Chapter 1: The Enemy in Shadows

"Ginger y’say? No, sir, no sir, I could maybe scare up some mint! Would that praps do yeh?"

The coachmen do their best to pull it together.

"N… next coach won’t b… be here for w… w… I…I’m losing it! I’m… wrrraaauuuggghhh!!!!!"

"Don’t worry… we’ll make it… j… just need a m… mwaaarrrggghhh!!!!!!"

You manage to assist the two Coachmen with some not-ideal homemade remedies. It calms their stomachs down somewhat, though they still look incredibly exhausted…

"Arrrr, thank yeh, priest. Oof… really calmed the tummy there. I’ll drive."

"Brrrruuuooooo… yeah… I’ll take shotgun, you just keep the horses good and calm, will yeh?"

They both still looked rather out of it as they took a moment before heading to the coach, though the food offered by the innkeeper seemed to make them sick again, and he quickly took it away.

The Coachmen, still rather horribly hung over, are at least able to get into their seats now. The one riding shotgun has to shake himself out of snoring multiple times, as everyone rises to the top of the coach. It’s crowded up there, with the Boatman you met on the last coach ride, the pudding bowl hair cutted scholar, the Bretonnian gambler, and all of you. With rain consistently pelting you all, it’s particularly uncomfortable. Only the high born lady, her servant, and bodyguard are at all comfy, as they, and bid after box of hats are in the belly of the beast.

The coachmen continually fall asleep, having to be shaken awake, or shouted at the get up… it’s slow going, especially when, unconscious, one of the coachmen nearly steers off the road and into a tree. Before long, under their inept ministrations, the horses begin to slow to a crawl.

Annoyance, however, turns to terror, as. Sudden bend in the road leads to a horrific scene. Yards away, what looks like a corpse is partially sunken into the muddy road ahead. A figure, hooded and cloak stands over him. A hideous sound… like wet munching, is barely audible over the rainfall. The hooded figure raises his head to reveal a severed human hand dangles from his mouth, as bright yellow pus drops from his mouth alongside oozing blood as he continues to gnaw the hand… he growls hideously before leaping at your coach, madness filling barely visible eyes. Sobering up instantly, the coachman riding shotgun attempts to fire his blunderbuss at the creature, but the rain had soaked the black powder.