Hounded!

"How far is it to the Shepherd's farm" queried Arvien.  "Which direction are we going, when will we arrive?"  she continued.  The Sheriff answered, "It is about 5 miles out to the farmstead, which is off to the northeast.  We should bet there in about a half hour.  Further on is the moors and bogs surrounding the Manor of Wescoat."

The sheriff related the tale of "The Feud" (see the related post) detailing the interaction of the Wescoat and Campbell factions from a century ago.  "Our search should not take us as far as the Manor though."
Eventually the hunters arrived at the site of shepherd Dawson's cottage.  It was a ramshackle little place, badly weathered by the harsh climate of the area.  The building seemed secure, and held no clue as to what might have killed the shepherd.  Around the back of the cottage were the sheep pens which were strangely quite.  Grunyar and Seglun followed the sheriff into the pens where all the sheep lay about with their throats torn out.
"Someone's got a morbid sense of humor," said the Sheriff.  He gestured toward the body of the shepherd.  The man's throat had been ripped open by some creature, jagged tears surrounded the wound.  Standing over the corpse was a straw sculpture of a dog, a large hound patched together with mud.  There was blood dripping from the thorny teeth of the figure.  As Seglun and Baru arrived a blast of wind blew the beast apart, scattering the straw and leaving only a few bloodstained stalks of hay to mark where it stood.
Grunyar and Varrid started searching for tracks and found only the hound's and the shepherd's tracks which lead to the final resting place of each.  There seemed to be no tracks leading away from the scene.
"Who placed the statue here?" asked Sheriff McAndrew clearly befuddled, "How could there be nothing leading away?"
After pondering this question for a few minutes the Sheriff organized the whole party into several groups who were to search the area northeast from Shepherd Dawson's farmstead.  The adventurers were assigned to follow the track of the hound that had killed the sheep and shepherd.  Sheriff McAndrew suggested that the groups could communicate via shouts and soundings since the fog had once again descended fiercely upon the moors.  So everyone set off in lines or columns trying to find any evidence of the lair of the hounds.  The heroes could not make out the groups next to them in the dense fog, but the communication flowed well, with shouts coming up and down the line every few minutes.  Still, the whole hunting party was spreading out, becoming more and more dispersed.
Suddenly a mournful yowling arose.  It sounded as if scores of dogs were howling in unison.  The eerie sound of the dogs grew louder and the sounds of the other hunting groups diminished.  There was then screams of pain and surprise in the distance, as well as the bays of hunting dogs.  It sounded as though another group was being attacked.
The heroes tried to move toward the sounds but the fog has confused their sense of direction, muffling the sound and making it seem as though it comes from everywhere or nowhere.  The group found themselves wending their way through the fog in no consistent direction.  Soon they felt entirely lost and then heard howls sounding nearby seemingly from all directions.  All at once a silence fell over the land and a pack of eyeless dogs closed in from all quarters.  Ralom's magic detection found the hounds emanate a conjuration magic.  The battle was on as the heroes moved cautiously toward the blank eyed hounds.  During the battle Seglun and Varrid were suddenly stunned as their enemies turned into statues of mud and straw.  Arvien enlarged Baru again and Grunyar climbed onto a rocky outcropping to fire arrows at the hounds.  The claws and bites of the hounds started to inflict serious wounds, but the heroes were steadfast and eventually "killed" all the hounds.  Each hound turned into a statue of mud and straw, which were easily destroyed by the smash of a weapon or even a strong wind.
The sounds of the other deputies had faded to nothing during the battle.  The surroundings were damp and marshy, the sound of water dripping off moss draped skeletons of trees filled the lonely moor.  All around rose the drone of buzzing insects and the harsh caws of carrion birds.  The sounds seemed somehow lost and forlorn through the dense fog.  Then out of the lonely gray came the baying of the dread hounds.  The party formed into a circle to repel the fearsome attack.  Out of the mists another group of hounds appeared and tore into the group, but the hearty adventurers killed them off quickly.  As the group spread some healing around, Seglun and Baru were sorely damaged they again heard the sounds of baying as a pack once again took up the hunt.  At this juncture the party decided to flee from the pack as best they can.  Haphazardly they flew into thicker growths, green, yet rancid, somehow drawing strength from the stagnant waters through which they slogged.  Drovic and Seglun's feet suddenly sank into the morass.  Seglun successfully pulled herself free but Drovic was stuck and slowly sank into the eerie swamp.  Drovic relaxed as best he could, using swimming motions to keep his head above the swamp, while Varrid threw a rope to him. Quick action by all drug Drovic from the quicksand, as it dawned on the group that any misstep could be their doom.  The baying of hounds was still present behind the group as they continued to flee with more care.
From out of the fog  came a terrified scream, chorused by the baying of hounds, who had cornered their prey.  A stooped old man, bloodied and muddied, hobbled out of the undergrowth, the horrible, eyeless hounds close on his heels.  His pitiful cries for help were weak and hoarse.  The dogs, undaunted by the new foes, threw themselves into battle foaming and snarling.
In a quick encounter the heroes again dispatched the hounds while surrounding the old man  to protect him.
"Thanks t' ye fer yer timely assistance.  Without it, I'd surely be dead.  But I'm gettin' ahead of meself.  Allow me t' introduce meself to ye.  I am Douglas Michaels, the gardner to Sir Burton Wescoat, the owner of this property and the nearby manor.  I was out here in the bog t' gather some herbs fer our cook when I was set upon by the nasty dogs.
"I've got t' say, I never expected to see anyone wanderin' through the the bog of their own accord.  Even during the daytime, when the hounds don't come out, this place is usually shunned by the locals.  'Course, I can see yer not locals, so that might explain it.  Still, didn't anyone tell ye that this place is s'posed to be cursed?
"Y' know, now't I think on't, this is th' first time I've ever seen these hounds during th' daytime.  That's a powerful puzzle.  It's supposed to be safe to go out in the light,"  an involuntary shivering shook his frail frame.
"If you could be seein' me back t' the manor, we could look after those wounds and maybe arrange fer some dinner, What say ye?"
The party readily agreed to accompany Douglas back to the manor as they were lost for directions.  The group related the story of Shepherd Dawson, but Douglas didn't know Dawson from Adam.  They slogged on through the boggy marshland.

DM's Notes:  The party earned 500 XP for the battles with the hounds and now have 6000 XP needing 1500 additional XP to reach 3rd level.