"Barn first. Your horse will still be useful there." Spectrum said sending the dragonlings out to scout.
Isme shrugs and stays where she is. She does look around, and she peers at the statue curiously.
The barn lacks windows, but Gillmer is able to find a small crack a pipe once protruded from. The barn is darnk and dark, and he can see a macabre tangle of bones and partially eaten corpses- some with horseshoes, others with hats and clothes. He sees no enemies.
Wyam rides Fearghus over to the doors of the barn.
"Alright, lets see what's in there." he said, dismounting off Fearghus. As he came up to the doors, he stopped to make sure the other two were ready.
Glimmer reported back.
Dark in there. You're going to want light. There's bones too. Something lives in there. It's been eating people and horses.
Spectrum raised and eyebrow and cast a series of spells.
"Ready."
Array sat on the barn roof with Glimmer, his tail charged with lightning, waiting for the dors to open so he could swoop in. Glimmer looked excited and nervous. Array looked focused and predatory.
Isme waits ready behind Wyam.
"Right." Wyam takes a deep breath before opening the doors into the barn.
The barn door is pushed open and Array swoops into the barn. He sees only the detritus of obscenity, gnawed bones of horses and people.
The smell is sickening to Wyam as he momentarily steps inside to glance around the room.
"Uugh, I think this is where the Ghouls were staying when they weren't pretending to be scarecrows. I think we can guess they were guarding the farm house then."
Wyam then turns to exit the barn before turning his attention to the abandoned looking house.
As Wyam turns, suddenly a rustle comes from the door; it opens slightly, and a man's head with a scarecrow-sackcloth mask atop it pokes out. "The awaited; welcome" it hisses with a disturbing rasp. "Please; come join our service. Bring your weapons, for what you must do to us, and we must do to you." The head disappears inside as the door is shut, and suddenly the sound of multiple rasping voices singing together rises from the farmhouse; no words, just an old and humble series of notes lent sinister resonance by the new throats which summon the melody.
Wyam balked after watching what had just occurred. "What is this?! Are they inviting us to fight them?" He looked at Isme and Spectrum confounded and hoping either one of them had some advice or insight as to what was happening.
"So it seems," Isme says. "Will you take their invitation?"
Wyam hesitated for a moment. "... I can't see any other way through this. Not if we don't want more people getting killed."
"Then we'll be there with you." Isme shrugs. "Or we could just burn the house down."
"Whether we go in or burn the house down, it ends the same. But we know this is being orchestrated, and I can't risk that there are live people trapped inside or magically compelled... We're going in."
Wyam then grabs a hold of his holy symbol. "Iomadae, shield me from the grasp of my enemies."
Spectrum moved in with Wyam, grim and resolute.
The farmhouse is opened, and entered. The remnants of domestic life remain, but have been cast aside- crude cutlery and bowls flung to the side, upturned chairs pressed against their wall. In their place is a grisly tableau. Three ghouls clad in scarecrow-garments, in a low crouch on the floor as they sing together in harmony. They face away from you, towards a horrible display; a man, a woman and a corpse in worn and bloodied farm-clothes, nailed through their sleeves to the wall spread-eagle together. Flies buzz over the corpse, failing to obscure the large red sihedron rune carved into the corpse's chest. Their eyes are shut and their chests barely move up and down beneath their clothes as they breathe. Standing in front of them stands another ghoul, a large iron key with a heraldic inlay around his neck. He leads the ghouls in choir, moving his hands back and forth in time with the melody. The ghouls match the movement of his hands perfectly.
The lead ghoul bows his rotten head towards you all. "Welcome, awaited. We knew you were here; the Master left his words for you." He gestures to a small piece of parchment attached to the corpse; from the distance, you can recognize Wyam's name. "We must fight, I know. What we are, what you are... we two cannot live together. I will simply say that having been transformed, having learnt of the purity of hunger, of ambition... I am glad. So many of my problems and worried are gone now... and should we win, we will spread our words and grow our numbers elsewhere, forever." The ghoul smiles unnervingly, bowing his head. "I am Rogors Craesby, you are Wyam Marshal. We were both touched by the Master. At your pleasure." He lowers his hands and contorts them into a clawed mass, pointed at the group, as the other ghouls slowly stand and turn.
Isme looks around. She lets Wyam handle the speaking as he is he one addressed and instead considers and assesses the ghouls before surveying the area for any tricks and hidden surprises.
Isme is able to recognize a ghoul of greater puissance than usual, a Dread Ghoul; she is unable to recognize or remember anything beyond that.
Spectrum rolled his eyes at the ghoul's theatrics and tossed a handful of pebbles into the air. The cacophony of boulders that came down through the barn was deafening.
Spectrum's mighty storm of rocks batters at the ghouls harshly, covering the ground.
Wyam takes in the horrific sight before him and he steps to move forward. His eyes focusing first on the man and woman, and then the lead ghoul as it spoke.
"I don't know what twisted designs..." he began to say as Spectrum cast his spell. "Spectrum!" Wyam shouted to the Elf as rocks came crashing down on all before them.
Wyam returned his gaze at the pair on the wall hoping they were still alive.
"You will not spread your sickness, Rogors Craesby. I will not allow it!" Holy power infusing his words, Wyam rushed forward to the north side of the room befores stepping into the now rubble strewn house.
The twin blasts of Spectrum's rocks and Marshal's golden light pop and eliminate two of the ghouls, badly scarring the others as burns appear on their bodies. Bathed in the healing light, the twin people strapped to the wall shift and subside, sleeping more calmly as their wounds heal.
"That was rather abrupt, wasn't it?" Isme says as an aside to Spectrum once she calmed down from the sudden burst of noise his spell made.
She suddenly rotates her head to stare at the ghoul not caught in the spell.
The ghoul is effectively cursed by Isme.
Rogors runs at Wyam, ready to strike. The cursed ghoul tries to lash out with a bite.
"Now." Spectrum said quietly to the dragonlings, moving forward to join the fray.
Array exploded forward like a sprinter off a mark, flying straight toward the ghoul, lashing out with an electricly charged tail.
Glimmer was a little more cautious, arcing up and then looping back down gracefully to come at the ghoul leader from the other side of Wyam.
The triplet of dragon, dragon and dragon-master descend onto the ghouls with electric wrath; the two of them are shocked into dust and bones, collapsing to the floor. The hut's stillness becomes calm and simple compared with the fetid rot of its previous calmness. The corruption seems quelled.
Rogors has a key around his neck, and a piece of parchment is attached to the corpse next to the two farmers. Upon it is written, "Wyam- you, and you alone, have brought this fearful harvest. They are dead because of you, and more shall join them soon."
Who did you piss off? Array said, looking over Wyam's shoulder at the note.
"And what does this key open?" Isme says, taking it from Rogors' neck.
The key bears a heraldic symbol of a curious flower surrounded by thorns. Isme's expert knowledge of value and worth leads her to believe that it is a key for the Foxglove family estate.
Wyam takes the note and crumples it. "I don't know and I will stop whoever is doing this. Lets get them down." He then moves to the wall and begins trying to get the two farmers down.
It's easily done, and they're gingerly lowered to the floor atop a bed. Wyam's healing light has already healed their wounds; they slumber peacefully.
"A key to the Foxglove estate," Isme discerns, tossing the key over to Spectrum with her beak. "That's an outright invitation."
Spectrum catches the key with a cantrip and floats it in front of him to take a good look at it before tucking it into a pocket. "I do not like that our foes expect us to dance to thier tune."
"Neither do I, but we are at a disadvantage on both information and time." Isme looks at Wyam. "Recall anything about who this might be yet?"
"No, I've never met any of the Foxglove's before. Someone from my uncles side of the family may have, but only if they could have somehow been advantageous to them or their reputation. Given the state of the Foxglove manor it's an unlikely possibility, but if it was I never heard anything about it."
"How are the survivors?" Spectrum asked, concerned.