DCC DotSK: Act 1-3

Upon hearing Dufgal's caw, Ty turns to the others and smiles.

"Safe to go up, then!" he declares. Using his leather-wrapped "cane" for support, the elf starts up the hill.

Aldric sighs deeply before he begins the ascent, using the oar to pull himself up the slope. He grimaces when the smell hits him.

"The smell of death never bodes well," he says, ready to face whatever carcass Dufgal had discovered now. The trio of offerings are a surprise. "This is no simple murder. It has the feel of ceremony and ritual about it."

Aldric will visually examine the knife, the ear, and the hand in that order, looking for some kind of identifying marks or unusual qualities (aside from being unattached). He also looks to see if the arrangement might tell him something, such as if this were a sacrifice and to whom, for example.

Anora glances at Ty when she knows the elf isn’t looking, and then scolds herself for wondering the thought at all in the first place…

Was this the work of his kin?…

She had heard tales of the elves and their inhuman rituals. How much of that talk had been tavern rumors, fishing for a coin to cover the price of the room for a night?

"The same beast as before?" she asks the others, as she keeps a fair distance from the greatest of the mess.

THE GRISLY SCENE ATOP THE HILL (ALL)

Dufgal is examining the trails that criss-cross and cut through the low cover that mantles the hill, the moss and the brambles and sedge, as his trio of companions arrive.

It doesn’t take them long to discover that the ear and the hand aren’t the worst of it — far from it. At least four ruined bodies are scattered — literally — around the hilltop. The crest, with two large and crooked but leafless trees and a series of what look like tumbled standing stones, appears to be a campsite; the kind that gets used and reused many times over the years. There’s a deep fire pit, logs dragged near for sitting, a privy of sorts out of the wind and away from the cold ashes of the fire, and a whole collection of gear, packs and rough blankets and such.

Aldric is initially thinking some ritual might have been the end of these four men — rough-hewn hillfolk from their dress and the tangled and bloody remains of their dark beards — but the splatter and scatter of the remains is too random, too violent. Limb from limb they were torn. Beheaded, clawed open, eviscerated. Weapons are strewn about as well — this foursome died fighting, or perhaps fleeing.

Their bodies and parts are days old, maggot-filled, and stink to high heaven, ruining what would have perhaps been a good place to camp for the night.

Crouching near an armless torso that had homespun clothes torn from its pale, bloated back, Anora sees wounds she believes match those they saw on the elk before. Claws and teeth ended these men.

"Beast, aye," replies Aldric. "Or demon. If four armed men were so utterly destroyed by it, I doubt we will fare much better. Let's be on our way."

I’se meant to buy another weapon back in town wit’ mah silver, but… well, you’se know how that went. Might’n I collect an abandoned blade here?
Dufgal begins to inventory the discarded metal.

Tyravasiel-Llir seems to glance uneasily about, although with those weird, monochrome eyes, it's hard to be sure.

"We should try to get well away from here before we camp," he concurs. "And forego a fire, perhaps, unpleasant as that will be. Dufgal, make your choice and let's be off."

"Remember why we are here." Anora says, in a cold, commanding voice.

"I dare say we have the answer to why the men didn’t make it to town. The question is: Are these the ones we’ve been sent to find? Or are they simply those misfortunate enough to have our quarry hiding in their homes?" she says, assuming that the village folk would fear leaving their homes with a beast about.

"Do they look young?" she asks, steeling herself to look at faces of the men, looking for any familial similarities.

As Dufgal roots around for a weapon, Anona checks on the remains that look the most intact. And as bad as they are, she can see that these were not boys, not even young men. This were grizzled outlanders, wind-burned and scarred from years of hard living. Men who lived beyond the walls of civilization. Crudely made tattoos of red and green mark their skin in places, triangles and lines, circles and dots. They were each wearing hide or leather armor, were armed, and carried light packs rather than ones laden with goods. Perhaps the brigands they were warned about?

Regardless, this slaughter seemed to not be the end of Dolsten and his sons, so there is some hope in that.

Behind the azure-clad sorceress and her realizations, Dufgal dumps an arm-load of weapons onto the ground…

Trying to be quick, but checking the handles and blades, Dufgal searches the scene for his new weapon.

The burly thief decides on the spear, the handaxe, and the sling/stones. He quickly tucks all but the spear into his belt and uses the spear shaft as his walking stick. He feels a bit like a little explorer for just a moment, recalling the times in his childhood he would disappear into the woods empty handed but return with all sorts of cool looking sticks and a head full of imagination.

"Waste not, want not, eh Dufgal? What an exemplary person! Pelagia approves. Now let's get the fuck out of here."

Dufgal stands in his ready position and says,
a diff’rent camp spot than this, yes?

A man so afeared of liquid that the red stuff flowing through his own body scares him… the woman thinks, and struggles to see him as more than a frail, old man doddering his way through a final excursion in the wilds.

"Yes! We had better be away. Let’s hope that the people we intend to meet don’t recognize those effects." she says, giving Dufgal a warning glance. The man is smart enough to keep his takes from view, she suspected, but would be have put two and two together.

DAY THREE - MAKING CAMP

With Dufgal now better armed, the foursome decides to move on from the ghastly scene with some haste. Back down the hill to the overgrown road they go, trying to put some distance between themselves and the site of the massacre before darkness falls. The weather is cool and damp — unpleasant, but not the drenching rain of the prior evening.

Bones are weary and faces are long and tired as they search for a place to set up camp…

Earnestly searching…

The stars align for Aldric!He's so busy looking at the stars, he forgets to look for a camp site.