Coming around a bend in the trail, following the dry creek bed, I finally come to Hogsbottom after a long days travel here. Civilization seems a relief after the uncanny silence of the road, though civilization is a strong word.

  Sunken rooftops, ill-maintained, with twisted chimneys billowing acrid black smoke into the air, rise into the air, maybe two or three dozen buildings are in the whole hamlet, spread out along the road in, with small gardens and pig pens taking up much of the space, though the radishes have all been harvested so late in the season.

  The pigs, however, are loud and healthy. Well-fed, and happy in their muck. Much like their farmers. The kids run through the pins and the streets, rolling with the pigs and getting in mud fights, but as I ride through they stop and stare, not muttering or giggling, not too abnormal for seeing an inquisitor The adults don’t stop to greet me either, but they don’t stop either, barely reacting to my presence as I pass. Odd, I should smell fear from them, but then, all I can really smell is pig crap and that acrid smoke they burn.

  The trail I rode on is the only road in town, a wide, dusty thing through their central area, it leads me past their smithy, the loud clanging of metal telling me at least some industry still occurs here.

  People pass me, carrying buckets of slop and tools, turning to look at me with disinterest, like watching a passing cloud. I notice a shrine here in the center of the hamlet, normally the heart of a community like this. It's in disuse, it’s three headed statue of the trinity covered in vines, the name of a local saint lost entirely.

  Towards the end of the main spit, I spot what passes for their public house, a larger house with a swinging sign, a drunken looking pig painted on, though the paint is peeled back and barely visible from the grime. Their branding here is quite on the nose. Across the street is a large pig sty, and you can see a large manor surrounded by hedges on a hill about a quarter mile away, overlooking the hamlet.

  An old lady is leaning back in an old rocking chair outside, seemingly asleep, though I can hear from her breathing she is awake. The rocking chair creeks as I get off Rocinante and tie my stag off. I look up to see the old lady glaring at me with sunken, amber eyes.

  “Awful strange horse you got there, stranger” Her voice creeks like an old door.

  “That would probably be because it’s a Stag from Centrallia, Ma’am” I reply as I step onto the creaking deck, making my way past the old lady.

  “Don’t get smart with me, boy” She mutters as she closes her eyes again while I enter the pub.

  I push open the warped door to the tavern. It swings open slowly on its painfully loud hinges, and shuts harder then I expected. The interior is dimly lit, clean but dusty tables sit ready for folks, but no one is here.

  Inside, an old man is polishing some glasses that look like they’re being washed for the first time in fifty years. He pushes his spectacles up from the tip of his nose, watching me enter slightly surprised.

  “It sounds like you disturbed my old lady out there.” He says, the rag still moving. “She ain’t used to passersby coming through here.”

  “Didn’t mean to disturb her,” I say, “But to be fair, I didn’t expect such a hostile welcome.”

  He snorts, placing the glass back on the counter and picking up another one. “Not a very hospitable place.”

  “Not many visitors?” I ask, looking about the place. The few bottles behind the counter are mostly empty, and an untapped keg sits on the counter, dusty. The fireplace is cold, and I can finally smell something other then acrid smoke and pig shit, even if it is just old alcohol and dust. The place is empty, but it’s been ordered and cleaned, unlike the rest of the town.

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  “No, not for a long time. Used to get traders up here for our mead, but since the mayor stopped the honey gathering they stopped. Them drakekillers, Mu and Valmai, were ‘bout the only folks to pass through here in, heh, a year or two.”

  “Aye, I know ‘em.” I take a seat towards the end of the bar, angled towards a window which looks out towards a pig sty.

  “Oh yeah? Did they really kill a drake?” He asks, suddenly actually interested in the conversation.

  “Indeed they did. A bit more then that, too.”

  He smiles, “Aye, glad to hear someone’s doing some good out here. How’d they do it, anyway?”

  “Kill the drake?”

  “Sure,” he says, tone rising at the end, like he didn’t really mean that.

  “I think they made a ballista. I heard they had some help from some fella called Kean.” I pause, turning my gaze from the window to the mans eyes. “The reinforcements they got from here didn’t make it, I hear. They suffered an… accident.”

  I knew that the Drakekillers had been forced to kill them when their leader turned on them wielding a wicked ritual dagger. I wasn’t sure if the innkeeper knew that, but as I said they suffered an accident, he hides a little smirk.

  “Aye thats, thats too bad. The Mayor sent his only son out on that mission. I’m sure he won’t be too happy to hear the news.”

  The conversation wanes for a moment, as the Innkeeper goes into a backroom to grab a tap for the keg. “Beer?” He asks. I nod, and he poors me a mug.

  “So, how longs this Mayor been here?” I ask him in an innocent tone, “Longer than the last one?”

  He waves my question away, his eyes glancing to the windows, “Ah, you know, it's been so long I can hardly remember.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well he sure has done something for this village, huh? Those Pigs sure are fat and healthy.”

  “Sure are. The village has changed quite a bit since he arrived.”

  The Innkeeper was talkative before, but his mood has quickly soured, and I can feel his annoyance and fear at this line of questioning. I let the conversation die and sip on my beer. The Innkeeper silently goes about his business, and I think over the strangeness of the village to the sounds of his walking and the rocking of the chair outside. As I’m about to finish my mug, the Innkeeper returns with a key, “Inquisitor, you’re welcome to stay here. There isn’t another spot for a person from out of town. Just some advice, don’t go outside at night, it’s uh, not safe since the militia left.”

  I head up the stairs to my room. There are only three in the whole inn, and I have to shimmy my key a bit to get it to open. I notice the Sigil of Safe Hearth is carved into the doorframe. The room bed is made, and the dresser lacks any signs of disrepair, but the floor and dresser has a light layer of dust on it. A bundle of sage sticks hangs above the bed, an old hinterland superstition meant to ward off curses and nightmares. In the corner, a small wax man has the Wyrmite character for Guardian carved in its chest, another superstition from the Shadowed Lands. The lone window in the room has its shutters closed and nailed in place.

  I drop the few possessions I brought in from my stag on the ground, and organize the tools I have.

  A few sticks of Hart Sage, the variety the Hinterfolk mistook for normal sage when their superstition began. Its mana infused smoke will cause those who have been afflicted with Void aspect to have a minor allergic reaction. Not enough to kill them, but it can easily disorient them and make them avoid a space. There are stronger versions with similar effects, but they also affect werefolk, one of several considerations made for me.

  Lunar silver darts. They would harm me in my lupine state, but as long as I'm human and they haven’t pierced my skin, I should be fine.

  A few vials of Trinitarian Holy Water are also available to me. The Church holds that it contains a piece of the Three Holy Spirits, but as near as I understand it, it’s simply full of a bunch of Faith mana aspected with Light and Peace mana. Regardless, it does harm Daemonic creatures.

  Aside from this and my sword, I lack much in the way of specialized equipment for this investigation. I had suspected a Void based cult, but without specific knowledge of their operation it’s almost impossible to get a ton of better gear. But I am beginning to suspect this won’t be a simple investigation into a minor Void cult. I still need to confirm, but their reach seems to be over much of the town, which makes this increasingly dangerous. I can’t just immediately go after cult members when I find them, I need to figure out a weakness.