20 - Barrow

"The barrows? Ye'd not wanting t' venture there, girl."

Sariel crossed her arms. "Why not?"

The man simply shook his head. "If I were you, lass, I'd be headin' back the way I came. The barrows are not for ye."

"Well, thank you for your time." She repressed he urge to yell at him. Could nobody in this village give her a straight answer?

Light drops splashed on the muddy ground. It wasn't quite winter yet, but it was getting close. Sariel had seen villagers out in the fields harvesting their crops.

"I hear you want to know about the barrow, young lady." A voice came from Sariel's right.

It was an older man, walking with a cane. She smiled, nodding slightly.

"I do."

She could feel his eyes passing up and down her body before he spoke. "I'd warn you against it, but you've heard plenty of that."

A frustrated sigh escaped her mouth. "Yes, but nobody will tell me why I shouldn't go there!"

The old man smiled as he sat down. "There's been strange happenings near the barrow of late. Lights, sounds. Cattle have gone missing, come back days later dead."

It sounded to Sariel like a fairly normal undead haunting. "Is that all? It doesn't sound very dangerous."

"Ah," he shook his head. "I'm sure you're used to these kinds of things, being an adventuress and all. I suppose I should tell you where it is."

Sariel raised an eyebrow. She had scarcely begun to convince him before he gave in. Well, she wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

---

The barrow lay deep in the moor, beyond any paths used by the villagers. Fog appeared to be a permanent fixture of the High Moor, enshrouding everything in a silvery mist. Even following the old man's directions, Sariel nearly missed the entrance. Between the wind and the rain, one could scarcely hear herself think.

The barrow itself was unremarkable at a glance. A simple dirt mound, its entrance demarcated by heavy stones. Beyond the rocky arch law a maw of darkness that the half-elf struggled to see into from a distance. The deeper she peered into the inky blackness, the more a shiver ran up her spine.

Her first step inside felt warm, dry and out of the rain. Her second step felt cold. Sariel was not averse to tight spaces, but the roughly-hewn stone walls felt more suffocating than they ought to. Deeper still, the heavy pounding of rain diminished entirely. The dripping of water and a woman's shallow breaths were the only thing piercing the silence.

Sariel's eyes darted left and right. Every flickering shadow in the torchlight hid a new fear. Her bow would have brought her some measure of comfort, had there been enough room to summon it. All she could rely on was her dagger and her senses.

The villagers had been right. Coming here was a mistake.