5 hours ago
The west of Meranthe, the border with the silent expanse, has seen lower traffic in recent years. With the loss of the institute and the shrinking of Serenity the flow of goods has trickled down into a drought. What once was a flowing river of commerce has slowly but surely stopped.
Yet despite this, some things were still far too valuable to cease entirely. Shipments of rare metals, psychoactive herbs, evocative spices and, perhaps most important of all, people, still made the journey. But even they could no longer weigh the profits against the sheer losses.
It started small enough, what were assumed to be beasts predating upon camping caravans. Pack animals stolen in the night, leaving an echoing sound and a trail of blood. The animals were found some days later, completely drained of both their blood and, notably, their mana, leaving the flesh intact. Yet not even the vultures were interested in the resulting carcass.
These were losses, but they were acceptable, sometimes even expected. It was when the guards slowly began to suffer the same fate that an official investigation was launched. The great Sultans of the Grand Bazaar banded together in a rare showing of mutual investment and hired the greatest beast hunters that their coffers could afford.
None returned alive. And those that were found, were found with the self same injuries. Blood and essence drained to nothingness. Not even the incorporeal life was spared, the very spirit being shattered and devoured.
Eventually, patterns began to arise, ones that allowed some continued if extremely limited trade. The attacks only ever occurred at night and there was only ever one victim at a time. Either the culprit was unable to take on more than one foe at a time, or wished to remain as hidden as possible.
The situation has been kept quiet for as long as possible, aiming to keep trade routes running in ignorance, but the trail of death has steadily made its way east and has finally crossed over the border to Meranthe.
Something lurks in the dark and has its eyes upon your throat.
Yet despite this, some things were still far too valuable to cease entirely. Shipments of rare metals, psychoactive herbs, evocative spices and, perhaps most important of all, people, still made the journey. But even they could no longer weigh the profits against the sheer losses.
It started small enough, what were assumed to be beasts predating upon camping caravans. Pack animals stolen in the night, leaving an echoing sound and a trail of blood. The animals were found some days later, completely drained of both their blood and, notably, their mana, leaving the flesh intact. Yet not even the vultures were interested in the resulting carcass.
These were losses, but they were acceptable, sometimes even expected. It was when the guards slowly began to suffer the same fate that an official investigation was launched. The great Sultans of the Grand Bazaar banded together in a rare showing of mutual investment and hired the greatest beast hunters that their coffers could afford.
None returned alive. And those that were found, were found with the self same injuries. Blood and essence drained to nothingness. Not even the incorporeal life was spared, the very spirit being shattered and devoured.
Eventually, patterns began to arise, ones that allowed some continued if extremely limited trade. The attacks only ever occurred at night and there was only ever one victim at a time. Either the culprit was unable to take on more than one foe at a time, or wished to remain as hidden as possible.
The situation has been kept quiet for as long as possible, aiming to keep trade routes running in ignorance, but the trail of death has steadily made its way east and has finally crossed over the border to Meranthe.
Something lurks in the dark and has its eyes upon your throat.
Rob
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