He looked half dead- it’s not like he’d miss whatever you took…Grabbing the bag, you were shocked at how heavy it was for its size! What’s he carrying, bricks? With great effort, you hoisted the thing up for closer examination.
Looking to have been done by someone’s fingers, you took note of the red smudges that formed a sort of medical cross design, below which sat what you assumed to be some sort of strange acronym.
A yelp sounded from the cart that made you jump. “Ah! Hey, hey- Hey! What are you doing?!” Given you were pretty startled, it wanst an effort to rip the bag unceremoniously from your hands. “You don’t go around touching other people’s personal property! Who does that?!”
So much for that plan. It appeared that the man from the crash had woken up at the worst possible time…He jabbed a finger at the writing. “See! No question, you have no reason to be going through Ygor’s things- unless you are trying to steal!”
Still, you tried to play it cool, not one bit frightened by some stranger’s neurotic rant. You spat, “Who puts their own name on their bag?”
“Ygor does! In case of thieves like you who want to steal his-“ Suddenly, the man cut himself off as this look of dread shocked his face, the color fleeing from his already pallid complexion. With how desperate this stranger seemed to keep it in his arms, your curiosity was only further stimulated by the air of secrecy that surrounded all of…this. You started to wonder what in the world could be so important to him?
“What’s in the bag?”
After a great while of thinking, he replied simply: “…Donations.”
Cocking your head to the one side, you squinted at the bag with pressing skepticism. “For the Red Cross…?”
You could see this man cracking right in front of you! He squeaked, “Yes- willingly acquired donations!” For a moment, you could see the nervous grimace on his face as he awkwardly teetered on that timid edge. “But- that's not the point!”
Sighing, you relented, not wanting to get in trouble your first night here. “Okay- fine! Just…what do I gotta do so you won’t call the cops?” Did Darkmoor even have a police force? Whatever...
“I mean…there is one thing.” Tapping a thoughtful finger to his chin, he explained. “Ygor has to, uh…find, something-“ He gestured vaguely to a blot of fog a bit down the road. “You watch the cart, Ygor gets what he needs- easy peasy, squeeze the lemon!”
Well, it didn’t sound that hard, especially considering how desolate the streets were here and the low likelihood of running into some wayward cart jacker. So you agreed, leaning against the thing while that little freak scampered off to get…whatever it was he had been looking for.
Bored, you watched the minute hand on your watch go around twenty times. Then, out of the fog, you heard that pitchy, wheezing voice calling to you. “Don't worry! Ygor got it!” Emerging proudly, he held the object in question high above his head to show you.
It was an arm. A goddman human arm, hand and all. You blinked in disbelief at the cold, limp limb this stranger was handling like some trophy “What the…is that real?” Looking back im the direction from which he came, you could’ve sworn those crooked, granite obelisks looked an awful lot like headstones…But before you could get a seccond look, the thing was stuffed in the bag and heaved up with the rest of the cargo.
It took him a second to come up with a plausible story. Grabbing the underside of the cart, he shoved the thing to inch a few feet up the embankment. “Uh…Don't worry! Just a- a joke, you know? Like…rubber chicken?” With a shudder, the cart settled onto solid ground and the stranger flashed a smile that didn't assuage your suspicion in the slightest.