morning mixing with the scent of animals and the faint sounds of excited chatter were heard. The servant at the counter handed over their tickets for a mere three copper apiece, though the offer of a year card for nine gold seemed like a deal only the richest could afford. As they moved on, Grimmold and Selene muttered among themselves, "A year card for a zoo visit? What’s the point of that kind of discount?"

Once inside, the party admired the winding paths and cages housing all kinds of strange and exotic animals. But it wasn’t long before they found what they were really looking for—the Dinosaur.

The creature was massive, towering behind a tall stone fence. Grimmold scanned the plaque beside it. "Megaraptor," he read aloud, "donated by the Council of Silverdale, on behalf of Baron Simon Soul."

"Not quite what I was expecting," Ash muttered, stepping closer to the raptor’s enclosure, still eyeing it with suspicion.

Ash’s face lit up with a mischievous glint. "Wait," he said, and before anyone could protest, he placed his hands to his chest and took a deep breath. His voice rumbled low and deep, mimicking the roar of a great beast. He began speaking to the dinosaur, using his unique ability to communicate with animals.

To Grimmold and Selene’s utter amazement, the dinosaur responded, its massive head swinging around to focus on the strange voice. Soon they had a roaring conversation going.

Ash stepped cautiously closer to the Megaraptor, his curiosity piqued by the dinosaur’s strange request. The Megaraptor’s gaze was intense, its red eyes locking with Ash’s as it leaned its massive head closer to the bars. Come closer, it seemed to beckon, and Ash, not one to shy away from a challenge, took a few careful steps forward.

The dinosaur’s voice, now a soft rumble, urged him again. Closer, just a little closer...

Ash hesitated, but then, thinking nothing of it, he complied, stepping past a few more paces. He was about to reach out when the Megaraptor’s voice grew more insistent. Now, move past the bars...

Ash’s eyes widened in disbelief. "No way," he muttered to himself, stepping back. "I’m not about to become a snack for you."

Instead, he quickly pulled out some dried meat from his pack and tossed it over the fence. The Megaraptor snatched it up eagerly, and Ash watched, still unsure what to make of the situation. The creature seemed calm now, satisfied with the treat, but Ash’s wariness remained.

Ash spoke again, his voice shifting to something gentle yet commanding. "So, what did you do last night, Megaraptor?"

The dinosaur blinked, its fiery red eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to recall the events. Its voice, low and deep like the rumble of thunder, echoed in Ash’s mind. I went for a walk, but I can’t remember all of it. The night... is blurry. But I ate merchants. They were strange, yes... but familiar. I felt like I had to move my feet, even though I didn’t want to.

Ash’s eyes narrowed as he probed further. "Who guided you on this walk? Did you see anyone else?"

The dinosaur hesitated for a moment before responding, its voice soft and slow. I was guided... by an old woman and a bald man. They led me, but not in a way that I could understand. They were there, and I followed. It was... strange.

Ash looked over at Grimmold and Selene, his brow furrowed with confusion. "Could these be Granny and Emerson? That sounds like something familiar from somewhere, but it’s not... I can’t place it."

Grimmold turned to one of the servants nearby. "Are there people who take care of the dinosaur?" he asked.

The servant nodded. "Yes, some people feed it from outside, but I don’t know who exactly. It’s a bit of a Seleneery around here," the servant replied, leaning on the counter. "But it’s truly an amazing creature, though I’d say the roc is even more incredible."

At the mention of the roc, Grimmold’s eyes widened, and he quickly shared the information with the rest of the party. "A roc?" he murmured. "I’ve heard legends... It’s said to be a colossal bird. If it’s here, we must see it." The servant replied, "yeah, but it's not disclosed to the public yet...and I have already said too much...so if you will excuse me."

Once the servant moved away, the party began making their way through the zoo, eager to find the legendary bird. After some searching, Selene, with her sharp eyes, spotted something under a large blanket at the far end of the zoo. Her curiosity piqued, she lifted the corner of the blanket just enough to reveal a massive shape in a huge cage beneath it. "There," she whispered. "It’s the roc!"

Grimmold, ever the bold one, approached cautiously and, after a moment’s hesitation, reached out to gently tap the creature’s massive wing. The roc stirred, its immense head slowly lifting. Its eyes glimmered with ancient wisdom as it blinked at Grimmold, who stood frozen in awe.

Ash, seizing the opportunity, stepped up and began to speak to the giant bird. To his surprise, the roc answered, its voice a deep, resonant tone. "I am Rocco the Rock," it introduced itself, its words clear in Ash’s mind. "Once trapped by an army of dwarves, I was brought here for their festival."

Grimmold frowned at the tale, his heart aching at the thought of such a magnificent creature being confined. "Such beings should be free," he muttered. "If I could, I would free you... but there’s a thick glass wall above you. You’re trapped."

As Ash translated this to the roc, it nodded, its voice tinged with a hint of resignation. Yes, but should you find a way to free me, I would give you a ride on my back. You would fly quickly to Stone's Way and before you know it, you will be there.

Ash looked at Grimmold, his eyes glinting with excitement. "A ride from a roc? That would be incredible. We should free it, Grimmold. You could fly us anywhere!"

The party made their way back from the zoo, eager to reunite with Arth and Hawk. As they approached their inn, they found the two waiting for them, freshly rested and ready to continue their journey. With everyone gathered, they set out to pick up the pieces of their investigation.

On their way out of town, the group was greeted by the sight of Corporal Dan and eight of his soldiers standing nearby. The sun was rising higher, casting long shadows as the soldiers appeared on their morning patrol.

Dan gave Ash a formal salute, his voice crisp and respectful. "Good morning, Sir Brightings!"

Ash, though not in uniform, straightened up in response, surprised but appreciative. "Good morning, Corporal," he replied, acknowledging the salute. There was something about Dan’s manner that felt different from the rest—something almost sincere, despite the military rigidity.

The group quickly fell into conversation. Dan sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration as he listed off the issues he was dealing with. "You wouldn't believe the amount of trouble brewing around here. We’ve got brigands tearing down buildings to the north, causing chaos. On top of that, Binky the clown—yes, has been ordered for arrest. Oh, and some monkeys have been spotted to the south of town. The wildlife’s getting a little more... rowdy than usual."

Grimmold couldn’t help but smirk at the absurdity of it all. He leaned forward, his voice dry. "I am sure Binky is innocent. And talking about wildlife, there’s this dinosaur, too, that’s been... well, biting people in half.". Grimmold then shared the information where he found the bodies.

Dan sighed, "A dinosaur, huh? Haven’t heard that one before. But given everything else, it wouldn't surprise me at this point. We've been patrolling there, but we may have overlooked the bushes you mentioned. Alright, will definitively send men there!"

The soldiers behind him exchanged uneasy looks, as if they weren't sure whether the mention of a dinosaur was part of a joke or yet another strange problem they'd soon have to deal with.

Dan’s voice lowered as he shared the next bit of information. "And there’s also a warrant for a man called Old Edgar, alias ‘The Beard.’ He’s a notorious rogue, always targeting the most valuable goods. During the harvest festival, there will be plenty of wealthy nobles, so it’s expected he’ll make an appearance. The reward for capturing him? A whopping 20,000 gold pieces."

Arth raised an eyebrow. "That’s a hefty price for one man."

Dan nodded. "He’s a ghost in the night. Some say he’s so skilled, he can disappear by hiding in someone’s shadow. It’s like he melts into the darkness."

Hawk, who had been quietly listening, smirked. "Hide in plain sight, huh? Impressive. Sounds like a challenge."

Arth then decided to bring up the letter from Sergeant Jake. After some brief discussion, it was clear they could trust Dan, especially with the intel they'd gathered. "We think Sergeant Jake is in on something, and it’s likely related to a shady convoy carrying most likely opium," Arth explained. "We’ve heard about movements, and we believe you’ll be switching guard when it happens."

Dan’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained composed. "You could have a point," he said slowly. "Normally, Captain Siegfried handles the patrol schedules for all supervisors, that is the sergeants and the corporals, but today, Sergeant Jake took it upon himself. That’s... unusual. He's always been a bit of an odd one."

Arth leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so the group around him wouldn’t hear. "Dan," he said, glancing at the soldier, "tonight, when you’re 'replaced' during your guard round, according to Sergeant Jake's letter, you need to be at the scene to capture some outlaws."

Arth smiled reassuringly, but there was a glint in his eyes as he spoke, "Don’t worry, And if you need more help, I’ll make sure the right people are in the right place at the right time! You just focus on doing what you do best—catching the criminals."

Dan raised an eyebrow at Arth’s words, clearly unconvinced. "Who exactly would be my helpers? I've already got a few soldiers on rotation tonight."

Arth hesitated for a moment, glancing at the others before answering. "Well, after reading Sergeant Jake’s letter, I’m not sure which soldiers can be trusted. But don’t worry, Dan, I’ll make sure you’ve got the right backup."

Selene, being positive spirited, opened her mouth as if to say something. "Well, the Thieves Guild could—"

Before she could finish, Arth quickly reached over and clamped a hand over her mouth, his eyes wide in panic. "Shhhhh.....what are you saying?!" he hissed softly, his tone sharp. Selene, muffled under Arth’s hand quickly said nothing.

Ash and Arth exchanged a look before Vice Officer Ash pressed on with another question, as to quickly Divert Dan's attention. "And, we’re also looking for someone—a bald man named Bill. You wouldn’t happen to know him, would you?"

Dan didn’t miss a beat. "Ah, you mean Bill the Soldier. Been in the army for 30 years. A real veteran. Doesn’t take much to get him riled up, but he gets the job done. Though, between you and me, it's a bit unfair sometimes. He seems to have more rights than me... . Sergeant Jake lets him get away with pretty much anything, like allowing Bill to patrol with a group up north of town, him being in the lead. No soldier should be doing that. If there’s some secret smuggling going on, Bill would be the one to hunt down the thieves. He's got the best armour and weapons—definitely not your average soldier."

Hawk whispered amusedly, "the forever lone soldier..."

Ash’s brow furrowed. "That sounds suspicious. Maybe we should keep an eye on him."

With that, Dan and his soldiers saluted and moved off down the street, leaving the party to prepare for the night ahead. The tension was palpable. There was no telling exactly what they would be walking into, but one thing was certain: things were escalating fast in Royal Oak, and the party was right in the middle of it all.

The air grew thick with questions as the group pondered their next steps, their investigation now firmly pointed at Jake, Bill, and a possible criminal operation moving through Royal Oak.

The party made their way toward the northern edge of town, heading toward the grand house of Jonas McAllister, the man who was set to be promoted to baron the following day. They received his whereabouts from Rupert, the innkeeper. As they neared the house, they saw a large, reddish mansion looming behind a tall stone fence. Servants were bustling about, rolling barrels and carrying crates inside the house, preparing for the upcoming promotion.

"Looks like they're making quite the effort for the promotion," Hawk commented as he eyed the activity.

"Definitely. This isn't just a small gathering," Arth agreed, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Wonder what else is going on in there."

As they approached the gate, Arth rang the bell. After a moment, the heavy door creaked open, revealing a large, imposing man dressed in a black and white butler's uniform. His large belly hung heavily over his belt, and he gave the party an appraising look as they stood on the doorstep.

"I am Bon, the butler of our Lord Jonas McAllister" the man introduced himself, his voice deep and gruff. "What do you desire?"

"We have an urgent message for Lord Jonas" Arth said quickly, not wasting any time.

Bon paused for a moment, eyeing them suspiciously. "Urgent, you say?" he muttered, then glanced over his shoulder before looking back at the group. "As my Lord Jonas is quite busy with preparations for tomorrow. I can't just let anyone in."

Arth, sensing the hesitation, leaned in slightly, his voice firm. "This is extremely urgent, Bon. It’s a matter of great importance, one that involves tomorrow’s event."

Bon raised an eyebrow, then sighed, clearly annoyed but seeing the seriousness in Arth's tone. "That may be fine, follow me gentlemen."

With that, Bon turned and waddled ahead, his large belly bouncing with each step as he led the party through the garden toward the mansion's interior.

As the party followed Bonn through the gate, they were met with the sight of the sprawling garden behind the mansion. The large grounds were well-kept, with neatly trimmed hedges and colorful flowers dotting the paths. A fountain trickled quietly in the background, and a few chiseled statues stood sentry, their stony eyes following the group as they moved along.

The party followed Bonn down the garden path, the sound of his shoes clapping on the cobblestones echoing in the quiet afternoon air. The mansion loomed ahead, with its reddish stonework and wide, ornate windows that gave the building a stately, almost intimidating presence. The servants, busy in their tasks, barely gave the group a glance as they passed, focused on preparing for the grand event the next day.

The inside of the house was just as grand as its exterior. Marble floors gleamed under soft, elegant lighting, and the rich scent of fine wood filled the air. Some tapestries hung along the walls, adding to the mansion’s opulent atmosphere. The hum of activity from inside the house suggested that the preparations for the promotion ceremony were well underway.

The group walked past two large oakwooden doors that were open, revealing a spacious main room. The servants appeared to be preparing for something grand—setting up tables, moving chairs of fine wood, arranging flowers, old tables and the like. They all seemed to move with purpose, though none of them paid the group much attention.

As they made their way through the mansion, the group passed an open kitchen door where the sounds of sizzling and clanging pots filled the air. Inside, six cooks were busy at work, their movements practiced and efficient. Strings of garlic and paprika hung from the rafters, filling the room with a rich, earthy aroma, while various spices were scattered across the counters.

Ash's eyes gleamed with interest as he peered into the kitchen. The cooks were preparing large quantities of food—deer and wild boar among the meats—some of which had clearly been slow-cooking overnight. The rich smell of roasting meat mixed with the sharp scent of fresh herbs made Ash's stomach rumble, but it was the precision with which the cooks worked that captured his attention.

Bonn led them down a wide corridor, where servants hurried past carrying dishes and trays. His voice was low but firm as he said, “Lord Jonas is in his study room. Please follow me.”

The group stepped into Jonas McAllister's study, where two towering bookcases lined the walls, their shelves packed with thick volumes and tomes. The room was richly decorated, with deep burgundy curtains draped over the windows, and a heavy wooden desk sat at the far end. Jonas himself stood by the window, a middle-aged man dressed in lavish dark red robes, the fabric rich and finely woven, making him look every bit the noble he was about to become.

As the party entered, Jonas turned to greet them, a smile spreading across his face as he observed their approach. His voice was calm but carried an air of authority. "Ah, welcome, travelers. What brings you to my humble abode this fine day?"

Arth stepped forward, eager to get straight to the point. "Lord McAllister, I have sensitive information that needs to be shared," he began, his tone serious. "There are people plotting to kill you. You should be on high alert. Watch your back."

Before Arth could continue, Bonn, who had followed them in, immediately elbowed him in the side with a firm and sharp jab. Arth winced in pain and glared at the large butler, who shot him a look of disapproval.

"Remember your manners," Bonn muttered under his breath, his large belly shifting with the motion. "Treat a noble with the respect he deserves."

Arth grumbled in response but took a step back, rolling his eyes. "Right. My apologies, Lord McAllister," he said, his voice now more formal. "As I was saying, there are people plotting against you. You need to be cautious."

Jonas raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from friendly curiosity to a more guarded stance, clearly looking concerned. He crossed his arms and leaned against the desk. "Someone is trying to take my life? Where? Who is plotting against me, you say? This is most troubling news. Do you have proof of this claim, or is this merely speculation?"

Arth stood firm. "It’s more than just speculation, Lord McAllister. We have reason to believe that there are individuals within the town who are setting things in motion, and you’re their target."

Arth took a deep breath and began to explain the contents of the letter he had received, recounting the details he’d found there. The letter made it clear that there were people around who were planning to target the newly promoted Lord.

Jonas mentioned a lot of nobles that were invited to his promotion. For example,
- Baron George of Lansor
- Landlord Jack Derro III
- Landlord Ado Untermire
- Landlord Rick Foster
- Local Landlord Tim of Olddale

Jonas added with a sigh, "I have received my official letter, but the person who does the inauguration, Duke Alric von Waterwedge will unfortunately not be present. I guess nobles of this status often have important matters elsewhere to attend"

When Jonas mentioned Lord Ado Untermire, Arth added, “Ado’s name is mentioned in the letter—he might be involved, which makes him a key suspect.”

Ash, ever the curious one, leaned forward with interest. “Lord McAllister, how would you describe your relationship with Lord Ado Untermire?” he asked, his tone neutral but with a hint of skepticism.

Jonas sighed, a frown forming on his face. "Not very good, to be honest. He’s always been opposed to my ideas. Ado is a man who has his own plans, and I think my promotion to Baron did not fall him well. He’s never been one to support change, especially when it disrupts the way things have always been."

Arth gave a knowing look to the others. “But this promotion gives you far more influence now, correct?"

"That is correct", Jonas nodded, his expression a mix of pride and determination, "as a Baron, one oversees not just the town and surrending, but many of the guilds in this area. As a Baron, I’ll have far more authority, which means I can make more significant changes. One of my primary goals is to use my influence and resources in the trading guilds to crack down on smuggling in this area, including the illegal opium trade. It’s been poisoning our streets for far too long.”

At the mention of smuggling, Arth felt the weight of the situation. This was bigger than just a political power struggle—it was about controlling dangerous, illegal activities. "It sounds like you have a big agenda, Lord McAllister. I imagine not all of the nobles are in favor of you taking such action."

Jonas’ expression darkened. "Indeed. Some of them, including Lord Ado, believe the money should be used elsewhere. They argue that it would be better spent on education, military improvements, or other ventures. But in my mind, cleaning up the town and rooting out the smugglers is the most urgent matter. If we don't tackle this problem, nothing else will matter. The town’s safety, the economy, the future—all of it’s at risk."

Jonas' gaze lingered out the window as he pointed toward the large, grey building. "And speaking of trade guilds," he began, "there's that one." His finger hovered toward the massive stone structure that loomed just next to the end of his garden behind the walls. The building looked imposing, with three levels of heavy stonework and large wooden shutters covering the windows. It was eerily quiet, but there was something about it that made Jonas uncomfortable.

"I don’t like having such neighbors," Jonas added with a frown, his tone laced with unease. "It’s been abandoned for years, there was no money spent on renovating it, but I've seen rough-looking men coming and going from it. My servants have mentioned it a few times, and they’ve had a couple of... unpleasant encounters with some of the people who frequent it."

Grimmold, ever the observant one, narrowed his eyes at the building. "That’s definitely suspicious. Could be the illegal trading guild that Dalton mentioned, or at least linked to it," he said, his voice steady with both curiosity and caution. "In any case, it’s certainly something worth investigating."

Arth looked at the rest of the group, then back at Jonas. "We’ll help you however we can, Lord McAllister. We share the same goals."

Lord Jonas replied, "Alright, then consider yourselves to be invited to the banquet tomorrow evening!"

Hawk said, "and dress...code?"

Bonn answered sternly to the wondering group, "make sure you will be dressed decently...and showered".

Hawk responded, "Bath....? We Orcs just need mud."

"And soap...maybe a bathhouse", Arth added humorously

Hawk said back to Arth, "Nah, just mud, maybe they have mud bathhouse"

Bonn said he was afraid that Royal Oak doesn't have any fancy bathhouses. Most people just walk to the rivers or clean themselves with water from the well.

With Lord Jonas informed, the group began making the necessary plans and preparations for their next actions.

The group huddled together outside the noble’s mansion, a sense of urgency in their discussion as they debated how best to support Corporal Dan tonight. The letter had made it clear that Dan’s guard shift would be replaced, and they were unsure of what Dan would be facing if he stayed. They needed reinforcements, but who could they trust?

"We can’t rely on the soldiers," Arth said firmly. "After what we’ve seen in that letter, we don’t know who’s working with Sergeant Jake or who’s honest."

Ash thought for a moment, then his eyes lit up with an idea. "So we could get help from the thieves guild," he suggested. "Bruno is favoured towards us, and they’re more than capable of handling a situation like this. If anyone can sneak around and provide backup without being noticed, it's them."

Grimmold crossed his arms, thinking it over. "It’s risky, but it might be our best shot. Plus, Bruno’s people know how to deal with dirty business. We’ll need to head to the back alleys and contact him soon if we want them ready by tonight."

With the decision made, they started making their way toward the northern back alleys of the town, a part of town known for its shadows and secrets. The streets became narrower, the stone walls around them growing taller as they ventured deeper into the maze of alleys.

Suddenly, Ash caught a familiar sight out of the corner of his eye. "oh...that bird," he muttered, narrowing his eyes. It was the same black bird they had seen earlier, perched ominously on a rooftop, staring directly at Arth. Ash didn’t like the look of it.

Arth, lost in thought for a moment, didn’t notice it right away. But when Ash pointed it out, he quickly turned his attention to the bird. There was something off about it. His instincts kicked in, and without hesitation, he clasped his hands together, muttering a prayer to Michakal under his breath. A bright beam of searing light shot from his hands, arcing toward the bird.

Grimmold watched as the beam struck the bird, but it didn’t seem to hurt it much. Instead, the bird fluttered its wings in a panic and quickly flew off, disappearing into the distance.

"Not a normal bird," Grimmold noted grimly. "That thing’s been watching us."

Ash frowned, keeping his eyes on where the bird had flown. "Whatever it was, it knows we’re onto it now."

Arth sighed, lowering his hands. "At least it’s gone for now. Let’s hope it doesn’t come back."

With the encounter behind them, they continued on their way to meet Bruno. There was no time to lose if they were going to secure help for Corporal Dan tonight.

As they ventured into the back alleys, they came upon the familiar loose fence plank. Grimmold, with a grunt, pushed it aside, allowing them to step into an even more neglected part of town. The alley was lined with crumbling buildings, broken barrels, and shattered chests, giving the area a forgotten and grim atmosphere.

Up ahead, Grimmold noticed three orcs huddled together, their voices raised in a heated argument. "Mine! No, it's mine!" they shouted, tugging on a muddy, but brightly colored piece of fabric. As Grimmold moved closer, he realized that they were fighting over a clown’s costume, of all things. Intrigued, he decided to create a quick distraction, making some noise behind them to pull their attention away. While the orcs squabbled, Grimmold quickly investigated a nearby barrel and discovered something even more peculiar—a collection of clown costumes, soaked in mud and tucked beneath the grime.

Without much hesitation, Grimmold grabbed one of the costumes, slinging it over his shoulder. Catching up to Ash and Arth, who had already walked ahead, he quickly explained what he found. Ash and Arth exchanged confused glances, trying to make sense of the bizarre discovery.

"Clown costumes?? Here??" Ash raised an eyebrow, looking both amused and bewildered.

Arth crossed his arms, clearly surprised. "Well... this wasn't on the list of things I expected today."

Grimmold shrugged. "Who knows, maybe one will come in handy," he said with a grin, as they continued their path toward the thieves guild, the strange discovery lingering in their thoughts.

As Ash entered the final back alley, he noticed movement above—crossbowmen stationed on the rooftops, their weapons glinting in the dim light. He quickly informed Arth, who tensed up. "This could be dangerous," Arth whispered, his eyes scanning the rooftops for more potential threats.

Ash, however, remained calm. "No need to worry," he reassured Arth. "Those are Bruno's men. The guys with longbows from earlier? They were the real threat. Bruno's crew uses crossbows."

With Arth feeling oddly reassured, they approached the strong oak door of the thieves' guild. After a few loud knocks, the door creaked open, and they were greeted by Burat, Bruno's right-hand man. Ushering them inside, they made their way through the dimly lit, smoky interior until they reached a back room where Bruno was waiting.

Arth addressed Bruno and Burat saying "Gentlemen, we have some valuable piece of information for you! I think you would like to hear that in exchange for your help."

The group then quickly explained the situation to them: Lord Ignatus's men were likely bringing in opium, and it was heading to a nearby trading guild. The most critical part was that Corporal Dan's shift was being suspiciously switched out, a plan orchestrated by Sergeant Jake, who was probably in on the smuggling operation. Ash and Arth made it clear they needed support to ensure Dan wasn’t overrun.

Bruno leaned back in his chair, listening carefully. Burat exchanged a glance with him before nodding. "I know there is an abandoned Trading Guild, which at this moment we leave alone. However, these men, they are from out of town, huh?" Bruno said, stroking his beard. "Well, since they're not from around here, they don’t have any loyalty to us... And if they're smuggling opium into the city, it wouldn't be good for the trade, and also not for the prices."

Bruno looked at Burat, who spoke up. "We’ll help Corporal Dan. We'll keep it low profile, though—we don't want to draw too much attention. But trust us, we'll be there... these goods will never reach their 'trading guild'"

Arth tried to smile, again feeling oddly reassured. "Thanks, Bruno. With your help, we can make sure tonight goes smoothly."

Bruno raised a hand. "We'll deal with those out-of-town rogues. Dan can focus on keeping things steady, and we'll handle the rest."

Ash, Arth, and Grimmold nodded in agreement, knowing they now had crucial reinforcements. The plan for tonight was starting to come together.

Before leaving the thieves' guild, the party decided to explore the large main room where Bruno’s men gathered. It was a spacious area filled with wooden benches and tables, where various shady dealings took place. Thieves haggled over weapons, potions, and specialized equipment like lockpicks. Some were counting their gems, while others were immersed in card games, laughter, and occasional curses filling the air.

When they arrived atthe large hall, Grimmold couldn’t resist a moment of curiosity. He stepped into the large, bustling hall where nearly a hundred thieves were engaged in various activities. With a commanding voice, he called out, "Alright everyone, raise your bows!"

In near-perfect unison, the room shifted as almost a hundred thieves lifted their light crossbows, the movement precise and disciplined, all aimed at the party. Grimmold surveyed the scene with a satisfied nod, the display of force both impressive and somewhat reassuring. "Alright alright, just wanted to see that!", Grimmold said while raising his hands.

Ash, standing nearby, chuckled and leaned over. "Told you Bruno's men use light crossbows."

The thieves lowered their crossbows, some sharing amused looks, while Grimmold gave a wink before heading back to the group.

Grimmold, curious about the atmosphere, joined one group of card players, though he politely skipped the bottle of rum being passed around. As the game went on, he made a deal with an elder rogue nearby, purchasing a sturdy set of lock-pick wire.

Arth, meanwhile, used Bruno’s account to buy a new magical cloak of protection. Though the merchant only had a blue one in stock, Arth accepted it, knowing that other colors would take longer to "fetch.", possibly between one to three days. The rogue assured him that the bill would be sent to Bruno and mentioned he had contacts at the Traveller's Inn if he wanted to do future deals.

Ash, on the other hand, browsed for magical arrows. An orcish rogue with a blue bandana offered him a set of flaming arrows, grinning as he promised their effectiveness in battle.

Grimmold took a moment to sit down by himself, holding up the muddy clown's suit he had taken earlier, noticed something tucked inside the fabric. Reaching into one of the oversized pockets, he pulled out not one, but two clown masks. The first mask had a cheerful, almost endearing expression—a friendly clown with a wide smile and bright eyes. The second, however, was a stark contrast: a horror mask with twisted red eyes and sharp, menacing teeth, the kind that would haunt children’s nightmares.

Arth, walking around and observing what was dealt between different tables, looked at Grimmold dubiously when he inspected the masks.

Grimmold chuckled as he held up the scarier mask, turning to Arth. "You know," he said with a smirk, "some clowns probably look like this most of the time anyway."

The party discussed their next move and decided to investigate Sergeant Jake’s room at the barracks. Upon arriving, they were met with the sight of around a hundred soldiers outside, engaged in various training exercises. Groups of men marched, climbed, and crawled under the watchful eyes of their sergeants and corporals.

Arth frowned as he observed the bustling activity. "We can never get in and out of there unseen!" he muttered to Ash and Grimmold.

Ash, with his rank as vice officer, had a plan. Confident in his status, he led the group inside the barracks. They found themselves in a hallway lined with rosters, which Ash began to inspect. His eyes quickly fell on one that detailed the patrol shifts. Corporal Dan’s shift ended earlier than expected, taken over by a corporal named Stanley.

As they lingered, Ash overheard two nearby soldiers talking in hushed voices. "It’s a strange roster today," one said. "The corporals are switching patrols, and it's not Captain Siegfried who approved it—Sergeant Jake did."

Ash exchanged a look with Arth and Grimmold, their suspicions deepening. Something was off, and Jake’s manipulation of the schedule was a key part of it.

While Ash and Arth kept a watchful eye in the barracks, Grimmold slipped away unnoticed. He skulked through the halls, his eyes scanning for any sign of Sergeant Jake’s room. After a short search, he found it—a plain wooden door with a small nameplate. Without hesitation, he tested the handle, but it was locked. Muttering to himself, he pulled out the lock-picking wire he'd bought at the thieves’ guild. Unfortunately, as soon as he applied pressure, the wire snapped. "Drat," he cursed softly. "Cheap stuff." Undeterred, he used the other end of the tool and, after some effort, heard a satisfying click. The door swung open, and he quickly slipped inside, locking it behind him.

The room was modest—a straw bed, a wall closet, two smaller chests, and a desk with a simple wooden chair. At the far end, a small barred window let in just enough light. Grimmold's eyes narrowed as he moved swiftly to inspect the closet. Inside, he found some bottles of alcohol, a masterwork dagger and what seemed like a pile of standard army clothes. He quickly let the dagger slip inside his robes. As he dug through the clothes, his hand brushed against something unusual—a clown suit. His brow furrowed as he lifted it out, recognizing the two masks inside: one with a friendly, cheerful expression, and the other a sinister "horror" clown mask with terrifying teeth and red eyes.

Setting the clown suit aside for the moment, Grimmold turned his attention to the large wall closet. Inside was a collection of weapons, and one in particular caught his eye—a large hammer. His heart skipped a beat. It was unmistakable — Binky's hammer! He had held this very hammer in his hands when Binky and Pierro performed at the Inn! "But what in the Abbey's name is it doing here?" Grimmold wondered aloud, his mind racing with questions. He quickly grabbed the hammer and opened the barred window, tossing it into the back alley below to retrieve later.

Returning to the others, Grimmold quickly urged them to walk to a back alley. He then revealed the clown suit to Ash and Arth. Arth's eyes widened in shock. "Sergeant Jake... has a clown suit too??" he muttered, clearly disturbed. "First the suits in the barrel, now this... it doesn't make any sense."

Grimmold shrugged, flashing a mischievous grin. "Well, tonight, we could go full clown!" he joked, twirling the creepy mask for effect.

Arth, thoroughly exasperated, groaned and bonked his head in frustration...

After a tense discussion, the party decided it was time to move toward the designated ambush site near Corporal Dan’s patrol route. Arth, his face stern and determined, pointed toward a sandy path leading north out of the town of Royal Oak.

The party grouped together and decided to walk to the north to the guard post. The guard post seemed deserted so they went to look around if anything happened. Grimmold and Ash argued that the soldiers should be on post, but for the trading goods to be moved past here, something could have happened with the soldiers.

As they searched inside the bushes around the guard post, they found a bound and gagged man. They released the man and he told the party he was ambushed by some of his fellow soldiers and was left there. Ash and Grimmold nodded, this seemed to be part of the plan. Together with Arth they decided to stay for the night until the opium goods would pass through here.

Hawk had sent out some undertakers to search for Corporal Dan. After scaring one of them with a fabricated tale of being eaten by a large cat, the terrified man reluctantly agreed to go fetch Dan. Hawk had laughed off the moment, but the gravity of their situation was clear.

Hours later, Corporal Dan walked by on patrol, his face set in determination as he led his small group through the growing dusk. Hawk, with a slight grin, approached him and offered a handful of glowing goodberries. “For when things get tough tonight,” Hawk said, his voice calm but serious. Dan nodded appreciatively and tucked them away.

As Dan’s patrol moved ahead, Grimmold and Arth couldn’t help but exchange a glance of amusement when they noticed one of Dan’s men carrying a light crossbow instead of the usual shortbow or longbow. “Looks like Bruno’s men are already blending in,” Grimmold whispered with a chuckle, knowing the thieves guild’s support was near. With both Burat's men and Dan’s patrol in play, the bushes would be overcrowded tonight. The party would have to be cautious while finding a place to lie in wait, avoiding bumping into their allies while preparing a hiding place to capture the smugglers. It was going to be a delicate game of hide and seek.

As night fell, the party concealed themselves near the guard post, waiting in tense silence for the events to unfold. Grimmold, Arth, and Ash huddled together, keeping a watchful eye on the roads and the movements of any potential threats. They knew something big was coming, and the presence of thieves guild members like Burat’s men gave them hope that they could outmaneuver the enemy.

Deep in the night, the sound of approaching wagon carts soon echoed down the road, and two large carts emerged, accompanied by a rough-looking group of men. They weren’t alone—two riders on horseback led the procession, and between them prowled a large lion, a menacing beast under their control. The group halted and looked around.

Suddenly on the other side, Corporal Stanley and Bill the soldier walked out as to inspect the 'cargo.' Stanley nodded as he quickly 'approved' the shady dealings with barely a glance.

Corporal Dan’s forces had been waiting for this moment. Suddenly, Dan stepped forward using a horn, his voice booming. “Everyone! Lay down your weapons and surrender!”

Tension crackled in the air as the men around the wagons hesitated. Then, without warning, the area around the carts exploded into chaos. From the carts and surrounding cover, at least forty men emerged, preparing their bows in the blink of an eye, ready to rain death on Dan’s men.

Hawk seized the opportunity, launching his spear straight at the priest who sat atop one of the horses. The spear flew true, however it did not strike the priest, but deflected off some unseen shield. Now the thieves guild members, led by Burat, were ready and started to unleash a volley of arrows toward the ambushers.

Grimmold quickly conjured a spell, casting Entangle in the middle of the chaos. The vines sprang up between the clustered bandits, trapping them in place as they tried to swarm like ants from the carts. Confusion broke out among their ranks as the entangled men struggled to free themselves, unable to properly draw their bows or mount an effective counterattack.

As the fight escalated, the advantage seemed to teeter on a knife's edge. While the thieves guild rogues kept firing, the smugglers were taking cover behind the trees and wagon carts. In the meanwhile, Dan’s men advanced cautiously, trying to minimize casualties. Arth shouted commands, attempting to organize a flanking maneuver around the trapped bandits, while Ash kept his eyes peeled for any more infiltrators from the thieves guild.

The lion roared, eyes glowing in the moonlight, as it prepared to lunge toward the nearest group of soldiers. The party was ready to strike when the moment was right.

--- To be continued ---