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Come in, come in. Such a storm today.
Let me get some more logs on the fire, get you warmed up and dried.
No heroic knights in today’s tale I’m afraid. Today, true horror is born, a horror which may or may not be still with us now, somewhere deep within the Ryngwoode…
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They say beware of Greeks bearing gifts, but sometimes it’s those receiving the gifts we need to be wary of.
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Winter had been brutal. The scars from the ice and snow ran deep, even as spring approached.
The harvest had been lacking for two summers now. The animals had sired no young, the trees had borne no fruit. Regular raids from outlaws had left the stores almost empty. As mother winter shook off her blanket another raid was inevitable.
Each year, at the start of the sowing season, an effigy was fashioned from the last of the previous harvest, to be buried in the fields and ploughed back into the land. Its spirit returning to whence it came and bringing forth a strong crop for the year to come.
Rain would soak the land. The sun would shine bright. And without fail, every year, the crops would be bountiful. Nearby trees would bloom with fruit, ripe for the picking. The animals would fatten, give birth, and provide the village with all the meat and milk it required. The river would teem with fish, swimming as if their only purpose in life was to be caught in the fishermen’s nets.
But now the old gods had failed them. Maybe it was time to try the new god, the supposed one true God. Maybe he would heed their call.
If the village had ever had a name it’s been long lost to time. Hidden in a valley, and far from the nearest town, the villagers could maintain the old ways without judgement. But this also meant no patrols to protect them from passing outlaws. How the criminals had found them was simply bad luck. A trait that now appeared to beat through the village’s very heart.
The elders had decided to send forth a party to the nearest town, a few days walk away. There they would donate what little they had to the church and request the priest journey back with them to bless their land. Maybe the hands of this god which the rest of the country worshipped could dig deep and make their lands fertile again.
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Blood For The Furrows Soundtrack