To the chagrin of the more diplomacy-minded among her companions, Hakkara strides confidently for the door to the hut, her great blade drawn. Upon getting closer, the barbarianess can see that the mouldering door has rotted off its hinges, though it still blocks the way within. It is a simple matter for the powerful Hakkara to heft aside the barrier, leaving the entryway unbarred. To Jared's relief, no traps go off in the process of clearing the way. As Hakkara enters and no commotion ensues, the others cautiously follow in her footsteps.
Inside, the cottage is dank, reeking, and filled with shadows. Haphazardly hung shelves line the walls, covered in all manner of clay jugs, clouded bottles, strangely cut rocks, rotted bunches of herbs, and a museum of other crude curios and remnants of a bone grinder’s artifice. A rusted iron cauldron, with a mouth nearly 5 feet wide and a depth of at least 3 feet, dominates the hut’s single room, its ash-covered surface shaped with a relief of capering fiends and leering devils. Across from the door, against the far walls, stands a highbacked chair made of wicker, the gigantic curved tusks of some monstrous beast, and thousands of human teeth. In the chair sits what looks like a corpse wrapped in filthy burial linens, its form padded with pungent herbs and sprouting patches of thick white mold.
There is no sign of Ulizmila, or any other living person.
Foolsbait, still perched on Jebbo's shoulder, gives a low whimper, clearly unsettled by this place.
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