The hill road ends at the town gate. Salt crusts every iron bar, and mist pours beneath it like breath from a buried mouth.
The Bellringer raises one gloved hand toward Rázboi Tepès, then points at the iron bell-mark. Beyond the gate, watchmen stiffen around hooded lanterns.
Rázboi Tepès presents the mark. The nearest watchman lowers their spear, and the gate chains groan into motion.
The Gate Warden
Hold it high. Let the town see what follows you.
The gate opens onto a narrow street of leaning houses and shuttered windows. No voices answer from within. Lanterns flicker in a slow, repeating rhythm, bright, dark, bright, dark.
Orsina
The bells have not sounded since dawn. Something else is keeping time.
A damp chill crosses the threshold. In the nearest window, a pale reflection turns its head toward Rázboi Tepès, though the room behind the glass is empty.
✓ Quest Accepted
Determine what is keeping time in the town
✓ Quest Accepted
Understand the nature of the entity
“I ask the warden what stalks these streets”
SUCCESS (Legendary Diplomacy, rolled +0)
Rázboi Tepès
What stalks these streets?
The Gate Warden
The veiled woman. The one who wears the faces of the buried. She walks after sunset, and the town pretends not to notice.
The Gate Warden lowers their spear completely. Behind them, a shutter clicks closed, then another. The street keeps its silence, but its windows are listening.
Orsina
The lanterns keep time for her. Bright, dark, bright, dark. When they stop, she is near.
The Gate Warden
We call it the burial hour, though it has no hour. No bell marks it. No prayer sends it away. We bolt our doors, draw the curtains, and wait for the faces to pass.
Orsina
My name is Orsina. I should have told you before we reached the gate.
Orsina
You carry the mark, and you have heard what crossed the salt. If you still mean to walk with us, tell me what you need to know before the street closes its eyes.
Quest Complete
Determine what is keeping time in the town
“Is the burial hour caused by the veiled woman?”
YES, AND MORE (Likely, rolled 3)
The Gate Warden glances at the darkening sky, their expression hardening as the lantern light flickers out entirely. It is not merely that she walks the streets, but that her presence is the very anchor of the burial hour itself, a parasitic cycle that feeds on the town's collective terror.
The Gate Warden
She does not just bring the hour, traveler. She is the hour. Every soul she claims adds a layer to her veil, and every layer pulls the town deeper into the dark.
Rázboi Tepès
The town is not just hiding from her. It is being consumed by her.