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

[h3][center]Harrowfen Bridge — Names, Truths, and Quiet Decisions[/center][/h3]

For a few moments after everyone gathers, only the marsh speaks.

Water slides sluggishly beneath the stone arch. Reeds whisper against one another. Somewhere far off, a bird calls once and then goes quiet again. The bridge holds them in a narrow pocket of stillness, suspended between village and road, consequence and choice.

[table]
[row]
[cell]
[img]https://ik.imagekit.io/maxxo/old%20mercenary.png?updatedAt=1766615762567[/img]
[/cell]

[cell]
[b]Garreth Trask[/b]
[i][color=gray]Former Captain of Wickerford's Guard[/color][/i]
[color=gray]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/color]
Garreth watches the group settle, his gaze moving slowly from face to face, measuring posture and breath the way old soldiers do without thinking about it. Jilly’s question finally pulls him out of his silence. The old man exhales, one hand resting against the cold stone railing. [color=2e3192]“Garreth Trask,”[/color] he says. [color=2e3192]“Captain of Wickerford’s guard… once.”[/color]

There is no pride in the title. Only history. [color=2e3192]“I trained half the men wearing those tabards back there,”[/color] he continues. [color=2e3192]“Taught them how to stand a line, how to spot ambushes, how to keep their mouths shut when it mattered. Eventually, they learned that last part better than the rest.”[/color] His eyes flick briefly toward the village. [color=2e3192]“They forced me out when I started asking the wrong questions. Early retirement, they called it. I call it surviving.”[/color]
[/cell]
[/row]
[/table]

Marra stands with her arms folded tightly around herself, shoulders hunched as if bracing against an invisible cold. When she speaks again, her voice trembles—but it doesn’t break. [color=fff200]“They come through sometimes,”[/color] she says. [color=fff200]“Not openly. Always at night. They don’t wear colors or banners. Just men with weapons who already know which doors won’t be opened for them.”[/color]

She swallows.

[color=fff200]“They don’t take much. Food. Tools. Sometimes livestock. And sometimes…”[/color] Her jaw tightens. [color=fff200]“Sometimes people.”[/color]

[table]
[row]
[cell]
[img]https://ik.imagekit.io/maxxo/old%20mercenary.png?updatedAt=1766615762567[/img]
[/cell]

[cell]
[b]Garreth Trask[/b]
[i][color=gray]Former Captain of Wickerford's Guard[/color][/i]
[color=gray]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/color]
Garreth nods once. [color=2e3192]“Bandits,”[/color] he says flatly. [color=2e3192]“Organized. Mobile. Smart enough not to stay in one place too long. They use the marsh and the old logging paths to move unseen, and they’ve got friends inside the Baron’s territory who make sure patrols look the other way.”[/color]

His gaze sharpens. [color=2e3192]“That’s why the guards told you to leave. Not because Marra’s mad. Because helping her means stepping into something that’s been normalized. Quietly. Carefully.”[/color]
[/cell]
[/row]
[/table]

Frederick’s question hangs in the air, finally answered.

Marra draws a shaky breath. [color=fff200]“I tried to raise my voice,”[/color] she says. [color=fff200]“I tried asking neighbors. I tried the guards. All I got back was silence and warnings. They told me I should be grateful it wasn’t worse.”[/color]

Her eyes lift to the group. [color=fff200]“So I went to Greybank.”[/color]

The marsh sighs beneath them.

[table]
[row]
[cell]
[img]https://ik.imagekit.io/maxxo/old%20mercenary.png?updatedAt=1766615762567[/img]
[/cell]

[cell]
[b]Garreth Trask[/b]
[i][color=gray]Former Captain of Wickerford's Guard[/color][/i]
[color=gray]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/color]
Garreth’s attention shifts, slow and deliberate, until it settles on Rat. Not accusing. Not demanding. Just observant. [color=2e3192]“You,”[/color] he says gently.

The old captain crouches slightly, bringing himself closer to the boy’s height without invading his space. [color=2e3192]“You don’t stand like someone who’s empty-handed.”[/color] He studies Rat’s grip on the stick, the angle of his shoulders, the way his head tilts as if listening to more than wind and water. [color=2e3192]“I’ve seen that look before,”[/color] Garreth continues. [color=2e3192]“It’s the look of someone who heard something they haven’t decided what to do with yet.”[/color]

He lets the silence stretch, giving room rather than pressure. Whether Rat speaks or not, Garreth straightens after a moment, accepting the outcome either way.

[color=2e3192]“All right,”[/color] he says quietly. He looks back to the group as a whole. [color=2e3192]“Here’s what we know: they move often, avoid the marsh when they think eyes are on them, and favor the eastern paths when relocating. They don’t act alone, and they don’t operate without someone higher up making sure consequences never reach them.”[/color]

His voice hardens, just a fraction. [color=2e3192]“And they don’t take children unless they’re sending a message—or unless someone let them.”[/color] He rests both hands on the bridge’s stone railing. [color=2e3192]“You’ve pulled Marra out from under their thumb. That means you’re already involved.”[/color] The old soldier looks at each of them in turn. [color=2e3192]“So now we decide what kind of involved.”[/color]
[/cell]
[/row]
[/table]

The bridge waits.

The village smolders quietly behind them.

And the road ahead remains open—ready for whatever choice they make next.