Narrhil enters the stair inside the wall, there is a dead hound at the top of the stair.
[Narrhil +300XP]

Climbing over the dead Hound he uses the axe to push open the cellar door. and in the circle of his C LIGHT beginning a foot away is yet another hound splayed motionless on the floor near the burnt out doorway out of the kitchen.
[Narrhill +300XP]

Narrhil ponders why the fourth hound would wait above and close the door behind the 3 hounds that descended.

Plain as day on the floor of the sanctuary between the remaining unmoved pews lay a fifth dead hound in the thin layer of snow and ice.
[Narrhill +300XP]

All prints lead from the dead temple hound to the kitchen.

The doors are as he left them, bound with rope to 2 pews pulled against them to help somewhat better block up the opening. The CON LIGHT ends just at/before the doors.
The prints are only his own between the dead hound #5 and the entrance doors.
The snowfall begins to carry tiny pieces of sleet, which richochet in slight plinks off Narrhil's armor and axe blade.

[Yes, on the floor at the door.]

Narrhil looks around, the room is empty.
The sleet is steady.
The only prints at the door are his his and the one dead hound, the other prints lead from the dead hound to the kitchen.
The hole is the space that Narrhill and companions have been entering through between the pews tied to the broken doors. Only allowing one at a time movement.
The torch flames to life and Narrhil puts it and his eyes through the opening.
At the far edge of the the torchlight a lone hound sits on its hind haunch.
So you are alone then I am alone.
 

Last edited by Iron Ranger (Yesterday 7:29 pm)

The hound makes no move at the sight of the wand coming through the crack of the door to join the torch and the face budding out of it.
"He summons thee," croaks the hound. Its raspy, dark,  and broken voice struggling to form your language on the cold air.