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Banners of the notorious militant cult, the Brotherhood of the Whip, are planted soaked in blood upon the once consecrated altars of the vestibule, some even embedded into the lifeless husks of holy and good men. Screams and cries of slain Lightcarriers and Barovian laborers caught in the crossfire fill the night past. No other word can describe the carnage other than a sacking of the temple.
A few seem to have been left behind to tell the harrowing tale of fire and blood.
Small parchments surface around the temple to the Morninglord and near it.
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On the edges of the Village cutting into the thick swamps and forests of the far East of Barovia sounds of screaming and shouting could be heard during the night. As dawn comes near a woman with horns, red eyes and nature coloured attire could be seen running into the Western parts of the swamps. Those who investigate the area of the noises only find a deserted camp now hidden away in a small alcove.
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The bleak and shrouded Village sits at the center of the darkness that looms across the land. A place that truly knows no warmth or escape from the Devil itself. Full of suspicion and disgust for outsiders, those merchants traveling the infamous Old Svalich Road always need to pass through here for one reason or another and always report the same thing: they are not greeted with welcoming gazes.
This undeniable toll booth for the merchants never invites long-staying visitors, so it was suspicious to the Village's residents when they saw a wooden wagon descend the devil's descent and make its way towards the Sanctuary of Blessed Succor.
Three figures, adorned in the colors of the Morninglord, operated the cart, greeting the suspicious eyes, wishing them Dawn's Blessings as their cart disappeared into the fortress of a temple and remained there for the eve that fell.