Shadowed Woods and Lying Bones
Twenty-Sixth Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
In the end the decision was easy one, magic will often keep one safe where mundane skill fail.
If only your second task of the day were quite so straightforward. Looking down from the shaded crest of a nearby hill upon the green vale which gives Grassfield Keep its name, it looks to be as peaceful as any corner of Westeros can be in these tumultuous times. A herd of long-horned cows moves slowly down the road to market while men in straw hats and women covering their hair with scarves against the glare of the noonday sun work the fields.
"It certainly looks like someone brought a tapestry about rich lands and honorable lords to life," Lya says from beside you. She had decided to come along today to see a little more of a realm still strange to her. "Just the sort of place the Court of Stars hope to keep 'unspoiled'." She practically bites out the last word. Though far from wrathful by nature, Lya has taken particular offense to the notion of a land forever shackled to its past, never changing, never growing. "A pity for them the lord slammed the door in their face."
"It's not that much better for us," you point out. "Young Lord Elwood is said to have a disdain for
all magic, not merely rituals of land-binding, after his father's death."
"So find the monster, if monster it be, take its head, and use it to get in the door," Ser Richard says, motioning to the dark treeline beyond the village where no watcher even perched upon the tallest tower of the keep could see.
"And if it is just a bear or boar, made more of by the companions who had to excuse the late lord's death?" you ask ruefully. "I doubt the boy would be impressed to be presented with a beast's head after he's grown so attached to the idea of some slavering Fiend in the woods." You could accuse the witnesses of lying and offering false counsel to Lord Elwood, but that would be little more than words in the wind. You need to find out just how the late Lord of Grassy Vale fell and prove it in a way that does not rely upon magic alone, though magic can certainly pull the first thread.
"Couldn't we just ask his bones?" Lya asks simply. "We can prove it with other accounts after that."
Seeing no reason why her plan could not work you veil yourself against sight and sound and slip into the crypt. Newer by far than the crypts of Runestone and not near as dark as those of Dragonstone they are still a somber place filled with the echoes of scores of lives cut short, some old, some uncomfortably new. Beside the late lord's bones are two markers with the same year, two-hundred-and-eighty nine after the conquest, and the names of two girls Celia and Rhea Meadows, sisters or cousins of Elwood by their date of birth.
The question of how their death could have influenced the young lord is all but forgotten when you reach the alcove you had been seeking and discover the bones had never belonged to the late Lord Luthor Meadows, but to a poacher who had died weeks before of an infected wound and knew nothing of any hunting accidents or magic beasts.
What do you do next?
[] Continue your investigation
-[] Write in
[] Speak to Elwood Meadows
-[] Write in
[] Write in
OOC: A vote on which lord to go to would have seemed like a bit of a waste overnight so I went with Elwood here and rolled of a bit of investigating.