His daughter had been murdered and reanimated by that same ghoulcaller. The church's graveyard, the tannery, the bog, mourners in procession: all were playthings to him, and the tatters of her family danced to his words. A ghoulcaller turned his cruel attentions to the town. She buried their bodies in the tannery pit, praying in vain to the angels that the charcoal and earth would hide the scent of decay from the undead. Her husband and her youngest son threw themselves between her and the ghouls, and she set the tannery aflame. No mere mindless zombies, these worked in concert, battering the doors, stirred to a ravenous frenzy by the scent of the flesh and oil.Īlgli survived, but it had never been luck. A foolish hope, dashed by an incursion of ghouls. But still, she thought that if they simply boarded their windows, kept strict hours, they would be safe. Flesh-hungry ghouls became a common sight at the outskirts of town. For a while, business was good: everyone wanted protection. When the first rumblings of trouble had started, they kept working, kept their heads down.
Their tannery was small, but their work was good, and they were proud of it her husband handled the skins while Algli fashioned the leather into armor, pouches, and wineskins. She and her husband had been tanners, living just outside of town due to the stink of their profession. This change had come in Algli's lifetime. Graveyard Trespasser | Art by: Chris Rallis
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