A rumbling from underground surprised adventurers early this Miraman,
when an influx of moles attired in small pocketbelts spread across
Sapience. Dismay was widespread as the realisation came that they were
speedily and greedily harvesting all the healing plants from the ground.

High above the continent, outside the Garden of the Gods, Rurin paced
back and forth, lamenting the absence of his assistants. To curious
adventurers he explained that he trained moles to harvest herbs for his
various shops; today, however, they suddenly run away, and he was unable
to summon them back.

Several months passed as moles continued to run rampant throughout
Sapience, and all remained puzzled by the predicament. Inspecting a few
corpses of moles as they were returned to him, Rurin noted that they
appeared to be under the power of some strange enchantment. Dejectedly,
he suggested that culling their numbers might be the only solution.

As the month of Valnuary came to a close, a low-pitched thrum rumbled
through the land and caused the very air to tremble. The sound was soon
followed by the patter of tiny feet as multitudes of moles abandoned
their activities to converge upon the Dakhota hills. There, hiding in an
ancient barrow, adventurers found a pudgy man called Harald, surrounded
by the dozens of moles he had enchanted.

Not entirely pleased, Harald counted his moles as he removed their
pocketbelts and retrieved the herbs stashed within. "There should be
more here," he thought to himself. Little did he know, but the past few
months had been filled with a merciless massacre, led chiefly by the
young Sylvan Dobbes, whose efforts had singlehandedly reduced the mole
population by the hundreds.

Evading questions and proclaiming ignorance in the matter, Harald was
eventually caught up in his lies and subjected to violent attacks.
Adventurers pursued him through the hills, finally cornering him and
causing him to drop a gleaming silver torc inlaid with emeralds. While
attention was focused on the jewels, Harald stealthily made his escape.

Recognising that they were unlikely to catch up to Harald, adventurers
proceeded up the snowy mountain pass to the Garden of the Gods and
handed the torc to Rurin in triumph. They quickly related the day's
events, speculating about Harald's disappearance and the so-called theft
of precious herbs. "He is probably halfway to an island by now," one
young blademaster spoke glumly.

Curious, the dwarf inspected the enchantment, commenting on the crude
magery involved and deciding that the torc was better off destroyed.
Holding it high above his head, Rurin smashed the torc upon a rock,
breaking the enchantment, and tossed it down the mountainside.

The culprit has fled, plants thrive once again, and all is restored...
or is it?

Penned by My hand on the 2nd of Lupar, in the year 536 AF.