Crossing the shattered remains of Nightstone’s drawbridge, the company stared in disbelief at the ruin before them. The inner bailey of Castle Nandar lay broken, stone torn from stone as if by a god’s careless hand. In the great hall they found four surviving guards, pale and shaken, who told of the disaster.
A castle of clouds had appeared in the sky.
From it, enormous boulders had fallen like the fists of giants, crushing homes, walls, and lives alike. Then the cloud giants themselves descended, seizing the town’s namesake—the great obelisk known as the Night Stone. With unnatural ease they lifted it skyward, vanishing into the clouds and leaving devastation in their wake.
As if that were not enough, goblins from the northeastern hills swept in after the giants departed. They raided what little remained, slaughtered those who resisted, and dragged the survivors away in chains—the very goblins the party had already battled on their way to the keep.
When the heroes asked who now ruled Nightstone, the answer lay beneath broken stone: Lady Velrosa Nandar, crushed and lifeless. With her death, the town was leaderless—and vulnerable. The guards then warned of another threat: a band of hard‑eyed riders who had just entered the ruins.
They were the Seven Snakes, rogues and cutthroats led by the calculating Xolkin Alassandar. Sent by a thieves’ guild to claim Nightstone through guile and quiet takeover, they instead found only ruins. Matters grew stranger when the truth emerged—Kella Darkhope, the young monk rescued earlier at the inn, revealed herself as one of the Seven Snakes, sent ahead to prepare the town for Xolkin’s arrival.
Confusion reigned as explanations were exchanged. Seeking shelter and answers, both bandits and heroes gathered in the wrecked remains of the inn, scavenging what ale they could while debating their next move. Their plans were cut short when a lookout burst in with dire news:
Orcs were coming.
All sides fled for the relative safety of the keep as the orc warband poured into Nightstone. Yet the orcs did not assault the walls. Instead, the night passed tensely, broken only when battle erupted in the streets below. From the keep, the party saw that the orcs were under attack by an unseen force.
Seizing the moment, the adventurers joined forces with the Seven Snakes and slipped into the chaos. Steel rang and spells flared as they confronted the Orc Warchief, his shaman, and their warriors. The battle was long and brutal, but hope arrived with two wood‑elf hunters who emerged from the shadows, arrows flying true.
At last, the orcs were slain.
With nothing left to claim and no town left to steal, the Seven Snakes chose to depart without further bloodshed. Kella, now honest at last, revealed what she knew: the surviving villagers of Nightstone lived still, taken by goblins and held somewhere in the hills.
With Nightstone fallen and its people scattered or enslaved, the heroes made their choice.
They would go after the captives.
And so their journey continued—not from glory, but from ruin.
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