Word came around of a waterfall opening up from the sky. Naturally, they all wanted to see it, so they set out down the road and, approaching the outlet to that valley, saw a large crowd in the distance gathered under a shimmering singular spout from heaven, sparkling and casting rainbows among scores of hurried little nimbus clouds. The people there off in the distance danced in the shower, thrilled with the sport of it. That all came to a quick stop when the sky groaned and cracked and the playful waters became a dark column of lethal hose, killing most everyone on impact and churning up the muck from deep underground. The Nightjar party turned back quick and began their ascent back into the upper altitudes, looking back now and then in concern at this problem without any evident solution to it. The waters never ceased pouring into that valley, nor did the mystery of the matter. It filled the lowlands and joined together with the distant ocean, destroying most of the farmland of Lith. Nothing to be done about it. Just another concerning reminder that no one escapes this life alive. They returned home to a blanket of blue haze, so dense it was there was no difference between the outdoors and the indoors in that drafty old lady, and they hoped that if she only slid downhill a half mile, they might be clear of the smoke choking the upper boundaries of the range. There were rumors about the two events, the fires and the whelkin cracking, being the work of the Red Devil Coven, but that was generally who was blamed for any sort of evil. Like the rains from space some years ago that mutated part the population some years ago. But since that time, all the mutants had gone to live underground so that matter was mostly out of sight, out of mind.