Lucan steps out of the brewery and into the village lane, where night air carries smoke, wet straw, and distant shouting. Horace glides after him, all bone and shadow. Ahead, the square flickers with torchlight and a bell keeps tolling somewhere deeper in town.
The road bends toward the square past shuttered homes and a toppled cart. People rush by in knots, clutching bundles and tools, eyes wide toward the chapel hill. A black smear of soot marks one wall, fresh enough to still glisten.
The Retired Knight
If the rift is sealed, then the relic drew attention. We should find who was digging for it.
Lucan Luckthorn
The square is where frightened people will talk.
Lucan leads the way toward the inn by the market square, its sign creaking in the wind. Lanterns burn low behind the windows, and a few villagers huddle under the eaves, watching the street as if expecting trouble to come back.
The Innkeeper
You, there. If you have sorcery enough to stop one horror, then you may have enough to name another. A hooded stranger came asking after the old cellar beneath the mill.
✓ Quest Accepted
Find who was digging for the buried relic
✓ Quest Accepted
Learn what the hooded stranger wants beneath the mill
“I demand the innkeeper describe the hooded stranger's appearance.”
SUCCESS (Good Intimidation, rolled +1)
Lucan lets the question hang just long enough to chill the air between them. The innkeeper swallows, then nods toward the square, as if the answer costs less once forced out.
The Innkeeper
Hood up, dark cloak, mud on the hem. Tall enough to loom over me, and careful, too careful. A man who keeps his hands tucked away while he speaks.
The Innkeeper
He had a silver pin at his throat, shaped like a branch split by lightning. I remember because it flashed when he turned.
The retired knight straightens at that, concern tightening his jaw. Horace stays motionless beside Lucan, but the empty sockets angle toward the innkeeper, waiting.
The Retired Knight
A badge, then. That is not a ditch-rat digging by lantern light.
The Innkeeper
No. He asked after the mill first, then the old cellar beneath it. Said the ground there was settled on something that should stay buried.
Behind them, the bell keeps tolling over the square. The soot on the wall catches lantern light like old ash, while the innkeeper's face hardens into reluctant memory.
“Did the stranger come from the mill?”
NO (Likely, rolled 77)
The innkeeper shakes his head firmly, noting the stranger arrived from the northern road rather than the mill path. The stranger clearly bypassed the mill entirely before making his inquiries.
“I ask about the stranger's silver pin”
SUCCESS (Good Reasoning, rolled +2)
Lucan Luckthorn
Lucan asks the innkeeper for more on the silver pin, his voice low and even.
The Innkeeper
That pin matters, then. A branch split by lightning, polished silver. I have seen it on factors, yes, but not on a man like him.
The Innkeeper
He kept touching it when he spoke of the mill, like he wanted it seen. Proud of it, or afraid of it, I cannot say.
The Retired Knight
Badges like that mean patronage, or orders. Not a drifter's trinket.
The bell keeps tolling somewhere beyond the square, steady as a pulse. Lucan listens while the innkeeper's certainty gives way to thought.
The Innkeeper
I can tell you this much more. He asked if the cellar below the mill was still sealed, and whether anyone had gone poking there lately.
The Innkeeper
Then he paid in good coin, left by the northern road, and never once looked toward the mill itself.
“Was the hooded stranger a local factor?”
NO (Unlikely, rolled 78)
The innkeeper shakes his head slowly, dismissing the notion that the stranger belongs to any local guild or trade house. The man was clearly an outsider, his silver pin marking an allegiance far removed from the simple commerce of this village.
“I ask what badge the silver pin marks”
SUCCESS (Good Reasoning, rolled +1)
Lucan Luckthorn
What badge does that silver pin mark?
The Innkeeper
A patron’s mark, not a trade sign. Silver branch, split by lightning, that means someone above the village pays for his errands.
The Retired Knight
That is no hedge wizard’s token. Men wear that for protection, or for authority.
The Innkeeper
And the way he asked after the sealed cellar, he knew what he was looking for. Not rumor, not luck.
The street stays hushed around them. Somewhere beyond the square, the bell keeps its tired rhythm, and the memory of that pulsing rift still hangs in the air.
The Innkeeper
If you mean to follow this, start with whoever can spend coin on a marked stranger. That pin buys him a master, and masters leave tracks.