Investigating the Barn

Yes/No (Unlikely) - [5,6] Yes, and… Morgause decides to check out the mystery barn, and finds something interesting

—

She came here for the sake of the forest, and it’s magical folk - not for any ignorant Seltian villagers.

But she thinks of the young maids that have visited her hut in times of trouble, the old dears looking for a salve for aching joints. Even the shy or furtive men seeking to impress their sweethearts with a tonic, or asking for some charm or bauble for their wives or husbands.

They aren’t so bad, really. People.

Ugh.

So as she passes through the village again, this time even quieter and seemingly deserted, she alters her path ever so slightly, making for the barn.

It’s open now, the large doors parted, a beam of warm candle light creeping from within. She can hear the sounds of many muffled voices, joining together like the waves crashing against the nearby beach. Padding closer, she peers in at the crack between the two doors.

—

What does she see?

Detail Focus - [JH] Unexpected (social)… a sinister gathering is taking place

—

Over two-dozen souls are packed into the barn, kneeling in ordered rows. Morgause can make out a few of the washerwomen she encountered earlier amongst the other villagers. This may well be almost the entire population.

Their pallid hands, skin almost translucent in the candle-light, are raised to the ceiling of the barn. Its rafters and sloping roof are vaulted in a way that makes her think of a church or temple. She shivers, and finds her eyes drawn further, to the head of the congregation.

A lone figure, with a greenish face like the rest and vestments that look eerily like those worn by the Fish-Priest-Creature, holds a bowl aloft, incanting in a guttural language she does not understand.

It’s not just a village of strange folk, worshiping ancient Sea-Gods. It’s a Cult. Emblazoned upon a worn tapestry that hangs across the far wall is the design of an eye, its strange pupil seeming to stare deep into Morgause, as she recognises a symbol of the Deep Ones. A sound like rushing water fills her ears, till with difficulty, she looks away and returns her attention to the congregation.

As she watches, two of the villagers drag a third individual forward - an Orcish male. Curiously, he doesn’t struggle, his head bowed sluggishly as he’s dragged along.

Holding the Orc on his knees, they tip his head back, allowing the robed leader to tip the contents of the bowl into their captive’s mouth.

Immediately, he wretches, convulsing. Morgause stares in horror as scales sprout from the Orc’s green skin; his hair falls from his skull, which seems to elongate, his features stretching into a fish-like parody.

With a muffled gasp, she turns away, pressing her back to the barn door.

There’s no doubt that was one of Caius’ missing people. And where there’s one, there must be more. It shouldn’t be her problem. But it is now.

Cursing, Morgause slinks around the side of the barn. There wasn’t another way in that she could see, which must mean that the captive Orc was brought through the front doors from somewhere else. Peering into the gloom as she rounds the corner of the barn, she spies a bulky cellar door, a heavy iron padlock keeping it shut.