Setting: Sometimes things just go wrong. You sit down to rest, breathless with effort, and soon as not comes again the old foe. Time to move again, comforts forgotten. But haste leaves things behind, telltales of those ahead. Roll d10.
1: A half-reshaped broken saber, a grindstone.
2: A sawn-off gangrenous leg and cut tourniquet.
3: Six silken masks, crumpled.
4: Small crocken pots, each with a verdant sprout.
5: A mannequin of sackcloth and wheatstalks; paintdaub face.
6: A singed set of woodworker’s tools, within a ritual sigil.
7: Pulled-apart skeletons of cooked rats.
8: Pictures of dicks, scrawled in charcoal. Nonhuman.1
9: A broken circle of salt.
10: A swaddling cloth. No baby.
And what if they return?
1 How do you know?