(bunch of travel)
[Farmland, Grain Fields]
Heavy vines weave their way through an old rail fence to form an impassable barrier to the south. Around you, rows of tall grain run in a slight curve blocking any distant view. The grain near you appears to have been trampled by something with sharp hooves and little respect for a farmer's hard work. You also see a rotting corpse.
Also here: Inspector Trikein.
Obvious paths: north.
Trikein says, "Just curious.."
Trikein says, "More grain."
Trikein says, "Look at the hoof marks."

>look corpse
Something vaguely resembling a Halfling can still be made out of the pile of bones and crusted gore. The answer to the unharvested grain is now apparent. A broken iron plowshare still clutched in the remains of one hand shows the valiant farmer did not die unawares. Cloven hoof marks in the churned soil are as large as a Gor'Tog's hand.

>Inspector Trikein's group just went north.

Trikein says, "Couldn't figure out how to get into that barn."
Trikein says, "I believe it to be simular to the one south."
Trikein says, "But that one they burned down."
Trikein says, "Because it was infected."
Trikein says, "The hogs I think were also infected."
Trikein says, "Changed them."
Obvious paths: north, south, northwest.
Trikein says, "Look at the burrower."

[Hunting Preserve, Grasslands]
You stand surrounded on all sides by high grass that blocks the view after more than a few feet. The tall stalks rustle softly, stirred by unfelt breezes, or worse. Your shoulders twitch as if momentarily expecting to feel the hot breath of some unseen predator upon them. There seems no clear choice of direction out of this grassy trap. You also see a ruined farm wagon with a series of rusted scythes on it.

Trikein points at a slime-encrusted latticework.
Trikein says, "Look"

Set like the bars of some great gate, heavy loops of dried slime form a thick barrier between you and something. Large and dark, it moves with a wet, sucking sound. Slowly and ponderously, a long tube is extruded through the lattice, its end open and dripping a thin mucous. Several vague shapes cluster below it as, with great effort, something grey and round and wet slowly oozes out. The shapes catch it and hasten it to a waiting cylinder of muck where they seal it in stinking slime.

Trikein says, "My personal believe though it will lead to the coming of Lanival again."
You ask, "You think so?"
Trikein nods.
Trikein says, "All this is created by Necro magic."
Trikein says, "And people openly use such spells in the city."
You ask, "Necro magic?"
Trikein says, "Healing spells..and a lighting orb type spell."
Trikein nods.
Trikein says, "If you look in history, that is the exact spell, just weaker, as that used by the army Glacis defeated."
Trikein says, "The great Guardian that aided Lanival"
Trikein says, "Now remeber, all this was created by the Knights of the Silver arrow, the men that killed all other guadians."
Trikein says, "It will spread I think, and a war will start."
Trikein says, "And Glacis will reawaken Lanival"
Trikein says, "Just my personal theory."

[Hunting Preserve, Manor House, Trophy Room]
This room once boasted a fine collection of mementoes of the hunt. A few mounted heads yet remain on the walls. Fierce creatures, some of which you have never beheld or even heard of, can still be seen here. A massive cabinet that once held many curious and unusual weapons is now broken and empty. One item still stands out, a small table, topped with a single gigantic scale. You have no idea what it once adorned, but your respect for whoever hunted it rises.
Also in the room: Inspector Trikein.
Obvious exits: north, east.
Trikein points at a scale-topped table.

look table

Perhaps five feet across, the scale is a pale emerald at the edges darkening to a deep rich forest green in the center. Thick and heavy as a slab of wood, the thing is awesome when you consider what must have borne such armor.

Trikein says, "Spear"

look boar-spear
>The spear was originally some ten feet long with a heavy cross-piece set about a foot behind the blade to keep the boar from literally climbing down the shaft to get at its attacker. The spear seems to have been bitten in half in the middle of its length and you shudder to think of the battle that caused this. And you wonder, just whose blood is on that blade then?

Trikein says, "They hunted the boars."
Trikein says, "And you will find out why."

[Hunting Preserve, Manor House, Upper Library]
Rows of leather-bound books and pigeonholed racks of scrolls indicate the private library of the manor. Time has been kind here and the place is surprisingly intact. Whatever horror occured here long-ago, those involved could not bring themselves to burn or harm these ranked volumes. Your eye is caught by something bizarre in this almost normal scene: in one large chair, a shrivelled corpse grins out at you eerily. A blood-stained book still clutched in its gnarled hands.

You point at a bloody corpse.
look corpse

The corpse appears to have been reading the book when death overtook it. Looking closer you note the wrists were cut and the blood must have soaked into the book, ruining it utterly. You repress a shudder at the thought of this macabre scene.
Trikein says, "The last knight."
Trikein says, "Or atleast as I know it."
Trikein says, "Pages were ripped from the book."

>read paper page 1
Scrawled in an odd brown ink, much faded, you read the following letter:

This is the last word and testament of I, Lord San'Ka-Var, Baron of these lands and Knight of the Silver Arrow.

Know you by these words that I died because of my own folly and pride. Hear now, this my final testimony. The enemy without will beat down the door soon and the enemy within me stirs to hideous life. I will cheat my fate by taking my own life ere either comes for me.

read paper page 2

The manuscript continues:

My curse came upon me in this wise, I was lord of this land and took as my due all that it had. All that lived in or on or under the land was mine to use as I pleased.

For many a year I feasted and hunted and travelled with my retinue about my domain. I delighted in the hunt and the chase and the kill.

I can say with pride that I have slain one or more of all that lived in these lands and in many others. Few have had such talent with a bow as I. I gloried in my prowess and none could gainsay me my skills.

In time, I wearied of the normal quarry. I grew bored with stag and elk and great bear. I hired a wizardling to create new life for me to pursue and kill. Long did he protest that this was a thing his powers should not be used for. That nature and the gods would exact a toll from me for my folly.
read paper page 3A brown burrower bites at Trikein.
You read the faded writing:

A touch or two of the lash and a promise of more to come gave him pause and he began his researches. From time to time he did indeed concoct a beast or two that pleased me and I set them about on my land to be hunted. I was happy and the wizardling lived.

But subtle are wizards and long is their hatred of insults and indignities done to them, as I now know. Years he spent in designing my doom until he was ready. He created a mold, something too small to be seen or fought. Something that in time would eat away at all that I owned and indeed, feast upon my very flesh. It took root here and there in my possessions and slowly it grew.

read paper page 4
The shaky writing scrawls across the page:

As it grew, it changed: It became mobile and could move about under its own power. Dangerous to attack, it spewed forth its own seed when struck. One breath and it took root inside you. I lost several retainers before I learned this. Even now I fear I learned too late, for something stirs inside my gut and there is pain such as you cannot imagine.

Not satisfied with dooming me in this way, the wizard summoned forth another horror to destroy me. Huge crawling insects he called "Burrowers". They set out to destroy my home and myself. Vicious beyond belief, they will pursue anything tainted by the mold, (for they desire it like a drug) until they can possess and kill it. Then they feast.
I hear them now, gnawing at the ironwood of my door. Even that defense, stout as it is, may not keep them at bay.
read paper page 5
Faded letters spell out dusty words:
So now is the time to deny them their revenge. The wizard is dead by his own hand before I could finish him. I feel the sitrring within me...oh gods, the pain...the pain! It is time, they come for me, but they will not ha...

The note ends in a scrawl of ink. You realize finally that the ink is dried blood and you shudder at the scene this missive has left in your mind.

You say, "Suicide."

... continued