One of you steps forward, hands open in a peaceful gesture. "We're not from Redingham's merchants," you explain. "We were sent to investigate why the trade stopped. But here's the thing - Redingham says they haven't received any goods from Thornhaven in weeks." The woman's expression shifts. Confusion replaces annoyance. "What?" She straightens, her arms uncrossing. "That's... that doesn't make sense. We sent wagons. Full loads. Our merchants saw them off personally." She looks between you, her brow furrowed. "Are you saying the goods never arrived?" Her voice carries a new edge now. Not anger at you, but realization. "Then where did they go?" She steps fully into the doorway now, no longer blocking entry but opening up. "Our people sent everything. Grain, salted fish, vegetables, wool. Three wagons, every week for a month. The last one left..." She thinks. "Three weeks ago. Right before we stopped." Her face darkens. "Someone's been stealing from both of us." 🎯 What's next? 1. Ask about the route the wagons took - Try to identify where they're being intercepted. 2. Ask who organized the wagons - Find out who knew the schedules. 3. Ask if anything else strange has happened lately - See if there are other clues. 4. Suggest speaking to the town's merchants or leaders - Get more official information. 5. Other → Your call.

You approach the nearest house, a modest two-story building with dark shutters and a well-maintained garden. Dog steps forward and knocks. Three times. Firm but not aggressive. Silence. Then, from inside, the sound of movement. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. The door opens a crack. A woman's face appears in the gap. Middle-aged, tired eyes, dark hair pulled back in a loose braid. She looks at each of you in turn, her expression more annoyed than afraid. "Who are you?" she asks, her voice rough with sleep. "And why are you waking me up this early?" She doesn't sound frightened. She sounds... inconvenienced. Behind her, the interior of the house is dim but normal. You can make out furniture, a table, shelves. No signs of struggle or corruption. She shifts her weight, one hand on the door frame, clearly waiting for an answer. "Well?" she says. "Speak up. It's barely past dawn." 🎯 What do you say? 1. Introduce yourselves honestly - Tell her you're here investigating why Thornhaven stopped trading. 2. Ask about the ocean - Directly question what you saw this morning. 3. Apologize and ask if everything is alright - Start gentle, gauge her reaction. 4. Show her your marks - See if she recognizes them. 5. Other → Your call.

You turn back from the shore, the sound of waves and that distant metallic clanging fading behind you. The walk through the fields feels different now. The mist is lifting, revealing more of the landscape. And the ground tells a story. - The Tracks Crossing back through the wet grass, you see them clearly now in the morning light. Drag marks. Multiple parallel lines scored into the earth, leading from the town toward the ocean. Some are shallow, others deeper, cutting through the soil. Whatever the figures were carrying, it was heavy. And it left trails. You follow one set of marks back toward the buildings. It leads to a small house on the western edge of town, its door now closed. The drag marks start right at the threshold, as if something was pulled directly from inside. Other tracks lead from different buildings. A barn. A larger house near the square. All converging on the same westward path toward the sea. - The Town Thornhaven is quiet again. Smoke rises from some chimneys. Thin and controlled. The doors are closed. Windows shuttered. But you know they're inside. Are they watching? Dog stands in the empty square, looking around slowly. "They're home now," he says. "Whatever they did at the water... it's finished. For today." He turns to face the nearest building, a two-story home with dark shutters. "We need answers." 🎯 What's next? - Knock on the nearest door - Try peaceful contact. - Call out in the square - Announce yourselves to everyone at once. - Force entry into one building - Take direct action to get answers. - Return to the mill and wait for nightfall - Observe another cycle before acting. - Other → Your call.

You move quickly but carefully, keeping distance between yourselves and the last figure as it disappears into the mist. The western fields are wet with dew, the grass soaking your boots. The sound of waves grows louder with each step. The mist thickens as you approach, cold and damp against your skin. - The Shore You emerge from the fog onto a rocky beach. Gray sand stretches in both directions, dotted with stones and driftwood. The ocean spreads before you, dark and restless under the pale morning sky. Waves roll in steadily, their rhythm constant. But the figures are gone. You scan the beach. Left. Right. Nothing. Then you look down. Footprints. Multiple sets. Leading across the sand toward the water's edge. You follow them. The tracks are strange. Human-shaped, but stumbling, like backwards. They lead straight to the water. And into it. The waves wash over the final prints, erasing them as you watch. Beyond that point, there's nothing. Just water. Just waves. - he Search Dog kneels at the water's edge, his hand touching the wet sand where the tracks disappear. "They went in," he says quietly. "They just... walked into the ocean." You wade in a few steps. The water is cold, biting. The bottom slopes down gradually. You see nothing beneath the surface. No figures. No bodies. No movement except the natural shift of sand and water. One of you climbs onto a large rock jutting from the beach, scanning the waves for any sign of the figures. Nothing, just mist! The sound of the waves and something strange, like.. a clong, clong somewhere further away. They're simply gone. The ocean gives nothing back. - The Morning The sun rises higher now, burning away some of the mist. The beach becomes more visible. To the west, the coastline curves away toward rocky cliffs. To the east, it extends into more beach and scattered tide pools. Behind you, Thornhaven sits silent in the fields. Whatever you just witnessed, it happens regularly. The figures leave. They carry their burdens. They walk into the sea.

"But... what does the mark mean?" one of you asks, frustration bleeding through. "Does it still have power? " The mage's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in her eyes. Understanding, perhaps. Or sympathy. "The mark is both a blessing and a curse," she says, her voice measured. "It identifies you as Chosen, yes. But it also makes you visible to those who serve the darkness. They can sense you, track you, if they're close enough." She moves closer, her gaze intense. "As for power... the mark itself grants none. But it opens pathways within you." She pauses. " And yes, your thoughts may feel... different. Clearer in some ways. Clouded in others. The mark connects you to something larger. Something ancient." Her voice drops. "What you're feeling is real. The mark is changing you, slowly. Drawing out what was always there, buried deep. That's why I must test you. To see what you're becoming." She returns to her desk. "I can tell you more when you return. But words mean nothing without proof. Go to Thornhaven. Then we'll talk properly." - Preparation You leave the tower and make your way back through the city streets. The market is busy with midday commerce. You stock up on additional supplies: more rope, extra waterskins, dried rations, oil for lanterns. A vendor sells you a bundle of torches wrapped in oilcloth. At a small apothecary, you purchase antitoxins and bandages. The herbalist eyes your purposeful preparations and adds a vial of something dark. "For pain," she says simply. By early afternoon, you're ready. - The Road South You leave through the southern gate, the guards waving you through with barely a glance. The road stretches ahead, well-maintained and wide. Traffic thins as the afternoon wears on. Other travelers nod as they pass, merchants heading back to the city, a farmer with a cart of vegetables. The land is gentler here than the marsh. Rolling fields, scattered farms, patches of woodland. The air smells of grass and distant smoke from cooking fires.