Clasificación orientativa:

A man named Mot is trying to kill Lord Davain Bar- theld. Trying and failing.

Mot (or Mot the Killer as he prefers to be known) was hired by a tall, thin man who spoke with the accent of the Iron Islands. He was given a letter and instructions to kill Lord Davain, leave the letter, and escape as best he can to collect his payment.

The man that hired Mot is called Bleak Ormand and styles himself a mystic and a sorceror. He has recently become confidante, companion and chief counselor to Lady Isobel Marsten. Over the past year Ormand has convinced Lady Isobel that he is in contact with powers beyond mortal ken and consults with spirits and demons who bestow upon him supernatural foresight and wisdom.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Ormand is a spy, a charlatan and a manipulator. His goal is to sow havoc among the Riverlands and ripen the fields to pil- lage and plunder by his reaver kin. To that end Ormand has gained the Lady’s confidence and gained an unprec- edented degree of access to her person and authorities.

Ormand then hired an assassin he knew to be incom- petent, forged a letter from Lady Isobel instructing the assassin to kill Lord Bartheld and affixed the Marsten seal to the letter in secret.

It has never mattered to Bleak Ormand whether Mot escaped or not. Nor did it matter particularly whether Davain was slain. What mattered was the attempt, and that the forged letter be found. With an attempt made on his life and a letter written and sealed by Lady Isobel’s hand, Lord Davain (or his heirs) would surely respond with war. Amid the chaos inflicted on the Bartheld and Marsten lands, and those domains between, Bleak Or- mand’s reaver allies would strike, plucking the ripe fruits in and around the Riverlands as of old. This was the plan, and it still might succeed.

Ayleth has not given up her suspicions of Fendrel. Quite the contrary, since the fire she has kept a very close watch on her husband’s cousin, to no avail. Thus far Fendrel has done nothing to betray his guilt and give Ayleth the necessary evi- dence to indict him in Davain’s eyes. Ayleth is convinced that it is because Fendrel knows she suspects him. What she needs is an ally who can, at least, appear to be objective, and the PCs are just the folks for the job.

After the PCS have spoken with Lord Davain, and wheth- er or not they discussed their purpose in visiting Hart House, Lady Ayleth will approach them and plead for their aid in ex- posing Fendrel as the assassin. She can offer little more than her gratitude for their aid, but will assure the PCs that once he learns the truth, Lord Davain will certainly be generous with his thanks.

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Fendrel is not responsible for the assassination attempts, but he is quietly rooting the killer on.

Fendrel will readily admit that he and Davain have their differences. He is also cagey enough to realize, if questioned, that he is a suspect. Furthermore he will deduce in short order that it is Lady Ayleth who has accused him.

If confronted, Fendrel will present two strong arguments against himself being the assassin. First, he is Davain’s guest and everyone knows what dire consequences befall those who breach the guest right. Second, Davain is Fendrel’s own blood. He will admit that he would gladly take his cousin’s place in the seat of the Barthelds, but he will not do so if it means being accursed of the Seven as a kinslayer.

Throughout any conversation on the matter Fendrel will behave with supreme confidence and nonchalance. The con- fidence of a schemer who’s discovered someone else is doing his work for him. By way of farewell, he will bid the PCs good luck in finding his cousin’s assassin, “But not too soon.”

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Ser Corbin is a bit of a blowhard and perfectly willing to give his host a cuckold’s horns, but he is no murderer. In fact, he finds it almost as unlikely as Lord Davain himself that there is an actual assassin. Ser Corbin suspects rather that Davain, fool that he is, is only suffering the misfortunes born of his own ineptitude.

After some thought, however, he comes up with another theory. “Perhaps,” he says, “it was Lady Ayleth?” Perhaps, he thinks, she wishes to free herself of her marriage and thus

bed him with impugnity. Once the thought dawns on him, Ser Corbin will become convinced of the truth of it. His ego will allow no less. Surely it is clear to anyone with an ounce of sense that Lady Ayleth is in love with him and longs to be free of her unhappy marriage.

Should the PCs make mention of suspicions of Ser Corbin being the assassin himself he will take immediate offense. If any- one is foolish enough to make a direct accusation, they will very likely find themselves invited to a duel wherein Ser Corbin in- tends to illustrate his own innocence by hacking his accuser into very small pieces. Should it come to this, Ser Corbin’s game stats can be found in the House Bartheld write-up on p.25.

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Just discovering the existence of Cecily Cooper is a matter of some difficulty. She’s lived much of her life hiding from the authorities and knows the countryside better than even Lord Davain himself, let alone the PCs.

Cecily is not the assassin. She may well have motive, but there is no evidence that she was anywhere near Hart House on the occasions of Lord Davain’s mishaps. In fact, her band was some distance away having struck a small merchant cara- van passing through one of Lord Davain’s neighbor’s lands.

Should the PCs decide and insist on pursuing her, they will find she is maddeningly elusive and hunting for her in the woods about Harthome is far more dangerous for them.

For as long as they remain in the woods and on the hunt for the bandit leader, the PCs and any entourage will find themselves harried by hidden attackers every few hours. Ce- cily’s bandits know better than to stand and fight, though. They strike from range and even then they rarely fire more than a single volley at the troupe of hunters before fleeing into the woods.

Any hunt for Cecily Cooper will begin with little hope and end in pain and frustration. And even if by some miracle the hunters should find and capture her, Cecily isn’t the assassin anyway.

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Mot isn’t much of an assassin. He’d like to be and he tries his best, but he just doesn’t seem to have the knack. When Mot hit Lord Davain with a shovel and set the forge on fire he apparently didn’t hit hard enough and the smithy burned too slowly. The young Lord Bartheld woke up and saved himself long before the flames could take him. When Mot tried to poison Davain he poured half the potion into the wrong pot!

Three pigs died that night after being fed tainted slops. The other half only succeeded in giving Lord Davain a flux of the bowels and acquainted him more dearly with his privy.

This time he thinks he’s got it, though. He got some more poison. There is a nameday feast coming up to celebrate Lord Bartheld’s birthday. Mot heard the cook talking about a spe- cial dish she was preparing for Davain. If he can just get the poison into that pot, Lord Davain will be dead and Mot can leave the letters he was given and escape.

It can’t come soon enough for Mot. He’s pretty sure the chief maid suspects him of something. He might just have to kill her too, but he’d rather not, since another corpse won’t equal more coin.

Mot sleeps in an old pantry in the ruined castle near Hart House. It smells of moldy beets and rats, but it’s out of the way.

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Rose is the single most likely member of the Bartheld house- hold to realize that the household staff is (unwittingly) har- boring an assassin. In fact, she’s seen him on several occasions and took note of his distressing ineptitude in carrying out even the simplest housekeeping chores. Also, the man smells like a dungheap.

Rose hasn’t decided to speak to anyone about this stranger yet. Everyone else seems to think he’s with one of the guests and if one of the guests has poor taste in servants, it’s none of her business. Soon, though, she’ll have to speak with some- one.