The town of Sherridge sat comfortably on the river Thammus. It was not a busy township except for a few times of the year. It was too far removed from any major trade routes.

One of the families of Sherridge was the Beekeeper Forrick and his wife Shiola, who ran a chandlery from a workshop on their property. They had a young son, Sanit, who often helped his mother in her duties or played in town with the other local children.

It was a cool spring day when Shiola hiked into town with a load of candles to deliver at customer’s doors. She loaded up her pack and set off for the half hour walk. River Thammus was clear and powerful, and Shiola whispered the town prayer over it as she walked.

O Spirit of the Thammus,

Bring us prosperity,

Bring us good years,

Make our children healthy,

And our harvests good.

As was customary she offered a few crumbs of bread to the river, kneeling at the water’s edge to place them respectfully for the spirits. As she knelt, her nape prickled and she raised her eyes to scan the water. For the briefest of moments she spotted something at the surface in the middle of the river, it had looked like a face, but it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be sure.

Shiola hurried away from the river and back to her walk, shifting her pack to sit properly again.

Once she reached the town, she started to see familiar faces. Randalph, carpenter and head of a household of six rambunctious boys. He dipped his head as he passed, dragging one such child by the arm towards his home. Thama, who lived on Beasel’s farm with him, gave an odd smile in greeting as she passed. Meorr, widow and baker, and her baby daughter Opei, named for her late father. They stopped for a short chat, and Shiola was happy to hand over a couple of candles without charge. Meorr was newly widowed, only a few seasons without her husband, and the town had taken it upon themselves to help her with the smaller things as she struggled to maintain a household for her child.

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Shiola waved farewell to Meorr and found her first place for delivery. The mayor’s house.

A grand building compared to the rest of the town, Mayor Arnen was wealthy by inheritance and owned a good deal of the town’s land and infrastructure. He was perceived well by his peers however. It was his son Eni who answered the door when Shiola knocked.

Eni was handsome in the manner of a young, strong man who ate well and lived a carefree life. He spent his days in tutelage under Master Coesmar or practicing swordsmanship with the town guardsmen. His smile when he saw Shiola was genuine.

“Why Mrs Shiola Beeman, what a pleasure! Please, come in.”

Shiola put up a hand.

“I’ll have to decline, Eni. I’ve deliveries to attend to, but your hospitality is most kind. Please, take these for the house.” And she took a rolled pack of twenty different shaped candles and handed them to the youth.

“Many thanks.” He said.

They exchanged only a couple more words before Shiola was off again. She visited Hienal the Smith, Reddie the fishmonger’s wife, whose husband was always early to his boat and late to return, and Jabern the elder. Her work tired her and built her thirst, so she made for the large well near the edge of town, opposite and away from the river’s edge. She dropped the bucket, heard it splash and began pulling it up.

As the bucket reach the lip of the well, suddenly it snagged and was yanked away. Shiola lost her grip on the rope and the bucket fell away. She swore and rushed to the edge of the well to look down it.

For just one moment, she stood staring, eye to eye with something pale and wet. And then strong, claw-like hands snatched her under her arms and she was hauled over the stone lip of the well.

A few of the townsfolk heard her scream, though none could identify where it came from.