[If you are interested in joining a setting like this, check out: roleplayerguild.com/topics/196759-ise…]



Greybank lies where Ryke’s well-traveled roads begin to thin into marshland paths — a modest settlement of stone chimneys, sun-faded banners, and the steady smell of river reeds drying in the breeze. Farmers barter in the square, smiths hammer in the forges, and wagon wheels clatter over uneven cobbles.

For most travelers, Greybank is not a destination so much as a pause: a place to rest boots, refill waterskins, and take stock before braving the lonelier stretches of Hollow Vale.

The Adventurer’s Guild annex sits just off the main road, its wooden sign creaking lazily. Inside, the air carries a mix of warm stew, wet leather, and old maps pinned to every available beam. A handful of adventurers occupy scattered tables — some sharpening weapons, others trading exaggerated stories, a few simply nursing cups of ale as if waiting for excitement to wander in on its own.

Yet despite the bustle, there is a strange stillness near the quest board.

Only a single request hangs there.

The parchment is pinned dead center, untouched, though clearly no one has been willing to remove it. A small tear in the corner suggests someone tried — and then thought better of it. Eyes occasionally drift toward it, only to slip away again just as fast.

The request reads, in a trembling, uneven hand:



No reward amount.
No details.
Just desperation.

A strange quiet falls whenever someone gets too close to the board. Even the most seasoned mercenaries avert their gaze, as if the parchment itself carries a curse. Whatever the reason… nobody touches it.

Not far from the board, an older man sits with his back to the wall, one boot crossed over the other, arms folded. His armor is worn but maintained, his posture relaxed yet alert. He watches the board with the weary patience of someone who’s been waiting for a long time — or dreading the moment someone finally reaches for that request.

Still, the guild is open, the day is young, and new footsteps entering the annex draw a few curious glances.

It becomes clear, quickly and unmistakably:

If that request is going to be answered… it won’t be by the locals.

And now, as boots cross the threshold and the scent of the road follows behind them, the small annex of Greybank waits — to see who will be the first to step forward.

Mazn: *Mazn arrived here on the quest board noticing the need for help so he doesn't mind helping as he ask his companion about her opnion but she just shrugs* "do you think there is twist or no?"

Ria: "Maybe and maybe not who know" *she cross her arms*

The old wooden door creaked as it opened slowly, followed by the heavy thuds of boot against dirt- then wood. A tall pale stranger entered the annex in a way one can only describe as unnatural. The man stood there for a moment too long, letting the door slam itself shut and causing a few turned heads and suspicious scowls from the adventurers before they briefly returned to whatever they were doing. A slow shaky inhale through the nose followed by an even slower release of cold breath through the mouth, then it spoke. "Warm here." It's voice was low enough to be considered a whisper as its deep-purple eyes scanned the room, its lips unsure whether to smile or frown as it quivered. A few more moments of quietly standing, and the man finally moved towards the quest board, where two others stood by.

Kind has been wandering for two days straight, knowing that in this body, it would not do well to sit and lounge around after a large meal. Whenever it was full, it wandered aimlessly, waiting to feel hunger again. Though, it did notice itself being drawn to large crowds. The crowd at the Adventurer's Guild wasn't anything impressive, yet it found a strange comfort in the presence of other humans. Besides, having only been human for three years, it still had plenty to learn... And one of the more recent things that Kind learned is the importance of money, which humans gain this by using their skills and profession for the convenience of others. Kind, luckily, was skilled with the dagger, and quest boards usually presented an opportunity to be paid for being skilled.

"Hello." It said to the two that stood by the quest board, its voice almost a whisper. "I am... Kind." It held a pale bony finger up, as if to correct them before they could even ask. "Not rude. Kind. A kind servant and good friend, I am." Every word that left its white lips sounded too carefully spoken, as if at any moment, the vowels would cause its tongue to snap. Then slowly, it gave them a wide smile that did not reach its cold eyes, an eerily awkward and poorly practiced attempt at warmth. The sharp row of teeth didn't help make it any warmer, either. "This quest..." It pointed to the lone piece of parchment pinned to the board. "What does it say? I am not... I haven't learned to read yet, you see."

[b]"Rat come out of his hole.["/b]

Heat... Leaves... Earth... This is what the boy used to feel when he wakes up. He remembers being very hungry and falling to the ground unable to sleep. However, when he woke up, he saw nothing. He could only feel. He didn't understand what was going on. A little panic was creeping over him. However, he still did not realize that thanks to one goddess, he found himself in a new world with an extraordinary gift.

Suddenly, our little 11-year-old adventurer saw contours, multi-colored contours that kept appearing due to the sounds in the area. It was the very imagination that had been developed in him from the very first seconds of his life. Each step gave him an idea of what was under his feet. After taking the first steps and finding this activity fascinating, he accidentally stumbles and falls. He realizes that he doesn't see it and just accepts it. He was used to facing difficulties in his past life and the cruelty of people too. Feeling the place where he fell, the boy found a stick. A simple stick. He tripped over her and fell, that's what he realized. Images of people with canes appeared in his mind. A stick is a walking stick. He began to try using a stick to understand his surroundings. Surprisingly, the imagination painted the surroundings with bright colors and very well. It seems that the goddess has taken good care of the boy, who has never felt the care of others. He took care of himself, and took care of others if he could, giving the last and sacrificing his hunger.

He didn't know where to go or what to do. He also didn't know how his fate would turn out and what he was capable of. The boy just went ahead through the forest in a random direction. Maybe he can find a path where someone can see a homeless person. Homeless people are a normal phenomenon and usually no one helps them. And especially people like this boy. He's blind. But if someone sees him casually using his gift, it might change their mind.

Strolling through the beaten path in the forest was two unusual figures. One was a small slime creatures wearing a garb and a tall witch hat. The other was a cauldron with four legs. The slime was sitting inside the cauldron while the latter do the walking. From afar the slime's witch hat might looks like a really weird cauldron lids.

The slime was Jilly, a three weeks old slime who decided to take on some adventuring after hearing the tales of her creator's adventures. She was heading towards the nearest village when she spotted another figure in the forest. He was a short human with blindfold on his eyes.

"A lost child!" Jilly immediately concluded.

"Come over there, Potty. We must help a lost child!" The cauldron heeds Jilly's direction and slowly approached.

"Hello, little one. Are you lost?" Jilly greeted the blindfolded boy while standing on top of her cauldron, just to make sure she's not outheighted by him.

"Come with me! I will help you find your parents!"

@MrJack

[If you are interested in joining a setting like this, check out: roleplayerguild.com/topics/196759-ise…]

@Mazn Zito - Asset Goal = ?
@VoLimiNaL - Asset Goal = ?
@MrJack - Asset Goal = ?
@Spoiled Bread - Asset Goal = ?



The quiet around the quest board deepens, not breaks.

Mazn’s casual words and Ria’s shrug draw a few sidelong glances — not offended ones, but wary, as if even talking too openly about the parchment risks drawing attention. A mercenary at a nearby table lowers his voice mid-sentence. Another shifts his chair just enough to angle his back toward the board, pretending interest in his drink.

Kind’s entrance does more than turn heads.

The door’s heavy slam echoes longer than it should, and a ripple passes through the annex — not fear exactly, but discomfort. Greybank sees its share of strange folk, yet there is something about the pale stranger’s stillness, the careful cadence of its voice, that makes conversation thin out around it. A guild clerk pauses mid-scratch of her quill, watching from behind the counter before deliberately looking away.

When Kind approaches the board, standing near Mazn and Ria, the space around the parchment becomes conspicuously empty.

The request itself flutters faintly, stirred by the draft from the door. Close up, the ink smudges are clearer — tears, perhaps, or hands shaking too badly to write clean lines. When Kind asks what it says, one of the nearby adventurers lets out a short, humorless breath through his nose and mutters something about “damn fools” before pushing back his chair and moving elsewhere.

Not far from them, the older man with his back to the wall finally shifts.

The scrape of his chair against the floor is soft, but somehow louder than it should be. He doesn’t stand yet. He simply turns his head enough for one sharp eye to settle on the small gathering forming at the board — the armored newcomer, the pale stranger, the companion beside him.

He watches. Measures.

Outside the guild, Greybank continues on.

Footsteps pass. A wagon rattles by. Somewhere down the road, a vendor shouts about fresh bread.

And further still, beyond the town’s edge, the forest path carries two very different travelers toward Greybank’s outskirts.

---

The undergrowth parts with a faint rustle as the cauldron’s metal legs step from soil to stone. The transition from forest floor to road is clear even without sight — the change in sound, in vibration, in the way the world answers movement.

Jilly’s bright voice cuts through the quiet of the trees, light and certain.

The blindfolded boy’s presence has not gone entirely unnoticed. A farmer leading a mule further down the road slows, watching with narrowed eyes. Not suspicious — puzzled. Greybank sees beggars often enough, but a walking cauldron with a slime perched atop it is… new.

The road itself leads unerringly toward town.

Toward voices, smells of stew and smoke, and the low, constant hum of people who believe themselves safe — unaware that, inside the guild annex, a line may already be forming between those willing to step forward…

…and those who know better.

The boy was shocked to hear someone's voice. The voice sounded quite sweet and unusual. For the first time, he was treated kindly and even offered help. He hears curious jelly sounds and cauldron sounds. It was a strange experience. The boy had never seen fantastic creatures or seen magic before. He listened attentively to her words and became alert. He had already tried to trust some people who said they would help him. As a result, he was forced to dance in front of people for a piece of bread, which in the end he did not receive. However, he trusted the same homeless people as himself. But only a little bit.

Right now, it will not be possible to identify a person by his appearance. Her voice makes the imagination draw a simple silhouette of a girl. The liquid sounds that came from her slime made his brain think that somewhere nearby there was some kind of puddle from which water was flowing. Even though he was almost 11 years old, he couldn't talk to people normally. After all, he was a scum who was constantly being chased out of the cities and therefore he lived in the forest. He felt more at ease in the forest, he breathed this forest. Therefore, his communication skills with others were weak. He still relied on the stick and leaned on it before answering in a trembling voice. "I... Not... Lost..." He also hears a mule coming in their direction. Too many sounds make the imagination draw the environment. For him, the Farmer does not exist yet, because he hears only the footsteps of the mule. The imagination only draws an approaching horse.

These words might sound strange. Moreover, in this world, someone like me would not have lasted long blind in the forest. I could have been killed by animals, humans, monsters, anyone or anything in this state. Svidu could clearly see that I was holding onto the stick with both hands as if it was the only thing I could feel. Although blind people can usually safely lean on a stick with one hand, because they already know how to navigate in space. It was also obvious that the blindfold was tied neatly, even though it looked old and battered. This means that someone tried and tied this blindfold from the side. Jilly could also see a small chain around her neck that peeked out from under her clothes. If she wanted to take it out and look at it. She would have seen a simple locket. The silver chain held a strange white stone with a slightly shining moon symbol. There is no energy or magic coming from this medallion. But there could be a slight warmth. It was unlikely that this stone was precious, although the shiny interior could be interesting for some thiefs.

@Spoiled Bread

"Not lost?" Jilly was a bit disappointed as this means she couldn't actually help, but she cheered back up quickly as she realized that he likely was going to the same place as her.

"Then let's head to Greybank together. It should not be far." She exclaimed. Potty the walking cauldron kept a steady pace while Jilly was sitting backward in it, her heads leaning on the edge of the cauldron as she tried to talk to the blind boy.

"Why are you walking in the forest alone? Oh, are you trying to become adventurer too? Me too, I will become an adventurer and help a lot of people, just like my master."

@MrJack

Ria: *she look at the fresh bread for a bit before looking back at Zito*

Zito: *he releaseda small giggle that was barely heard* "i guess that's what legend says, you can't start a mission or fight with empty stomach" *he gave some money to Ria for her to buy the freshbread as he waits for her near the quest board but he also gave a look at the blind boy trying to help his problem in secret*

The boy did not expect to hear the second voice that was next to Jilly. When he heard Potty lower than he expected, his imagination pictured another person next to Jilly. However, the sounds of what they were in were too unclear. The Boy's imagination began to draw different versions of how these two voices could be represented in combination with the liquid sounds that emanated from them.

He was even more nervous. At the same time, he did not understand where another person had come from, and a positive offer to go somewhere with them led him into a misunderstanding. Usually they don't want to walk with beggars because they look at least untidy, and at most homeless people are literally the personification of an inferior being. So obviously no one is going to walk with the homeless. Except that they look more like slaves next to more noble people.

[Warmth begins to radiate from the locket to the Boy's body]

The boy saw a red thread appear in his imagination. This thread was long and came from the Boy's hand. He didn't understand where this thread came from. But her color was nice. This thread stretched far forward along the ladder. He didn't know exactly where this thread led, but he wanted to follow this flying thread. However, when he looked at Jilly and Potty again, he saw that the thread had wrapped around them in several coils. He didn't want to trust them and was nervous. However, I decided to trust the kind strangers again. The boy replied in a trembling voice, "F-Fine... I... With you..." He didn't know how to answer her question about whether he was an adventurer. He had not heard this word before, so he could not answer this question and only awkwardly remained silent, still holding on to the only support in his life. A simple stick.

@Spoiled Bread

Fredrick woke up this morning after the most insane and strange dream, being told he had died and would be reincarnated. He'd roll over expecting his comfortable bed but find himself falling. He didnt know where the memories of Climbing into this tree came from but it was to late.

He landed on the ground hard the thump of someone's body hitting wet mud and dry grass. Waking up fully now and standing quickly he freaked out first at the red hair that streamed all around his head over his shoulders and around his chest. Second the fact that whatever happened to him has him standing about three inches taller at about six foot three. And third how incredibly light he feels on his feet and just in general.

First things first hes in the middle of a marshy forest, whatever crude clothing he was now wearing was muddy, and he has no idea where he is. He decides to start walking he hears what sounds like a wagon or horses he isnt sure coming from up and over the embankment he was standing at the bottom of. Finding himself climbing up the hill with almost practiced ease before he had a chance to think about how or why he knew how to do that. Stumbling a short distance out of the trees unto a path. Those memories he didnt remember having intruding to let him know this was a path outside of Greybank, that he was headed this way to see if there was any work to be had. Turning muddy and slightly confused staring at what looked like a walking cauldron, and some homeless blind kid. "Ummm hello-" he spoke before raising his hand to his throat in surprised confusion at his own voice.

The voice of an adult man from Fredrick made the Boy worry. He was too fixated on Jilly, so he didn't notice Fredrik approaching. The boy's imagination immediately began to draw an adult man. In different images. It's not a pleasant feeling. Considering how many people like him were yelling at him, threatening or kicking the Boy.

The boy began to tremble and moved a little to the side closer to Jilly and Potty. When he tried to move aside, he almost tripped because he forgot to use a stick to guide him. Fortunately, he was able to lean on the stick again "Ah!". It was obvious that the Boy was leaning on a stick with both hands, because this is the only thing he feels all the time and is afraid of losing it. So he doesn't understand how he became blind. But he doesn't talk about it. Although some attentive people might calmly say that I don't use a stick like ordinary blind people.

@Scarcerushdown

Kind's neck twisted quickly as it craned its head eerily towards the entrance of the annex, having felt an odd presence approaching the building. Deep-purple eyes fixating on each corner and raised splinter on the wooden door, as if looking for whatever it may be that caused the pale man to react in such a manner. This was not the first time it happened- but whenever it did, Kind did not like it. Whoever's body this formerly was, it had a good sense for the presence of others. It then takes a mental note of the general change in the atmosphere when it approached to ask about the letter. It turns its attention back to the quest board, plucking the parchment, poking and caressing it as a child would to a foreign object. "More... Coming for you too?" It asked the indecipherable piece of paper. "Your allure... is... Int- Interest... ing..."

The elderly man catches Kind's attention, his gaze piquing the pale creature's interest as it returned a cold glare- not out of anger or fear, but detached curiosity. Its tattered black cloak shifted as it strode quietly towards him, holding out the letter. "Would you... Would you be so kind? Read it... For me?" Kind's lips slowly curls up once again into an uncanny smile, baring a row of sharp white daggers. "The two over... There aren't good of hearing..." It explains, though it was yet to learn how to sound warm and friendly. "N-Need gold, you see... For meat..." It pats its belly. "Meat I need is... Not sold for cheap, sir..."

[If you are interested in joining a setting like this, check out: roleplayerguild.com/topics/196759-ise…]

@Mazn Zito - Asset Goal = ?
@VoLimiNaL - Asset Goal = ?
@MrJack - Asset Goal = ?
@Spoiled Bread - Asset Goal = ?
@Scarcerushdown - Asset Goal = ?



Greybank’s road did what roads always do: it gathered the lost.

The farmer with the mule slowed as the odd little procession reached the town’s edge — the blindfolded boy gripping his stick with white-knuckled tension, the walking cauldron clanking softly with every step, and the gelatinous figure perched atop it chatting brightly as if such sights were perfectly ordinary. The farmer didn’t stop them, but his stare lingered long enough to make it clear they had already become a topic of interest. Greybank was used to travelers; it was patterns that unsettled it.

A few moments later, Frederick’s confused greeting earned him the same long, uncertain looks from passing townsfolk. Someone muttered something about “another one today,” while another shook their head and pointed vaguely toward the guild annex with a loaf of bread still tucked under one arm. If there was work, shelter, or answers to be found in Greybank, that building was where all roads eventually led.

By the time the guild’s wooden door came into view, the sounds inside were unmistakable — voices overlapping, chairs scraping, cutlery clinking, life continuing as if nothing in the world were wrong.

The door creaked open again.

Conversation dipped, just slightly, as the newest arrivals crossed the threshold. Not stopped. Not challenged. Just… noticed. A guild clerk glanced up, took in the cauldron, the slime, the blindfolded child, and the mud-streaked red-haired newcomer, then quietly gestured them further inside with a practiced neutrality that suggested she had learned not to ask questions unless paid to do so.

Warmth replaced the chill of the road. Stew, ale, leather, and old parchment filled the air. Somewhere near the center of the annex, Mazn waited near the quest board, Ria temporarily gone in search of bread, while Kind stood unnervingly close to the parchment itself, fingers tracing its edges with unsettling fascination.

And then there was the quiet.

It clung to the board like a stain.

Even those who had just entered could feel it — the way voices softened nearby, the way eyes slid away from the paper rather than linger, the way seasoned adventurers who had faced beasts and blades alike suddenly found better things to do than stand too close. The request remained alone, centered, avoided.

The elderly man by the wall had been watching all of it.

He saw the newcomers enter. He saw the blind boy cling closer to the strange slime and cauldron. He saw Frederick’s confusion. He saw Kind’s interest sharpen, not in fear but in curiosity. When Kind approached him and extended the parchment, asking — politely, awkwardly — for it to be read, the old man finally pushed himself fully to his feet.

His joints protested. He ignored them.




“Don’t,” he said, not unkindly, but firm, one weathered hand closing around the parchment before Kind could draw it any closer. His voice carried just far enough to reach the board, the nearby tables, and — intentionally — the newcomers who had just been ushered inside.

For a moment, he didn’t read.

Instead, he looked at each of them in turn. Mazn by the board. Kind with its too-careful smile. The blind child. The slime and its walking pot. The red-haired stranger still trying to get his bearings. His gaze lingered longer than polite on each face, weighing something unseen.

Then he exhaled, slow and tired.

“You’re either very unlucky,” he said, turning the parchment so all could see it, “or you don’t know enough to be afraid yet.”

Only then did he read the request aloud, his voice rough but steady, the desperation in the words sounding heavier when spoken by someone who understood exactly what they implied.

“Please… my daughter is missing.
I fear she was taken.
No one in my village will help.
Someone, anyone… please.
— M. Brenwick.”

When he finished, he folded the parchment once and held it loosely at his side.

“No reward listed,” he added. “No details. No village name written out.” A pause. “And still, everyone here knows where it leads.”

A few adventurers shifted uncomfortably. One stood and left without a word.

The old man’s gaze returned to the small group by the board — now, unmistakably, a group.

“If you’re going to ask questions,” he said, voice low, “best you hear the answers first.” He nodded toward the door, then toward the road beyond town. “Go see the village, Wickerford, north of here, about half-an hour. See what fear looks like when it’s learned, not imagined. When you’re done…”

His eyes hardened just a fraction.

“Meet me at Harrowfen Bridge.”

Near the counter, the guild clerk wrapped the fresh loaf in a scrap of brown paper, tying it off with practiced fingers. She slid it across the worn wood toward Ria, glancing briefly past her shoulder toward the quest board before lowering her voice.

“Best eaten warm,” she said, not unkindly. “Doesn’t keep long in this weather.”

No judgment. No questions. Just the transaction — and the faintest hint that the clerk was relieved to focus on something simple and ordinary, if only for a moment.

The guild’s noise slowly crept back in around them, but something had changed. A line had been crossed — not by taking the request, not yet — but by acknowledging it out loud.

Summarization: All players are currently in the adventurers' guild. The elderly man told them where they should go and where they should meet them afterward, then left. Ria got her bread.

Fredrick was still trying to wipe the mud from whatever body this was. It was not his that was for sure. He was fit sure but no where near as fit as whoever he was seeing when he looked down. As he followed the slime and cauldron seeing as they seemed to know the most about what and where they were going he apologized to the blind kid and Introduced himself still half convinced this was some really convincing lucid dream. "Hello, im Fredrick, I apologize for scaring you but I have no idea how I got here"

He kept a respectful distance tripping over his feet. He was taller aswell a wierd feeling he never expected to expireance. When they did eventually make it into the Graybank place and into what he recognized as the guild thanks to the Strange memories he was having intrude. His attention immediately moved to the quest board and its strange energy. Seeing those that gathered around the board he was curious himself and walked over. "Hello- so Im guessing this is where adventuerers would pick up quests...like in thise RPG's" he mumbled the last part looking towards the Strange fellow with the strange smiles and odd demeanor. "Im new to this, why is everyone so afraid of that peice of paper?"

The more the merrier, was what in Jilly's mind when a muddy man walked up and joined their little walk. The blind boy and the muddy man both looks like lost people with how unusual their behaviors were, but Jilly was too dense to notice and instead humming something that sounds like the opening of a super sentai opening as they continue their journey.

"Sounds like someone in need of help!" Finally something actually needs help. The slime was brimming with excitement as she jumped out of her cauldron and rushed out of the guild, all while screaming 'Jelly power! Da-da-da-da da-da' or something along that line, presumably to where the quest was. Only for her to return a few second later looking confused.

"Um. Where is north? Where's Harrowfen?"

Kind listened intently to the old man's words, and was quick to frown when he said that there was no reward listed. Is this quest even worth the trouble, if it wasn't certain it could replenish afterward? It then turned to look at the others in the company... At least three of them looked human, but the animate pot and its slime companion (or perhaps it was an extension of itself?) did not seem appetizing to the pale creature. Kind at least has some assurance that it'll still have a meal or two in case it got too tired and hungry, whether or not a reward would be received after this small journey. "Friends." Kind muttered as its eyes scanned each of them carefully, the word uttered without warmth nor malice. It then cranes its neck back to the old man.

"W... Wicker... Ford, you say? T-Then... Then that's where we will go, sir." It gave a stiff bow, before turning to head out towards the door, its upper body remaining still as its long bony legs walked wide but steady steps.

It halts when the red-haired human spoke to it, referring to something that it was not very familiar with. Kind slowly turned, then crouched down just enough to meet him at eye-level. It raised its brows, eyes widening every so subtly as it recognizes something within the man's eyes... "Not your body, too?" It grinned, feeling a rare rhythm beating in its chest... The rhythm of human excitement. "Did you fall from the stars, like I did? Or..." The creature's excitement slowly turns into curiosity as it tilted its head, confounded by this man's very presence.

"...No. Y-You are from... From elsewhere... Where, I wonder?" It tapped its chin before standing straight up, eyeing the parchment that it was still holding with its other hand.

"The paper does indeed... Have this strange allure." Kind said, answering the red-hair. "The old man read it to me... Some human by the name of Brenwick lost an offspring... And is... Asking for h-help. Oh, right... I am Kind." The creature smiled, turning to the newcomers. "Not rude- never rude. Will you be coming with me? To Wick-" It chokes on its own spit, but recovers briefly. "To Wickerf... Ord?"

Mazn: "hmm..so that's where we go but" *he thinks for a moment wanting to know if he visited the place before since he has the ability of keeping his memories after death*

Ria: "i got the bread Zito!!" *with stuffed mouth as she give one for Zito*

Zito: "thanks Ria" *he grab the bread but not eat it he wanna save it and also to he is an introvert so his soical with his group is really bad they can only talk to Zito through Ria since she is the total opposite and seem to be very open but Zito understand he just have to follow his allies*

Fredrick would sorta slink away from Kind, not in a rude or meaningful way. He simply freaked Fredrick out some. Kinds strange voice and odd mannerisms sending him just sorta uncomfortable.

"I uh, yeah im, this isnt what I remember my body being. I mean sorta I have conflicting memories that arent making much sense right now." He said pausing and then running a hand through his hair, the long crimson strands smoothly sliding between his fingers as he took a deep breath.

"But I have nothing better to do, and saving someone's kid doesn’t need reward its simply whats right to go do" he said firmly he wasnt sure about a lot of things like who he was, how he got here, why he was having to fight his body from making what seemed to be instinctual movements just that he was here now. Looking at Kind, the blind kid, the jelly and the cauldron, and two others he didnt have names for yet. After waking up falling from a tree and landing in mud.

[If you are interested in joining a setting like this, check out: roleplayerguild.com/topics/196759-ise…]

@Mazn Zito - Asset Goal = ?
@VoLimiNaL - Asset Goal = ?
@MrJack - Asset Goal = ?
@Spoiled Bread - Asset Goal = ?
@Scarcerushdown - Asset Goal = ?



As the conversation in the guild begins to loosen and chairs scrape back into place, a small but important realization settles over Mazn — quiet, internal, and unmistakable. For all his retained memories and past lives, the name Wickerford stirs nothing. No road, no battle, no passing visit, no half-remembered landmark. It is not a place he has forgotten; it is a place he has simply never been. Whatever waits there lies beyond the edges of his lived experience.

The decision, once made, carries the group naturally back out into the daylight of Greybank. The guild door swings shut behind them with a familiar creak, sealing in the warmth and noise, and replacing it with the open sky and the damp, marsh-tinged air of the road. A few passersby watch the odd assembly file out — some curious, some concerned, most quietly relieved that the matter of the lonely request is no longer theirs to consider.

Just beyond the guild annex, where the main road splits into narrower paths, a weathered signpost rises from the packed earth. Its arms are old but legible, carved and repainted often enough to endure. One points back toward Greybank. Another toward distant holdings under Ryken authority. And there, nailed slightly lower than the rest, an arrow marked:

Wickerford — 45 minutes

The wood beneath the lettering is scarred, as if struck more often than the others. Whether by weather, carts, or hands, it is hard to say.

The road itself narrows quickly once they commit to it. Stone gives way to packed dirt, then to a path hemmed in by reeds and low birch trees. The land flattens, dampens, and quiets. Birds are present, but fewer than expected. The breeze carries the smell of wet earth and slow-moving water, and the farther Greybank falls behind them, the more the road feels like it is being allowed rather than maintained.

About halfway through the journey, the land dips, and the road crosses Harrowfen Bridge.

It is an old thing — older than Greybank’s current layout — a single-arched span of dark stone crossing sluggish, reed-choked water below. Moss clings thickly to its sides, and pale grass grows between the stones where no grass should. The marsh beneath murmurs softly, not quite a sound and not quite silence. From the center of the bridge, Wickerford’s direction is clear… and so is the sense that few linger here longer than necessary.

Beyond the bridge, the village finally reveals itself.

Wickerford sits low against the land, its houses squat and close together, as if huddling. Smoke rises from a few chimneys, but not many. Fields lie worked but minimally so, and the road into the village is lined with fence posts in need of repair. There is no gate, no formal boundary — just a gradual transition from road to home that feels strangely reluctant.

As they approach, several possible paths present themselves without a word being spoken:

- A small square near the center of the village, where a well and a notice board stand mostly unused

- A cluster of homes near the fields, where shutters twitch and curtains part just enough to watch

- A modest shrine by the roadside, worn smooth by years of quiet use

- Or the option to simply ask, risking the attention of locals who very clearly prefer not to be involved

Somewhere in this place is M. Brenwick — the author of the trembling letter, the mother who broke the village’s silence. Finding her will not require violence… but it will require care.

The road behind them remains open.

The village ahead does not feel welcoming — but it is waiting.

SUMMARIZATION: As much as Mazn tries to remember, the name Wickerford means nothing. Characters leaves the guild annex and head towards Wickerford. Before reaching the village, they pass Harrowfen Bridge. And, in the village proper, a few options exist to start to search for M. Brenwick.