The air was cold and damp, the quiet drops of water heard here and there as moisture from above penetrated through the depths and found their way into this old and forgotten grave. One of those stray drops are what startled a young man to a beleaguered if partially awake state, the cold already bringing him up but the sudden splatter of cold hitting his nose and sliding into his airways to trigger a coughing fit certainly helped.
Everything was stiff, from his muscles and skin to his clothes, as if he had been flash frozen then slowly thawed out here in the dark. His hacking cough did little to ease the tension in his body but soon he had it under control. There were no fires to light up the darkness he was in, but there was the dim glow in the old runes etched into the stones. Where he sat up from and slowly stood on his feet was a little shrine where whoever built this shrine no doubt laid their honored dead. If this was where the cultists had dragged him after they... whatever they did to him, they certainly didn't make it look as creepy as he thought they would have. It was a downright nice looking place, the statues though melancholic were calming in their own right, a quiet acceptance to them as they watched over the dead. He didn't remember anything like this being around New Tristram but then again he lived a quiet life as a farmer without seeing much of the world beyond.
A maelstrom of emotions swirled inside Rumford as he realized where he was. I should be dead. A corpse or a pile of ashe to make sure I wouldn't rise again to hurt those I tried to protect! He began to pat himself down in a panic looking for things out of place. His militia armor was bloody, but usable if only just barely so. The beleaguered man thrust his hand into one of the holes it had and rested his hand over his heart. He let out a sigh of relief when he felt the beat that proved he wasn't some cursed creature with a half life. He looked to his armor once more and gave it a bit more than a cursory glance.
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It would turn aside a rusty or blunt blade but a good arrow wouldn't have much trouble taking him down, the broken metal made his armored vest good for little more than decoration. Over this he still wore the thick cotton coat his father had given him, now stained with a deeper red than its fading dye. Likely from his supposed death. He didn't have his helm, so his short brown hair was free for all too see with a few scars here on his head from his childhood antics. His scarf, a deep blue and of silk, the only thing of possible value he owned was still in good shape thankfully, a gift from his mother who had long since joined his father to drink and be merry with Akarat and his light. Gloves, with heavy iron to protect the hand and wrist but leaving the fingers covered in only leather to keep them free and flexible. They had seen better days but they were holding together better than his vest. pants were just the simple things he signed up with the call to arms was sounded, brown durable leggings with little to note that slid into the bulky boots of heavy leather and iron plates to protect his shins.
He was happy to not have woken up naked all things considered and even better he still had his short sword. Good, now I can swing it like a mad man against all manner of creatures that hide in dark depths like these. Here's to hoping I don't become some giant spider's food or worse. A gloved hand went up and softly rubbed the blue scarf around his neck, as he tried to get his thoughts in order. I.. I need to make it outside, see if I can get my bearings. With my luck I will run into the bastards who put me here. I hope the town is still in one piece! With one foot after the other he forced himself into the choking blackness, his only compass being the soft glows of mushrooms and the chiseled stones that let him know he was still in something made by man and not a cavern formed by the Maker’s hand.
As he walked he still ran his gloved fingers over the scarf, the simple action keeping him calm in the winding maze of these catacombs. There were rows and rows of dead, some in coffins of wood or stone, others just wrapped up in what was once clean cloth but time and decay had changed that. He didn’t like running around this place after his previous experiences with the dead so the sooner he was out of this place the better.
If only that wail hadn’t echoed out from deeper within.