A new update for Scars is here! Expecting/dreading the worst, our somewhat-heroic adventurers have holed up in their inn, preparing to defend themselves from the Haunter. As the hours wind down and tensions rise, old secrets start to come out, but the town of Jachenbreg and the horror within it won’t be satisfied by a few hints of old pain. It wants fresh, red death… and it wants to make that very, very clear to our adventurers.
There’s an excerpt below of Letha sharing some old memories with Kevac, and for the full story, check out the link above!
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“Ever heard of anything like this?” Kevac asked.
“You’ve asked all of us that question,” Letha pointed out. She was laying on the dusty bedroom’s long-unused bed, resting her eyes. Khy-kala could stand vigil for hours without rest, but humans were more fallible. Terrasi and Curlin were taking shifts, just as she and Kevac were. Some might have suggested that sleeping around the womanizing little bandit was a spectacularly poor decision, but she was more worried about her purse remaining unmolested than her person. For all Kevac’s faults, the licentious little lech did have some lines he wouldn’t cross. It made him a better man than many… but Letha still made sure the bag that held all her poultices, charms and spell ingredients was under her arm and lay flap-side down on the mattress.
“Aye, and you’ve all said you haven’t. But someone has to have encountered a thing like this and between us we’ve got a world-wise raconteur and acquisitions expert, a paladin and a half, an elf who’ll I’ll bet my cotton socks is old enough to be the great-grandmother of anyone here, and a witch with experience of the unclean… and damn fine legs to boot.”
Letha snorted. “Not as much experience as you think. I never fought the Kindred.”
Kevac caught the catch in the woman’s voice. “Except?”
“Except one time.”
The dwarf briefly glanced away from the window to the reclining woman. “What happened?”
It took several seconds for Letha to answer him. “When people speak of the Black Kin, they picture things of flesh. Stolen flesh, or that which has formed to hold their essence when the veil has opened and they can crawl through. They think of beasts with putrescent, rotting bodies that walk with intestines dragging behind them. They think of red-skinned monsters with horns and raking teeth that roar with every drop of blood they spill. They think of writhing, shape-changing creatures of too many limbs and shifting bodies or impossibly beautiful things or…” she stopped. “There are so many possibilities, so many forms they can take or ways that they can twist meat and bone. I saw some, and I still can’t forget them but the worst… the worst was…”
“What…” Kevac could hear a tremor in Letha’s voice, but his curiousity was piqued. The witch rarely talked about her experiences during the Scarring. Little wonder, since she’d been a child press-ganged into service. “What was it?”
“A thing that had no body. No flesh to burn, heart to pierce or limbs for a soldier to hew. They called it a dream-eater.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Be grateful for that ignorance, Kevac. Very grateful.” Letha let out a breath. “I wish I could forget it.”
“What happened?”
“Not tonight,” the witch told him. “Maybe not ever, but… not tonight.”
“Aye,” he agreed. She’d already told him more than he’d expected. “Get some rest, witchy. I’ll wake you when it’s time for your watch again.”
“Thank you,” Letha said, closing her eyes again. As she’d so recently considered, Kevac did have his faults… but he always knew which thresholds he shouldn’t cross.
At least, most of the time.
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