The Howlers

Read to Players

The ruins feel empty at first. More than empty — still. No birdsong, no rustling in the undergrowth, nothing moving in the canopy above. Just the creak of old stone settling, and somewhere far off, the sound of wind through the pines.

You might notice the scat before you notice anything else. Small piles of it, dark and wet, pressed into crevices in the stonework. A print in the soft ground near a collapsed wall — five digits, wide-spread, with something that dragged behind it.

And then, high in the trees, something shifts. A branch bends. A shape moves that you almost didn't see.

It was watching you before you ever arrived.