The hand crumples under the holy vibrations, and Trencher hurls it against the wall. 

"What the heck is going on?!" the dwarf bellows.

(End combat)

"Sorry about the mud!" Mixtli calls out "Now let's get you guys out of there"

Trencher grabs the hands before scrambling up out of the hole. He doesn't seem overly bothered by the mud.

He'll proffer them to anyone who wants to examine or inspect them, otherwise will toss them back in the hole. 

Tandor takes the hands gingerly and examines them carefully for any sign of the foul magic which animated them, any clue as to who or what caused the abomination of unlife.

ooc: what should he roll?

((I'll take any of the 4 'Knowledge' skills, what you use will flavor what you get and may affect the DC.))

Tandor asks Trencher to lay the hounds out on the ground. He visually examines them before putting on some leather gloves. He picks up the hands one at a time, racking his brain to recall all he learned about necromancy and the creation, if such a word could be applied to making unlife. What created these? What magic? Is there some clue in the very flesh of these unfortunate things that will aid me in identifying the foul necromancer behind this?

Religion 10 + Guidance 3

It is clear, beyond just the number of hands, but based on size, shape and what's left of the skin that these hands are from multiple people. Tandor thinks that such a thing could be accomplished via some sort of necromantic ritual, though nothing in his religious training suggests a sect that makes a practice of it. If human remains were present under the right circumstances to be animated by some sort of influx of necromancy, he supposes that it could be possible for them to animate spontaneously. While he is aware of holy rites that could at least temporarily prevent them from reanimating, if that's even possible, cremation would be a more sure route if there is no need to hold onto them.

Tandor explains his findings and his plans to destroy the hands to prevent them being reanimated. After praying for strength and guidance, he lays out the hands in the proper pattern and then implores Pelor to grant the hands, the last mortal remains of who knows how many victims, the final rest.

After he digs a hole in the ground, lines it with dried brush and twigs, puts the hands on top of that, then covers with another layer of dried wood. Finally, he tosses his leather gloves atop the pile and starts the fire. He watches to be sure the pyre is burning well then turns to the others.

"Thanks for your patience. I am ready to go, now."

Mixtli looks at those that are from this area

"Have you seen these kind of things here before? are they common?"

While Tandor was doing his ritual, Proclaimer Ward was observing, and their lips could be seen to be moving, as if composing lines to add to The Song. Lady Dre, with the help of the druids and Trencher have the cart wheel out of the sinkhole and moved to more stable ground.

"Thank you for your words and actions, Friend Tandor.", Ward says with a slight bow, before turning to Mixtli. "Not common, and nothing I've seen with my own eyes, but there is a verse of The Song that may be related. It... it is not often sung."

They seat themselves on a rock and begin a low dirge-like vocalization deep in their throat, tapping their staff against the ground to punctuate the notes.

((Think like the sub-vocalizations of throat singers, or a beatboxer using a looping system, but Ward is doing it live.))

Ward begins to sing, their light, pleasant speaking voice taking on a scratching, eerie quality that dips and swells with the words.

"They say there was a farm once,
now by a lake that wasn't always one.
A big family lived there—
laughing, working, growing old together.

Then came the storm.
The ground opened,
and the house fell in.
Water followed.
Dark, heavy water.
The kind that doesn’t let go.

Some say they tried to climb out.
Tried to scream.
Tried to reach.

But she wouldn’t let them go.
The woman of the house—
the mother—
held them close,
even as the mud closed in.

When neighbors came,
they found the lake,
and something moving beneath.
Just hands.
Not bodies.
Just hands,
scraping at the edge.

They still move, they say.
Still reach.
Not for help.
Not anymore."

The thumping of the staff ceases, and the throat note slowly fades.

Ward looks around at you all, their usual smile returning to brighten their face. "Like I said, not a verse that gets many requests. But all parts of The Song are important, they tell the story of this land, its people and our gods. Many folks will avoid Cradlelace Lake... that was the family... just based on the ill reputation it has, not for fear of actual hands coming after them. There had long been some speculation whether the verse was allegorical or metaphorical, meant to warn of a predator or the instability of the banks of a newly formed lake..."

Their brow furrows, as if considering that perhaps the dangers were in fact literal in their meaning.

"Hmm might be worth investigating the lake after what just happened" Mixtli says after listening to the song "But for now, let's continue to our destination"

"I think my horses need a breather before they're ready to pull again, but there should be the farmhouses just over that rise if you want to go ahead.", Lady Dre says.

"We can  hang back and keep an eye on things here." Kora offers.

((Mixtli, give me a History check please?))

History: 10 :/

Something about Ward's song and story sounded vaguely familiar, but Mixtli isn't sure what.

Mixtli walks on towards the farmhouse in his toughts, wondering what was so familiar.

Mixtli keeps his musings to himself for the moment, though it is kind of gnawing at him... he feels like it's something he's heard.

As you approach the first farmhouse of the community, you can see others in the distance. The adjacent farms have a fair bit of field between them with the farthest you can spot along maybe a mile in the distance, with a half dozen spotted in between. The fields here are overgrown with weeds, and what crop plants remain seem sickly and unwell. The caw of a crow sounds, and you spot a bedraggled bird perched on a fence. There are no signs of farmers at the moment, and the farm looks abandoned.

As you get closer to the farmhouse, you note that the front door has been sloppily painted with a large, muddy red X. The door sits slightly ajar.

Tandor approaches the door but stops short. He turns to their guide and asks quietly, "Whose home is this and do you know what the X means?"

Gilbert, do you think you can get through the door without opening in anymore? If so, go check things out.

If someone runs back to the wagon and asks one of the NPCs, they'd let you know that they aren't sure who lives there, and the X is new to them.

<If I must.>  Gilbert gives a lazy lick of the paw and saunters to the door.

He saunters back out to sit on the porch.

<No one home. Muddy clothes all over though.>

Tandor relays the information, then moves to the door, mace held ready. He studies the symbol for a long moment before using his mace to push the door open, careful not to touch or disturb the X. Despite Gilbert's words, he looks inside carefully before moving inside.

ooc: Does he recognize the symbol, other than as an X?

The X on the door looks as if someone took  handfuls of red mud and smeared it in the shape of an X, there are no more intricate marks, and it seems to have been done somewhat sloppily, unlikely that it bears any runic meaning.

Inside, things are strewn about, as Gilbert mentioned, clothes and belongings, most caked in dried mud, a fine layer of dust on top of the mess indicating it's been abandoned for some time. It is much that same in the small sleeping areas and the kitchen, where containers have been knocked about and trampled in mud that has since dried and crusted over.