New Fantasy writing/modelling comp

We are told to head to Wolfwater. We do not question it at the time. While our information is limited, we are told that a successful trader may be in danger. Truthfully, I’m skeptical at first. She has been quiet for a short while and that is what raised alarm. I have disappeared into the wilderness for many moons in the past. Clearly, I am holding up just fine, and I am reluctant to even continue with the group, but I do not object. We travel to Wolfwater.

The trip is easy. But, we are met with hostility. There is a man, a half-orc, a creature, who greets us. He is rough around the edges, yes, but he is not directly hostile. Perhaps, I think to myself, I should let my guard down for just a moment. Perhaps, I shouldn’t be so jaded. Some of the more social members of our group begin to speak with him. He introduces himself, but his name is lost on me. He directs us to a cottage. The trader used to live here, he says. She took her family and left Wolfwater, he says. We are welcome to stay the night, he says. He is acting as an artist, painting us pictures of hospitality and kindness. The villagers show us a very different portrait.

As we approached the cottage where the family once lived, our sorcerer stops to tell us of the mystical energy that she is picking up. It is all around the town, she says, but it is manifesting as we approach this cottage. I’m not really sure if she’s right. But, what do I know about mystical energies? Still, we continue. The cleric chimes in, timidly stating that he feels our humble host is deceiving us in some way. Still, we continue. Then, we arrive upon the home, and something is clearly amiss. Nothing is broken, nothing is shattered, nothing is ruined. But, the home has clearly been rummaged. Still, we continue.

The others in the party decide to search the home in its entirety. I join in their search for a bit, but eventually it feels like a child’s game. I feel like I am doing nothing but wasting my time when there aren’t many obvious signs other than the mess. Perhaps the family who was here before us is comprised of slobs. It is starting to grow late, and the group is growing rowdy. The barbarian in the group is resigned to yelling and cursing and throwing a fit as he sulks around the home. I cannot stand this. I cannot handle this.

I announce to the group that I am going outside. I need to clear my head, I say. It is growing dark out and the front porch is illuminated only by the light shining through the windows of the home. I sit down on the front steps and let out a sigh, relieved to be free of the commotion indoors. I try to zone out, but my mind focuses in on something peculiar. I rub my hand against the stone, and, sure enough, the mark does not smear. The mark is faint, but it is noticeable to the trained eye. It is crimson red and stark against the stone of the stairs, seemingly glimmering as the moonlight shines upon it. There is no denying this sign. It is blood.

I get up to examine the area surrounding this mark. Sure enough, in the dirt, there is a small rut that is nearly parallel. I begin to think about what this could mean. There is no mistakenly that I have found evidence of bloodshed. I play with the dirt a bit, getting a feel for how malleable it is and how easily it can be moved. I find that a person falling forward, likely in a hurry, could produce a similar rut to the one I found. My stomach drops at this realization. I am queasy beyond belief, feeling my stomach rise to my throat, but I pause to catch my breath and continue around the perimeter of the home. Are there any more marks like this? Are there any more signs of trauma, signs of struggle, signs of wrongdoing?

I find more ruts in the group. They are tracks. They clearly belong to a wagon, almost as through the wagon at the residence could make them itself. But, the tracks are clearly facing away from the cottage. The carriage that created these tracks has, quite obviously, fled the scene. It isn’t possible that the family left in their own wagon, I reason. It is unlikely they own two similar wagons and just left one behind. And the struggle at the stairs, what does this lead to? I can only conclude that someone must have fallen in an attempt to escape their kidnappers. That is likely the worst case scenario. Yes, that is likely the extreme of what happened. Still, I must share my findings with the others.

I make my way back into the cottage, and the group seems to be deliberating amongst themselves. They have found evidence within the home that points to a similar conclusion. I wait for the other group members to quiet before I raise my voice. I tell the group that they must follow me outside. I tell them that they must come see the horror of the situation. And, in that moment, I am not sure what is more horrifying: the prospect of bloodshed on the family’s front porch, or the fact that all of our findings lead to the same conclusions.

https://i.imgur.com/YyB0oR0.jpg

As the group reached the outskirts of Wolfwater village I hesitated, turning my head from side to side. "Do you hear that?" I said.

All the others, except for Seth, looked at each other and shrugged.

"What is it, Safiya?" he asked. Being a fellow magic user, Seth never questioned my reaction to unusual manifestations.

"Tis’ a faint but persistent hum. There be magic here and about."

"I must be deaf, I do not hear anything." Teagan said.

"That is because you do not possess magic, you big oaf," Seth replied raising one eyebrow.

The rest of the party began to move toward the village of Wolfwater.

"You proceed, I intend to examine this further to see where it may lead."

“In that case,” Markus interjected, “I am coming with you. We would not want to lose our magic user down a veiled chasm or some such trap.”

“That is most kind, Master Rogue, but I shall not venture far from this persistent thrum around Wolfwater, but thy company is welcome.” We ventured closer to the grove just yonder of Wolfwater. The vibration became weaker the further into the thicket we tramped. “I believe the source of this energy leads underground,” I said. “Tis’ weakening.”

“Then likely there be a cave of sorts,” Markus replied.

“Indeed, we must return and our companions.” As we headed back toward the village, Markus faded into the shadows to scout ahead, only to leap out in front of me and put his finger to my lips.

“We are being watched, make haste to the village.”

We quickened our pace and arrived to see the group standing around talking to a half-orc that although simple in appearance, stood proud and carried himself with conviction. His grey-streaked hair told me, he had experience and age on his side. The only weapon of sorts he harboured, was an axe for woodcutting. I chose to step forward and speak.

“Good day, Master Orc. My companions and I need supplies. We are just passing through and good mistress Murbil came highly praised for her worthy wares.”

“So your companions expressed. Of late, those folks left to find greener pastures for trade. What brings you and yours here? We have no inn or tavern and in truth no time for strangers. I suggest you move on.”

“Did ya find the m—” Teagan began to blurt out.

“—there be no mushrooms out there, sorry, Master Teagan,” I interjected.

Teagan frowned until Darius made eye contact with him and subtly moved his eyes toward the orc keeping his head still. With a slight nod Teagan shouted, “Well, I am starving! I want food!”

“Your big friend here looks agitated,” Gnaabak said stepping back.

“Aye, he does become quite troubled when he needs to eat,” Seth said with mock seriousness. “We tend to keep our distance when he be ravenous.” We all tried to muffle our smiles by clearing our throat or coughing. “We shall not be travelling this night as we have already travelled a goodly way and if our big friend does not eat soon, I, for one, do not want to be too close to him at that time.”

Gnaabak hastily pointed to a cottage on the outskirts of the village. “You and yours can slumber there for the night, it belonged to Murbil Kilmir before she abandoned the folks here. Take what you find, but be gone at first light. I hope not to speak with you again.” He turned and stormed off without looking back.

“The orc expressed displeasure at our presence, my friends,” I laughed. “But many thanks to our big friend here, we have a dwelling to slumber in this night at least.”

As we walked toward the cottage, I noticed many of the cottages appeared abandoned or boarded up. Many of them revealed darkness with no candle glow anywhere. Villagers all around us were closing their windows and battening them down as well. Something be very wrong here. First the ambient energy and now this.

We arrived at the cottage just as the blood-red dawn began to creep over the village, tinting everything it touched. I looked out at the twilight as the sun bowed its head to the horizon. This place is quaintly pleasing if there be not such a feeling of dread in my belly. As we entered, it became obvious that there had been some form of struggle. I began looking around.

As Teagan pushed through the door, splinters of wood echoed around the almost empty hut. Being a gnome’s abode, tis' hard to house such a bulky stature. He thumped about looking for food knocking things down as he rummaged for food. As luck would have it, he found a stale crusted loaf and some cheese. Sitting down at the oak table he made himself comfortable.

Markus turned over and searched through anything that could be moved and after finding a few coins and gems, he started on the dust-covered floor boards. He picked up a book and threw it aside. Seth caught it before it fell to the floor and sat down to study it. As he did, Markus heard something scrape under Seth’s foot. Markus dove onto it and picked it up.

“Show me that, Markus,” Seth said reaching for the leather strap.

Markus recoiled his hand. “I want it back, Master Mage, it be worth gold.”

“God’s teeth! Little Master, I just want to see it, looks important, I shall return it anon.” Seth studied it and found an etching of the same shaped object in the book he had caught earlier. “Seems we have stumbled upon a fanatical cult, my friends, this is called the Providence Eye and it is enmeshed in dark and ancient magic.

At that moment Katia burst through the door. “I have found signs that these folks did not leave willingly. There be lifeblood smeared outside and footsteps that halt abruptly leading to wagon tracks. We have a snatching, as Master Beargrim supposed.”

“Aye, and there be something in those yonder woods,” Markus said. “When Mistress Safiya, followed the magic, I saw things. I cannot say what, but on the morrow I shall investigate further.”

“My creature friends agree, and they saw an opening at the base of a mountain, likely it be a cavern or cave,” Darius added.

“We cannot leave these folks in such peril! We must aid them and find the source of the magic I sensed when I entered this place. Rest well, my friends for methinks we have to help, if we be not too late already.”