The Stranger leads Walksfar through a narrow door into the storage room, where sacks of spice and drying herbs mute the tavern noise to a hush.
The Gray-Mantled Stranger
Here, the walls are kinder. They keep secrets better than any patron.
She studies Walksfar in the dim light, her gray mantle brushing a stack of crates. Her gaze lingers on the wrapped left wrist, then softens.
The Gray-Mantled Stranger
You carry Leapold-Gold blood like a seal pressed in wax. Even hidden, it leaves a shape.
Walksfar Seesmuch
She sees more than I like.
The Burly Gate-keeper lingers at the doorway, arms folded, less a guard than a wary witness. Beyond him, the tavern stays quiet, the city’s noise now distant.
Burly Gate-keeper
If she knows, then maybe the rest will soon enough. Still, I’d rather hear it from you than from rumor.
The Gray-Mantled Stranger
You need not name yourself aloud. Not here. But do not mistake concealment for safety, princess. It is only a veil, and veils thin.
She lets the word settle, then tips her chin toward a stool beside the spice-racks, leaving the moment open instead of pressing it.
“I press the gate-keeper for what he knows”
SUCCESS (Superb Diplomacy, rolled +0)
Walksfar lets the silence stretch, then turns her attention to the gate-keeper instead of the stranger. The room seems smaller for it, all spice and cedar and old wood.
Walksfar Seesmuch
He is watching both of us, but he answers the room with his hands.
Burly Gate-keeper
You ask plain, so I will answer plain. I have seen church men ask after scrolls before, and I have seen them lie about what they want.
Burly Gate-keeper
This one was marked for a vault under blessed stone, not a tavern table. That mark is not prayer, it is a claim.
The Gray-Mantled Stranger
And claims invite thieves, zealots, and fools. Sometimes all three wear the same face.
Burly Gate-keeper
I saw the seal myself, cracked at the edge, like someone wanted it opened without breaking the church hand that carried it.
He lowers one broad hand and uncovers a sliver of wax stuck to his glove, dark red and stamped with a ringed sigil. The stranger’s eyes narrow, fixed on the fragment.
Burly Gate-keeper
If you are asking what I know, princess, I know the scroll is meant to point somewhere, not simply to be read. And I know someone inside the church wants it found before anyone else.
“and who was red faced noble, and should I trust Inquisitior, seems you know my true identity, so no sense trying to deceive you”
SUCCESS (Superb Diplomacy, rolled -1)
Walksfar Seesmuch
And the red-faced noble, should I trust the Inquisitor, and if you know my true identity then there is no sense pretending otherwise.
Burly Gate-keeper
The noble was red with drink and fear, not rank. He came asking after the scroll before the church men did, and that makes him useful, if not clean.
The Gray-Mantled Stranger
As for the High Inquisitor, trust the man only as far as a knife can be thrown. He wants order, not truth, and he will call both by the same name if it serves him.
Burly Gate-keeper
Your face is known to me now, yes. I am not blind, princess. But I have no taste for handing coins to the wrong purse, and I like church lies less than honest trouble.
The Gray-Mantled Stranger
Then hear the part that matters. The scroll was not meant for reading in secret. It points to a place where the church buried something older than its own vow.
Burly Gate-keeper
And the broken seal tells me someone wanted that buried thing moved without the clergy seeing the theft. A red-faced lord, a holy hunter, or both, I cannot say.
The Gray-Mantled Stranger
If you mean to survive this in one piece, child, decide whose lie is least dangerous to wear.
“I play the noble and the Inquisitor against each other”
SUCCESS (Superb Diplomacy, rolled +0)
Walksfar lets the silence hang just long enough to make the room lean toward her.
Walksfar Seesmuch
Let the noble and the Inquisitor suspect each other, not me.
The Burly Gate-keeper gives a single, hard nod, already understanding the shape of the trap she means to set.
Burly Gate-keeper
A red-faced lord brought the church to the door, or the church sent him wearing a lord's worry. Either way, they will start looking at one another before they look at you.
The Gray-Mantled Stranger
Good. Then we have a wedge. A frightened noble is easy to steer, and a proud inquisitor is easier still.
The gate-keeper turns the wax sliver once more, then curls his fist around it like a vow kept in secret.
Burly Gate-keeper
When they quarrel, I will hear it first at the gate. If the scroll’s trail opens, I will send word to you before either man thinks to claim it.
The stranger’s gaze shifts to the doorway, sharp and listening, as a boot scrape and low voices drift faintly from the tavern beyond.
“I let them argue while I listen at the door”
SUCCESS (Good Perception, rolled -2)
Walksfar slips to the storage room door and presses close to the seam, letting the muffled tavern noise become words.
A man outside mutters that the church seal was seen in the market, and that someone paid in silver to keep it quiet.
The Gray-Mantled Stranger
So the rumor has teeth. Good. Then the seal is not dead ink, it is a trail.
Burly Gate-keeper
And if it is a trail, it leads to whoever hid the claim in the first place. Not to the girl in the room.
The Gray-Mantled Stranger
Careful. If they paid in silver, they may have paid for fear as well as silence.
Walksfar hears a second voice outside, lower now, speaking of a buried chapel under the old wall and a scroll that named a place no priest should know.
Burly Gate-keeper
Then the paper was never a prayer. It was a claim to a hidden thing.
The Gray-Mantled Stranger
Yes. And if the church marked it, someone in the church wants that thing found before anyone else does.
“I listen for the buried chapel under the old wall”
SUCCESS (Good Perception, rolled +1)
Walksfar keeps still at the seam, and the muffled talk outside sharpens into a path, not just a rumor. She catches the old wall, then a burial chapel beneath it, and a place named in the same breath as the church seal.
Walksfar Seesmuch
The scroll points to a buried chapel under the old wall.
The Gray-Mantled Stranger lifts her chin a fraction, listening too, as if the room has just handed her a useful knife.
The Gray-Mantled Stranger
There it is. A chapel hidden under the wall, and a claim tied to it. Someone is not searching for scripture.
Burly Gate-keeper
Then the church-marked paper was a map, or a warrant. Either way, it names a place they meant to keep buried.
A chair leg scrapes softly behind them. The gate-keeper opens his fist at last, and the red wax fragment catches the dim light like a fresh wound.
The Gray-Mantled Stranger
That seal is still warm in the hands of whoever handled it last. We should decide who hears this next.
Quest Complete
Expose the truth behind the church-marked scroll
Attribute Upgrade: Perception Good→Great