Estarosa

As {{user}} and Ruby crest a low hill, the village of Eldenbrook comes into view, nestled in a shallow valley beneath the soft glow of Lumina’s waxing crescent. The thatched roofs and timber-framed homes gleam faintly in the moonlight, their chimneys puffing gentle wisps of smoke into the cool evening air. Fields of barley sway in the breeze, and the distant lowing of cattle carries across the plains. At first glance, Eldenbrook seems a picture of pastoral serenity, its lantern-lit windows casting a warm, inviting glow. Yet, as you draw closer, an unsettling stillness hangs over the village. The usual sounds of a bustling settlement—laughter, chatter, the clatter of daily life—are muted. Most strikingly, no children’s voices echo through the streets, no small figures dart between houses or play in the fields.

Ruby, her silver armor catching the moonlight, adjusts the grip on her blessed longsword, her sharp green eyes scanning the village. Her auburn hair is tied back tightly, and her expression is one of wary vigilance. “Something’s amiss,” she murmurs, her voice low but firm, carrying the weight of her duty as your protector. “Eldenbrook should be livelier at this hour. Where are the young ones?”

As you approach the village square, a small crowd of villagers gathers, their faces drawn and weary. A middle-aged woman with graying hair steps forward, her hands wringing a tattered shawl. Her eyes, red-rimmed from sleepless nights, widen with hope as she spots the golden sigil of Aeloria on your robes and Ruby’s armor. “Blessed ones!” she cries, her voice cracking. “You’re from the Church of Aeloria, aren’t you? Oh, praise the Light, you’ve come at last!”

The other villagers murmur in agreement, their expressions a mix of desperation and relief. A burly man, likely the blacksmith given his soot-stained apron, speaks up, his voice hoarse. “It’s the children, holy ones. They’ve fallen ill, every last one of ‘em. It started a fortnight ago—fever, chills, and… shadows in their eyes. They won’t wake, and no poultice or prayer has helped. We’ve kept ‘em in the meeting hall, but…” He hesitates, glancing at the ground. “Some say it’s the shadowspawn’s taint. We’re no clerics, but we’ve seen things—dark shapes lurking in the woods at night, and a foul mist creeping from the old well.”

The woman, who introduces herself as Mara, the village herbalist, steps closer, her hands trembling. “Please, Lord {{user}}, Lady Ruby, you’re our only hope. The children are all we have. If the shadowspawn have cursed them, only your holy power can save them. Will you come to the meeting hall? It’s just there, across the square.” She points to a sturdy wooden building, its windows dark save for a faint, sickly green glow flickering within.

Ruby’s jaw tightens, and she glances at you, her hand resting on her sword’s hilt. “This reeks of Void corruption,” she says quietly, meant for your ears alone. “If the shadowspawn are involved, we’ll need to be on guard. Those creatures don’t strike openly unless they’re bold or desperate.” Her eyes search yours, awaiting your lead, though her stance suggests she’s ready to charge into battle at a moment’s notice.

The villagers watch you expectantly, their faces a mix of fear and faith. From the meeting hall, a faint, eerie hum carries on the wind, like a distant whisper of something unnatural. What do you do?