Subterraneum Monasterium
Answers from the Old Woman in the Woods - by Tarre Artorijos We all stiffened up our upper lips and convinced ourselves it was just a drunk Peter Lackwit ran his mouth to about this place to that gave us chase that night.
Bruce joked about it on the long walk home. But Chauncey was disturbed.
So much so I believe he was willing to spoil this secret of ours by brining this to the attention of the authorities.
He's not wrong to do so. This could be a real threat to the people of Aisgill and Uthgill.
I don’t believe Sir Hughe would take claims of gaunt creatures in an underground keep seriously though. I fear Chauncy may not get the reaction he is hoping to get, especially if he shows them what we found down there.
We all may be taken in and our treasures confiscated as evidence of attempting to steal what is the rightful property of the crown.
They may even send a few militia men to investigate and when (or if) they report back they may accuse us of heresy for opening a portal to hell.
We need answers before that happens.
Bruce was speaking with the old man Cromley, and his even older father, who made mention of Fey creatures and religious fanatics in the area long ago. They told him of the old woman, Morag, who lives down by the creek just past Aisgill. The one who the children and town drunks whisper hushed accusations of witch.
Bruce, Fug and I decided to call on this old woman, as she may have the answers we needed to protect the villages if something worms it's way out of that pit, or to keep our heads from the chopping block after Chauncey's confession.
We set off early morning, but were delayed by a downpour. Luckily we were able to weather the storm at the Gareth's farm until it passed. Bruce was able to convince Mr Gareth that we were heading south to look for more work when he asked why he often saw us travelling south as of late.
Fug passed the time by telling a story of a hidden tomb, the very one we discovered. He made it sound like a children’s fable of the priest locking themselves in to hide from the raiding Scot barbarians only to be sealed in by those same raiders. While he prattled on I saw two wolves heading south in the rain, looking rather lonely. One of the Gareth boys made mention that the calls of the wolves seemed to be fewer in numbers in the last couple weeks.
Mr Gareth told the tale of Uther and the Dragon. A well known story around these parts. Bruce must have heard it a hundred times, but you would think this was his first time hearing it. A story I have also heard hundreds of times but still seems to resonate with me every time I hear it. "Upon his death and his journey into the Fey to one day return."
Once the rain let up, we thanked Mr Gareth for his hospitality and set off south toward the Old Woman’s cottage. It was easy enough to find once we found the creek. A small cottage with pigs and chickens running around, and a small hooded child playing around the house. Morag came out and, despite no knowledge of our arrival, greeted Bruce and Fug by name. They are pretty noticeable characters around Uthgill and she has lived a long life time in the area so they must have crossed paths before.
She made no conversation with me, only gave me a queer look that made me uncomfortable.
We spoke our intention and she invited us in for stew. The inside of her cottage was filled with many curiosities. Dead bats hung to dry, jars with unknown powders in them, and small stick totems littered the place.
She told us she believed the creature we came across was the Living Dead. She offered no means of destroying the creature but did mention there is a chance they may be bound to the underground structure.
She gifted us Mistletoe as a ward to present boldly infront of ourselves to deter the creature and allow us to steel away if we come across one again. She also provided us with some of the stick totem as a means to ward off creatures of the Fey, which she attests are present always. Goblins, Gremlins and Pixi folk.
In return she asked if we could return in a fortnight to take the child, Lissel, to Uthgal for an audience with Sir Orm. A modest request, which we accepted. What harm can come from meeting with a child.
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