Thus far your journey has been a quiet, peaceful trip, full of idle banter and general merriment.  A fair share of this merriment is derived from a particular wine merchant who somehow managed to gain the favor of a powerful noble back in Waterdeep.  Having made both substantial financial as well as some political gains in the following flurry of transactions, he was presently still bathing in the afterglow of his good fortunes.  As such, the wine ran freely at night when the caravan stopped to make camp as the man insisted that he might well be set for life as soon as he made it back to Daggerford and finished setting his business affairs in order.

Not only that, but not so much as the hint of a bandit ambush had been seen and no obstacles more pressing than the occasional broken wheel or thrown horseshoe had stalled their advance.  In fact, things had been so peaceful that even the most timid of hired guards- those who really only signed on for the promise of three square meals a day, a fire to sleep by at night and coin at the end of their trip, who hadn't seriously considering that they might have to draw a sword- had become drawn into the general sense of complacency.  It was not now uncommon to hear such statements as: "Whelp, I sorta wish someone would go ahead and try to attack us- soz I can grab m'self a story or two fer the ladies back home.", among other similar bouts of boasting and bravado.

Of course, they knew just as well as everyone else that such an occurrence was not about to happen.  Not nearly so close as they were to civilization.  Though their boasting was obnoxious at best, it reflected the general attitude of the caravan: one of lighthearted expectation that they would soon be able to treat themselves to a few nights of good food, drink and sleep in an actual bed while the merchants who hired them plied their trade and resupplied for the trip to their next destination.

Yet, as you draw near the end of that ten mile stretch, you begin to hear the ringing of a bell.  The sound grows louder as Nightstone comes into view.  A river flows around the settlement, forming a moat.  The village itself is contained within a wooden palisade, beyond which you see a windmill, a tall steeple, and the high-pitched rooftops of several other buildings.  Apart from the ringing of the bell, you detect no other activity in the village.  The trail ends before a lowered drawbridge, two stone watchtowers flank and open gap in the palisade.  South of the village and surrounded by the river moat is a cone-shaped, flat-topped hill on which stands a stone keep enclosed by a wooden wall.  The keep, which overlooks the village, has partially collapsed.  A wooden bridge that once connected the keep to the village has also partially collapsed.

Without any one individual giving any sort of command, the wagons and pack animals slow to a halt well back from the entrance to the town as an uneasy silence falls over the caravan, with only the constant ringing of the bell from within Nightstone to be heard.  Both merriment and bravado thoroughly quashed by the unusual circumstances, it seems most are now hesitant to take command of the situation.

[@JohnnyWeird][@Ynnek7][@KermitKing][@GRMBRN][@STGcaveman][@Diablodil]