Proudly featured in issue #1 of CANDLE by Fantasy Audio Magazine along with "The Pushcart of the Tobacconist," a smokeables peddler that can sell your adventurers a wide variety of status-effect-yielding leaves and herbs.

Celebration! This, the Festival of the Seventh, is the day that the city of Mistfell and the greater provincial reaches have been so longingly awaiting. On this day, the New Lord returns from seven days' meditation at the peak of the holy mount--the Temple of the Mountainstar.
The town commons is alight with revelry during this day of ultimate festival and the air is crisp with promise. The loam beneath your feet smells fresh with nutrients; the vibrant green of lime-grass stretches tall between your toes. Bonfires, feasts, songs, dances, magics, illusions, fireworks and strange musings of the old warriors--and of course a bottomless supply of Bacchus Lake Wine. All of this and more to anyone and everyone, but especially to you heroes whose very names are household legend.

A dissonant feeling settles over the common area as uneasiness swells within you. You notice among the merrymaking faces laughing ceaselessly, uncontrollably as their eyes begin to weep blood. A foul odor rises from the earth beneath you. A cloud-front emerges from the West, as the air settles into heavy stillness. The dark horizon grows tall and wide like the open arms of a black wave, and in no time at all it is upon all of Mistfell. You hear a droning, sharp hum of noise grow louder and louder until you cover your ears. It hurts, disorienting the masses as the screaming blackness encroaches the city. Just before the sun itself is lost to the darkness, you realize this cloud is in truth a swarm of shining flecks of black, as numerous as grains of shore sand: a thick, tremendous mass of flies. Choking in the dark.
A crashing cacophony breaks like thunder above as the ground quakes. As all noise subsides, you slowly regain your breath. Sunlight begins to break, reaching you again in narrow pins. The calamity recedes and the strange threat carries away. You regain your footing and look around you to find the colorless faces of townsfolk staring past you in horror. You turn to find in the center of the commons something like a boulder. But...it isn't a boulder. Enormously and hideously enlarged to the size of a small house, a contorted face looks back at you upon the severed head of the New Lord.

Strange and evil magic. A dark castle beyond a vast desert. An ancient threat awakened. Will you endure this final quest?