The scout looked down upon the valley. He had traveled through this region many times in his years as a hunter and was familiar with every bush, tree, and rock. Today it felt somehow wrong. He attributed part of it to the weather, which was unusually gray and overcast for a summer day, but still, something was...wrong.
While the valley was filled with the sound of insects, it was missing the songs of birds, and the telltale rustle of other wildlife. This was a fertile valley, a home to many creatures, with a freshwater stream flowing through it. It was a blessing so close to the brackish waters found in the flooded lands to the south.
The scout decided to investigate further. It was his duty; these lands were claimed by his people, the Vulmani. If anything was amiss, he needed to discover what, and there was no profit in delay.
The scout flowed down the hillside like a shadow, and was soon down to the valley floor. Running through the center of the valley was a well-used animal trail.
Inspection of the trail revealed something interesting. While there were a great many fresh animal tracks, there were fresh tracks of another sort. These were of several types, most of which the scout did not recognize. Some resembled shod human tracks, others were birdlike scratches in the soft earth, and some were simply impressions in the dirt, as if something was leaning heavily on a staff. All the tracks, animal and unknown, were headed northwest, with the unknown tracks being the most recent. This gave the impression that the wildlife was being driven in front of the unknown.
The scout was torn. He wanted to follow the tracks and catch sight of whatever had made them, but he was also of a mind to follow them back to their origin. Discretion and duty won out over simple curiosity.
He estimated he was only a few hours behind whatever had made the tracks. Setting a rapid, but cautious pace, staying well under cover, he headed northwest.
Spoor was still abundant. Hunks of fur were stuck to limbs and brambles, as if the animals they belonged to had abandoned caution. In addition, the scout would occasionally find bits of cloth, worn and weathered, but freshly deposited on the underbrush.
The scout pressed on as the sun fell lower in the sky, nearing a widening in the valley well after dusk. Ahead would be a cabin inhabited by a peculiar old human named Essin Lark. Having made peace with the Vulmani chieftain years ago, Essin was not troubled by the tribe. The scout had shared Essin's fire on several occasions, getting to know the old man fairly well.
As the clearing came into view, the scout spotted the cabin. No lights were visible in the cabin, and nothing was moving. Only the sounds of insects and wind through the trees could be heard.
With great caution and skill borne from years of raiding, the scout crept up on the cabin and made his way to the front door. The door was standing open, the interior cloaked in darkness.
Hand firmly clasped on the hilt of his long knife, the scout edged his way inside the cabin. The coppery smell of spilled blood and the musty scent of animals were heavy here. It was still too dark for him to see anything inside the single room.
Retrieving a candle from his pouch, the scout quietly uttered the words of a simple cantrip causing the candle to come to sputtering life. The glow from the candle spread through the room revealing its contents.
Judging by the disarray, there had been a struggle in the cabin. The simple furnishings were strewn about and broken; a kettle full of water had fallen in the fireplace, dousing it. The scout saw a full catch sack on the floor, explaining the smell of animals and blood. Of Essin, there was no sign.
After restoring and relighting a fallen lantern, he continued his examination of the cabin. As he moved to the far side of the room, a faint scratching sound could be heard coming from underneath a toppled chair.
Lifting the chair, he was amazed to find a skeletal leg, roughly severed below the knee, laying flat on the floor, shod with a moldering black shoe. The leg was moving, twitching on the dirt floor in a random, jerky manner.
The scout jumped back a few paces, his hand gripping the hilt of his knife. Chiding himself for his fear, he moved back to examine the leg more closely.
The scout had seen many bones in the past, but never animated ones. Poking at it with his knife caused it to become even more agitated. He could not see how the bones were held together, but it was clearly moving as if it were all of one piece.
Not knowing what else to do, the scout decided to take this strange object back to the tribe. Perhaps the elders could make more sense of it.
Casting around for something to store the leg in, his eyes fell upon the catch sack. He shook the dead animals out, and was in the process of figuring how best to get the leg in the sack, when he heard movement outside.
The scout flattened himself against the wall by the open doorway, knife at the ready. The sound of movement drew closer, to just outside the door, then stopped. The scout was tense, teeth bared in a quiet snarl, unnerved by the day's events.
Several long moments passed, the scout becoming more and more apprehensive. He was ready to leap through the doorway and confront the source of the noises when they unexpectedly resumed.
A figure appeared in the doorway and shuffled towards the center of the room. It was Essin, leaning heavily on a stick. The scout relaxed. Essin was no threat and could possibly explain what had transpired.
"Essin, Vargorht greets you!" the scout called out to the old man.
Essin turned to face the scout. No longer in profile, the reason for the stick was quickly apparent; Essin was missing his left leg from just below the knee. Essin stared at the scout for a moment, expression blank. The scout regarded him in return.
Along with the missing leg, Essin's breeches below the knee were cut and ragged, but there was no sign of bleeding. As the scout moved his eyes upward, he noticed something even more troubling. Essin's unblinking eyes were not the faded blue he remembered, but instead they were black, iris indistinguishable from pupil.
Turning away from the scout, Essin made his way towards the still-twitching leg. As he stooped down and picked it up, the twitching ceased. Essin dropped his stick and placed the skeletal part against the severed end of his own leg.
So rapt was the scout in the actions of Essin that he did not notice another enter the cabin until it moved past him to stand near the old man.
Dressed in a gray cloak with its back to him, the scout could not tell much about the newcomer until it raised both arms above its head allowing its sleeves to fall. Withered skin was stretched over bone, with large patches missing, exposing the skeleton beneath.
The scout had seen enough. Keeping one eye on the two figures in the center of the room and the other on the door, the scout began inching his way out of the cabin.
Paying no attention to the scout, the cloaked figure made a short, croaking incantation. The skin around Essin's ravaged leg withered to match that of the figure, and the old man made a few tentative steps. The skeletal leg now seemed a part of Essin.
Abandoning stealth, the scout bolted for the door. He made it to the doorway, and with a last glance over his shoulder at the two odd beings he ran outside.
He was immediately brought up short, running full on into another figure. This one was not hooded, but dressed in scraps of leather armor that was once quite ornate. Beneath the armor was blackened skin and exposed bone. The face was a rotted visage of something long dead. Its legs were odd, the right withered and wrapped in tatters, the left exposed and very fleshy below the knee. The left was shod in... Essin's boot!
It reached out a bony arm, grasped the scout by the tunic, and attempted to pull the scout close. Reacting without thought, the scout slashed at the offending arm, his heavy blade cleaving the appendage off at the elbow.
Freed, the scout dodged past the corpse, getting a clear view of the valley. It was filled with figures standing silently, regarding the cabin and the scout. More were filing out of the trees to the west. Heart filled with fear, the scout exploded into a run seeking safety in the forest to the east.
With no thoughts of stealth, the scout ran harder than he thought possible. Realizing he could not keep up this speed for long, he settled into the ground-eating lope of his people. He could maintain this gait for a night, a day, and a night again if he needed to.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw no signs of pursuit. The scout kept his pace, unwilling to take appearances for granted. He changed course slightly, making for his village. At this rate, he expected to be there just before the following dusk.
The scout felt a pain in his chest. Looking down, he was alarmed to see that the hand and forearm of the corpse that had grabbed him was still there with fingers entwined around the rawhide laces of his tunic.
Snatching the limb, he tore it free of his tunic. Unlike the leg in Essin's cabin, the arm was no longer animated. Ready to fling it away, he noticed an oddly fashioned chain bracelet of mithril and emerald attached to the wrist. This at least would be some evidence; he was unwilling to risk taking the limb to his village. He suspected its owner, or perhaps an armless Essin, would come seeking it.
After seeing Essin, the scout had no doubts about the good intentions of these newcomers. Removing the bracelet, he flung the arm into the forest behind him.
On he ran, long miles yet to cover. Invaders had entered the Vulmani lands and he must bring this news to his people, or die trying.
