Fredrick follows the Strange band of people that seemed to have gathered. Mostly of curiosity and he has no other idea what to do maybe after this is over he asks some questions and gets an answer on where and who he is. For now he just follows. Every so often seeing visions of whatever jumbled mess of ideas this body was having before he woke up in it. "Should we start with the houses maybe go ask for what's-there-name" he says flexing fingers far to powerful and stronger then he remembers. Still amazed by his own body it seemed.having to almost fight himself from finding a tree and running up it or hill to climb it seeming to be just the way he wants to move and he isnt used to it yet.

Kind remained quiet all throughout their journey to Wickerford, observing its surroundings and still finding itself perplexed at this strange environment. Three years, and the creature was still not quite used to living so small atop one of the floating pebbles that it'd usually ignore. It would every now-and-then stare at the sun up above, searing its eyes as if being scolded for looking too long. Before, Kind would not be blinded so easily, not by a star much smaller when compared to the many it has already seen... "It is quite... It saddens me, it does..." Kind spoke, not to itself nor its current companions- but to the sun. "...That you no longer look as tasty..."

But it did not let the sadness stay too long, for at least it had humans travelling along with it. The thought of finally having a full meal tempted it, but looking at the red-haired man and the two other strangers, Kind had estimated that they would not make for easy pickings. The sentient object and its slime friend did not seem to be the type that would sit idly by, either. There was something about them that convinced the creature they are capable of defending themselves if ever push comes to shove... Or rather, if the hunger gets the better of its "kindness."

When they arrived at the village, Kind felt strangely somber at the sight. There were humans, yes, but few and dull. Kind didn't understand how or why this body reacts the way it does, but it was the least of the creature's worries... "Might not be the best... Course of action." It said in response to Fredrick, already walking away from the group. Asking things of strangers had led to worse things in the past, and though it did take a risk with the old man at the guild, there was an instinct from its body that could tell whether or not a person would be open to being asked things. These villagers did not seem to want to have anything to do with them.

"I will look into the houses... Over there..." Kind said without looking at them, lifting its arm and pointing its bony fingers toward the direction of the fields. When it arrived, there was a clear suspicion from the humans there, mostly due to the creatures unsettling demeanor. It glared at each one that it saw poking out their windows or doors, or simply walking by. "Brenwick... Brenwick... Brenwick..." Kind repeated to itself in a quiet sing-song melody, not quite aware of what its body was doing with its vocal chords, yet going along with it. Then, it finds a house that seems separated from the others, old and unattended. Kind moved towards it. Whether or not this was M. Brenwick's house, the creature was attracted by the sight of abandonment.

Mazn Zito: "so i guess we should start looking huh?" *he sighed out of annoyance of how this place doesn't exist* "it might be a trap i will keep the others i will run around beetwen them and you can check the door with others but not far away"

Ria: "sooo...like candy! Right!? In halloween"

Maxn Zito: "Yes Ria like Halloween" *he smile concerd but also a bit of laughter in his face, he look At Ria going to ask strangers close to other so nothing will happend to her*

Fredrick despite his uncomfortable feeling around kind chooses to accompany them. "Im not sure you are the best for speaking to the public man-" he said simply not in a mocking tone or in any way that would indicate he was patronizing him a pure statement. "Im not sure if you have looked in the mirror recently, but you dont look the most trustworthy, they arent gonna tell you much if anything"

Once the group was formed and decided to solve the mystery together, Jilly hopped out of her cauldron and choose to walk alongside them. She wanted to truly experience an adventuring party! Her little legs waddled as quick as she can not to fall behind. Once they reached the village, Jilly joined Mazn and Ria.

"Me too, I like candy. And, uh, Halloween too. Probably."

"Hello! We're looking for Brenwick!" She joyfully inquire any stranger they first met in this village.

@Mazn Zito

[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 = ?



The village does not react all at once. It reacts in pieces.

When Jilly’s bright voice cuts through the muted air—cheerful, unguarded, and wholly out of place—several heads turn at once. A man hauling a basket of turnips pauses mid-step. A woman drawing water from the well straightens a little too quickly. Somewhere behind a shutter, wood creaks as someone leans closer to listen.

No one answers immediately.

Not because they didn’t hear—but because they are deciding who should answer.

Mazn’s instinct to keep moving, to not let the group settle too tightly in one place, proves well-founded. The longer they stand, the more obvious it becomes that Wickerford is a village that notices patterns, and newcomers who linger draw attention whether they wish to or not. Ria’s presence softens some looks, but not enough to erase the tension entirely.

Finally, an older villager—broad-backed, sleeves rolled up, hands still dusted with flour—clears his throat.

“Brenwick…” he repeats, slowly, as if testing whether saying the name aloud will bring trouble down on him. His eyes flick briefly toward the road they came from, then toward the fields. “That’s… Marra Brenwick. Lives on the edge of the village. Near the old fence line.”

He hesitates, then adds, quieter, “She shouldn’t be talking to outsiders.”

That is all he offers. He does not stay to elaborate.

At the same time, Kind’s presence has a different effect.

The closer the pale creature drifts toward the outer homes, the more pronounced the villagers’ unease becomes. Doors that were merely ajar close. Curtains fall. A child is pulled sharply back inside by an unseen hand. The creature’s sing-song repetition of the name Brenwick does not draw answers—it draws distance.

Yet the house Kind is drawn to is not wrong.

It sits a little apart from the others, just beyond where the packed dirt road thins into uneven grass. Its fence is half-collapsed, its gate hanging crooked on one hinge. The windows are intact, but dark. Untended. Not abandoned in the sense of long neglect—rather, abandoned recently, as if care was interrupted rather than forgotten.

Back near the village center, Frederick’s suggestion to begin with the houses proves sound, even if the villagers themselves make it clear they want no part in guiding strangers door to door. A few more murmurs confirm what the baker hinted at:

“She lost her girl.”
“Should’ve kept quiet.”
“Nothing good comes of stirring things.”

No one contradicts that Marra Brenwick exists.
No one volunteers to take them to her.

From where they stand, several paths are now plainly visible:

- Follow the directions given and approach Marra Brenwick’s home directly, risking whatever consequences that brings
- Attempt to speak privately with someone who seems less fearful—perhaps a laborer, a youth, or a solitary elder
- Investigate the edge of the village, where the fields meet the marsh and the fence line breaks down
- Or regroup, compare impressions, and decide how openly—or quietly—they want to proceed

Above it all, the village remains watchful.

Not hostile.
Not welcoming.
Just waiting—to see whether these strangers will ask the wrong questions… or the right ones.

The boy was nervous when he walked with the whole group behind everyone. However, he wasn't used to being blind yet. His imagination was excellent, but his imagination missed some details. Because he was either paying too much attention to the conversations, or trying too hard to concentrate on the stick he was walking with. Because of this, his pace slowed down. And when he started to realize what was left, he wanted to say so, but he was too shy to shout. So instead, he just remained silent, and then the voices stopped altogether. Jilly's positive voice was no longer heard nearby.

The boy still managed to reach the village. Unlike other travelers, the Boy was probably the only one who looked natural and would not cause other residents any worries and or suspicions. Although obviously they would probably be curious about how a blind boy even got here from somewhere alive.

The boy only knew that there were people around him. Which means he's in the village. His imagination was picturing his surroundings and he didn't know what to do. All he knows is that he needs to find a child. Probably the same age as himself. But where to go?

The boy felt the warmth again in the area of his mother's locket. He saw in his imagination how a red thread appeared, binding his hand and flying in the air. He loved this color and realized that he needed to follow her. The red thread of fate led the boy forward, unaware of where this thread might lead him. However, he begins to feel a familiar feeling. Hunger. That's why he died in a previous life in the middle of a winter forest. He did not know that he had been reborn, and what a gift the goddess had given him. But how can a blind young homeless boy find food? He could ask for food from people, but the fear of adults still does not allow him to turn to ordinary passers-by. After all, in his previous life, he was unlucky with his surroundings and people visited the homeless and often beat him or shouted at him. The only thing he does is simply ignore the desire for hunger. It's his first day in this world. Therefore, his hunger was weak. For now...

"Marra Brenwick. Near the fence line. Thank you!" Jilly thanked the villagers. Her jelly-filled brain didn't properly register the strange way the villagers talk about their supposed client. She just knows they now had a direction to go and that's all what matters.

"Let's go there directly! Last to arrive is a rotten egg!" Jilly challenged Mazn and Ria as she hopped back into her cauldron and ordered Potty to head straight towards the Marra's place.

@Mazn Zito

Mazn Zito: "I, we shouldn't treat this like gam-" *suddenly he got cut off by Ria*

Ria: *She carried Zito on her shoulders* "oh you bet!" *she smiles proudly as she rush to chase jilly she's strong physically but not that it will help much in speed*

Fred on the other hand had a different idea
"Hey kind do imma head to the fence line, start looking around you are welcome to join. Me if you wish" he walked slow making his way over carefully keeping bis eyes out along tbe ground for anything aswell as any reactions from anyone that may be local and out and about. Something about this making him thing a kidnapping or a monster of some sort is around,

[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 = ?



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.

“You came,” she says, voice catching. Not a question. A statement, as though saying it aloud makes it real. “You actually came.”

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.

“They took her,” Marra says. “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—” Her breath hitches. “Everyone went quiet. Like I’d said something forbidden.”

She swallows hard, forcing herself onward.

“They come through sometimes. Not openly. Never daylight. And the guards—” Her voice lowers instinctively. “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.”

Her eyes find each of them in turn, lingering on the blind boy for half a second longer than the rest. “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.”

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.

“Marra,” he says, not unkindly, but firmly. “Inside.”

She stiffens. “They’re helping me.”

“No,” the guard replies, stepping closer. “They’re leaving.”

His gaze moves to the group now, assessing, counting. “You shouldn’t be here. This is village business, and it’s been handled as much as it will be.”

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

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.

"NO." Jilly's firm voice split the silence. She had a very visible pout on her face as she stood on the edge of her cauldron, trying to assert her presence by making her taller than she actually was. Potty the cauldron carefully keep themselves still as to not accidentally tip Jilly over.

"Heroes will not back down from helping those in needs!" She said in a fiery tone. As if she was performing a speech for a large audience.

"Mrs. Marra already make it clear that she still needs help, and you won't be able to stop me!"

"Come, Mrs. Marra. Let's go!" Jilly jumped off from her cauldron and grabbed Marra's hand. It's clear the guards wouldn't help them, so it's better if they all run away.

Fred moved closer to the slime and the cauldron taking on a defensive stance as he looked over the guards. "I dont plan to make any trouble, but shes asking for help, if you thought she was a mad woman why not let us indulge her some figure that out ourselves." He paused then added "No offense Mrs.Marra" he was mainly being a physical barrier as it seemed the Jelly wanted to escape woth Mrs.mara somewhere else but he felt that likely wouldn't happen without some branding of kidnapping...especially givin the eclectic group we have gathered.

The boy was nervous when he walked with the whole group behind everyone. However, he wasn't used to being blind yet. His imagination was excellent, but his imagination missed some details. Because he was either paying too much attention to the conversations, or trying too hard to concentrate on the stick he was walking with. Because of this, his pace slowed down. And when he started to realize what was left, he wanted to say so, but he was too shy to shout. So instead, he just remained silent, and then the voices stopped altogether. Jilly's positive voice was no longer heard nearby.

The boy still managed to reach the village. Unlike other travelers, the Boy was probably the only one who looked natural and would not cause other residents any worries and or suspicions. Although obviously they would probably be curious about how a blind boy even got here from somewhere alive.

The boy only knew that there were people around him. Which means he's in the village. His imagination was picturing his surroundings and he didn't know what to do. All he knows is that he needs to find a child. Probably the same age as himself. But where to go?

The boy felt the warmth again in the area of his mother's locket. He saw in his imagination how a red thread appeared, binding his hand and flying in the air. He loved this color and realized that he needed to follow her. The red thread of fate led the boy forward, unaware of where this thread might lead him. However, he begins to feel a familiar feeling. Hunger. That's why he died in a previous life in the middle of a winter forest. He did not know that he had been reborn, and what a gift the goddess had given him. But how can a blind young homeless boy find food? He could ask for food from people, but the fear of adults still does not allow him to turn to ordinary passers-by. After all, in his previous life, he was unlucky with his surroundings and people visited the homeless and often beat him or shouted at him. The only thing he does is simply ignore the desire for hunger. It's his first day in this world. Therefore, his hunger was weak. For now...

[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 = ?



The moment Jilly’s hand closes around Marra’s wrist, the fragile balance shatters.

For half a heartbeat, the guards hesitate—not because they lack authority, but because the situation has slipped from the script they are used to following. Outsiders are meant to leave quietly. Villagers are meant to obey. This—this small, defiant motion, this sudden refusal to comply—is not something Wickerford practices often.

“Marra—!” one of them snaps, stepping forward.

But Marra is already moving.

Fear gives way to motion, and motion to resolve. She pulls free of the threshold, skirts past the fence line instead of the road, breath hitching as she stumbles over uneven ground. There is no grace in her escape—only desperation and the sharp clarity of someone who knows that staying means surrender.

“Don’t you dare chase her,” another guard barks, more warning than threat, eyes flicking between the group and the fleeing woman. “This isn’t worth it.”

They do not give pursuit.

Instead, they shout after them—warnings, promises of consequences, the hollow weight of authority trying to reassert itself now that control has slipped through their fingers. The sound follows for a time, then fades beneath the rustle of reeds and the hurried breath of those fleeing the village’s edge.

Marra does not stop until the houses thin and the path bends away from Wickerford entirely.

Only then does she sag against a fence post, hands trembling, voice raw. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, to no one in particular. “I couldn’t—if I stayed—”

She does not finish the thought. She doesn’t need to.

The road ahead leads back the way they came, toward the marshland and the old stone span where words could be spoken without so many ears listening.

Toward Harrowfen Bridge.

---

Rat does not see the escape.

He hears fragments of it—raised voices, hurried footfalls, a sudden sharpness in the air—but by the time the sound resolves into meaning, the moment has already passed him by. The village remains around him, solid and uncertain, its presence defined by muffled movement and cautious distance.

Then the warmth at his chest grows stronger.

The locket presses gently against his skin, and in his mind the red thread shifts direction, tugging—not urgently, but insistently. It does not pull him toward the road out of the village. Not yet.

Instead, it guides him closer to the sound of voices.

Two guards stand near a low fence, their conversation casual in the way of men who believe themselves unobserved.

“—told you they wouldn’t stay near the marsh,” one mutters. “Too exposed.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the other replies. “Captain said to keep clear past the old logging path anyway. If they’re smart, they’ll move east again. They always do.”

A pause. Boots scrape dirt.

“Still,” the first adds, quieter, “never thought they’d take a kid this close to the village.”

The words settle, heavy and incomplete.

Then the guards move on, their footsteps retreating, the thread at Rat’s chest already shifting again—turning, drawing him away from the village’s heart, back toward the open land beyond.

Back toward the bridge.

---

The bridge waits as it always has.

Moss-dark stone arches over slow, murmuring water, reeds whispering secrets they never quite give up. The air here feels thinner somehow, as though the land itself prefers honesty at this crossing.

Garreth Trask stands near the center of the span, hands resting on the parapet, gaze fixed on the road from Wickerford. He does not look surprised when the group arrives—Marra among them, pale and shaken, but unmistakably free.




“Took you long enough,” he says, not unkindly.

His eyes flick to Marra, then back to the others. “I see the village made its position clear.”

Marra swallows, nodding. “They won’t help me. They never were going to.”

Garreth’s jaw tightens. “No. But they know more than they say.”

He gestures subtly to the bridge, to the open space around them. “This is where we talk. This is where we decide what happens next.”

He straightens, the weight of years settling into his voice.

“If you’re serious about finding the girl,” he says, “then it’s time you heard what Wickerford won’t say out loud—and why the guards are so eager for you to leave.”

The marsh murmurs below.

The road lies open ahead.

And for the first time since Greybank, the choice of how to act truly belongs to them.

Fred speaks out quickly staying near the back of the group offering himself up as some sort of physical barrier, feeling he is the most gifted for movement and escape making sure Marra stays ahead of him.

"Ok, whats the secret the guards seemed to thing Marra's situation was unimportant or something bad would happen if we help"

Jilly felts a thrill as they escaped the village. If she was a normal person she would likely something about her heart being pumped up, but she didn't have one. She gave Marra a wide smile as the woman shaking and panting from the run.

On the bridge there's an old man already waiting for them. She faintly remember seeing the old man not long ago, but she wasn't sure if she ever know who the man was. She raised her hand before the old man start his explanation.

"Old man, who are you actually?" She asked.

The boy became a little worried and worried when he heard the conversation between the two guards. He began to realize that the guards knew who had stolen the girl the worried mother was talking about. He began to realize that he could help. And the fact that they are clearly working for the person who arranged all this. At least somehow, but to help. He began to follow the thread further, hoping to meet those who had been there before.

When the boy approached the bridge. He heard the familiar voice of the old man who was talking about this place. He hears others, including the woman. He almost fell when he wanted to rush to them. Therefore, I approached them slowly. Fredrick, Mazn, and Kind might think that a boy like me would be a bad fit for this job. After all, what can a blind young homeless boy do? I can literally look like an extra...

The boy wanted to start a conversation. But he let the old man start the conversation first. He didn't want to interrupt his elders. He was nervous and just stood unnoticed behind the others, leaning on his stick with his hands.

[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 = ?



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.



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. “They come through sometimes,” she says. “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.”

She swallows.

“They don’t take much. Food. Tools. Sometimes livestock. And sometimes…” Her jaw tightens. “Sometimes people.”



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

Marra draws a shaky breath. “I tried to raise my voice,” she says. “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.”

Her eyes lift to the group. “So I went to Greybank.”

The marsh sighs beneath them.



The bridge waits.

The village smolders quietly behind them.

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

Jilly's jello brain couldn't comprehend half of the intricacies in the situation they're in. Support from local baron? Intimidated villagers? What's that? But she understand that if bandit took people away, then their course of action should be...

"Let's raid them!" Jilly suggest, or rather, declared, in a fiery voice.

"Get in, save people, get out." She spoke her 'plan' as if it was something simple and obvious.