Slipping through the crowded Inn like a shadow in the night, Raziel made his way to the bar. Keeping his hood up he gestured to the barman for an ale, flicking a silver coin in his direction. The ale was cool and refreshing, and Hal, the barman seemed in good spirits despite the refugees crowding his bar. The silver coin helped loosen his tongue as Raziel pressed him for information, learning that the people had come from the nearby village of Fairmeadows, driven here by a strange fog that had settled over their village.
Strolling through the crowds with little effort, Castiel looked for the leader of the group. His celestial bloodline clearly easing the worry of those around him. He moved to a group of men hunched around a table and began talking to them, signalling the serving girl to bring them a round of drinks. The leader of the group, a large, muscular man by the name of John, turned out to be the village blacksmith. He explained that villagers children had started going missing over night. They would return two days later, different to how they used to be, their mannerisms, attitude and memories, not being the same as before.
Joining his cousin at the bar, Castiel and Raziel shared their information, deciding to help the villagers in their plight at first light. Hearing raised voices, the pair looked over to the Smiths table to see the village elder in talks with the group. The dynamic duo decided to approach the elder and offer their aid.
Grateful for any help he could get, the elder offered our brave adventurers a pair of horses to help them get to the village quicker. They would stay at the Inn and wait for the patrol of guards from the capital city of Neverwinter that frequented the area in case the pair weren’t successful.
Once all were in agreement, Castiel and Raziel decided to turn in for the night, stopping to prey to The Raven Queen for guidance and protection. Raziel choosing to go outside and offer a sacrifice of his own blood, while deep in prayer. As he opened his eyes, he saw the word “Deception” spelt out in his own blood, before it seeped into the damp earth.
Sharing the information with Castiel, the warlock set his raven familiar, Orev, to listen in on the villagers, his trust in them wavering. Heading to their rooms, they settled in for the night. Unsure what the morning would bring