The spillway narrows into black stone and cold runoff. Above, boots hammer the granary floor, far too close.
Ahead, a slit of pale light reveals the Wound-Saints at the sacred font below the market lane, three veiled figures bowed in prayer and strain.
Maerwyn Silverleaf
There. The Covenant’s binding clings to them still. If we break it, the road may quiet, and the land may breathe.
The First Wound-Saint lifts their head as Lyra and Maerwyn emerge. Their veil trembles. The holy water shivers with ash-dark threads, thin as spider silk.
The Second Wound-Saint
We cannot step free on our own. The rite holds us when the riders call.
Lyra
If I can sever the binding at the font, they can choose their own path.
The Third Wound-Saint presses both hands to the stone rim, trembling, while distant metal rings above. Lyra’s staff catches the font-light, and the poisoned threads recoil at the touch of living healing.
+ Scene Quest Added
Sever the binding at the font
“I call to the Wound-Saints to trust me”
SUCCESS (Fair Persuasion, rolled +3)
Lyra lowers their voice, and the chamber seems to listen. The ash threads in the font flicker, then slow, as if they are hearing too.
Lyra
Trust me. I am here to help you break free.
The First Wound-Saint
We hear you. The Covenant made every touch feel like command, but your healing does not burn.
Maerwyn Silverleaf
Good. Let them feel choice before you cut the last knot. That is how true rites begin.
The Second Wound-Saint
Then stay with us, healer. If we falter, the binding pulls harder.
The Third Wound-Saint lifts their hands from the stone at last, and the font brightens under Lyra’s staff. One dark strand loosens, drifting like burnt silk.
The Third Wound-Saint
I can feel my own will again... faint, but mine.
Maerwyn watches the water, then Lyra, her expression softening with hard-won pride. The bindings answer, but not with force, they tremble as if unsure whether to remain.
“I keep soothing the Wound-Saints”
SUCCESS (Superb Medicine, rolled -1)
The brightened water takes Lyra’s calm and carries it outward. Ash-dark threads slacken in ribbons, peeling from the font’s lip and sinking harmlessly into the runoff.
The Second Wound-Saint
It hurts less now. The command is losing its grip.
Lyra keeps their staff steady, and the saint’s breathing follows the rhythm. The chamber’s hush deepens, no longer strained by the binding’s strain.
Maerwyn Silverleaf
Yes, there, hold that pace. The font remembers mercy when it is given room.
A final strand slips free with a faint hiss and dissolves before it can knot itself again. The First Wound-Saint lifts both hands, testing their own will like a repaired limb.
The First Wound-Saint
I can choose the shape of my own breath again.
The water clears to a steady glow, and beneath it something pale and carved glints at the basin floor, briefly revealed by the last wash of ash.
The Third Wound-Saint
Look. The binding is gone from the font, but what is that beneath it?
Quest Complete
Sever the binding at the font
Skill Upgrade: Persuasion Fair→Good