Prelude

The smoke still hung heavy in the air, causing you to cough again. When it first came drifting in, the people of Applegrove were terrified. The little village was quaintly nestled in a sprawling pine forest at the base of the Fogspear mountains, whose tall crags towered mightily above. The villagers were well acquainted with forest fires and knew how fast the village could be swallowed up if the wind turned the wrong way. The thing about dire emergencies is that they fade to commonplace over time. The smoke had hung in the air since late spring and there had been no sightings of any flames, not by any of the villagers nor by any of the few travelers that came from the east. So, in true Applegrove fashion, everyone started ignoring it. Well, except for the coughing of course.

Your thoughts turned towards the village. Applegrove, named for the six mounds of dirt neatly situated in the center green. There had once been six beautiful apple trees planted there, bearing their sweet fruit every year. At least that’s what the old-timers talked about. The trees were long gone now and nobody had replanted them. The villagers where openly congenial, even to the odd stranger that drifted in; but they were also proud, very stubborn and more than a little naive. It was a simple and fairly happy place to reside. Most of the residents were human, or at least mostly humanoid, but there were always a few of the odder folk about too.

The smoke caused the light from the sun to shine through weakly, casting an unearthly pallor on everything. Everyone moved as if through a dream. The stories of mystics and magics seemed to come up in every conversation. Strange things started happening too. More and more people were complaining about misplacing items. Axes, pails, spoons, saddles, and even the water trough in front of the Nervous Lily, the towns’ only inn and pub, disappeared. Of course everyone started blaming each other. Tempers ran hotter than usual and the Nervous Lily’s proprietor Tisbeth, Tizzy for short, resorted to keeping a stout piece of longleaf pinewood as a cudgel for breaking up the worst of the fights.

Even the road leading to Shroudreach, the mining shanty-town further west, up into the Fogspear mountains, fell silent. Normally a few boisterous miners would be make the journey down into Applegrove every once in a while to cavort at the Nervous Lily. But this year not a single person arrived. Firmel Ironbuster, a dwarf and the town’s blacksmith, decided to set out towards Shroudreach, but it had been two months and there was no sight of him. No one else had volunteered to look for him.

Alderman Bryce, a pompous fool in his own right, tried to placate everyone and ended up angering them instead. If it wasn’t for his daughter Christina, the Alderman would have been run out of town long ago. Christina spent most of her time baking, and more importantly, distributing that baking about town. Nothing made you feel more sheepish about getting into a fist fight the night before than a steaming field berry pie delivered from Christina with a small note, in neat lettering, indicating the pie was to be shared with family and neighbors.

Things were starting to break down. With no blacksmith the town’s people were in desperate need to get the forge back up and running. Unfortunately no-one knew how. Firmel was the only blacksmith for many years and he preferred to work alone, so there were no apprentices. Alderman Bryce started to ask around for anyone who would go to look for the dwarf up towards Shroudreach. He even promised Christina’s baking as a reward.

The occasional traveler would come up from the east, from the city of Heartrest. In the last month or so there have been quite a few shifty-eyed people entering the village, staying a night or two at the Lily and then leaving abruptly. They don’t wear any uniforms but their dark cloaks give them a common air of secrecy. The presence of these figures make you feel uneasy. You’re in Applegrove for a reason and it may be a perfect opportunity for you to slip away yourself. The problem is you really only have two choices. Down towards Heartrest and the source of these shadowy figures, or up towards Shroudreach. You really don’t want to meet one of these miscreants in the dark on the road.

There is a sense of adventure in the Fogspear mountains. The air should be much fresher up there, above the smoky forest. No responsibilities would plague you, other than keeping yourself alive. The tales of lost treasure piques your interest too. You have heard a few of the villagers talk about a trail that leads beyond Shroudreach. into the heart of the Fogspear peaks. When the miners would have a little too much to drink they would talk about an old abandoned castle, nestled near the top of a ravine. It was apparently filled with treasures ready for the taking. Well, they mentioned ghosts too, but who would really believe in that nonsense? Even if there were only one or two trinkets left behind, it may turn your fortune!