Suffering from an ancient curse, the Medusan race is slowly dying.
They consumed Great G’bod. They partook of the Giant Slug’s flesh.
A social group of women who meet for purposes of ‘knitting’ and sharing gossip.
The Sisters may be found anywhere from street corners, where they offer to tell ones future for a few pennies, to those who appear to be working for the service of a lord. It is said that they go where they will, when they will they work for who they choose, not for who chooses them.
Come ye who HUNGER!
It seemed like a great place to camp. The clearing was good sized and sheltered from the wind. The brook just a few feet away. There is a natural hallow to keep the horses.
Then the night came.
It was like it became a different place. The temperature dropped. The wind, which does not seem to disturb cloth, almost cuts through you like an arctic wind. No one can sleep, as the soft ground has turned hard. The horses are uneasy. The Bats are flying over and stopping in the trees.
And then there is the eyes. There are glowing eyes just inside the tree line watching your group. The mages and clerics can detect nothing, but there is still something there.
(yet there is nothing at all... The Darkness will do nothing unless the players do something to it. And even then it will all seem to be a conincidence.)
Of course, in the morning, it all becomes sweet and light.