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  1. [!] Painting of a Rathonian chicken coop - before the slaughter. A still night air broke over the Rathonian countryside; a gentle, cool breeze wisped through the waving fields of golden crops. They were ready for harvest. Then, that silence was shattered by a ferocious squawking from one chicken coop upon the outskirts. A farmer jolted upright from the bed he’d taken up not half an hour prior and, as the fowl took up the first coop’s cries with a tremendous squawking that seemed to shake the very earth, other farmers followed suit. It wasn’t long until the chickens’ frantic cries died down to be replaced by the still night air once more, no longer disturbed by whatever had first startled them. As the farmers examined their coops and their fowl, they would be met only with the chickens themselves as they once again settled down for the night in peace and quiet. Yet, in that first coop from whence the distressed cries had first arisen, the first farmer found a trail of blood. Feathers mottled with crimson littered the ground, yet there was no corpse to be seen, all the fowl seemed accounted for, and none seemed to have sustained injuries. No trace remained of what culprit had stolen into the coop that harvest night. In disbelief, the farmer recounted his chickens, but the count remained the same. All were there. Wagging his head, he returned to rest, and the night went by in peace. Over the days following, outbursts from the coops became more frequent. Fearful for the very economic structure that sustained Rathonian trade through the farms, citizens began laying traps within the coops - and caught only their own animals. Slaughter ensued. Mottled chicken corpses began to appear, within and outside of the coops, though the flocks seemed to diminish at a slower rate than the number of corpses that appeared. The odd occurrences began to spread - from South Dunbar, where they’d first begun, towards the direction of Granstaad. Not only chickens were felled now, but pigs, cows, larger animals. Was it bandits? Wolves come down from the mountains? Or something far worse? If whatever oppressed the farmers’ flocks continued to spread, disease could ravage the little community and the economy would turn to recessed turmoil from loss of trade and provision. Something must be done to keep the Norlandic vassal of Dùnrath and its surrounding territories from crumbling beneath the burdens of its own people.
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