The roar of the crowd at Village Green carried on the evening breeze, but tonight it held an edge that made Captain Vera Blackstone pause at the edge of the district. She’d been summoned by a message that spoke of death among the spectators—three so far, all found collapsed during different sporting events over the past week. The city guard suspected poison, but the victims had eaten from different vendors, drunk different ales, and sat in different sections of the Green.
The only connection was that they’d all been there to watch Karm Drugnel compete.
Vera made her way through the dispersing crowd, noting how they gave Karm Drugnel, the Green Champion, a wide berth as he stood near the weapon racks, cleaning his sword after another flawless victory. His green and yellow pennant hung limp in the still air, but his armor gleamed despite the day’s exertions. Even from a distance, she could see the yellow hawk painted on his breastplate—a symbol that had become as famous as the man himself.
“Captain Blackstone?” A voice called from behind her. She turned to see a thin, nervous-looking man approaching. “I’m Marcus Webb, one of the event organizers. Thank the gods you’re here. People are starting to talk about canceling the tournaments.”
“Tell me about the victims,” Vera said, pulling out her notebook.
Marcus wrung his hands. “First was old Henrik the baker—died during the archery competition three days past. Then Lady Cordelia yesterday during the jousting. And today…” He gestured toward a cordoned area near the Spellcraft Isle dock. “Young Thomas the scribe, right in the middle of Drugnel’s sword demonstration.”
“All different events, different locations on the Green,” Vera mused. “But all while watching Drugnel perform.”
“That’s what has everyone spooked,” Marcus admitted. “The champion himself requested to speak with you. He’s… well, he has theories.”
Vera found Karm Drugnel in the champions’ pavilion, methodically oiling his armor despite the late hour. Up close, he was even more impressive—tall, clean-shaven, with the easy grace of someone completely confident in their abilities. But there was tension in his movements, and his eyes held a wariness that hadn’t been there in past victories.
“Captain,” he said, looking up as she approached. “I assume you’re here about the deaths.”
“Indeed. You seem unsurprised by my visit.”
Drugnel set down his polishing cloth. “When people start dying at events you’re competing in, you tend to expect questions.” He paused, then added quietly, “Though I suspect you might want to ask different questions than most would.”
“Such as?”
“Such as why Emma Turl’s spells have been ‘misfiring’ near me with increasing frequency. Or why the Barnabas Meat & Vegetable Company suddenly started delivering food exclusively to sections where my supporters tend to sit.” Drugnel’s voice remained level, but there was steel underneath. “Or why I’ve had the distinct feeling I’m being followed for the past week.”
Vera studied the champion’s face. “You think someone is targeting you through your fans?”
“I think someone wants me to believe that,” Drugnel replied. “The question is whether they’re trying to kill me indirectly, or if they’re killing innocents to frame me for something.” He stood, his armor clanking softly. “Either way, I won’t stand for it.”
“Tell me about Emma Turl.”
Drugnel’s jaw tightened. “Ambitious. Talented. And recently, increasingly frustrated that she can’t beat me in fair competition. Her fire spells have gotten uncomfortably close to my head twice in the past month—both times she claimed her aim was off due to ‘unexpected wind.'”
“And the food company?”
“Barnabas has been around for years, reliable enough. But lately they’ve changed their delivery patterns. Used to spread their wares evenly across the Green. Now they seem to focus on areas where my supporters gather.” He picked up his sword, checking the edge with professional precision. “Could be coincidence. Could be business sense—my fans do eat well when I win. Or…”
“Or someone’s using them to deliver poison,” Vera finished. “I’ll need to investigate both leads. In the meantime, I’d suggest—”
“That I stop competing?” Drugnel shook his head. “Captain, if I withdraw now, whoever’s doing this wins. If they’re trying to kill me, they’ll find another way. If they’re trying to destroy my reputation, my withdrawal confirms their success.” He sheathed his sword with a decisive motion. “Besides, I have a better idea.”
The next morning found Vera crouched in an alley across from the Barnabas Company warehouse, watching the early shift load their carts. Beside her, Drugnel waited with the patience of a seasoned warrior, though she’d had to argue him out of wearing his distinctive green armor.
“There,” he whispered, pointing to a figure in company colors directing the loading. “That’s not normal. See how he’s keeping certain crates separate?”
Vera adjusted her position for a better view. The man Drugnel indicated was indeed treating some containers differently, marking them with small chalk symbols before loading them onto specific carts.
“Those carts,” Drugnel continued, “they’re the ones that typically service my usual seating areas.”
They watched as the marked carts departed, then followed at a distance. The route took them through the Theater District’s winding streets, but instead of heading directly to Village Green, the carts made a detour to a narrow building squeezed between a tavern and a costume shop.
“That’s Emma Turl’s lodging,” Drugnel said grimly.
They positioned themselves where they could observe the building’s rear entrance. Within minutes, Emma Turl emerged, her red hair unmistakable even from a distance. She approached the lead cart driver and handed him a small vial of clear liquid.
“Well,” Vera murmured, “that’s not standard seasoning.”
The exchange was brief but telling. Emma inspected several of the food containers, added drops from her vial to specific items, then sent the carts on their way with what looked like final instructions.
“Can you arrest her now?” Drugnel asked.
“On what charge? Adding flavor enhancer to food?” Vera shook her head. “We need more evidence. And we need to know why she’s doing this.”
“I have an idea about that,” Drugnel replied, thinking of the pattern of victims. “But it means letting her make her next move.”
That evening’s tournament drew an unusually large crowd, despite the rumors of cursed competitions. Or perhaps because of them—there was nothing quite like the prospect of danger to fill seats in the Theater District.
Vera had positioned plainclothes guards throughout the audience, with particular attention to the sections typically served by Barnabas Company vendors. She’d also had the food inspected, finding trace amounts of a slow-acting paralytic poison in several items—enough to cause collapse and apparent death, but not immediately fatal if treated quickly.
Emma Turl took her position in the spellcasters’ area, her staff glowing with prepared enchantments. She looked confident, almost eager, as she watched Drugnel enter the competition ring.
The event was sword combat against enchanted constructs—magical practice dummies that could fight back with increasing skill and aggression. It was spectacular to watch and required absolute precision from the competitor.
Drugnel began his demonstration with characteristic skill, his blade dancing through the air as he dismantled the first wave of constructs. The crowd cheered, and Vera noticed Emma’s expression darken.
As Drugnel faced the more challenging constructs, Emma raised her staff. A bolt of lightning arced toward the ring—officially aimed at the magical targets to add excitement to the display, but angled to pass dangerously close to the champion.
This time, however, Drugnel was ready. He spun aside from the bolt with practiced ease, then called out loudly enough for the crowd to hear: “Careful with those spells, Emma! Wouldn’t want another ‘accident’!”
The crowd murmured, and Vera saw Emma’s face flush with anger. The sorceress raised her staff again, but this time there was nothing subtle about her aim.
The fire bolt shot directly at Drugnel’s back as he engaged a construct. Only his exceptional reflexes saved him as he rolled aside, the spell scorching the ground where he’d stood.
The crowd gasped, then began to mutter angrily. Emma tried to recover, calling out an apology about “targeting difficulties,” but the damage was done. Too many people had seen too many near-misses to accept another coincidence.
That’s when Vera’s guards made their move. They arrested the Barnabas delivery drivers who’d been distributing the poisoned food, while Vera herself approached Emma Turl.
“Emma Turl,” she announced loudly, “you’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder and attempted assassination.”
Emma’s composure cracked completely. “You can’t prove anything! Those people died from bad food, not my magic!”
“The people didn’t die,” Vera replied calmly. “My healers reached them in time. They’re all recovering nicely and ready to testify about what they ate and where they got it.”
The crowd erupted as Emma was led away in chains. But Vera noticed that Drugnel looked more troubled than triumphant.
“What’s wrong?” she asked him later, after the statements had been taken and the paperwork begun.
“I keep thinking about what drove her to this,” he said. “Emma was a good competitor once. Honorable. What makes someone decide that if they can’t win fairly, they’ll destroy everything rather than accept defeat?”
Vera considered this. “Perhaps she felt that winning was the only thing that gave her value. When that was threatened…”
“She chose to tear down what she couldn’t have,” Drugnel finished. “It’s a cautionary tale for anyone who finds success too easy to bear losing.”
As they walked away from Village Green, the champion’s pennants still flying in the evening breeze, Vera reflected that sometimes the greatest victories came not from defeating opponents, but from understanding what created them in the first place.
The Green Champion would continue to win his tournaments, but perhaps now with greater appreciation for the responsibility that came with success—and the vigilance required to protect not just himself, but those who looked up to him.
After all, true champions didn’t just win contests. They elevated everyone around them in the process.
This short story was created by Claude.AI, using the book “The Theater District” as the training set (the one page dungeon “The Sports Murders” was used). This is an experiment to see if the Heartwizard Games roleplaying supplements can be used as source material to generate stories. Hopefully you liked it!
Heartwizard Games Lab 