The path from the river into the core of Eridian proper revealed the village's unsettling, almost paradoxical strangeness in its full, stark, and deeply disconcerting glory. One stretch of painstakingly tilled farmland, closest to the life-giving river, showed robust, seemingly healthy crops swaying gently in the afternoon breeze, their leaves a vibrant, almost defiant green. Yet, the adjoining row, separated by no discernible boundary, no fence, no marker of any kind, lay parched, cracked, and utterly, irrevocably dead.
The desiccated, blackened stalks of failed harvests rattled like the dry, brittle bones of forgotten ghosts in the wind, a grim, silent memento mori to shattered hopes and wasted labor. It was as though an invisible, arbitrary line had been drawn through the very earth by some capricious, unseen hand, one side inexplicably blessed with life and abundance, the other irrevocably cursed with decay and despair. Children, their clothes ragged, patched, and several sizes too large for their thin, undernourished frames, trailed listlessly by the roadside, many of them wracked by weak, persistent, dry coughs that shook their small bodies. A few adults, their faces etched with the deep lines of worry, hardship, and quiet resignation, offered uneasy, fleeting nods as Roy's group passed, but no one made any move to approach them, no one offered a word of welcome or curiosity. Their eyes, hollow and haunted, slid away, unwilling to meet the gazes of these strange, powerful newcomers.
"This place," Eryndra observed, her voice a low, troubled murmur that was almost lost in the rustling of the dead crops, "it's half alive, and half already surrendered to the grave. As if it can't decide whether to flourish or simply cease to exist."
Roy surveyed the bleak, unsettling surroundings, a deep frown creasing his brow. He took in the hollow, prematurely aged faces of the townsfolk, the strange, unnatural dichotomy of the blighted land itself. "They look like they're constantly bracing for something," he said, his own voice hushed, almost unconsciously mirroring the village's oppressive quiet. "Like they're trapped in an endless, invisible storm that always, eventually, inevitably, comes. And when it passes, it always leaves devastation in its wake."
Val, his earlier geniality now tinged with a deep, palpable sadness, led them past rows of modest wooden homes. Many sported patched, leaky roofs that looked as though they might collapse under the weight of a particularly heavy dew, and rotting, unstable fences that leaned at precarious, drunken angles. Yet, every so often, a small, immaculately tended flower garden, bursting with vibrant, almost defiantly cheerful color, or a single, freshly painted, brightly hued window shutter stood out in stark, jarring contrast to the surrounding decay. It gave the entire village a strange, disconcerting, patchwork feel, a bizarre mosaic of hope and despair. Eventually, they arrived at a gated compound. It was a stately, worn-down and neglected, stone structure with intricately carved, weather-beaten pillars flanking the main entrance. Guards in faded, ill-fitting uniforms, their faces grim and their posture slumped with a bone-deep weariness, bowed with a distinct, almost resentful lack of enthusiasm as Val pushed open the heavy, creaking gates.
"Normally, my father, the Archduke Vol Teyzar Eridian, would make it a point to greet such… important guests himself," Val explained, his voice carrying just a hint of carefully veiled, almost apologetic nuance. "However, I prevailed upon him to allow me the distinct honor of meeting you first. He can be rather preoccupied with pressing matters of state at times. And other, less definable, concerns. Though he means well, of course. Always."
Something in Val's carefully chosen, almost rehearsed words, a subtle, almost imperceptible inflection in his tone, suggested to Roy that Val perhaps cared more deeply, or at least more actively and demonstrably, for the well-being of the Eridian villagers than his apparently aloof and distant father did. Roy raised an eyebrow, a silent question forming in his mind, but he remained silent, merely nodding as he filed the observation away for later, more detailed consideration.
Inside the sprawling compound, a smaller, though still impressively solid, two-story stone building stood off to one side, shaded by a gnarled, ancient-looking tree whose leaves were also, disturbingly, half-green and half-withered. This, presumably, was the designated guest quarters. It was simple, neat, and blessedly, almost eerily, quiet. It looked far more comfortable and well-maintained than Roy had initially expected, given the generally dilapidated and depressing state of much of the town they had just witnessed. A liveried staff member, his face a carefully constructed mask of practiced, deferential politeness, bowed deeply to Roy, Eryndra, Zehrina, and Warrex, then silently, almost ghost-like, guided them inside. The furnishings within were modest, almost spartan, but meticulously clean: hand-woven rugs in muted, earthy tones covered the polished wooden floors, plain but sturdy wooden chairs were arranged around a large, scarred central table, and a few strategically placed, half-burned lanterns cast a warm glow throughout the main common room.
Val gestured around the common room with a polite, welcoming smile that didn't quite banish the shadows from his hazel eyes. "I realize it's hardly luxurious by the standards of a well, by any standards, really, especially for travelers of your… caliber. But it is comfortable, and I assure you, you will not be disturbed during your stay. Please, rest here as you see fit. Make yourselves at home."
Roy exchanged a quick, assessing glance with Warrex, who was still surreptitiously massaging his sore, possibly fractured hand, and then offered Val a curt, appreciative nod. "Thanks. This is more than adequate. We might stay a day or two, perhaps longer if circumstances allow. If that's all right with your father, of course."
Val's eyes brightened noticeably at Roy's words, a flicker of genuine, almost desperate hope illuminating his intelligent features. "Yes, of course! Stay as long as you wish! And if you find you have the time, and the inclination, I would be eternally, profoundly grateful if you would consent to help us investigate the underlying cause of Eridian's condition." He rubbed the back of his neck, his earlier carefully constructed confidence momentarily faltering, replaced by an expression of genuine, heartfelt, and deeply personal concern. "We've had indentured servants here in the past, you see. Mostly debtors and minor criminals. Working the quarries and the fields. But they all just… well, eventually, they died out. Or simply vanished, without a trace, when these strange, cyclical 'decays' swept through the land." He lowered his gaze, his voice dropping to a troubled, almost haunted whisper. "I tried to stop it, to find the source, to understand what was happening to our people, to our land. But, I've had no luck. None at all."
Zehrina folded her arms, her brow furrowing in thoughtful concentration. "What exactly do you mean by 'decays,' Val? Can you be more specific?"
Val offered a short, sad, humorless laugh that held no trace of mirth. "It's a cycle. A relentless, unforgiving cycle. Everything will be perfectly fine, prosperous even, for a few weeks, sometimes a month or two if we're lucky. Crops flourish, the livestock grow fat and healthy, people regain color and vitality in their cheeks. And then, without any warning, without any discernible cause, it's like a malaise, a creeping, insidious sickness, sets in. Some of the weaker folk, the old and the very young, fall ill first. Then the farmland rots in the fields, almost overnight, turning from vibrant green to a desiccated, lifeless brown. Even the river water, our lifeblood, often turns foul and undrinkable. It's like a curse." He looked directly at Roy, his eyes pleading. "I'm hoping, with your unique resources, your renowned power, you can pinpoint the cause. Find a solution. Before there's nothing left of Eridian to save." A raw, desperate, almost palpable hope flickered across his expressive, intelligent face.
Roy nodded slowly, his mind already sifting through the grim, unsettling information. He turned to the rest of his crew, a silent question in his eyes. Warrex, despite his throbbing hand, gave a stoic, affirmative grunt. Eryndra and Zehrina both offered subtle, almost imperceptible nods of agreement. "We can certainly look into it," Roy said, turning back to Val, his voice carefully neutral. "Though, I'm not promising any miracles. These sorts of deep-seated issues can be notoriously complicated." He paused, glancing back at Val with a slightly sheepish, almost apologetic expression. "Still, if we do manage to succeed, we'll need to discuss adequate compensation. We're, um, currently a little… financially embarrassed, shall we say, due to recent, rather extensive, philanthropic endeavors. If you catch my drift."
Val's face brightened instantly, relief and gratitude warring with his underlying anxiety. "Of course! Naturally! My father, the Archduke, has already authorized a substantial reward of eight hundred gold coins for anyone, or any group, who successfully identifies and resolves this terrible, persistent affliction. That is, of course," he added, a hopeful lilt in his voice, "if you're interested in undertaking such a daunting, and potentially perilous, task."
Roy's own face brightened considerably at the mention of such a substantial, and frankly, much-needed sum of gold. "Eight hundred, you say? Well, that certainly beats hunting down surly, uncooperative, and surprisingly well-armed pirates for their dusty pocket change, I suppose," he said, a faint, almost predatory grin touching his lips. "Deal. We'll do what we can. You have our word." He looked around at Warrex, Eryndra, and Zehrina again, and this time, each of them offered a more enthusiastic, gold-motivated nod of agreement. Gold was, after all, a universally understood and highly effective motivator.