The Madness of Soddenhill Part I

Please note that while the Ivy Crown Tavern is an all-ages site, this story contains descriptions of horror which may not be appropriate for younger audiences.

I have wrestled with whether to share the contents of these pages with others. You see, in my roving days I came upon many a curiosity or unexplainable event. I chalked most up to my inexperience with the world, but every so often something would confound even the most seasoned adventurer I consulted with.

So it was when I came upon a ruined village tucked high in the eastern valleys of county Mellarney. It was not marked on any map and its name had escaped all who lived nearby, perhaps intentionally. The splintered remains of homes and public houses were buried beneath thick overgrowth. Yet beneath the tangled ivy, all remained as if the village’s inhabitants had no intention of leaving. Plates, glasses, trinkets, books and more sat arranged in the manner of daily life. How long had this village been abandoned? What would cause a populace to leave without their valuables?

I confess the mystery of it all intrigued me enough to remain camped nearby while I searched for clues. By that time in my journeys, I had spent many nights beneath the open stars but none as unsettling as that night. It wasn’t something that happened, but the lack of it. There was no sound in those woods I tell you. Not the chirp of cricket, moan of an owl or snapping of a branch, just utter silence in the black of the wood.

Something was all together foul in that place and so I hastened to find answers, if for no other reason than to be on my way. It was on the third day that I found the book by the side of the town's well. At first the cracked volume seemed a mundane accounting of the village’s administration. The more I read, however, the more a madness came into focus, the madness that took the town of Soddenhill.

I fled that place and have never returned. But the book I keep still in the hopes that someone may one day provide reason for the horror that befell those poor souls. I hope it maybe you, but ask eternal forgiveness if it is not.

The following are excerpts from the journal of Marcus Lambert, reeve of Soddenhill.

17th of Marriweld

After my intervention this morn, the quarrel between Fykus and John Sr has been resolved regarding the use of grazing lands. Fykus has agreed to move his heard of black horn cattle to the western hills for the remainder of autumn.

Sarah Rothern has requested I send a complaint to the Trader’s Guild of Watercross. She questions the quality of the capital silk she purchased this summer from Titus Arnold, an infrequent cloth merchant known to the village. As the town reeve I will do so, albeit with slight hesitation. I suspect Sarah is upset with the sum paid in hindsight.

Construction on the eastern charcoal kilns have ceased after a sink hole swallowed progress. Thanking the fates, no one was injured, but it does set back our plans for heating this winter. I plan on inspecting the damage in the morning and consulting with Yorick the younger on a way forward.

18th of Marriweld

Letters of complaint have been sent to the Trader’s Guild of Watercross on Sarah Rothern’s request. I will await a response.

I set out to inspect the sink hole and damage therein. When I arrived, I found Yorick rummaging around in the earthen cavity. I myself am no friend to cramped dark places and so remained outside. Apparently, the collapse was caused by a chamber of some kind buried beneath the earth. The walls were masoned stone but Yorick could not decipher much more on account of the debris within.

The lands are littered with ancient ruins and forgotten places, and so we have found one of our own. As much as I am glad to have discovered evidence of the world’s past, the delay it caused to our charcoal production must take precedent. I’ve ordered the patch of cedars trees along the Beaver Head Stream felled, that will be the new location of our kilns as I would not risk another sink hole on the eastern hills.

If I have time, I will send correspondence to the historical halls in Ivywood regarding our discovery, perhaps they’ll take an interest.

The next few entries are of a mundane nature and wholly unrelated to the matter at hand, I will resume where it is of import.

27th of Marriweld

Progress on the kilns is moving ahead well. Yorick expects at least one of them to be functional within a fortnight. In the meantime, others have been working diligently to secure oak and walnut from the northern wood so there will be no delay.

Elsewhere, the seed sowing is going well, I’m told. Our wheat and barley are expected to have a high yield next harvest which should mean trade down south. I’ll pray to the icons that it comes true.

Lastly, I received complaints from a number of citizens who dwell along the Miller’s stream about drunken behavior in the midnight hours. They claim a woman was spotted wandering the mists, baying loudly. When Arthur Miller went to confront the individual, none could be found. So far, no one has claimed responsibility. I take all complaints seriously, as such I will speak at congregation about the responsible imbibement of spirits.

28th of Marriweld

More reports of a wailing last night, this time by the eastern fields. John Sr was concerned someone was in duress, perhaps attacked by that pack of yellow tail wolves that have been spotted in the hills. No one was found, nor any trace of violence.

I am anxious. I do not like mysteries in my village whether intentional or not. Is someone here afflicted by drink or malady? Is there a wild woman living in the hills harassing my town? I don’t like any possibility.

I have commissioned Luka and Lanora as night watch for the time being. They will patrol along the east and west roads for anything strange tonight. I pray it is someone in need of assistance and that we may well provide it.

This next entry is supplementary to the last. It is much less legible than the other entries, clearly written with a fatigued and shaken hand

28th or perhaps 29th, I know not the hour

I am the reeve of Soddenhill and must therefore document that which happens here. But I must confess, I wish my station were different tonight for I am adrift beyond any comprehension of what has happened.

Just a few hours ago, my door was hammered by Luka in a panic. When I opened, I found him propping up Mary Abbot, the town's apprentice baker and fiancé to Yorick. She was pale and drenched in sweat, dazed and muttering incomprehensibly.

I have witnessed many a drunkard in my time and I tell you this was no affliction caused by drink.

Luka rushed off to wake Tristen Cobb, our butcher and surgeon. I attempted as best I could to calm the poor woman while she thrashed violently on my table, as if fighting off an invisible foe. That’s when I noticed a locket around her neck. I say around her neck but more accurate would be embedded into her neck, as if a scorching flame had welded the strange metal into her body, affixing it to skin and bone.

It was all I could do to attempt to soothe young Mary, who seemed in great pain, when suddenly she froze. With a glint of lucidity, she sat up shaking and distraught. She must have caught a glimpse of herself in my mirror for she pointed at her reflection and began to shriek in horror, ‘W-what has happened!? I have no face! I have no face!’

She clawed at her eyes and face, tearing red streaks with broken nails before twisting her mouth into a clutched and nightmarish grin. I heard the tension of her jaw as her teeth creaked, and then, they cracked and shattered like a bundle of dry wood. I stood horror struck, unable to move. Blood, tooth and spittle dripped. Mary wailed like a dying calf before, silence. Tristen entered and I remember little after.

I think that is all I am able to write for now.