A thousand years after Aufstrag fell, eastern expansion has opened up once more. Bands of hearty souls have come to reclaim once-forsaken lands and carve out new kingdoms from ruins of the old.
For the intrepid, there is much promise. Gold and glory are rife for the taking, as is the plunder of forgotten tombs and the spoils of the long-crumbled Empire. But there is danger beyond reckoning -- and from the seat of the ancient and tattered throne of the Horned One, the subtle scent of a coming storm.
The sun sets. A small band of would-be explorers have left the relative safety of the city of Hrueset behind and wandered into the wider frontier seeking fortune and peril. They arrive at a roadside inn, where they are about to receive an unexpected invitation into a larger world.
Dramatis Personae
Viv - A human cleric.
Grele - A dwarven rogue.
Camilla - A gnomish illusionist.
Solstrian - An elven rogue.
Saul - A human rogue.
The Crossroads Inn
The party arrives at the Crossroads Inn, a public house of convenience but ill repute on the eastern road that runs from Hrueset to Malforten. The proprietor, Borris Aelfhorn, is friendly to the new guests, although gently mocking. He's seen plenty bands of self-proclaimed treasure hunters and would-be saviors in his time, having enjoyed some of the danger and reward of that life in his youth.
He gives the party the lay of the land -- and assures them that in this wild and strange place something always comes along for those seeking adventure. True to form, adventure comes knocking in the form of a family of halflings, set (with one exception) on leaving the dangers of the frontier behind.
Cullen Defthand, patriarch of the clan and a pig and vegetable farmer by profession, relates that he and his family are fleeing the once-idyllic canton of Newbriar for Hrueset and perhaps the safer, fortified Aenochian Empire. Willic Brambletoe, an ex-mayor, layabout and (it is implied) ill-deserved inheritor of his uncle Janos Brambletoe's weath, has brought some sort of a curse upon the community, Cullen maintains, although he is certain that the fault actually lies with the whole Brambletoe clan.
Janos once was an adventurer of some repute, allegedly bringing home all sorts of spoils to Newbriar -- some no doubt cursed. Many of the halflings, who consider themselves above being taken in by gross wealth, still took great interest when Willic Brambletoe came to town to tend to his uncle in his advancing age. A few more raised an eyebrow when one day, the still somewhat-feisty Janos "woke up dead," as Cullen put it. But no real suspicion was ever levied against Willic.
In time, Willic built an elaborate hall from the proceeds his uncle left him and took to his twin tasks of pretending to farm and playing the role of a country gentleman. Never married, he eventually achieved some degree of popularity in the community, largely because of the extravagance of his gifts and the free nature of the food and drink he offered to a select few powerful friends at semi-legendary parties at the hall. Those who attended marveled at the unusual stonework and general finery within, and Willic apparently told all and sundry that he had hired a cadre of dwarves to create the elaborate structure. No one can remember a horde of dwarves descending on the canton, but that's the story as Cullen has heard it. He and Willic got crossways, and somehow his invitations to the gatherings never quite arrived.
Willic's last party was apparently rather memorable for those who did attend. The screams of agony from the hilltop carried all the way into Newbriar. A small retinue, made up of the Shire-Reeve and a few city guard, went to investigate. No one came out.
Randall, Cullen's son, speaks up at that point, discontented with his family's flight. He longs to return to "settle things," seeing his father's plans as an act of cowardice. He offers to accompany the party back to Newbriar, should they wish to learn what is going on. He also mentions a potential reward. The party determines that it will set out for the community at first light, with Randall leading the way.
An idyllic spring morning is broken when the group is accosted by a band of thieves and highwaymen, who demand tribute in exchange for safe passage. A battle ensues, and soon all the bandits are either killed or routed. One wears a curious signet ring with an ornate sigil, apparently an official device of Botkinburg, the somewhat-capitol of the frontierlands, which lies to the north. The others merely carry gold and common items.
The party arrives in town as the sun sets and checks into the Portly Partridge Inn. The proprietor, Redd Softfoot, is initially not happy that Randall has brought outsiders to the community, but at the young halfling's assurances the barkeep soon displays hope that something might be done about the recent events. The entire town is on-edge, and Willic's hall, once considered an extravagant but harmless folly, is now a place of fear and dread.
The party spends the night at the inn. Upon awakening, the adventurers immediately head for Willic's home. Along the way, they encounter a riderless pony, still saddled, apparently escaped from the house on the hill. The pony is noticeably skittish, and the party chooses to not approach, intent on hurrying toward their goal.
The group arrives at the home of Willic Brambletoe. From the exterior, the hall is impressive, with a great door apparently nailed shut sometime after the Reeve and his men went to investigate. Prying the entryway open, the party enters into the darkened interior and finds a scene of destruction and death awaiting them.
The bodies of revelers lie scattered on the floor, a sickly smell of rotted food and rotted flesh intermingling. Without warning, several of the halfing corpses rise, joined by waves of others. The din of battle permeates the hall as the once joyful party-goers -- now reanimated monsters -- claw at the heroes with a hell-born fury. A skeleton in strange, ornate armor is the last to rise, wielding a rusted blade of ancient craft.
One by one, the halflings die a second death, their attacks hampered by a curious handicap. Each zombie is missing a hand and an eye. In time, the skeletal abomination, too, falls, its skull literally shattered by a perfectly-aimed shot from Solstrian's crossbow. As an unearthly crimson light fades from its eyesockets, the silence and stench of death returns to the hall, and Randall, overcome with confusion and grief, drops to the floor and begins to weep.
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