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Summary
Their destination was a small German village, once quaint and a safe place for travellers to rest their weary heads while on their way to better places. Now, people either had moved away or were hidden deep in their cellars, travellers warned with signs along the road to keep moving.
Initially, Hanzo had scoffed at the idea of taking this bounty, but Cassidy had argued it was worth looking into. The townsfolk who had contacted them spoke of rocks falling from the sky; some the size of finger nails, other times as large as a house. Hanzo had rolled his eyes.
These folks lived in what Hanzo could only describe as rolling hills, the closest mountain-like geography was nearly a hundred kilometres away. Whatever was hitting them wasn’t rocks, Hanzo was sure of that. Maybe it was a large avian who had nested too close, or maybe even a group of harpies that had moved in.