Carrion Crown: The Haunting of Harrowstone IC

[Thattaman]

The country of Ustalav is filled with horror stories of undead and horrible cults worshiping blasphemous gods. What is true and what is made up is unknown, but one of the prominent cults, forgotten over time is the Whispering Way. The necromancers of the Whispering Way spend there time creating undead and trying to resurrect the long dead Whispering Tyrant. But those are only horror stories to tell your children to make them behave. Aren't they?

In the town of Ravengro, a professor of magic and undead has recently died. He was investigating the local prison when a small mishap occurred and he was found dead. You have all been contacted then to attend the funeral and that you have a place in his will. Curious as to why he'd choose you, but he did and is the least you can do to honour the memory of a dear friend who left us before his time.

The funeral is a small affair. Few people are there. There's only you four, his daughter and about five professors from the university. He was never loved in Ravengro but from his daughter, who is crying over his coffin. Two of the professors are discussing possible causes of death other than what was said: a gargoyle fell on him while he was investigating Harrowstone - and ruined prison on the outskirts of Ravengro - the word undead is used a lot. Other than that, people are silent. Lorrimor's daughter, Kendra, speaks then "Do any of you want to serve as pallbearers?"

[18th Avenger]

OoC
Oops.
"I will serve."

The first speaker, the ranger in the heavy all-weather cloak, shook off his hood. His weather-tanned face was grey and tired in the wan light, almost like he'd been riding for the best part of a few days.

The ranger looked to the gathering. "My name is Oliver Fremantle. I call Professor Lorrimor friend for he has given my life direction. That his daughter asks me to help carry him to his final rest does me great honor."

He had little else to say, for he seemed to have the bearing of a man who did little talking. Oliver went over to the casket and waited for the other pallbearers.

[North_Ranger]

Father Melchior

"As will I", spoke the dark-cloaked figure at the back of the group. The man had all the bearings of a necromancer from the old tales - he spoke little, he was dressed in black from head to toe, and the faint smell of the sepulchre could be caught around him. But it was the silver spirals and decorative whippoorwhirls embroidered on his sleeves and the chest of his robes that spoke the truth: this man was no summoner of the dead, but their caretaker. A cleric of Pharasma, the mysterious goddess who watched over the gates of life and death.

Stepping forward, the man looked up from his hood, revealing a face marred by age and a beard turned silver, but also a pair of brown eyes that were still sharp and attentive. "I am Father Melchior Aruvashti, and I had the honor and the privilege to call Professor Lorrimor a friend and a colleague. His wisdom and kindness touched many lives, and he will be remembered. May the Lady of the Graves guide him to his rightful rest." Having said his peace, the old cleric bowed respectfully to Kendra Lorrimor before joining the ranger by the casket. His gloved hand touched the rain-slick surface as he whispered something. The ranger might hear the old man's whisper, but just barely.

"Goodbye, old friend..."

[Starbin]

A third figure, hooded in a mud-stained travel cloak, stepped forward. to this point, the figure had not spoken with the others, but had watched from a few steps away. With the stature of a dwarf, but grace far beyond that found in a race known for stomping, it bowed low to Kendra. "I, too, will serve.". The voice sounded like gravel one rocks, but had the higher pitch of a ... female? Yes, now that the figure stood closer, the others could see the shape was not completely blockish.

[NagromC]

I would be honored to serve as a palbearer. Spoke the last member as he removed his cloak, revealing varisian features with slight elven touches. He looks at the others, then proceeds to speak again.

My name is Fulgrim, the Professor was a close friend of mine and we spoke often, It would please me greatly to do one last kindness for him, no matter how small. He then moves to take his place as one of the palbearers.

[Thattaman]

As you four pick up the coffin, it starts to rain. You carry along muddy path towards the grave for Lorrimor but before you can get there, a dozen surly men block your path. One of them speaks up, “That’s far enough. 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!” Kendra is swift to respond, her sadness swiftly transforming into anger. “What are you talking about?” she cries out. “I arranged it with Father Grimburrow. He’s waiting for us! The grave’s already been...” “You don’t get it, woman. We won’t have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin. I suggest you move out while you still can. Folks are pretty upset about this right now.” “Necromancy!? Are you really that ignorant?”

You have three posts to prevent a fight.

[North_Ranger]

Father Melchior

"Gentlemen, gentlemen", a low, calm voice spoke up, rising only in volume to get the ears of the belligerent townspeople. "Have you no shame? To disturb a funeral, to cast aspersions and threats at a grieving daughter... and to make an old man shiver in the rain?" he asked, his voice ever so calm while his sharp eyes took a look at every one of the mob before him. "Your blessed ancestors would roll in their graves if they saw how you seek to interrupt these sacred sepulchral rites. It is your anger and fear that disturbs the dead this day. Let us pass and send our dearly departed to seek Pharasma's judgement, if you have any decency in your hearts."

"And rest assured... if something does seek to rise from the sanctified earth, it will be dealt with", he added, one hand parting his robes enough to show the black-handled daggers he bore on his belt - daggers whose scabbards bore the sacred symbol of the Lady of the Graves.

"Let us pass."

Melchior whispers a guidance orison on himself, giving him a +1 competence bonus to his next roll... which is Diplomacy [roll0]

Assume that he will cast guidance to anyone else trying to talk sense to the townspeople as well.

[Starbin]

Upon seeing the horde of disgruntled men, Thalla had started to reach for her kama, ready to show these men their mistake. However, Melchoir's words stopped her hand, and she watched the group instead, to see how they responded to the logical ouster the Father gave. There is one with more brains than ego ...

Perception: [roll0], to see if we are missing something (or someone else)
Sense motive: [roll1] to determine if these men are truly intent on violence.

[18th Avenger]

Before leaving the inn where he'd left much of his equipment and animals (except Correl, who was flying around somewhere), Oliver had thought to strap his swordbelt and light mace to his belt. While it might have seemed disrespectful, the professor had a standing rule thatit was best that one be prepared for every eventuality.

And bless the old man, that piece of advice saved him more times than they could count.

With this in mind, Oliver lay a hand on the haft of the light mace dangling from his belt. He made sure to keep his grip on the coffin firm, though. "Lorrimor, a necromancer? Y'better lay off the sauce, friend," said the ranger with a low voice. "Lorrimor was no dirty deadraiser. Say that again and there'll be quite the argument"

Intimidate
[roll0]

[Thattaman]

The man who was speaking spits on the floor ans spits out the next words, "That's what I think of your professor, I don't care what you have to say, we'll not have him buried near our forefathers." The man shoves the pitchfork that he's holding in Melchoir's face and snarls, "Now get OUT!"

[Starbin]

Thalla's eyes moved from Melchoir to Oliver to the man with the pitchfork. It seemed that despite the older man's best efforts, these men were intent on violence. Of course, Oliver's response didn't help; but not spitting on a rock before a rain storm didn't mean it wouldn't get wet ...

If the man had put the weapon in her face, she would have dealt with it. However, it was not her place to step in first - she had no compact with Melchoir, having only met the man today. She would fight ... but she would first give the man one more opportunity to defuse the situation.

Or at the least put the casket down ...

[North_Ranger]

Father Melchior

The silver-bearded priest did not even flinch when the pitchfork came near his face. Perhaps he was touched by Pharasma's eternal calm, as some of the Penitent Brothers were - or perhaps he had seen something more terrifying than an angry peasant.

"No", he simply said, his hand taking hold of the pitchfork between its spikes - and guiding them to rest at his chest. If the man tried to pull his makeshift weapon away, the frail cleric tightened his grip, trying to hold the spikes still. "Go on. I am waiting. Lean on your pitchfork and run me through. Because that is the only way you will stop me from seeing my duty as a friend - and as a cleric of The Lady of the Graves - through. If you are so certain of your charges that you would strike down an old man who refuses to raise his weapon against you, do it", he spoke, calmly but firmly, staring the man down. "Or step aside and let us proceed. We will hear your grievances once the proper rites of burial have been seen to. The dead grow restless only when they are disturbed, and you are the one disturbing this day."

"The choice is yours. And may Pharasma judge you accordingly, my son."

Diplomacy [roll0]

[NagromC]

Fulgrim, quiet thus far, studies the others. Confident that the group could subdue the farmers if violence broke out. Best leave the talking to the others for now, Im not the best with words. he thinks to himself

He bristles as the ranger tries to bully the people, probably undoing any progress the priest had made, he silently prays for the ranger to keep quiet. He also readies to lower the coffin in case the farmers do attack.
Sorry for the absense, I swear I had this thread on my subscriptions.

[18th Avenger]

Just as Oliver was about to put down his end of the casket and brandish his warhammer to make good on his promise, the quiet old priest surprised everyone.

He let his hand fall to the side, watching the drama unfold with Father Melchior guiding the pitchfork towards his heart and quietly make his stand in the name of faith. Oliver felt a little flush of shame at his earlier pugnacity and made his own little prayer to Desna that the priest (and they) get out of this vindicated.

[Thattaman]

The man stares Melchoir in the eye, then throws his pitchfork on the floor, spitting on the priest's feet. "Bury, your f***ing necromancer then!" He storms off and the others follow. Kendra sighs with relief, "Thank you for doing that, father. This town isn't as respectful of the dead and they never liked my father." You carry it to Lorrimor's grave with no more trouble, the priest is there, "I'm sorry for your trouble getting here. Do any of you have anything to say before we bury Petros Lorrimor?"

You get 120 xp each, 1 trust point. If any of you do particularly exciting or emotional speeches then you may get bonus xp and trust points.

[Starbin]

With the situation defused, Thalla nodded to herself in appreciation for the human priest's patience. It had served them all well, and avoided potential spilling of blood on a day reserved for respect for the fallen.

Proceeding to the grave, the group set the casket down, ready to be lowered into the ground. Upon the request for words, Thalla glanced at the others, then stepped forward. She wore a dark grey cloak, stained with her travels, the hood pulled up to hide her face. She paused for a long moment, then pulled back her hood to reveal a dusky-skinned female with shocking white hair. If it weren't for the fact that her skin was not actually ebon, and her statue marked her as a dwarf, one might think she was a drow. Of course, to say such a thing in her presence might earn the speaker a swift punch in the throat.

She spoke to the coffin itselt, in the same gravelly voice the others had heard before, without preamble. "You looked past my heritage, and aided me against humans who attacked without question. Without your help, I would have been hurt, perhaps dead. Upon defeating our foes, you stayed my hand from delivering the death they deserved. When I asked why, you said "Kill your enemies with kindness, and eventually you'll have little to fear."

Glancing back at the human priest, she paused for a moment, then continued.

"Maybe I understand more now than then. I mourn your passing; I cannot ask you more questions, and cannot repay my debt. Rest well."

Stepping back, Thalla pulled her hood back over her head, waiting for the ceremony to end.

[North_Ranger]

Father Melchior

Melchior had remained silent during the end of the altercation, simply retiring back under his heavy hood and the task of carrying the casket - and within it, his friend. The dwarf's appearance was a surprise to him, though - both for the fact of her sex and the dusky hue of her skin. But if he harbored any questions about the latter, he kept such considerations to himself. This was certainly neither the time nor the place for academic queries.

After the dwarf had spoken, the old cleric stepped in to take her place, nodding in passing to both the late Professor's daughter and the Pharasmin brother observing the funeral rites. Walking over to the casket, he placed his gloved hand on the lid.

"A bright flame has been extinguished. Gone is the sage, the scholar, the father, the friend. On the day of his birth did Pharasma count the number of his days, and for us mortals the day of reckoning always comes too soon. Such is the way of things. What is born, must also die. But just as a flame births embers that spark new flames, so did Petros Lorrimor touch the lives of every man and woman he ever met. His fire is dead, but within us all lives a spark of him. In memory", he spoke softly, looking up at the dwarf and the others, before turning to look at Kendra Lorrimor. "Or in flesh. And that cannot - will not - ever die. Farewell, my friend. May you find new mysteries and new secrets to study in the company of the righteous."

With that, the old man stepped back, letting someone else take his place.

[Starbin]

Thalla silently appraised the human. She was not surprised at the eloquence of his words given the way he dealt with the hooligans earlier. She did wonder at how he knew the Professor, since it seemed he spoke from a deeper knowledge of the man than she had.

Watching the others, she wondered how they knew Lorrimor.

[18th Avenger]

Oliver was next.

He had more respect for the old cleric now. Not every man could face down a pitchfork threat with grace and calm. And the man, Melchior, knew a thing or two about send-offs, by those beautiful words. Oliver was a prgmatic soul most times, but the priest seemed to have made their spirits rise. Something the old goat seemed to do rather effortlessly, he thought with a smile which didn't look all that natural on his face.

"I'm not all that big on words," the ranger began. "I've no tongue for it. But I would like to say, were it not for old Professor Petros Lorrimor.." He scratched his head, clearly trying his hardest to get the words out.

"The old goat taught me to be more than just some idiot ranger roaming around the wilderness. He reminded me of the duties and honor of the Taldan warriors who came from miles away in Ustalav's greatest time of need." With his voice much softer and head bowed, "He taught me to be more than I am."

Oliver looked each of them in the eye, having to bow to the greyskinned dwarf, though. "World's a colder place without him now, but I know he's somewhere better. We're left of his memory, so let's make him proud, yeah?" The green-cloaked ranger stepped back into the line.

[Starbin]

Thalla stared unblinkingly at the black haired man with the tanned skin, not responding to his words or bow. Another person close to the Professor. Of course, for a man that seemed to have deeply touched at least three people, why were there not more here to bid the man a final farewell?

As the woodsman returned to his place, Thalla's eyes instinctively shifted to the tall half-elf, wondering if he, too, would speak.

[Thattaman]

The funeral ends, as it started, slow and sad. The professors all leave promptly to Lepidstadt. Kendra remains weeping. She takes you back to her house which was previously Lorrimor's. "Would you like any tea or cakes?" She goes to make some tea for you and calls into the lovely sitting room with a huge leather sofa and a magnificent ebony coffee table. "I won't take long. Make yourself at home while we wait for the lawyer, who has my father's will."

[Starbin]

Thalla followed the others back, standing somewhat awkwardly as Kendra offered food and drink. Uncertain what the proper protocol was, she nodded hesistantly and stood to the side, waiting for her return. With the daughter gone, she turned her eyes to the remaining three, wondering what this will would reveal.

[North_Ranger]

Melchior accepted the invitation with a calm, silent nod, and followed the grieving young woman and the three remaining people to Lorrimor's former residence. Once indoors, the old cleric removed his cloak, revealing his silvery hair and deeply-veined face - as well as the assortment of weapons hanging from his belt, worn as naturally as the holy symbol dangling around his neck.

Quietly the old cleric looked around, taking in the sights and sounds of the living room. The Professor had been a world-traveller; surely he had gathered various mementos, keepsakes and pieces of artwork from every corner of the Inner Sea?

Perception [roll0]

And Knowledge checks to recognize any possible items of interest:
Arcana [roll1]
History [roll2]
Local [roll3]
Religion [roll4]
Nature [roll5]
Nobility [roll6]
Planes [roll7]
Engineering [roll8]
Dungeoneering [roll9]

[18th Avenger]

Oliver deposited his wet all-weather cloak by the door, noting the lifelike beak on the eagle's head cloak-hanger. He followed Kendra and the rest of the party inside, taking care not to damage or nudge any of the professor's belongings and gewgaws as they trod along the dim hallway towards the sitting room.

Before he could make himself comfortable, the woodsman took a cup of something hot which Kendra pressed into his hands. Oliver stammered out some thanks as he took his seat. Whatever was in the cup, it smelled great...

The ranger thought about taking a sip but decided to let himself warm up first. The cup in his hands was doing a great job of it and Oliver started to relax. As the rain pattered against the windows, he watched the aged cleric, who seemed to be trying to examine every inch of the sitting room space.

"See anything familiar," he asked the cleric quietly. He was never all that good at socializing.

[Starbin]

Thalla watched while the priest began to peruse the items within the room, while the ranger engaged in small talk. She was neither an expert on finery, nor a conversationalist. So she stood and waited, uncertain what news the daughter would bring.

[Thattaman]

You look around and he really has a large collection of antiques, many are books and even more are slightly related to necromancy. A name that you see quite a lot is The Whispering Way or The Whispering Tyrant. All people of Ustalav know and fear that group of undead worshipers and their master, but little have so much information on them, you can see why Lorrimor was called a Necromancer himself.

Kendra arrives back with the tea and cakes as promised. They are finely made and delicious. The lawyer comes just in time and brings with him the will. "Sorry I'm late" he says to you before sitting down and getting the will out. "Here, I have it, all gather round." He tells you all before reading the full will, "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.
“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. She has no one to count on now that I am gone, and 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
fifth day of Sarenith, in the year 4313.”

[North_Ranger]

Melchior hardly even heard the ranger's question, having found himself mesmerized by some of the older tomes in his dearly departed friend's collection. No wonder Lorrimor was so astute in such matters, the old cleric thought to himself as he gingerly pulled out one of the older tomes. Anthon Haradec's The Shattered Antler: A treatise upon the fall of House Ustav and the rise of the Whispering Tyrant, printed in Ardis, 4128 Absalom Reckoning - barely two centuries after the reunification of Ustalav. The age of the tome alone made it worth a king's ransom, let alone the historical value of Haradec's analysis. Not wanting to damage the tome with fingers or breath, Melchior resisted the urge to leaf through history, and put the tome back in its place.

The arrival of Kendra and her barrister shook the old man awake from his reveries, and with a courteous nod he joined the others to hear what the Professor had in store for them. Though such dreams were hardly fitting for a man of the cloth, Melchior would have given an arm and a leg for but a single book from the Professor's collection - or even just an afternoon with one. Alas, such dreams were not to be, as he listened to the lawyer read out Lorrimor's last will and testament.

Once the man was done reading, Melchior coughed and looked at the people around him.

"I will have to request for a leave of absence from my abbott", the old Pharasmin said quietly and solemnly. "But I doubt he will deny such a request, seeing who is making it. Nonetheless, I would request a copy of the document to verify my request", he added, looking at the lawyer.

Then, his eyes turned to Kendra. "Your father was a good friend, Miss Lorrimor. To abide by his final will is the least I can do. You can count on my aid", he said calmly, nodding to the young woman - even though his eyes kept darting hungrily towards the tomes which he was asked to protect.

BTW, did we gain any trust points for our eulogies?

[Starbin]

Sitting down with her tea, Thalla continued to feel out of place. However, none of the other had said anything to make her feel more uncomfortable, so that was a small boon.

As the lawyer read through the will, she found herself frowning, wondering what sort of things the man had done. Obviously he felt the ends justified the means, and given her heritage, she could completely understand that mantra. However, she wondered if there was more than a little truth to the accusations of the Professor's detractors from earlier, given his own 'confession.'

At the end, the lawyer finally came to the part that discussed the role of the four guests, and ended with two tasks - one was to transport his illicit tomes to the college, and the other to make safe his daughter. Thalla set her cup down, perhaps a little too hard as the loud ringing sound turned the others attentions to her. "Wait. For all of this pagentry, I was summoned to be a delivery girl and baby-sitter?" She frowned for a moment, then realized her words and the way others might take them. Looking at the Professor's daughter, she bowed her head. "I'm sorry, I meant no disrespect, but this seems a minor request. Especially for that sum of money ... and for what I already owed the man ..." At the last bit, Thalla trailed off, staring at her cup for a moment.

Shaking her head, she straightened up. "Let it not be said that Thalla of the Sunless Lands did not fulfill her oaths. I will deliver these items and guard you, Lady Kendra.

Money or no ..." Leaning back, she waited for the others to respond.

We received two more trust points, for a total of three.

[North_Ranger]

Father Melchior

"Not all treasure takes the form of glittering gold and sparkling gems, friend dwarf", the old Pharasmin spoke up at Thalla's outburst, looking at the dark-skinned dwarven woman almost amusedly. "For the initiated, the tomes, folios, manuscripts and bestiaries in that bookshelf alone would be worth a king's ransom or a dragon's hoard - or more. In the wrong hands... they could wreak more havoc than an infuriated red dragon."

"In that sense, you wouldn't be so much a delivery girl as a trusted guardian or a sworn sentinel."

[Starbin]

Raising an eyebrow, she glanced back over at the books on the wall with renewed interest. "You say these books have power, like that of a raging dragon?

Maybe his request is not so strange." Looking at the books with newfound appreciation, she shook her head. "But how are we to trust these people? It is said among my people that power only corrupts the weak, but absolute power sustains the strong. What do we do when they lack the Professor's discipline?"

Check the signature ... I'm on vacation!

[North_Ranger]

"In the wrong hands, yes. That is also why they should not stay here. If the Professor worried about his daughter's safety in their vicinity, so should we. In any case, I have had the pleasure of seeing the sentinels and wards surrounding the libraries at the University of Lepidstadt. The books will be safe there, if the Professor so says."

"As for what happens if they fall into the wrong hands", the old cleric continued, sighing deeply. "We pray and we fight", he merely stated. Prayer and fighting... the way Ustalav had survived for centuries.

[Thattaman]

"It would be an honour to have you all stay with me as my father wished. I only hope I can be as hospitable as possible, for Ravengro will not be. I never knew much about these tomes other than that my father loved them and they were invaluable to him and Lepidstadt Univsersity."

[Starbin]

Thalla nodded, somewhat abashed by her outburst. "As I said, I will serve. Why we must wait a month, remains to be seen."

[18th Avenger]

"If it's in the old goat's will, I'll do it along with these good folk," Oliver responded, leaning back in the soft couch and flinching when it looked like he sank a little too deep. "Never been one for enclosed spaces, though. But for you, Miss Kendra, I'll make the exception. Payment or no."

Then the ranger heard mention of how dangerous the books could be. Growing up as a frontliner hearing nightly tales of the dreaded Whispering Tyrant, Oliver agreed heartily. "As long as we keep them out of the sun and don't mention 'em until it's time to haul them along, I'll breath easier around them tomes and what-not."

[North_Ranger]

Melchior stifled a small smile brought by the young man's superstitions involving the books. Rare were such tomes that could influence the world around them merely by existing. Most still needed a reader.

"We thank you for your hospitality, Miss Lorrimor. We will be sure to make our presence as unobtrusive as possible", the old man spoke and nodded again.

Does the Lorrimor estate have stables? Melchior needs to go and fetch his donkey from the inn...

[Starbin]

Sipping on her tea foe a moment, Thalla sat in silence, watching the others. Finally, she finished her cup and stood. "So what now? I am not used to sitting around drinking tea. Do we expect an attack? Should we hide the tomes? Set up defenses? Train this lady to protect herself?" As delicate as a baboon at a dinner party, Thalla stared at the others, waiting for their responses.

[Thattaman]

The lawyer, just before he goes speaks up, "There is another thing. This journal was found, it's not mentioned in the will, but the fact it says 'read me now' on the cover, maybe you should have it." He throws a brown leather bound book on the table with the title "The journal of Professor Petros Lorrimor" on the front and "Read me now" Scratched into the cover.

[North_Ranger]

"Looks like we have our instructions, friend", Melchior remarked to Thalla with a wry smile, then cracked the weathered journal open.

[18th Avenger]

"I'm no stranger to the bodyguard business," murmured Oliver as he took a tentative sip of his tea and found it not at all to his taste, but warming nonetheless. "While we won't set up defenses, we just make sure that no one who intends Miss Kendra any harm to get close. That'd mean a daily patrol or two. Or at least find civic-minded folk who'll help us watch over her."

The ranger watched the lawyer hand Father Melchior the cracked leather journal and sat up. "What's the good word, Father?"

[North_Ranger]

Just making it clear, Melchior will read aloud once the barrister's gone.

[Starbin]

Thalla watched as the lawyer left, then turned her eyes back to the priest. She waited patiently for the man to finish reading and provide them with the gist of the journal.

Still here!

[Thattaman]

When you open the journal, six pages fall out onto the floor, all of which are marked with dates. The earliest page is ten years ago, the most recent one was written the day his body was found. Here are what they say:

Ten Years Ago:
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.

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

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 witch or something. Ignorant fools.

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.

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.

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, so I’ll leave this in the chest where it’ll be sure to be found, should the worst come to pass.

[Starbin]

Thalla blinked as she listened to the tale with growing disquiet. The journal pages wove a tale of growing evil, one ten years long and full of potential intrigue. Father Melchior's steady and sonorous voice did nothing to ease her dread; it heightened the tension if anything.

Setting her cup down, she gazed at the others. "So does this mean that something bad is about to happen to Ravengro, and we're the only ones that know about it?"

[North_Ranger]

"Worse", Melchior spoke, frowning as he studied the journal's text over and over. "It seems we are the only ones who can do anything about it. If the Professor's words are true, even the Pharasmin clergy here in town are unaware of what is happening."

"Whatever it is that the Whispering Way is after... it involves someone who died in a fire. One whose casualties have been listed in the Pharasmin temple", he continued and looked up. "I think it behooves us to investigate - and gauge whether or not my brothers in Ravengro can be persuaded to let us see this false tomb the Professor believes existed."

[Starbin]

Thalla frowned for a moment, deep in thought. "Better check the rest of that journal ... it may have the list if the Professor already asked the priests of Pharasma. We should look in the trunk, too, and see if there are any of these items he sought ... although if he took them with him, they would have been on his body when he died." Glancing at the daughter, she bowed her head slightly.

"No offense, Lady, but do you have the things the Professor carried when he was found?" Thalla is pragmatic, and not given to long periods of sorrow and mourning ...

[18th Avenger]

"We shouldn't count out the citizens of Ravengro, though," Oliver began, rousing from deep thought. "The fact that they were so intent on stopping us should say something about their desire to keep their home safe."

The idea of action roused something in his memories, growing up in those lonely woods with stories of his Taldan forebears taking a stand against the Whispering Tyrant. "Father Melchior is right; we shouldn't just try to prevent whatever will happen. We're honorbound to."

[Starbin]

Thalla had found most human settlements rarely acted in the best interest of the whole - it was a strict, disciplinarian doctrine that few other races seemed able to achieve. She was also a bit concerned about Father Melchior's desire to go to the Temple of Pharasma, given the Professor's decision to sneak around the clergy rather than using them directly - there had to be more there than meets the eye.

Clearing her throat, she nodded towards the journal. "Did you find anything else?"

Then she waited to see if the daughter answered her earlier question.

[Thattaman]

The rest of the journal is day to day life, with a few details on experiments he'd been doing in Lepidstadt. He does mention the Pharismin but he does not say he spoke to them about this, perhaps that is a good next stop.

[Starbin]

Thalla considered the information, the glanced at the others. "So this is urgent, yes? Let us start sooner, than later.

To this temple, then?"

If bad things were looming, best to be about their business ASAP.

[North_Ranger]

"Yes. At first, for the very least. I would like to see my Pharasmin brethren to understand why the Professor chose not to speak with them", Father Melchior agreed, closing the journal and sliding it into his backpack. "At the very least, we must consult them for the history of Harrowstone - and of the people who died within."

[Starbin]

Thalla reached down for her pack, having never removed her weapons. "Let's go - delaying earns us nothing. Lead on, priest."

[Thattaman]

It takes ten minutes to walk from the Lorrimor house to the temple of Pharasma. It is the biggest building in Ravengro and by far the most impressive. The dark atmosphere around it is almost overwhelming but also strangely beautiful. As you knock on the door an acolyte pops his head round the door, obviously flustered. He takes a deep breath then smiles and says, "Hello, welcome to the most holy place in all of Ravengro, is there something you want?"

[North_Ranger]

Father Melchior

The jovial greeting of the acolyte caught the old cleric by surprise. He had expected to find a solemn old village priest tending to his flock, not some barely-out-of-the-cradle acolyte who treated the doorway to the temple like an entrance to an alehouse.

"I am Father Melchior, servant of our Lady", he nonetheless greeted the young man with the appropriate sense of decorum. "I and my associates are here to seek answers to our questions. We request entrance to the Lady's house and access to your archives."

[Thattaman]

The acolyte has a frown on his face, and looks at you in a confused way, "You want to see the archives? What for? In fact, who are you? I'll have to go get Grimburrow." He runs off and comes back thirty seconds later with the old priest who gave the funeral ceremony, "I heard some strangers want to use the arch-oh." He gives a small smile, then breaks out into a cough. "Sorry about that, are you the people that stopped the fight about Petros's coffin? I'd be happy to let one of you look around the archives if you are, especially you father." He says to Melchoir.

[North_Ranger]

"Much obliged, brother. Perhaps you would also be so kind as to let my companions enter the shrine as well? The weather is quite inhospitable", Melchior requested, looking up at the heavily clouded sky that wept heavy pearls of rain upon them.

Diplomacy [roll0]

[Thattaman]

"I could never say no to a fellow follower of the lady of graves." Father Grimburrow says with another smile. He lets you into the church of Pharasma. The inside is very similar to the outside, holy and beautiful in a dark way. "This way. Acolyte Henric will take you there and tell you about the books as part of his training he must know these things." It turns out Henric is the boy who opened the door for you and he continues to smile while telling you about the place and how he decided to join the church of Pharasma. "What are you researching at the moment?"

[Starbin]

Thalla had been ready to snap at the young acolyte, but Melchior handled it appropriately. Once the elder priest arrived and seemed to be more helpful, she relaxed a bit and let Melchior continue to take the lead. This was his world, afterall.

[18th Avenger]

"History." Oliver responded simply.

With his hood up against the rain, Oliver looked up at Pharasma's gloomy house and shuddered once before he was ushered in. A child of the woods, the ranger was more a follower of Desna, and even then, only in practice. And it was nice to think there was some higher power looking after him.

Once in the shadowy halls, the ranger couldn't help but shudder. Pharasmin were dedicated to watching over the rightful repose of the dead, that was true. But much of their methods and imagery invoked the very things Oliver had dedicated his life to fighting. The young ranger merely closed his eyes and took a leap of faith to where they happened to be going.

[Thattaman]

Tell me what you guys are researching and I'll tell you what Knowledge check to make.

[Starbin]

As the group entered the temple, the solemn silence seemed to weigh down on Thalla. She glanced around, memorizing the route they took, least they have to exit quickly. Once they were in the library, Thalla waited and turned to Melchior - he seemed to know best what things they should be looking for.

Go N_K, go! :smallsmile:

[North_Ranger]

"History indeed. The history of Ravengro, in fact", Melchior continued, nodding to Oliver's words. Slowly he lowered his hood, baring himself in the presence of the goddess. "Particularly of a place called... what was it again... Harrowstone, I believe? A series of ruins not far from hear, I understand? The historian in me would not give me pause if I passed the opportunity to learn more about this place, since I am here now. Perhaps you could tell us more about these ruins, acolyte?" the old cleric spoke, authoritatively but calmly as he walked with the young man - Henric, Father Grimburrow had called in.

"After all, it is our sworn duty as servants of the Lady to keep a record of all things that pass. I trust you are versed in the history of your own town?" he added with a small stare at the younger man, much like a teacher would give to a student when testing his knowledge out of the blue.

Diplomacy to persuade Acolyte Henric tell us more about Harrowstone... [roll0]

And when studying... concentrate on the history of Harrowstone, what it was, what was the fire that the Professor mentioned, who died in those flames... and who might be the people who caught his eye.

[Thattaman]

"Oh, Harrowstone, the articles are here." He tells you, smiling the entire time as he leads you to a small library. "Everything about the prisoners and the burning is here. Call me if you want any help with finding anything."

To research Harrowstone you can either make knowledge history or local checks.

[Starbin]

Thalla watched as the others moved to start searching through the files available. She wanted to help, but aside from fetching titles, she knew she wasn't suited to gathering information about Harrowstone.

Pondering for a moment, she wandered to look for any information about necromancers or Pharasma crypts.

Guess KS (Religion): [roll0] to find out stuff on the Whispering Way and the crypts in the Restlands.

That's all I got! :smallredface:

[North_Ranger]

Melchior shook his head disappointedly at the young acolyte as he left the library. The old cleric was disappointed that Henric was so willing to let the tomes do the talking; perhaps the acolyte was not so well-versed in the history of his own parish as would befit a brother of the faith.

Sighing at the folly of youth, Melchior offered a prayer to Pharasma and got to work, starting to study Harrowstone and its history - and also any mention of Pharasmin treasures buried in the boneyard.

Guidance on both rolls:
History [roll0]
Local [roll1]

[Starbin]

After discussing what the 'scholars' amid the four had discovered, Thalla asked, "So do we ask for the full list of deaths in the fire? Or concentrate on the warden and his wife?"

Any information on the Whispering Way or the Restlands? I did get a natural 20 (for a total of 24) :smallbiggrin:

[Thattaman]

Info on Harrowstone:

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. At the time Harrowstone burned, five particularly notorious criminals had recently arrived at the prison. While the commonly held belief is that the tragic fire began accidentally after the riot began, in fact the prisoners had already seized control of the dungeon and had been in command of the lower level for several hours before the fire. Warden Hawkran triggered a deadfall to seal the rioting prisoners in the lower level, but in so doing trapped himself and nearly two dozen guards. The prisoners were in the process of escaping when the panicked guards accidentally started the fire in a desperate attempt to end the riot.

Info on the Whispering Way:
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. 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. Exact details on the society are difficult to discern, but 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.

Well, you managed to learn everything about those two things in two rolls.

[18th Avenger]

Oliver had loaded his arms with files and found a place closest to a narrow window. Given the chill weather and the grey dawn that filtered into the library, it didn't do much to make the ranger feel better but it helped. Reading and studying wasn't his strong suite by a long shot, but then his father had pressed upon the wisdom to be found in old records.

He'd taken his time selecting his reading material. Oliver had tried to pick out those written by rangers and warriors with experience fighting the dead. Those written by scholars and wizards tended to put him to sleep. But as the torches burned low, he pushed his hood out of the way and rubbed his eyes.

"A lot of this knowledge was handed down to the warriors of Ustalav," he complained. "Common knowledge and little of it would have anything to do with Lorrimor's murder."

[North_Ranger]

"Perhaps. Or perhaps not", Melchior replied, rubbing his beard. "The documents and book so far are... written in broad strokes, for sure. But they offer us hints and whispers. The fire that consumed Harrowstone was surely a tragic event - insane monsters of men and panicking guards alike burning or buried alive. Those are, I am loathe to say, ideal conditions for the appearance of restless dead and other ghostly appatitions. And Lorrimor suspected the involvement of the Whispering Way, who seek out such sights to commune further with the undead."

Straightening in his chair, Melchior groaned. The damp weather and his old bones were not a good mix. "The books mentioned five prominent madmen who died in the fire. We should learn more about them. Perhaps Lorrimor suspected they had risen as undead."

[Starbin]

Thalla closed the books she had been reading and held up the diary, gazing at the other impassively. "Lorrimor's was worried about the Way ten years ago. Two months ago, they got interested in Ravengro. Three weeks ago, he discovered they were interested in someone held in Harrowstone."

She rummaged around for a moment, then pulled out a tied folder and waved it. "These say five horrible criminals arrived at Harrowstone and the riots began shortly thereafter. Maybe these five were part of the cult. Maybe their crimes made them ripe for evil. Strange the Way would come now, but there must be a tie between them.

Maybe the professor feared they were members of the way, there to pave the way for something else."

Have spoken so long, Thalla shut up abruptly, dropping the folder. Melchior's suggestion about learning more of the criminals was still valid, so she started to look around for their names.

How long ago was the fire? If it was just a few years ago, there might be folks who used to work at the prison that could help ... guards, nurses, janitors, creepy old men who used to own amusement parks and hate meddling kids ... you know the standard fare. :smallsmile:

[Thattaman]

The fire was fifty years ago, few know the guards who worked their, but some do. Maybe if you ask older citizens, maybe a certain father in the temple of Pharasma.

[Starbin]

I know T is on travel, but I figured I'd plug this in

Thalla glanced at the file on the fire again. "Fifty years since the fire ... what's there that the Way would care now? And do you think we can find anyone who worked there? Or who's parents worked there?"

[18th Avenger]

"Parents? What do you think we are, dwarves?" Oliver gave an ugly chuckle. "Anyone who might have first-hand knowledge would be dead." His face grew serious. "Though given how the Way operates," he made a peasant's warding gesture. "That wouldn't deter them..."

Oliver turned to Father Melchior. "You think the father of this temple might be able to answer Thalla's question? They might respond better if you're doin' the talking."

[Starbin]

Thalla raised an eyebrow at the idea that in fifty years, no one who had worked at the prison would still be alive. "Are humans as short-lived as orcs? Surely one or two younger ones could be alive ..."

Am I missing something? 50 years isn't that long, even in PF ... a 20 yr old guard could still be alive, unless I missed a section in my math problem!

[North_Ranger]

"True, but they would likely be venerable old men and women by now", Melchior nodded to Thalla's question. "If they are even willing to talk of such things. It is considered ill fortune to talk of such dark things, especially among the peasants. But if you wish, I can see if the father is willing to give us any insight on the matter."

[Thattaman]

The acolyte is still stood there and when you mention if the Father would still know he seems a bit wary. "Father Grimburrow knew a lot of the guards and their deaths are what led him to join the church of Pharasma, you could definitely speak to him about it."

[18th Avenger]

Oliver looked to the helpful young acolyte, who'd been helpful to these damp strangers disturbing the temple's cold sanctity.

"The good pater's still in, right? I mean, he's not busy or anything. What we're about to ask is important, even if it seems sort of odd."

[Starbin]

Thalla nodded to Malchior, then waited patiently as the others took the lead in finding the head priest. Perhaps he would know who had ties to the prison AND was still alive.

[North_Ranger]

"What my young companion means that the matters that have brought us here would benefit from Father Grimburrow's wisdom. Please be so kind and find out if he is willing to see us, despite the late hour and the weather." Melchior added, looking at the acolyte with cool, calm eyes.

[Thattaman]

The acolyte smiles again and runs off, he comes back a minute later, supporting the weight of father Grimburrow, "Henric hear tells me that you want to ask about the fire at Harrowstone... terrible, terrible business. Yes, I knew the guard officer very well, it was a shame what happened to Lyvar and his wife, she burned in the fires too, did you know? So, what do you want to know about the fire?"

[Starbin]

Thalla grabbed a pen and some paper, ready to write down whatever the priest could tell them. "I'm sure those two will have more detailed questions, but what happened?"

Since I expect we've gotten all the generic info on the fire, here are some more specific questions
Who are Lyvar and his wife?
Why was his wife at the prison?
Who were the particularly violent prisoners and why were they imprisoned?
Did anyone there have ties to the Whispering Way?
Did the Whispering Way have any ties to the prison?
What do you know of the Restlands?

... I'm sure there are more out there :smallbiggrin:

[Thattaman]

Are the spoilered questions the ones you want to ask?

[Starbin]

Yeah, I figured the overhead question was probably already answered with the information you provided, but Thalla would still ask it. So, to save time, I put the other specific questions she would ask ... in addition to whatever the others would ask. I'm sure N_R would ask a ton, too, but he's still sick.

[18th Avenger]

Oliver looked to Father Melchior as Thalla bustled over to the temple's elder with an inkstick, a sheet of paper and a head full of questions. "It's a good thing some of us have a head for this kinda work. I'm more of sword-and-shield type myself."

[Thattaman]

You talk to Father Grimburrow for a while and lean some interresting things about Harrowstone

Answers: Lyvar was the sergeant working their the night it burned down and his wife burned too. Father Grimburrow does no know why she went to help (he couldn't exactly ask her afterwards). Five particularly violent prisoners were there at the time, the Lopper, Father Charlatan, the Mossway Marauder, the Piper of Illmarsh and the Splatter Man. He knows very little of the Whispering Way but warns you to stay away from anything connected to them. He says the restlands are a place of peace or should be, where the dead a re left, although he did see Petros there more often recently.

[Starbin]

Thalla nodded absently, writing down a few notes and any names given. "What about these prisoners, these violent five? What do you know about them?"

I think N_R is still sick, but we'll continue with the questions ... anyone else can pipe up!

[Thattaman]

Father Grimburrow sighs, "I know little of them, but we do have files on all the prisoners her, especially those five."

[Starbin]

Thalla stared at the priest, waiting for the man to continue. When it became obvious that he didn't intend on saying anything else, she sighed with exasperation. "So, priest, would you mind sharing that information? Or lead us to where you keep it?"

[18th Avenger]

"Great," Oliver muttered, sinking in his seat and wishing for something warm to drink. "It's like in those old tales, yeah? Ancient prisoners coming back to haunt an' murder us in our beds."