Carrion Crown Group 1

[Grimtina]

The weather hasn't been too good all morning, a slight drizzle and a cold wind have set the mood for the furneral you were making your way to. Luckily, it stopped after all of you reached their destination. Besides you, only a small handful of villagers are attending the funeral procession. Old friends of Lorrimar, they too have come to pay their respects. Some of them you might know - Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, Councilman Gharen Muricar, tavernkeeper Zokar Elkarid and his by now 13-year-old son Pevrin, and Jominda Fallenbridge, Ravengro’s apothecary.

You have all gathered at the entrance to the Restlands (http://www.krath.org/arania/Carrion%20Crown/therestlands.jpg), the large graveyard of Ravengro (http://www.krath.org/arania/Carrion%20Crown/ravengro.jpg), with Kendra Lorrimor and a fine coffin containing the body of her father, your onetime friend and ally Petros Lorrimor. Although he was getting on in years, Petros’s death was rather sudden and his daughter Kendra, a 25-year-old woman who has lived in Ravengro for nearly 15 years, having moved here with her family as a child from Lepidstadt after her father retired from teaching, is still in mourning. Her eyes are red and puffy and she dresses in dark, conservative clothes. Trim and attractive, Kendra greets you with a mixture of curiosity, sadness, and relief. "Not many have come to pay their respects to my father," she laments, "and with things the way they are in town these days, other folks from Ravengro were too hesitant come out for the funeral as well." With a sniff, supressing new tears, she looks at each of you. "Would any of you like to serve as pallbearer?"

[Vhaidara]

Besix watches from near the front of the crowd, but doesn't speak up. She wouldn't be very helpful in bearing anything, after all. She was sad that more people had not come. The professor had been a good man, one of few she had met since her parent's deaths.

[tresson]

After having arrived in Ravengro the night before and had not gotten much sleep. While she had not known the professor well he had been the one that set her on her current course and for that Lune would have come from much farther then she had to pay her respects. Lune had traded her normally flowing, bright white dress for a more formal black dress and wore a black veil. She arrived at the cemetary and waited her turn to give her condolences to Kendra.



"Not many have come to pay their respects to my father," she laments, "and with things the way they are in town these days, other folks from Ravengro were too hesitant come out for the funeral as well." With a sniff, supressing new tears, she looks at each of you. "Would any of you like to serve as pallbearer?"


Lune took Kendra hands into her own. "You poor thing." Lune said, "I know what it's like to loss your father so if you need any help I would be more then happy to help. I don't know if I would be the best pallbearer but for what he did for me this is the least I could do."

[LessThanHappy]

Wren had done his best to stay below the communal radar since arriving in Ravengro the day before, not leaving his room at the inn without his woolen traveling cloak across his shoulders. He wore it now, still damp from the ill weather, over mourner's black. While he wouldn't normally take anything but pride in his appearance, to draw attention away from the sanctity and solemnity of the professor's burial would have felt more blasphemous than spitting into holy water.

Still, when Kendra called for pallbearers, Wren could not fight the urge to step forward, taking a position near the casket's fore, and readying himself to lift his share of the burden after more volunteers presented themselves. "I offer my hands to the task, Miss Lorrimor." He replied, bowing his head in respect and sympathy for the grieving daughter. "Although the lives of your kind are often tragically brief, your father's has rippled through some in ways far deeper than I think most of this town can realize. To help lay him to a peaceful rest would be my honor and privilege."

Wren has none of his gear with him, having left his kit at the inn. Unless directly addressed or affected, he'll lift the casket with everyone else who offers. Don't want to hold up the show if you prompt us to pick it up :smallbiggrin:

[Gwynfrid]

Having come all the way from Lastwall in haste, Ulric arrives only minutes before the funeral begins. His grey tabard, adorned with the sun angel of the Dawnflower, is covered in road grime, and his high boots show how deep mud has been in some places.

To those we have never met him, Ulric strikes a slightly unsettling impression. His many battle scars are nothing unusual in a warrior, but the black leather mask he wears is. It fully covers the left half of his face and skull, giving a fairly disturbing twist to what might otherwise have been an attractive look.

Upon joining the group of mourners, Ulric spots Kendra easily, having met her a few years before. He walks straight to the Professor's beloved dauhgter, and bows to her.

"Miss Kendra, let me just say how deeply sorry I am that your father has left us. You know how he came to me in my weakness and how hard he tried to make me whole. But for him, I would not stand before you today.

I have pronounced my vows a few days ago. Please let me place myself at your service. It will be only fitting that my first task as one of the Dawnflower's warriors be to serve Professor Lorrimor's daughter. It will be an honor for me to help carrying him to his last rest."

[drbraininajar]

Doran shivers slightly as he sheepishly raises a hand. "I-I'll lend a shoulder as well." He'd kept his Varisian scarf and traveling hat bundled around his head since arriving in Ustalav, to ward off the cold, damp weather he was so unaccustomed to. His duster coat, made for a man a head taller and a hand or two wider, set to flapping in the chill wind as he made his way to a place beside the casket. As Doran passes Kendra, he stops, wanting to say something. Fumbling his words a moment, he finally musters a sentence or two. "I, erm..I'm sorry for your loss miss. The Professor was an excellent teacher, and--and if he was as good a father I--I should hope you have many happy memories of him to comfort you." He waits half an awkward second to gauge the woman's reaction before turning to walk to the casket. He grimaces as he lays a hand on the lid, convinced Miss Kendra thinks him a fool. He considers that he's likely the youngest person here, and it certainly showed now, standing next to a pair of clearly seasoned warriors and a woman who must be a sorceress of some kind. His eyes wander to each of them quizzically before snapping back to staring straight down into the muddy soil any time their gazes threatened to meet.

In case it comes up, Doran only has his traveling pack with him (spell pouch, some books, and trail rations), at least until he has a chance to swing by the inn and get anything else)

[Grimtina]

Kendra nods gratefully, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite her tears.

In the distance, you can see the priest of Pharasma waiting; it is customary here for them to expect you at the grave side, leaving the escort only to familoy and friends.

[Vhaidara]

Besix walks up to Kendra when she sees an opening.
I am...sorry for your loss. If you have any need of aid, simply ask. Your father was kinder to me than any man I have met. I would like to repay that kindness to his kin.

[Grimtina]

"My father," she says in a low voice while the pallbearers lift their load, "always tried to make the world better. Seems he has managed it with all of you."

[daelrog]

Dellis flushed a bit when Kendra asked for people to help be pallbearers. She was simple too short for the task, not unless there were enough strong Halflings, and maybe gnomes around. But there weren't.

Dellis was dressed in the appropriate black, though it had a slight dusty tinge to it. She wore no hat, he strawberry blonde locks rolling down to her shoulders. Though far from slim, she walked with ease and confidence to the trained eye. She moved to Kendra, offering a reassuring handshake. "The man would have felt blessed with even one person coming to pay respects. He's no doubt smiling wherever he be." From there, Dellis made her way to Jominda. "A terrible loss, and earlier than expected. Did he take ill?"

[Vhaidara]

Besix also makes her way to listen to the apothecary. On one hand, she hoped her friend had died peacefully. On the other, the idea that he had taken ill and hadn't contacted her, a master of illnesses, rankled her slightly.

[Grimtina]

With a sorrowful face, the man shakes his head, his moustache flopping as if developing its own life. "He went to the ruins," he explains, pointing to the bruned out hull of an old prison complex close to the city. "Exploring as so often, but he has always been careful. But this time, he didn't come back. Bashed his head in trying to scale one of the walls, it looks like. Maybe he was getting a little bit too old for such adventures, but you know, he never thought anything could truly stop him."

[daelrog]

"To be fair, I thought much the same about the man." She pulled out a small flask, taking a small bit of pungent liquid from it. "Care for some, sir? A funeral is a sad enough affair as it is, it need not be a sober one." Upon a closer look, one could see the tankard symbol on a few places around her body, a follower of Cayden Cailean, the drunken hero.

She looked about the cemetery. "Even two swigs if you fancy."

[Grimtina]

Elkarid nods and takes a sip as the coffin is slowly carried forward. His boy starts singing a simple funeral tune common to these lands, walking ahead of the casket and Kendra.

About half the way to the open grave over the gravel pathway called the Eversleep, a group of surly lookong locals appears from behind some gravestones and moves to block the way. The tallest of them calls out.

“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?” Kendra gasps.

[Vhaidara]

Besix clenches her fists, but contains her desire to strike these ignorant beasts.
Gentlemen, I can assure you. The professor was a good man. He was no necromancer. What kind of necromancer dies anyways?

Diplomacy: [roll0]

[Grimtina]

The word leader snorts. "One who will come back as undead and bring all our deceased with him, maybe?"

[Vhaidara]

The word leader snorts. "One who will come back as undead and bring all our deceased with him, maybe?"

Besix puts a clawed hand to her forehead. Plebes.
Why would he wait until he was buried for that? Why not just come here while he was alive and make an army? Now he'll have to dig out and get his robes all dirty.

[Grimtina]

For a moment, the locals seem confused. "Because he needs to be dead first to become undead, of course," an older man shouts from the back with an I-know-it-all voice.

[Vhaidara]

You idiot. Do any of you know anything about magic? Yes, you have to be dead first, but you need people to complete the ritual. So the correct procedure would be to raise an army of the dead first, recruit some followers, and have the army slaughter anyone trying to stop the ritual while the followers complete it!
Besix's voice gets higher and shriller as she speaks.

I'm going to go with a Bluff check here, but it's more to hide the fact that she's working on pure on the spot guesswork logic.
Bluff: [roll0]
I'm also going to stop now, to give others a chance to intervene.
EDIT: YES! That's 2 3s wasted on social skills I was going to fail anyways!

[LessThanHappy]

A vein starts to pulse in Wren's forehead at the exchange taking place before him, but, very aware of the fact that he is presently supporting a man who unintentionally shaped his life on his shoulder, swallows the anger and adopts as much of a smile as he can, under the circumstances, while firing an acidic glare at the chatty alchemist.

"A fine point you make, sir! One must die to come back to life, it only makes sense. However, to bring your own self back from the grave sounds like the feat of a great spell-weaver, as this... fine... person has already said, elsewise I imagine more people would do it! Now, I don't claim to know much at all about magic. Not something I've ever cared to wrap my head around, finding much better uses for my time than reading dusty old tomes about making fire when there's flint in my rucksack, and I think many of you fine folk can understand where I'm coming from.

But here's something I do know, from seeing it with my own eyes: Petros Lorrimor, gods rest him and grant him peace, could not save his own self from a few highwaymen when I met him years ago. Good men of Ravengro, does that sound to you like a man that can work the dark powers of necromancy? No, it sounds like a scholarly man, more experienced as a penman than a swordsman. Petros met his end in a simple way that any soul here could meet: He fell while climbing something he oughtn't have tried to climb. A mighty magician as you fear him to have been could surely have somehow protected against that, or used magic to reach whatever he was trying to collect.

Now please, I know that you all can't truly mean to deny those of us who knew the man, or loved the father, the chance to lay him at peace in the town he called home."

Going for Diplomacy to defuse this situation; not sure if this will count as an Aid Another to Besix or a fresh check, but let's hope some decent ranks in Charisma pay off!
[roll0]
EDIT: Plan B is filed under "+7 to Intimidate." That is all.

[Gwynfrid]

Ulric surveys the situation with a calm eye, hoping that the dispute can be peacefully defused.

"Such accusations as necromancy are grave. They need to be backed by proof, and are hardly proper to discuss during a funeral." Speaking while he's bearing the pall with the others is slightly awkward, but serves to underscore the basic truth in the statement.

"Now, all of us here gathered are Professor Lorrimor's friends. I, for one, can vouch that he was no necromancer. Rather, he was a healer, not of bodies, but of souls. He most certainly helped mine to recover from grievous pain. Yes, he was a practitioner of magic. But it wasn't his magic that saved me. it was the depth of his knowledge, the sharpness of his wit, and the kindness of his heart. Of this, I, Ulric Izzorden, am witness.

Now, will you let us kindly pass?" His tone is perfectly polite, but his voice is firm and assured, obviously marking him as one who isn't used to be denied.

Diplomacy [roll0]

[drbraininajar]

Doran at last spoke up. He'd been biting his tongue to avoid shouting at the locals. The other pallbearers likely saw his face harden and his grip tighten on the casket. The half-masked warrior's words snapped him out of his fuming.
"Indeed. What possible proof could you have?" he asked, muttering something about 'backward superstition' to himself. "The man was no dark wizard, and furthermore-" Doran caught himself again. "As far as myself or any other assembled here are concerned, the Professor was no more a necromancer than he was a fishmonger. We all came here to lay a friend--and mentor--to rest. Surely you can understand that." The words were perhaps more pointed than he'd wanted, but still true.
Noticing the nearby Pharasman cleric, a thought occurred. "Listen, there are no less than three men-er-people of the cloth here. Would it calm your fears whatsoever if they were to all formally bless the burial? If for nothing else than to show our good intentions?"

[roll0]
Rolling for Diplomacy assist

[Grimtina]

A few times, the ringleader opens his mouth to talk, but the rest of the group blocking the way start scratching thbeir head and mothion for the tall man to let you all talk. "I think them's right," one looking like a down on his luck day worker finally says. "Them clerics wouldn't allow a necromancer to be laid to rest here." "Yeah, someone else mumbles," who are we to doubt a cleric of Pharasma?"

Slowly, the group disperses, trying to leave as quickly as possible to ave their faces, with only the tall guy throwing a few more angry looks at you.

As if nothing has happened, the boy starts singing again and continues to lead you to the grave. Kendra can't thank you enough for stopping the situation to escalate, having been at a loss for any more words. The councilors profess their loss for words but promise to tell the sheriff about them, as they recognized them. "Local farm hands, all of low character," Hearthmount explains. "Not the first time they make trouble around here." Father Grimburrow, the Pharasma priest, also promises to give them a talking to later.

The rest of the furneral is all peaceful. The priest gives a short sermon and then asks Kendra to say a few words. Kendra gladly complies, telling a few tales of her father's more courageous and selfless moments and once again thanks everyone for being here. "I would like you all to share a few stories as well," she adds, and looks expectantly at everyone.

[Vhaidara]

Besix swallows. Better to get this over with now than wait until a more elegant speaker had told some heartwrenching tale. She steps forward
I am an orphan. From the day my parents were killed by bandits, I was alone. I helped a few people who got sick, but no one ever cared much for me. Then, one day, a man came up to my cart. Apparently, he had heard I had skills in healing, particularly in the realm of diseases. He wanted help researching the topic. He took me to the room where he was staying and we talked into the night.
Besix wipes a tear away from her eye.
The was when I first met Professor Petros Lorrimor. He respected my opinion, and he didn't begrudge me the value you held me in. It was the first time since my parents died that anyone actually cared about me. He helped me get established, paid to fix the wheel on my cart, and came back to consult with me three more times. He was a great man, with a noble spirit, and the world is poorer for his loss.
She bows her head and steps back.

[Gwynfrid]

Relieved that there seems to be no further mayhem than a few nasty words spoken by ignorants, the scarred paladin takes a while to ponder in his mind what he wants to say, while at the same time listening to the other mourners' stories.

O Sarenrae, please inspire my words, that they be worthy of the good man we are committing to the earth this day.

When he speaks, he does so in a clear, but low voice, without hesitation but with a great deal of humility.

"My name is Ulric Izzorden, from the village of Wissant, a few leagues to the west of Tamrivena. For most of my years, I have helped guard the land against enemies of many sorts, not all of them living.

As I mentioned to these... misguided lads... To me, Professor Petros Lorrimor was a healer. After my comrades and I met our fate in the cursed lands, he was able to heal not my body, for not one of those who tried could, but my spirit. He brought me back from being half a man with just half a face, away from deadly despair, back to the life of the really living. Petros inspired me to start over, to pledge myself to the Dawnflower and take up the fight on behalf of the people of Ustalav once again.

Petros, my friend, my debt to you is not of the kind that one can ever repay. May the light of dawn always shine upon your soul."

[tresson]

Lune had stayed quiet during argument with the mob partly due to the fact that witches don't always have the best reputation in Ustalav so it was probably better not to draw attention to herself and partly because the others were doing such a great job handling thing themselves. Though she was preparing to give them an earful should things have turned bloody.

Once the crowd had dispersed and the two other pallbearers had given their speeches Lune Stepped up and faced the other mourners. "While it would appear that Professor Petros Lorrimor had a more personal affect on the lives of the previous speakers then on mine I believe that my story show just how far his wisdom and kindness rached. Before I had even meet the Professor he had set me on the path that I now walk."

"When I was younger my late father was a colleague of the Professor. When my father was having some problems with me the Professor made a suggestion to him that ended up changing my life forever. I only had the pleasure to meet him two or three times before his death but I looked up to him as a role model. I know I would not be who I am now with out him."

With that she turned from the crowd so they would see the tears that had begun to role down her cheeks. "Thank you Professor," She finally said before returning to others.

[daelrog]

Dellis stood up. "I met the good Professor in a dump of a place, some ol' tavern named the Coq and Weasel that burned down a few years back. Was passing drinks about and had my eyes on some adventurer's butt when I bumped into some shady lookin' fellow. Turned out the man had a knife for Professor Lorrimor, and our friend couldn't stop singing my praises. I tried to tell him it was merely an accident, but his words were so sincere and kind. Made me think maybe I could do something with myself beyond daydreaming and stumbling over men and boys."

She took another swig of her drink, and with the nod of her head was finished.

[LessThanHappy]

Oh, gods, it would have been terrible to beat that many people up at a funeral. Wren thought as they continued the journey.

After having listened to the first four recountings, he decided that maybe his wasn't going to be as insignificant as he had originally though, and stood before the assembled.

"Good day, all. My name is Wren Razortongue, and I'm from... Well, all over Ustalav, really. Looking like I do nowadays, it's rare that someone will have the stones to turn me away when I ask for a room, but when I first met Petros fifteen years ago, I was a pariah in more towns than I think I had even visited. I was at one of the lowest points of my life, on the road without any real destination, and I came upon a few highwaymen that looked to be looting a carriage.

To be honest, I scared them away not out of some higher calling towards good deeds, no.. I did it because I thought I could rob it myself. But before I could get up to any unlawful behavior, an excitable scholar spilled out of the inside and thanked me for saving his life. Petros Lorrimor was the first person I can remember that was grateful for something I did for him without bringing up my heritage, or my appearance, or talking about how proud my parents must be that I can rise above my blood. He invited me to travel with him to a town he thought might be an interesting place to retire to --here, Ravengro-- for as long as I cared to, and put me up in my very own room at an inn on the road. Ever after I confessed why I had 'saved' him, I didn't get one cross glance, and he gave me the biggest purse of gold I'd ever held in my life as a thank-you, and an open invitation to come visit him once he was settled here." Wren stopped for a moment, taking a slow breath and wiping absently at the irritation in his eyes. "I'm just sad to say that, even though he's solely responsible for giving me the courage and drive to turn my life around, this is the first time I've ever taken him up on the offer."


With that, Wren took his seat again, wiping his eyes on his cloak, and waited for whomever would speak next.

[drbraininajar]

It was Doran's turn next. Everyone else had such gripping tales of the professor, surely his would pale in comparison. He delayed a moment, almost deciding to stay put, but at last nervously approached the front of the crowd.
"M-my name is Doran--Doran Redhill, of Nybor in Varisia.", he began, shifting anxiously before taking a more confident posture. "I don't have any harrowing tales of rescue to tell, nor anything to say of miraculous changes of heart. The Professor was neither my only friend, or my best. What he was--was my teacher."
Doran took a deep breath. As usual, once in front of a crowd, his shyness disappeared.
"When I was about ten years old, Professor Lorrimor happened to pass through the town of Nybor on his way to Galduria, to teach at the Twilight Academy. I'd been an avid reader since the day I learned my letters, and the professor's stories of the things he'd seen and the places he'd been fascinated me as much or more than anything I'd read till then. When the professor's visit ended, and he made to leave the town, I resolved to go with him, eager to be his apprentice. There are only so many opportunities in a small town like Nybor, and I think my parents knew that, wanting more for me than their lives had given them.
For the next few months, I worked for the professor at the Academy. Though the job mostly consisted of beaker-cleaning and familiar-wrangling, I learned more that year from Mr Lorrimor and his students than I ever had at home, and all my off hours were spent in the library, curled up in a corner with a book. Anytime the Professor's lecture circuit took him near there, I volunteered for another season of work. This continued until the year I turned 15, when the Professor could no longer travel that far for work. What came instead that year was a letter of recommendation from him, to attend the Academy. For the past two and a half years, I've been studying the basics of magic and natural philosophy, but when news of Professor Lorrimor's death reached me, I made what may be the most important or foolish decision of my life--I dropped out of Twilight Academy. The Professor had always told me that while great knowledge can be found in the writings of great men and women, only in really seeing the world--in experiencing its wonders and meeting its people--can you truly learn the greatest lessons of all. And so I begin my journey by traveling here, to Ustalav."
Doran then turned to face the grave site "Professor, in whatever lofty realm your spirit has gone to, I hope you understand that I have done so not to waste the opportunity you gave me with that letter, but to more truly follow in your footsteps as a scholar. With these words, and hopefully with my future actions, I wish only to honor your memory. May the gods be with you, and may you find many more wonders in the Beyond." Doran then solemnly bowed his head before turning back to the assembled mourners. "Th-thank you all, I--I know that ran a bit long but, I hope you'll forgive a student for having a great deal to say about his greatest teacher." Doran then sheepishly, tearfully smiled and shuffled his way back to his place in the group.

[Grimtina]

"The professor encouraged me to learn to read and write, too," the boy in the group now pipes up. "Now I can make some money by copying and posting all the news of town people have no time or no knowledge to post themselves. And one day I want to be a real curier." Then he falls silent, clearly having rouble holding back his tears.

[daelrog]

"Well said, kid. Here." Dellis motioned her flask out for the young boy to take and drink if he wanted to.

[Grimtina]

He does so without thinking much about it - every kid geowing up in an inn has a sip every now and then.

Kndra takes a deep breath. "I'm so glad you could all be here, and I'm so very sorry about the assault. Well, he has his peace now, so I hope." Everyone nods and muttery their agreement, and the council people and the others excuse themselves one by one - important business, life goes on and all.

Kendra looks at each of you and invites you to her home. "Father left a will, and councilman Hearthmount will be there to read it in an hour, as is customary. I would like you all to be present."

[Vhaidara]

Besix nods.
I will be there.
She makes her way back to the entrance of the graveyard, where her cart is parked.

[Gwynfrid]

"These boys didn't mean any real harm, Miss Kendra. A little superstition, a little fear, nothing more.

And it will be an honor for me to attend, and help any way I can", the grizzled warrior earnestly responds to the young woman.

[LessThanHappy]

Wren waits his turn to answer, speaking after the fellow half-concealed behind a very strange mask. "To not attend would be a slight against your father, and that's the last thing I plan to do. And if there's anything else you need, Miss Lorrimor, please do not hesitate to call on me."

With that, Wren departs the funeral, returning to the inn and fetching his things. The less time I spend in this place, the better.

[drbraininajar]

"I-uh-it would be an honor." returned Doran, a little confused as to why he himself would be requested. "I lo-" blast it Doran, you almost said you were looking forward to it. "I'll be there." he said, unsure of what facial expression to use, and so settling on something between kind and solemn, though it probably looked more like he had indigestion.

Hearing the alchemists's cart begin to rattle away, Doran hurried down the path. He made to shout after her, but had forgotten her name. "Miss, um, Madam Apothecary!?" Reaching the cart, out of breath, he continued "Could I trouble you for a ride back to the inn?"

[Vhaidara]

Besix looks back at the half orc.
I'm not sure Bloody Stupid will like you for it, but go ahead.

[Grimtina]

The Lorrimor residence is a modest home (map area N) but it is cozy and filled with many memories from the professor's travels, with crowded bookshelves in every room. The decorations speaks more of a woman's hand, though.

Kendra has no idea what is in her father's will. She was not even aware he had made one - usually, just the closest relatives inherit, and most families in the area tend not to argue about possessions but share. And she is the only relative, in any case. She guesses that he may have left some sort of memorial to each of you, or maybe needed a task done he didn't trust her with.

Vashian arrives precisely on time. It is obvious he doesn’t completely approve of strangers being involved in local matters, but he keeps his comments to himself.

[drbraininajar]

Doran arrives with Besix, completely oblivious to his surroundings due to a spirited discussion he's having with the alchemist.
"...So you're saying that by exposing someone to a harmless strain of disease, their body 'learns' how to fight it and so becomes proof against it's ill effects? Madam Besix, that's brilliant!"
Doran intently scribbles a few notes in the book he's carrying, his charcoal writing-stick staining his fingers.
"So how do you 'de-fang' the disease, so to speak, in the first place?" He asks, dropping his traveling pack at the door. Intent on taking the next leg of his journey as soon as possible, he's packed up everything. Among the standard traveler's supplies of a bedroll, rations, and so forth, lashed to the back of the pack is a long, curved sword, aged and pitted.

[Vhaidara]

brain asked me about this, so I'm clearing it up: Bloody Stupid is Besix's pony. An automatic attitude of unfriendly and a -5 Handle Animal does not a good relationship make.

Besix is far more animated than she had been at the funeral. And Bloody Stupid is looking weary and angry
De-fang it? You don't. I got lucky and found a remedy before it killed me, then alternated infecting myself and curing the disease just before it was too late. About a year of this, and I became nigh on immune to the negative effects of the disease.
Besix grabs her backpack as she hops down, her crossbow at her side.
Stupid, stay!

[drbraininajar]

Doran grimaces as Besix describes the processes of her research. "I see..."
He gets a thoughtful look on his face as he pulls a biscuit out of his belt pouch and takes a bite.
"If only one could--bottle that immunity you've developed. The resulting serum would be an invaluable tool for physicians. Your notes alone are more..." he grimaced again "...thorough than many I saw during my studies. I mean usually you only see these sorts of tests done on ra-" Doran cut himself off, searching for any other word than the one he was about to say "-bits...rabbits! Yes, the students at the Academy were always testing spells and potions on rabbits. Poor things. Not bad enough they're always getting pulled out of hats by street conjurers eh?" With a nervous laugh, he returned to his notebook and kept munching away on his bite of biscuit.

[Vhaidara]

Besix chuckles as the bard changes his phrasing.
You think I haven't heard the lab rat joke before?

[Grimtina]

Once everyone is seated around the large table, Councilman Vashian produces a scroll case, shows that the professor’s personal seal is unbroken, then 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.

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
first day of Calistril, in the year 4710

Once the will is read, Councilman Vashian looks to Kendra, who thanks him and dismisses him. Putting on a brave face, Kendra thanks you again for coming.

[Gwynfrid]

A hundred platinum... A princely sum for a month of work, is Ulric's private reaction of surprise. Petros must have had his reasons, either just to provide for friends, or because he expected us to earn it, in other words, the assignment could be rather dangerous...

Openly, though, he chooses not to speculate on the reasons.

"Miss Kendra, earlier I requested that you to consider me at your service, and as it turns out, your father agreed on the possibility that it would be useful. I gladly will provide any help we can, before we go to Lepistadt to accomplish the Professor's last wish". If his tone is any indication, he doesn't expect anybody in the room to turn the late Professor down.

[Vhaidara]

Besix frowns. Why would the Professor need so many individuals, ranging across so many professions, just to take care of his daughter? And to delay sending these tomes to safety? Why not send some of his friends to deliver the tomes while others took care of his daughter? The old man must have gone slightly senile in his old age. Still, if she stayed, maybe she could get some time alone with those books. Who knew what the professor might have found on his journeys!

I will likewise stay. I have a few skills that can be helpful in a village such as this, though I hope your apothecary does not object to my intrusion.

[Grimtina]

"I do not think Jominda Fallenbridge would mind," Kendra smiles. "Although she might have to be convinded you do not believe the rumors about her. Some people thinks she is brewing poison, but I know her well enough to believe it is all nonsense."

[Vhaidara]

Besix actually laughs at that.
I think we'll get along splendidly then. People are usually convinced I'm trying to kill them instead of sure them.

[daelrog]

Dellis was tipsy by now, but the news of how much they could be paid got more than a little attention from her. There were quite a few things she could get for that kind of sum, and she owed it to the Drunken Hero to help out, for what better cause was there for danger and a little profit on the side?

"It's right good to me, friends. If anyone asks why we're sticking around, we can just tell them we're interested in this haunted prison of there's. Best part it's not even a lie." She for one wanted to know more about this place that Professor was studying before he died. Humans weren't nearly as sure-footed as Halflings, but a double check wouldn't hurt.

[drbraininajar]

"Well, I don't rightly know how much help I'd be, but don't hesitate to ask if you need me for anything, Miss Kendra." Doran said, pushing his slipping spectacles back up his nose. "Though I'm not good for much beyond library work, if I'm being honest."

Suddenly, the halfling's comment fully registered in Doran's mind. "Wait what's this about a haunted prison, Miss......I don't think I got your name? Actually, I think missed everyone's besides Madam Besix."

[daelrog]

"Dellis Leftfoot, Inquisitor of Cayden Cailean." With a flourish of the wrist she gave a bow, which seemed a formality for her. "And apparently our good friend had a fall exploring some nearby ruins. Bad rumors around the place. Figured to stock up just in case, and take a peek."

[Gwynfrid]

"My name is Ulric Izzorden, Sir. I have been a soldier here in Ustalav for many years, then came to live in Lastwall. A few days ago I've been ordained a Servant Knight of the Dawnflower.

I agree, the prison and the Professor's interest in it are intriguing. Miss Kendra, is there any light you could shed on the matter?"

[Grimtina]

"Father showed much interest in the old prison, yes. But asides from mentioning that he was interested in the ghost of... one of the warden I think it is... who is supposedly hauning the place, he didn#t talk to me about it." Tears appear in Kendra's eyes again. "He said it would be better if I would keep my interests to more amiable things, and I tended to agree with him. But lately, he was very much preoccupied with the place, yes."

[drbraininajar]

Doran shuffles quickly over to where Kendra is standing. "I-I'm sorry miss. I shouldn't have brought it up. If the Councilman has nothing more to to tell us, then the rest of us can continue our conversation elsewhere if you wish and let you attend to more pressing matters." He hesitantly puts one hand on her shoulder. "We'll be nearby if you need us" he says, with a sympathetic smile, which his pronounced canines were making difficult to manage.

[Grimtina]

Kendra nods. "The trunk he is talking of is in his study, under his table, if you want to hae a look at it. I will need to write some thank you notes." With another nod, Kendra retreats to her room.

[daelrog]

Dellis waited for Kendra to leave before speaking. "I wouldn't think much of how much the Professor is trying to pay us. The man was always did like to pay back tenfold in kindness even to the smallest deed." She was likely in part referencing her own history with him. "Still, I don't like sitting on such dangerous lore when the townspeople are already spooked. Fear makes monsters of men." She nodded more somberly, showing a bit more to the young woman than her ability to find drink at a funeral.

[Gwynfrid]

Ulric nods, taking note of the kinder, deeper side of the plump halfling. "Yes, that would be typical of Petros, this way of leaving us all with a final gift". He decides to keep the other, more ominous possibility unspoken for now.

"I also agree about the danger his books can create, and he knew that, too. However, I think we need to know as much as we can, so we can face whatever may come with clear eyes. I gather there are scholars among us, they must be eager to have a look anyways, am I right?" He walks out to the study as indicated by Kendra, picks up the Professor's trunk, and comes back to place it on the table. "That key, possibly?"

[Grimtina]

The chest itself is a relatively small object of oak and iron. 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.

[drbraininajar]

"Hold!" Doran exclaims, before shrinking back a bit. "A-as much as I would love to know why these books are so important, the contents of this chest are, well, they're...they're not meant for us, but for the scholars at Lepistadt. B-besides, they may have been trapped or warded by any number of potent spells before the professor put them away. We open one of these the wrong way, and it might explode, or turn us to stone, or-or-or....turn into a bat and fly away!" Doran realizes he'd started punctuating his words wild wild hand gestures. He pauses and shoves his hands into his coat pockets before continuing more meekly. "You-you'd be surprised how often that last one happens."

[daelrog]

Dellis raises an eyebrow at seeing the first book. "Then again, perhaps this here treasure trove of creepiness is more important than a ghost hunt." Her eyes move up to scan the others. "I think if any of you good folk want to read these, perhaps you can do so in the university. No need to dig into the unknown in a nice town like this."

[Gwynfrid]

The grizzled soldier shakes his head. "I'm not a man of scrolls and libraries, but I know what to do when a book, written by a dear friend, says "read me now!" right here on the cover."

He reaches for the tome on the top of the pile, and opens it without further comment.

[Grimtina]

The journal is the professor's journal. The majority of the entries are relatively bland, accounting for day-to-day activities in a small town. The professor has circled several entries in the book with red ink, though. The final entry, dated 17 days ago, was written on the same day the Professor’s body was found.

Circles entries:



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.

[drbraininajar]

Doran peeks out from under the table he dove for when the book was opened. After a few moments, he scrambles back to is feet, feeling quite foolish. Ahem.."Well I er, I suppose it wasn't trapped then. So what is it we've found exactly?"

Craning his neck over Ulfric's shoulder, he reads the noted pages--and his ruddy skin bleaches to an ashen cast. "Oh my..."

Doran's eyes look to each of those assembled. He then begins pacing. "Alright. There's likely no way we're not going to that prison at this point I take it." Worried though he was, his mind began to work as it did when translating tomes or performing intense research. "Whatever the case, we'll want to head to the temple of Pharasma first. No sense going into this unprepared. I'll research what I can about Harrowstone and this 'Whispering Way' as well."
He stops, turns on his heel towards the group, and says, beginning to smirk, "I'm going to need some quills, a blank journal or two, a large pot of ink, and a bag of sand."

Doran's going to use those materials to cast a LOT of Scrivener's Chant. First, he's going to copy the relevant entries in the Professor's Journal. Then he's going to copy down whatever he finds about the Whispering Way and Harrowstone. He's going to compile it all into a stack of notes he can reference on their journey.
Is there anything I need to roll for any of that?

[daelrog]

Dellis was a little embarrassed her paranoia clearly wrong in this case, though the contents only made it worse.

"There are necromancers after all then." She sighed, muttering a curse under her breath. "Pharasma has her place, but she is not my deity. I want to find out if any of theirs are amongst the people. Such as finding out who spread the rumors about our friend."

[Grimtina]

No need to roill anything else, and you can find a lot of empty journals in the professor's study, as well as everything else you need

[Vhaidara]

Besix, reading over the journal, sighs.
The old man always was insane. Trying to bring down a death cult on his own?
She looks around at the others.
I don't know about you, but I feel I owe it to him to see his final act finished. Besides, undead are icky, and coming from me, that's saying something.

[Gwynfrid]

"Petros was not insane. He was one of the sanest men I had ever met. I will admit that going there on his own wasn't the safest course of action. I guess he just wanted to observe and something bad happened." Ulric speaks in a calm, low voice. "Now we know a few important things. First we must get more knowledge about the prison and the inmates. Then before exploring we could acquite some useful items; although it would involve asking permission to the Church of Pharasma."

[daelrog]

"Right. If you'll excuse me I have a tavern to go to, see what I can learn."

[Grimtina]

The Outward Inn or The Laughing Demon?

[daelrog]

Laughing Demon sounds more fun, we'll go with that.

[Grimtina]

The Laughing Demon is as funny an inn as the name suggests. Zokar Elkarid holds the philosophy that the best way to meet the horrors of the world is with a jest, for if one can laugh at the worst life has to offer, there remains little to fear. His warm and friendly tavern does its best to live up to this admirable philosophy, down to the menu. Zokar takes pains to come up with humorous names for his drinks and meals, with offerings like vampire steaks, wolf balls, corpse chowder, and liquid ghosts.

This time of day, nothing much is happening. Two foreign merchants, chelish from the looks of it, are eating a modest meal, discussing their next travels. Councilman Vashian Hearthmount is discussing something with a group of farmers in a corner. The discussion seems to go all well. 2 of the 5 Avanki girls - you have vaguely heard of their 5-daughter family, as they are running the general store - are chatting with what might be the daughter of one of the farmers at a table close to the window, and Vrodish, one of the deputy sherrifs who had welcomed you - kind of - is sitting at the bar chatting up the owner over some quick meal and drink. "Two elves stand on top of a tower," Zokar tells a joke. "The left one says 'now move over and let me in the middle!'"

[daelrog]

Dellis let out a laugh that was a strange combination of a guffaw and a giggle. "Not a bad one at all." She opened her flask to find it empty. "I could use a good joke or ten after a day like this." The Halfling helped herself to a barstool, getting up there a little trickier for her given her size and height. "I'll have me some wolf balls and a refill of something strong if you wouldn't mind." She motioned her empty flask for the latter.

[Grimtina]

"Sure thing," Zokar nods and goes to get the order. "At least it wasn't raining, you know? A funeral in the rain is the saddest thing ever. Except when we buried Old Masie, when the coffin fell and slipped into the grave and she fell out and stood there like the angel of death - that was something. Well, she looked like that in real life, too. To the professor!" he shouts and drowns a small glass of clear liquid, shoving one over for you, too. "

[daelrog]

"To the professor!" Dellis echoed, and downed her own drink.

"Sounds like a real mess that one, I pity and respect whoever had to put her back in. Reminds me of me granddad. Crazy old bugger wanted a traditional Ulfen funeral, where they light the ship afire as it goes off. Not half as mad as his brothers who actually went ahead with it. Not one o' them could hit the small raft they made with an arrow. Half had to run back and buy more arrows, and the other half had to run down the creek and catch the craft before it drifted to the next town." She shook her head. "Still was quite the scene a those ruffians made. Calling the Professor a necromancer. Shame not everyone appreciated Lorrimor's kindness."

[Grimtina]

"Ah, them don't know any better," the deputy sheriff, who has heard the whole story, says. "I gave them a good talking to, and so did the sheriff later. "Times are rough, and now what's all going on in the spooky department."

"No, now, Marcus" Zokar shakes his head. "Am sure most of it is made up or at least exaggerated. People have always been full of spooky tales."

"What I would really like to know," Vrodish muses, "is why the professor's head was so bashed in. I could not recognize him save for his stature and clothes and that old scar on the back of his right hand where the silly young alchemist coming through a few years back accidentally doused him with acid. Remember?"

Zokar nods, and goes to get another round of drinks while bringing the finished wolf balls.

"Anyhow," Vrodish conntinues. "He couldn't have fallen from so high, based on his position, to contract such a bad injury. I say someone has helped it along. Maybe the ghosts didn't like him sniffing around anymore."

"Don't you ever mention it to his daughter!" Zokar demands. "She doesn't need such talk."

[drbraininajar]

While the others conduct their investigations, Doran buries himself in the Professor's study. Gathering every book the old man possessed on the Whispering Way and Harrowstone, as well as the professor's journal, the young scholar sets to work. Muttering arcane words as he reads, one hand always remains gestured toward an empty journal, its pages being rapidly filled by a quill pen that moves with a life of its own. The pot of ink and bag of sand can be seen evaporating at a steady but glacial pace, the resulting magical dust swirling about and infusing the animated pen. Every so often, he stops and turns a page, or opens a new journal entirely before continuing. He assures his companions that they are welcome to canvas the town and its residents as he works. When they are ready to enter the prison itself, or if they need whatever assistance he can provide, he will be at their service at a moment's notice.


Doran's got some research to do. He'll be happy to hear whatever clues you discover from the town and add them to his findings.


What advantage might having all this info written down and organized as such give us?

Also, when the others leave, Doran's going to cast Detect Magic on the books in the chest, and try to determine if they're trapped, warded, or going to drive him mad or something if he opens them. If AND ONLY IF he can make 100% sure they're safe, he's going to start copying them too. He's got a plan just in case someone tries to steal the books :smallwink: Send me a PM if you want to discuss this course of action, if you need to communicate my results to me, or tell me this is a bad idea haha

[daelrog]

Dellis crammed couple wolf balls in her mouth, while listened. "She don't, and the lot of us who came to the funeral will be staying a few more weeks, make sure the girl is well, and no one in the town, tough times or not, gives her any more grief. It was in the good Professor's will that we see to it." She had thought of these words on her way over, the best way to keep Kendra out of it as clearly the Professor wanted. She wanted it spread around, so that if the Whispering Way was here, they'd have every reason to leave Kendra alone.

Dellis couldn't trust anyone in the town completely. Best if no one knew that an investigation was going on.

"An interesting theory. Hope you're wrong, deputy." She paused. "I'm already hankering to find out who started the necromancy rumor, see if there were any doom prophets or mouthy harrow card readers amongst you."

[Grimtina]

"Luckily," the deputy says, "most people here are really reasonable most of the time. You have to, with that sort of haunted building close by. Otherwise you'll lose your mental faculties rather swiftly. If I hear of anyone spreading specific rumors, I'll find you and telkl you - after talking to them. Sheriff won't stand for such nonsense, either. And it#s good you are looking out for the young woman, she is always so helpful around the village."

[Gwynfrid]

"Well, if everyone goes to their own enquiries, I might as well make myself useful too." Ulric walks out and goes in search of the Pharasmin Temple.

Grimtina, could you please indicate what time of day it is right now? If it's not the appropriate time to visit the clerics right now, then I'll do it in the morning.

[Vhaidara]

Besix will be joining Doran in his research. Townsfolk don't usually like it when a smelly, ugly ratling interrupts their meals.

[Grimtina]

On his way ot the temple Ulric gets a few urious looks, and crossing the roofed bridge a few children follow him for a bit, until they realize he is only going to the temple.

The temple is perhaps the most mpressive building in Ravengro. Its eastern facade displays an intricate stained-glass mural depicting a stern Pharasma judging Count Andachi, one of Tamrivena’s most infamous previous rulers. One of the acolytes is working on cleaning it upon Ulric's arrival. As she notices him, her hands draw a spiral in front of her, a greeting in the name of her godess. "May I help you with something?" she asks friendly.

[daelrog]

"Much appreciated, deputy." She turned back to Zokar. "This seems like a nice place. What about the other one? Outsiders... Outcasts... whatever it's called? That place worth a look. Sell me on what a dump it is."

[Grimtina]

"The Outward Inn. Great place, too, big in entertainment. Sometimes Sarina Vai, the owner, is performing herself. . Although now retired, she was once a singer of some repute in Caliphas, and her voice remains strong and beautiful to hear"

[daelrog]

"Heh, no competitive spirit, eh? All right, I'll go check the Outward Inn too, see how good a voice the lady has." She offered the man a wink before shoving the last part of the meal in her mouth, walking out while still chewing.

[Grimtina]

Going through Ravengro to get to the Outward Inn, something strange happens. A set of silent ghostly tracks starts to form, making its way past Dellis, headed in the direction of Harrowstone. From the shape and depth of the tracks They seem to be created by a wagon being drawn by a team of horses. The tracks vanish before Dellis' eyes just a moment later.

[daelrog]

Dellis stopped. Cold. She wished she had a drink on hand. If there was any doubt that the place was haunted, it was gone now, her eyes moving to Harrowstone. A blessing of Pharasma would do her well before they went to the prison. For now, she continued on her way to the Outward Inn. It would be her last side stop before returning back to the others.

[Gwynfrid]

Arriving at the temple, Ulric politely answers the acolyte with the same sign she just made, before bowing to her. "I wish to talk with Father Grimburrow, if that would be possible. Please let him know that Ulric Izzorden, a friend of the late Professor Lorrimor, wishes to speak to him of grave concerns tied to the Professor's passing."

Diplomacy [roll0]

[Grimtina]

The Outward Inn is a friendly place, with cozy curtains, tables with brightly colored cloths and chairs, and a bar that would, in a city, be considered to be more brothrel-style, but here it gives a grandmotherly impression. Not many people are around, just an older couple sipping some coffee and cake, obviously engaging in some romantic meeting. There is a short human woman (or maybe a large dwarf? Hard to tell) behind the bar, cleaning the wooden surface while whistling.


The acolyte nods. "I will see if the Father is available. Please come in." Then she rushes off.

A moment later, Father Grimburrow arrives at the temple's anteroom, making Pharasma's sign and bowing slightly. "How may I be of assistance?"

[daelrog]

Still a bit shaken by what she had seen, she went up to the bar, with far less enthusiasm than she had at the Laughing Demon. "Have anything good for dessert?"

[Gwynfrid]

Ulric responds in kind to the priest, with the Pharasmin sign, and speaks calmly and deliberately.

"Father, as you know, I am one of the friends of Professor Lorrimor, whom we committed to Pharasma's rest today. We went to his home with Miss Kendra, and were given a reading of the Professor's will. It contains grave news for the town of Ravengro. His research shows that the Whispering Way, this cabal of dark necromancers, has been here, and is seeking something. The Professor believed it was linked to the Harrowstone prison, so he went to explore there, several times. And he died, in the most strange manner. I fear his passing was no accident; he discovered things that the Way didn't want known. I seek your help, Father, in uncovering the mystery that he couldn't unearth any further. The Professor's journal indicates that information about the jail and the prisoners could be found here, in the Temple of Pharasma's archives."

Diplomacy [roll0]

[Grimtina]

The woman at the bar lifts an eyebrow. "Sure, chocolate cream, apple cake or raspberry pudding?" she asks. "You look a bit shaken, what happened to you?"



Father Grimborrow frowns. "I have heard of that cult, if only in passing. I would not worry too much about such talks, but if Pofessor Lorrimor has had his suspicions, then it is indeed good to follow up on it. Of course the means of the tempel are at your disposal." He pauses for a moment. "Don't be too surprised if nothing turns up though, not all of the professor's ideas and discoveries were useful."

[drbraininajar]

"Well, Madam Besix," Doran says as he packs up their notes, "I think we've got all we're going to get here. We should rejoin the others as soon as possible I think."
He laughs. "It's only been a few weeks, but it seems like ages since I was doing just this at the academy. More than once I found myself waking up on a stack of tomes and scrolls after spending all night working on a treatise for one instructor or another."

The tome of the Palatine Eye remains locked on the desk. "Still bothers me that we couldn't figure that one out. I'm loathe to tamper with it though, if only on the chance that it would cast suspicion on us." Doran strokes his chin and furrows his brow. "Still....I wonder...."

[roll0]

[Vhaidara]

I was never given much of a chance to study. But I agree, we should meet our colleagues before they get themselves killed.

[daelrog]

"Rasberry." She shifted in her chair a bit, trying to get comfortable. "So what's all this talk about ghosts about here. Seems like everyone's seen something they shouldn't at one point or another." She didn't ant to admit right away that she had just seen something.

[Grimtina]

Doran vaguely remembers someone somewhere mentioning the existence of the order once - a very secretive organization thought to be based in Ustalav, seeing themselves as some sort of guardian. But that little bit of information was a long time ago, and it might have been all wrong to begin with.



"Raspberry it is," the woman smiles and brings the dessert. "Ghosts, huh? So you've seen them, too? No wonder you look shaken. I have heard so many stories about them by now, I don't wonder anymore. Haven't seen any myself, yet. Poor people who have to haunt this world when they should be in the afterlife, if you ask me. Especially with all the criminals said to have been in that prison - I am sure their ghosts must be as evil as they were in life."

[Gwynfrid]

"Thank you, Father, for your kind help", Ulric replies. "I will confer with the other persons who were named in the Professor's will, and in the next few days I expect some of us will spend time here searching for clues."

"Er... There also is another, somewhat more delicate matter. I am fairly sure we will need to explore Harrowstone itself soon. Professor Lorrimor's notes indicate that there could be grave danger there - ghosts and nefarious spirits. He knew of a cache of tools one could use in defense against such. But that is to be found, apparently, in a false crypt in the Restlands. He did give a rather precise location, but I wouldn't presume to explore it without your permission, Father."

[daelrog]

"I always had a soft spot for wicked men." The bit of half humor eased her a little, along with getting a confirmation of what she saw. "I'm sure the priests of the temple keep the worst at bay." The second part was more of a bait in case that wasn't the case.

"Anyone besides the late Professor fool enough to explore the ruins?"

[Grimtina]

The priest thinks for a moment. "There was talk of such a cache, but it has been lost for a while. If you can recover it, by all means, use it as you need."



"Every now and then," the barkeeper laughs, "some foolds travel here to explore. Some we never hear of again - presumably they just left in embarrassment but some say they were killed - and some come back with small trinkets to memorize their exploits. And of course, sometimes young folk use it as a dare. But nothing serious. Most of the people here and in enighboring places try to forget the swful place even exists. Hard to do here, of course, with the memorial and all."

[Gwynfrid]

Ulric politely takes his leave from the Pharasmin priest, and heads back to the Lorrimor manor, to meet Kendra and the other mourners.

"I went to ask for permission to the temple of Pharasma, and I found Father Grimburrow to be a most agreeable fellow. He says we're free to use the temple archives to search for clues as to the prison, and its prisoners. Moreover, I mentioned the cache in the Restlands that Petros recommended to look for. The Father doesn't have any objection if we go dig it up."

He settles down to prepare for the night, after a long, sorrowful day.

[daelrog]

"Awful indeed." She appreciated the woman's confidence even if it was tempered in routine and acceptance of the way things were. She tried to borrow that courage for herself. "Professor was a good man, though he never could resist a bit of adventure and danger. Anyone else of like mind as him around here? Even if the men are too scared, I'm sure there's a few brave ladies in this town must have tempted the prison once or twice."

[Grimtina]

"Oh yes, a few young fellows of both genders have scouted it out, but it never has come to anything that I know of, and of course no one dared to go there by night. Generaly, everyone adventurally inclined, if that is even a word, rather leaves here and looks for other dangers not hitting so close to home."

[daelrog]

Dellis needed something a bit more tangible than young people. Of course the young ones would scout it out, by many accounts she was still young. Still... being young did not mean innocent.

Her head hurt. She was a self proclaimed Inquisitor, but truth be told she didn't know what she was doing, her questions a mixture of instinct and what she'd learned as a barmaid. Hardly the intense training she imagined true Inquisitors received.

"I see. The young ones and the Professor. Then again the man always was young at heart. Pray tell do you have any applejack to fill my flask? I think I'll be needing it in the next days."

[Grimtina]

"Oh, of course. Here you go. Say you don't plan to check the old prison ruin out, so you? If you do, make sure to bring lots of holy water. I am not sure it is true, but I heard it helps."

[daelrog]

Dellis shrugged. "Couldn't say for certain at this point." Dellis was cautious. Even an innocent towns person could gossip to the wrong person. She should know, being a terrible gossip herself. "Personally, I just want to make sure the good Professor's family stays safe. May have to turn the whole town, prison included, upside down otherwise. But that shouldn't be a problem."

Holy water, someone would need to visit the priest of Pharasma. She'd check after she got back.

-

After she had had her dessert, and lighter consversation, Dellis made her way back to the group. "One thing is for certain, this town is indeed haunted." She took a swig of her applejack. "And it's likely the good Professor was helped off the wall. I'll be going to that prison, ghosts and cultists or not. Make no mistake though, we walk into a fight."

[Gwynfrid]

"Haunted? How so?"

Ulric listens to Dellis' recollection befores he discusses his dealings with the Temple.

"So you think Petros' death was no accident... This is grave news for Ravengro. I agree, we will need to go to the prison. But the Professor's warnings were clear: We should come armed with information about what happened in the fire his journal mentioned, and about the prisoners. In addition, we should visit this cache in the Restlands.

Fortunately, Father Grimburrow was most helpful, and he gave me permission to look in the Temple's archives and in the false crypt, too."

[Grimtina]

All of a sudden, there is a rattling noise coming from the door outside, much as if someone was pulling and shaking it without actually trying to enter.

[daelrog]

Dellis readied her hand crossbow. "Haunted as in the ghostly carriage I bore witness to, and not one in the town is ignorant of it. Can you strike the incorporeal, good sir?"

[Gwynfrid]

"No, and that's why we'll have to visit this cache of "tools" in the hope if finding something useful against them," Ulric responds grimly. Incorporeal... I used to be able to fight them... he thinks, as a pang of pain goes through his heart at the memory of how it all came to an end.

Still not willing to believe the worst could happen in broad daylight, however, it is without a weapon in hand that he walks to the door and opens it. "Yes?"

[Grimtina]

There's no one there, but the air seems colder than normal, and a strange presence just seems to fade.

[Gwynfrid]

The grizzled warrior frowns. So, the town itself is subject to hauntings.... He looks around, focusing his mind for signs of a possible remaining malevolence.

Detect Evil, just in case.