Adventure 2 -- I'm a Monster

Cohor tried to make himself comfortable in one of the beds at the patronless Sea Kettle Inn in Markstaff. His body didn't exactly create heat, so even layering on blankets did little to bring much warmth and comfort. He didn't sleep very well; still terribly new to this life-after-death situation he's found himself in. Before the sun rose, however, he awoke with a start. To the blood curdling scream of a woman. Seemingly, within Markstaff.
 
Cohor moves lethargically, despite the urgency and peril of the situation of the women who let forth a cry for help. Slipping on his boots, which covers his bare-boned left ankle, and dawning a heavy shirt of chainmail. He picks up his back, sword, and shield, and steps over the corpse he had to remove from the bed last night. Then he worked his way out of the inn.
 
Entering the village green, Cohor peered around for any sign of the scream.
 
Seeing nothing, Cohor will scratch at his cheek in puzzlement. Eventually it occurred to his sluggish brain that whatever caused the scream likely won't be coming out to meet him. So, he might as well investigate the homes. The other buildings in close proximity to the inn are stables (empty, Cohor checked those last night), a small temple to Lathander, as signified by the sigil of a road traveling into the sunrise next to the two cobblestone steps leading to its heavy wooden doors.
 
The temple is the only fully stone structure in Markstaff. And when Cohor attempted to open its thickset doors, they didn't budge. The iron doorknob resisted any attempts to turn it. Locked tight. So the dead man turned and approached what appeared to be the town hall. A horse tied to a hitching post outside. Odd. How had he missed that before? My senses sure are awfully dull... He thought to himself. Shrugging off his frustration, he made an attempt to sneak into the building.
 
Pushing open the door, a dull, faraway pungent smell caught in his nose. Enough to bother even his senses. This first room was nothing more than overly decorated entryway. A hallway continued to the left, at its end on the right, a doorway. He clumslily clipped a vase atop a decorative table with his pack. The vase toppled and shattered in a painfully loud crash on the stone floor. Cohor winced...
 
“Did you hear tha'?” A thick voice from within the next room. “No, you tawn, I didin!” Heavy sarcasm in a different voice. “O'course I did! Let's go check i' ou'.” Two scraggly, pitiful men with clubs round the corner. Their faces flush when they meet Cohor's pale, dead face. Both sides hesitate. “Another walker from the dead! Smash 'is face, c'mon, Laird!”
 
The first few moments are chaotic and flurried. The looters throwing their clubs at Cohor with some teamwork. This led to a solid blow striking Cohor's sword-side. Anger flashed in his eyes, however, and he broke through one of their defenses, plunging the tip of his sword into his stomach. The other looter looked in horror as his friend slumped next to the wall, slowly sliding down until he rested on the floor with the wall supporting his back.
 
The looter's terror turns to rage as he slams his club down onto Cohor's shield multiple times, cracking his defense and strike another sickening blow onto the dead man's shoulder. In a raspy grunt, Cohor swung his blade in a side-arc, slicing across the looter's stomach. He immediately collapsed to the ground. His attempts to push himself back up quickly ceased.
 
Walking into the room where the looters had been determines the source of the pungent smell. Corpses. Looks like these looters had been going through these peoples' pockets for loose change. Cohor tries to identify what may caused their deaths.
 
8 dead. 10 including the looters. It took Cohor a moment to identify any wounds. There was no blood, after all. Eventually, however, he identified claw marks on their necks. As if they had been choked. By the looks of it, these people had holed up in this building, likely when strange things started to happen. There were a bunch of packs, supplies, and sleeping pads lying about. Furniture had been piled against the entryway from which Cohor just came, but it appears the looters, or whatever killed these people, managed to take down the barricade.
 
As Cohor was inspecting the corpses, a flicker of movement caught his eye. Something fell to the ground from one of the windows... a section of the glass had been broken. A severed hand, no, TWO severed hands were skittering on the ground, like spiders, dragging a section of forearm on the ground behind.
 
Both claws somehow leapt from the ground like a jumping spider, attempting to find purchase on Cohor. He managed to shove them back with his shield, but fails an attempt to skewer one of the hands...
 
One of the hands recovered too quickly, faster than Cohor thought possible, and leapt onto his face, digging its sharp fingers into his face. Staggering backwards, however, Cohor refuses to give into the darkness threatening to consume his vision.
 
Cohor uses a reaction to trigger Unnatural Vitality.
 
Cohor calls once again on the power deep inside him. A dim warmth spreads within as he places his hand on his chest. The hand leaps from his face, as if burned. Cohor, reinvigorated, grabs his sword and assumes a defensive stance.
 
Cohor casts Lay on Hands! Consuming his entire well of power.
 
The demon hand that clawed at Cohor’s face finds unprotected skin on his arm, its nails biting deep before Cohor throws it off and spears the other hand.
 
The vicious hand leaps into the air again, but this time Cohor catches it in the air with his blade, cleaving the hand into two. It fell to the ground, twitching, and falling motionless at last.
 
Battered, the dead man slumps against the wall. Mirroring the looter he slew a few minutes ago. He fits right in with the other corpses populating the building. At least now he knows the likely source of these people’s death. Those wicked, animated hands. So it’s unlikely that the effigy was the only source of a curse in this poor hamlet.
Cohor takes a short rest!
 
After a brief rest, Cohor remembers the scream. Though there’s little help for the woman, now. He rises and exits the building. The horse at the hitching post is dead. Of course... He thought. Claw marks marred its palomino hide. There must be more of these festering, boil covered hands around... He continues to another building, its door hanging off to the side, only attached at one hinge.
 
Peeking inside, Cohor sees two clawed hands, each with their ulna and radius sticking out past the wrist bone, playing a thumb war.
 
Unfortunately, they notice his presence before he’s able to sneak away.
 
The hands scramble hungrily towards Cohor, trying to climb up his leg, but he shakes them off, stepping on one and impaling it.
 
The remaining hand deftly dances around Cohor’s impaling attempts, though its own efforts to claw at the dead man were futile, unable to purchase on the cool ringed steel protecting his thigh.
 
The gray hand leaps again at Cohor, but it takes a slam from his shield, the recoil smashing it into the wall. Its animated link seems to shudder before it falls lifeless.
 
Cohor nonchalantly moves through the single room building, opening drawers, checking under the bed, inside of a pot...
 
And he finds nothing. Besides the two dead hands. And the pot. Oh wait! Umm, no. No, that’s definitely his sword. Though he thought he found another sword. He was quite disappointed when he looked at his sheath and found it empty. Because the sword he ‘found’ was his own. Right? Riiiight.
 
Cohor stepped out of the shack type house, spotting a tall hooded figure coming up the road, both hands holding up the hem of its robe as it hurried up the hill road.
 
Curious, Cohor waits. It looked like the figure was going to continue on towards the meeting building filled with corpses, but then the cloaked figure abruptly turned straight for the building Cohor was in. Their eyes meet. And then, the figure flees. Cohor takes after him. Begin Chase Scene.
 
Cohor shrugs off his pack and javelins and sprints after the cloaked figure.
 
Cohor sprinted off after the robed figure, pushing hard down the hill. The cultist was quick, however, and rapidly put distance between it and Cohor. After a snappy 40 seconds, Cohor lost sight of the man. Sighing, he returned to the hamlet.
 
“Hault!” A firm voice called out after Cohor. He froze and turned. A man stood on the road, some 30 feet away. He wore a gleaming gold and white tabard, marked with the emblem of Tyr. A hefty mace in his hands.
 
“What is it you want, holy man?” His voice like shifting gravel.
 
The paladin approaches as he begins speaking. “I'm here to cleanse this place of whatever foul dark magic that taints...” He trails off, as he catches Cohor's appearance. “By Tyr's Hand. I will burn you!”
 
“No!” Cohor's raspy voice pleads. “Stand down! I'm here to do as you are!”
 
The man scoffs. “Darkness does not cast out darkness, you vile creature. Light and justice will prevail.” He falls into a battle stance, mace at the ready.
 
Cohor growls. “So be it.” He pushes forward, striking with his sword.
 
Cohor's blade connects with the paladin's chain shirt on his side. It appears to have broken the skin; the impact of the blow causing him to stagger to the side. Out of fierce determination, the paladin wheels about, swinging his mace in two hands, like a bat.
 
The paladin's swing strikes Cohor's shield, the jolt traveling through the dead man's body. His own strike slowed, and the paladin twisted away from the strike.
 
The paladin swung at Cohor again, a two handed side swipe. The dead man's response was snappier this time, as he managed to duck under the blow. He used the position to push up hard with his feet, slamming his blade into the exposed area under the paladin's arm as he twisted with his arcing mace swing. The blade purchased, sliding in deep. When Cohor tore the blade free, the paladin collapsed, his last few breaths were a struggle.
 
Cohor removed the paladin's tabard of Tyr and discarded it to the side. He pulled off the chain shirt and took the mace, intending to place it in his pack and pawn it off somewhere else. Then he searched through the slain man's pockets, finding three electrum pieces and a pouch containing five gold coins. He found a letter, too. Which read... We have not received any dealings or communications from Marxstaff. A few men have been sent to investigate. Several haven't returned. The ones who have report strange, eerie things happening. Violent men with violet eyes stand guard. Even the animals strike out. The most concerning of all, however, have been the animated appendages. One report that gray, boiled hand fell from a tree and attempted to strangle one of our scouts. Be watchful. May Tyr's Hand protect you.
 
A presence made itself known to Cohor, pulling at his mind. He picked up the chain shirt, sheathed his blade, and carried the mace, following the direction of the mental tug in his mind. It pointed to his pack he had left in one of the buildings. He opened his pack, and the source of the tugging appeared to be a reliquary. Opening the box like device up, he felt a strange connection establish. Without understanding what it was he was doing, he simply willed it to activate. His vision was flooded with a golden filter. No amount of blinking drove it away. But then... he noticed something. Red smoke boiling out of the village's water well. He walked over, peering into its depths. Despite his golden vision, however, he could not pierce the darkness contained in that shaft. A feeling of darkness wafted the red smoke, however. Something Cohor thought, for tomorrow. Maybe I'll have better comfort sleeping during the day? He mused. Hoping that the warmth of the sun may provide some bit of pleasurable comfort to the sheets of his temporary bed.
 
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