Dusk clings to the village inn, all low beams, peat smoke, and muddy boots by the door. Fae'andra Nightingstar slips inside as the common room hushes around a robed stranger at the hearth.
The inquisitor passes through, gaunt and travel-worn, with a seal badge at his throat and a parchment in hand. He lifts it toward the room like a challenge.
The Inquisitor
By leave of the road and crown, hear this. A tournament is to be held here, and any who wish glory, coin, or pardon may test themselves.
His eyes move once, sharp and measuring, as if weighing every hand near every belt. The inn seems to hold its breath.
Fae'andra Nightingstar
The seal looks official, but the parchment looks handled too often.
Fae'andra stays near the wall, cloak dark against the firelight, while the inquisitor unrolls the notice. A line near the bottom bears a second mark, thin as a claw-scratch and stained a dull red.
The Inquisitor
One more thing. This village bears an old family curse, and the tournament is part of its remedy. I need witnesses, and I need challengers.
He looks straight toward Fae'andra then, as if he has already chosen her out of the room. His hand rests on the parchment, waiting.
✓ Quest Accepted
Join the tournament
✓ Quest Accepted
Witness the village curse remedy
“Does the inquisitor recognize me from my past?”
NO (Unlikely, rolled 78)
The inquisitor's gaze lingers on Fae'andra for a heartbeat, but his eyes remain cold and impersonal. He shows no flicker of recognition, his focus entirely on the task of recruitment.
“Is the inquisitor hiding something about the parchment?”
YES (VeryLikely, rolled 27)
Fae'andra Nightingstar
The ink on that parchment is still damp, and the seal is not of the local magistrate, but of a house long thought extinct.
The Inquisitor
You study the document with a keen eye, traveler. Perhaps you recognize the weight of the history written upon it?
“I step closer and inspect the parchment”
FAILURE (Fair Perception, rolled -3)
Fae'andra steps out of the shadows and into the lantern glow, closing the distance to the parchment.
The ink sits too slick on the page, and the bloodied edge catches the light before her eyes can settle.
Fae'andra Nightingstar
The script blurs at the center, as if the wet ink and stain are both still fresh.
She leans in anyway, but the inquisitor tilts the notice half away, just enough to spoil the clean view.
The Inquisitor
Careful. Some names on this page are not meant for idle study.
His fingers tighten on the seal, and the parchment rustles shut by a finger's width.
The Inquisitor
If you want the full measure of it, say whether you stand with the tournament, or against it.
“I ask what the tournament has to do with the curse”
SUCCESS (Superb Persuasion, rolled +0)
Fae'andra Nightingstar
What does the tournament have to do with the curse?
The Inquisitor
Everything, if the curse is bound to blood, title, and the old oath that fed it.
He lowers the parchment a little more, not enough to free the view, but enough to show he is choosing his words carefully.
The Inquisitor
The family cannot simply be cleansed by prayer or decree. The curse answers challenge. It resists, reveals itself, and can be forced into the open.
The fire pops softly. His gaze stays on Fae'andra, measuring whether she hears the bait beneath the explanation.
The Inquisitor
That is why I call for contestants. The right challenger can expose the source, and end what hangs over this village.
He turns the seal outward again, thumb resting over the old wax as if he expects her to notice something else now.
The Inquisitor
You asked the proper question. So, do you want the rest of the truth, or the name of the family first?
“Is the inquisitor hiding something about the seal?”
YES (VeryLikely, rolled 70)
Fae'andra Nightingstar
The wax seal is not just old, it is cracked and repaired with a different, darker resin that does not match the original crest.
The Inquisitor
You stare at the seal as if you can read the history written in the wax itself. Perhaps you have seen this mark before, in places where the dead are meant to stay buried.
“Is the inquisitor hiding the parchment's true origin?”
YES (VeryLikely, rolled 62)
Fae'andra Nightingstar
The resin repair is not just a fix, it is a deliberate forgery meant to mask the original sigil of a house that was purged for necromancy.
The Inquisitor
You are quiet, Fae'andra. Does the truth of the seal frighten you, or does it merely confirm what you already suspected about the nature of this tournament?
“Does he know my name?”
YES (Likely, rolled 51)
Fae'andra Nightingstar
He used my name without me ever introducing myself, which means he has been tracking my movements long before I stepped into this inn.
The Inquisitor
I have kept a ledger of every soul capable of breaking a blood oath, Fae'andra Nightingstar. Your reputation as a shadow in the night precedes you, and I find your presence here to be quite convenient for my employer.
“I cover my head with my hood feeling uncomfortable and then rest my hands on my sheathed daggers.”
SUCCESS (Fair Willpower, rolled -1)
Fae'andra lifts her hood higher, letting the shadow swallow most of her face, then settles both hands on the hilts at her hips. The gesture is small, but it changes the room, turning her from scrutiny into stillness.
The Inquisitor
Better. That look suits you, Nightingstar. You are not the first blade I have had to read by candlelight.
The Inquisitor
I did not summon you for sport. The village is sick with an old oath, and my employer pays for answers that cannot be extracted by prayer alone.
He eases the parchment down to chest height, not hiding it, but not offering it either. The wax seal still seems to throb in the firelight.
The Inquisitor
You noticed the seal, the repair, the stain. Good. Most who claim vigilance merely stare at the dagger and miss the hand holding it.
Fae'andra Nightingstar
The man talks like a judge, but watches like a trap.
The Inquisitor
Tell me, then. Are you here for coin, for truth, or because some part of you cannot ignore a curse when it starts naming families?
“Is the inquisitor serving another employer?”
YES (VeryLikely, rolled 58)
Fae'andra Nightingstar
The crest on his ring matches the seal on the parchment, but the sigil is inverted, a mark of servitude to a house that fell centuries ago.
The Inquisitor
You hesitate. Perhaps you realize that the master I serve is not the one who signed this document, but the one who buried the original owner.
“Is the inquisitor serving a necromancer?”
YES (VeryLikely, rolled 54)
Fae'andra Nightingstar
The inverted sigil is unmistakable, a blasphemous mark used only by those who practice the art of binding the dead to their will.
The Inquisitor
You see the truth now, do you not. My master does not merely command the living, but draws strength from the very rot that plagues this village.
“I ask who his master is”
SUCCESS (Superb Persuasion, rolled +1)
Fae'andra Nightingstar
Who is your master?
The inquisitor’s smile thins, but the answer comes at once, like he has waited to place it in her hand. The candle flame trembles over the parchment’s sealed crest.
The Inquisitor
You ask the right question at last. House Veyr, or what remains of it, serves Lord Edrin Vale. He wears piety as armor and rot as a crown.
He taps the signet ring with one finger, then lets his hand fall, as if the name itself is enough to prove his point.
The Inquisitor
My master needs a witness who can smell a lie in old blood. He needs someone like you at the tournament, not cheering, just watching.
For the first time, his triumph cools into something flatter, more practical. The parchment remains half-lit, the false seal pulsing in the firelight.
The Inquisitor
Tell me, shadow, will you come to see what Lord Vale truly uncovers, or do you leave this village to its own curse?
“Is Lord Vale behind the village curse?”
YES (VeryLikely, rolled 79)
Fae'andra Nightingstar
The rot in the village soil matches the necrotic signature of the seal. Vale is not just investigating the curse, he is the architect of it.
Fae'andra catches a faint, sickly sweet scent of decay drifting from the parchment as the Inquisitor holds it steady. The connection is undeniable, the curse and the man are one and the same.
“I ask what Vale gains from the curse”
SUCCESS (Superb Persuasion, rolled -1)
Fae'andra Nightingstar
What does Vale gain from keeping a curse like this alive?
The Inquisitor stills. For a moment, the parchment lowers a fraction, and the sickly scent between them sharpens in the candlelight.
The Inquisitor
Leverage. Fear. A village that owes him gratitude when he offers a cure to the wound he helped make.
The Inquisitor
And witnesses, if the remedy fails to hold. People remember who stood nearby when the truth came out.
His mouth tightens, not quite a smile, not quite regret. He folds the parchment edge with deliberate care, as if sealing away a confession.
The Inquisitor
You are not the first to notice the rot, Fae'andra Nightingstar. You are simply the first to ask what it is worth to him.
He turns the sealed page just enough to show a second mark beneath the wax, a hidden tally in dark ink, then looks back to her and waits.
“I ask what the remedy requires”
SUCCESS (Superb Persuasion, rolled -3)
The Inquisitor keeps the parchment half-open, the hidden tally just visible under his thumb. The mist from the seal thins, then curls again like breath caught in cold glass.
Fae'andra Nightingstar
What does the remedy require?
The Inquisitor
Three witnesses. One drop of blood from the afflicted line, willingly given. A public oath to bind the cure to the whole village.
The Inquisitor
Then the challenger must stand through the naming, while the old hurt is drawn out and made to answer.
He taps the dark tally once, and his gaze flicks to the common room beyond the candles, as if counting unseen listeners.
The Inquisitor
I did not ask you to cheer for House Veyr, Fae'andra Nightingstar. I asked you to watch closely, and tell me what you see when the curse is spoken over.
For the first time, his voice loses some of its iron. The parchment settles in his hand, waiting.