outer reaches rumors: trouble brewing

The taverns are abuzz with talk of the farmer Chadwick, and his findings in the Spiderwood.

The Spiderwood is a rather small, though dense forest to the south and west of Riverside.  It takes its name from a native variety of small, green-gold spiders who spin elaborate, delicate webs.  The venom of these spiders is known to be mildly toxic, though seldom fatal.

There are lumberers that work the wood, and several farmers who maintain large farms of root vegetables that benefit from excellent soil quality.  One such farmer is Chadwick, famous for turnips of exceptional size and quality.

Chadwick has farmed the Spiderwood for a decade, living on a humble farmstead near the wood.  He knows the forest trails well, and on a typical afternoon walk, he encountered something altogether surprising--a small grove of poplars in a ring, surrounding a dilapidated hut, in front of which boiled a huge black cauldron over an open flame.

Confident that he was neither lost, nor had the grove been there on walks past, Chadwick made to investigate the hut, but was confronted by a pair of hags who charged forth from the hut with cudgels, threatening to boil the skin from his back and, as Chadwick reports, still terrified from the encounter, "To turn me into a newt!"  Gripped by fear that Chadwick insists was supernatural, he fled the grove.

Some of the townsfolk who live nearest the Spiderwood, especially a few lumberers who camp nearest Chadwicks farm, are concerned--hushed conversations of witches dominates the common rooms of taverns and homes, and there are rumors of folks planning to gather to "burn the witches out of the Spiderwood."

nash: while you were farming

Donnel pushed back the thick brush with the end of his walking stick and worked his way through the thorny mass. It was already mid afternoon and he had found only fleeting passage marks of his fathers lost sheep. “The wretched creatures are probably rotting in the belly of a snape by now.” He cursed.

A sudden crash in the brush behind him sent Donnel leaping to one side, his long wooden staff poised to strike like a woodcutter's ax.

A man of medium build stumbled through the thicket, briers clinging to his clothes and enough red scratches on his face to question if he had recently had another disagreement with one of the many disgruntled barn cats back on the farmstead.

If the scratches hurt him, the man showed no realization of it. He just stared at Donnel with his dull eyes and his mouth locked in that same wit-less grin he always had.

“Henry!” The young man’s voice cracked, “what the crows are you doing here? You just about scared the life out of me.”

“Follow Donny, where’d he goes? Follow Donny, Henry knows!” The dim man chimed proudly.

“Pa send you? I told him I don’t need no help to find some crow begotten sheep,” Donnel began to protest, “but of all the hired hands, why did he have to send you? With all that crashing racket you make’n, you prolly sent every living thing running for the Green Hills.”

Donnel finished his rant uninterrupted by the witless man. One could never really tell if Henry understood much of what was said to him, or if he even heard it. His dull eyes always wandered, though he nodded his head in a steady rhythm of feigned understanding, his lips stretched in that same witless grin. 

“Trees,” Henry responded, as if none of Donnels rant had even reached his ears.

“What?” Donnel started in frustration, “What about the trees? You afraid of the forest or somp-thin?”

“No.” Henry said with a hint of apprehension, “birds live in trees.”

“Birds?” Donnel was growing impatient. “We aint got time to be gawking at no birds in no forest. I need to find them sheep and head back home before supper.”

“What about those birds Donny?” Henry gestured above the treeline of the encroaching forest.

Donnel suddenly became aware of a distinct lack of sound around him. The thicket had become silent save a distant caw-cawing. Where one caw rang out a dozen more answered. Donnel forced himself to look up to see a black cloud of wings. “Crows…” Donnel whispered. His throat suddenly very dry. 

The scavenger birds had amassed and were circling over the edge of the nearby forest.

Donny swallowed and tensed his stomach against a fear that washed over him. Where there were crows in mass, there was death. He wanted nothing more than to turn and run back to the safety of his families farmstead but he could not return empty handed. He had to bring something to his Pa about the sheep, even if it was news of their deaths.

The young man gritted his teeth and pushed nimbly forward through the brush, Henry clumsily crashing behind.

As they reached the edge of the briers, their senses were assaulted with what Donnel had feared most, death. A dozen or so sheep lay butchered at the edge of the forest. Their bodies and life-blood strewn among the trees in a grisly display of brutality. Limbs and entrails alike lay torn across the grass, the blood still seeping gently into the soil. 

Donnel’s stomach lurched and his lunch escaped him in a sudden fit of vomit.

A crow called out nearby and Donnel looked up from his misery in time to see a set of sharp claws rake toward his face. Instinctively, the young man threw up his hands in defense. There was a red hot burn as the goblin tore a streak of flesh from Donnel’s forearm sending him falling backward into the carcass of a dead sheep. The creature shrieked in frustration and bounded toward the young farmer, fangs bared in feral rage.

Time seemed to slow down. Donnel could hear the crunch of each step the creature took on the forest floor. The creatures sickly looking maw was covered in blood that ran generously down its chin. Its skin was pock-marked and covered with ruptured sores and blisters. Two fingers were missing from its left hand, and several of its claws were broken in jagged edges. Donnels heart beat, violently pounding blood through his brain. Was this where he would die? Chasing runaway sheep? Mauled by this creature. His entrails strewn about the forest like the lambs before him? The creatures glazed eyes burned with hatred, pain, and rage as it dove for Donnels throat. That hideous face, those terrible claws, it was all too much. The young man closed his eyes and braced himself for the end.

But the end didn’t come.

There was a sickening hiss and wet thump.

Donnel looked up to see Henry standing over him, steel in hand, and the headless body of the goblin writhing at his feet.

“Stay down,” Henry whispered, and turned to give Donnel another one of his witless grins. 

Nash stood over the young man, the dead goblin before him and three more of the creatures hissing and screaming nearby. 

Nash took a deep breath, sized up the field, and the creatures charged.

At the last moment, Nash lept forward to meet them, his booted foot catching the first square in the face with a sick crunch. Nash twisted to the side mid-kick and dodge the second goblins clawed strike. He lashed out with his blade and cleaved the creatures arm from its body. Spinning, Nash flicked his wrist and a dagger blurred though the air to bury itself up to the hilt in the third creatures throat. The first goblin staggered back, clutching its face where its nose had been. Nash followed through the spin and in a blur of motion used the momentum to part the creatures head from its neck. The second creature raked wildly at Nash with its remaining arm but Nash ducked under the blow and swept the creatures legs from beneath it before driving his sword deep into the creatures heart.

Nash exhaled.

With a flick of his wrist, Nash removed the blood from his blade and the sword disappeared onto his person.

“How... Wha... What the? What the crows just happened?!” Donnel stammered, his mouth gaped open in dismay.

The dim witted farm hand turned back to Donnel with his same witless grin and blank look he always had. “Henry hungry,” He mumbled.

outer reaches rumors: goblins!

Spring turns to Summer, Summer to Autumn, and and our companions find themselves at ends in Riverside...

Several months have passed since the Sowing and the adventures surrounding.  The citizens of Riverside met the return of the companions with much celebration--having saved several of the crew and much of Holden's goods, they were rewarded as promised, and given places of honor during the numerous ceremonies and feasts of the Sowing.

Despite the successful resolution, a nagging interest tugged at the attentions of Granny and Kragh--that of the feral goblins encountered early in their journey.  Begging some time to investigate the matter and further help the town, the companions settled in for some time, finding work and recreation among the town's common folk.

Several outlying farms suffered from ferocious attacks of goblins and their diseased hounds. In the aftermath of one such attack, a suspicion of Kragh and Granny was revealed to be true--all of the goblins seemed to suffer from some kind of skin rash, and showed signs of disease such as pox marks and cloudy, though blood-shot, eyes.  It is unlike anything that anyone, including the town's healers and herbalists, have ever seen.

As Summer fades to Autumn, the occurrence of attacks, as well as their ferocity, only seems to increase--spurring the companions to act.  Is there some evil presence at work, a fell leadership behind the goblin attacks?  Is it just that the goblins themselves are raiding in preparation of Winter?  Is there magic at work, or is it some sickness that has affected the goblins' behavior?

Bonus!

In preparation for the next session, and as an offer to earn some extra experience (even for those that might not make the session, or that have yet to join in), any character may contribute posts detailing how they've spent the past few months in Riverside, or how they may have investigated the matter of the goblins.  I'll progress any sub-plots as necessary within the comments of the post, for questions and such.

As always, anyone who hasn't yet may also submit character backgrounds and descriptions.

I'm hoping to host the next session just prior to Christmas, perhaps Saturday, December 21st?  Please let me know if you think you might be able to make it!