| abstract
| - Southmire was a modest town home to some Deurlen, Lyverian, and Alenthylians settlers. Living along the marshes, the town was self-sufficient, dealing in agriculture and lumber. The town existed for at least 100 years before the establishment of the Kingdom of Novania. In the late 1170s, citizens slowly began to disappear from the town. It was not until the year 1181 that the mayor, Earl, called for assistance from the Kingdom of Novania. Volunteers flocked to the town to assist in finding these citizens, or, as was discovered, what happened to these citizens. Not many speak of what happened thereafter, but two sources provide clarity. The following article was released by the Novanian Chronicler concerning the events in Southmire: The investigation team landed to the marsh islands on the 40th of Full Bloom and arrived to the town to find a minimum of four persons there, two of which, the mayor included, reside in the manor to the west of the estate. Currently, one of the residents, a man by the name of Gary, whose son went missing, was killed by the accidental release of a danger from its prisons by the investigation team, to be described later, and another has been kidnapped and possibly killed near a ditch outside of the town limits. The second was a cabbage merchant who has been identified as Finwit, by deduction, as all that remained on the scene where the struggle took place was a sprawled sack of cabbages and a slaughtered chicken informed to be his companion. The current ghost-like state of the town is counter to what the investigation team has revealed. The investigation team- by matter of speculation, the areas documented were heavily treaded by foot- were an abandoned home belonging to a man named Trevor, a local graveyard to the south of the town, and a ditch to the east of the graveyard wherein lay a circle of dried blood. Whatever details were gleaned from these areas is kept under the knowledge of the investigation team. At the heart of the investigation, speculated to be the biggest lead the investigation team has in the disappearances of the townsfolk, concerns the ‘immortals’, human-like beings seemingly immune to harm- immortality, as implied by the name. Their appearance is human, but with a head partially shrouded in a tar-like substance. The immortal was hostile, killing the man named Gary and attempting to kill members of the investigation team. No series of strikes by sword or balls of fire seemed to slay the immortal, only producing screeches. The Chronicler speculates the immortal felt pain, but was unable to be killed by the wounds inflicted. One was locked behind a vault in the basement of the manor. It was reported to have been slain through the application of a crushing force, but this report is inconsistent with previous statements of immunity to harm. No one is permitted to leave when darkness falls, for reasons which may or may not relate to the immortals. Rain casts a foreboding feeling among the investigation team. Use the information you have learned to better prepare yourself against the threats listed here and avoid the marsh islands. If anyone in the investigation team wishes to disclose information which corrects a misstatement or speculation found within the article, the correction will be released freely with future issues of the Chronicler.The following was released by the Southmire Investigation team in response to the Novanian Chronicler. In a previous issue of the paper, a curious article was published about the state of the Southmire investigation. Quite the critical viewpoint, I found, yet I do not deny the accusations of counts and government officials making the trip down with little coordination or notice. It seemed that many were wanting to lend their support, and none of us knew until we had all arrived at the home of our host. Yet, readers of the Chronicler, I will argue that the withholding of information was necessary and it was not done because of ‘ignorant, mindless pigs’. At the time of questioning, we did not even know the full extent of the truth we were to face. What would be the greatest sin, publishing what was not true and having to make a revision far after it has rooted itself in everyone’s minds, or waiting until such information was whole and ready to present? We were unknowing of what dangers we were in. How could we warn others of such? Many of us were little prepared to what we would see, and what we would be subjected to. Much of what was published by Tsetseg was true, indeed, but it was also not the full story. The unleashing of the ‘immortal’ was human folly and the need to leave no stone unturned. She was to be kept in her prison, behind heavy doors, until the end of all days and the pain she caused to many would be collectively forgotten. Those who found themselves curious to venture past the iron doors would be subjected to what was nothing short of sheer horror. I still remember their screaming, as I was on the other side, unable to help them escape. When the great door finally slid aside--oh, the moment of relief--and the group came racing and stumbling through, out came a creature that was terrible and horrible. Before she could stalk them up the stairs, the door fell upon her. Not even the trained, hardened military men were able to keep their composure as they heard her bloodcurdling screams and the sound of her body crunching and shattering under the door. And yet, she would not be dead. We would not find this out until much later. For as much secrets were kept from you readers, just as many were kept from us until that moment of discovery. We had found that the ‘immortal’ that was loose was a powerful influence over the witches that were preying upon the small town. She had been one of the ones that had imprisoned the Mayor long ago, subjecting him to horrible experiments and forcibly becoming her husband, until he had escaped. While many were recalled to council with the King, the witches had taken an opportunity to strike upon those who were left behind. They had snatched two and escaped with them into a lair deep underground, which if it was not for a trail and curious chance, they would have faced a terrible fate worse than the horrors of the vault. We had saved who we could, with a combination of luck and wit. Yet, we were uncertain to how we would slay the being that walked still, even after watching her die a mortal death in front of us. We found the only way to kill her was to call forth the name of one of the deceased of the town, and compiled our lists from word of mouth, and the gravestones in the graveyard. We would march into the lair of the witches again, braving their traps and hexes, and encountering the malicious Mary in the midst of incantation. Each name, one by one, was called off of the list, while those more physically adept attempted to grapple into the hideous hag. My memory of this battle was cut short, as a witch who was lurking in the shadows had grabbed me by the neck, and held me hostage. Anyone who dared approach she threatened to snap my neck in her iron grip. I was dragged to a cell with one of the last surrounding townspeople, Finwit, and left there until rescued. It seemed the name that had done the terrible witch in was the last I had written on that list, that of the son of Gary Pinefield, a man who had died during one of the many investigations. There was no glory in the battle. There was only exhaustion and an uneasy relief, no hero’s return to the silent town. Some took their reward wearily, but I did not partake in it. What was seen and heard through our investigations was enough to shake realities to their core. I feel there is a storm brewing, and I will keep my eye to the southern horizon.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)