The first sign that something was wrong was the smoke trailing up into the sky. When you’re heading to a town, and that town is on fire, that usually means there’s trouble. Either that, or everyone in town was making their own bonfires.

I looked over to “Captain, set her down outside the city. You and the crew protect the ship, until we know what we’re dealing with. I expect whatever we’re dealing with will notice the Wraith coming to land, so you and the lads will get to play a bit. Meanwhile, the rest of us will sneak in, and try to figure out the cause of this before the Princess and the General arrive.”

Andor’s Hall was a four-day ride from Ah Alora, when you took into account the geography and how the roads ran, but the Black Wraith could cover that ground in hours, thanks to her enchanted sails, and being able to pass over the treetops. The General commissioned us to fly to the city, and find out whether the reports of a plague were real, and, if so, to see what could be done. He was wary of a trap, and still not wholly convinced that he should be taking part in what would be a coup, which limited what actions he was willing to take. However, sending ‘adventurers’ to check on reports of a plague was well within his authority, and, if it was more than what a detachment of healers could handle, then he would have cause to move the army, responding to a crisis that threatened the health of the capitol, and the kingdom at large.

The Princess was staying in Ah Alora with the General, getting troops ready to move, if they were needed. Even if they were not needed at Andor’s Hall, if the troops were ready to move, then they could respond more quickly to the call to march on the capitol, if it came. Granted, that was unlikely to happen unless we found some true evidence of something being wrong at Andorhal, and simply making up an excuse would be tricky, since the General sent along the member of the Coronal Guard to keep an eye on us as an ‘observer’.

The trip over, with her trying her best to not go into a frenzy and start smiting sinners and the like, was less than pleasant, but at least she had the good sense to show some restraint. I would have hated to come up with a reason why I killed the annoying zealot. The fact that the General took the death of his guards in, well, not exactly in stride, but at least not getting righteous and trying to smite us on the spot, was an encouraging sign that some of these elves would be the reasonable sorts. Not like some ‘paragons’ of ‘righteousness’ I had the misfortune of knowing.

That brought another memory to my mind, unbidden. Of a day not too long ago, and the other memories intertwined with it. A drunken celebration after a victory, and rolling in a bed of firs. My ‘first time’ in this world, with a trusted friend. And then, the next day, when that friend died, along with everyone else in the path of the inquisitor’s wrath, but not before he struck a wound mortal enough that I could bring down the inquisitor and his retinue. Unfortunately, the blade he wielded was cursed in some way, preventing any kind of resurrection spell from being cast.

Shaking my head, I turned back to the view of Andor’s Hall, rapidly approaching. There was no time to think about the past, especially a past that could not be changed. The one responsible for my white-furred friend’s death was banished from this realm for one hundred years and a day, since he could only be slain upon his home plane, but the feathers from his half-breed children’s wings now adorned my cloak, and I had no doubt that, one day, I would meet him again, and have my revenge.

The city was coming into better focus, now that we were closer. The fields were in shambles, and one of them clearly on fire. Flames encroached upon the city, with several houses and other buildings smoking in the midday sun. But the city had not wholly gone up in smoke. Indeed, there were still plenty of people, gathering in the streets. Perhaps they were working to save the buildings not yet alight?

Either way, I stretched my wings as we landed at the edge of the city, on one of the farms that was not yet burning. With the skill one would expect of a Captain who had been sailing for as long as he had, Dawson set us down all but kissing the side of a farmhouse, close enough that we could have used a gangplank to get into the second story window. When he actually ordered the gangplank run out, I had to laugh at what was clearly bragging on his part.

It was a bit of useless showmanship, sure. But things like that were key to keeping a crew’s morale high. A sense of pride and accomplishment, when you actually worked for the results, was never out of place. And the only damage done was to a bit of fencing, that could be easily replaced.

Well, the only damage done by the ship, that was. Now that I could see the farmhouse close up, it looked as though it had already been looted. The windows were broken, the front door lay on the ground instead of resting on its hinges, and there was no one coming to talk to us about our sudden intrusion on their land. That wasn’t a good sign.

Gathering the others, I said, “Ebonheart, circle ‘round and see if there’s anyone in the immediate area. We’ll meet you on the ground, once we search through the house.” I looked at the Coronal Guard. “Well, Miss Guard, let’s be off. We’ll be starting our investigation with this farmhouse, it seems, and then see about making our way into the city itself.”

The Coronal Guard bristled. “I have a name, you know!”

“Yes, and until you deign to give it to a ‘heathen’ like me, I’ll just keep calling you Miss Guard.”

Growling, she said, “It is Zinlana! Sacred Guardian of the Wood, Second Class, Zestari Zinlana! Remember it!”

“By the Frostmaiden, do all you elves have to be so pretentious with your names for things?” I snickered silently to myself as I stepped across the gangplank, and slipped through the window, into the farmhouse, leaving the sputtering sacred guardian in my wake.

The farmhouse revealed nothing on the top floor. Just a couple bedrooms, with smashed doors and furniture, but there were valuables in plain sight that hadn’t been touched, and there were splashes of blood. Too much for an accident with a shaving razor, but not enough for a body. Something very wrong was happening here.

“I don’t like this, Mel. Everything about this is wrong.”

We were in the main room of the bottom floor, and a meal was still setting upon the table. There was more blood, here, enough to easily say that someone had died, but there was no sign of a body. Worse, some of the bloodstains were discolored, almost black. Which was never a good sign.

Zinlana shuddered as she looked about the room, eyes glowing golden with the light of a divination spell. “The food! I can see the stench of evil rising up from it!”

On a hunch, I activated my own ability to detect magic, and cursed. “The food is magical, as well.” Without pausing to wait for the others, I stepped out to look at the field outside. After all, a farmer would get their daily meals from their own fields, right?

Melinda’s Spellcraft Check: 1d20+21 = 33 (Success)

What I saw was disheartening. “The entire field is magical! No spell on it, I think, but there are definite signs of Necromantic magic, like some kind of cursed effect.”

Zinlana’s voice caught in her throat as she joined me at my side, her eyes still glowing. “And the evil is here, as well. I would never have thought to look for signs of evil amongst the harvest, if the scene in the house didn’t draw attention to the food still on the table.”

Vestele’s voice was like steel when she spoke, at my other side. “I smell the works of Graz’zt, the Demon Prince of lies and betrayal.” I knew her well enough to know why she was like that. The conflict between Graz’zt and Malcanthet was legendary, after all, and the two churches wasted no opportunity to meddle in the other’s schemes.

Zinlana, however, was less familiar with the intricacies of demonic politics, since she asked. “What does that mean, then?”

Patiently, Vestele said, “It means that the grain was probably altered by someone the farmers trusted or respected, or one who had the responsibility to protect them. Someone like the Queen. But, it also means that, whatever this grain does, the effect will be more akin to corruption of the body and possibly soul, rather than if it were, say, the church of Orcus, Lord of Undeath, behind this.”

Siora shook her head. “Either way, if the other fields are like this one, then that means the entire city could have been consuming this grain.”

“Not just the city,” Zinlana said grimly. “Andor’s Hall supplies the grain for the capitol. If this evil has spread there…”

I shook my head. “Let’s head into town. We need to see how far this has spread, but tainted grain could certainly account for the ‘plague’ rumored to be spreading through the city.”

At that moment, Ebonheart trotted down next to us. “Like you expected, the ship’s been spotted. A mob of them are coming this way. But there’s something off about them. They don’t look like normal elves.”

“Right. The Captain and crew will take care of handling the angry mob. We can fly around, and hopefully get to the town center. If there are any answers to be had, it will likely be in the town hall, with all the records. At the very least, we’ll be able to see how bad the devastation is.”

Zinlana looked over. “I sent a sending to the General on the sending stones he provided, with what we’ve found so far. A detachment of healers and mages is riding with the cavalry to aid us in the recovery.”

We set off, flying just above the treetops, but giving the mob a wide berth. I doubted we needed to worry, given our abilities, but there was no need to be foolish or tempt fate. After all—

CRASH!

Melinda’s falling damage: 2d6 = 4 (Bludgeoning) (DR 15/Magic)

Ebonheart’s falling damage: 2d6 = 11 (Bludgeoning) (DR 4/--)

Siora’s falling damage: 2d6 = 7 (Bludgeoning)

Vestele’s falling damage: 2d6 = 9 (Bludgeoning) (DR 10/Magic)

Fartooth’s falling damage: 2d6 = 10 (Bludgeoning)

Zinlana’s falling damage: 2d6 = 11 (Bludgeoning) (DR 10/Cold Iron)

I groaned, pulling myself up off the ground. We hadn’t been flying too high, thankfully, but I could see the others had wounds to some extent. As I shook my head, I tried to figure out what had happened. All six of us had just gotten thrown to the ground, and there didn’t seem to be any reason for it.

Looking to the others, I asked, “Ugh. Did anyone see what happened?”

Zinlana pulled herself to her feet, drawing her blade as she did so. “I was still looking through the eyes of my spell when we fell. There was an aura of evil power coming from where the mob was. I think that power is what threw us from the sky.”

My initial thoughts on that revelation were cut off as I heard the shrieking and moaning of the mob moving through the trees. When I got my first sight of the shambling mob, I understood why Ebonheart said that the elves looked strange. No two looked the same. Each was deformed in some way. Maybe a bony growth or horn. Maybe oozing sores or puss-filled boils. But each one looked decidedly ‘off’.

And they were heading our way.

“Oh, that’s just wonderful. Move! I don’t want to know what abilities they have in addition to being ugly!”