I rise, wash myself, and perform my prayers. It's difficult to tell time in here.
My guide remains unconscious. I stow some essentials, leave my armor by my cot, and explore the settlement.
I ask many about "the curse". There are many different folk here, joined together by a mutual interest in survival. The Cursed seem to be the least interested in sharing information.
"The curse? I think I heard a story about a hero who was cursed by an evil god, but don't quote me, it was just a children's story," a slim, hairy man shares.
"The curse dates to the last Great Holy War. Some believe the hero from that time was the first Cursed," an especially friendly wolfkin replies.
"That's why they have to drink blood, yeah? They get crazy when they haven't had any! They're not allowed to hunt here, it's in the treaty, but I've seen them go out all monstrous before. Watch your back!" A talkative man offers.
"The curse is hereditary. The Cursed can only have children with other Cursed, and the child inherits the curse." A forgettable-looking man explains.
It was at this point I began to notice something unusual: of the people I'd spoken to, I can find some again, but others seem to have vanished without a trace.
"You're asking about the curse, right?" A bearkin approaches me. "There's no hard proof, but it's believed that the gatekeeper of the underworld is responsible for it." He then excuses himself and walks away.
I watch as he takes a turn nearby. Not long after, a wiry man emerges from the same turn. I approach and take a look, and see a dead end.