Fire and blood run just below the surface of Montfort - though once you
wouldn't have known it from the looks of the town or of the folk who lived
here. Just from the adventurers who traveled through. Now the scabs are
too shallow and what lies beneath shows upon the surface.

As it showed last night. Fire is feared in this town and more so in the
shanty town and a curse to he who risked those folk by awakening the
flame.

I was helping put out that hungry intruder when hunters on a blood trail
came into our midst.

There was amongst them one that was impatient and would have split more
blood in hopes of gaining news. But a different trail was shown him and
the hunters set out after their quarry. I went with them - for in my day I
have been a decent hunter in my own right.

The spell of the bright mage took us to the depths of the ancient woods -
and once again shown that the trail of blood did run that night. The foxes
spoke of it and had called young Lucc to witness a lost one's grave.
Though not long lost.

From the thirsty mage showed us a portal to land that has been burnt so
bare that nothing runs beneath its scorched skin. No land should be so
naked. So without balm.

The Killers of Spirit, the Eaters of Hope, once built a fortress there but
now it is without hope and empty. Empty, except for the shattered man who
ran there, though perhaps he was shattered at his birth.

The Hoodie Crow flew swift through those halls - halls of putrid flesh and
sickening rats - chasing a man who already fled from ghosts. Either real
ghosts or ghosts of his belief. But whichever he screamed at them, "I
loved you!" as he fled down those chambers of dispair.

When the hungry one caught him he sought a payment of blood. But blood is
not the balm for this land - that will let the scabs heal - and healthy
flesh to cover the blood and fire as it once did. Only the truths of the
heart can achieve that miracle.