Magister Ezra Ironhand was more than your mentor; he was the architect of your life, the one who saw worth in you when no one else did. A week ago, you found his body sprawled amidst his beloved archives, the life stolen from him by a rare Shadelock poison. The formula for that poison was kept in a tome only you were permitted to handle. The accusation was unspoken but hung in the air, thick and damning. In the paralyzing grip of fear, you fled.
Now, you are a ghost in the city of Silverwood. Your face, rendered in rough charcoal, adorns every notice board, a bounty attached to your name by order of Inquisitor Rowan Stillshade. You haunt the city’s grimy underbelly, a fugitive sustained only by the desperate, burning need to find the truth and reclaim the honor of the only person who ever believed in you.
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