Long Game 106: On the Shores of The Black Lake

[Ashbringer he/him]

... ah, who am I kidding.

 

You will become one of us and you will join us and we will escape and we will be free and leave the anomaly and become the world and become alive and - 

AraRaash opened his eyes to a sea of white. Well. That had been unpleasant. Whatever Area X had been, it'd been enough to both catch him off-guard and powerful enough that the Strifeline pulled both him and Faleast out of there, while his duplicate went off to whatever adventure he had in store. Wait... he wasn't the duplicate, was he? AraRaash predicted he'd know it in his bones, but that world... well, he'd had hopes with its mutagenics he'd get something in return, but now he was glad the Strifeline was acting up. Slightly. This body still wasn't his own, as much as a kandra could have one of their own.

Something was still wrong, though. Something else.

What was there... this brain was obsessed with maps. He could probably get around to anywhere from here with Faleast's intel, even before this brain decided to clue him into where exactly they were. Well, best way to do that is go around a bit. AraRaash tried to get up, only for the whiteness in front of him to push back. Angrily he shoved it off of himself.

Several things happened after that.

The first thing he noticed, oddly, was the large amount of ash piled on the shuttered windowsill. Well, that narrowed down where he was a good bit. Scadrial, Final Empire. Good to be home, if a bit terrifying. The second was the amount of medical equipment scattered over the walls, and on the desk the young man was sitting at. Third - bah, he was getting sloppy - he noticed the young man at about the same time that he noticed him looking about.

The young doctor promptly fainted.

It was at this point AraRaash noticed things four, five, and six: that the whiteness over his eyes had been a bedsheet covering his head, that that white sheet was red in not a small number of places, and those red splotches corresponded to several now-rebleeding parts of his rather unclothed body.

"Well, this is going to be hard to explain," AraRaash said.

The doctor did not respond. Neither did...

"Faleast?"

 

Signing up as John Doe Derrick, a licensed scout and cartographer, who may or may not be very dead at this current moment under mysterious circumstances. Also signing up as AraRaash, a licensed multiverse hopping kandra extraordinaire, who may or may not have unintentionally eaten John and is currently looking for his seemingly missing ghost.

Just a note I'll be around but somewhat less active the first cycle due to my finals schedule, but after that I'll... well I'll still be busy but not in such a dramatic fashion.

[KaladinsSenseOfHumourSpren He/Him]

Mil reminisced about the cousin he had only known briefly. It was his first cousin once removed (if he did it correctly), Ver, a 1/4 noble and ex-member of the skaa rebellion. He came to tell his only living kin, Mil's father, that he was leaving the rebellion.

"What! Why?" Mil's father had said.

"I met someone. At first glance, he looked Terris... but I could tell that that wasn't the case. He told me that I could leave this place," Ver had said.

"Are you going to the Outer Dominance?"

"No. I'm going to the stars." He left after that.

That was the only time Mil ever saw Ver. Three weeks later, Mil's village was destroyed. 

Quote

Ver met Galladon from Elantris (Grump in the Purelake WoR interlude) and joined the in-universe Seventeenth Shard. Ver's contribution to the organisation convinced the higher-ups to recruit Captian (General) Demoux (Thinker from the Purelake WoR interlude). After a few centuries, Ver settled on Roshar and is the grandfather of Talinele. 

 

Edited June 4, 2025 by KaladinsSenseOfHumorSpren

[Kasimir he/him]

Keldorn struggled to fit the brass key into the heavy lock, blinking and cursing as ash fell around him, glancing off the wide brim of his hat, and slathering his greatcoat. The way Keldorn saw it, keys were tricky little beasts. You had to try both sides, and then the third time around, it'd go right in, with the sort of ease that seemed as though it was asking you whyever you were struggling so hard in the first place.

The key turned in the lock. Damned things.

He kneed the door open, grunting slightly at the old ache in his leg. Campaign wound, from that rebellion just south of Seran. Put him out of Garrison after that, but commander knew a fellow who knew a fellow, and alla that meant Keldorn was here at Blackkeep now, had been for years, keeping his eyes and ears open for what work the Ministry swung his way. The Canton of Inquisition handled things in-house: the farther away you were from them, Prelan Wyred was known to say dismissively, the better off you were. Still, the Canton of Finance often had need for people who could ask what needed to be asked, who could poke around, and who could find answers, and that meant they had use for a washed-up man who was former Garrison. Didn't need a good leg to find out what the Canton needed, see. Sometimes it was mind-dullingly boring things, like an obligator skimming off a shipment here, or a Prelan accepting bribes there.

Sometimes, it was a little more interesting.

'Course, Ministry contracts had dried up of late. Didn't take someone who'd seen the amount of crap Keldorn had to know what was in the wind, not when boats coming from Luthadel were announcing the fall of the capital, and the death of the Lord Ruler.

Figured that with the way things were going, sooner or later, someone was gonna work out how to put down even a god the proper way. The sort that was gonna stick.

Some woulda said it was an overdue thing. Keldorn accepted jobs from the Ministry that paid, so he kept his mouth shut, even if he paid the cheesemonger a little more than he should. Fellow was a Rebellion sympathiser, he knew that. But you did what you could, didn't you? Wasn't here to keep his morals pure, anyway. He was just here making a living, trying to survive.

With the Ministry contracts drying up, Keldorn supposed he was lucky that Aral Penrod'd always seemed to be able to find work on the side. A small investigation here, a quiet tailing there. Nothing fancy, apart from the time he caught two of the councilmembers in bed with each other, but it paid the bills. Scut work, sometimes. Things the watch didn't want their hands on. It put coin in his pocket though. Allowed him to keep baywraps on the table, and he wasn't gonna turn that down.

'Course, maybe he'd feel differently once he'd a chance to sit and process Penrod's latest request.

Wanted Keldorn to figure out what was happening with the dead prelan, did he?

Keldorn brushed the fallen ash off his shoulders and shut the door. The things he did for a paycheck.

---

Realised I forgot to sign up, so here we go. Signing up as Keldorn, a cynical washed-up former Garrison soldier with a bad leg. Takes on private investigative work for the Canton of Finance, and sidejobs for Aral Penrod. 

[|TJ| he/him]

Fox, wanderer, nomad, survivor, a man of few words, looks over Blackkeep. 

Looks like home for the next few days.

[Through the Living Hopper He/Him]

Antari slipped into the darkened tavern. Blackkeep was much more upscale than the other forts he had visited. That was relative, of course. 

Sigh.

——————————––—————————–

I finally am here! I sign up as Antari Erlington, a man with a mysterious accent and an even more mysterious past.

[Araris Valerian he/him]

"Starting tomorrow evening, no further people are to be let in the gates! Those exiting to use the docks must register themselves with the guards or re-entry will not be permitted."

Aral, having addressed the last squad of gate guards, began to work his way back toward the center of town. With all the refugees that had come to Blackkeep in the last few days, the town's food supply would be stretched as it was, so the orders from the council made some sense. Plus, there were the other matters going on that would only be worsened by more unknown faces filling up the local inns.

[Through the Living Hopper He/Him]

Antari woke with a start.

Something smelled awful, like a rotting skaa thrown into an ashmount after fermenting for days in the Venture wine cellar. Antari lifted his arm to see if the smell was from him.

The arm die not move.

Ash! Ash! Ashashashashashashashashash!

No! Wait! They couldn't have. Not here, not so soon…but what if they ashing did!?

Antari rocked the chair so violently that he was surprised it didn't splinter.

The darkness at the edge of the room got darker.

A man stepped into the room, folding his arms. A more slender man stepped behind him, wearing fine clothes and looking at a watch.

The large man lit a torch as a third figure walked into the room, a somehow larger man. 

The ashing barkeep!

Wait. He was a skaa! 

Antari laughed. The slender man did not seem to like this, as he strolled across the room and slapped Antari. 

"Quiet, you! We don't want you dead, you don't want you dead, and the people paying your ransom definitely don't want you dead. So shut up!" He almost yelled the last sentence. 

On edge…

He knew what this was about, too. The barkeep had lured him in, underhandedly. He had then practically forced drinks on him, until Antari was so drunk that he started ordering… No! You never know who's watching!

These men had apparently thought that the new man's pockets were far too heavy for an ash sweep. 

They were not wrong. 

Sigh. One. Ashing. Day! 

The slender man turned to the other men. "He will tell us whom to ask for his bounty. Make him."

The men closed in on Antari, holding instruments of torture that they had not had earlier.

One ashing day. 

Sigh.

[|TJ| he/him]

Fox wandered onto the Blackkeep square where they were keeping a count of all the refugees entering the town. He wasn't curious per se, but he browsed through the names and noticed that Antari's name was missing. They had entered the town around the same time, him and Antari, and he was quite abnormal to say the least. Was it suspicious that his name wasn't on the list? Ehh, a headache for Penrod (@Araris Valerian), perhaps. 

[KaladinsSenseOfHumourSpren He/Him]

"Lord Penrod (@Araris Valerian)," Mil begun. "According to my calculations, the gates are closing in exactly 4 hours and 59 minutes. Is this right?"

 

[Araris Valerian he/him]

5 minutes ago, KaladinsSenseOfHumorSpren said:

"Lord Penrod (@Araris Valerian)," Mil begun. "According to my calculations, the gates are closing in exactly 4 hours and 59 minutes. Is this right?"

"That is correct, though we don't have lords in Blackkeep these days, save for Emperor Venture and any that he deems worthy."

[The Unknown Medallion he/him]

The Metal Mob, later destined to become a political force rivaling noble houses, was yet to achieve it's future greatness in the days after Elend's rise. It was a small organization, with power in only a few small towns.

Tin Al had had his sights set upon Blackkeep for some time now. It was an ambitious choice, but ambition was Tin Capone's middle name. But it was a very difficult place to get a foothold in, so he would need to oversee it's acquisition personally.

But just because he was personally going didn't mean he didn't need a lackey. A bruiser. Tin Capone himself couldn't go around collecting protection money and breaking kneecaps. That was why Copper Stopper was with him.

He would do the grunt work, figure out who's who, manhandle the shopkeepers, and generally carry out Tin Al's every desire.

"Now Copper," Al began, "You did well last time, but I expect more now. I want daily accounts of everyone of note in the town."

"Sir? I don't know if I can do—"

"You can do what I tell you to do. Nothing more, nothing less. I'll also expect regular analysis of their opinions once we get to that point, speculation as to actions that seem to have hidden motives, that sort of thing. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

[StrikerEZ he/him]

Var awoke in a pile of ash.

He gasped, ash trying to fill his lungs, and flailed about until he found the top. He spat out a mouthful of ash as he took stock of his surroundings.

Ash, ash, and more ash. Only disturbed by the occasional sad, lonely, half-dead tree. Of course it was Scadrial again. The Spirit could never make things easy for Var, could it?

Var pulled himself out of the ash and began walking towards the nearest population center, about a mile away if the Sense was to be trusted. Never could trust it completely during his first day on a new world. He’d have to hope the inhabitants of that town wouldn’t kill a stranger covered in ash that towered over everyone else. Maybe he could act confused and out of his mind? Yes, that had seemed to work on Bjendal a couple centuries ago. Hopefully he’d be able to find a job quickly. He would need food eventually, despite the Spirit’s curse. Hunger didn’t look good on a fellow.

[Var is gonna be playing a very confused, out-of-his-mind stranger to the town. @Araris Valerian do your worst with his occupation  ]

 

[Araris Valerian he/him]

Just now, StrikerEZ said:

Var awoke in a pile of ash.

He gasped, ash trying to fill his lungs, and flailed about until he found the top. He spat out a mouthful of ash as he took stock of his surroundings.

Ash, ash, and more ash. Only disturbed by the occasional sad, lonely, half-dead tree. Of course it was Scadrial again. The Spirit could never make things easy for Var, could it?

Var pulled himself out of the ash and began walking towards the nearest population center, about a mile away if the Sense was to be trusted. Never could trust it completely during his first day on a new world. He’d have to hope the inhabitants of that town wouldn’t kill a stranger covered in ash that towered over everyone else. Maybe he could act confused and out of his mind? Yes, that had seemed to work on Bjendal a couple centuries ago. Hopefully he’d be able to find a job quickly. He would need food eventually, despite the Spirit’s curse. Hunger didn’t look good on a fellow.

[Var is gonna be playing a very confused, out-of-his-mind stranger to the town. @Araris Valerian do your worst with his occupation  ]

 

The latrines always need extra hands .

[Biplet she/her]

*emerges from the dead like a long-forgotten cryptid*

I'm in.

Madiane, a bit unstable and not the greatest memory. She thinks she's supposed to be here, but, well, she doesn't know a whole lot about herself these days. The scar on the back of her head doesn't paint the best picture of her past, after all.

[Araris Valerian he/him]

Signups are closed! Day 1 should be posted shortly after all PMs are sent.

[Araris Valerian he/him]

Day 1: Looking for Capable Leaders, No Prior Experience Required

Well before the mists had cleared, Aral set off for the building that served as the city hall. Mist from the lake regularly shrouded Blackkeep, but it was only more recently that the strange, nighttime mists stayed even after the lake’s fog melted away. As a member of House Penrod, Aral once had shared the nobility’s disdain for fearing the mists. But last year, they had attacked him… Aral shook his head, driving the painful memories out and mentally went through the list of issues the council had him running messages on. Rumors about the Lord Ruler’s atium cache, plans for the abandoned Ministry building, declining fishing yields, and the mysterious deaths. Not to mention the oncoming army of Koloss. Never a quiet day in Blackkeep.

As he pushed open the doors to the city hall, the scent of death immediately washed over Aral. A few tendrils of mist stretched into the room, mirroring the trickling blood that had spilled toward the doorway. Six bodies lay strewn across the floor, five of which he thought he recognized as the current council members. The last corpse wasn’t quite as familiar, and Aral struggled to place the sturdy frame within his mental list of Blackkeep’s residents. Ah, Jorg, one of the smiths. Jorg’s hands were tightly closed on a steel rod, and a closer look suggested it was responsible for having killed the others.

Aral took a few deep breaths and tried to order his thoughts. As he did so, a gleam of metal reflected from Jorg’s shoulder. He stepped forward, then paused as he heard the crunch of glass beneath his foot. An Allomantic vial. Likely pewter, from the way the others were killed. Aral pulled at Jorg’s sleeve and revealed a slim spike of metal piercing the other man’s skin. It reminded him of the Inquisitors that had once passed through Blackkeep to and from the Conventical of Seran.

The mists were just starting to thin as Aral emerged from the council building. He knew everyone in Blackkeep, and even had learned most of the faces of the newcomers in the last weeks. Some of them were far more suited to leadership than Aral, and hopefully they could get a handle on the situation before things could spiral out of control. He'd left a guard at the door with orders to keep folks out; better to hold off on spreading word of the deaths until successors could be found. 

---

The city council has been killed by the Spiked! Jorg was a Spiked Thug (npc)!

Day 1 has begun, and will end at 10 PM Pacific Time on Monday, June 9^th.

PMs are open! (make sure to check the status of PMs with each writeup). All PMs must include me.

Player List:

Spoiler

1. Jox - young, thoughtful, flour-covered Baker's Apprentice @A Jo in the Bush
2. Copper Stopper/Tin Al - copper stopping Copper Stopper/stone-cold killer Mob Boss @The Unknown Order
3. Mil Veriel - resourceful Wandering Scavenger @KaladinsSenseOfHumorSpren
4. Josha - well-meaning, wimpy Wizard @TwinStorm
5. Lijal - distrustful and shy Urchin @IcedOutPenguin
6. Lipitor - pompous, bratty Folk Hero @KelsierApologist
7. Teal - awesome 10-Year Old @BigBadBagsworth
8. Astrid Lefflame - no-nonsense Watchman @Lord Spirit
9. Kéamen Wither - a secret-seeking Skaa Spy @Hoid Slayer
10. John Derrick/AraRaash - Scout and Cartographer/Worldhopping Kandra @Ashbringer
11. Keldorn - cynical, lamed Soldier and Investigator @Kasimir
12. Fox - silent Wanderer @|TJ|
13. Antari Erlington - mysterious Mystery @ThatOneWorldhopper
14. Var - confused but diligent Latrine Cleaner @StrikerEZ
15. Madiane - unstable, forgetful Latrine Cleaner @Biplet

 

Edited June 8, 2025 by Araris Valerian

[KaladinsSenseOfHumourSpren He/Him]

Mil wandered about the halls of Blackkeep, lost in thought. It was... almost surreal, going from a scavenger covered in ash from head-to-toes to sleeping under a roof. That year alone had felt like his whole life. His only company where the mists at night... which he was increasingly certain didn't have the best intentions.

 

Edited June 8, 2025 by KaladinsSenseOfHumorSpren

[IcedOutPenguin He/Him]

Lijal had never been worried about what was going on in the town before, but all these new people flowing in from all over had her worried, they might try to take her things. There was also something else, an unrest about the town that she had only seen a few times before. Things were changing, important things, and she didn't know if she wanted to be a part of it.

[StrikerEZ he/him]

Var almost didn’t make it to the gates in time.

A very annoyed looking guard sized him up. “State your business, traveler,” the guard said.

”I’m here to eat shoes and have fun and I’m all out of fun!” Var said. “Do you happen to have any? I seem to have misplaced mine.” At this, Var made a show of searching his several pockets. Oh how he would miss Taldain clothing. They knew how to design clothes.

”Excuse me?” The guard said. “Are you daft?”

”Daft? No, I don’t think so,” Var said. “Just a little lost, very confused, and in need of a good whipping. I think that should jog my memory.”

”Great,” the guard muttered, “another crazy.”

Var pretended not to hear the man. He bent down to take off his shoe. He said he would eat it, may as well make a good show of it.

”Okay, look,” the guard said. “I’ll let you in, just follow Geraln over there. He’ll get you working. If you’re going to be here, you’ve got to work just like everyone else.”

”On it, boss,” Var said, putting his shoe back on.

”What’s a boss?” The guard said.

Unfortunately, Var left the man very confused, deigning Geraln with his presence instead. Geraln led Var through the city and tried talking to him, but Var ignored him. He instead listened to the people of Blackkeep that he passed. Things had changed quite a bit since Var was last on Scadrial. The Lord Ruler, dead? A new Emperor? Raving Koloss? The mists staying longer than they should? And on top of it, a looming presence the Sense told him was watching the town. Strange times indeed, but Var always found himself in strange times.

Geraln finally stopped in front of an extreme foul-smelling building. Var knew what it was before Geraln said a word.

The latrines.

Well, Var thought, at least I’ll have plenty of time to think.

Edited June 8, 2025 by StrikerEZ
Trying to get rid of the empty space

[KaladinsSenseOfHumourSpren He/Him]

2 minutes ago, StrikerEZ said:

Var almost didn’t make it to the gates in time.

A very annoyed looking guard sized him up. “State your business, traveler,” the guard said.

”I’m here to eat shoes and have fun and I’m all out of fun!” Var said. “Do you happen to have any? I seem to have misplaced mine.” At this, Var made a show of searching his several pockets. Oh how he would miss Taldain clothing. They knew how to design clothes.

”Excuse me?” The guard said. “Are you daft?”

”Daft? No, I don’t think so,” Var said. “Just a little lost, very confused, and in need of a good whipping. I think that should jog my memory.”

”Great,” the guard muttered, “another crazy.”

Var pretended not to hear the man. He bent down to take off his shoe. He said he would eat it, may as well make a good show of it.

”Okay, look,” the guard said. “I’ll let you in, just follow Geraln over there. He’ll get you working. If you’re going to be here, you’ve got to work just like everyone else.”

”On it, boss,” Var said, putting his shoe back on.

”What’s a boss?” The guard said.

Unfortunately, Var left the man very confused, deigning Geraln with his presence instead. Geraln led Var through the city and tried talking to him, but Var ignored him. He instead listened to the people of Blackkeep that he passed. Things had changed quite a bit since Var was last on Scadrial. The Lord Ruler, dead? A new Emperor? Raving Koloss? The mists staying longer than they should? And on top of it, a looming presence the Sense told him was watching the town. Strange times indeed, but Var always found himself in strange times.

Geraln finally stopped in front of an extreme foul-smelling building. Var knew what it was before Geraln said a word.

The latrines.

Well, Var thought, at least I’ll have plenty of time to think.

Mil had seen Var walk past him escorted by a guard. He pretended to be crazy, but Mil could see through that. He had a similar air to Ver (Mil's first cousin once removed) the only time Mil had ever seen him. His accent was certainly not one from the Central, Eastern or Western Dominances.

[Kasimir he/him]

Keldorn had had a very strange dream.

There was a strange squared ring, made of ropes, in the centre of limelights. A man in green, his face daubed up in streaks of green and black, tossing a stuffed—Keldorn had never seen a creature of that like in his entire life, but in the dream, he was convinced it was called an iguana—onto someone else to take the pin. A lynx snatching up the iguana to stomp it onto the floor, hit it with an elbow drop, and a strange move that Keldorn knew nothing about, except that it was surely overkill for a stuffed iguana.

There was a crowd, too. The boos and shouts seemed to shake the entire frame of the dream.

They really seemed to love the iguana.

Fox had said something about another animal, something called a cobra.

Keldorn hadn't the faintest idea why he was dreaming about the recluse, and that talk about a match between the cobra and the iguana was more than he'd gotten out of the man in days.

Probably meant something, though. Sometimes, dreams were things your waking mind had yet to process.

A man clad in black, rolling under the bottom rope into that ring of light. 

Something about the truth being dead?

The cheering. The dream trembled, shattered.

Keldorn awoke to cries of murder, of the entire city council being killed by Spiked.

[|TJ| he/him]

This is going to be difficult with everyone speaking indirectly and in hushed tones.

Death was nothing new to Fox, having travelled around the wastelands. But it's always different when it occurs in a perceived civilization. He'd investigate, but from the shadows. Working in leadership never ended up well for him. 

For now, he'd keep an eye out for Lijal. She seemed to be acting a little too scared for his liking. She was overdoing it. 

He also looked at the person who was accusing him of appearing in his dream. That didn't make sense. But he liked the fellow, and the dream seemed interesting to say the least, so he figured he'd let it go. 

"Hmph." 

Edited June 8, 2025 by |TJ|

[Jo and the Bush all/any]

Jox was trying to appear small, hunching down in between the handles of the bakery cart. He didn't like that some people were looking at him with pity, and he especially didn't like how many people were looking at his father.

"I'm the Baker, and I have today's order for the council! I've been here every morning you idiot!" Gurvani was waving around the message that the council had sent him last night of what bread to bring this morning.

"I know sir, but our orders are to keep everyone out of the council meeting right now. Unless those orders change, you can't come in." The guard was repeating the words in the same way his ma had talked to him when he was younger. (Was Jox a guard? He hoped not. He didn't think he'd like to stand there and be yelled at)

"Well what am I supposed to do with their order then? Just throw it away? I can't trust you to deliver it to the council can I? Since you're too important to even listen to a lowly baker like me with your big important order from the Aral. Why not go fetch him! He'll let me in. He knows I'm the baker." Gurvani was red in the face.

"I can't leave my post sir. You'll have to wait."

Jox tugged on his pa's shirt. "I could distribute them pa, you don't need me at the bakery, I can take things around."

Gurvani's arm twitched, as if to hit him, but the arm didn't lash out. Instead, he took a deep breath, and turned to face him. "Joxxer, there's 14 separate groups of folk that need bread. They're all supposed to come to the council for it. You running around delivering it would take you all day."

"So will arguing with me sir." The guard stated dryly. Jox winced.

Gurvani whipped around to glare at him. "I won't forget this." He turned and tossed the council's writ to Jox. "Fine boy. Go deliver the bread."

Jox caught the writ and unfolded it. Not very informative, but it did have the names of the people, and what bread they needed. Too bad he hadn't learned to read very well yet. Well, he'd take it one step at a time. He recognized the word for bread, and he knew his numbers. He held up the writ to the guard. "Could you tell me what these names are, sir?"

Once he had the names in hand, he set off, to find and speak to each individual on the list.

Edited June 9, 2025 by A Jo in the Bush
Bolding and clarifying the final sentence

[Hoid Slayer He/Him]

Kéamon Wither had always wanted to change the world.

That dream, however, had always felt so far away. Constant, even pressing, but distant. Ever drifting further away, his attention consumed by promises of fulfillment in the future. Now, however, the vision seemed close. Almost begging to be grasped, yet hidden behind a shroud. Perhaps it was just another lie. Those thoughts crept through Kéamon's head as he strolled through the last of the night's mists into Blackkeep's gate square, where a crowd seemed to be gathering. It was only Kèamon's second day in the town, and yet time seemed to rush by. The square, lit by the dawn light, was just becoming active, and seemed filled by a collection of odd people.

Suddenly, a flurry of screams came from deeper into the town, and Kéamon sighed. Apparently, despite the mayor's efforts, news of the dead council had spread. Well, that would certainly cause a disruption. People always showed their true forms in times of disruption.

Kéamon accepted a piece of bread from the baker's apprentice, then used the excuse to lean against the wall of a building, and observed the crowd. There were the refugees; led by a man by the name of Lipitor, proclaimed "Hero of Ashford" or something along those lines, they drew most of the town's attention. But Kéamon had learned from his mentor that those that drew attention were not always those that merited it.

So instead, Kéamon turned his attention to the others. The ones that acted weird, almost foreign. Yes, those were of interest. An ash-covered, oddly clothed man directed by a guard towards what seemed to be... the latrines? Interesting. A recluse, nothing known about him, but whose name had already been circulated as the Fox. But it wasn't either of those he approached. No, those were to be kept an eye on, watched, and tracked, but never openly faced. Kéamon's mentor would want to know of them before he acted. So instead, Kéamon walked up to a different man. One whose posture spoke of experience. Keldorn.

[TwinStorm He/Him]

Josha sighed, walking through town. Murders last night. Bad for business. When people died, everyone immediately suspected the wizard. Comes with the job, he thought, but he didn't appreciate the pitchforks.

He walked up to the baker. "Boy!" he called out. "Boy! What's the news?"

@A Jo in the Bush