The Town of Curstwall
The horses were skittish. Something was wrong up ahead. Raigor dismounted, and scouted ahead 20 yards, sniffing the air and scanning the ground on either side of the road. The forest seemed to imply otherwise, but the way looked safe.
"Looks clear," Raigor called to the group.
"Looks be deceiving, lad," muttered old Grelshorn as Raigor mounted his horse. "This way is not ours."
Raigor looked at the wizened old dwarf skeptically. "What are you speaking of? What do you know of this road, One Eye?"
"I know it's the way to doom is all. Ye'd be mad to continue. We best go back and take the left fork," said Grelshorn cautiously.
Raigor was annoyed. "According to the maps, that will lose us two precious days! We can't afford to miss the gathering."
Grelshorn's face went from caution to anger. "Ye will lose more than days on the path to Curstwall! Even Vesta will not save ye from the fate that awaits there." He spat on the ground.
The group's impatience turned to fear at the mention of the old wives' tale.
Dandor the half-elf was the only one unphased by the revelation. "That's merely a tale. Unfounded in truth. The elders taught us it is but a legend to scare children. We should move on, as time is precious."
Grelshorn's gaze moved across the group, settling on Dandor. "Ye think so, eh? Well, your elders know nothing. I've been there once before."
At this, Raigor laughed. "You're crazier than I thought, Grelshorn."
Grelshorn removed his eyepatch, revealing a festering demon-like eye. Shock ran through the group, and Velly nearly fell of his horse. "Where do ya think I got this then, eh? You can go if ye want, but I won't be joining ya. I've had enough of that madness, and nothing will make me go back!"
Curstwall is an old, forgotten city, lost among the giant trees of what is now known as the Tanglewood. Long ago it was a trading town called Carstwell, dealing goods from the coastal lands and dwarven weapons to the elves. The elves and humans formed an elite force of woodsmen to defend the surrounding forestland from invaders and monsters.
When the Ashen War broke out, the leaders of Carstwell were worried that their small defenses could not stop a large invading force. Luckily, a powerful trader-mage from Hael by the name of Vez had arrived in the city a day or two before. Hearing of the town's need, he offered them a deal. He would raise protective walls in exchange for a generous amount of gold. Fearful of reports of imminent attack, they agreed.
That afternoon, under the barely visible waning moon, Vez began his spell. For hours he weaved his magicks from the Oaken Tower parapet. At sundown, the earth began to shake and rumble, and stone erupted from the ground all around the town. When the dust and tremors ceased, a 25 foot high wall, 10 feet thick, surrounded the whole town.
The council members were ecstatic, and thanked Vez graciously. He merely shook it off as nothing, and asked if they would like another layer of defense. All he asked was to be considered an honorary council member and granted possession of Carstwell's symbolic rod, known as the Birchbark Key. The council unanimously agreed once again, and he was granted the Key. He informed them that come morning, the town would be impregnable by attackers. Little did they know how right he was.
When the sun rose, nothing seemed changed. Vez was nowhere to be found, but the council had no time to think. Scouts had reported the Ashenari had entered the forest and would arrive before noon. Defense forces scrambled and took positions atop the wall. As the sun streamed down from high overhead, filtered by the green leafy canopy, the Ashenari attacked. Arrows rained in both directions, but the forces of Carstwell were shielded by the strong eldritch walls. At first surprised by the immense wall, the Ashenari regrouped. They were not to be so easily shrugged off, and after a small retreat, they brought forth seige towers. Easily manuvered amongst the giant, but sparse trees, the seige towers gave the Ashenari what they needed; a way in. Warriors streamed onto the walls, and began to overpower the town's defense force.
Suddenly, the earth began to tremble again, and from depths of the large well in the center of the town, giant shrieking vines burst forth towards the walls, and began to tear through the attackers... and the defenders. They grew up the walls and over, strangling and devouring all in their path. Ten thousand men the demonic vines killed in the span of minutes, and then began to rapidly spread throughout the wood. The Ashenari were dealt a catastrophic blow, and the war all but ended in one afternoon. The people of Carstwell died a slow death of starvation, but the vines were not what kept them in. It was the twisted forms that rose from the wilted, rotting vegetation in the weeks that followed. The demonic creatures resembled men in form only, and hungered to destroy those who dared enter or leave the town. The wall still bares the cursed vines, and the well continues to shriek to this day, and strange things slither and crawl from its depths. Few remember the city of Carstwell, as few survived its destruction. For a while it was called Curstwell, but in stories the well was forgotten. It became known as Curstwall, after the vine haunted walls, and most deem it merely a legend. But some know better.
Next: Wendall's Folly
