As they move north, the signs of war become more obvious. Burned villages, wrecked, overgrown fields, the roads rutted and ruined from marching men. In one place they even pass a dozen men hanging from a gibbet being eaten by fat crows. To the east a tall watchtower burns, sending smoke curling into the sky.
Partuk stops at the hanged men. 'We must bury them, in accordance with our Goddess wishes.' he doesn't give Viola or Alexis time to argue, and he grabs a shovel and the pilgrims start to work.
The same muddy river they cross miles ago, flows past them, slightly deeper here but still brown and thick looking. Stunted trees and brush cling to the banks, providing some cover.
Viola takes the opportunity of not-walking to kneel a bit. That bit had never quite made sense to Viola. Why would a water goddess that hated undead require their remains to be buried in the ground? It had nothing to do with her domains, really, and just left the remains vulnerable to necromancers. It made even less sense when applied to Sarenrae, a goddess of fire. But she didn't say that. Only thought it. Instead, she set to work. She didn't really bother with helping to dig - she lacked the muscle to do much more than get in the way of a large group. What she did have, however, was experience. She'd spent time in her indiscretion-filled youth writing terrible poetry in graveyards and taken the time to make friends with the local gravedigger. As such, while she didn't quite have any overly useful tips to deliver in this muddy waterchoked environment, she could at least make sure they were doing it right, if not well.
Alexis indulged the Pilgrims, hoping that doing a service to their goddess would ease their minds after the mishaps so far. She helped drag and cut down bodies so they could be easily moved into the grave but would cast detect evil on occasion to make sure nothing was approaching while they worked.
This is a wold land, and the smell of fresh meat draws strange and unusual beasts from the nearbye Furrows. Alexis is right to be concerned and she scans the woods and water frequently. Still, she hears nothing.
It is viola that spots the danger first. As she helps inspect the wet, soggy ground, she spots a shape buried in the mud. A pale, half-orc face. For a moment it startles her then she realizes it is dead.
Then it blinks and sits up, wet mud sighing off of it. Another erupts from the mud next to it, a pale half-orc face. As they stand up the pilgrims fall back in horror as the rest of the creature is revealed.
The pallid, waterlogged half-orc corpses stumbles on broken legs, its eyes frozen in shock and fear. Clear water continuously leaks from its wounds to pool on the ground.