For two days the party continue east along the Tradeway, towards Fairhill and Bard's Gate beyond.  The weather is bright, if a little cool for the time of year, with a stiff breeze blowing out of the north.

They make good progress, occasionally encountering other travellers, merchants for the most part, usually accompanied by a handful of guards.  The merchants speak of good trade in Bard's Gate, while the guards and the few other wayfarers tell tales of rumoured orc raiders near Fairhill, though none of them are able to say that they actually saw the humanoids.

The only real worry for the bold adventurers are the occasional distant cries of a lost child, interspersed with mocking laughter from the low, wooded hills which run along the north side of the road.  Those haunting sounds have not been heard for several hours now though.

By Corian's estimate they are still three or four days from Fairhill.  The afternoon is drawing on when they spot a small farm just a short distance from the road.  "Perhaps the farmer would permit us to spend the night in his barn." Corian suggests, "It would surely be better than sleeping out in the open, and more easily defended, should hat creature decide to attack again."

Ozzy perks up at the sight of the farmhouse, a smile forming on his worried little face. All morning long he had spent continually looking over his shoulder and listening to every little noise around them. Even if if the creature did not return tonight, the nightmares of it most certainly would. When Corian suggests asking the farmer for a safehouse in his barn for the night, Ozzy says, " He won't do it if we tells him were being hunted, especially by something so horrific we cant even put a name to - but maybe if Eilieen asks him real pretty like, he might consider it!" He makes it a point to say her name in a teasing tone, knowing that pretty ladies usually get what they want in life. Especially from bumpkin farmers. He just hoped the wife didn't answer the door.

Eilieen spirits, higher now that the weather has changed, hit an all-time peak at the sight of the farmhouse.  Sleep.  Perhaps in a bed, if coin will persuade the farmer to give up his own comfort for a night; if not, then at least with a roof.  And relief from the interminable tracking of the beast pursuing them, vile creature that it is.

She warns every group they pass of its tricks - the speech, the child's cries.

But Ozzy's words put a frown on her face, and not from the insinuations.  "I am unsure if we should bring our problems to his doorstep.  If the beast feels it can harm us by killing the farmer and his family, assuredly it will."  She glances over her shoulder with some trepidation.  "It has trailed us far outside its territory, I am certain.  This...thing...holds a terrible grudge."

Worse even than the Vice High Priestess (High Priestess of Vice, as Eilieen had liked to name her) after Eilieen awoke in the middle of the night to find her room and bed most rudely invaded.  Healing spells had been required after everoyone calmed down, and the woman had certainly had it in for her during the remainder of her stay at the temple.

Then she prods Ozzy with the haft of her spear (not the pointy end - she saves that for the High Priestess of Vice, hence the healing spells).  "Pfft.  I would never trade upon my looks.  Coin will do the trick, Oswald, as I am certain you know."  A small smile softens her words.  "But fear not - my coin.  You may keep yours.  I shall pay for the group."

Ozzy giggles as she pokes him with the stick and upon hearing her offer to pay for lodging for the night he says, " Rich and pretty! Are you single too?"

"... puking, dankish, sheep-biting, swag-bellied, fobbing ..."

Aarnr pauses in his litany of muttered imprecations. It's hard to keep track as to whether this latest was aimed at the elusive beasts or Bowbe, for he's been deriding both the creatures and his god in roughly equal measure for the two days since that fateful night time encounter.  Indeed, having stayed up specially on the nights since, in the hope of an attack that never came, the priest is more than usually irascible from both lack of sleep and bitter disappointment.

Indeed, in that time the only thing to improve his mood was the abject fear upon the faces of those they passed by, after the priestess had finished terrifying them with tales of the beast and its mother.

Farmers, however, are no substitute for monsters and there's little glory to be won in taking their steadings by force, so he's somewhat mollified when Oswald and Eilieen hit upon a cunning plan to save him the bother.  And for all he revels in the elements, a night in a warm barn would not be unwelcome.  The smell could be a problem, but he's sure the goats won't mind.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:16, Sun 21 Aug 2011.

The group turn off the road and heads towards the farm.  As they do so, a large raven flaps away from a tree behind them, on the opposite side of the road and glides lazily across the open ground, soaring upwards at the last moment to alight on the roof of the barn.

The party pass the barn, under the watchful eye of the raven.  They come around the side of the house, and it suddenly seems unlikely that the owner will accept payment for a night sleeping next to the livestock.

The farmer, or what is left of him, lies in the yard outside his home, half eaten and missing an arm.  His wife and three children lay nearby, in various contorted positions.  One small boy has been disembowelled, next to his sister, who lays on the blood-soaked ground with chickens pecking around her.

The half-elf is a different being compared to the companion they found in Reme. Gone is the talkative half-elf who loved watching and chatting with anyone who would listen to him. The quotes and poems that seemed to spring forth from his lips have dried up leaving a great big silent hole that surrounds the Aramil wherever he walks.

Aramil walks along with the others, yet seems to be somewhere else. Anyone who tries to talk to Aramil notices quickly that he is not in a talking mood. His face is drawn and most will have noticed the dark circles around his eyes. Those who seem intent in staying up during the night will see Aramil sitting looking into the fire rather than sleeping. He jumps at any sound both during the day and at night. The cries of the creature hunting them seems to increase Aramil's anxiety till it would seem that the half-elf is about to break. And break in a very bad way.

The conversation about the farmhouse washes over Aramil like water over a stream bed. He doesn't notice the comments and has no idea about staying the night or the dilemma facing the others about leading their hunter towards innocent people. Aramil's glassy eyes just drifts over the landscape. As the group goes around the barn nothing registers about the scene in front of them. It could be festival day back home rather than the gruesome attack upon this unfortunate family.

After a few minutes of standing aside and watching the others reaction to the scene, suddenly Aramil is shaken by what seems as an invisible force. There is a sudden strangles sound emanating from his throat that gets louder as is continues. It reaches what could only be a painful pitch, for both Aramil and those listening to noise, then is cut off by the sound of retching as Aramil brings up the contents of his stomach all over his shoes and anyone else unlucky enough to be standing by him.

Any thought of retort for Oswald's comment is hurled from the priestess mind by the scene opening before them.

"No..." Eilieen whispers.  Her hands shaking, she hurries forward, moving from body to body, any thoughts of her lost comforts or frustrations with her temple far, far from her mind.  "No, no, no," she cries, checking the children, the father, the mother, hoping for the impossible.

Behind her, Aramil vomits.  A flicker of concern ripples through her - the Half-elf has not been himself for days, now.  She should talk to him.  See what has blackened his moods.  Help him get through this nightmare before them all.  Try to...to...

Eilieen scrubs at her face, but the tears do not cease.  "Take comfort in the...the arms of Zadastha," she chokes out to the bodies as she closes eyes and arranges limbs frozen in death to more relaxed, dignified positions.  Her own cloak covers the dead boy's awful wound.  "Rise to the he-heavens in her gentle grasp, to...to...oh, Zadastha," she weeps, hunching over on the blood-soaked ground, heedless of the stains on her gown.

"Frog ..."

Even Aarnr is rendered speechless by the sight of the dead.  Grimly he takes in the scene, gaze moving slowly from one corpse to the next.  No battle this, just slaughter.

When Aramil pukes his guts up, the priest attempts no disparaging remark or attempt at humour.  And when Eilieen falls to her knees weeping over the child's corpse, he merely squats besides her, placing a comforting hand upon her shoulder.

Looking up, visage grim, his eyes flick over each of his companions in turn, settling on the Nameless Monk.  "Thee and me," he tells her, "we'll move their bodies to the barn for now.  Fergus - Corian and thou should gather wood for a pyre.  The rest of thee ... search the other buildings and keep a close watch."

Gently he pulls the priestess to her feet. "Time for prayers later," he says gruffly, but not without kindness.  "Now there's work to be done ..."

Fergus is a simple soul.  He accepts that the lurking beast and the threat of attack are beyond his control and so he puts them out of his mind as much as possible.

The nights are bad: the sight of Aramil staring into the fire, while Aarnr peers into the shadows with equal intensity, is uncomfortable.  But in a strange way Aarnr helps.  The mad priest is so confident in his battle-lust that some of it* starts to wear off on Fergus.  Also, he finds Aarnr's litany of curses soothing, like a kind of white noise.  Fergus knows farmers who talk like that.  Never around his parents, of course, but they tended to forget Fergus was there.

That thought brings Fergus' other troubles to mind.  As the road takes the group closer to Fairhill, Fergus starts to wear his hood up more, even when the weather doesn't call for it.  It doesn't help much because it does nothing to conceal his bulk but it seems Fergus is determined not to be recognised.

For the same reason, Fergus lets others take the lead as they approach the farmhouse.  He hasn't been here before but it's not impossible that he's seen the farmer or his family at market in Fairhill.

As the group rounds the barn and Fergus takes in the horrific scene, he feels his gut tighten in sympathy with Aramil's distress, but he keeps his lunch down.  He stands uncomprehending for a moment as he struggles to come to terms with the sight of the dismembered family.

"That's bad." Fergus says, his voice tight with anger.  "I should go to town and fetch out Farmer Moody and his dogs, and someone should tell the priest."

OOC: Apologies for inventing NPC's.  Also, does Fergus recognise the family?

*the confidence, not the battle-lust :)

Erista does try talking to Aramil over the journey, and if he doesn't feel like responding, that seems to be OK with her; she does her best to fill the silent space around him on her own.

The scene at the farm, however, quiets her, too.  She forces herself to look at it for a moment, but only a moment, turning quickly away.  She gives Aarnr a nod, silently, and starts walking over to the main house.  Astral's head turns as she walks, the owl watching the raven above from its place on her shoulder.

Eilieen nods, dashing tears from her eyes.  "Should I assist with the b-bodies?" she chokes out.  "I am of no use in w-watching."  Her talents do not lie in that direction; she's fairly certain the Nameless Monk would be a better choice to stand guard.  Swallowing thickly, she stands, reaching up to pat the other priest's hand.  "Thank you, Aarnr," the priestess manages, her voice a touch steadier.  Brushing back her hair, she stares down at the little girl.

"Unless you feel I should search," she temporizes, not wishing to argue, "I would be better here.  With the dead."

Did they bring this upon these people?  Did the beast that tracks them move ahead and tear the family apart in warning or amusement?  Eilieen's lips tremble with her emotions, sorrow, guilt, and anger warring within her.  Turning, she studies her compatriots.  Fergus, his youthful features full of appalled rage.  Aarnr, coldly grim.  Aramil, sick and lost.  Even Erista has fallen silent.

How will this change them? she wonders.  For it will; it has already changed her.

Soon enough Aramil gets over the urge to vomit and is able to stand back upright again. Well almost upright. Looking around him he sees the distress on the faces of the others and somehow this makes him feel better. That the others are also upset makes Aramil glad he chose this group of travellers. They have good hearts for the things that matter.

As he was preoccupied at Aarnr's suggestion of what people should do Aramil just stands there looking around, but not at the bodies. Even with the cover the horror is burnt into Aramil's eyes even when they are open. This should fade over time, but Aramil is unaware of this at moment. As the others move of to do their allotted tasks Aramil continues to just stand for a bit. Soon though he moves off as well, joining the group that is searching the farmhouse and keeping a lookout for whoever/whatever did this horror.

In silence, as she has been since the night the beast nearly killed one of them and promised to kill them all in time, the monk stands there silently looking at the massacre.  She moves over to the nearest of fallen and kneels at the body, where her eyes closes momentarily, hands held palm to palm in under her chin.  As the eye open she gestures over the body, then repeats the process at the next.

Once she finally stands up again her face is solemn as she turns her focus to the ground around the bodies.

"Without the beasts' carcasses to show for it, the town warders will as like blame us for this," the priest suggests to Fergus, with typical distrust of guardsmen and their ilk.  "And like as not the farmer and his dogs would fare no better than these poor souls."

"I ... we can pray for them," he amends his words as Eilieen speaks up.  The priestess is made of sterner stuff than he'd have guessed.  "The three of us then to mind the fallen," he agrees, frowning at the monk's ritual, but holding his peace.

Wood is easy to get, there is a woodshed alongside the house, with a good supply of birch logs stacked within.

It is clear that animals are not responsible for this massacre, the wounds look to have been made by swords and axes, wielded with considerable enthusiasm, by all appearances. 

Time is taken to straighten the bodies out, into more restful postures, and birch logs and brush are piled around them.  The monk keeps looking at the blood-stained ground, between glances around the farm. 

Looking around reveals that there are still about thirty chickens, four pigs, a horse, and three cows alive, though the cows are far away from the buildings, in a pasture close to the edge of the woods. 

Those searching the farmhouse soon find that it is empty.  No attackers lurk within.

The family had few possessions it seems, and those they had are items which would typically be associated with poor farmers - simple tools, some basic clothing, a dress embroidered with flowers, which once perhaps served as a wedding dress, a few copper pieces in a wooden box on the kitchen table...

Above the fireplace hangs a shortsword, old and apparently well-used, but in good condition.  And Colwyn, always on the lookout for such things, finds a box hidden beneath the bed which contains a little silver and some more copper.

Outside, the preparations are finished.  The makeshift pyres are complete.  In the west, the sun sits just above the horizon...

"Not beasts then," Aarnr mutters as he finally gets a close look at the bodies.  He's somewhat disappointed.  Easier to think some monstrosity did this than to know it was done at the hands of men.  He's seen enough slaughter, even with not so many winters to his name, but that in pitched battle.

"Thou wouldst speak first ?" he prompts Eilieen when the pyres are ready for lighting.  Better her words to soothe the souls to their rest before his promising bloody vengeance ...

"Prints of boots, boots no farmer would wear."

The monk says no more, having no more to say.  She helps with the bodies in silence contemplation.  The deed seemed utterly senseless and done with great enthusiasm.  Rather unsettling.  She almost hope the perpetrators of this misdeed will return here tonight to receive their just reward.

Grateful for Aarnr's change of heart, Eilieen assists with the bodies.  She cries silent tears as the Nameless Monk performs her ceremony.  She stumbles through her own prayers, sobs choking her throat.  She pauses to wipe tear-blinded eyes as she moves from body to body.

But she never slows, never stops.

The revelation of the family's possessions bring more tears, as does the discovery of the animals.  They must find the village, Eilieen considers.  Find it, and send people to care for the poor beasts, to bring them into their own farms.  In the meantime, she will see about getting the cows into the barn, to protect them from the elements and from predators.

The dress, she gently places like a banner across the husband and wife, uniting their hands beneath it, their children at their sides.

"Not beasts," she replies to Aarnr.   "There was..."  Eilieen swallows hard, waving a hand toward the terribly small bodies of the children.  "Dagger wound.  In each.  Poisoned, that much was easy to see."  Horribly, horribly easy, the edges of the wound stained with the toxin, the nearby flesh black with putrifaction and corruption already.  She bites her lip, and the taste of iron floods her mouth.  "No love given to them as they died," the priestess murmurs.  "We can do so now."

Another nod to Aarnr follows, and Eilieen steps forward to lay her hand upon the brow of each body in turn.  She stares into their faces as she does, brushing back their hair with sorrowful love in her heart.  "I know not to whom you send your prayers," she murmurs.  "But Zadastha awaits your coming, her arms held wide."

Her voice rises - not to a shout, but clear as a bell.  "In her embrace you will find the love stolen from you in this world.  You will bask in the adoration of family, parents and children together again, now and forever.  You will return to the bliss of passion as lovers reunite, two becoming one for eternity.  You will shine on in the pure care of the goddess herself, cherished and protected from pain, bitterness, and loss."

Her voice cracks as her puffy eyes well up once again.  But she holds her place.  "For love is...love is 'home'."  Her arms rise, and she stares blindly into the setting sun.  "Now go.  Fly home!  Home to family, home to mate, home to love!  Let this shadow fall from you, leaving you bright in the heavens."

Her gaze lifts to the darkening sky.

"Like the stars."

Tears leave trails down her pale, smooth skin, but Eilieen's face is peaceful as she turns back to the others, her mouth curled in a soft smile.  In silence, she returns to her place in the group, knowing the prayers will continue; dark prayers, no doubt, for retribution.

Such prayers are for the living more than the dead, to give voice and answer to pain.  They are as needed, she suspects, as her own.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:41, Wed 24 Aug 2011.

Ozzy has stood in shocked silence ever since first setting eyes on the remains of the farmers family. At first, he had wondered if the Hunter had jumped ahead of them and had set this up as an example of its handiwork, but when Eileen explains that they were both stabbed and poisoned before beind butchered, his concern only deepens. "Assassinated?" is all he can manage to say. His mind spins too fast to elaborate further on his fear.