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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Goonalan" data-source="post: 3843026" data-attributes="member: 16069">And so here we go again...Dungeon Crawl Classic #14 Dungeon Interludes Chapter 1: The Eye of the Night Level 1-3 (Scaled to level 4)Turn 39: Molton Clay.Father Whiskin scurries into the Inn and towards the assembled group, they knew he was coming; the Innkeeper had been good enough to share the news at breakfast. “Just got a note- Urgent, be ready to travel, and to fight, will be there as soon as I can. That’s all it said, figured you’d understand.”And now here he is, bundling Cas up and urging the others into a private curtained alcove within the Inn.“Is there somewhere we can talk?” The good Father’s in a rush.The group head for the secluded booth.“I need your help, its Molton Clay, a village about eight miles south west of the city, they make pots there, there are a few farms, and a commune. Anyway all’s not well, they need your help. There’s no money in it, at least very little- will you do it?”Cas looks a little put out at the mention of money, “of course we will.”“Do what?” Ala asks, Anya nods behind her.“The place has been attacked, destroyed, from what I’ve heard, I need you to go and find out what’s going on there, what’s left- if anything.”The adventurers are in, they’ll do it, they’ve all benefited, at one time or another, from the Church of Pelor’s help.Cas dives to his feet, ready to roll, Father Whiskin grabs his arm.“Look for Thistle, you’ll know him when you see him, he’s a Druid, a good… man. Find him and you’ll find the truth. Pelor bless you, all of you, now go- ride like the wind.”Thirty minutes later, along a narrow track, the six speed, their horses flat out, as fast as they can go, which isn’t very fast for Dobbin, Newt’s mount. They ride into a scene of destruction.It’s still early morning, the suns rays beat down upon what was once the village of Molton Clay, the crops have been razed, the barns toppled, the buildings now nothing more than burnt out shells, blood and bodies litter the roads and fields.The riders come to a halt, swiftly survey the area, then walk on.The stench of the dead is the first thing that hits them. Masks are improvised, the horses however remain nervous, they skitter and paw at the ground, there are tracks everywhere.Jim gets down to take a look, leads his mount forward, nobody feels like talking. The adventurers stick together as they wander through what was the centre of the settlement. Blackened husks of men and women litter the street, it seems they’re all dead, a village gone- flies buzz, rats gnaw and skitter from corpse to corpse, there are signs of larger wild animals having passed this way.Jim breaks the silence.“There were lots of them, humans, armed and armoured- it was a raiding party of some sort, many of them were mounted, wild horses by the look of it- could have been Ullies.”Ullies, or Ully Gullies, are the inhabitants of Ull, in Umberside, a more autonomous than most state within the United Kingdoms, north of the Umber Estuary. Actually the ‘United’ bit is an awful misnomer, the Kingdoms in general pay no more than lip service to the sentiment. Umberside’s chief export is violence, raiding parties however are uncommon, rare this far into Lincornshire, that said there are still enough wildlands to hide a small army in these parts. And yet, after a further twenty minutes of wandering, Jim has something more to say.“There’s something odd here, some of these tracks are older, something must have sparked the violence, I think the attack came later, a smaller force- no more than a dozen came here two or more days ago.”Jim moves to a section of hard mud still holding the impression of horses and men, by a burnt tethering post, in front of the largest burnt out building within Molton Clay- probably the Inn.Ala climbs down from her horse, begins to snoop around, in search of bodies, she doesn’t have far to go- she examines the corpse of a young woman, then an older man.“They were killed with all manner of weapons- clubs, swords, bows, crossbows, the attackers were a rag tag bunch- the people tried to flee, they were cut down in the streets.”“See there.” Jim points to a pile of furniture in the street, charred and broken; he points to another, and another.“They were looking for something; they must have made the villagers clear out their homes, whatever it was they were looking for I guess they didn’t find it, or else...”Jim stops to stare at the devastation.“It must have been terrible.” He shivers; a breeze blows down the street, dust swirls and spirals, a rent and bloody shirt gusts and billows by.“Hel…”“What was that?”Newt sits up on Dobbin, leans an ear into the wind.“Help”The sound comes again, but only loud enough for Gnomish ears to hear.“Giddy-up.”Newt spurs Dobbin into a fast-ish walk. The others follow quickly behind, Ala back on her horse, wiping the tears from her eyes. They’re soon out the other side of the settlement, heading down a still muddy track towards the remains of the nearest farm.“Help.”Newt digs his heels into Dobbin, the mule protests and then breaks into a mincing trot. The others, although blessed with faster mounts, tag on behind- not wanting to disrupt Newt’s concentration; he’s on the right route.“Help please…”Newt and Dobbin swiftly veer off from the dirt path, head towards the only building still standing, a Barn.“There.”Newt stands in his stirrups and points, towards a body propped against one of the outer walls of the structure. Although its Newts discovery Ala and Cas are first on the scene.“Take it easy.” Cas grasps the dying farmers hand.Ala is making a thorough examination, the warm glow from her healing hands spreads through the villager, he coughs loudly, then opens his eyes.“Help me please…”Cas nods while Bec bundles the rag-doll farmer up into his arms. They find shelter, the Barn doesn’t look safe, so they settle for the one room remaining in the farmhouse.“Give him water, make a fire- make soup, he needs warmth, blankets.”An hour later, in the ravaged wreck of his former house, his smashed possessions surrounding him, ghosts of his dead family all about him, the broken farmer alternatively cries and tells his tale.“They came three day ago, a dozen of them, to the Inn. Said they were adventurers but none of them had funny hats, sorry <cough> no wizards or priests, they all looked the same- vagabonds and thieves, wildmen from the north.”“Ullies?” Jim asks.“No, worse- they spoke funny, couldn’t understand them at first, don’t know where they were from, we knew there were more of them, they sent riders back out on the first evening, with supplies, lots of supplies, nearly all we had. Thistle was convinced at first that they’d go away once they’d gotten what they wanted.”“Thistle?” It’s Anya’s turn.“Thistle’s our leader, he’s a… a Druid. Anyway ten of them stayed at the Inn, drank a lot, swore a lot… and… well, took advantage. That’s when we knew that things were going to get worse, they weren’t for leaving, they had something more in mind. Next day Thistle met with their leader, Gaden, or some such- his bodies back over there, by the Barn.”The farmer points, they turn to stare at the spot.“He said he was looking for a jewel, and that he knew it was here, and they weren’t leaving without it- called it the “Eye of the Night”. So Thistle tells him that no such jewel exists in Molton Clay, that we’re farmers and potters mostly, a simple peaceful community. And to prove it Thistle asks everyone to submit to inspection, Gaden agrees, orders that all possessions are to be brought out into the street, everywhere is to be searched. By then there were twenty or thirty of them in the village, all the same- coarse men, violent men- they smashed things, took whatever they wanted. Some got hurt, the first death happened that night, a group of village lads attacked and killed one of the raiders, Gaden executed all those that took up arms, and then he ordered the dead boys parents to dig their graves…”The farmer stops talking and starts crying, they let him be for a moment, he goes on, through his tears.“The next morning we discovered the parents hadn’t come back, they’d dug their own graves too- all dead. Gaden rode in with all his men, there must have been fifty of them, into the centre of the settlement, ordered us out of our homes, told us that we had ten minutes to bring forth the jewel, or else… or else.”The farmer gulps and stares hard for a second.“Thistle didn’t wait to see how it was going to end, conjured a wolf into their midst, it got a few of them before it was brought down. Thistle was captured, easily, they’d moved in here by then”, the farmer indicates his house and barn, “they tortured him in the barn, I could hear his screams, they kept me here, with some others- running errands, I think Gaden knew that Thistle was hiding the gem. I knew he was, so did many of the others in the village, but no-one said. See we don’t call it the “Eye of the Night”, we don’t have a name for it, but it is a magical jewel, a symbol of natures perfection, it guaranteed our crops would grow, that the sun would shine, that the rain would fall; it kept us wealthy, healthy and safe from harm… until now. No-one was willing to give up the secret to our success.”“Why? Your lives were at stake.” Anya wonders.“He knows, and her.” The farmer points at Ala, then Cas. “If you believe in something, if you have faith then there’s nothing you won’t do to protect that faith from harm. The jewel is for good; in the wrong hands… it could be used for ill. It’s about maintaining the balance; we gave our lives to keep it safe.”“Where’s the jewel now?” Newt leans in.“Don’t know, they started burning the place up, and then Thistle got really mad, escaped, killed a good few of them before they caught him again, I kept hidden as best I could, by then I knew my family were already gone…”The farmer breaks down again, tears flow, great hulking sobs. Cas’ face is cast in shadow, he looks away, wipes his eyes.“What happened then?”“They finished their search, no jewel, Gaden was furious and yet everyone else, everyone that hadn’t already fled, was dead. Most of the riders left soon after, they had somewhere they had to be in a hurry, they rode hard- to the North West. There were just a few of them left, no more than half-a-dozen, and Gaden, out here. That’s when the creature attacked, and the rats, there were hundreds of them spilling out of my Barn; sure I’d seen a few of them in there every now and then but not in these numbers, there were swarms of them. I ran, got as far away as I could, bumped into a couple of the Raiders in my haste- one got me with an arrow, the other his sword- left me for dead. I dragged myself back here, took me half-a-day, Thistle’s gone… it’s all gone… then you came along.”He looks up at Ala, squints in the glinting sun.“My name’s Giles, thanks.”Then the farmer feints away. “We’ve got to get him back to the city, somewhere safe.” Ala states.“What’s that?” Newt shields his eyes from the sun and stares at a black dot approaching the village.“Riders, six of them.”“Right, mount up, we’re going to meet them- get ready, weapons out.” Cas orders, and is the first on his horse.Next Turn: Politics.</blockquote>

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