Crossing his arms, Cassian steps back, unwilling to be the one to carry it. There’s something about the Voidscale that sets him on edge, a deep unease curling in his gut. His eyes flick to the lizardfolk around them, noting the lingering stares. Whatever this relic once meant to them, its departure does not go unnoticed. Keeping his voice low, he murmurs, “This…c-carries more than history.” Then, looking to Stone Feather, he inclines his head in gratitude. “We’ll take it and b-be on our way. I'll be s-sure to reiterate to M-malrik the need for c-caution."

Doc admires the piece and will be fine with carrying the item in his bag.

"If some have less than savoury desires for it, would they be bold enough to try and fight us for it? Or are your people sensible enough to know that would be suicidal?" Whatever the answer, Chromir will keep his eyes on any that eyed the exchange longer than necessary, and makes a show of spinning his greataxe around every now and then to show off his muscles and control over such a mighty weapon. 

The heroes arrived in Hope’s End as dusk settled.  Their journey from the Great Moor had been a long but uneventful three days.

Malrik’s estate loomed at the edge of the Great Moor, its once-crumbling exterior now showing signs of restoration.  Inside, the eccentric scholar greeted them with his usual display of enthusiasm.  He accepted the Voidscale with reverence.

"Well done."  He murmured, eyes gleaming. "A relic from a bygone age, wrested from obscurity and placed into the hands of one who can truly  appreciate its significance."

Malrik traced a hand over the intricate carving, his expression contemplative. "The Arcane Circle, in their ceaseless paranoia, would entomb such a wonder and hide it from the world beneath layers of fear and bureaucracy."

"They hoard knowledge, pretending it is for the greater good ... yet they lack the fortitude to wield it."

"They masquerade as stewards of wisdom, but true power — true understanding — belongs only to those willing to grasp it."

Cassian keeps his distance from the Voidscale, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as if resisting the pull of curiosity. The sight of the ancient relic unsettles him—the way Malrik reverently traces its edges, the gleam in his eyes as he speaks of power. Cassian isn’t sure if it’s admiration or something more dangerous.

Still, he can’t ignore his own questions. "The A-arcane Circle?" he asks, tilting his head slightly. "Who are they?" His voice is careful, but there’s an edge of concern beneath it.

His gaze flickers between Malrik and the Voidscale, uneasy. "A-and what exactly do you plan to do w-with it?" He shifts his stance, his boots scuffing against the stone floor. "It’s not my place to tell you how to handle your research, b-but something like this…" He exhales, steadying himself. "You should be careful."

Malrik chuckled, shaking his head. "Caution, yes. You need not fear, my dear paladin — I am no reckless dabbler."

His fingers drummed idly against the Voidscale’s surface, his gaze distant but calculating.

"The Arcane Circle is a self-appointed conclave of scholars and spellwrights."  He said, describing the consortium of wizards known to operate in the area.   "Holed up in their ivory towers, draped in the pretense of enlightenment."

"They hoard knowledge beneath the guise of stewardship, dictating what may be studied, what may be known. Progress shackled by fear."

He scoffed, eyes flicking back to Cassian. "Had they their way, this relic would be locked away, its secrets left to wither."

The road back to Hope’s End stretched dark beneath the night sky, the air cool with the lingering damp of the marshlands. The party’s footsteps and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees were the only sounds until a figure emerged from the roadside shadows, breathless and wide-eyed.

It was Darin!  The woodsman Chromir met from his time spent at the saw mill.

He barely spared the others a glance, his attention fixed on the goliath.

"Thank the gods you are back!  I—I didn’t know who else to turn to."  His voice was strained, raw with worry.  "It’s Luna ... she’s gone."

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, glancing back the way he came as if expecting her to appear.

"I went to her cottage yesterday. Thought I’d surprise her."  He let out a sharp, humorless laugh.  "But the place was… wrong. No fire in the hearth. Dust on the table. Leaves piled against the door."  He swallowed hard. "I don’t know what happened, but something’s not right. Please — you have to help me find her."

Luna is the young artist that sketched the party on the evening of their party.  She is engaged to Darin.  
It is late evening, what would you like to do?

Doc listens to the woodsman and asks

"When was the last time you saw her, and could it be she is visiting familiy or something?"

Navrine follows quietly behind the group lost in her own thoughts about Malrik and the void scale, the conversation about Luna brings her attention back to the group “This sounds odd should we go investigate? Doc’s right, we should try and ascertain where and when she went missing, and see if we can unravel this mystery, you guys in for it?” Seeing Darin’s concern she knew she had to do something.

'Shackled by fear'...Cassian considers Malrik's words as they head back to Hope's End, only stirring from his thoughts when Darin approaches them. After listening he nods in agreement with Navrine.

"Y-yes, we should take a l-look around her house. Try to figure out where she w-went." And if she went willingly.

Chromir has conflicted feelings. On one hand he is proud to have made such a good impression that Darin sought him out. But on the other hand, he was worried about Luna. "We will look for her. But I don't want to make any promises if I don't know I can keep them." he turns to the party members "You can check out her house, see if Darin missed anything. Meet me back at The Weeping Willow when you are done. I will talk to Darin and see if he can tell me anything else over a drink to calm his mind down."

Chromir is partially wanting an excuse to drink himself, but he is mostly wanting to distract Darin from the immediate panic with a drink, and over the course of the drink, will be asking Darin questions about Luna. Starting off with things about her life generally (family, friends, interests) and then moving on to recent times (last time they saw each other, anything odd, anyone else looking at Luna strangely). Additionally he is looking to see who else is in the Tavern, especially looking for Sarael. 

Cassian nods, understanding Chromir’s hesitation. "Good idea," he says quietly. "We’ll d-do everything we can." He tightens his grip on the strap of his pack, already bracing himself for what they might find at Luna’s home.

Navrine turns to Cassian “So do you know where Luna lives?” She thinks to herself did she tell us where she lived? “To be honest with the whole swamp trip and all I don't seem to recall where she lives.” She looks down a bit sheepishly. “Lead on, I will follow.”

Chromir — The Weeping Willow

The Weeping Willow was alive with the low hum of conversation, the scent of stew thick in the air, and the occasional crackle of the hearth. Despite the warmth of the tavern, Darin sat stiffly at one of the tables, hands wrapped around an untouched mug. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, flickering toward the door every time it opened.  Chromir sat across from him. 

Cora wove through the room, setting drinks before patrons with practiced efficiency, her movements brisk but not hurried.

At the bar, the ever-present Klem leaned forward, staring silently into his mug, his expression unreadable.

Sareal, meanwhile, lounged comfortably near the hearth.

Outside, a light snow — the first of the season — had begun to fall.  Its quiet beauty in stark contrast to the quiet tension settled over the table.

Cassian, Doc, and Navrine — Luna's Cottage

The path to Luna’s cottage wound through a quiet stretch of woods, damp with the evening’s chill.  A light snow had begun to fall.  Winter had finally come to Hope's End.

The door creaked as it swung open, revealing the stillness within. No fire burned in the hearth. No lanterns had been lit. A fine layer of dust coated the table and shelves, untouched for days.

The heroes entered, the wooden floor groaning beneath their boots. 

Sketches lay scattered across the worktable, Luna’s careful hand capturing the likeness of a nobleman in various unfinished studies.  Over by her art supplies, a locked drawer bore fresh scratches around the keyhole, as if someone had briefly attempted to force it open but abandoned the effort.

A gust of wind stirred the doorframe, shifting a few fallen leaves that had gathered at the entrance. The house was not just empty. It had been empty for some time.

Cassian studies the sketches on Luna’s worktable, his gaze narrowing as recognition dawns. The nobleman’s face—sharp, refined, and eerily composed—looks strikingly familiar. Adrian Thorne. They had met him in the tavern after their first quest. Glancing at the locked drawer and the failed attempt to force it open, unease prickles at the back of his mind. Turning to the others, he holds up the portrait. "This looks l-like Baron Thorne. We s-should try speaking with him. These seem to be her most recent w-work, so he might've been the last person to see her b-before she disappeared."

Chromir attempts to talk to Darin, while keeping an eye on Sarael. If she leaves, he wishes to follow her, otherwise he doesn't care what she gets up to.

"So tell me, how did you and Luna meet? And what sort of things did the two of you like to get up to?"

Doc starts to investigate the place around the scratched keyhole to find anything out of the ordinary, any signs of struggle or of others than Luna that might have been there.

Perception:20 (if Investigation is required 15 due to 0 vs 5 as modifier)

Navrine sees the scratches on the locked drawer and whispers “Amatures…” She examines the lock and pulls out her thieves tools and goes to work on the lock, being far more careful than the previous person who had tried.

Action: Pick the lock (5+5) for 10 on her attempt.

 “I might be out of practice.” She says to her companions “I was really good at this at one time in my life.” She then looks at the noble in the drawing, a chill runs through her, “I don't really like nobles that much they tend to cause a lot of suffering, even when their intentions are good, which they seldom are.”

Cassian, Doc, and Navrine — Luna's Cottage

Doc's search of the cottage revealed the remnants of a journal in the cold ashes of the hearth.  Its leather cover curled and blackened by flame.  Most of the pages had been reduced to brittle flakes, but a few charred fragments remain, their edges crumbling at the slightest touch. 

One scrap, half-burned and torn, reads:

"I want to build a life with Darin. But why does he—"

After that, another piece, smudged and fragile:

"He watches me, even when he isn’t here.  In my dreams.  Eyes, red like embers in the dark.  He smiles so kindly, but sometimes, just for a moment … I feel like I’m staring into the mouth of something inhuman.  Something hungry."

A final, nearly intact fragment is the most damning of all. The words are rushed, the handwriting jagged, as if written in a moment of panic.

"Tonight, I must ask him. I cannot ignore these dreams any longer. Something is wrong. I think—"

The bottom half of the page is scorched away, completely obscuring whatever Luna's final thoughts might have been.

Chromir — The Weeping Willow

Darin exhaled a slow, shaky breath, staring into his untouched mug of ale. His fingers curled tightly around it, knuckles pale beneath the grime of his work-worn hands.

"I met Luna at the sawmill,"  He began, voice rough with exhaustion. "She’d come by now and then.  She wasn’t like the rest of us — always dreaming, always seeing something beautiful in all of the things the rest of us took for granted." 

A sad smile flickered across his face before it faded just as quickly.

"It was easy to fall for her."

"We talked about getting married — starting something real, something steady. We didn’t have much, but we made do. I’d come back from the woods, and she’d have some new drawing to talk to me about. I never really understood, but I liked listening."

The woodsman shook his head, rubbing a hand down his face. "Last time I saw her was near a week ago. I’d set out for a stretch ... you know how it is.  Sometimes I’m gone for days, keeping to the deeper parts of the forest. When I came back, her cottage was empty."

His grip on the mug tightened, jaw clenching. "I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know where to start. But something’s wrong, and I need to find her."

Doc reads the parts and shows them to the others with worry on his face.