You continue your journey south, putting the site of the brief, brutal ambush behind you. The forest seems to reclaim the space quickly, the only evidence left behind the rapidly fading sounds of Gronk's moans, soon swallowed by the distance and the trees. The experience serves as a stark reminder: even low-level threats can be dangerous if underestimated, and desperation makes people unpredictable. It also reinforces the effectiveness of Oracle's guidance and your own rapidly growing capabilities.
The afternoon wears on. You maintain a steady pace, pausing occasionally to sip water from your waterskin, the memory of thirst still potent from your first day. Around mid-afternoon, feeling the familiar pangs of hunger return, you find a relatively open spot beside the path – a small clearing dappled with sunlight – and take a short break. You sit on a mossy log, eating some more of the dried meat and hard bread from Oakhaven, chewing slowly and thoughtfully while keeping your senses alert. The forest remains quiet, peaceful even, belying the potential dangers it holds.
Finishing your simple meal, you stow the remaining rations, take another drink of water, and resume your walk. The path continues its winding way through the Greenvale, sometimes dipping into shallow valleys thick with ferns, other times rising over gentle hills offering brief, tree-framed glimpses of rolling woodland stretching into the distance. You see plentiful signs of wildlife – deer tracks, rabbit droppings, the calls of various birds – but encounter no further aggressive creatures or people. Oracle's scans remain consistently clear of immediate threats.
As the sun begins its descent, painting the sky with warmer colours visible through gaps in the canopy, the forest gradually changes character again. The trees become less dense, the undergrowth sparser. You start to notice signs of cultivation – patches of land that look like they were cleared or farmed long ago, now overgrown but still distinct from the primal forest. The path itself becomes wider, more established, with deeper cart ruts suggesting more regular traffic.
Then, you hear it – distant, but growing clearer – the lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep, and faintly, the sound of voices carrying on the evening air. The smell of woodsmoke, richer and more pervasive than in the deep forest, reaches you.
Rounding a final bend, the forest falls away completely. Before you lies cleared farmland stretching across rolling hills. Stone fences, looking much sturdier than Oakhaven's palisade, section off fields where livestock graze peacefully in the fading light. In the near distance, nestled beside a winding river spanned by a sturdy-looking stone bridge, you see the clustered buildings of a settlement significantly larger than Oakhaven. Smoke rises from numerous chimneys, lights begin to glow in windows, and the sounds of communal life are much more pronounced. This must be Bridgetown.
You've arrived just as dusk begins to settle. It took the better part of the day's walk, covering a significant distance thanks to your enhanced constitution. The sight of the town, larger and seemingly more prosperous than Oakhaven, offers a sense of relief and new possibilities.
Time: Dusk (Approx 6:30 PM)
Date: 03/05/1042
Status:
- Arrived at Bridgetown. Reached destination after a day's travel.
- Hunger: Peckish
- Thirst: Slightly Thirsty
- Stamina: Good (Recovered during breaks, mild fatigue from long walk)
- AI Status: Alert, monitoring new environment.
Inventory: - Currency: 10 Copper Coins
- Rations: Approx 1.5 days remaining.
- (Other inventory unchanged)
You walk towards the settlement, following the well-trodden path that merges with a wider road closer to the entrance. Bridgetown looks considerably more established than Oakhaven. The buildings within sight are a mix of timber-framed houses, stone structures, and larger workshops. The stone bridge spanning the swift-flowing river ahead is indeed impressive – sturdy arches supporting a wide roadbed, clearly built to last.
Unlike Oakhaven's simple palisade, Bridgetown seems to rely on the river as a natural defense on one side and sturdy stone walls, perhaps ten to twelve feet high, on the landward sides. There's a proper gatehouse integrated into the wall where the road enters the town, built from the same grey stone as the bridge and walls. Two guards stand watch, clad in boiled leather armor over green tunics, bearing spears and short swords at their belts. They look more professional and alert than the Oakhaven militia, though not quite like standing army soldiers. Lanterns hanging from the gatehouse walls cast pools of light as dusk deepens into evening.
People are still moving about – farmers heading home from the fields, merchants closing up stalls just inside the gate, townsfolk bustling about their evening routines. The guards watch the traffic flow but don't seem to be stopping everyone. As you approach, one of the guards glances your way, his eyes briefly assessing your traveler's clothes, the sword at your belt, the unfamiliar face. He doesn't challenge you, perhaps taking you for just another traveler arriving late, but his gaze lingers for a moment before returning to scan the road. You walk through the open gateway without incident.
Inside the walls, Bridgetown feels much busier and noisier than Oakhaven. The main street is wider, paved with uneven cobblestones, lined with shops (many now shuttered for the night) and multi-story buildings. The smell of cooking fires, livestock, river water, and the faint but distinct aroma of ale hangs in the air. Voices chatter, wheels rumble, a blacksmith's hammer rings out further down a side street.
Your immediate goal is lodging. You scan the street, looking for likely signs. Your eyes quickly catch a large, painted wooden sign hanging above the door of a substantial two-story building just off the main square ahead. It depicts a tankard overflowing with foam next to a stylized stone bridge. Below the image, letters proclaim "The Stone Bridge Inn". It looks like the most prominent, and likely most expensive, inn in town. Smoke curls from its chimneys, warm light spills from its windows, and the sounds of boisterous conversation and laughter drift out.
Figuring it's best to start there, you head towards it. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, you step into a large, warm, bustling common room. The air is thick with the smell of roasting meat, ale, pipe smoke, and unwashed bodies. Dozens of people – travelers, merchants, local workers – are packed around sturdy wooden tables, drinking, eating, talking loudly, gambling with dice in one corner. A buxom woman with red cheeks navigates the crowd expertly, carrying trays laden with tankards and food. Behind a long counter polished smooth by countless elbows, a stout, balding man with an impressive moustache and a stained apron surveys the room, occasionally barking orders or pouring drinks. This must be the innkeeper.
You make your way through the throng towards the counter, feeling distinctly out of place despite your local clothes – you're clearly not one of the regulars. The innkeeper spots you approaching, his eyes giving you a quick, practiced once-over, assessing your potential custom.
"Looking for a drink, lad? Or maybe a room for the night?" he asks, his voice surprisingly resonant, easily cutting through the din.
"A room," you reply, trying to sound casual. "Just for tonight. How much for your simplest accommodations?"
The innkeeper sizes you up again – plain traveler's gear, decent sword but not noble quality, no obvious signs of wealth. "Cheapest I got is a cot in the common loft," he says, gesturing vaguely upwards towards a railed gallery overlooking the room. "Shared space, mind. Five coppers, payable now. Includes thin blanket, bring yer own tolerance for snoring." He pauses. "Private room, bit bigger'n a closet, bed might have fewer fleas? That'll be fifteen coppers."
Fifteen coppers for a private room – more than you have. Five coppers for a cot in a noisy, likely smelly loft... it's half your entire funds, leaving you with almost nothing. You hesitate for a moment, considering your options. Sleeping in the loft means little security for your belongings (especially the bum bag with the phone) and likely poor rest. But fifteen is impossible.
"The loft cot will have to do," you say, trying to keep the disappointment from your voice. You reach into the small pouch Torvin gave you and carefully count out five copper coins onto the counter.
The innkeeper scoops them up with practiced ease. "Right then. Name's Tom, I run this place." He slides a small wooden token across the counter. "Show this to Martha," he nods towards the busy serving woman, "if you want ale or stew later – pay her direct. Loft's up those stairs," he points to a staircase at the back of the room. "Find an empty cot. Don't cause trouble." He turns away, already serving the next customer, your transaction complete and seemingly forgotten.
You take the token, tucking it away. You glance up at the noisy, crowded loft gallery. It looks less than appealing. Five coppers gone already. Your first taste of town prices is a harsh one.
Time: Evening (Approx 7:00 PM)
Date: 03/05/1042
Status:
- Location: Inside The Stone Bridge Inn, Bridgetown.
- Lodging: Secured a cot in the common loft for the night.
- Hunger: Peckish -> Hungry
- Thirst: Slightly Thirsty -> Thirsty
- Stamina: Good
- AI Status: Passive monitoring.
Inventory: - Currency: 5 Copper Coins (Spent 5)
- (Other inventory unchanged)
Finding an empty seat proves challenging. The common room is packed, noisy, and filled with swirling smoke and boisterous energy. Most tables are full, occupied by groups loudly recounting tales, arguing over dice, or simply enjoying their ale. After a minute of weaving through the crowd, you spot a small space at the end of a long trestle table near the back, currently occupied by a pair of weary-looking farmers nursing small beers and talking quietly about crop prices. You slide onto the bench, nodding a polite acknowledgement to them, which they return with uninterested glances.
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You flag down the busy server, Martha, as she passes by with an empty tray. "Excuse me," you call out over the din.
She pauses, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "Aye, lad? What'll it be?"
"What's the cheapest hot food you have?" you ask, mindful of your rapidly dwindling coin.
Martha gives a weary chuckle. "Always the same question, ain't it? 'Cheapest'. That'd be the 'End-of-the-Pot' stew. Whatever meat scraps and veggies are left, thickened up. Comes with a heel of bread. Fills a hole, mostly." She sizes you up again. "Three coppers."
Three coppers. Added to the five for the cot, that leaves you with only two copper pieces to your name. But skipping a hot meal after a long day's walk feels unwise. "Alright," you sigh inwardly, "I'll have the stew."
"Right then," she says, making a mental note and hurrying off towards the kitchen hatch without taking your coin yet – presumably, you pay when served or before leaving.
While you wait, you take the opportunity to properly observe the inn's patrons, letting your eyes roam the room, trying to get a feel for Bridgetown through its evening crowd.
- Locals: Plenty of these. Farmers like the ones sharing your table, identifiable by their worn, earth-stained clothes and talk of weather and livestock. You see a few burly men near the bar who might be dockworkers from the river, and a couple of individuals with flour dust on their aprons, likely bakers or millers. They mostly keep to themselves or small groups, drinking moderately and talking in familiar tones.
- Travelers/Merchants: Several groups fit this description. One table is occupied by four men dressed in slightly better quality, more colourful tunics, eagerly examining maps spread out amongst their tankards – likely merchants planning routes. Another group near the door seems rougher, wearing mismatched leather armor and bearing scars; they could be caravan guards enjoying downtime, or perhaps mercenaries looking for work. They drink heavily and laugh loudly, occasionally eyeing the room assessingly.
- Town Guard: A pair of guards in the same green tunics and leather armor you saw at the gate are having a quiet drink at a corner table, clearly off-duty but keeping their spears leaned against the wall nearby.
- The 'Oddities': In a shadowed booth, a lone figure sits hunched over a drink, wrapped in a dark, hooded cloak despite the warmth of the room. You can't make out their features or gear, which naturally draws attention. Is it someone hiding? Someone important? Or just someone who likes shadows? Near the fireplace, an old man with a long white beard entertains a small group with animated stories, gesturing wildly. He might be a local character, or perhaps a travelling storyteller.
You don't see anyone who immediately screams 'quest giver' or 'major plot point', but the group of guards-for-hire/mercenaries looks like the type who might know about work or trouble in the region. The cloaked figure is intriguing but unreadable from this distance.
Martha returns, placing a steaming wooden bowl of thick, brownish stew and a chunk of dark bread before you. The smell is... basic, but hot. "Three coppers," she says expectantly. You carefully count out three of your remaining five coins, leaving you with a meager two. She scoops them up and moves on.
You start eating the stew. It's edible, with chewy bits of unidentifiable meat and soft root vegetables in a thick, peppery gravy. It certainly 'fills a hole', as Martha said. As you eat, you continue observing the ebb and flow of the common room, listening to the overlapping conversations, trying to glean any useful snippets of information about Bridgetown, the road south, or potential work. Most of the talk is mundane – gossip, trade, complaints about taxes or the weather. Nothing immediately useful catches your ear.
Time: Evening (Approx 7:45 PM)
Date: 03/05/1042
Status:
- Location: Eating in the common room of The Stone Bridge Inn.
- Hunger: Hungry -> Satisfied
- Thirst: Thirsty
- Stamina: Good
- AI Status: Passive monitoring.
Inventory: - Currency: 2 Copper Coins (Spent 3)
- (Other inventory unchanged)
You focus your attention on the shadowed booth across the crowded common room, honing in on the enigmatic figure wrapped in the dark cloak. Their deliberate concealment makes them the most intriguing person here.
'Oracle,' you direct with focused intent, 'Perform a deep scan on the individual in the hooded cloak. Full analysis – identity, stats, rank, abilities, equipment including hidden or potentially valuable items, current thoughts, motives. Override any potential cloaking or mental defenses. No detection.'
<< TEMPORAL INTERVENTION ACTIVATED >>
The boisterous noise of the inn cuts off instantly. Laughter freezes mid-peal, tankards hang suspended halfway to mouths, dice stop rolling on a nearby table. The flickering candlelight becomes utterly still. Absolute silence descends once more, allowing Oracle to work unimpeded.
<< Deep Scan initiated. Target: Cloaked individual, designation 'Shadow Booth Occupant'. Bypassing standard observational limitations and potential obfuscation fields... Analyzing biological signatures, energy patterns, cognitive signals, material composition of attire/equipment... Cross-referencing multi-spectrum data against known databases... >>
The process feels more intensive than the quick scans you requested before. You sense Oracle dedicating significant processing power, peeling back layers of anonymity.
<< Analysis Complete. Subject Identified. >>
An incredibly detailed overlay appears in your mind, focusing on the figure who, even frozen, seems unnaturally still. The hood casts the face in deep shadow, but Oracle penetrates the gloom.
Subject Profile: Elara Vane (Alias: 'Night Whisper')
- Race: Half-Elf (Human / Wood Elf Heritage)
- Age: 37 (Appears younger due to Elven blood)
- Rank Estimate: B+
- Stats:
- STR: 14
- DEX: 28
- INT: 22
- CON: 18
- (Cumulative: 82)
- Affiliation: Shadow Syndicate (Covert organization specializing in espionage, information brokering, and assassination - Reputation: Ruthless, efficient, secretive). Currently operating independently on a personal contract.
- Abilities/Skills:
- Stealth: A (Master level, enhanced by training and likely magic)
- Dagger Combat: A- (Dual-wielding specialization)
- Lockpicking/Traps: B+
- Poison Use: B (Knowledge and application)
- Minor Illusion Magic (INT-based): C+ (Used for disguise, concealment, distraction)
- Acrobatics: B+
- Information Gathering: A
- Blessing: [Eyes of the Shadowcat] (Rare Bloodline Trait): Grants exceptional low-light vision bordering on true darkvision, enhances perception checks related to movement and concealment, provides minor passive resistance to visual illusions/obscurement. Undetectable by conventional means.
- Equipment:
- Visible: High-quality dark traveler's cloak (enchanted with minor chameleon properties - Rare), Soft leather boots (enchanted for silence - Rare).
- Concealed: Twin Stilettos ('Whisper & Silence') tucked in thigh/arm sheaths (Masterwork quality steel, potentially enchanted for piercing/poison affinity - Rare), Set of intricate lockpicks, Vials of various liquids (Analysis indicates paralyzing agent, potent sedative, contact poison - Rare compounds), Weighted throwing knives (x5), Small crossbow (collapsible, hidden under cloak), Purse containing approximately 15 Gold Coins, 50 Silver Coins. Map case with coded documents.
- Worn: [Amulet of Mental Fortitude] (Protects against basic mental intrusion/scrying attempts - Rare. Note: Oracle successfully bypassed this defense).
- Status: Calm, alert, observing the room passively while appearing withdrawn. Low level fatigue. Moderate suspicion towards surroundings (standard operating procedure). Not currently hostile.
- Current Thoughts/Motives: (This town is noisier than expected... Target scheduled to arrive tomorrow via river barge... Need secure observation point... Inn is too public, but good for initial recon... That fight near the door earlier? Sloppy guards... This new arrival...) - Her thoughts briefly flick towards YOU - (...Plain clothes, decent sword, moves quietly for his build... Killed someone recently? Faint scent of blood, old now... disciplined... Interesting. Keep an eye on him, potential complication or asset? Unlikely. Focus on the contract... The 'artifact' must be secured discreetly from the courier... Payment is substantial... Failure is not an option... Syndicate protocols clear...)
<< Deep Scan Complete. No detection confirmed. Temporal flow ready for resumption. >>
The sheer volume and detail of the information is staggering. This isn't just some mysterious traveler; this is 'Elara Vane', a highly skilled B+ rank operative, likely an assassin or spy for a shadowy organization, possessing a rare Blessing, multiple Rare enchanted items, significant combat skills, and currently on a contract to intercept an 'artifact' arriving tomorrow. Her amulet should have blocked even basic mind-reading, yet Oracle bypassed it effortlessly, confirming its unique power. She even noticed you peripherally, sensing something slightly off, though dismissing you for now.
Knowing this completely changes your perception of the seemingly mundane inn common room. Intrigue and danger are sitting right across the room, cloaked in shadow.
Frozen Time: Evening (Approx 7:50 PM)
Date: 03/05/1042
Status: World frozen. Deep scan of 'Elara Vane' complete, revealing high-level operative status, mission details, and hidden assets. Keelan undetected.