The Flayed Man

A recent sighting of an unusual nature, that is to say of a man with /no freaking skin/. Spotted by young farm lads at first outside the village of Esswitz, the call for investigation was promptly issued by the town elders had a more reliable source see him: the town elder himself.

Always in the woods, walking quietly.

With no skin.

You got that right? He's been flayed. They're really insistent on that point at the guild briefing, not to mention /incredibly freaked out/.

That's why you're here at Esswitz now, having settled into the inn to wait for nightfall before you head to the areas where this so-called Flayed Man has been spotted.

A man with no skin? That's -exactly- the kind of thing that Malik doesn't turn down the opportunity to go investigate. So many possibilities for how such a thing might have occurred, and most of them probably dealing with some manner of obscure magic. Especially if the man is still walking around alive. He's currently seated at one of the tables in the inn, a glass of wine in front of him, looking -- almost a bit too eager for the sun to set and the hunt to begin, foot tapping impatiently.

Azog is here to identify any flayed people we happen to find here, and interrogate them to find out why they've been flayed, and why they think they're allowed around here being flayed at people. He looks grim, but he generally always looks grim, sipping ale and waiting for the time when we will go out and demand that this fellow stops being flayed. That's what we're here for, right? Tradespeak is not his first language.

"A man," Iskandar begins. "With no skin." He considers that for a bit and then purses his lips in distaste. "That's disgusting." Leaning back in his chair takes a long sip of mulled wine. "I hope there's a reasonable explanation, and not some foul necromancy."

The hour is nothing unusual for Seldan, who seems unfazed at the idea of working by night. The paladin is rather more relaxed than the wizard, parked with his own mug of ale, and seems content to wait. He does from time to time look out the window, as if monitoring the sun's position in the sky.

Those without skin typically do not remain among the living for long. In addition to the typical expectations seeking an explanation as to how and why someone lost their skin, there is also the matter of proper funerary procedures if necessary. If not necessary, the question remains as to how one might be wandering around so denuded. Thus, Verna is present as a representative of the Vardaman temple.

OH yes. They're all happpy here at the tiny inn in this township to tell you all about the flayed man, especially the youth who saw it, who tell you at length about the flayed man and his calm gait and his walking through the woods and how he looked RIGHT AT THEM, and he had /no skin/. Did thye mention the no skin part? Because he has no skin.

There's no trace of a lie from them. They seem, quite honestly, deeply disturbed and haunted by it. Also, kind of excited because a man with no skin walking around the woods is quite possibly the most exciting thing to happen around here in ever.

In the end, you at least have a place ot start. Apparemtly, he seems to gravitgate towards the same area every night.

Seldan listens politely, nodding to each one to speak of it. "He bore neither arms nor armor, nor clothing?" he asks of whoever is willing to answer. The occasional glance out the window still happens, but not as often.

"If it was some kind of necromancy," Malik suggests, "I doubt that the caster would go through the trouble just to have it -- walk around and glance at people strangely." He gives a little one-shouldered shrug, sipping at the wine in front of him. Probably the only thing that's keeping him from pacing the floor, currently. Though at Seldan's question he blinks, grimacing a bit at the thought, though he too listens to the stories that the patrons tell -- apparently trying to match more run-of-the-mill magical theories to the tales told. Looking to Verna, he asks, "Have you heard of such a thing being animated for no purpose?"

Azog is wondering, "So does he do anything other than wander by? If he's walking around without skin, don't you think he may be cold. It's winter time, you know, even down here in Alexandria." Nothing like the winters up in Dran. Weak city winters. "Did any of you speak to him? He may be too shy to come into town without any skin. Did you offer him a coat?"

Iskandar watches the other party members to see if any of them show any recognition to the description. "If this flayed man always visits the same place, it sounds like a haunt. Something binding him here. Or someonone."

Verna considers. "It could be a spawn of some sort, created from the victim of another creature, or perhaps a creation out of control." She turns to nod to Iskandar. "A haunt, hunting grounds, or a place of death or interment is possible. If it is not an abomination of unlife, it may well be some form of infernal spawn. Many of their forms are intentionally unpleasant to most. We will know more once we locate it."

The youth here look at Azog like he's insane.

BEcause that sounds insane.

That's all.

Malik nods, listening to the others. "Or," he considers, "/he/ could just be some idiot magical apprentice who tried to make himself permanently invisible and forgot to account for more than what he could see on the outside in his eagerness." He gives a little shrug. "If he hasn't attacked anyone, it's reasonable to assume that he's not planning to." Glancing out the window as the darkness falls, he asks, "Should we begin? There is no guarantee that we'll find him immediately, and hunting for him in the pitch black and cold sounds -- miserable."

Iskandar stands from is chair in a sudden burst of motion, then flings his cape back over one shoulder. This reveals the bow and blade sheathed on his belt, which he pats affectionately. "Well, whatever it is, we should go see for ourselves. It's why we're here, no?"

Azog usually gets into trouble when he assumes people have bad intentions. They often do, but Azog's been scolded for assuming that right out of the gate. Of course he doesn't have the knowledge to identify such a creature based on a description, nor does he know what it might be. To Malik, he says, "If he leaves footprints, I can track him." If not, Azog can probably track him, anyway. Azog's a pretty good tracker. "Let us go."

As darkness falls, Seldan stands and gathers his gear. "Yes, let us go. Speculation will avail us little. Let us see what we can learn." His sword is at his hip, but he has not yet summoned the armor from the brooch at his neck. "That may not be a safe assumption," he says to Malik as he shifts pack over his back and arranges his cloak."Let us hope he is merely a fool, although I would wager that if that were so, he would have sought assistance."

"Weather and time are rarely courteous," Verna notes, "and will work against us. We can only limit the latter by moving quickly. Let us begin."

Into the woods you go, then, making your way to the general area that the Flayed Man was last seen.

You're in the woods.

It's cold. It's dark. It's ... actually starting to rain. And thunder a bit. This is probably not the best thing for you all personally, but you know, that's how it goes.

All is looking quiet so /far/ however...

Azog keeps his eyes mostly on the ground, but hasn't found any tracks, flayed or otherwise, yet. But he examines the ground as we go none the less, in hopes that he will turn something up.

Seldan sighs to himself, glances up at the sky, and pulls up the hood of his cloak against the incoming bad weather. From a belt pouch, he pulls out a small crystal and holds it up near his hooded head. It promptly begins to glow with a quiet golden light, and circle his head as it does so, casting the lines of his face in odd shadows. Good winter clothing will suffice for the moment, but magic may be in order should it get colder.

Malik pulls his hood up over his head as it starts to rain, the bow out -- just to be cautious. Even if the flayed man isn't aggressive, something else out here very well might be, and there's no telling which they might run into first. "They say that only scoundrels and fools are out on nights like this," he tells the others. "I wonder which we count as."

Iskandar tugs his cape around until it's covering his weapons once more. It's short and small enough that most of his other arm and shoulder, and his legs are uncovered, but the weather on his actual person doesn't seem to bother him. "And adventurers," he adds. "Men - and women," he inclines his head slightly towards Verna, "-of renown." He moves a bit away from the others, spreading out naturally the way that people do when searching an area.

Verna's hood and cloak block the majority of annoying elements: wind, rain, snow, sun, aggressive hawkers in the market... "So long as we can reach the area indicated, without becoming mired or lost..." The optimist, apparently.

"Adventurers might fairly be called fools by many." Having adjusted for the weather, Seldan's eyes continue to scan the overcast sky through the trees, and after a few minutes of this, he begins to sing quietly, something those who know him well will have heard many times. He has no future as a singer, that much is certain, but the piece at least is well-known to him, whether it be in a tongue he speaks or not.

GAME: Seldan rolls perform/sing: (18)+5: 23

This evening, though, it is better than most, the sound relaxed and heartfelt.

GAME: Seldan rolls perception: (10)+5: 15

GAME: Malik rolls Perception: (6)+17: 23

GAME: Azog rolls perception+4: (14)+16+4: 34

GAME: Verna rolls perception: (17)+22: 39

GAME: Iskandar rolls perception: (9)+12: 21

Some time is spent out here in the dark, in the woods.

It's not a pleasent experience, to be sure, in the cold... and the rain... and the thunder. After the first hour through the area, you've not found any sign of the Flayed Man and your clothes are showing the worst of it, but that's when Azog notices something in the distance, a flash of movement perhapos, and begins to take you in a differnt direction.

It's there that you find your first sign: footprints in the mud in the rain, tainted red with blood. These, you begin to follow.

Azog grumbles at Malik and says, "We're fools if we're more worried about what people are calling us than what we're out here to do. We're out here to see if this flayed man is a threat to the village. Focus." He nods toward Iskandar as he offers a third choice for what we might be. The weather's not great, but it's not bothering him just yet, his coat is well-made and warm, and sheds weather as much as a coat can. His face is soaked with rain, but not much he can do about that, pointing out the footprints. "Blood in the footprints. That's new, or the towns people would have mentioned it."

Malik gives Azog a curious look, about to reply -- probably sharply -- when the man notices the blood in the footprints. Frowning as the dark rivulets run through the water, he turns back to the others. "I suppose that rules out 'invisibility gone wrong'," he admits with a sigh. Just to be safe, the bow he's carrying gets an arrow nocked.

As the party goes on Iskandar rubs at his forehead and eyes with the underside of a bracer to clear them of water. At one point he tugs off his headgear and runs his other hand through his hair, slicking it back before putting his headgear back on. "If he has no skin, maybe the blood is his. Hers. Its?" He shrugs and then moves to a position behind Azog. Clearly he's the most skilled tracker of the group.

Sometime in these hours of searching, Seldan's song trailed off, and he has since gone quiet. His cloak, too, is good oiled wool, and is keeping most of the weather out - for now. His boots fare less well, and wet feet and hose are a thing to be endured, not enjoyed. There is little to be done about it right at the moment, though, and so he clamps his lips together and continues to stump along until the others stop to examine footprints.

He, too, spots the blood when Azog points it out, and nearly immediately, takes a step backwards from the others. "_Alacha._" His armor unfolds in a clatter of plates and panels from the heavy steel brooch, to form platemail around him. "Perhaps. Let us hope that it is not that of another." He stares at the tracks, trying to determine which way they lead.

"If the blood is theirs, either they are unnatural, or they will not wander far," Verna notes as she alters course to follow. "Be wary."

It's safe to say it's nunnatural.,

Following the trail is not terribly difficult. It's rainy. It's muddy. And the footyprints are filled with blood. So... there you go.

Eventually, you come across him. There.

He stands backlit by the lightning and the moon, because of course, and he is indeed living up to his name. The skinless man stands near the stone and slowly he turns towards you on his arrival. He lifts his hand to point you at you, mouthing something yet with no sound escaping his non-existant lips.

"That... is... a bit disturbing," Malik says, wrinkling his nose a bit. Then again, he's not exactly the party diplomat. He doesn't raise his weapon just yet, but looks around to the others, seeing what they wish to do. "Can anyone tell if he's -- alive?"

Azog peers at the skinless man. But acting creepy is not a crime, or several upstanding residents would spend a lot of time in jail. Pointing isn't really a crime, either, and so heedless of danger, he'll boldly step forward and shout out, "Hail, winter night traveller! What business brings you here?"

Iskandar comes to a stop at the sight. Then he's moving again. Turning to present one side of his body to the flayed figure. Taking a few strides. At this angle the steps make him circle to one side so that he's not too close to the others, and in prime position to flank their quarry, if he needs to. He opens his mouth to say something, but Azog speaks first. Iskandar hesitates and then closes his own mouth, waiting to see if - and how - the flayed man responds.

Seldan stops as the flayed man is silhouetted against the lightning and the moon-around-clouds, straightening and narrowing his eyes. He lets others do the greeting, those pale blue orbs unfocusing for the space of several seconds before relaxing. He shakes his head slowly. "Whatever it be, it is not of evil," he murmurs quietly enough to be heard by those closest.

And, by the by, yes... he's naked.

Completely naked.

He stretches out his hand and points a direction into the woods.

Staring at you, yes, but more in your direction. It's almost like he senses yoiu're there but he doesn't really SEE you.

Azog nods to Seldan at the fellow not being evil. That changes the overall dynamic a fair amount, for the huge oruch. He looks off into the direction he's pointing. "You left your skin over there and would like us to get it for you?" he asks, jumping to quite a distant conclusion. He tries to see what the fellow might be pointing towards, or to try and recall any local features. "Or something else is there that requires our attention? Thank you for pointing this out," he says.

Iskandar's eyes widen slightly as he takes in the flayed figure's actions. He watches for a moment longer, wary for tricks. Then he turns his head to look in the direction pointed, squinting as if he can see through the woods. Then he glances back at the figure. Finally he takes a few steps towards the woods, for a closer look.

A first glance merely shows woods.

You can't really see anything from here.

Verna simply observes the ...creature silently for the moment. Study, evaluation. This includes attempting to read his lips, and following the pointing with a glance towards the woods. "Fascinating..."

"Verna," Malik asks. "Is this necromancy of some kind? Or just -- some strange manner of other magic? Illusion, perhaps?" She is, after all, presumably the resident expert on the magic of death.

"We should follow. Evil it may not be, but it should not be here, and we should learn why it is. If we may send it to the Halls where it belongs," Seldan nods respectfully to Verna, "then we should do so. Come. Let us go." He ignores the man's nakedness, preparing to venture into the woods.

Azog hrms. No direct answer from the thing, but there's the way he pointed. "Don't go anywhere," he advises, "You're frightening people." Not Azog, it seems. "We'll check it out." He says to the others, "We can always come back here if there's nothing. And it's not like he's hard to track."

It doesn't seem like it can hear you.

His jaw moves more, the only indication that he's speaking as he has no lips or other skin, and then he turns and makefs his way down a different direction.

Verna's hood dips and she turns to move towards the woods. Trusting in the others that the creature or entity is not evil, her concern is less as that also makes it unlikely to be an abomination of the revived sort.

Iskandar has been standing at the edge of clearing, peering into the woods. He leans this way. He leans that way. He stands on his toes for a brief moment. All he sees are the woods. He glances back at the figure as if to ask something. Just in time to catch him beginning to move. Whatever Iskandar was about to ask is forgotten. "Is...that going to be a problem?" He asks instead, hand on the hilt of his blade.

Malik turns over his shoulder at Iskandar's question, watching as the -- flayed thing shambles off in some other direction. "No," he tells the man. "If we need to find him, we can. I've seen him now." He glances off into the woods himself. "But he obviously wants us to see -something-."

That-a-way, then, you go.

The Flayed Man sent you here, but it's not immediately apparent why. You're walking along the muddy, uneven ground without any clue what you're looking for so far, or how far you need to go or not to find it.

It's a bit nerve-wracking, especially now that the rain has picked up.

GAME: Verna rolls survival: (17)+5: 22

GAME: Malik rolls Survival: (3)+5: 8

GAME: Seldan rolls survival: (7)+16: 23

GAME: Azog rolls survival: (7)+21: 28

GAME: Iskandar rolls survival: (4)+8: 12

Azog stumbles as we walk along, and grumbles to himself, then pauses. "Hey," he calls out to the others. "There's something with the ground here, it feels ... uneven."

Malik follows behind the others as the ground starts to grow uneven, the wizard's usual grace marred by how soft and muddy the ground is becoming as the fain continues to fall. Slipping a bit forward, his foot catches on something sticking up out of the mud, perhaps a root. WIth the uneven, somewhat liquid ground as his only leverage, the wizard goes down with a startled curse in some flowing, foreign tongue.

Iskandar keeps an arm raised with the elbow crooked so his forearm can shield a bit of the rain from his eyes. "Careful!" he shouts belatedly and probably unnecessarily. He reaches out with his free hand to grasp Malik's arm and try to pull him to his feet.

"Watch your-" Verna advises, interrupted by the expletive-laden splot of Malik, "...footing." She frowns, more than usual, as she carefully lifts one booted foot and then the other, in the muck and odd ground. Yes, she has feet. That they are typically buried in her robes only gives the impression that she floats. "This is ...unusual." Her attention is now downward as if concerned to step on or in something other than mud and muck.

Seldan whirls as Malik goes down behind him, but others are quick to help, and a quick examination reveals that there is no harm done. "The footing is treacherous," he tells the group, turning to continue.

Azog peers at Malik, nods. "Yes, let us see what's made this ground uneven. This may be just what we were looking for. You are keen-eyed to have spotted it."

"Glad to be of help," Malik sighs, taking Iskandar's hand and getting back up to his feet, wincing a bit as he does. "Thankfully the only thing injured was my --" But as the others look at the ground, so does he, squinting to see what they're looking at. "Pride."

It's mud. And earth. It looks muddy. And earthy, but also uneven.

Hard to say why, of course, but it seems you might need to dig around to find out more.

In the mud.

In the rain.

Azog grows to fourteen feet tall and his gear grows with him, and he kneels down in the mud, using his shield as a shovel to move earth in huge chunks.

Verna frowns further. "I do not suppose that any happened to bring earth-moving implements?" While she may be Vardaman, she only prepares others for the grave; she does not typically dig the burial chamber, herself. She looks to Azog as he ... improvises. "Perhaps that shall suffice."