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DAY 3: East Tower
The old armory, aye. Once held the lord’s steel and banners, neat and proud. Now it’s a place best left to the rats. When the new Baron came, he let his fool have it, said the Jester had “a gift for spectacle.” Gods know he wasn’t lying.
The Jester tore the place apart, turned it into some devil’s game. Spikes on pillars logs hanging logs say those who return from there. No one knows how many men went in there for sport or punishment, only that none came back the same.
Some nights, when the wind cuts from the east, you can hear a sound like laughter climbing the tower. Folks say it’s the fool himself, still dancing between the traps he built. Others say it’s the tower remembering. Either way, best keep clear.
