The city of Evershade spread before them like a jewel in twilight: its tall stone spires crowned with lanterns, canals reflecting flickering light, and crowds thronging the streets for the annual Festival of Masks. Colorful stalls lined the avenues, offering elaborately painted masks, exotic foods, and enchanted lanterns said to glow without flame. Music swelled from hidden courtyards, and laughter echoed beneath archways.
Roland Farter stood at the city gate alongside Talia and Lira, their faces hidden behind simple cloth masks. A sudden hush fell as Sir Alaric and Princess Althea passed by, royalty among common revelers. The hero's armor had been replaced by a dark cloak, and the princess wore a delicate silver mask shaped like a butterfly. Even beneath disguise their presence commanded respect—and caution.
"Keep your eyes open," Sir Alaric whispered to Roland. "This festival draws every rogue and assassin in Ardenia."
Roland nodded, adjusting his own mask… a plain wooden visage painted ivory. Tonight, they would mingle with the city's throngs to uncover whispers of the Dark Lord's agents.
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Mingling in the Market
Roland, Talia, and Lira melted into the crowd. Vendors hawked spiced meats, candied fruits, and drinks that bubbled with colored smoke. Children darted between dancers, tapping wooden drums. Everywhere, masks obscured faces—granting anonymity.
Lira pointed to a stall draped in deep purple velvet. "They say this vendor sells cursed baubles—perhaps info hidden within."
Roland approached the stall's owner, a pale man wearing a fox mask. "Good evening," Roland said. "Any news of strangers seeking recruits?"
The fox‐masked vendor tilted his head. "Information comes at a price, traveler. Ten silver."
Roland exchanged a coin for a small crystal vial. The vendor whispered, "Drop this in a goblet—listens to secrets." The fox bowed and slipped away. Roland pocketed the vial.
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Unmasking Danger
The trio moved into a quieter alley where masked dancers formed a circle. Amid their revelry, Roland spotted a pair of robed figures exchanging a black scroll. He signaled to Talia and Lira.
Talia followed a dancer's swirl to catch an eavesdrop; Lira slipped behind the robed figures. Roland edged closer—he could just hear: "—the Dark Lord demands silence. No festival merriment after midnight."
A guard's whistle forced Roland back into the crowd. His heart pounded: the robed duo had vanished. Rolling his shoulders, he tapped the vial. At the next tavern's stand, he dropped the crystal into a wooden tankard. The surface shimmered, then whispered phrases: "…meet at the old aqueduct…blood pact…no lanterns."
Roland withdrew the vial and winked at Talia and Lira. They reconvened near the city's central fountain: two masked couriers had slipped by with dark intent.
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Assassin Among Masks
As the clocktower chimed ten, the festival's energy peaked. Lanterns lit the sky like fireflies. Suddenly, a scream rent the air—a young noblewoman staggered, blood blossoming beneath her mask. An assassin's dagger glinted in the hand of a masked figure fleeing into the crowd.
Pandemonium erupted. Roland shouted, "After her!" and dashed forward, with Talia and Lira on his heels. They wove through dancers and merchants—lantern light flashing on arrows drawn by Talia. The assassin vanished into a side street, but Roland caught a glimpse of a distinctive raven mask.
They pursued across rooftops and over bridges, finally cornering the assassin atop the aqueduct. Roland leapt forward, catching the assassin's cloak and pulling him into the moonlight. Beneath the raven mask was a hardened veteran—one of the bandits from the raid on Westmarch.
"You!" Roland snarled. "Trying to kill a noble for your master?"
The assassin lunged; Lira intercepted with a staff strike that sent him sprawling. Talia bound his hands. Roland tore off the mask. "Tell me who sent you!"
The assassin spat. "The Dark Lord's hand reaches everywhere. You'll never win."
They bound him with rope and marched him back to the fountain, where guards and shocked revelers parted. Roland dragged the assassin before Sir Alaric.
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Revelations by Moonlight
Under the festival's lantern glow, Sir Alaric removed the raven mask and stared at the captive. "You are one of those the prophecy warned of."
The assassin snarled. "My master's servants serve in every masked face."
Roland stepped forward, voice firm. "Then tonight's festival ends the darkness. We will unmask every traitor."
Princess Althea, mask off, walked beside Roland. "We must calm the crowd." She raised her voice, silencing the swirl of panicked whispers. "Celebrate still, for Ardenia prevails. Fear no longer hides in shadows."
Her words, like balm, soothed the revelers. Laughter—tense but determined—rose again. Roland realized unity needed hope as much as vigilance.