Aramoor Village
![[IMG]](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/18/07/fe/1807fe138dbbc77ed03cb17130fd2ac8.jpg)
Location: Aramoor Village.
Weather: Cloudy and cool.
Time of Day: Seven Fifteen PM.
The rolling plains which you have been travelling over gives way to rocks, dead grass, sparse trees, and boulders. Thick grey clouds soon cover the sky, blocking out the warmth and heat of the sun. A cool breeze blows in from the north, the exact direction you are travelling toward. Though summertime, this sudden change of temperature and weather feels…ominous.
In response, the Monster Hunters have pulled in their revelry. The music and chanting have quieted, those whom pulled ahead on their own mounts return to the caravan, dismissing the beasts of burden and the lighthearted aura that has been present throughout this journey turns serious. Many faces turn Northward, and some Monster Hunters even take to sitting and sharpening their weapons. You see a few pull forth spell books and components, others kneel in silent prayer as the wagons and carriages continue to trundle onwards.
It’s subtle, but you can feel it: the slight incline of the vehicle you’re travelling in. The horses don’t seem to struggle with the change in elevation and the minute you catch yourself thinking on it is the minute where the ground levels out and the cool mountainous air chills your exposed flesh. You and your party move onwards and upwards.
Dusk begins to settle in as the wagons pull to the center most area of the village. Surprisingly, there don’t seem to be any villagers around. You instead take in the houses with smoke curling from their chimneys, stone buildings beset with wooden roofs and ivory columns and the stone streets with nary a blade of grass growing within the walkway.
Your vehicles amble to a stop. Many of the Monster Hunters dismount before turning back to the carriages and wagons, offering hands to others to help them down. A few begin unloading the sacks and crates from the wagons. A glance confirms your suspicion about the crates: they’re full of weapons. The sacks, however, carry fresh produce and salted meats.
The Village feels cold. It’s probably the stone, the grey drabness of everything, and the sinking nerves that writhe in your gut. It wouldn’t be long before—
“Samson! I am ever thankful that you have arrived.”
A man in his mid-thirties approaches the caravan flanked by two guards. They are dressed in heavy armor, swords at their sides, small bucklers strapped to their opposing arm. Their helmets obscure their features, but the broad set of their shoulders and the length of their fingers gives you the impression that they are men.
The man whom called out is shaved bald, his eyes a vibrant lilac coloration, his skin the pigmentation of parchment paper. He holds no weapon and wears a finely made fur cloak over linen clothes and leather boots.
“Mayor Harvey! Yes, the Monster Hunters are here to take care of your problem!”
Mayor Harvey stands a good foot shorter than the sea green eyed Samson, the chilly air allowing Samson’s dreadlocks to billow in the breeze.
“Yes…yes, I can see that.” Mayor Harvey gives a small chuckle and claps his hands together. “Well, ah, I apologize about the welcome. I’ve placed the village under a curfew to prevent any other injuries or incidents—”
“That explains why we haven’t gotten any more cconcrete information!” Samson gives a wide, friendly smile.
“…Perhaps, yes, that could be the reason.” Harvey’s smile is brittle in return. He clears his throat. “Nevertheless, the other information we sent along is most sound. Many have reported seeing the creature entering and exiting the old mining shaft. Whatever it is has made off with quite a few livestock. People are worried, as you can imagine. It’s large, some say it’s about twice your size...”
Harvey gives the large barbarian another once over and a flicker of uncertainty sparks within his irises. “Anyhow, the mineshaft where they’ve seen the creature coming and going is a mile from here. My guards will escort you if you’re ready to go…?”
“Of course!”
Samson glances over his shoulder at all of you, gives a wink, and starts forward.
A mile from your carriages and the village, you stand at the opening of a cave. One of the guards thrusts a long torch toward Samson and points to the darkened opening.
“Follow the cart tracks,” he says, nerves making his voice wobble. “We don’t know where it sleeps, but the mine goes far in and down. There are a few offshoots to old dried up obsidian veins, but we doubt it lives in any of those. Just…be careful. We haven’t been in there in months. We don’t know how stable the infrastructure is.”
Samson nods and glances at the torch, currently unlit.
“Will this really help?”
“Should. Mayor Harvey was going to send it with the next group, but the last people who tried killing this thing got hurt too bad. You gotta…here.”
The guard unsheathes his sword. Crackling arcane energy engulfs the blade, the runes carved into the metal twinkling in the low light. He slashes with the weapon, not intending to hit anyone or anything, and a small flash of the energy separates from the blade and attaches to the stick, lighting it with a flickering purple-blue flame.
The flame provides enough light to see the tracks, an old mining cart, discarded mining picks and dried crimson droplets. Investigation Mode tells you that it’s dried blood.
“No worries friends,” Samson says as he starts forward, the trampling sound of feet following him. “We will take care of your problem and life will quickly go back to being better once again!”
Entering the cave assaults your senses with silence. The torch allows a bit of light for you to see where you’re going – along the mine cart tracks as instructed – but there are shifting shadows in your peripheral vision that have you constantly turning to look around for danger. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Your mouth becomes dry. It feels as if someone—or something—is watching you.
The group descends once, twice, three times. At one point, the tracks take a sharp turn to the right and you must go single-file down a long narrow passageway. The chill of the cavern creeps under your armor and scrapes against your skin. The overpowering smell of blood, musk, and animal excrement settles in your nose.
Once past the claustrophobic tunnel, you immediately hear it. The sound of crunching bone, of something moving in the darkness, claws scraping against stone and the wet slurp of meat being devoured. Samson raises the torch higher, allowing the blue-purple flame to alight the cavern you have come to stand within and the massive winged beast hunched over the corpse – no, two corpses – of cows.
For a moment, you believe that you can get the jump on him, perhaps pin him to the ground and kill him outright. But someone inhales too fast, too quick, and his ears – cloaked in shadow – swivel backward. His head quickly turns, luminous yellow eyes dilating due to the light from Samson’s torch.
A horrendous screech echoes from his blood-soaked mouth and washes over your party before Samson’s war cry follows, filling you with energy and courage as the other Monster Hunters charge forward.
The hunt had begun.
