[PF] IC - Carrion Crown (Nova Wurmson)

[Novawurmson]

An unlikely group of four travelers tramps up the gravel road on the way to the Restlands – Ravengro’s space set apart for those who have passed. They have not spoken to each other yet, but their somber appearances tell no lies – they have all come to mourn their collective loss of the professor.

The notice of his arrival was shocking: No one would have said that Petros Lorrimor was a young man, but no one would guessed that a man who spent his whole life searching the world with a (frankly) dangerous desire for knowledge would die a short walk from his home in a simple accident in the quiet, boring farming community where he lived. It was no way for someone who had seen so much and touched so many lives to die.

The morning air is sharp, and cuts on the lungs with each breath. Ahead, a lone figure beside a large object waves to them frantically, then utters a cry of relief.

“You’ve come! You’ve all come!” the figure cries, running up.

It is quite easy to identify the young woman as Kendra Lorrimor (http://cdn.obsidianportal.com/assets/52609/Kendra_Lorrimor.jpg), daughter of the late professor, both from her striking resemblance to the professor, and because she is still in mourning. Her eyes are red and puffy and she dresses in dark, conservative clothes. Trim and attractive, Kendra greets the travelers with a deep sense of relief. She hurriedly introduces herself and continues:

“So few people have come to pay their respects to Father, and with things the way they are in town these days, not many fols from Ravengro have come out for the funerall,” she rushes. “The mourners and g-gravediggers and Father Grimburrow are already at the site, but there’s no pallbearers!”

She looks at each of the travelers imploringly and gestures to the closed, heavy coffin. “Father spoke – well, wrote so highly of all of you. Would you do him theA honor of carrying him now?”

[QuidEst]

Voror walked along the road in awkward silence. He didn't like funerals. Well, there were very few people who liked funerals, but it was usually because somebody had died. That he could deal with. It happened to (nearly) everyone in time. No, it was the formality that bothered him. People dressed nicely, stood solemnly, and said nice things. He could do the standing solemnly, and for Professor Lorrimor, he could say nice things. But he lived in the dim, flickering light of his performances, where nobody noticed a patch here or an oil stain there on his clothing. At least his only outfit wasn't one of those garish affairs bards loved to wear. Brown pants, a formerly-white shirt that had settled into a mottled tan, and a dark red sash about his waist were subdued enough for a funeral service. A quick glance around assured him that while the others were better dressed, the Professor had kept rather eclectic company.

The fire-eater's unease at the upcoming ceremony was interrupted by a frantic woman's approach. The news that so few people had come in attendance was unexpectedly upsetting. Even he had come, and from no small distance. It never ceased to amaze him that people could fail to meet his exceedingly limited faith in them. In any case, what they did was irrelevant. The Professor had given him a few years of genuine hope, and it was his duty to pay his respects regardless of any petty feelings that arose. Voror dipped his head respectfully. "It would be an honor to me to do so," he answered.

[Ancient Hippo]

Moira quickened her pace a little to stay with the group. Featherball emitted a displeased sound as his ride suddenly started to wobble uncomfortably, but did not say anything. Moira had told him to stay quiet and in her shoulder for the duration of the ceremony, for it was far more simple than teaching the whole funeral etiquette to a raven.

She examined the other people, their appearance, equipment, outfit... She burned from desire to ask all kinds of questions from them, who they were, where they came, how had they met the professor... She managed to restrain herself though, as the situation was inappropriate for that.

As they arrive at the coffin, Moira is quite surprised to know that the professor had a daughter. She figures out that it was in no way odd, but she had just never thought about the possibility.

"Yes." she answers to Kendra's question, not seeing a point in a longer answer.

[Pazzo]

Zee lagged behind to rest of the group, unfamiliar with the area and feeling slightly lost and confused, even on a clear path. He debates taking off some of his leather to enjoy the biting cold air that reminds him of home. But looking at the other, in there funeral wear, he decides against it.

'They are all wearing formal wear, and here I am with my armor, tools, weapons, and spikes. Maybe if I pull my cloak around me I will stand out less. Oh gods, what if they ask me to take off my hood, some manners thing or whatever? No, it's okay, plenty of escape routes from here. Hmmm . . . at least I wore the right colour . . . ' Zee mutters to himself quietly, half of it in his mind, the other slipping out briefly in Undercommon.

About halfway through Kendra's talk, Zee's mind wanders to funerals, and if they held one for him yet back home. 'It's years, they must assume I am dead by now. I wonder who came? I wonder if I don't make it back, who would carry my Dad? Dad could already be dead for all I know, actually. Well, I know Clark is . . . I murdered him after all.'

With that somber thought, Zee's eyes dim and lose colour. He shutters, not from cold by a combination stress and fear. Walking forward, he simple nods in agreedment to Kendra, hoping to get this over with, but still show respect to one of the few people on this world that has been kind to him.

[JaaSwb]

Ioana walks behind Voror, diverting her thoughts from the night she met professor Lorrimor for the first time since she left for Ravengro. She looks around, carefully taking in the people walking with her, but only occasional thoughts surface above the chaos in her head. What an unusual smell that man in front has, she thinks, almost as though he's on fire. And then those blue eyes in the back, far too bright to be natural. She shudders, and shifts her shoulders. Did that woman just caw? For the first time, Ioana realizes the professor never told her anything about himself, about his friends, his family, his other projects. And now death has brought them all together.

So, he had a daughter, Ioana thinks as Kendra comes running up to the group. "I'd be honoured."

[Novawurmson]

“Thank you, thank you all so much,” Kendra says as her expression goes from desperation to exhausted relief. “The workers just dropped the coffin here and refused to go any further.”

Kendra directs the pallbearers on how to lift and carry the heavy coffin. Ioana and Moira are positioned on the left side, Zee and Voror on the right. Now ready, the grim procession moves further up towards the Restlands.

Few people stir in the streets. The sound of children playing drifts through the mid autumn air, singing an uncanny rhyme:

Put her body on the bed.
Take a knife and lop her head.
Watch the blood come out the pipe.
Feeds the stirge, so nice and ripe...

As the mourners pass houses, they occasionally see the face of a mistrustful housewife peek that them through a set of curtains and then disappear.

At the entrance to the Restlands, a large group has gathered. A dozen farmhands and villagers stand at the entrance to the cemetery, holding farm implements in a threatening fashion.

"That’s far enough!" a wiry old man, the most confrontational of them, shouts as he takes a step forward. Kendra irritably mutters a name so that the four pallbearers can hear.
“Gibs Hephenus.”

"We been talking, and we don’t want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You can take him upriver and bury him there if you want, but he ain’t goin’ in the ground here!”

[JaaSwb]

"Let's put the coffin down," Ioana says just loud enough for the others to hear. "I don't like the way they're waving those tools around."

[QuidEst]

As the procession continues towards the gravesite, Voror observes the surrounding area. Grim was probably the simplest way to put it.

Voror stares at the old man, raising an eyebrow. "No, don't put the coffin down-" he hisses to the others. "We don't want a fight, and they don't want to defile the dead." He didn't care much for the local superstitions and the like, and had never paid them mind, but knocking a coffin to the ground tended to fall under the category of things that were bad luck, caused a restless spirit, et cetera.

Drawing himself up, Voror addresses the crowd. His face grew more animated. It was a show like any other. "Mister Hephenus… and company. We have not met. If it were any other man, I should likewise put aside my respect for the dead, bury proper decorum in the Restlands with fitting rites of passage, and take his body to a cold and shallow grave. But the good Professor Lorrimor was one of the few men I could call a true friend. You and I will some day be carried down such a quiet road. I, for one, would have no man bar that progress… for what motive must one hold who would not wish that I lie in peace?"

Realistically speaking, he didn't give two coppers what people did with his body once he wasn't using it. They could dance on it for all he cared, but anybody who worries about where the Professor was to be buried would probably place a great deal of stock in such matters. It was a pity they didn't have the cleric with them… Father Grim-something. That would be enough to let them pass.

[Pazzo]

Furrowing his brow at this 'Gibs', Zee's eyes get their colour back, as blue light begins to pour slightly over the edges. A voice is heard muffled by the various layers of cloth and leather. "This man is dead, and unless you happen to be friends with a very powerful follower of the divines, that fact will not be changing. His life is done, and with it, any disagreement you may have had with him. So unless you plan on wandering the outer planes to try and continue whatever issues there might have been between you, I suggest you stand aside. Let this man lay where hsio spirit might be at rest, and his family hold him dear."

Diplomacy Check [roll0]

[Ancient Hippo]

Having carried the heavy coffin for a while, Moira's muscles were aching. She was not sure if she would be able to carry it for a lot more time. Frankly, she was annoyed at the people guarding the entrance. How did they think they could deny the good professor a place for his final rest?

She bites her lip to keep herself from saying anything unwise or putting some unpleasant spell on the Hephenus guy.

[Novawurmson]

Kendra is swift to respond, her sadness swiftly transforming into anger. “What are you talking about?” she cries out.

"I suggest you move out while you still can," Hephenus sneers, waving a pitchfork. "Folks are pretty upset about this right now.”

Behind him, the mob begins to lower their weapons, looking a little ashamed. It would appear Zee's words had some effect on them.

“We won’t have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin!" Hephenus shouts, not noticing his support waning.

“Listen, I arranged it with Father Grimburrow," Kendra protests. "He’s waiting for us! The grave’s already been dug."

The old man laughs smugly and turns around to rally his supports. He sputters and fails when he sees that he's been abandoned. He spins back around, his eyes now wide with terror.

"You'll come to no good end, I warn you!" he shrieks, then follows the fleeing mob of villagers.

The bent, guant, worried form of Father Grimburrow comes limping over the hill, leaning heavily on a cane. Two surly gravediggers and a small crowd of mourners follow him.

"What's all the shouting about?" the priest says in a half-yell. After the situation has been explained (loudly, due to his apparent deafness), his concern turns to annoyance.

"What the devil is he on about, necromancy," Grimburrow grumbles. "I'll be having a word with Sheriff Caeller. We can't have the people acting like mad Kells at a funeral."

The crowd of mourners nods and murmurs in agreement.

Kendra makes brief introductions: Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, Councilman Gharen Muricar, scholar Adivion Adrissant, tavernkeeper Zokar Elkarid and his son Pevrin, and Jominda Fallenbridge, the village apothecary. They give subdued greetings.

"I recognized the thugs as local farmhands, all of low character.” Kendra whispers a few words of thanks to the pallbearers for handling the problem.

The assault now past, the procession continues up to the plot Kendra purchased for her father. No further complications prevent the lowering of his coffin into the open grave by the gravediggers. Father Grimburrow gives a short sermon, then invites Kendra to say a few words about her father. Kendra fights back tears and briefly recounts a few of her father’s more courageous and selfless moments, thanking everyone once again for coming. She then invites anyone else to share a few stories or remembrances.

[Ancient Hippo]

Moira was relieved that the situation had been defused without the need to curse anyone. The man behind all that cloth had spoken very convincingly, something that she had never been able to do.

She listened attentively through the sermon and Kendra's speech. She did not feel very sad, as she had met the professor only for a few days, and that had been years ago. Instead, she felt a profound respect and gratefulness to the man that had inspired her so much. When Kendra ended her speech and invited them to say a few words, Moira felt that she had to say something, make her gratefulness known to the world.

"I'm afraid that I don't have a story to share with you, as the time I spent with professor Lorrimor was very brief, and it was many years ago. However..." She suddenly felt her voice starting to stutter and her heartbeat fastening. Even though there were only a few attendees, she did not like speaking publicly. She felt like running away, but forced herself to continue her speech. "However, it was the most important event so far in my life. My hometown is, to put it bluntly, backward. No-one there would have thought that a girl would be worth educating, or that it would be even possible. But the professor, he imprinted the flame of seeking knowledge in my soul, and whenever I felt discouraged, his words inspired me to keep trying, even when I got no support from anywhere else. It is him who has influenced the most what kind of person I am today, and for that... For that I am thankful for him."

Having finished her speech, she quickly walks back to the others, and while her hands are still shaking a little from the nervousness, at the same time she feels that a stone has been lifted from her heart.

[Novawurmson]

Everyone should roll a Diplomacy check after giving their speech.

[QuidEst]

Voror draws himself up, readying himself to give a few words. Not the sort of thing he was used to… showmanship and playing on people's nervousness was more his style. Still, he owed the late professor this much. It wasn't as if the professor was in any position to care much about the form. If he was, then the afterlife was significantly less interesting than Father Grimburrow would have one believe.

"There are three things any man wishes for… respect, knowledge, and hope. Professor Lorrimor was the only man I knew to give all three without reserve. For that, I owe him my thanks," he states simply. The details were unimportant, and far too focused on himself. He sits down again, not meeting any of the others' gazes.

[roll0]
If the result is less than five, he is wracked with violent coughing during the speech.

[JaaSwb]

Those eyes are definitely not natural. Surely the professor would not have associated with the undead? That man did call him a necromancer. No. Impossible. It's not as if you are ent- Shut up.

Ioana steps up. Her face is blank, and her speech is short. "When I first met Petros Lorrimor, I had nothing. No family, no home, no future. The professor gave me all of that, and more. He saved my life, found a family willing to take me in, paid my tuition and helped me understand a great many things. He gave me a future, and I will never forget his kindness."

She looks at Kendra. So much emotion. She cares. You never could.

Diplomacy: [roll0]
She's definitely not aiming to impress, though

[Ancient Hippo]

Diplomacy [roll0] Well, not bad. Actually pretty good.

[Pazzo]

Zee awkwardly walks up to the front, take each step as if he was considering running off. Sighing heavily but quietly, he straighten ups and stares just above the crowd, making eye contact with a tree in the distance. (Not that anyone could really tell where his rather 'unique' eyes are pointed anyways~)
"I must confess, I did not know the late professor very well, for the crossing of our lives was very brief. But it had a profound effect on the course of our fates. I was given the chance to assist the professor when he was set upon by a back ally attacker. Normally I would have just stayed in the shadows and let events run it's course. But I did not. While the professor may not have had any direct hand in it, the actions I took shook my world view. I now know that to survive is not enough to be alive. You must interact with the world around you, and avoid becoming a shadow, hidden in your own life. While the fates seemed to render my assistance somewhat void in extending the late professor's life, that night will still echo in my life for, hopefully, many years to come. I am sure he would be happy to see so many here to remember him, and I hope he helped your lives as much as he did mine, directly or otherwise."

With an awkward glance to the coffin, Zee rushes himself back to his seat in the back, seeming to pant and have a minor panic attack hidden as best he can under his hood and cloak.


Diplomacy [roll0]

[Novawurmson]

Ioana and Voror's speeches are accompanied by nodding and agreement, but Moira's brief note of gratefulness seems to strike a cord with the audience, and many people smiled encouragingly at her throughout.

Though Zee's voice quivers, it is with true emotion. At his words "I now know that to survive is not enough to be alive," Father Grimburrow gives a "Praise Pharasma!" and several others give similar affirmative statements.

Kendra fights back tears and leans on Adivion for support, but by the end of the funeral, she and the rest of the mourners look comforted.

After the funeral is over and Kendra has said her goodbyes to the other guests, she invites the four travelers and Adivion back to her home for a drink and to hear the professor's last will and testament.

The reading of the professor’s will requires the presence of Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, and he has some other matters to attend to after the funeral, so they have some time to talk.

Wilfred Duke, a proper, rail-thin middle aged butler with greying hair meets them at the door and soon brings a tray bearing cups of tea and quietly offers a cup to each of the visitors. Kendra takes a cup, but stares into it for some time before taking a sip.

A silence falls over the gathering, giving each of the strangers time to study their surroundings. The house is well-kept and comfortable, if a bit claustrophobic because of the amount of books stored there. Bookcases crowd the house, stuffed with volumes and volumes of knowledge with titles like "On Mysteries, the Mundane, and the Minde," "A Treatise on the Skeletal Systemes of the Beasts of Varisia," and "Monstrous Births in Korvosa in the Years 4003-4156."

Adivion, a handsome, cultured man perhaps in his late 20s and in an impeccable outfit, is the first to speak.

"I was quite moved by what you said of Petros; I was a colleague of his for some time and a great admirer of his work. I have pressing matters to attend to Caliphas, but I hope to speak with you briefly on a matter of some importance.

"Professor Lorrimor was engaged in research on a full variety of topics, many of which were as mysterious as they were dangerous. I would advise against becoming too deeply involved in his work; though his death appears to have been an accident, the professor had many enemies in academia and beyond. Had he not been struck down in so strange a manner, it would not have been inconceivable that his past curiosity my have caught up with him."

He turns to Kenda, "I would most of all hope that you would keep your safety in the highest consideration."

He address the four travelers again. "Should you find yourselves in need of aid, especially in as much as you find yourselves involved in Professor Lorrimor's affairs, do not hesitate to ask for me. Letters mailed to my address in Caliphas will always find their way to me.

"If you have any questions, I would be glad to answer them; if not, I will take my leave."

[QuidEst]

Before following the others, Voror excuses himself briefly to have a word with Father Grimburrow. He thanks the old cleric for his words, and leaves a gold piece donation in the offering box.

As they walk to the Lorrimor household, the surroundings grow more familiar. He'd spent many hours poring over the Professor's numerous alchemical texts, and even after all these years, he could probably still locate most of them amidst the many quaint and curious volumes of forgotten lore.

Voror politely declines the tea. As a matter of preference, he took his still boiling. He gives what, for him, passes as a smile as Adivion speaks. "Your concern is appreciated, but I have little choice on whether I become involved in his research. I was his research- or rather, a part of it. But, if you will forgive my inquiry, how was it that he died? I only heard that it was an accident, and that is open to whatever suspicions and flights of paranoid fantasy may be put to it," he asks somewhat indecorously. As to Lorrimor's curiosity, it was curiosity that killed the cat. Then again, it was the wizard's curiosity that brought it back.

[Novawurmson]

Adivion sighs heavily. “Petros was found by Harrowstone, a dilapidated, abandoned prison that sits on the outskirts of the town. A piece of a stone statue high on the prison wall broke and, well…It struck him directly in the head. I have some training as a physician myself, and I could find no other injuries on his body.”

You can make either a Knowledge (History) or a Knowledge (Local) check to reveal what your character already knows about Harrowstone. If you are trained in both skills, you may roll both and take the better result.

[Ancient Hippo]

Featherball had been silent for the whole ceremony, something that did not come from him naturally. The raven's patience finally broke when the others had started drinking tea and discussing things that made no sense to him. Why do they insist in using such difficult words?

"Well, can I talk now?" he says, and although the voice of a raven is not very suitable for conveying subtle nuances, it is obvious that he is frustrated. "You already did," Moira answered with a sigh. She knew that the raven would not stay silent forever, but was nonetheless happy that the funeral had went without problems.

Featherball made a sound that could be interpreted as clearing his throat. "Gentlemen, I believe we have not been properly introduced. I am, well, you can just call me Sir Raven, the most excellent member of the most excellent race of the ravens. Or just Sir Raven, if you want to be short. And this girl here," he says, and makes a gesture towards Moira's head with his wing, "She is Moira, my pet witch." Before anyone can respond, he continues to speak. "And now that we got that out of the way, is there anything to eat here? I'm starving!"

"That's enough, Featherball," Moira says, her face red with embarrassment. Although the raven had a point, she could not recall when they had their last meal. With an apologetic look in her eyes, she turns to the butler and asks: "I am sorry for bothering you like this, but he has not eaten in a very long time. He would deeply appreciate if you could spare some old leftovers or something to him. He eats anything, so that is not a problem."

Trying to keep her own hunger hidden, she tries to remember if she had heard the name "Harrowstone" anywhere before.


Knowledge (History) [roll0]

[Novawurmson]

Wilfred curtly bows himself out of the room and returns with a plate of fruit, cheese, and a small piece of goat.

"We had chicken," he whispers to Moira as he hands her the plate. "But I thought it made be offensive to Sir."



Harrowstone is a ruined prison—partially destroyed by a fire in 4661, the building has stood vacant ever since. The locals suspect that it’s haunted, and don’t enjoy speaking of the place.

[Ancient Hippo]

Moira thanks Wilfred and places the plate on a nearby chair. Featherball jumps from her shoulder into the chair and starts happily eating the food.

Adivion's warnings about the late professor's research only served to fuel her interest. "Excuse me, but what was he doing at Harrowstone? Some kind of research?" she asks from him.

She found herself wondering if the place was really haunted. Seeing a ghost would certainly be very interesting, if maybe a little scary.

[JaaSwb]

Ioana sips slowly at her tea as she takes in every detail of her surroundings. As her eyes wander past the endless bookcases, she imagines how the professor lead his life here, and though he has been dead for quite while, she notices his scent is still heavy in the air.

When Adivion speaks, she turns her attention to the mourners. "Forgive my bluntness, but how might his curiosity have 'caught up with him'? You seemed to imply that Kendra is in some sort of danger."

Sense Motive: [roll0].
Always suspicious.

[Pazzo]

Zee pays little attention to the conversation at hand, being wide eyed and enthralled by the sheer number of books around him. Not since his childhood had he ever been in such a place, and he feels like it may be many year till he experiances this again. Paying mock attention to the speakers, as a student might in a long class, he slowly walks around the room, glancing and scanning the book binding's covers for anything mentioning "Planes", "Shadow" or "Teleportations", or anything that seems related. 'He was called a Proffessor, he must be knowledgable, I might find a key, or at least a hint in one of these books, I must be quick.'

Perception: (Search for related books) [roll0]

[Novawurmson]

Adivion takes a moment to breathe and think. In Ioana’s eyes, at least, it seems the conversation was not going as he planned. With furrow brow, he continues slowly.

“I do not know exactly what the professor was researching at Harrowstone, or if indeed Harrowstone was the subject of his research and not just a hapless coincidence. I do – did – know Petros, however, and I can’t shake the feeling that he specified the four of you to be called to his home for a reason – probably to finish some last task for him. I want you to understand that you should not take whatever it is lightly and without knowing the risks.”

Adivion’s face grows hard for a minute.

“Petros’ life’s work is his work in understanding the dark, treacherous, and the uncanny, and despite the fact that he did it for all the right reasons, he lost many friends along the way. Some were jealous of his intelligence, and others threatened by his quest to bring secrets to light – but Petros chose the life he did with full knowledge of the perils and the risks; I do not wish to see any harm come to you.

“Petros lived a life surrounded by words,” he says, waving a hand at the shelves and shelves of books that line nearly every wall of the house. “I believe words are the most treacherous subject of study in existence; words have the power to kill and bring life, to condemn and to exonerate, to bind together and break apart, to conceal and to reveal, to bring honor and to shame; in short, the full length and breadth of existence. Again, I say: Do not choose this path lightly.

“And finally…”

His face softens as he gives a meaning full glance towards Kendra, who gives a small smile, then speaks.

“Well, if you must know, for the past few months, Adivion has – well, we’ve been – we’re…planning to marry,” she blushes slightly. “I was going to tell Father soon, but…”

“It’s not your fault,” Adivion murmurs as he walks over to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “I should have spoken with him as well.”

“I guess to answer your question, no, I don’t think Kendra is in any direct danger, but I don’t want her to be too deeply bound up in the professor’s research,” Adivion says. “There are too many perils that exist in this house alone.”

Barely paying attention, Zee browses through the professor’s books, his eyes lighting up when he thinks he sees something of use. Ports of Garund: Their Inhabitants, Bazaars, and Climate; Shade and Shadow: Advanced Techniques in Field Note Sketches… until one catches his eye: “Planar Anomalies in the Inner Sea Region.”

[QuidEst]

Voror doesn't say anything right away. Firstly, it is far too early to commit to any task set forth in the the Professor's will. The old man had treated him with dignity and had helped him, certainly, but he hadn't risked his life or gotten himself killed on his behalf. Secondly, even though Adivion's story still seemed incomplete, it was safer to not appear too interested. The man lacked imagination if he honestly felt that a chunk of statue falling off an old prison ruled out foul play. Well, nothing for it… people rarely trusted him anyways, so it might as well be him fishing for information. He'd be gone soon enough anyway. "Such a shame. It seems so odd that he should be out there during a storm," he says, shaking his head. "But he always an inscrutable man, wasn't he?" Hopefully the mention of a storm would be confirmed or corrected… it would be far too much trouble to hunt down the records, if there even was somebody who kept records of such things now that Lorrimor was gone.


If applicable to the situation:
Bluff- [roll0]

[Pazzo]

Zee shyly grabs the book, inspects it it closely, as if it may spring poison needles at any moment. Now oblivious to the world around him, he begins to peruse the book, his shoulders against the bookcase, and his eyes pulsing with each page turn.

He isn't really reading it yet, just carefully flipping through each page scanning for any references, diagrams, or pictures that might involved the Plane of Shadows.

[Novawurmson]

The book is filled with technical jargon and dozens of charts and illustrations. Despite the difficulty of the style, it appears to hold an incredible wealth of information.

The book grants a plus 2 to Knowledge(Planes) checks.

[Novawurmson]

"I think 'inscrutable' was a fine word for him," Adivion says as he motions for Wilfred to bring him his coat. "But his body was not muddy when I examined it, and they assured me it was in the same condition as they found him, so I highly doubt he died in the rain. Now, if you will excuse me, it is far past time I should have left."

He kisses Kendra lightly on the forehead, gives a mast wave, and is gone out the door.

Not a minute after he has left, there is a rapping at the door.

Wilfred welcomes Father Grimburrow into the home, who limps in, leaning heavily on a cane. After pleasantries, he begins to speak.

"Well, I had a talk with the sheriff, and he gave those lazy, disgraceful fieldhands such a cursing-oh their ears turned red," he says happily. "Some of 'em nearly shat their britches!"

He chuckles to himself for a minute.

"Now, why else was I here... Oh yes, Mr. Voror, was it? Well, I wanted to thank you again for your donation to the church; every copper will be put to improving the lives of the living and respecting the peace of the dead"

He turns to Ioana.

"Young lady, could we speak for a moment?"

He steps into a side room.

"To get to the point, I heard that there was an acolyte of the Lady of Graves coming, and I thought I'd take an opportunity to further her education."

(More to come, getting kicked out)

[JaaSwb]

Ioana's curiosity is piqued at being taken aside. "I am always eager to learn, Father."

[QuidEst]

Well, that is interesting. Voror doesn't display his interest, but that left a rather pointed question as to what knocked the masonry loose. If it hadn't been loose enough to get blown down in the last storm, there was little reason for it to come loose simply because there was a professor beneath. What matter, though? It didn't concern him at this point. The old man was six feet under- seven, if the gravediggers were as paranoid as those farmhands- and the cause made little difference to the present.

The arrival of Father Grimburrow serves to bring Voror back to the present himself. He dips his head respectfully. "Simply Voror is fine," he states. He'd taken the name himself over twenty years ago- he hadn't bothered with his real one or any honorifics since then. "I trust your judgment. I understand that parishes have upkeep as well, and I do not mind if there is a more pressing mundane cause that would be served by it."

[Ancient Hippo]

The total indifference to the suddenly talking raven was quite surprising. Most of the people Moira had met during her travel here had been quite shocked, and in the worst cases tried to murder her with farming implements. Now it was her turn to be shocked, as she had expected some kind of reaction. Well, when she thought of it a little more, the professor's family and employees had probably seen many more odd things than a talking raven. And these other guests did not look very ordinary themselves, so maybe they were accustomed to such things.

She does not pay much attention as the priest arrives, but starts to feel a little suspicious when he steps into another room with the swordswoman. She had heard about the witch-hunts some of the Pharasmites had performed, and she did not like at all that the priest was talking behind closed doors with someone who looked like she would have no problem lopping a few heads off. "Go next to the door and see if you can hear anything," she whispers to Featherball, who drops from the table and starts to walk wobblingly towards the side room.

[Novawurmson]

"Eh, what?" Father Grimburrow says, straining to hear a little. "Oh, yes, yes. An excellent attitude, in my opinion." His half-deaf voice carries into the parlor momentarily.

[Moira, Ioana]
"Now, er, to business. I've sure you've noticed the young woman sitting in the parlor with the rather...enthusiastic bird. I've received word from the elders of her town that she's a murderess and a hag in disguise and all sorts of horrible things, butt she doesn't seem to be as much of a threat as all that; the reports of claws were exaggerated, at the very least.

"Still, the forces of darkness are not to be underestimated. I'm tasking you as an acolyte of Pharasma to judge her: Study her, measure her. If she is wicked, capture her and bring her to the temple. Kill her if your life is in danger, but, well..." he smiles. "I don't think it will come to that. Just keep a close eye on her while she's in town, and we'll know soon enough what's to be done to her."

[JaaSwb]

Ioana and Grimburrow
"I will do as you ask. She will be under close watch as long as she remains here, or until we can be certain she is not a threat." Ioana pauses, thinking the assignment over for a moment. "Do you have any suggestions on how to handle this? Subtlety is not my strength."

[Ancient Hippo]

Upon hearing Father Grimburrow speaking about Moira, Featherball was about to go back to warn her, but stopped himself in the last minute. After all, she is very smart, (Not as smart as he is, of course) but common sense was not her strongest point, and if he told her that an acolyte of Pharasma was following her the results might not be very pretty.

The raven decides to keep the truth for himself for now, and stays by the door eavesdropping.


Do I need to make another Perception roll? If so:
Perception: [roll0]

[Novawurmson]

After Ioana and Father Grimburrow's discussion is completed, the priest returns to give one more note of condolence to the mourners, and leaves.

Councilor Vashian arrives precisely on time. Despite his greying hair and lined face, he retains a military crispness and a strong physique. He speaks cordially to Kendra, but his face turns mask-like and cold when he is introduced to the strangers. Once he sits down, he becomes extremely businesslike, focusing his involvement entirely on the reading of Petros’s will.

"I'm not sure if Ms. Lorrimor was completely clear in her correspondence with you all about the reason for your invitation to the funeral, but Professor Lorrimor specifically stipulated that his daughter and each of you must be present for its reading. I am not certain of the contents of the will, as - " Councilman Vashian produces a scroll case and shows that the professor’s personal seal is unbroken. "-the will has not been tampered with in any way. Without further ado, then."

He breaks the wax and opens the case. As he does, a small iron key falls out of the tube, clattering noisily onto the table. Undaunted by the key, the councilman begins to read, eager to be done with the business and to get back home.

- - - - - - - - -

“I, Petros Lorrimor, being of sound mind, do hereby commit to this parchment my last will and testament. Let it be known that, with the exception of the specific details below, I leave my home and personal belongings entire to my daughter Kendra. Use them or sell them as you see fit, my child.

"I leave 5,000 gold coins to my butler and personal servant Wilfred Duke for his years of unquestioning service and steady manner that have brought us through many difficulties. I ask him to stay as Kendra's servant for at least a year and a day to help her as she adjusts to life in my absence.

“Yet beyond the bequeathing of my personal effects, this document must serve other needs. I have arranged for the reading of this document to be delayed until all principals can be in attendance, for I have more than mere inheritance to apportion. I have two final favors to ask.

“To my old friends, I hate to impose upon you all, but there are few others who are capable of appreciating the true significance of what it is I have to ask. As some of you know, I have devoted many of my studies to all manner of evil, that I might know the enemy and inform those better positioned to stand against it. For knowledge of one’s enemy is the surest path to victory over its plans.

“And so, over the course of my lifetime, I have seen fit to acquire a significant collection of valuable but dangerous tomes, any one of which in the wrong circumstances could have led to an awkward legal situation. While the majority of these tomes remain safe under lock and key at the Lepidstadt University, I fear that a few I have borrowed remain in a trunk in my Ravengro home. While invaluable for my work in life, in death, I would prefer not to burden my daughter with the darker side of my profession, or worse still, the danger of possessing these tomes herself. As such, I am entrusting my chest of tomes to you, posthumously. I ask that you please deliver the collection to my colleagues at the University of Lepidstadt, who will put them to good use for the betterment of the cause.

“Yet before you leave for Lepidstadt, there is the matter of another favor—please delay your journey one month and spend that period of time here in Ravengro to ensure that my daughter is safe and sound. If you would aid her in setting things in order for whatever she desires over the course of this month, you would have my eternal gratitude. From my savings, I have also willed to each of you a sum of one hundred platinum coins. For safekeeping, I have left these funds with Embreth Daramid, one of my most trusted friends in Lepidstadt—she has been instructed to issue this payment upon the safe delivery of the borrowed tomes no sooner than one month after the date of the reading of this will.

“I, Petros Lorrimor, hereby sign this will in Ravengro on this first day of Calistril, in the year 4711.”

- - - - - - -

Once the will is read, Councilman Vashian looks to Kendra, who thanks him and dismisses him. Putting on a brave face, Kendra thanks her guests yet again for coming, and informs them that she’ll need at least a few weeks to decide if she wants to sell her family home or remain here in Ravengro.

“In the meantime, I would be honored – and grateful – if you would stay here for the duration. The house was far too large when it was just the three of us living here; there are rooms for everyone upstairs. You can dine here with us if you please. Wilfred, could you prepare the rooms for the guests?”

“Yes, mistress,” he responds. Addressing the visitors, he says “If you have any preferences on food, I would be happy to prepare what you would be comfortable with. I serve breakfast at seven in the morning, lunch at noon, dinner at five.” He bows and leaves.

After he leaves, Kendra excuses herself to go fetch the chest mentioned in the will, which she returns with momentarily.

The chest itself is a relatively small object of oak and iron. Kendra asks those in attendance to gather around, and then nervously places the key into the chest. The key fits the lock perfectly, and within are several old tomes and one relatively new one. The newest tome sits on the top and bears the phrase “Read me now!” scratched into the leather cover.

The other tomes comprise the books of dangerous lore mentioned in his will— On Verified Madness, Serving Your Hunger, and The Umbral Leaves –these three have notes tucked into them indicating that they should be delivered to one Montagnie Crowl, a professor of antiquities at Lepidstadt University.

Another tome, Manual of the Order of the Palatine Eye, has a note indicating it should be delivered to Embreth Daramid, a judge at the Lepidstadt Courthouse (although the note asks for this delivery in particular to be handled discreetly, and includes the address of Embreth’s home). The rich purple cover of this book contains a brass scarab set with a single eye in its center. The book’s covers are rimmed in polished steel and clasped with a small but intricate lock, the keyhole of which appears to be for a key with a strange, triangular shaft. The key is nowhere to be found.

The leather-bound book appears to be a personal journal of Petros’ research. The majority of the entries are relatively bland, accounting for day-to-day activities in a small town. A quick glance through it reveals that several entries are circled in red ink.

[This entry is dated ten years ago]



Adivion was right: The Whispering Way is more than just a cabal of necromancers. I see that now. Undeath is their fountain of youth. Uncovering their motivation does not place me at ease as I thought it might. Their desire to be eternal simply makes them more dangerous.

[Dated two months ago]


It is as I had feared. The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be?

[Dated one month ago]


Whatever the Way seeks, I am now convinced their goal is connected to Harrowstone. In retrospect, I suppose it all makes sense—the stories they tell about the ruins in town are certainly chilling enough. It may be time to investigate the ruins, but with everyone in town already being so worked up about them, I’d rather not let the others know about my curiosity—there’s plenty of folks hereabouts who already think I’m a demonologist or a Kell or something. Ignorant fools.

[Dated twenty days ago]


It is confirmed. The Way seems quite interested in something—no, strike that—someone who was held in Harrowstone. But who, specifically, is the Way after? I need a list of everyone who died the night of the fire. Everyone. The Temple of Pharasma must have such a list.

[Dated eighteen days ago]


I see now just how ill prepared I was when I last set out for the Harrowstone. I am lucky to have returned at all. The ghosts, if indeed they were ghosts (for I did not find it prudent to investigate further) prevented me from transcribing the strange symbols I found etched along the foundation—hopefully on my next visit I will be more prepared. Thankfully, the necessary tools to defend against spirits are already here in Ravengro. I know that the church of Pharasma used to store them in a false crypt in the Restlands at the intersection between Eversleep and the Black Path. I am not certain if the current clergy even know of what their predecessors have hidden down below. If my luck holds, I should be able to slip in and out with a few borrowed items.

[Dated seventeen days ago]


Tomorrow evening I return to the prison. It is imperative the Way does not finish. My caution has already cost me too much time. I am not sure what will happen if I am too late, but if my theory is right, the entire town could be at risk. I don’t have time to update my will yet again, so I’ll leave this in the chest where it’ll be sure to be found, should the worst come to pass. Adivion isn't responding to my letters - could they have been intercepted?

If I never write in this journal again No need to be brooding. I'm sure this will turn out fine.

- - - - - - - -

[Novawurmson]

The Whispering Way is a sinister
organization of necromancers that has been active in the
Inner Sea region for thousands of years.

Agents of the Whispering Way often
seek alliances with undead creatures, or are themselves
undead. The Whispering Way’s most notorious member
was Tar-Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant, although the
society itself has existed much longer than even that
mighty necromancer.

[QuidEst]

Voror listens with dull disinterest to the initial portion of the will, the distribution of Lorrimor's wealth. He toys with the possibility that the butler did his master in for the money, but discards it as far too trite to occur in real life.

Ah yes, the part he'd been afraid was coming. Lorrimor's last requests. Voror's face shows tired resignation as he listens to the two tasks laid out. They could have been much worse, considering the professor's many unusual dealings. Books were innocuous enough if somebody didn't look in, particularly when given a different cover. His resentment melts away at the mention of the hundred platinums, however. That was a thousand gold pieces- more than he'd earn in two years of daily performances! Certainly more than he'd ever amassed at one time. And for what, a month of guarding some woman from witless farmhands, then a short journey to deliver a few books? Not only that, but the task was split four ways. Lorrimor had always been a generous man, of course.

- - - - - - -

At Kendra's invitation, Voror nods his head. "Thank you- it will be much easier to carry out the professor's wishes if we're on hand, although I can't speak for any of the others. You needn't trouble yourself on my account, though," he adds. "I take care of my own eating arrangements. Old habits, and all."

After the reading, Voror settles back to think. Well, that certainly explained Lorrimor's presence at the old prison. The Whispering Way certainly would have had plenty of reasons to wish the professor removed from matters. Any cult with a name like that was unlikely to care for somebody poking around their secrets.

"Well, Whispering Way or not, Lorrimor wanted us to get these books safely to Lepidstadt. It's another month before we leave, so in the meantime, I suggest we each take one of these books for safekeeping. If possible, familiarize yourself with the subject enough that if it goes missing, we'll have some idea of what sort of person would be interested," he stated at last, casually taking Serving your Hunger. All sound and practical advice, but his real interest was in the book. He had no idea whether it would be relevant to his own interests, but he had to find out. The title certainly fit, after all. It would be interesting to see what the others selected, of course. He'd be stuck with them for a month, so he might as well figure out what sort of people they were.

[JaaSwb]

Ioana frowns as she reads out the last entry in Lorrimor's journal. "The Whispering Way is the cabal of necromancers that brought forth the Whispering Tyrant. Whatever it is they're trying to accomplish, it's bad news for everyone else." She looks back at the book. "'It is imperative Way does not finish,'" she mutters. "Finish what?"

When Voror suggests studying the books, she reaches to take Serving Your Hunger, but he beats her to it. She quickly recovers and picks up the Manual of the Order of the Palatine Eye, examining the lock. "If the professor had wanted us to read this, surely he would have provided the key," she says, putting the book back on the table.

In case this Orfer of the Palatine Eye is religious in nature:
Knowledge (religion) 1d20+4

[Novawurmson]

The Whispering Way itself is a series of philosophies that can only be transferred via whispers— the philosophies are never written or spoken of loudly, making the exact goals and nature of the secretive philosophy difficult for outsiders to learn much about.

[Ancient Hippo]

Moira listened half-attentively to the Councilman. She was not interested in money, but seeing the books wakes her from her thoughts. Such treasures! Books of evil content had always been of particular interest the her, not because they are evil, but for all the hidden knowledge that the more commonplace books never dared to mention. She tries to hide her enthusiasm as she grabs the book: "On Verified Madness"

Turning her attention to more mundane matters, she answers to Kendra: "Thank you for your kind invitation. We will be more than happy to stay here," She thinks for a while, then adds: "By the way, does any of the rooms have a fireplace?" She had not needed to cast any of her spells today, and as she finally had a relatively comfortable working place, she might as well brew a few potions, just in case.

[Pazzo]

With the loud closing of the end cover, and a highly audible sigh, Zee casts his gaze to the floor, defeated. "Nothing, Nowhere, Nothing." Raising his head, and seeing so many people have shifted in the room, Zee holds the book close to his chest, and shifts toward the Raven, asking in a shy whisper, "Um . . . Did I miss something important?"

[QuidEst]

Voror shrugs. "Familiarize yourself with the subject then. There are plenty of other books available, and the title is specific enough. If not, well… make sure it doesn't get stolen."

He sighs and glances at Zee. "Take this," he says, handing over The Umbral Leaves. "Guard it with your life, or at least as much of your life as a thousand gold pieces and Professor Lorrimor's last wishes are worth to you. We leave in a month- in the meantime, I advise you find out what that's about." The others could fill him in on the details if they wished. So long as the blue-eyed man didn't lose the book, it was none of his concern.

[Novawurmson]

Ioana's ponderings come to no useful end - the Order of the Palatine Eye seems to have little relevance in the world of religion.

Wilfred seems a little slighted when Voror declines his cooking, but recovers quickly and helps Moira find a room with a suitable fireplace.

Once everyone has retired to their rooms for the night, Voror has a chance to study Serving Your Hunger properly for the first time. The first page is devoted entirely to a huge, detailed sketching of a fly with a stylized skull painted onto its back.

The book begins:


All praise to the Pallid Princess! All praise to Queen of Disease! A third praise and an hallelujah to She who died and raised Herself up from the bitch's boneyard! Those who have seen Her wrath rot in filth and decay, while those who embrace Her delights will find not satisfaction, but indulgence in thirst unending.

Says the wise woman: "I will seek out pleasure when I rise in the morning, I will sup richly all meals, and I will sate my lust with every beauty that catches my eye. Life is pleasure, and without pleasure, there is no life."

Says the fool: "I will rise in the morning seeking pain and punishment, I will starve myself from the bounty before me, and I will let my members wither like a plant in the wilderness from misuse. Life is pain, and without pain, there is no life."

A smile never leaves the wise woman's lips, but the fool walks with a frown, trying to show his neighbors his worthless piety. The fool stands on the street corners, preaching temperance and moderation - words that only mean denial of the bounty set before us by the Pallid Princess; the wise woman quietly indulges her belly in flesh of all kinds.

Consider wisdom, and also madness and folly. What more can the king’s successor do than what has already been done? See that wisdom is better than folly, just as light is better than darkness. The wise have eyes in their heads, while the fool walks in the darkness.

The fool says that the same fate overtakes them both. “This too is meaningless,” he cries. "For the wise, like the fool, will not be long remembered; the days have already come when both have been forgotten. Like the fool, the wise too must die!"

Here we see the true folly of denial and chastity: The fool lives his life on the meargerest portions his body can take without collapsing, dies, and is sent to Pharasma's Boneyard, that place of pain and judgment, and is gone. The wise lives her life with full knowledge of the depth of joy and luxury, dies, and then lives again once more, denying death to search for pleasure without end!

All hail the wisdom of the Pallid Princess! All praise to She who holds the power of life and death, but rejects them both to give good gifts to Her Daughters! A third praise and an hallelujah to She who died and raised Herself up from the bitch's boneyard!

All hail Urgathoa, Queen of Unlife!

The four guests each drift into an uneasy sleep...

Expect another post shortly. I really got into writing that bit of Serving Your Hunger XD

[Novawurmson]

Zee

Zee is walking the streets of the city on a dark cool night light breeze on skin moonlight just a few yards away eyes on the back of his neck. Shiver. The darkness is safe, the dark hides him eyes on the back of his neck. Shiver. A fleeting shape runs through the alley in front of him, and he follows swiftly, readying a dagger eyes on the back of his neck. Shiver. He stalks the person, who sits, completely unaware. He watches the person crouch behind a set of boxes, looking around with wild eyes. He ducks down and searches the alley behind him for the source of the pressure building up along his spine. The hatchet feels heavy in his hand. Building up his confidence, he springs from his hiding place, grabs their hair with one hand and chops off their head with the other. His face flushes with triumph as his heard pounds heavily and a searing pain goes through his neck.

He turns the head around and two blue, bewildered, glassy eyes stare into his. His own head wobbles unsteadily on his neck, and with a sick, nauseated feeling, his head slides off and falls to the ground. He stares up at his body, holding his head in one hand and the axe in the other.

Zee wakes and clasps a hand to his neck. He feels a slight cut that is slowly dripping blood.

[Novawurmson]

Ioana

Ioana is sitting with her mother and sister at their home in Barstoi, happily sirring a pot filled with meat, vegatables, warmth, love. Peace. Sun shines in through the window and her mother smiles and her sister smiles and she smiles and the sun shines as the cracks form in the walls, and Alexandru smiles and she frowns. Alexandru is peeling potatoes with her sister and it is not right and it is not smiles and the sun stops shining as the cracks form in the floor and on the table. Her mother is smiling and Alexandru is smiling as Alexandru is caressing her mother's skin, then puncturing her neck with his sharp fangs and lapping up the blood and the sun is not smiling and the house is not smiling and Ioana is not smiling as the cracks form in her hands.

Her mother is smiling calmly at her as her face drains of color and she is STILL SMILING and Ioana feels her rage begin to boil and the firm heft of her hammer in her hands. The sun is cracking and the smile is cracking Ioana is SO MAD and the hammer feels light in her hands and her mother is STILL SMILING AND -

Ioana smiles as she lifts the hammer and smashes her mother in skull with it.

The world cracks and shatters into pieces all around her and the world is not smiling. Ioana frantically grabs the pieces of her mother and starts fitting them back together, piece by piece by piece until her mother is whole again, but her mother is not whole again - where the hammer hit her, there's a missing piece.

Ioana scours the floor picking up every piece she can find and trying to fit it into the crack, but it won't fit and every piece but it won't fit and her mother is cracked and smiling, but it WON'T FIT.

Ioana feels the hammer crash into the back of her head and her body shatters, her pieces falling into the void and she is not smi-

Ioana wakes, clutching her head. She has a splitting headache.

[Novawurmson]

Moira

Moira is hiding, because she is writing. Few people come into the graveyard, so its the perfect place to sit and write and read. She makes sure the books are where a passer-by cannot see them. She is writing her name.

"M"

"O"

"I"

"R"

"A"

She looks at it proudly, then copies it again. And then again. And then again. The time passes swiftly as she pracitices, her stroke becoming more and more even.

She writes another name.

"P"

"E"

"T"

"R"

"O"

"S"

And then she notices: He has one more letter than her, but he is burried in the graveyard with her. She worries that her name is too short.

"I"

"O"

"A"

"N"

"A"

Ioana has a short name, too. The professor had a long life, but it was cut short; what did that say about Ioana and her?

"V"

"O"

"R"

"O"

"R"

Voror had a short name. Short name, short life.

"Z"

"E"

"E"

Moira begins panicking. Everyone is so small, so brief. She tries to write her name again.

"M"

"O"

"I"

"R"

The quill runs out. She dips it in ink to begin again, but the "A" won't write. She scratches as hard as she can on the partchment, but it won't write.

"M"

"O"

"I"

The quill pokes a hole in the paper. The sky is black, and storm clouds are moving in.

"M"

"O"

The rising wind rips the paper out of her hand. She stumbles desperately, running to grab it. She pins it against a tree and writes.

"M"

Rain begins pouring down, washing all the ink off the paper. She lunges for her bottle of ink and knocks it over. She scrapes the paper with her quill, but to no avail.

Desperate, she takes the quill and jabs it into her wrist.

She writes out a bloody "M" on the soaking pulp, weeping. The "O" is jagged and shaky, but she manages to fight the pounding downpour and complete it. Lighting strikes besdie her, but she managed an "I." The "R" forces her to dip her quill in her wrist no less than three times, but with superhuman determination, she manages.

When she writes the "A," the storm stops.

She sits down on the dry ground as a cool breeze starts, the perfect companion to the cheerful sunlight bathing the graveyard. Moira; that's really not such a short name after all.

Moira wakes in the morning feeling somewhat sore and achy. She looks on her wall and sees her name spelled out in huge, red letters.

[Novawurmson]

Voror

Voror holds torch in his hand as easily as he holds the crowd's attention. All eyes stare in wild fascination as he takes the flame and lowers it slowly into his throat, then pulls it out, the torch extinguished and he unharmed. The music of the circus pipes sweetly through the air. His movements, the flames, the passion, the sounds are overwhelming, but he focuses the energy inwards, pushing himself to greater and greater heights of showmanship. After one particularly difficult maneuver, the crowd bursts into exuberant applause, and he bows deeply, soaking in the praise.

Waiting until the applause drops slightly, he smirks, making it look effortless, but the truth is far different: His limbs are aching and his skin is sweating and the music is grating on his nerves. But by the way he launches into his next routine, no one would ever know. He furiously lights torches and puts them out again, springs back and forth, barely touching the ground, dazzling and enthralling the crowd like never before. The audience is pratically weeping from the sheer beauty of his technique, and the music is piping into his skull sharply. He's exhausted and dearly wishes to take a break, but the crowd is chanting for an encore and he can't resist.

He breaks all his personal records, improvises new tricks - nigh-impossible feats of strength and pain tolerance - and keeps the crowd gasping and cheering for hours, the sound of their chattering and praises growing to a fever pitch. The sound of the crowd blends with the piping music to form a droning buzz that fills Voror's head. He finishes his encore with a flourish and stands triumphant, arms held high, drained beyond belief. The crowd rushes from the stands and encircles him, the dives on top of him and begin poking his arms with their sharp, needle-like mouths. He tries weakly to push them away, but there's hundreds of them - thousands of them - piercing his skin and heartily slurping up his blood.

He watches his blood slowly drain away as the buzz of the crowd and the music gently forces his heavy eyes to close...

Voror awakes in the morning and finds his arm rather sore. He checks it and finds two tiny holes in his skin.

[Novawurmson]

It's morning; Wilfred has fixed breakfast for everyone (sans Voror), and Kendra lets them know she'll be in her study if anyone needs her.

[Novawurmson]

Voror

The sound of buzzing wings, the feeling of needles, the draining of blood - all the signs point to Stirges. However, he doesn't appear to actually have lost any blood.

[QuidEst]

Voror examines his arm curiously. Nightmares were to be expected- it had been quite some time since he'd had anything else. It had been no more vivid, but now his arm bore a token of the dream. He searches his recollection of the local blood-sucking fauna. He'd become quite acquainted with the subject when Lorrimor had investigated his blood for clues as to the nature of his condition. It certainly looked like a pair of stirge wounds- but if a stirge had gotten in somehow, he'd be waking up with a lot worse than a sore arm. Besides, if it were full enough to not take much blood, it wouldn't bother coming out of the swamp and finding a way into a house.

So what was it then? Voror's glance turns to Serving Your Hunger. Oh please… that piece of pernicious purple prose? Certainly, it was as heretical as books came, but in a nutty, meandering way. Well, that would explain Lorrimor's interest in having it delivered safely and the size of the reward. If it weren't for the reward, he'd have burned it for breakfast now.

Grumbling to himself, Voror sets about his morning's work. He unpacks his alchemist's kit, setting it on the small table in his room. No sense hauling that around all day. He also pulls out his blanket to lighten his sack. After a light "meal" of a tindertwig, he sets to work. With a brief consultation of his spellbook, he mixes two brews of an odd little extract (http://www.d20pfsrd.com/magic/all-spells/p/polypurpose-panacea) he'd come up with. He takes the first dose immediately- something to take the ache from his arm as well as quiet the usual dull pains. The second would be for that night, allowing him to consciously interact with his dream.

In the meantime, however, there was the book to deal with. Voror begins browsing Lorrimor's stacks until he finds what he's looking for- two copies of a book with a dust jacket, roughly the same size as the blasphemous text he had to deal with for the next month. He takes the jacket from one, putting it on Feeding Your Hunger. He places the fake copy in his pack, then carefully hides the genuine in an easily-accessible concealed pocket.

His work for the morning complete, Voror goes to meet with the others.

[JaaSwb]

Ioana groans, and takes her head in her hands. "It's more painful when it hurts," she mutters, still half asleep.

Pushing aside the bundle of clothes she used as a pillow, Ioana crawls out of her bedroll onto the floor. She cracks her back and takes out her waterskin, splashing some of it around her eyes. The dream had been different than usual, very different.

Taking her scourge, she sits on the floor again. "Lady, I thank you that I wake up this day to continue your work," she prays, meanwhile lashing her back. "I ask for your guidance, that those that sin against you may be brought to see their mistake."

Ioana dresses herself, repacks her backpack so the Manual is at the bottom, and takes it with her to meet the others.

[Pazzo]

Zee lifts his arm the second he feels the blood, arching his wrist and grasping the dagger that he seems to have plucked from the air itself. Rolling off the bed towards the wall, he brandishes his blade to the room, search, scanning it for any movement. After a few minute against the corner, He plucks of his pack and books, dashing to a restroom. Soon he locks the doors, plugs the keyhole, closes the window, before throwing something to cover it. Assured that he is alone, he turns to the mirror and pulls down his hood, unleashing thick locks of hair akin in shape and colour to a crow's feathers. Slowing unwrapping his (I'm assuming) undamaged scarf, he check his neck for the wound. Cleaning it with cold water, he presses a rag against it repeatedly till the bleed stops. Further undressing, he washes himself at the sink. His pale grey skin gaining a flush of heathy blue under the cold water. After dressing he notes the need to get a shaving kit, if he is to be amoung such civilized surroundings. "Blend in, Father's first rule." Repacking his bag, he places both books towards the bottom, wrapped in his barbed vest, which he feels too dangerous to wear around his current company. After a moment acompanied by the sound of gears twisting, he unlocks the door and leaves the washroom as he found it.

Returning to his room, he searches for any signs of entry during the night, secret doors, runes carved under his bed, unlocked windows, and such.

Perception

Take 20 + 3 = 23

[Ancient Hippo]

Moira wakes up from her sleep feeling suprisingly sore, as even with the unsettling dreams it was the best sleep she had had in the recent days. Slowly, she lifts her back from her bed and sits in it's edge, noticing the writing on the wall. "Yes, it is not that short after all," she says, still not completely awake. She watches the still-sleeping raven for a while, wondering if she should wake him up. In the end she mercifully decides to let it sleep for a while, and turns her attention again to the wall. Only then she realizes that the writing really is there. She rubs her eyes and pinches herself, trying to wake up from the apparently continuing dream, but for no avail. The writing stays on the wall, red and menacing.

All the dread that had been building up in her in the past moments reaches it's boiling point, and she lets out a terrified scream that echoes through the whole house.

[JaaSwb]

Ioana, still on the landing, immediately drops her pack and draws her sword, bursting into Moira's room. "What's wrong?"

[Ancient Hippo]

Ioana bursting in with a sword startles Moira even more. Her instincts taking the lead, she tries to rise up and use her slumber hex at Ioana, but she gets entangled in her blanket and falls to the floor.

[QuidEst]

Voror hears the scream, and starts towards the room a little more casually than the urgency of the situation demanded. Perhaps there was a stirge trapped in the house after all? That would certainly be a nice explanation, but he doubted it. Maybe the crow had croaked. They did that a lot…

Almost absent-mindedly, he readies the blasting powder he used to make his explosives. A little extreme for close-quarters combat if it came to that, but preferable to getting drained dry.

"You called?" he says dryly as he steps in and fails to see anything immediately life-threatening. Well, there was Ioana, but he was ruling her out for the moment.

[JaaSwb]

Seeing that Moira is alone, Ioana puts her sword back in its scabbard. It's only then that she notices the letters on the wall. She walks over to Moira to help her to her feet. "Are you alright? I heard a scream," she asks, trying to sound reassuring.

[Ancient Hippo]

After being helped to her feet, Moira grabs her helper from the shoulder, and with tearful eyes begins a rant, which is made hard to understand by her shock.

"My name! My name! It is too short! Petros is dead and his name is longer! I have to... I..." Her voice trails off. But, she thinks, she had written her name. She should be safe now. Moira's expression changes momentarily to a more calm one, but then it reverts back to panic and she continues her panicking rant. "Your name! It is short too! You must... You must... Blood... Write it... We need your blood!"

She stays silent for a split second, then bites Ioana's shoulder in a desperate attempt to get the morbid ink she thinks is necessary for avoiding the professor's fate. However, her teeth fail to penetrate Ioana's clothes, much less her skin, and Moira is reduced to crying pitifully with her head resting on Ioana's shoulder.


Moira is in a shocked state and will comply if ordered to do something simple, and will not try to resist if Ioana decides to subdue her. (And even if she did, it would probably not change anything.)

Also, she is naked. You should probably take it into account before you carry her downstairs.

[QuidEst]

Voror takes Moira's blubbering in stride, averting his eyes from her. The wall provided a suitable spot. Had she written it in her sleep? It seemed like too much to be the crow's doing at any rate. What book had she- his thoughts are interrupted as Moira's second outburst and attack take him by surprise. "Atris cineribus!" he curses, reeling back. "Get some clothes on her, and get her calmed down. Call yourself Genevieve if you think it'll help. Flith-sethrehath-plithhrekapa…" He stalks outside the room, muttering darkly in Ignan.

In the hallway, he slumps against the wall, brooding. Normally he'd have handled the matter a little more calmly, but the way she went straight for the neck… He checked his arm. The marks weren't spaced right for a person's bite. He takes a deep breath, exhaling it in an impossibly slow manner. Thoughts settle into place, and he begins picking them apart. The witch had taken On Verified Madness as her book. The back of his brain registers again the fact that she's a witch, and his hands move back to the bomb powder. Clearly the book was to blame here. His own book had tried to "feed" on him, after all. So what about the others? The Umbral Leaves and The Manual of the Order of the Palatine Eye. Shadows and an order having to do with an eye? Less immediately threatening, although it would be best to keep the latter covered just in case anything was looking through that eye.

A sudden unpleasant notion hits him. He reaches into his pack, pulling out his own dark text. He'd woken up with two marks and a sore arm because of this thing, and a dream about being drained. He turns the book over, looking at the side to see if it seemed any thicker or glossier than it had, and checks the back to see if there are any pages with fresh ink.

Perception: [roll0]

[JaaSwb]

She bit me. SHE BIT ME. For a brief moment, Ioana is filled with murderous rage. Images flash through her mind. Herself as a child, wandering through the forest, alone. Ciobanu smiling at her as she went up to bed. Her mother, lying in a pool of blood. Images she has seen every night until tonight. As she is about to push Moira away and draw her sword though, she notices the witch is crying and limp, and stops herself.

Instead, she grabs Moira by the shoulders and turns her around roughly, carefully checking every inch for wounds. Noticing the witch doesn't resist, and finding no signs of injury, Ioana wraps a blanket around her and gently guides her to sit on the bed, unsure how to handle a person in her condition. For the moment, she just sits next to Moira, trying to think of the right things to say.

[Novawurmson]

Zee finds no signs of entry (forced or otherwise), no secret doors, no runes carved under his bed, his windows locked, and nothing else out of the ordinary. Even his scarf is undamaged.

Voror finds no difference in the book.

[Ancient Hippo]

Moira begins to retain her calm slowly. After a while, she feels confident enough to speak, but her voice is still weak. "We... We need to... There is something wrong, and we need to talk. Let's meet downstairs in an hour." She glances at Featherball, who has been woken by the noise, but is still groggy and too confused to talk. Apparently the perceived safeness of the house had lured the raven to deeper sleep than normally. "Could you... Please... Leave us alone for a moment? There are some... Preparations we need to do."

After being left alone, she prepares her spells and dresses up. She had used her Cauldron to store her stuff, but it would be uncomfortable to drag along, so she just stuffs as much as she can in her oversized coat's pockets, grabs her crossbow, (She definitely was not going to be caught defenseless after these events!) and heads downstairs, Featherball on her shoulder.

[JaaSwb]

"Alright. I'll be downstairs." Ioana glances at the letters on the wall as she leaves. They need to be examined more closely later. After checking that her bag was not disturbed, she heads downstairs.

Just in case someone did disturb the bag, here's a perception check: [roll0]

[QuidEst]

Standing outside, Voror catches the suggestion to meet in an hour. As much as he hated having to deal with people, he'd rather get it out of the way than have them bleed him dry because his assumed name didn't have enough letters in it. On the way back to his room, he pauses at the cloaked fellow's room. He taps on the door and calls inside, "If you haven't gone and killed yourself or anything rash like that, we'll be meeting downstairs in an hour."

Back in his room, Voror gets down to work. An hour was just long enough to brew a little backup (http://www.d20pfsrd.com/classes/base-classes/alchemist#TOC-Mutagen-Su-) for an emergency. A little extra agility never went wrong, even if the stuff left him feeling a little cotton-headed.

Opting to not make the situation any more strained than it need be, Voror leaves his crossbow and bolts in his room. Black powder didn't threaten anybody who didn't know what it was, after all. He arrives downstairs a few minutes after Moira. "In case it ever comes up as an issue again, Voror is not my real name," he informs her dryly. "My real one is longer."

[JaaSwb]

Ioana spends the hour downstairs, wandering past the bookcases, looking for anything to do with dreams, blood, names, or a combination thereof.

Perception: [roll0]

[Pazzo]

Zee slowly stalks his way out of his room and around the house. "A Ghost, a ghost with a blade. It all fits, untraceable and giving unwanted guests a spook. Undead bastard didn't plan on these blue babies though~" He mutters to himself, his eyes blazing fiercely, gazing into the ethereal plane.

Stealth
[roll0]
Perception
[roll1]


Unless he find a trace, he will natural end up traveling to the lower floors, sticking to the shadows till he overhears what is going on.

[Ancient Hippo]

Downstairs, Moira sits at the table, and motions to those who are there with her to gather around the table. She sends Featherball to tell Kendra to come from her study. Once everyone is there, or after a reasonable amount of time has passed, she starts to speak.

After briefly describing her dream to the others, she asks for recommendations of how to proceed. "...Considering the text that appeared on my wall, I think that we can be fairly sure that this dream I had was not a result of the natural wandering of the mind, but influenced by some power that could be safely assumed to be arcane in nature or granted by a powerful extraplanar being. Or at least such powers were used in a way that allows scrying into the mind, but considering the difficulty of altering the material word to reflect the chaotic nature of dreams without preparation, this is implausible." She pauses for a while and takes a sip from her tea. It was not hot anymore, but passable. "Instead, the hypothesis that I have right now is that both the dream and the alteration in the texture of the wall were done by these powers, with the culprit, if personal in nature, was not present in our immediate vicinity in the Material Plane." She looks at each person sitting around the table individually for a moment, then finishes her speech. "In conclusion, I think it is likely that the professor's research is somehow connected to these paranormal events, and that by trying to recreate and complete this research we could be able to uncover the source of these happenings."

Featherball, who had listened to her with a more than confused look for the whole time, opens his beak after a moment to say: "What the hell was that supposed to mean?"

[Pazzo]

"She's saying we should try and attempt to continue the professor's projects, my fine feather'd friend." A voice says in the dark, as Zee walks towards the table with the others. "A prospect I find somewhat 'worrisome' given what just happened. While writing on the wall might seem exciting and worthy of further study, I awoke to a slice across my neck that bypassed all clothe and leather protecting it. I just spent the last hour stalking the house for a ghost, to no result." He signs, with a defeated look towards the ground. Reaching into his bag he pulls forth The Umbral Leaves, tossing it lightly upon the table. "If the books are the suspect, perhaps we should start slowly. Has anyone gaze upon the books for any magical auras yet? Alas it is beyond me."

Detect Magic anyone?

[QuidEst]

Voror raises an eyebrow. "Truly, brevity is the soul of wit," he mutters. "You took the book on madness, and went mad. My book- a singularly dull read- was on necromantic hedonism. I woke up with stirge wounds, although as you can see, I'm not keeling over from any actual blood loss. Miss Popescu, would you say your dreams were… palatine in nature? Or filled with eyes, being watched, et cetera. I'm not certain what shadowy leaves have to do with a slice to the neck, though." He examines Zee's book briefly, with no real thoroughness. "There are a few fairly conclusive tests I can run, but that will have to wait tomorrow. I've invested in a little alchemical exploration of the nature of the dreams themselves for the time being."

[Ancient Hippo]

Moira feels foolish as Zee suggests examining the books auras. How had she not thought of it herself? She gazes the books intensively and mutters in Abyssal:


"Book of evil, book of vile/
Book that has too much to hide/
Submit your hidden taint that corrupts/
The terrible secrets that your skin harbors."


Featherball noted that Zee did not use "Sir", but did not call him out about it. After all, he had called him "fine".


Moira will just take 10 to identify the auras and properties. Knowledge (Arcana) is at +10 and Spellcraft at +9

[JaaSwb]

Ioana digs through her pack, taking her book and putting it on the table for Moira to scan.

"I did have an unusual dream, though it had nothing to do with eyes. It was..." She pauses, deciding she doesn't want to talk about her family, or the terrible smiling. "Everything and everyone in it was forming cracks and falling to pieces, even the sun. I was smashed from behind with a hammer, and woke up with a searing headache."

Despite not being able to identify auras (no ranks in arcane), Ioana will also turn on her Detect Magic.

[Novawurmson]

Ioana's bag has not been disturbed.

Zee does not find a ghost in the house.

The books do not appear to be magical in any way.

Looking through the house, Ioana finds a bewildering variety of books related to dreams, blood, and names. Dragonne's Blood: A Tome of Knowledge on a Substance Moste Precious, On Blood and Steel: The Children of Gorum, Dream Diary of Eldeen the Odd Vol. III: 3769-3775, The Witch-House Dreams, Varisian Folklore: Dreams, Cards, Tales, Wanderings, 1001 Names You Should Know Before Studying Osiriani History, Lorrimor Family Tree: Names, Births, Deaths, Marriages, The Unnamed: Methods and Techniques of the Forces of Darkness...

[Ancient Hippo]

Disappointed by not finding anything magical in the books, Moira blinks a few times as the spell wears off. "These books are completely mundane, there is no magic in them," she says, then stands up. "I am going to search through the professor's journal once more, and see if I can find any clues."

Having said this, she goes to fetch the book, finds a confortable place to sit on, and starts reading, soon being completely immersed in it.


Knowledge (Arcana) [roll0]

[Pazzo]

Plucking the book off the table, Zee pulls it back into his bag with a sigh.

"No magic eh? If only it coud have been that simple. If you need me, I am going to go try and find some more details of this little mystery, elsewhere. I'll be back for dinner, I hope."

Zee wander down to the town square, and looks for any familiar faces, asking around at the same time. Ideally, Gibs Hephenus would be the best, but anyone from that mob will do.

Perception Check [roll0]
Diplomacy:Gather Information Check [roll1]

[JaaSwb]

"As long as we're all researching, I'll see if I can find anything that could cause strange dreams that affect the material world," Ioana says as she buries her book in her pack. "I think I saw a few interesting titles while I was waiting here. First though, perhaps someone with knowledge of the arcane could join me to take a look at that writing on the wall?"

[QuidEst]

Voror nods to Ioana, following along behind. It is more in the interest of speaking alone, however. "There is another possibility, of course," he says once they're out of earshot. "Well, several. We have yet to inquire with Miss Lorrimor as to whether these things have happened before. If not, that leaves an unpleasant possibility. Being an unpleasant person, it crossed my mind- it could be one of us. A hundred platinums is quite a bit, but four hundred is even more. And if one of us showed up with three accomplices, I doubt Daramid would know the difference." He pauses, giving a smile without much warmth to it. "Of course, if it's you, this will likely but a rather awkward strain on our acquaintance. Still, here we are. Not that I have high expectations."


Knowledge(Arcana): [roll0]
Not sure what I'd use for trying to identify the substance if it's non-arcane. Pick whichever is appropriate and unspoiler:
Knowledge(Nature): [roll1]

Craft(Alchemy): [roll2]

Profession? That's listed as Profession(Fire-eater), though: [roll3]

[JaaSwb]

Ioana smiles briefly. "Whoever or whatever caused this, finding out how it was done is the first step towards stopping it."

Heal, to indentify or rule out human blood: [roll0]
Knowledge (dungeoneering), because who knows: [roll1]
Knowledge (religion): [roll2]
Perception: [roll3]

[Novawurmson]

I'll be posting updates in chunks to make this easier. Moira's discoveries net the party 600 exp.

Moira discovers quite a bit by digging through the professor's notes.
It seems the Whispering Way itself is a series of philosophies that can only be transferred via whispers— the philosophies are never written or spoken of loudly, making the exact goals and nature of the secretive philosophy difficult for outsiders to learn much about.

Regardless, it is thought that chief among the Whispering Way’s goals are discovering formulae for creating liches and engineering the release of the Whispering Tyrant. Agents often travel to remote sites or areas plagued by notorious haunts or undead menaces to perform field research or even to
capture unique monsters. Their symbol is a gagged skull, and those who learn too many of the Way’s secrets are often murdered, and their mouths mutilated to prevent their bodies from divulging secrets via speak with dead.

[Novawurmson]

Zee is unable to find Gibs, but after several hours of trying to strike up conversation, falls into a chat with Marta Avanaki, a bossy, gossipy middle-aged woman supposedly selling a selection of goods from her farm, but seems to be far more interested in chatting. Zee casually mentions Harrowstone, and the woman launches into a rant about the old prison that she cannot be deterred from. Though her speech includes numerous asides, snarky comments about fellow citizens, and expostulations on current events, Zee is able to extract some useful information from her ramblings.

Harrowstone was built in 4594. Ravengro was founded at the same time as a place where guards and their families could live and that would produce food and other supplies used by the prison. The fire that killed all
of the prisoners and most of the guards destroyed a large portion of the prison’s underground eastern wing, but left most of the stone structure above relatively intact. The prison’s warden perished in the fire, along with his wife, although no one knows why she was in the prison when the fire occurred. A statue commemorating the warden and the guards who lost their lives was built in the months after the tragedy—that statue still stands on the riverbank just outside of town.

Most of the hardened criminals sent to Harrowstone spent only a few months imprisoned, for it was here that most of Ustalav’s executions during that era were carried out. The fire that caused the tragedy was,
in fact, a blessing in disguise, for the prisoners had rioted and gained control of the prison’s dungeons immediately prior to the conf lagration. It was only through the selfsacrifice of Warden Hawkran and 23 of his guards that the prisoners were prevented from escaping—the guards
gave their lives to save the town of Ravengro.

Zee earns the party 300 exp for his troubles.

[Novawurmson]

Voror and Ioana sit down and try to identify the substance on the walls, but it has faded significantly. Within half an hour, they are fairly certain it is blood - but whose or what's, they are unsure. Within an hour, the substance is all but gone, leaving the slightest stain. Within two hours, there's no trace of it at all.

[QuidEst]

Voror sighs, standing up. "Disappearing blood. Cute. I'm not wasting any more time with embleer symptoms…" he mutters. "If you want to sit and watch blood dry into thin air, you're welcome to."

His own book being somewhat less engaging and personally relevant than initially hoped (though just the thing a crazy cultist would pick for a late-night fireside read), he decides to investigate Ioana's book instead. One of the numerous dictionaries in the Lorrimor residence provides him with a little clarification.

I presume that should be easy enough without a roll.

pal·a·tine/ˈpaləˌtīn/
Adjective:
•(of an official or feudal lord) Having local authority that elsewhere belongs only to a sovereign.
•Of or relating to the palate or esp. the palatine bone.
Noun:
•Each of two bones within the skull forming parts of the eye socket, the nasal cavity, and the hard palate.
Synonyms:
palatal

It was enough to get started on, at least. Lorrimor had been researching the Whispering Way- presumably, some connection existed if he'd gotten The Order of the Palatine Eye for reference. Voror spends his time researching to find what he can with regards to the Order, paying attention to what he finds on the Whispering Way as he does.


Knowledge(Arcana) on the Order: [roll0]
Knowledge(Arcana) on the Way: [roll1]

[JaaSwb]

Ioana joins Voror in researching the Whispering Way, using her magic to help her stay focused. When she is confident that little more can be found on the subject, she starts leafing through any books that look like they might have relevance to last night's events.

She is already halfway through the pile when she realizes no-one has spoken to Kendra yet. She goes looking for their hostess, taking her pack with her.

Ioana can't beat Moira's roll, so I won't try. If still possible, she casts Guidance on Voror to grant a +1 competence bonus on both knowledge rolls.

Knowledge (religion) [roll0] on anything she finds about dreams. Moira's roll on the Way is impossible for her to beat.

[Ancient Hippo]

After reading the book, Moira stands up. Reading the whole book in a few hours has made her a little dizzy, and she puts her hand on the wall for balance. When she has steadied up a little, she puts the book down, and promptly starts to search the professors bookcases once again. The book had been imformative, yes, but she felt that she needed something more to understand it completely. Namely, who is this Whispering Tyrant that the Whispering Way is trying to free? From where?

Meanwhile, Featherball begins to feel a little bored. Everyone else had left already, and Moira was entranced by the books. He did not himself find much interest in books, after all, he could not read. Instead, he decides to go back to continuing his sleep, and starts hopping up the stairs one by one, only to see Voror and Ioana exiting Moira's room. This makes the raven quite suspicious, and he decides to follow the pair and find out what they were doing there.


Moira's rolls:
Knowledge (Arcana): [roll0]
Knowledge (History): [roll1]

Featherball's roll:
Stealth: [roll2]

[Pazzo]

Thanking the woman for her time, Zee asks her "Why were so many against the burial plans for the late professor? I heard mention of necromancy, but isn't that also used to combat the undead as well as create it? I only knew the man breifly, but I would like to know more about him, seeing as I am apparently supposed to work for him now. Sorry if I am bothering you too much, Miss." Looking at his boots shyly, Zee hopes for more gossip. No one has talked to him so much for months, and it is somewhat pleasant.

[Novawurmson]

Voror finds little more of use about the Whispering Way, but finds some interesting facts on the Order of the Palatine Eye: The Eye is an organized network of gentleman philosophers who almost universally rise to the most influential stations of Ustalav society as judges, deans, landed aristocracy, and even high-ranking clergy of Pharasma’s church. The Order promotes divine enlightenment through participation in secret meetings involving mysterious philosophies and strange rituals. He finds a tattered pamphlet that explains the significance of the phrase "Ab Sek, Abet Sahu: Once mine, always yours," which refers to the sharing of knowledge between members and the philosophy that knowledge held by one is transitory, but when committed to the society’s charge, lasts forever. The phrase seems to be Ancient Osiriani in origin. He surmises that their name is a play on words, combining the visual and authoritative meanings of the word "palantine."

- - - - - -

After spending some digging through various difficult and confusing tomes, Ioana finds Kendra looking a little disheveled, sorting through papers. Kendra ushers her in.

"Terribly sorry about the mess. This whole house seems to be filled with nothing but papers - notes, bills, research, poems - I knew he was always writing, I just didn't realize how much of it he kept."

When Kendra discovers the full extent of the disturbing dreams, she puts a hand to her mouth in shock. "Here? In this house? I'm so sorry - there are other rooms I could have Wilfred fix up for you. If you don't feel safe, there's always the inns, but what on earth could have happened? I've never had anything like that happen in this house before."

Hearing about their research into the meaning of the dreams, Kendra pauses to think.

"Father's library is probably the best place to research dangerous arcane lore, but you've already tried looking through his texts. There's the Ravengro Town Hall, but that's normally only open to residents; you might be able to request special access, but I'm not sure if they'll make an exception. The Temple of Pharasma has an excellent collection on the town's history as well as some other topics. Again, I'm not sure how willing the priests will let someone who doesn't live in the town handle delicate old documents. Alendru Ghoroven runs a school and magical item shop called the Unfurling Scroll. He doesn't provide any services free of charge, though.

Kendra looks at Ioana, worried.

"I can't tell you how much I'm sorry that any harm came to any of you while you were under my roof. Let me know if there is anything else I can help you with."

- - - - - -

The Whispering Tyrant was a lich who united the orcs of Belkzen and ravaged the surrounding countries, including Ustalav. Centuries after he cemented his rule, the combined forces of Taldor, the dwarven city of Kraggodan, and a group of crusaders under the command of the (then-mortal) Iomedae fought a long and bloody campaign to end his rule. Despite incredible setbacks, prominently the death of Arazni , Aroden's herald, they succeeded and banished the lich. The Whispering Tyrant is often considered to be the undead rebirth of Tar-Baphon, a wizard-king who was slain by the god Aroden some 2,000 years before his rebirth as the Whispering Tyrant.

- - - - - -

The woman bites her lip. Two strong forces are battling inside her: Her deep distrust of strangers and her intense desire to gossip. The latter wins in the end.

"...I mean, who really knows what he was up to in that house of his. Everyone knows he was a wizard; ain't no way he could have done all 'e did without magic. Wanderin' off for years at a time and returning with gold and bodies of strange creatures all pickled and what-not. Even when he stayed in Ustalav, he came back from Caliphas with a daughter and no bride! Speakin' of her, I heard tell he was teachin' his daughter magic as well - I'd avoid her, les' she curse the skin off your feet.

"Necromancy is what grave-robbers and monsters use, not upright citizens. When your old gran dies, you bury her and say goodbye, not disturb her rest makin' her walk around as a bag o' bones. Now, I'm not sayin' that Petros went around raisin' the dead, but he got in with a pretty bad crowd if you ask me. People comin' to 'is house at odd hours, dressed in dark cloaks. If anyone asked him, he'd just say it was old friends comin' for a visit, but I got my suspicions.

"There's just no reason for the way 'e lived. I mean, bein' a professor is nice and such, but 'e should have stayed at the university and done some actual teachin' instead of running off at the first sign of a monster terrorizin' a town or some tomb of a city bein' found half a world away. 'specially with a daughter, he should have settled down and done somethin' useful to everyone.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't think the professor was some kind of evil witchdoctor. If you'd press me, I don't think half the rumors about him bein' a necromancer are true. One thing nobody could deny, I say, is that Petros was an odd egg and was never what you'd call 'normal.' I think people are jus' gettin' excited by harvest time and havin' too much time on their hands (especially farmhands) and the bad weather we've had lately and they're takin' it out on someone they didn't completely trust nohow anyway."

[Ancient Hippo]

Having found what she wanted, Moira takes a moment to organize her thoughts. Unless the professor was mistaken, (Which she found a very unlikely possibility) the Whispering Way was (Maybe still is) searching for someone who was in some place named Harrowstone, which apparently burned down. She wonders what a necromancer could want from a place that has burned down... After all, wouldn't a charred zombie that crumbles from touch be a little useless?

After spending a minute pondering the pros and cons of normal and throughly cooked zombies, it suddendly hits her. Ghosts! Didn't the journal mention something about ghosts? They did not need any body parts! How exciting! She had always wanted to see a ghost. She briefly considers just going straight to Harrowstone, but stops herself in the last moment. After all, there was no guarantee that the ghosts were friendly. After all, the professor's death might have been an accident... Or it might have not.

However, the journal had also mentioned some "borrowed" items that could offer protection. Supposing that the items in question would be magical, she starts to search the house while using a simple spell to detect magical auras.


Taking 20 in perception to search the house with a -2 "bonus".
Other rolls in OOC

[JaaSwb]

"Likewise," Ioana replies to Kendra, "and I promise we will do whatever it takes to put an end to whatever your father was trying to stop."

When she returns to the others, Ioana raises her voice.
"Whatever it is that the Whispering Way is doing at Harrowstone, the professor's journal suggests that the time we have to stop it is limited. There are still a lot of books and notes we haven't read, but Kendra tells me there are at least two other libraries in town, one belonging to the Temple, the other being in the town hall. We would do well to look into both for fresh insights." She looks at Moira. "Perhaps you would care to come with me to the Temple of Pharasma and see if we can gain access?"

[QuidEst]

Voror sighs, putting down the last book. The Palatine folks didn't seem quite ominous enough to merit the only locked book, but so it was. He glances out the nearby window. It was certainly later in the day, and the hooded fellow still hadn't come back. Brilliant… well, the other two were already leaving for the temple, so he'd best head out himself before Zee tried to strike up a friendly chat with the mob they'd me. Although surely he wasn't that stupid…

Voror grabs a bit of parchment, and scrawls a note to leave with the butler about where he's going. He takes the time to retrieve his weapon from his room as a precaution, and heads out to search for Zee.

[Pazzo]

"So about that Mob," Zee says while looking through the kind woman's wares. "Any idea where that Gibs Hephenus is? I wish to ask him for forgiveness for our confrintation earlier.
Oh, and how much for a basket of carrots? These look remarkable fresh, and they say carrots are good for the eyes. And to be honest, I am willing to try anything at this point." He saws with a warm but sheepishly shy smile.

[Novawurmson]

Moira searches the house until she finds a thin darkwood case decorated with an image of a scarab with a single eye glaring from its back—the same design that appears on the cover of the Manual of the Order of the Palatine Eye among the books in the professor’s collection. The case pulses with divination and necromantic energies. She opens it and finds a few objects she is immediately able to identify.

There are four haunt siphons - glass vials held within stylized cold-iron casings etched with strange runes, necromantic designs, and other eldritch markings. Within the vial roils a small wisp of white vapor, churning as if caught in a miniature vortex of air.

To capture a necromantic entity's energies within a haunt siphon, you need only twist the metal casing to open the vial in the same round that a haunt manifests (a standard action)—this can be before or after the haunt has acted. You must be within the haunt’s area of influence to use a haunt siphon. When you activate a haunt siphon, it deals 3d6 points of positive energy damage to a single haunt. If it deals enough damage to the haunt to reduce the haunt’s hit points to 0, the mist inside the haunt siphon glows green—if it does not reduce the haunt to 0 hit points, the haunt siphon is still expended and becomes nonmagical. It may take multiple haunt siphons to destroy powerful haunts. A haunt that is neutralized by a haunt siphon takes a –5 penalty on its caster level check to manifest again after its reset time passes.

A haunt siphon that neutralizes a haunt can no longer be used to harm haunts, but it can be used as a grenadelike splash weapon that deals 1d6 points of negative energy damage with a direct hit. Every creature within 5 feet of the point where the haunt siphon hits takes 1 point of negative energy damage from the splash.

Also inside the case is a thin wooden board printed with numerous letters and numbers called a spirit planchette. Nonmagical versions of these divination tools can be purchased in curiosity shops, though only magical spirit planchettes allow users to communicate with the other side. Three types of spirit planchettes exist—brass, cold iron, and silver. Each in turn allows an increasingly potent form of divination effect to be utilized; the one Moira holds now is of the brass variety.

[spoiler] To use a spirit planchette, you must rest your fingers lightly upon the planchette’s surface and then concentrate on the planchette (as if maintaining a spell with a duration of concentration) for 2d6 rounds while the planchette attunes itself to the ambient spirits of the area. After this time, the planchette begins to slowly slide in random patterns across the board—at this point, questions may be asked of the spirits by any of the individuals involved in the séance.

The spirits reply in a language understood by the character who asked the question, but resent such contact and give only brief answers to the questions. Communication with spirits can be a dangerous task, for many spirits are jealous or hateful of the living. Every time a spirit planchette is used, the user must succeed on a Will save to avoid being temporarily possessed and harmed by the angry
spirit, particularly in areas where the spirits are particularly violent or hateful.Spirit planchettes are right more often than not, but the spirits are not omniscient.[/spolier]

- - - - - - - -

Ioana finds her way to the temple of Pharsma, which is easily the most lovingly designed and cared-for buildings in the town. An intricate stained-glass mural depicts a stern Pharasma judging a king, a knight, a farmer, and a priest, clearly marking the building and its use. When she enters the building one of the acolytes quickly comes to attend to her, but his face falls upon her mission

"I'm sorry, sister, but I'm afraid the temple archives are not available for public use. You may still worship here, and if you have any other inquiries, I'd be happy to help."

- - - - - - - -

As Voror walks to the town square, he hears children laughing and playing on the sidestreets.

"...Drops of red so sparkly bright.
Splatters spell her name just right.
With a hammer killed his wife.
Now he wants to claim your life.
Tricksy father tells a lie.
Listen close or you will die..."

"Gibs lives in a shack by the river on the south side o' town. Jus' keep followin' the river south, it'll be on your left. I don't think he'll be too taken with company - not that he gets plenty himself, jus' that he don't take to many people.

"Oooooh, aren't you a sweetie," says the woman with a smile in response to Zee's interest in her produce. "Go on then, take the carrots, just get the basket back to me when you can. Haven't had no one sit still long enough to talk with like this since Old Jorsten broke his legs a few winters ago."

[JaaSwb]

"It's a good thing we're not the public then," Ioana says with a smile that is anything but comforting. "I would hate to have to put in my report that the temple of Ravengro was...unwilling to help investigate such disturbing events. What did you say your name was?"

Intimidate [roll0]

[Ancient Hippo]

Annoyed, Moira opens her mouth to say a few things to the uncollaborative acolyte, but stays silent as Ioana starts to talk. She just smiled kindly and talked in a calm voice! The woman's kindess made Moira feel a little ashamed for almost yelling to the man. After all, it was probably not him who had invented all those stupid rules.

"Isn't she such a nice person?" she wishpers to Featherball, who had suddendly tensed noticeably and started to avoid meeting Ioana's gaze.

[QuidEst]

Creepy kids. What the heck did they do for fun around here, anyway? Beat cats or something? Well, he'd keep his eyes out for any hammer-wielding psychopaths while he was at it.
"Those kids whose mouths don't ever cease
To sing of death, or guts at least
Have got some issues, and some day
They'll be sung about the same dashed way…" Voror mutters lyrically under his breath.

At last, he spots Zee talking to some old lady. "Thank goodness… I was starting to think you'd gone to talk with somebody from the mob, or something as foolish that had eluded my powers of imagination."

[Pazzo]

"Of course not," Zee Beams at Voror. "First I had to find out where their leader lives. This kind woman helped me, she is very nice and knows all about the people and their goings ons. Plus she grows such huge carrots!" Thanking the woman for her time and kindness, Zee lifts up the basket and promises to return it as soon as he can.