The village of Faren’s Rest lay tucked between ancient pines, their towering silhouettes swallowing most of the afternoon light. What sunlight did manage to slip through the canopy arrived in thin, hesitant shafts—pale gold that never quite reached the ground before dissolving into the ever-present gloom. Even at midday, the air felt dim, as though the sky itself were holding its breath.
Crooked cottages of timber and moss‑covered stone lined the narrow dirt paths. Their thatched roofs sagged under years of neglect, and their shuttered windows watched the world like wary eyes. A faint chill clung to the streets, not sharp enough to be called cold, but unsettling in a way that made travelers pull their cloaks tighter without realizing why.
Villagers moved with purpose, their steps brisk, their gazes lowered. A baker swept his stoop in hurried strokes, glancing toward the treeline every few moments. A pair of children carried water buckets from the well, whispering to each other before darting back indoors. No one lingered. No one dared.
Doors closed quickly. Bolts slid into place. Curtains twitched.
Though nothing stirred in the shadows between the trees, the darkness felt aware—as if it pressed in from all sides, patient and hungry, waiting for the sun’s last rays to fade.
At the village’s center stood The Outrageous Pig Inn & Tavern, a squat timber‑framed structure with a sagging roof and a stone chimney that exhaled thin curls of smoke into the dim air. Unlike the rest of Faren’s Rest homes, its windows were not barred or dark. Instead, a soft amber glow spilled through the warped glass panes, casting warm rectangles of light onto the muddy road.
The glow didn’t banish the surrounding gloom, but it pushed back against it—just enough to make the shadows hesitate.
Inside, faint sounds drifted out whenever the door creaked open: the clatter of mugs, the low murmur of voices, the comforting crackle of a hearth fire. Travelers approaching from the forest often paused at the sight, surprised to find even a hint of welcome in a place so steeped in unease.
Villagers passed by quickly, but their eyes lingered on the inn’s windows. For many, that warm light was the only reminder that comfort still existed, however fragile. It was a promise—quiet, flickering, and stubborn—that not all corners of Faren’s Rest had surrendered to the darkness pressing in from the trees.
After delivering the town of Hollybrook from the ravenous curse of the Bone Eater, the fellowship of Deacon, Andarna Terresan, Sim, Zarcha, and Dr. Sebastian Ekart pressed onward through the shadowed wilds of Etharis. Though triumphant, each knew their victory was but one flare of light against the vast, encroaching darkness that plagued the realm.
Several days’ travel brought them to the humble crossroads settlement of Faren’s Rest, where an unusual sight greeted them: a crude wooden tollgate stretched across the road, guarded by dour men demanding coin for passage. Curious but unchallenged, the adventurers paid the levy and made their way to the town’s lone refuge of warmth—the Outrageous Pig Inn, ruled by the hearty and ever‑weary Betha Mathildas.
Within, mugs of rustic ale and the scent of spiced pork revived their spirits. Yet one member of the party, Deacon, ever restless, slipped away to investigate the nearby outhouse. What began as an odd whim swiftly turned to danger, for beneath the rotting planks he discovered a mysterious flask of glowing liquid—and with its removal, stirred a swarm of vile, chittering cockroaches, awakened by the disturbance. When he did not return, Sim, Zarcha, and Andarna sought him out, finding him beset by the unnatural swarm. With swift blades and quicker thinking, they dispatched the vermin and pulled their companion from the brink.
At dawn, after a night of study and tinkering, Dr. Ekart—assisted by the eccentric inn‑dweller Darc Gobblebeard—identified the strange flask as Alchemist’s Fire, a potent and volatile creation. Meanwhile, over hot breakfast, Betha confided her troubles: Mayor Rolan Joss had recently imposed the toll, draining the lifeblood from the town and driving travelers away. She begged the adventurers to deliver his morning meal and plead the case of her people. Graciously, they agreed.
At the mayor’s home, Sim, Zarcha, and Dr. Ekart met Rolan himself—a pale, weakened man whose eyes held a haunted emptiness. Trailing behind him was his niece, Rose, skipping with unsettling gaiety. When her gaze fell upon Dr. Ekart, a shiver of unease pierced him; there was something wrong behind her porcelain smile.
Regrouping outside, the party resolved to investigate further. From a side window, Sim and Zarcha watched Rose dance in circles while Rolan scribbled feverishly at parchment. At the same time, Deacon scaled the manor’s upper wall, slipping into the master chambers, though he uncovered little beyond dust and neglect. Dr. Ekart, adopting the guise of a traveling physician, approached the guards at the front, insisting the mayor suffered from a grave affliction requiring immediate treatment.
Meanwhile, Sim and Zarcha crept through the kitchen—but fate betrayed them. A sudden gust slammed the back door shut, the crack echoing through the house. Rose froze. Then she changed.
Her porcelain visage twisted, splitting into jagged lines as four additional limbs erupted from her torso, her cheerful skipping replaced by a shriek of rage. She lunged, and the house erupted into chaos. Rolan, along with one of his guards, rose as shambling zombies, puppets of Rose’s malignant influence.
Steel clashed and spells flared as the party battled within the tight, burning confines of the home. Amid the confusion, a stray shot from Sim struck Deacon, dropping him as flames began to crawl up the walls. Even so, the companions rallied, felling Rose and her undead servants before dragging the wounded rogue from the burning ruin.
Outside, the townsfolk gathered in shock as the heroes recounted the horrors within. But before celebration could kindle, the thunder of hooves shattered the moment. A platoon of the Church’s dreaded Red Coats rode into Faren’s Rest, flanking the grim figure known only as the Mace and Shield, enforcers of the Church’s unforgiving doctrine.
Sensing peril, Gobblebeard rushed to the party’s side, ushering them urgently toward the Inn. Betha, frightened yet loyal, offered them shelter for the night—but warned that come dawn, they must flee, lest the Church’s shadow claim them as well. Cockroaches
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