The Fix: Story of Straw and Bone

The Fix were always eager to sniff out easy coin. When they saw an opportunity, they took it.  Forgiveness was easy in these chaotic times.

The Fix didn’t wait for permission. 

Thuril, Tiberius, and Shifty, three semi-seasoned scoundrels in the Adventure Company known for cutting corners and carving their own paths, had caught wind of a job before it hit the Chartered boards. The Yarley boys needed help with a property dispute, something about a cursed cottage outside of Greenfield where they happened to be passing through. The two drunk Yarleys babbled a bit about scarecrows, old cottages that shouldn't be there. But all they heard was 'scare an old timer off their land and the reward was theirs.' Easy coin made even easier, if you didn’t mind skipping the Bursar’s paperwork.

They arrived at dusk. The cottage leaned like a drunkard, its roof half collapsed, its windows shattered where they weren't blind with cobwebs and grime. Scarecrows sat outside the sagging porch, likely to keep crows and other pest birds away.

Thuril, ever the eager scout, stepped forward first with barely a glance at the empty porch with its silent scarecrow guards. Sure, their faceless heads were a little off-putting. But he was a member of the Fix, not some bird to be run off.

He didn’t make it to the door.

As his foot touched the porch, a scarecrow behind them twitched, then lunged, its claws slicing through leather and lung. Thuril collapsed with a wet gasp, eyes wide, mouth agape, never knowing what killed him.

Tiberius roared and charged, cleaving into straw and bone, Shifty darting in behind him as they barreled into the cottage. The door slammed shut behind them.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and rot. Dozens of straw dolls hung from the rafters in every direction, their button eyes glinting in the gloom. They swayed gently, though no wind stirred.

Tiberius cursed and moved toward the back window, desperate to escape. But the dolls turned. Their heads twisted to follow him.

He shattered the window glass as he tried to climb through, then claws found his back. He screamed, pulling himself halfway out, blood painting the sill before stick fingered claws dragged him back in.

Shifty, without a moment of regret, vanished into the shadows, leaving his companion to be cut down while he ran, slipping into a closet to hide.

He thought he’d escaped, shivering to himself in nervous energy, he dragged cloth tatters over himself to hide.

But the clothing was not the safety it promised. The clothing was warm. Furry. Alive.

The rats stirred. Dog sized. Eyes gleaming. Teeth chattering.

They swarmed him as he lay there, already half buried beneath them.

Tiberius, bleeding out beneath the window, looked up one last time. A scarecrow stood motionless over him, its stitched faceless head still and patient.

Then came the sound.

Not the whispers of wind. Not the creaking of the watching dolls.

But Shifty’s screams, high, ragged, and wet, as the rats tore him apart. They echoed off the walls, Tiberius's only company as his world slowly faded to black.

The cottage was quiet again in moments.

The Yarley's never heard back.

The Bursar posted the job two days later.

The Hearthguard answered.

Would history choose to repeat, or rewrite, the Story of Straw and Bone.