Prelude: Don't Drink The Water ((Trace, Katy))
He blinked at Cox. "This liquid creates...revenants?"
It probably wasn't the correct term, but it was the only one familiar to him. It was the word his father had used when he had told Trace about the restless souls that took up their decaying flesh once more and wandered the valley and the Wyre Forest, seeking to settle something that had been left undone while they lived. Trace, only ten at the time, had put on a brave face at the close of the tale. Addressing his father, he had said, "But, Papa, those things are only just stories. They aren't real. Not truly."
His father had regarded him seriously and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the jagged scars from four large claws, the color of each one a deep charcoal gray. "Real enough, son," he had answered, "Real enough."
Hargrave shook his head, his gaze falling to the metal keg. "Walking corpses," he said, finding another term. All at once, he suddenly understood Bayou Vermillion's claims of labor that never ceased. Most of their workers were the dead. Refocusing on Cox, he added, "This is what Leroux was trying to sell."
Looking around at the empty graves, he felt another cold jolt travel the length of his spine. "You're right, Katy. We need to get inside. And get what's left of that liquid somewhere safe."
He approached the keg, his eyes scanning the surrounding darkness as he prepared to help move it.
18:57, Today: Trace Hargrave rolled 5,5 using 1d8,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,5. Notice.