Innocense lost

What the Village Knows

Mara Wren, a spirited sixteen-year-old from Wrenwood Farm, vanished suddenly on an otherwise calm autumn afternoon. Known for her adventurous nature, Mara often explored the edges of the Greenwood, gathering herbs or just daydreaming amidst the trees. Her parents, Aidan and Catherine Wren, became frantic when she didn't return by nightfall. Villagers searched for days, finding only a dropped basket and a torn fragment of her green cloak, tangled in thornbushes at the forest’s edge.

Rumors quickly spread—some say Mara had simply gotten lost or fallen prey to wild animals. Others whisper darker theories, suggesting she'd fallen victim to corrupted creatures, the feral elves, or even become a sacrifice in the witches' darkening magic. Fear rippled through Ravenshollow, reinforcing suspicions about the witches and deepening mistrust among neighbors. Tobias Fenrow claimed to hear her voice calling from the boglands, further unsettling the village.

The Hollow Hearth Murmurs

The fire burned low in the hearth of the Hollow Hearth Inn, casting flickering shadows along the wooden beams overhead. The scent of stew and old ale clung to the air, mingling with the scent of damp wool from villagers seeking shelter from the autumn rain outside.

At a table near the stone wall, three men sat hunched over their drinks, voices low but urgent.

“It’s getting worse.”

Osric Thornfield, his broad hands wrapped around a chipped tankard, scowled into the fire. The lines on his face, carved by years of hard work, seemed deeper tonight.

Across from him, Gareth Fenrow nodded, running a hand through his graying hair. “Aye. The cattle are spooked, the dogs won’t stray near the woods, and I swear, I heard something breathing out in the bogs last night.”

Lyle Carter, the youngest of the three, took a hurried sip of ale, glancing toward the door as though expecting something to burst through at any moment. “Old Man Cedric says the spirits are restless. He won’t go near the Singing Stones anymore—not even to check his traps.”

“Cedric’s always been wary of those stones,” Osric grunted. “Doesn’t mean much.”

“But it ain’t just him,” Lyle insisted, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “Tobias Dovell swears he saw a dark rider near the southern road, sitting there on his beast, just watching him. Said he turned away for a second and when he looked back, the thing was gone.” He shuddered. “Swears it left behind hoof prints—but they were burnt into the ground.”

Gareth exhaled sharply. “Riders near the road now? Damn it all. The last thing we need is them straying closer.” He reached for his mug, then hesitated. “And what about the girl?”

Silence.

The three men glanced at one another, as if waiting for someone else to say it first.

“…Mara Wren,” Osric finally muttered. “Still missing.”

“Aye,” Gareth said grimly. “Went to gather rushwort near the Greenwood Edge. Didn’t come back.”

Lyle gripped his tankard tighter. “But the Edge is supposed to be the safer part of the forest.”

Osric shook his head. “Not anymore.”

A fourth voice cut in from behind them.

“Not much of the forest is safe these days.”

They turned to see Edwin Holloway, the innkeeper, setting three steaming bowls of thick lamb stew on the table. His face was calm, but there was a weight behind his eyes.

“Keep your strength up,” Edwin said, wiping his hands on his apron. “Whatever’s creeping closer, it doesn’t do to face it on an empty stomach.”

Lyle exhaled sharply, looking down at the stew as if he’d lost his appetite.

“Y’think she’s gone for good?” he asked quietly.

Edwin didn’t answer right away.

Then, finally, with a grim shake of his head, he muttered,

“People do get lost in the Gloomwood.”

He looked toward the darkened window, where the rain tapped lightly against the glass.

“But sometimes it's worse, sometimes they’re taken.”

The True Story (Hidden from Villagers)

On that fateful afternoon, Mara was gathering Maiden’s Lace and Bitterleaf along the Greenwood Edge, as she had done countless times before. But this day, an unusual fog curled slowly around her ankles, thicker than she'd ever seen. Lost in her work, Mara didn’t realize the gentle whispers drifting on the breeze, coaxing her subtly deeper.

Unbeknownst to her, a Silth Shifter had been watching her from the shadows. Taking the form of Rowan Fenton, Mara’s friend, it appeared at the edge of her vision, beckoning her deeper into the woods. Trusting and unsuspecting, Mara followed.

As she ventured further, the familiar path disappeared, replaced by mist swirling thick and unnatural. Panic set in when the creature's disguise melted away, revealing its pale, moonlit skin and black, soulless eyes. Mara ran, but the forest itself seemed to betray her, shifting to block her escape. Soon, figures emerged from the mist—the Underworldly, elegant and cruel, their eyes bright with hunger.

She was quickly surrounded, their laughter ringing cold and inhuman. Mara tried to scream, but her voice died in her throat, choked by fear. Bound by tendrils of shadow and mist, she was dragged beneath the earth, spirited away to the dark subterranean realm of the Underworldly.

Now, deep beneath the forest, Mara remains alive—though changed. The Underworldly court holds her prisoner, fascinated by her resilience and spirit, amused by her attempts to resist their influence. She remains trapped, forced into servitude, desperately trying to hold onto memories of her home even as whispers in the darkness promise that one day, she will forget Ravenshollow entirely.

Above ground, the villagers mourn her as lost, unaware that her story continues, hidden deep beneath their feet.

As Mara continues to lose pieces of her humanity beneath the surface, fragments of her memories and emotions begin to inadvertently transfer to one of her captors—an Underworldly princess named Elyria. Elyria, once entirely devoid of empathy, finds herself curiously troubled by unfamiliar sensations: memories of sunshine, family, and friendship invade her dreams, confusing and unsettling her.

Gradually, Mara senses Elyria’s growing empathy and seizes this fragile connection, using memories as a bridge. Through vivid dreams and visions, Elyria begins to see glimpses of Ravenshollow, fleeting scenes of Mara’s life and moments from the village—especially Mara's repeated vision of her dropped basket tangled in thornbushes.

Driven by confusion and the faintest hint of newfound compassion, Elyria secretly ventures above ground, compelled to leave subtle clues near the place of Mara's disappearance—small carvings, cryptic arrangements of stones, or even woven grass charms, infused with Mara's essence.

These clues may first seem trivial, but an observant villager or a watchful herbalist (perhaps Mira Ashford or Old Man Cedric) could recognize them as unnatural or significant. Investigating these signs could then lead to the suspicion that Mara still lives, trapped below, prompting an urgent search or an uneasy alliance to unravel the mystery of Mara’s fate and the strange changes happening within the Underworldly itself.