In the records for Marpenoth in the year of 1502DR another small page is found. The tiny script of 'Ansrivarr' fills the page.
The Harvyfest
Requested as guardians of the autumn festival in Shining Falls myself, and four others, were chosen.
Lukan- A man unbound from the constraints of societal shackles
Elspet- A quiet one who would prove to be focused on the people rather than the threat
Zephyra- One of elemental persuasion and a fair pairing to Lukan
Dusty- One that I had met before
Our presence was more than necessary, as an ill omen lay over the festival grounds from the first.
The tortured and agonized visages of pixies were set as illusions within jars to provide light. A sign that none seemed to notice.
While the others moved to their own ends, I went to greet the most distinguished guest of the evening: A pumpkin the size of a dragon curled upon itself in sleep. There I spoke with the farmer who had grown the pumpkin, and when asked of its transportation, there was a claim that two mules had done the work. Many a fine mule have I met, but no two of them could have accomplished such a feat. I desired to speak with them in earnest to learn of their strength myself. In the course of my inquiry, the farmer found amusement in my words. A sorrowful and lonely fellow I found him. I was full glad to offer some reprieve, yet he extended a warning to me. To leave that place.
I turned to gather the others, but it was too late. Festivities are not things stopped so easily, and as the giant pumpkin was cut, it unleashed the source of the farmer's warning.
An amalgamation of plant, flesh, and bone poured forth from the pumpkin. With it came creatures I now remember to be Rot Grubs. Burrowing insects that feed off flesh and strip it down to the bone in moments. It has been too long since my duties put me at odds with such beings, and I have since turned my reveries to the past that I may be better prepared.
Many souls were released that night before we were able to end the mass of ill-conjoined matter. But some were saved. Lukan fought with reckless abandon to the point of endangering himself. Elspet focused on the people and endeavored to assist them in their escape. Dusty chose tactics and distance as befits his critical-thinking mind. Zephyra fought with the breath of the elements at her side, and it was with a relish for the moment.
Once sure that the creature was dead, I followed the farmer's steps to the graveyard of the town, the others behind.
The plants, guardians and sentinels of the grounds, looked alive, yet their spirits had turned from nature, recoiling from me. A tainted place, and my first instinct was to burn it all to make way for better growth. New growth free of the memory of whatever horror had come to mark the land thus.
An impulse I did not act upon as Lukan descended into one of the crypts. Fitting, I suppose, as where does one cleanse corruption but at the root?
When the rest of us came to the crypt, there was another horror made of bugs and bones. It had burts from the floor of the crypt and attempted to devour us. In the end, it was unable. The crypt had been subject to scrawls of some language which I recognized but could not understand. A deep-rooted feeling of unease and disappointment filled me as the script pulled at some distant memory. I took careful note of the scrawl that I could see and took them for translation to D.U.S.K. In time, it came to be known that they were the words of madness poured out in the way that one might mumble gibberish, and the words were in the script of Deep Speech.
The reason for disappointment lay bare, and something that must be corrected with due haste.
The root of what happened has yet to be found, and as charged by my mentor, it will be cleansed.
~ I am known here as Ansrivarr.
KnightOwl
Noba-Di
cru
ShardRiver
