The dirt road ended at a set of sturdy iron gates with a pair of shadowy figures standing behind them. Thick fog pressed up against this wall, as though looking for a way inside, hoping to catch the town aslumber.
The woods receded, revealing a sullen mountain burg surrounded by a wooden palisade. The Old Svalich Road meandered into a valley watched over by dark, brooding mountains to the north and south. That should do it,” he said once he’d completed his work. While they bantered, Balthazar found a piece of parchment and started scribbling big letters on it. But no one is going to rent out a people-pâtissier.” “I don’t know, there could be potential rental business here. “I’m not going to become a miller, Lillian,” said Malenthor.
“Wouldn’t you prefer it to be vacant of … sinister mothers trying to cook children in a pie?”
“Well, I mean this windmill is yours,” said the sorcerer. We run into good times no matter what we do in this crazy world.” “Wouldn’t it be a good idea to remove the rot from the source?” asked Lillian. “We’ll come back for her,” suggested the monk. “Those psychobitches did mention someone with authority over them.” “Should we wait for ‘mother’ to come home?” asked Balthazar. We should get there before the sun goes down.” “It’s two hours’ walk to Vallaki,” Ismark added. “We could try to find someone else in Vallaki to take care of them,” Ismark suggested. They did not want to go back to their parents. They told the adventurers that their parents had sold them to the hags in exchange for dream pastries. The two children were Freek and Myrtle, from Vallaki. From the top of the windmill’s hill they could see a ring of four squat megaliths at the forest’s edge, ravens wheeling in the air above them. The domed attic was filled with old machinery, and the mangled, gnawed-upon body of Grosk the half-orc gladiator was somewhat strewn about the place. Exploring the rest of the Old Bonegrinder turned up six pieces of cheap jewelry stuffed in a moldy straw mattress.
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