You stand before Allustan at his residence.

The table is covered—your finds from beneath Dourstone Mine laid out with the care of a surgeon and the anxiety of a man reading an omen he doesn’t like. Also on the table is a smaller grouping set aside: the relics and rubbings from the Whispering Cairn.

He sets a hand on a folded letter—its wax seal broken, its edges worn from being read more than once.

“An old friend of mine—Marzena, a battle-mage of the Free City—serves at Blackwall Keep, on the northern edge of the Mistmarsh. She has written to me of troubling reports… and of strange green worms being seen where they have no business being.”Allustan’s expression tightens slightly, as if he’d prefer to be wrong.

“If what you found in the Dourstone Mine is connected—and I believe it is—then Marzena’s warning may be the first clear sign that this rot is spreading.”

He pauses, then adds—more candidly than usual:

“I am a wizard, not a soldier. The Mistmarsh is dangerous, and monsters have been known to raid the outlying farms and roads.”His gaze settles on you, firm as a command but offered as a request.

“So I ask you to accompany me—to protect me on the road to Blackwall Keep, and to stand with me when I seek out Marzena and learn what she knows.”

He gathers his cloak.

“We leave as soon as you can be ready. Pack light. Keep steel close. And if you hear anyone along the way dismiss ‘green worms’ as swamp nonsense…”

A thin, humorless smile.

“Do not correct them. Not yet.”