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

[h3][center]Wickerford — The Brenwick Home[/center][/h3]

The fence line comes into view before the house itself.

A crooked stretch of wooden posts, some fallen, some tied together with fraying rope, marks the edge of the village where fields give way to marsh-grass and damp earth. The path narrows here, less traveled, as though most villagers have learned—quietly—not to come this far unless they must.

The house stands just beyond it.

It is small, built low and practical, its boards weathered but not ruined. One shutter hangs loose. The garden out front has been tended recently, though unevenly, as if care was given in bursts rather than routine. There are no children’s toys, no sign of life beyond the faint curl of smoke escaping a thin chimney.

Before anyone can knock, the door opens.

Marra Brenwick stands in the threshold, her hands already clenched in the fabric of her apron, eyes wide and rimmed red from lack of sleep. She looks at the group—at the sheer strangeness of them—and instead of fear, something like relief breaks through her expression.

[color=f49ac2][b]“You came,”[/b][/color] she says, voice catching. Not a question. A statement, as though saying it aloud makes it real. [color=f49ac2][b]“You actually came.”[/b][/color]

Her gaze flicks briefly down the road, then back to them. She steps aside just enough to speak without inviting them in, words spilling out before hesitation can take hold.

[color=f49ac2][b]“They took her,”[/b][/color] Marra says. [color=f49ac2][b]“Not monsters. Not spirits. Men. I saw the tracks near the fields—boots, not claws. My Lysa doesn’t wander, she doesn’t run off, and she wouldn’t leave without telling me. But when I asked… when I asked—”[/b][/color] Her breath hitches. [color=f49ac2][b]“Everyone went quiet. Like I’d said something forbidden.”[/b][/color]

She swallows hard, forcing herself onward.

[color=f49ac2][b]“They come through sometimes. Not openly. Never daylight. And the guards—”[/b][/color] Her voice lowers instinctively. [color=f49ac2][b]“The guards say it’s not their concern. That it’s safer not to look too closely. I was told to be grateful it wasn’t worse.”[/b][/color]

Her eyes find each of them in turn, lingering on the blind boy for half a second longer than the rest. [color=f49ac2][b]“I don’t have coin. I don’t have favors. All I have is the truth, and I don’t know who else to give it to.”[/b][/color]

That is when boots sound on packed dirt.

Three figures approach from the village proper, leather creaking softly, polearms held but not raised. Their tabards bear the mark of Wickerford’s local guard. They slow as they near the fence, expressions tightening the moment they see outsiders gathered at the Brenwick home.

The lead guard exhales through his nose, already tired.

[color=0072bc][b]“Marra,”[/b][/color] he says, not unkindly, but firmly. [color=0072bc][b]“Inside.”[/b][/color]

She stiffens. [b]“They’re helping me.”[/b]

[color=0072bc][b]“No,”[/b][/color] the guard replies, stepping closer. [color=0072bc][b]“They’re leaving.”[/b][/color]

His gaze moves to the group now, assessing, counting. [color=0072bc][b]“You shouldn’t be here. This is village business, and it’s been handled as much as it will be.”[/b][/color]

Another guard shifts his grip on his weapon, not threatening—just ready. [b][color=ed1c24]“Best advice? Turn back the way you came. Wickerford doesn’t need trouble.”[/color][/b]

Marra’s hands tremble at her sides, jaw clenched as if she might say more—but fear wins out, and she takes a half-step back toward her door, eyes never leaving the strangers who answered her call.

The moment hangs.

From here, several paths lie open:

- Press the issue, risking the guards’ patience
- Withdraw for now, preserving goodwill and safety
- Follow the guards’ warning… and investigate anyway, more quietly
- Or leave the village and regroup, perhaps at the place the old man named—Harrowfen Bridge—where words may be spoken more freely

The house behind Marra waits in silence.
The guards wait for an answer.
And Wickerford watches to see what kind of trouble has just walked into its midst.

Summarization: The group walk to Marra Brenwick's home. While talking with her, they learn more about who took her daughter and the inaction of the local guards. The conversation is interrupted by the guards themselves, who order her inside and the group to leave.