Grub Harvest

513MoGrHa

The village of Ponkae was rumoured to be place of history, tradition and the most intoxicating food and drinks known throughout the region. As the party travelled through the wet rainforest roads they crossed many people moving through the underbrush with small hand-axes and two long thin reeds. As they moved about the ferns and decaying logs they would cut at the decaying matter and, occasionally, would excitedly yell out to those near by.

A flurry of activity later would see many axes hewing into the wood, before the reed like tongs would dash out and pick out a squirming red creature from the wood. Quickly deposited into little containers they carried on their hips the village folk would continue until there was nothing more of the wood before moving onto the next decaying wood matter and continuing the search.

‘They are hunting for Moon wave grubs.’ a voice said from near by. A woman who was nearly invisible as she moved from the log she was crouched on. Dressed in a long cloak and had that consisted of moss she blended nearly perfectly in with what she perched on. ‘My name is Naya and I am a watcher of this years harvesters. They search for the grubs that feed Ponkae’s harvest.’ she smiled toothily at them. ‘Now, you don’t mean any trouble for these fine harvesters do you or I’d have to cause you some trouble about now?’

As the party continued to speak with her as she moved along the path keeping one eye on the party and the other watching the surrounding area. As she spoke to them another call went out and she looked toward the harvesters who had made it. ‘Sounds like there’s something to investigate. I may see you at Ponkae if the forest wishes us to meet again!’ she called as she nimbly darted towards the call to see what was wrong.

It was not too long until they had begun to descend the large steps that would take them into the village. The sound of running water and insects could be seen everywhere where large trees with strange growths from their branches and trunks could be seen on the many tiered fields that surrounded the valley of the village. As they passed from one large jungle trees canopy to the next they were drizzled with the water droplets that came from above, it was always wet here from what they could tell. A large river cut the village in half and it took a steady stream of water out of the village and further down the valley.

As they passed some of the farms they could be seen taking large, arm sized silken cocoons out of the growths in trees and passing them to another famer near by who lay the quivering masses carefully into baskets before carrying them towards the village. The whole village was a whirl of motion and nearly every tree had someone harvesting large cocoons from it.

However one patch of trees was drying, large strips of black fabric swung from branches and no one touched trees despite it having the same swollen growths as the others. As the party moved deeper into the village they soon forgot the trees as the sights and scents of Ponkae caught up with them and they were surrounded by people selling silken products, pungent smelling oils, strong beers and the sweetest smelling foods.

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Like the Dead

512MoLiDe

As the party approached the village of Launghui the sight of ships docked along the piers was unsettling. Known for the fish that it brings in by the net-load from the bay the village had quickly become a destination for people who enjoyed the mild flavoured fish.

However as the party neared the gate, consisting of a set of giant shark teeth, they heard no reply to their calls for admittance. Despite their multiple attempts it wasn’t until they tried the gate that they found it able to swing inwards. Beyond the gates revealed a disheartening sight. Not a single soul was found to be moving around the houses or buildings. The fish market itself was empty with gulls being startled as they approach and flying off towards the sea.

Everywhere they looked they saw closed doors, shuttered windows and the signs of abandonment. By choice or by force it was yet to be determined. That was until they happened across an open window which revealed a family still, faintly breathing and pale in their beds. The same sight was found throughout the village.

Every adult and child was still as the dead, breathing so shallowly that it appeared as if they weren’t breathing at all and unable to be roused by magic or intervention. A sign from the other side of the road drew the parties attention to find a girl, perhaps in her early teens, stumbling along the road as she moved with as much haste as possible.

Approaching her and asking had had happened received a chilling answer. ‘The whole village never woke after they brought back the last catch. I didn’t sleep that night too excited for the market following day yet, no one was awake to sell the fish nor open the gate. I was scared so I didn’t open it despite the traders banging on the door and calling out. When I found my courage I opened the gate to get help but they had all left. They have not been back since.’

Despite talking the girl never stopped jogging, always moving along the smooth stony surface of the road. Something was foul in the village and the party insisted on stopping the girl from jogging as her shoes were close to being worn through. She protested and pleaded. ‘No, I must not stop. If I stop I will sleep, if I sleep I will not wake. The wakeless sleep has cursed the village again. My grandmother told me about it when I was younger. A curse that came from when we offended a witch disguised as a merchant – she made the village fall asleep. It wasn’t until we appeased the witch did our villagers start to wake. But the merchants were not displeased last they were here. We were all asleep before they arrived. All but me.’

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Battle for Botanica

511MoBaBo

As the sun hit the village of Morrowell the lush greens of the leaves and the myriad of colours from the flowers instantly told the party they were in the right place. Morrowell was famous for the plants and occasional fungi that the village cultivated under the watchful and caring eye of the head druids. The village itself a central hub where dozens of neighbouring villages came to partake in the Festival of Botanica.

The party had come to Morrowell as some of the rarest herbs and medicinal plants could be found within the small community. However their timing could not have been better as the festival was well under way. Anyone could participate and the rules were simple. Grow a plant and if the druid circle ruled it unique, healthy and important enough they would add it to the cultivated gardens within the village.

The single story houses were a mixture of mudbrick and wood woven together to give it and earthy and natural feel. It was to no one surprise that elves, halflings and gnomes were the primary races that inhabited the village. As the party walked down the only street within the village they noticed that either side of the walkway – as long as it wasn’t blocking a doorway there were large wooden crates and barrels that housed the plants – leading towards a large tiered hill that was the cultivated gardens of the druids.

There was a small tavern, general store and blacksmith that only had farming and gardening implements amongst the houses and the village was filled with people enthusiastically talking about their plants to whoever would stop to listen to them. a few large plants caught the parties eye as the vibrant colours indicated that they would have come from a tropical forest rather than where they were. As the party were drawn to it mutterings from other gardeners indicated that this was the least favourite plant by the growers – but the enthusiastic crowd painted it in a different light.

Large vines wrapped around the lip of the barrel it resided within and a few tuberous looking flowers were on the cusp of opening. A dizzying scent could be smelt which appeared to attract the bee’s flies and even beetles from their hiding place to come and investigate what could be making the smell.

‘It’s not from round here pops.’ one halfling said as the owner, a human, talked excitedly how he found the little tendrils in a bag of beans he had bought from a distant merchant.

‘A plant like that wouldn’t live in these places if it wasn’t for magic, ‘gainst the rules that is. Filthy cheat.’ the older man muttered to the younger. The party had to agree but the man insisted that he cared for it like any other plant. Sunshine, good soil and lots of water and fertiliser is all that he said he gave the plant. But there were many others gardeners who were busy spreading rumours about the man and his nearly too colourful plant.

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Khumric’s Calamity

510MoKhCa

The party entered Khumric and had to hold back their shock. The journey here along the Marsh of Despair held little hope for what they would find when they got to the rumoured City of Dungeons. A hub for adventurers delving into the forgotten places in three of the most dangerous places to have existed not but a century ago.

Now those areas lay relatively dormant with frequent expeditions to the known castles, crypts and caverns clearing out threats before they can hope to overwhelm the populace of Khumric that lay between them all. As they moved through the brightly lit gates and past the walls that told tales of battles from long ago they were greeted by a metropolis of tents and a cacophony of colour and sound.

Khumric was once hailed as the worst place to live, the best place to work in by many guilds and now it seemed like they were going through some kind of rebirth. The party passed many tents with people hawking their wares – many were selling trinkets from the dungeons near by – and from people offering services to adventurers like themselves.

There was an Inn on every street, nearly every street corner that had little or no vacancy and parties of adventurers were everywhere. The main form of work here was exploring the near endless crypt in the Marsh of Despair, the massive and dangerous keep in the Demongate or the caverns that wove through the Windhollow peaks. Each one of them had at one point vast treasure hordes stockpiled by some warlord, warlock or wyrm over the last few centuries and the adventurers who sought their fame and fortune found a new horde every week.

However at the centre of the town was a large billboard with dozens of job adverts. A robust man with a greying moustache that matched some of the grey colouration of his leather apron was currently hammering in the latest job advert. However, when the people crowded around the paper a whisper roses from the group as people backed away gesturing to their companions.

‘We’re leaving.’ was frequently heard as groups reunited after reading the parchment. The party, curious, wandered closer and read.

‘No parties have returned from the Demongate since last week. Please be advised that the Delvers Guild is not recommending exploration of the keep while they identify the cause.’

The sound of another tack hammering into the board interrupted their trance.

‘No parties have returned from the Marsh since five days from now. Please be advised that the Delvers Guild is not recommending exploration of the Crypt while we retrieve the bodies.’

The party heard another tack, whack, whack, whack, as it nailed another scrap of parchment to the board.

‘The Wandering minstrel has a sudden vacancy in its rooms as its previous tenants have not returned from their delves. Please see Wanda at reception to enquire about rooms.’ The party was half expecting a notice about the Windhollow but was glad it wasn’t more bad news. As they turned to consider their next move a man, a warrior of some kind, pushed through on his charger into the middle of the square.

‘Wyrm discovered at Windhollow. It’s currently hunting all the parties that have been exploring the caverns. I am seeking able bodies adventurers to help retrieve the dead and survivors!’ he called. Several groups approached the messenger noting the deep wounds on himself and the horse – which appeared to have some form of healing magic cast upon it to keep it upright. The party may need to talk to the Delvers guild to get to the bottom of this.

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Tunic of Torment

509MoTuTo

The party sad down in the Penitent’s Larder, a tavern very different to its name sake that was loud, boisterous and had enough gambling to sate anyone’s vices. Luckily the tavern keeper, Goya, was a large goliath and she took no quarter when enforcing the rules of her tavern.

As she stood behind the bar and cleaned some large carving knives she chatted happily to the party of adventurers who had booked our a room for a night, or two. As they shared with her the tales of their adventures she happily joined into their conversation, enquiring about details that betrayed the image of the tavernkeeper.

As Goya was explaining the only way to sneak up upon a black dragon before she stopped mid sentence and looked towards the front of the building. The party listened and looked towards where Goya was watching. Slowly the room fell silent as the sound of shouting could be heard.

‘Help!’ is all they heard first, so faintly that they thought it was a trick of their mind, except for the rest of the patrons reacting to it. ‘Help me! It’s going to get me!’ the voice called out again, this time closer and louder as the party stood regretting handing over their weapons to Goya before sitting down for the meal and drink.

The door to the Penitent’s Larder burst open as a man stumbled in. His tunic was torn with large holes in it with large bruises revealed underneath. The front of his tunic was covered in mud and vomit and he shivered as the cold wind outside snatched at him.

‘Help me.’ he said as he fell to the ground, the door closing behind him slowly. His back had several claw marks raked across his back. As he lay there shivering a loud crash could be heard from outside the building. Rushing outside and leaving them an in the care of Goya the party found several barrels rolling down the rough road after being tipped off a wagon.

Try as they might they could not find what had caused the barrels to fall except for a set of foot prints that could’ve been from anyone. Returning back to the Penitent’s Larder they found it largely empty, the savaged man ruining the mood for several of the patrons it seems. A sudden scream from the back room broke the silence and rushing towards the sound they saw Goya nursing a broken lip.

‘The man lashed out when I went to change his shirt with something cleaner.’ she added looking at their faces. The man in question was bleeding from several new cuts that had appeared on his arm and chest, staining the shirt.

‘No, no, no. You mustn’t take it off. The demon gets angry when it comes off and it hurts me.’ the man said.

‘I saw no demon, just the wounds appearing. It cut through fabric and skin easily.’ Goya said as she looked critically around the room and the party. The very real wounds continued to bleed for a few more minutes before sealing but despite the party and Goyas best attempts, they were not linked to any demon lurking around.

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The Village of Askir

508MoViAs

The storm rolled in from the north, an foreboding wall of dark clouds swallowing the horizon and bringing with it biting ice-laced winds. Thunder rumbled overhead as sheets of rain battered the earth, turning the narrow dirt road into a muddy quagmire. The party trudged through the downpour, cloaks pulled tightly around their shoulders to fend off the relentless assault of the storm. As they stumbled through the muck their eyes narrowed against the rain as they caught sight of flickering lights in the distance.

Askir, a small, secluded village nestled in the heart of the valley, offered a beacon of hope amidst the storm. The welcoming glow of lanterns spilled from the windows of the village’s tavern, promising warmth and shelter from the biting cold. As the adventurers approached, the wind carried the distant sound of the crackling of a roaring fire. With a weary sigh, the party pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped into the welcoming embrace of the warm room beyond.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of hearty stew and spiced ale. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting a warm, golden light across the room. The tavern’s patrons looked up from their conversations, eyes widening in curiosity at the sight of the newcomers. The owner, a rotund man with a cheerful smile, bustled over to greet them, his voice booming above the din.

‘Welcome to Askir and Jotund’s Boot! You lot look like you’ve seen better days. Well at least drier days. Come, warm yourselves by the fire and take a load off those feet as Jotund get’s you some food and ale.’

The party settled around a sturdy wooden table near the hearth, shedding their rain-soaked cloaks and relishing the heat of the fire. As they sipped their drinks and began to relax, they couldn’t help but notice the undercurrent of tension that seemed to permeate the other patrons of Jotund’s Boot. Whispers of unease flitted through the air, and the villagers cast furtive glances towards the windows, as if expecting the storm, or something else, to burst through at any moment.

It wasn’t long before the party learned the truth. Askir was under siege by a creature that came during the night. Swift and merciless, it struck without warning, leaving no trace of its presence save for the lifeless bodies of its victims. Every attempt to trap or kill the beast had ended in failure, and the villagers’ hope had all but dwindled to nothing. But tonight, amidst the storm, a survivor had returned, ragged and bloodied, muttering a vital piece of information, the location of the creature’s lair.

As the morning came through the storm had held back its deluge long enough for false hope to set in once again. But the clouds above flashed with thunder and the chill in the air was enough to freeze the breath of those who dared to walk outside.

Word spread quickly through the village, and soon, the party was summoned by the village elder. A tired and thin man with eyes that held the weight of countless sleepless nights. He implored the adventurers to take up the mantle of defenders and hunters so that his village may survive to see the change in season and the end of this storm.

‘Please,’ he pleaded, his voice trembling with exhaustion. ‘The gods have blessed us with your appearance at the same time as Torvath’s survival and message. The poor bastard has not yet wakened after sharing the news of the landslide and cave to the east in the valley wall.’ He paused to wet his lips from a flask that held a rich coloured wine. ‘The creature must be stopped before it claims more of my village. We have nothing left to lose and very little to give.’

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Sugar and Spice

507MoSuSp

The party had spent the last part of your journey moving towards the kingdom of Arelia. The kingdom was famous for the royal family and how the lower classes were treated. As they walked through the streets the people all looked well fed and in good health. Children ran along with small books and scrolls for reading or writing tied to their waists behind a maid or teacher.

The guard were all cheerful and helpful on one case where a wagon had tipped over the guards rallied around the wagon to right it and help sort out the cargo it was carrying. Everything seemed like a perfect oasis of tranquillity and the utopia people had said it was. However that reality changed fast.

As the party were moving out of the market district and towards their inn they came across guards in resplendent armour, the royal guard. All of them were expert warriors and carried themselves as such – however instead of the friendly and near jovial nature of the other guards these warriors of the kingdom were stoic, almost displeased. As the party drew near one of the guards spotted them and signalled to another to approach the party.

‘Hail, you are not of this kingdom are you not?’ she said curtly. When the party responded she gestured with her head. ‘You must be lost, you wish to take the road over to reach your destination. I urge you to change…’ she began before a voice called out.

‘Tuille, you do you speak to?’ a voice carried over. The guardswoman, Tuille grimaced and looked apologetically at the party, mouthing sorry before responding to the voice.

‘Some travellers your highness.’ she repeated. ‘They were in a hurry to their establishments to rest my prince.’

‘Ah, bring them over. I wish to see all those who have visited this kingdom, you must remember my request.’ the princes voice carried over again. Nodding Tuille beckoned the party to follow her. The prince was well dressed and sat next to what could only be a princess or noblewoman. He was sharply dressed with a well made short-sword on one hip. ‘You look like you are enjoying yourselves and what the kingdom has to offer. What do you think of it?’ he asked, a smile crossed the woman’s lips as he spoke.

As the party conversed with the prince, explaining what they thought of his kingdom he nodded along smiling. ‘Good. Don’t you think the best way to support a kingdom is to lift up its people. To educate, support and endear them to the place they live? It’s the motto of our family for generations and I live by it. However to support this we have to accept charitable donations from all visitors to the kingdom, a tithe of one tenth. It’s only fair that if you’re enjoying yourself and if you wish to see the children of this land flourish that you contribute to their health.’ the princes own smile reflected the unwavering belief in what he was saying. However the party felt something was off with how the guards around them were acting.

‘As the prince has requested, a tithe of one tenth of what you have on you is requested as a gift to his majesty and the people of Arelia.’ The captain of the guard said loudly as he walked forward with a wooden box. Opening they could see coins, jewellery and even magical artefacts that would be worth a small fortune. ‘As his majesty has proclaimed to reap the benefits of visiting and staying in a kingdom as fine as this one must be supported by those visiting. Those who do not provide well… We hope that it does not come to that. So please, one tenth a tithe of what you have in your pouches and we will see to it that the kingdom receives this donation to its people.’ The guard looked sick as if stricken as he repeated the statement like a well oiled machine.

The party may have tried to avoid paying but the guards were many and several gazes were drawn to them and the princes interaction. A payment of one tenth was taken and the prince counted the donation with calculating eyes. Before he could finish counting the guards urged them to move onwards with Tuille walking with them some ways.

‘Please friends, take this. It’s not the same as you have lost but I was not swift enough to prevent you being… stopped.’ she said as she slipped a small pouch into their hands. ‘My prince has a strong view on how to support the kingdom in the future, it is new and many have tried to avoid supporting the kingdoms request. Some have spent some time in the guards dungeon with the smallest of slights being deemed as treasonous or dangerous to the kingdom. But forgive me, I have let my tongue fly. I hope that we do not meet again in such a way and that the next time you have the good fortune of meeting our royalty that it is her highness the queen that you grant your presence with.’ she hesitated and looked the party over. ‘Where did you say you were staying again friends? I have a friend that may need some help.’

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Omelga Hunt

506MoOmHu

The party walked a few paces behind the new hunters and watched as they over analysed everything along the path. The job was simple, escort the hunters and make sure they don’t get into trouble. But this lot was jumpy, overly stimulated and thought that they would be taking down a full grown adult dragon in these woods.

When they gestured for the party and their fellow lagging hunters to approach a tree even the party paused. Instead of a red herring or non-clue they saw a blood smear on a tree that looked vaguely like a human hand print. Elated at the prospect of orcs, hobgoblins or even a minotaur they slunk onward revealing their actual prowess of being a hunter. The party largely struggled to keep up with the expert trackers as they set a pace that reflected their hunger for the battle to come.

As they moved through the trees, rocks, logs and brush more signs of distress could be seen. Broken branches, humanoid footprints and displaced rocks let the party to a blood soaked section of moss and lichen. Pushing aside the bushes, swords, bows and spears at the ready a human was revealed, gored and mauled.

‘My gods. Its Linden.’ one of the parties wards said with horror. ‘He left this morning for the hunt with his apprentice. If that’s Linden where’s..’ she didn’t get to finish her sentence as a yell from one of the other hunters alerted them all to the presence of Lindens apprentice.

A body swing from a tree, mangled and bent around the branches. The hunters immediately started noting the wounds on the hunters however the parties saw something different.

Weapons sabotaged, a strange mark on the the necks of both Linden and his apprentice. Foul play and poison – definitely not something the monsters that the hunters were listing would use. This is something that the party would want to take to the village council.

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Stealing Shards

505MoStSh

The party can’t help but admire the spires of the Temple that reached into the sky. The temple of Helm had hired the party to retrieve some medical goods that had been taken by bandits on their way to the city. As they moved through the door with the bags of goods the clerics out the front let them pass with a broad smile on their face.

‘We knew the high cleric had good eyes when hiring you to go after those bandits. He is just inside and will be glad to see that you have returned.’ the woman said as they approached. After passing the large doors the party saw Tyson, the high cleric smiled and finished chatting to a noblewoman who thanked the cleric before leaving past the party.

‘I see that you have returned with the supplies and that you are in good form.’ he said smiling at the party. As he started to enquire about the bandits and how the job went the party notice two suspicious looking people sneaking into a room that the party knew to be Tyson’s quarters.

As they enter the room they catch three people, a third dressed in a dark cloak. The people stared at the party who stared back as the thieves were in the middle of pulling out drawers. A sudden burst of movement saw a cloud of smoke erupt from where the foes were and the party felt the thieves rush into them. A quick fight broke out where the party managed to apprehend two our of the three intruders.

Tyson took the thieves away for questioning but he suspected he knew what they were after. ‘This temple to Helm is one of a few sister temples that all hold a Dark Shard, a fragment of a cursed blade that slew the first king of this Land and Kestel. I don’t know what they would be wanting with that item but it’s the only thing I can think of them being after to attack us in such a manner.’ he paused and thought for a moment.

‘I will also check with the sister temples to see if they have had any trouble. If I could be so bold to quickly ask you to perform another job for the temple.’ he paused to watch the men taken into custody with the city guards that had come to grab the thieves. ‘Can you work with the guard to investigate what they want. I believe that there was three of them but we apprehended two, maybe locating the third thief would illuminate what they are after?’

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Mouler’s Peak

504MoMoPe

The party left the main road from Kestel and head east into the setting sun towards the mysterious fort known as Mouler’s Peak. Their employer only wanted their daughter, Feli, to go see her uncle at Mouler’s Peak but the father feared that she was going to be stopped as he was trying to get her out of a bad marriage.

Feli had proven to be a quiet yet intelligent travelling companion while they went through the city, left the gates and hit the road. A few times the party caught sight of men following them but they decided to lose them and soon they had come to a cross roads, where they needed to decide to stay on the main road where more people may come looking for Feli and them or, should they head through a backroad that only the city guard use due to the fear of the creatures that lived in the woods.

Not fearing beasts, as the party had dealt with many of them before, they had left the main road where Feli had managed to hunt some small game birds and a rabbit. As they sat down and ate their meal over a half concealed fire Feli explained that the many she had been betrothed to by her mother was an aspiring gang leader in Kestel and her mother had used her marriage to pay off debts she had accrued while gambling. While she spoke she had cold tone to her voice and she shivered as she spoke. ‘That man only needs one more thing to rule the city, even be more powerful than the guard and he will use anything, anyone as pawn pieces to get what he needs.’

Apologising for her revealing too much she thanked the party for their assistance in taking her to see her uncle and she retired for the night. Another three days of travel lay before them and there was still the issue that they couldn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t be followed. As they sat on watch a few times times that night they felt like they were being watched, like a predators gaze was watching over them but it quickly disappeared when the party was roused.

In the morning the party found deep tracks that resembled a canine or large cat some distance from where they had camped. Something had visited the camp last night, likely lured by the smell of the horses and the cooking meat. They would need to be more vigilant over the coming nights.

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