LOST TRAILS 8: The Harrowdale Horror, part 2
Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2018 9:22 pm
Klokulf lays hands on Benn and heals him, at least enough that Benn can stand.
The Lamordian scholar rubs his reddened eyes, blinking in the sunlight. He mumbles thanks to Klokulf before staggering off a short distance to vomit on the grass.
Kat, regarding the stains left by the monster, flings her soiled cloak across the lawn.
As the party recovers from the fight, the fire in the temple burns on, growing smokier and louder. It doesn’t look at all safe to enter now.
Heading back up the road, the heroes find Alwina and Randal, safe and well but a bit on edge.
The boy says, “We saw smoke, heard screams...”
Alwina grabs Klokulf’s forearms and steps very close to him, tilting her head up to look up at his face. “You weren’t hurt?
…
While the fire burns out, the party has time to look at houses in the neighborhood.
All the gardens have been dug up and several trees cut down.
Some houses have been boarded up, or locked and tightly shuttered, but at most the doors and windows hang open—some busted and splintered as if struck with axes from outside.
Going inside a one cottage with an undamaged door left ajar, they find a table set with flies buzzing lazily over four bowls of gray-brown stew and some orange cheese. The food smells stale and looks greasy.
Randal, sniffing the food with a wrinkled nose, remarks “I think I know this house.”
A brown stain spreads from the splinters of an earthenware mug under the table. The pantry’s apparently been cleared—spilled flour on the middle shelf outlines the bottoms of absent cans, jars, and packets. A ripped yellow and dun striped cloak hangs on the open door of a small wardrobe of the bedroom behind the kitchen/eating area. The bed is a shamble.
Randal looking about the cottage with a growing look of familiarity, freezes up when he spots the cloak. “That belongs to Mistress Aularue, the wife of Jahast the cobbler. She is very proud of it and...”
…
Further investigation in nearby-homes and shops shows signs of hasty departures, ax and tool marks consistent with break-ins at some sites, possible looting, and a few wall or floor stains that could be blood. No bodies. No dirt mounds suggestive of shallow graves-though the gardens have been stripped and flower-boxes emptied.
Looking back toward the temple, the smoke appears to have thinned.
Heading back that way, the party encounters no living creatures in the eerily quiet, empty town, not even a stray dog or a crow perched on a roof.
At the temple, they fan away smoke from one of several broken stained-glass windows and crawl through.
The floor and walls feel hot to the touch.
The air is stifling, and the acrid taint merely lessens after someone opens the barred front doors and lets in the breeze.
They see no obvious foes lurking in the smoky worship hall. Fallen plaster litters the sooty floor and the blackened pews.
Up a short dais, behind the altar table, stands a life-sized statue of a robed maiden with uplifted hands. Bright pigments show here and there under the coat of black the fire painted over the statue.
Alain uses his magic to search the area.
He discovers two crispy, child-sized bodies in a side room near an exit.
They appear to have left a trail in the soot getting from the main hall into this side chamber; hand-prints and drag marks.
Something smells sweet.
Alain swiftly locates the perfume's source: smoke wafting from a fire-damaged cabinet that holds packets of incense, which are now partly incarcerated and still slowly burning.
When Benn examines the fire-damaged remains of the two small humanoids, he notices some queer anatomical features. Not just the tube-like fingers and toes, but internal abnormalities, exposed by tissues peeling away in the heat.
The Lamordian scholar rubs his reddened eyes, blinking in the sunlight. He mumbles thanks to Klokulf before staggering off a short distance to vomit on the grass.
Kat, regarding the stains left by the monster, flings her soiled cloak across the lawn.
As the party recovers from the fight, the fire in the temple burns on, growing smokier and louder. It doesn’t look at all safe to enter now.
Heading back up the road, the heroes find Alwina and Randal, safe and well but a bit on edge.
The boy says, “We saw smoke, heard screams...”
Alwina grabs Klokulf’s forearms and steps very close to him, tilting her head up to look up at his face. “You weren’t hurt?
…
While the fire burns out, the party has time to look at houses in the neighborhood.
All the gardens have been dug up and several trees cut down.
Some houses have been boarded up, or locked and tightly shuttered, but at most the doors and windows hang open—some busted and splintered as if struck with axes from outside.
Going inside a one cottage with an undamaged door left ajar, they find a table set with flies buzzing lazily over four bowls of gray-brown stew and some orange cheese. The food smells stale and looks greasy.
Randal, sniffing the food with a wrinkled nose, remarks “I think I know this house.”
A brown stain spreads from the splinters of an earthenware mug under the table. The pantry’s apparently been cleared—spilled flour on the middle shelf outlines the bottoms of absent cans, jars, and packets. A ripped yellow and dun striped cloak hangs on the open door of a small wardrobe of the bedroom behind the kitchen/eating area. The bed is a shamble.
Randal looking about the cottage with a growing look of familiarity, freezes up when he spots the cloak. “That belongs to Mistress Aularue, the wife of Jahast the cobbler. She is very proud of it and...”
…
Further investigation in nearby-homes and shops shows signs of hasty departures, ax and tool marks consistent with break-ins at some sites, possible looting, and a few wall or floor stains that could be blood. No bodies. No dirt mounds suggestive of shallow graves-though the gardens have been stripped and flower-boxes emptied.
Looking back toward the temple, the smoke appears to have thinned.
Heading back that way, the party encounters no living creatures in the eerily quiet, empty town, not even a stray dog or a crow perched on a roof.
At the temple, they fan away smoke from one of several broken stained-glass windows and crawl through.
The floor and walls feel hot to the touch.
The air is stifling, and the acrid taint merely lessens after someone opens the barred front doors and lets in the breeze.
They see no obvious foes lurking in the smoky worship hall. Fallen plaster litters the sooty floor and the blackened pews.
Up a short dais, behind the altar table, stands a life-sized statue of a robed maiden with uplifted hands. Bright pigments show here and there under the coat of black the fire painted over the statue.
Alain uses his magic to search the area.
He discovers two crispy, child-sized bodies in a side room near an exit.
They appear to have left a trail in the soot getting from the main hall into this side chamber; hand-prints and drag marks.
Something smells sweet.
Alain swiftly locates the perfume's source: smoke wafting from a fire-damaged cabinet that holds packets of incense, which are now partly incarcerated and still slowly burning.
When Benn examines the fire-damaged remains of the two small humanoids, he notices some queer anatomical features. Not just the tube-like fingers and toes, but internal abnormalities, exposed by tissues peeling away in the heat.