"Fear not this new night, my brothers, the terrors of an everlasting darkness are as nothing when compared to the darkness in Man's heart. For, who among you knows what Man might do when Hunger sleeps in his bed and Famine is his child's only playmate?" --Prelude
Pie Jesu Domine *thwack*, dona eis requiem *thwack*...
Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get.
You have been born into a rebellious world. The whole of history is treason; your blood was spilt before you were even born; the various creeds are but an infidelity to the Truth; and Man’s laws are but treason to his Maker. -Passage from the Samahhi
It is the Year of Furtive Shadows, and everyone can smell the changes in the wind. Everyone, from the lowest scully boy up to the regents, knew, deep down, that something must happen soon.
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...