Ptolus: The Legend of Longcoat

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

The man continues to weep more quietly.

 

[Erekose13]

"Come come. We're here to help as best we can. You and me can wait here at the top of the stairs while the others head down." offers Maugra trying her best to comfort the man.

 

[Voadam]

"Fine, I'll head down first then. Don't let him out of your sight though. He's the only one whose seen Jack and for all I know he is actually Longcoat himself playing games. Either way, get him to stow that blubbering." Garn lumbers ahead, morningstar ready, peering ahead with his darkvision if need be.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

The group descends down the creaking stairs into the darkness, the smell of dampness, mold, rot and wet sand filling their nostrils.

By lantern light, the group sees they have found a cellar beneath tavern above. Barrels are stacked against one wall, while another wall is occupied by a wine rack sagging with age.

Heavy footprints, each much larger than that of a human, can be seen in the wet sandy floor leading away from the staircase. Someone, or something, has been this way before. And recently.

 

[Voadam]

Garn looks down and says quietly. "Huh, that's not a short man's boot, but keep blubber mouth quiet just the same." He strains to listen, a fellar that size probably wheezes up a storm.

 

[Cthulhudrew]

As Voadam appears to be confident in this sort of atmosphere, Vanden follows him closely, also alert for the slightest sound.

 

[Erekose13]

ooc: Voadam?

Maugra does as she says and stays at the top of the landing with the blind man. Trying to comfort him, she offers, "I'm Maugra, I don't think I caught your name?"

 

[Wrahn]

Jossen moves out of line a little to give himself a clear shot at anything that might be hostile. He nocks an arrow. Almost thankful that there may be a real flesh and blood advesary, "Anyone know what could make that size of foot print?"

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Maugra's question seems to confuse the man a moment.

"Ewan Treborne," he finally answers, his throat hoarse.

Downstairs, the group spreads out, examining the room. Beyond the meager furnishings required to keep the bar stock, one thing is immediately obvious: There are no doors out of the cellar.

 

[Voadam]

Garn chokes up on his beat stick, ready to lash out. His eyes follow where the tracks lead and he peers ahead trying to spot any hidey holes they go into or large forms hiding in the shadows.

ooc spot +4