The nurse put a hand on his shoulder, speaking softly, “Calm down, sir, you’re inside a hospital. You’re safe.”
The man’s eyes darted back and forth, his whole body shaking in terror, “Nooo,” He whispered, “I’ll never be safe, I saw him, I saw him jerking and writhing around, then he looked straight at me and fell over.”
For as long as there have been possessions, thieves have tried to steal them, and others have tried to protect them. With the discovery of magic, however, the protection of wealth took a sharp turn for the deadly. Not to be outdone, thieves learned the magic arts, and so the cycle began anewÃ¢?Â¦ (History and its Patterns, Magnus Blackjack)
The village sits on the edge of the deep fjord, often engulfed in mist or rain. Its people are fishermen, who work even through the sea-ravaging winter. And they pray to the gods of the deep.
At the beginning of every winter they hold a summoning ceremony. Three boats are taken out into the fjord, a hornsman on each. The mournful horns are blown in the language of the whales, the gods of the deep. The whales sometimes appear in answer to these calls, and it is taken as a good omen when they do.
To a party of PCs wandering the misty hills and valleys nearby however, the doleful whalesong of the horns can be disturbing and misinterpreted...