Carrion Crown - What a Horrible Night to have a Curse (IC)

[Lost Demiurge]

It's been a gloomy and overcast trip.

The coach ride through the back roads of Canterwall has been relatively uneventful... The plump coachman is a militia veteran, like so many of the men and women of this region, and he regales you of stories of orcish raids as you go. You hear tales of entire villages put to the axe, farmers dragged off for slavery and worse, and atrocity after atrocity.

"Things been quiet of late, though," he finishes, as the coach follows the river road, a black ribbon of cold water keeping pace with you, steaming as the cool fall air hits the warm ground. It's the end of summer, and it'll be harvest time soon. "Lastwall boys're doin' their jobs, and the border forts be standin' sturdy as ever. Still, gonna get raidin' parties now'n'then. But I doubt ye'll see'em in Ravengro."

And as the coach takes a turn in the road, a wide bend toward the river, buildings starting to fade in from out of the rolling mist as the pale disc of the sun slides toward the horizon, illuminating some sort of foreboding ruin that looms over the village from a western hill, a scant four or five miles away. It lurks like a stone vulture, caught against the sun, crumbling towers and jagged roof chewing at the sky.

Below it, the village huddles around the river as if seeking to hide, candles burning in windows and doing very little to throw back the ever-creeping mist, and the shadows of the end of the day.

"No." And the coachman's voice drops, as he tugs his collar closer around his neck, as if to ward off a sudden chill.

"No, the orcs never attack Ravengro."

The final few minutes of the trip are made in silence.

------

Eyes.

Eyes from behind shutters. Eyes from the few passer-by, who hurry away as if you're strange and wild animals. Eyes gazing upon you, as the locals are clearly quite unsettled by the sudden appearance of outsiders in their midst. Many eyes upon you, and none of them especially friendly.

The coach rests in the town square, such as it is. Though calling it a town is a bit generous. The place can't have more than a couple of hundred souls at best. It's a bit spread out, with farmhouses and shacks making up most of it, the occasional barn looming out of the mist, here and there. There look to be a number of shops, which are quite closed now at the cusp of twilight, and a tavern, "The Grinning Demon", which is open. The coachman dropped you off here, lead the horses to a stable by the tavern, and went inside.

Though the shuttered glass windows are lit, and you can see the shadows of people moving around inside, the tavern is quiet. At least from the outside.

There also seems to be an inn. It's seen better days, and the shuttered (non-glass) windows are dark. It's got the feel of a building that doesn't see much custom, as inns go.

About the only creature in the area that seems willing to make eye contact with you is a bedraggled old mutt, resting in the cracked, dry bed of a stone fountain in the center of the square. He limps over, and sniffs at you in a moderately friendly fashion.

Stretching out from the town square, dirt roads run north, east, and south. You came down the eastern one, passing a few nicer homes and small shops to get here.

Well.

You've arrived... Now what?

[u-b]

A man of average height and slightly below-average weight in dark clothes stops his horse beside the coach. The dog accompanying him quickly begins to sniff around. The man does not mind either the horse or the dog and walks straight inside.

"Half a mug of beer, please. Also, I'd have a pot of hot stew, or whatever is ready, to take out, complete with pot, if you would be so kind."

Know (local) regarding the professor's house (alternatively, Ebert might have been there, actually): [roll0]

[Lost Demiurge]

Ebert

Ah yeah, you were here once back in the day. The professor's got a big old farmhouse down the south road about two hundred yards or so.

Also, the big man with the mustaches below is Zokar. He's normally a cheerful sort, and one of the few who seem to have much time for travellers, as the bulk of the villagers are a clannish lot. Though they seem a little more skittish than you remember from last time. A bit more unfriendly.

Huh. Looks like Zokar doesn't remember you...


As Ebert (and anyone following) enter the tavern, whispered conversations come to a halt. Eyes shoot your way, some guilty, some not. It's clear that you were the topic of their discussion.

The coachman shrugs and takes a pull of his ale, and the grizzled old farmer sharing his table rises, and returns to a rather drunk, full table of men dressed like him. They stare at you, a few blinking blearily. After a cough, and a few seconds, a large man with handlebar mustaches and a welcoming grin that seems a little hollow steps forward. "Welcome, welcome. Of course you can have a beer my friend, two copper for a half mug, three more for the stew. Though I do wonder, what brings you and your... Friends... to town?" He heads to the bar and opens a tap into a mug as he speaks, keeping one eye on you as he does so...

[u-b]

"Business as... unusual." - Ebert stumbles at the explanation as the usual phrase simply did not fit - "A very sad business at that." - he turns around to have a look at the friends, then back to Zokar - "His friends, I'd say. Know how it happened?"

[Oneris]

Sweeping into the tavern in a susurrus of swirling skirts appeared a young lady so pale as to almost fade into the fabric of her clothing, her outlines only defined by the large black cloak that swathed her shoulders. With a giggle, she comments brightly, "Wow, the sun really is setting earlier these months. I could barely keep my mule from bolting. Is there a place where I could stable her for the night? She's had a long day. "

[Lost Demiurge]

The fat man's mouth forms an "O" for a bit. "Ah. Professor Lorrimor. Of course. We were wondering if anyone would come. I suppose that the funeral can proceed after all."

There's muttering from the farmers, and the elderly one who was sitting with the coachman rises, and looks around. About half of them rise as well, and they depart, giving a bit of space as the girl enters, but swiftly proceeding out.

Zokar frowns to see the custom go, then sighs, and starts mopping the bar. "Come to think of it, I wondered if I'd seen your face before, but... Well forgive me, so many come and go. He had people in now and again... Yes, I know how it happened, a sad business-"

Then the young woman speaks up. The few remaining villagers almost flinch, as her giggle echoes. The innkeeper musters a smile, though. "Of course. I'll get to that right away." He tosses the rag on the bar, shrugs at Ebert. "Not much to say, really. Give me a minute to tend to business."He exits, taking charge of any mounts out there as needed, and showing them to the simple stables attached to the inn.

The four or so villagers remaining, two farmers, a hunter, and a fishmonger by the smell of her, turn their backs to you and resume quietly drinking.

[G.A.M.D.]

Having been delayed by showing some brief attention to the fountain dog, Ashton steps aside for the farmer and his companions, looking them over with a polite smile as they pass before entering himself. Once inside he runs one hand through his hair, the other holds his pack loosely at his side.

Ashton is taking the letter's cautionary tone to heart. He studied the farmer and tried to get an impression of him.

[roll0]

[Lost Demiurge]

Ashton finds the farmers inscrutable, the man in the lead somewhat sullen. They glare at him, and give him a wide berth as they head down the road.

At least the dog greatly enjoys Ashton's ear-scritches, and rewards him by belching spittle softly onto his leg. As Ashton approaches the tavern, the aproned proprietor emerges, and leads a mule into a small, attached stables. He glances over at the dog limping after Ashton.

"Ah, don't mind Old River. He'll follow you to the ends of the earth now... Or until he gets tired and lies down for a nap. If you want some ghoulish ghoulash to distract him, I can serve you up a bowl, my friend!"

Stabling done, the tavernkeep heads back inside.

"As to what happened," he says to Ebert, "He went poking around Harrowstone."
At the sound of the name, the rest of the townsfolk here shudder, and the fishwife throws a Varisian hand sign against evil.

"Part of the old wall fell on him. A hunter passing by found his body."

The tavernkeep poors himself a mug of ale, and takes a long pull.

"He should have known better than to even go there. That place..." He looks saddened, and takes another pull of ale.

KNOWLEDGE - HISTORY: DC 15
Harrowstone is the old prison that used to service most of the country. It held the worst of Ustalav's criminals. It's now the looming ruin to the west.

[Oneris]

The girl's face falls at the fate of her friend. "He went without a companion or a bodyguard?"

Her hand drops to the silvery bird pendant clipped to her cloak. It is a curious piece, with wings outstretched to cross her breast. The eyes and tail are inset with rubies that glimmered in the light like tears of blood. A quick prayer. "May the Lady of Graves guide his soul."

"I told him, that fool. I told him those ruins he loved were too dangerous to explore alone. He shouldn't have gone alone. " More quietly now. "He shouldn't have died alone."

[G.A.M.D.]

Blinking away fresh wetness from his eyes-Tears help no one he reminds himself-the young man swallows to steady his voice. "He will be missed. Drink deep and toast his memory, the better to steel ourselves this night for the dawns we must face without him." Five gold coins are placed on the counter. "I'll pay for any drinks in his honor tonight. I'll need that goulash as well, two bowls."

[Merellis]

"I wouldn't call the Professor a fool if I were you." Comes a surly tone from the entrance as the door creaks open again. A rather modestly dressed woman enters the tavern with her cloak pulled tight around her frame. She attempts to look a bit imposing but the effect is ruined as she has to wipe the fog and mist off of her glasses with a hesitant smile.

"Sacrifices in the pursuit of knowledge are always expected, I'm personally glad he went while continuing to march towards another solved mystery." She slips her glasses back on with a small smile and quickly moves up to order whatever can warm her up.


[roll0] for History
[roll1] for Local to try and remember some important things about the town from her nights with the Professor.
[roll2] for Sense Motive to get a feel for the room

[Oneris]

"I'm sorry if I offended you. I only meant to say that by taking that risk and failing to survive, he has sacrificed to the pursuit of knowledge any further contributions his life could have made. "

She smiled sadly. "After all, without life, we are nothing."

And with that, she pulled aside a chair at an empty table and sat down, still toying with her brooch. Curiously, the food and drink set on the counter appeared not to tempt her.


You hear her singing softly in an unknown language.

OOC: I hope I'm allowed to do things like this :smallbiggrin:

[Lost Demiurge]

AISLING

Ravengro... From what she recalls, it's a small town that was built to serve as a home to the prison's guards, originally. When the prison went down, it turned into a small farming village that did well enough to support a small populace out in the middle of nowhere.

There's a shop where a retired wizard pens charms and scrolls, there's a farmer's trust (basically a pawn shop that gives loans,) there's a smithy, a general store, a sheriff's office that doubles as a jail...

Oh, and a church of Pharasma north of town, across the River. And a small monument related to the prison somehow on the outskirts of town to the south.

The Professor's farmhouse is a large home to the south a couple hundred yards or so.


The villagers in the common room shift nervously at Ashton's outburst. They look at each other, at the coins, but remain silent. Zokar looks at the gold coins for a long moment himself, then sighs, and pushes them back. "Tell you what, friends. If you want to honor the Professor, you'd probably best go to the church now. If you're still thirsty after that, then I'll happily take your coin, and maybe lift a mug myself."

[Segrain]

"May the Lady of Graves guide his soul."
"...his soul", - echoed her last words a quiet voice. That traveller was slower than the rest, helping himself with a simple walking staff, and he was especially in no haste to draw any attention to himself. It was the first time for the entire travel that anybody even heard him speak, much less mention the deceased professor, and if any of them spoke of their goal to attend his funeral, that last companion apparently missed it - following the short prayer with a swirly gesture that was supposed to resemble Pharasma's spiral symbol, he looked at the assembled group with a measure of surprise. Perhaps those were not the sort of people one would expect to associate with esteemed teacher - but looks can be quite deceiving, and companions on the road are not the luxury to be easily discarded. Who knows, some of them might actually be closer acquaintances of the dead master and at least actually be able to find his house. Thus, the man in simple black clothes listened, and he heard something that made his lips move again.
"Nothing? Dead people are not nothing. They are still worthy of the same respect that they deserved in their lives, and if you can come hither for him and pray for him, it is puzzling how can you dismiss those without life so easily", - he paused, as if saying a single full sentence was difficult, and heard a good advice in that pause. "Ah. Of course, good man is right. It will be much more appropriate for us to honour the memory of the passed away rather than... spending time drinking. If you will be so kind to give directions towards the church?" - last part, of course, was directed at the helpful man who so easily refused the offered gold.
Gold. What was offered in such an uncaring manner was several times more than all that he had in the pouch. What kind of tavernkeeper would refuse such a sum, under eyes of his constant clients, who were probably already preparing to drink their full for somebody else's payment? What kind of a man with more money than reason would throw gold where the prices are barely in copper, and the locals are not at all friendly to any newcomers? It will be only wise to give them no ideas about any similar wealth being carried by anybody else here, and pretending to be pious traveller with no mundane thoughts or riches will probably be the easiest way for that. At least because respect for the dead and piety for the church in his voice were absolutely honest.

[Lost Demiurge]

"Take the north road, follow it when it turns west, cross the bridge, go past the cemetery. You can't miss it," says Zokar. "I'd recommend hurrying."

[G.A.M.D.]

The man at the bar looks dumbly at the coins for a moment, before turning to the door. His mouth drops open and he chokes out a few stifled "aawhs" before his jaw sets and his brow forcefully wrinkles downwards. The blood flowing heatedly through his veins ensures that his skin and hair match, advertising his angry shame.

"Let us hurry there." Ashton treads stiffly out onto the street. The sound of leather on leather thumps out once he's departed. His fists find repentant joy in striking away the dog spittle from his thigh. After a few strikes he takes a slow breath, gazing at his soiled glove. "Disgusting."

Looking down at his traveling clothes, he walks swiftly into the stables and hurries into his finer apparel. His fine clothes wrinkle as he moves swiftly in the direction of the church a minute later.

[u-b]

Ebert shakes his head. - "To be a historian, diviner of all things, and get crushed by some old wall..." - he shakes his head again - "...poking around Harrowstone, of all places... I mean he has lived around here for how long? As if something worthy of his interest would just appear in there."

When Zokar mentions hurrying, Ebert drinks all his beer and begins to eat, fast.

"Why the hurry? Is not the funeral scheduled for tomorrow or something?"

[Lost Demiurge]

"It's..." Zokar sighs, and leans in. He lowers his voice.

"The Professor, you know how he was. Argumentative. Never quite fit in with people who couldn't keep up with his brain. Used MAGIC. The funeral hasn't happened yet because Kendra can't find enough pallbearers to fulfill the rites. She's been going every day to convince Father Grimburrow not to cremate him, which is what usually happens when this happens... I guess..."

None of the people in the common room will meet your eye.

SENSE MOTIVE DC 13

You get the feeling that some of the people here are feeling a little shame over the fact no one's offered to carry the Professor's coffin, but most of them just want to stay out of some unspoken drama that's come up over the matter. Zokar's gives the impression that he's a nice guy, but well, he has to live here, y'know? If he takes sides his livelihood's gonna take a hit...



Meanwhile, Ashton hurries down the road. Old River the mutt makes a game attempt at following him, but gives up after a few hundred feet. Soon enough Ashton's crossing a stone bridge, walking past the wrought-iron fence of a sprawling cemetary, with crypts and plots placed in Pharasma's spiral pattern. Beyond it, an old stone church, simple and utilitarian, keeps watch over the countryside. There are many like it throughout Ustalav, guarding the dead that they not trouble the living....

[G.A.M.D.]

Ashton checks out over the graveyard, taking a brief moment to calm his breathing before heading up to the church.
Didn't mean to leave folks behind. If need be Ashton could have gotten lost or something so the others don't miss out. :eek:

[u-b]

Ebert eats about three quarters of his stew, pays five copper, nods to Zokar and walks out of the tavern with the bowl, which he puts on the ground not far beside the door.

"Laika, eat."

He then walks to the stable where he takes his horse, rides to stop for a couple of seconds beside Laika, then south to the professor's house, pretty sure that Laika will follow as soon as done with the stew, which would be soon enough. He intends to knock at the door (or a first-story window, if lit and convenient).

[Oneris]

Caedis accompanies the group to the cemetery, but lingers there, going no further. Her expression becomes unreadable at the sight of the many stone monuments. Too many for a town this small. The wrought-iron fence that kept living out did little to keep the spirits in, and their gloomy presence haunted the every corner of the countryside. Most of Ustalav, too, seemed to be caught in the same spell of resignation.

A nearby mausoleum catches her eye and distracts her from her musings. That fine example of Neo-Chelaxian style architecture from the Late 4400s, a rarity so far north! It was all Caedis could do to not climb the fence and examine it in more detail. Instead, she extracted from her pouch a well worn journal and flipped to the first blank page, intent on artistically documenting her find.

[Segrain]

"Thank you, good man", - he nodded, listening to the conversation's end before following the advice to hurry. The burial habits wary as much as any other traditions, and nobody can know them all, but if it is the priest who insists on the cremation, surely it is not against local customs... but, apparently, if not the deceased professor himself, then at least his daughter was against it. That seemed strange, but expecting any more good advice from the tavernkeeper would be ungrateful for all those that he already gave.
Somebody else was willing to lead the way, and that was perfectly fine. Better to have somebody more familiar with this place to take the duty of explaining their concerns for the late professor and his burial, while those less versed in local traditions can have some time to accustom to them. Of course, this thought mostly referred to traditions of people who actually live in this place rather than their long dead ancestors, but that particular note was not shared by one of women, eager to examine some crypt. After what she said about those without life, it seemed even weirder, and so the man with a staff gave her a surprised look before motioning to follow the one already going towards the church and joining him without a second look back.

[Lost Demiurge]

Ebert finds the Lorrimor house closed, its windows dark, its door locked. No one responds to his knocking.

Well, the church is the next likely place to find the surviving Lorrimor, so off he rides.

Caedis captures a relatively good semblance of the crypt, the growing darkness of evening hindering her eyes not at all. Finishing up, she finds her way to the old stone church, as do the others.

-----

Inside, it's a simple building with one main gathering hall, and a few rooms off to the side with shut doors. Pharasma's spiral is set in steel upon the altar, and behind it, stairs lead down to a lower level.

Before the altar rests a coffin, on a viewing stand. The coffin is quite firmly closed.

"Ah! You must be... Oh, thank goodness!" The voice echoes in the solemn hollow of the church.

The speaker is a pretty, brown-haired woman in a sturdy-but-pretty dress cut in a style that was all the rage in Lepidstadt a decade or two. She's in her early twenties perhaps, with fair skin and brown hair done up in a simple bun.

She was sitting in a pew, but she hastily clambers to her feet.

From a room to the side, a man perhaps fifty or sixty years her elder shuffles out, bowed by age and his visage a mass of wrinkles. The wrinkles cover most of his face, save for the part around his mouth. You'd be surprised if he smiles more than once or twice a year. His head is bald, though traces of white hair peek out from his ears, and the edges of his pate.

"I'm sorry, here..." The woman picks her way out from the pews, offers a handshake to anyone who looks friendly. "I'm Kendra Lorrimor. I think I've met some of you... I was younger at the time. I... Thank you. Thank you for coming..."

She looks on the verge of tears.

"Mm." The priest looks you over, frowns.

SENSE MOTIVE DC 14

It's less unfriendliness, and more of his natural expression, you think.


"You're here for the funeral then. I am Father Grimburrow, and we can spare the pleasantries for later, I think. I hope some of you are willing to act as pallbearers?"

[u-b]

Ebert nods to Kendra Lorrimor, then to Grimburrow.

"Yes, I am willing."

Know (local) regarding this Grimburrow: [roll0] - first name, reputation, track record and such

[G.A.M.D.]

Ashton gives a small, sad smile as he shakes Kendra's hand. "I'm sorry for your loss Ms. Lorrimor. Please let me help in any way needed, I owe your father that much and more. I'd be honored to help bear him."

[Lost Demiurge]

EBERT

Father Grimburrow's been the high priest of Pharasma in Ravengro for decades. He's a no-nonsense sort who takes his duty very seriously. No one alive actually remembers his first name or who he might have been before he attained priesthood.

He very much values peace and quiet, and takes care of the living and the dead with equal concern. He's never broken a confidence, but he rarely gives slack to those who persist in foolishness.


Kendra clings to Ashton's hand for a second, as if seeking comfort. "Thank you... I... Yes. I'm sorry. It... I'm a bit scattered right now. I... We couldn't bury him until... It's custom, the pallbearers have to be volunteers-"

The priest lays a hand on her shoulder. "Easy, child."

She falls silent, rubbing her eyes.


"It takes at least four to comfortably bear the weight of the coffin, and the mortal husk inside," he intones sonorously. "I recommend that another hold the lantern and guide, for you came late and night is almost here." He gestures at an elaborate wrought-iron lantern on the altar, decorated with images of some sort of blackbirds wearing porcelain masks.

"I go now to rouse the gravediggers to attend to their duty, and gather the materials for the ceremony. Kendra, you know the way, please guide them to Petros' grave."

"O-of course, father."

He turns his attention back to you and your compatriots, rheumy eyes filled with the patience of eternity. "Do you have any questions at this time?"

[u-b]

"I've noticed that people are more grim than usual, and have a question as to why. I am not sure this is the time and place to ask this question, unless the answer might be relevant to the occasion."

[Oneris]

"Ms. Lorrimor, your father was a dear companion for the months we worked together and his loss affects us all deeply. I, and my companions will do everything in our power to ease your pain and ensure his last wishes are fulfilled."

She turns to the ancient priest. "Have all the necessary preparations been made, so that the esteemed Professor won’t be unduly disturbed from his rest?"


Knowledge Religion to remember Pharasman funerary rites: [roll0]
Caedis left a spell slot unfilled this morning, and intends to use 15 minutes to prepare and cast Sanctify Corpse if it has not yet been done.

[Segrain]

"We had not met in happier times, I am afraid", - two short bows followed, one towards the altar and the coffin in front of it, one for the woman... for the Kendra. It was time to start calling people by names, even if some of them forwent proper introductions. - "I am his student, Gelit Kert by name; if there is anything that can be done for you, it will be". A handshake completed this exchange, with a quick nod to the priest's direction. Man of few words and many duties deserved respect, as well as any assistance the service could require; and if he needed several people to carry the casket, it will not be the first time for Gelit to do so. Of course, followers of Pharasma had their own ways of performing a funeral - was it really necessary to do it in this hour, if the professor already waited all the time that it took for his associates to arrive and surely could wait a bit more? - but if questions were to be asked, it, in fact, could take until the sunrise to answer them all, and his black eyes were actually at ease in the darkness of approaching night. Besides, professor's lectures on theology spoke of those rites long ago; it was only a question of remembering them right, and for further learning there will be another time.
Waiting while priest was still distracted by questions of others, Gelit silently studied the church's interior.
Sense Motive vs 14: [roll0]
Knowledge (religion) for Pharasma's burial traditions: [roll1]

[Lost Demiurge]

"Ah, you're Gellit. Yes, thank you..."

GELLIT

The priest seems to be telling the truth, Gellit thinks. Gellit remembers that this part of the country has some odd funerary customs... He doesn't recall them off the top of his head, though.


CAEDIS

Pharasman rites... Well, the fact that the coffin's sealed means that the body's been prepared. Also that it's probably in such gruesome shape that a regular viewing is out of the question... You probably won't be able to touch it without disabling the lock on the coffin or breaking it.

In this part of the country, due to the disparity of holy sites and the proximity to Virlych, the usual procedure is to cremate a body if it can't be buried in a timely fashion. This is seen as bad fortune, particularly if proper burial arrangements have been made, but it decreases the risk to the living. The fact that this hasn't been done after a week or two already is a bit out of the ordinary...


The priest bows his head. "The body of Petros Lorrimor lies in Gentle Repose. He shall not stir once he is interred within the sacred ground of Restlands. At any rate, I'll meet you there shortly."

And with that he departs.

Caedis picks up the lantern, and finds it lighting with blue flame as she does so. Birdlike shadows dance and twist on the walls of the church, illuminating the stained glass facade to the east.

With everyone else picking up the coffin, and Kendra leading the way, you head out the back door of the church and into the cemetary.

It's twilight now, and the mist rolls among the tombstones... In the distance a wolf howls, cut off abruptly. The moon is nearly full and risen early, staring down at you as you move through the silent, somber place.

And Kendra stops short, as figures appear ahead of you.

You recognize them. The old farmer from the tavern, and the dozen or so villagers who left with him.


"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 blinks... "What are you talking about!" Her sorrow fades, replaced by fury. "I arranged this with Father Grimburrow! He's going to be here any minute! 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 can, folks are pretty upset about this right now."

"Necromancer! Are you really that ignorant?"

SENSE MOTIVE DC 15

For all the old farmer's tough talk, you can tell that the group behind him isn't really as comfortable doing this as he is. Drink pulled many of them here, now they're having second thoughts. Though they didn't like being called ignorant, not by a long shot...

That said, the more sober among them are watching you carefully, hands near to cudgels and knives and other tools of their trades. If anyone draws a weapon, this could get ugly, fast...

[u-b]

"I'm sad to hear you think so*. It seems you have not yet discussed your feelings with Father Grimburrow, for he did not seem to be opposed to the burial... I believe you have some reasons to think what you think, but am afraid I won't be able to show you how this is not the case until you name those reasons that lead you to this unfortunate conclusion. Would you agree to bring this case before Father Grimburrow or would you prefer to be the sole and final judge of what conclusion should be considered correct?"

It's not very convenient to talk from the back row of the procession, but Ebert does not want to take any moves in present situation. Laika seems to be wary and stands on the spot beside, also not going anywhere.

*Insert a name there if known, Know (local) [roll0]

[Merellis]

"I find it odd that you have such issues with the fact the Father has already agreed as to where to bury the Professor. Are you trying to tell us that you know better than your own priest and that his opinion and expertise in such matters is untrustworthy?" Aisling pipes up from the back, still holding steady with the coffin.

"If you have any respect to Father Grimburrow's wisdom and intelligence at all, you would heed his judgement and allow this poor man to be laid to rest. Or as Ebert suggests, take it up with Father Grimburrow and bring your evidence that he was a Necromancer."


[roll0] for Diplomancy!
[roll1] Know Local, would Aisling recall if the Professor had ever used Necromancy? It stands to reason he would research it given his work, but not sure if he's ever used it.

[Oneris]

"Besides, if Professor Lorrimor was really a Necromancer, he could not have allowed himself to be crushed to death by a mere stone wall, and if he is indeed now an undead, he would not be content to lie quietly in a small dark box for so long. Surely we would hear all sorts of frightful scratching and moaning from the coffin."

Behind her, the the stolid oak coffin sat silently, as expected.


Diplomacy: [roll0]

[Lost Demiurge]

MERELLIS

From what you can recall, the professor studied all manner of dark subjects, but only to defend against them or learn what he was up against. He probably knew some necromantic spells, but you doubt he'd ever use the evil ones.


The leader scowls at Caedis and Aisling, but behind him people shift uneasily and mutter to each other. Three of them quietly back off, and leave, unnoticed by the group.

"Hey! I got respect for th' Father, but who's to say he ain't been bespelled? Or possessed? Or... Or..."

Three more leave as Ebert speaks... And one of the remaining ones puts his hand on the farmer's shoulder. "C'mon, Gibbs. This was a bad idea. Let's let them do their business in peace."
Gibbs shakes his hand off and scowls... Then his shoulders slump, as he sees the rest of the group nodding and agreeing.

He spits halfheartedly in the direction of the coffin. "This ent over."

And then they're walking back into the mist...

-----

You reach the gravesite without further trouble. After a few minutes, Father Grimburrow turns up, with two acolytes wearing work clothes and carrying shovels. Kendra pulls him aside, and you catch snippets of conversation as his face darkens. She seems to be telling him about the incident a few minutes ago.

"I shall speak with them after the next service," he promises. "That... Was disrespectful at best and promised violence at worst. Those things have no place here."

He intones a simple chant over the coffin, as it is lowered into the grave, and anoints it with myrrh, whipporwill feathers, and silver dust. After a few minutes, he steps back.

"Now, with him in our minds, I ask those present... Do you have any stories, any memories of Petros Lorrimor that you wish to share at this time?"

MOOD MUSIC - KENDRA BEREAVED

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=39fnFIF6MTg

[G.A.M.D.]

"I met the professor a little over three years ago, he said he had retired but was interested in an event I had gotten caught up in. I was helping a priest of Sarenrae, Weswick, deal with a few of the walking dead, all that remained of the works of a cult to some dark god. It may sound strange, but the Professor turned the worst experience of my life into the greatest to date.

I'd lost friends, I'd been hurt, and I only lived because I had been lucky. I stayed there to help Weswick after all of my remaining friends had left to return home, back to their lives. I was scared to leave, I think, scared to return home and go on as if nothing had happened.

The Professor understood how I felt. He told me that he had seen many die, more than a few those he had known and worked with. He told me he had faced many strange and terrible creatures. He taught me how to handle the more common varieties of the dead, and that if I kept my head and went prepared that I had no reason to fear them. He explained to me the creation of wondrous tools, bottled fire and the like.

The undead left were mindless, they were how I learned to put into practice what he taught. I grew confidant, and I became good at it. I admit to finding sport in the work.

The Professor had stayed nearly a month, and was leaving soon. I enjoyed my time learning with the Professor, and I did not like the idea of never meeting with him again. I made him a wager. I had taken up the use of a whip since childhood, mostly to impress at parties. It was of no use against the dead, and the Professor had laughed at my attempts to implement it in battle with them effectively. He had told me that he occasionally taught classes at the Lepidstadt Academy, and that the school instructed in the creation of tools similar to the bottled fire. I bet him that I could find a way to make my whip of use against the dead, and that if I did he would get me into the academy.

Surely to him it was humorous, we corresponded every few months about my progress. I've come closer, but well... I thought I would have more time. Professor Lorrimor helped me find purpose when I was lost, and encouraged me to become who I am today. I know I wasn't very close to him, but he was one of the most important people in my life. I wasn't able to be there with him at the end, but I will continue do my best to honor what he gave me."

[Segrain]

Gelit said nothing to the man named Gibbs or his supporters. Not because of a lack of words; in fact, he had way too many to say. But was there even any reason to bother? Ignorant fools, daring to speak names of powers that they could not possibly comprehend, were blind to any enlightenment that he could provide. It was always the same, here and everywhere else; now he understood why the professor, even after retirement, still travelled to foreign lands and read lectures there - no educated person would be able to stand talking to such neighbours every day. It would take patience of a saint to explain the difference between what the word "necromancer" actually means and what those blasphemers were trying to mean while using it - and Gelit was not a saint. He was a simple necromancer, and even he understood that starting explanations with such a declaration would get him buried earlier than the professor (probably also out of the graveyard, and possibly still alive) and faster than he can get to explaining some fine points of involved linguistics and etymology.
Of course, there was much simpler method to solve the problem - just submit to the terminology of the crowd and explain in words which they can understand that deceased teacher was not whom they believed him to be. But by the time such disgusting for pedantic scholar thought crossed his mind, faster thinking companions were already doing it, and even if their words made him wince, they apparently were much more persuading for the locals. The promise that Gelit made to Kendra was being fulfilled without him, and it put him even further in moral debt. That was not why he was here, and for the rest of the service he looked even grimmer than usual. At least if was appropriate for a mourner and pallbearer.
But silence was not appropriate. Memory of the professor should have being honoured, and not with stories about his fight against death, because death, as always, was the victor now, but with those about his understanding of it. And at his grave was a student who could speak about it. "Petros Lorrimor was a professor", - he started quietly after making sure that nobody else is going to speak. - "A man who learned more than anybody else and taught others that what he knew. I am merely his student; I heard many lecturers speak, but none of them understood their studies as well as he did. You heard those people accusing him of being a necromancer, and you do not need my words to know that it is a lie. Professor Lorrimor needed not to ask for ready answers from death; he sought knowledge like scientists seek it, and he acquired more of it than anybody else. He may now rest in the grave; his lessons will outlive him, and his name would be remembered for many generations."
"I will not speak for long", - continued Gelit after short pause, - "because dead should not be bothered, and living need no praises to know what a good man he was. But I will say this. Death always comes unexpected and we always mourn those whom it takes. But if there ever lived a man who was not afraid of facing it, such a man was Petros Lorrimor. His soul is under the goddess's ward now; may he have the final rest. Farewall, teacher. Your teachings will live forever."

[Lost Demiurge]

Ashton and Gellit speak as the gravediggers pile earth on the coffin, and Kendra's tears fall like rain.

But at last it is done. Lorrimor is in the ground, and the only sound is that of the night creatures around the cemetary.

"Thank you," Kendra says, collecting herself finally. "Please, come with me. The house is large, I can put you up for the night. And I'm rather sure Councillor Hearthmont will be there already, with the will. He's the closest thing we've got to a barrister here, after all."
-----

The Lorrimor house is either a large farmhouse or a very small manor, it's hard to tell which. It's cluttered with strange artifacts and curios from the professor's travels, but not dirty in the slightest. Everything's dusted, the place is clean, and the fire in the hearth is warm. This being Ustalav, every window is double-barred, the doors are heavy and thick, and wolfsbane and garlic hang above every entrance.

Once inside, Kendra offers you mulled cider or tea, depending on your preference, and takes a cup of the hard stuff for herself. She makes small talk for a minute, until a knock sounds at the door.

The man who she greets and allows entry is plump, middle-aged, with neatly-trimmed mustaches and an incongrous military-styled haircut. He looks all of you over, sniffs, and says "Well. Let's get to it, then. I am Councillor Vashian Hearthmont, and I have been charged to read you the last will and Testament of Professor Lorrimor. If you have any questions, please wait until the reading is done."

He accepts a mug of cider from Kendra, takes a stand by the fire, and pulls a sealed scroll case from his overcoat. He shows you the unbroken seal, Lorrimor's personal crest, then cracks it.

As he does a small key falls from it. He frowns at it, then continues unrolling the parchment inside before clearing his throat and starting.

"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 4713."

He finishes, picks up the key and frowns at it. "I suppose this likely opens the trunk of... Dark books, then."

Councillor Hearthmont offers it in the general direction of whoever's closest, looking somewhat troubled...

[u-b]

Ebert accepts the key.

"Thank you, Councillor. I am unsure why would we need this key to perform the delivery or where is the other key, but we will do our best to keep these books safe and deliver them to the University."

[Lost Demiurge]

"Probably to make sure you've got the right trunk," says Kendra. She seems distracted, then finally blinks.

"Hm. One month? Well, it's good we've got space. I can offer you rooms and meals while you stay..."

She flushes.

"Er. If you want to stay. I mean, It's... I would welcome the company, to be honest."

[Oneris]

Caedis could not speak during the funeral. How could she, without exposing utterly to the harsh light of judgement her- affliction. The circumstances under which she and the professor had been acquainted occurred several decades ago, and no doubt Kendra would swiftly realize that the young lady before her in now way resembled the decrepit old biddy Caedis should now be. Instead, she just murmured a few appropriate words of farewell under her breath, and laid within the pit a small wreath of asphodel and yew.
-----------

"A house so robbed of its few inhabitants can seem awfully empty to those remaining. If lodging visitors will set your mind at ease, then by all means, we'll endeavor to aid you in our stay."

She smiled, but the events at the funeral shadowed her face.

"That man we met at the cemetery, Gibbs, was it? I suspect tonight's terror will not be his last. Has he troubled you before?"

[Merellis]

She was rather quiet during the funeral, for while all had such respectful stories concerning the late Professor, she only had late night studies, drunken arguments, and one crazed experiment that involved sewing a complete suit of leather to block the touch of a ghoul.

That one ended with some upturned tables, a good amount of cursing, and Aisling having to polish statues for a month. Good times had by all really.

Of course the other reason being that she had been rather overwhelmed with grief, it's one thing learning that your favorite mentor had died, quite another to be burying him.


-----

"I consider it an honor to keep you company, Kendra. He was my favorite Professor and I will miss him dearly." She says with a bit of a smile. "As for that Gibbs fellow, I think we can handle whatever mess he might try to bring about. Bark is worse than his bite in my opinion."

Aisling heads over to Ebert, eying the key with curiosity and an almost greedy look. "Think I should go check which trunk it is and make sure everything is there?" She's totally not asking to go read all those books in a month, totally not.

At all.

[u-b]

Ebert nods.

"Unless the Councillor has any other busuness to discuss with us."

He fully intends to have the Councillor out of the house before proceeding.

[Oneris]

"As for that Gibbs fellow, I think we can handle whatever mess he might try to bring about. Bark is worse than his bite in my opinion."

"His enmity directs not at us, but the deceased, I fear. Were it that he'd return and desecrate the Restlands with his misbegotten schemes-
I think tonight calls for a vigil. Perhaps in the light of the morning sun he shall be cleansed of his madness, and us of our misgivings?"

After all, what better time was there defile a grave than immediately after the funeral, after all who would defend it retire to bed and the hallowed earth remains unsettled?

[G.A.M.D.]

"He may also come snooping around for proof of his claims. We should make sure these books are secure"

The young man looks into his empty cup.

"I am glad to stay and help with either."

[Lost Demiurge]

Councillor Hearthmont nods. "Well then, I suppose you have no questions for me. Good evening, Ms. Lorrimor."

He departs with no fuss.

Kendra glances up above. "I think the trunk he's talking about is in the attic. Give me a second." She returns, lugging a footlocker.

"Hephanus Gibbs..." She says, thinking Caedis' words over, "I don't know if he'll cause trouble. He was mostly talk before, though evidently he's been riling people up more than I thought. Still, if you want to go out to watch the grave you're welcome to do so. Um... You might want to do so clandestinely. If people see outsiders slinking around the cemetary at night, they might jump to the wrong conclusions. Gods know that poor artist fellow almost got himself lynched, and he was just painting landscapes..."

The key fits inside the lock, and it opens to reveal five books. The one on top is jacketed in brown leather, looks well-worn, and has a parchment entitled "READ ME FIRST" bound to it. "That's his journal!" Says Kendra. "I wondered where it had gone..."

The second one has a rich purple cover containing a brass scarab set with a single eye in the cover. The covers are rimmed in polished steel, and clasped with a small but intricate lock. The keyhole is for a triangular shaft, which does not match any key you have right now.

KNOWLEDGE ARCANA, HISTORY, OR LOCAL DC 25

That scarab is the sign of a secretive order called the Palatine Eye. They're a clandestine society that use a lot of ancient rites and gather influence for the benefit of their members and society on the whole. Though there are some that attribute more sinister goals to them...


The third book is jet-black, and has scrawling silver letters across it. It is titled "On Verified Madness".

KNOWLEDGE ARCANA OR THE PLANES DC 20

That's a somewhat infamous treatise on aberrations and other entities found on Golarion that possess ties to the Dark Tapestry, the name given to the dark places between the stars. This book has been blamed for driving the weak-minded to madness, though compared to others like it it's quite mild...


The fourth book looks bound in peeling hide, that... Aw gods, that's got to be human skin. It's entitled "serving Your Hunger."

KNOWLEDGE RELIGION DC 18

That's got to be a copy of one of the unholy books sacred to the goddess of undeath, gluttony, and plagues, Urgathoa. Very much banned by the Pharasman church.


Finally, the fifth book is bound with woven black steel strips, and is all sharp edges and spikes. Neat, precise letters declare it to be "Umbral Leaves"

KNOWLEDGE RELIGION DC 20

Ah, the unholy book of Zon-Kuthon, prince of pain and darkness. Technically not banned in Ustalav, but flashing it around anyone who could recognize it would probably bring some heat down on you fast.

[Oneris]

Kendra's warning was well received. To raise the suspicions of the townsfolk any further would surely bode ill for the rest of their month-long stay.

Nevertheless, the girl rose from her seat to stand by the window. Imperceptibly, her face changed. Freezing rivulets of eldritch powers awoke in her extremities in an explosion of tingling. In a well practiced maneuver, those icy tendrils snaked through her blood to gather behind her eyes, begging to be released. Had her countenance been visible to those gathered behind, they would have been startled to see an inhuman fury suddenly invested into each unblinking eye.

Caedis peered out at the empty streets and straining for signs of light or life in the deserted streets. There should be nothing out there.

'Should' being the operating word here.


Roll for each book, or for each check?
Book with Eye (Knowledge(Arcana)): [roll0]
On Verified Madness (Knowledge(Arcana)): [roll1]
Serving your Hunger (Knowledge(Religion)): [roll2]
Umbral Leaves (Knowledge(Religion)): [roll3]
Action: Activate Detect Undead SLA, Glance through the room for 1 round, then up the streets northwards. A map of Ravengro would be nice.

[u-b]

Ebert takes the book marked "READ ME FIRST" and reads it first, starting, since it is the journal, from the last page that is not blank.

[Lost Demiurge]

Caedis sees no signs of undead outside, though a reflection in the window catches her eye...

CAEDIS

Well, now you know there's another dhampir around. :D

And yeah, a map would be nice, but I have no access to a scanner. If you search for "Ravengro Map" on google, you should be able to find one.


Ebert flips through the professor's journal, and finds that much of it is the day-to-day doings of small town life, with the occasional musing on some esoteric subject or the other. However, six entries are circled...

THE CIRCLED ENTRIES


Date: 9 Pharast, 4704
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.

Date: 14 Erastus 4714
It is as I feared. The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be?

Date: 08 Arodus 4714
Whatever the Way seeks, I am now convinced their goal is connected to Harrowstone. In retrospect, I suppose it 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 being so worked up about them, I'd rather not let the others know about my curiousity- There's plenty of folks hereabouts who already think I'm a demonologist or witch or something. Ignorant fools.

Date: 23 Arodus 4714
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... More likely than the town hall records anyway.

Date: 25 Arodus 4714
I see now just how ill prepared I was when I last set out for 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 a cache 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.

Date: 26 Arodus 4714
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.

[u-b]

Ebert puts the journal on the table, puts a copper coin as a bookmark at the page with the second circled record, opens at the page with the first circled record, then moves the journal a foot towards Kendra and taps his finger at that circled record. He intends to have everyone read the journal.



Date: 23 Arodus 4714
...

Date: 25 Arodus 4714
...

Date: 24 Arodus 4714
...
Journal order?

[Oneris]

"Kendra's cooking grows better each day, though I fear she's begun a dangerous relationship with nutmeg. I must warn her, before its hallucinogenic properties send us all to bedlam. "
"Oh, be not troubled by excessive nutmeg, Kendra dear. Now, overmuch peppers, that's a different story– Hm? My apologies, wrong entry."

Directed to the correct entry this time, Caedis seems unperturbed by the first, but the second catches her eye. She hurriedly dashes through the rest of the entries, bookmarking each with her fingers, until the last entry left her looking full of consternation.

"An unwrit will. He will have us complete that which cost his life."


Found the Ravengro Map (http://www.myth-weavers.com/showthread.php?t=222801). Should we start keeping a calendar to track our 31 day time limit?

[Lost Demiurge]

"What?" Kendra goes and scans the entries, hurridly, her face growing pale as she does so.

"I... Oh dear." She sits down, and gnaws on a knuckle. It's a stress-related gesture you've seen the Professor make many times in the past...

"The Whispering Way... I'd thought them a ghost story to frighten children. This... This is either extreme paranoia, or there's far more at work here than I thought."

Her lips tighten. "If it's not paranoia, then... Well, I don't think my father's death was due to falling statuary. It means he was murdered."

RAVENGRO MAP

Is awesome, thank you Caedis! And thanks to whoever put this up there, for their own campaign... Please note you are currently in "N". The church is over at "E".

No need for a calendar at this point. I'll be tracking the days, don't you worry... Muhahahahha... :D

[G.A.M.D.]

Ashton mutters to himself as he reads. "What do we know about this Harrowstone? If the Professor felt so rushed that he had no time to amend his will, it is too likely for my taste that they are either finished with their dark work or dangerously close. It seems we must act before the month is out."

A few moments pass in thought as Kendra speaks.

Another necromancer cult? I guess that's why the Professor was interested in my story. So they do their rituals where the Professor got killed... Kendra's words complete the thought.

"Those bastards! This Whispering Way trash killed the Professor! We have to... We must..." Ashton's momentary rage peters out.

If they could kill the Professor, what chance do I have?

[Segrain]

"We have to and must what, exactly?" - Gelit studied the teacher's writings in silence and broke it only when calls to action started forming. - "If it cost him his life, he would be quite disappointed if we tried to complete it only by doing the same things and meeting the same end. We have his notes, but they are... incomplete. What we must and have to do is at least understand what is going on before trying to do anything that... will make us follow him quicker and further than we want. Those 'ghost stories' about Way, miss Lorrimor... and those stories about ruins, of which he speaks here..." - Gelit's finger stopped at the entry as he mentioned it, - "Can you tell us more? Or does somebody else know them?"
Knowledge (religion), DC 18: [roll0]
Knowledge (religion), DC 20: [roll1]

[u-b]

"So, this explains..." - Ebert sits silent for some time, thinking - "Kendra, how close have you seen the body? Or I guess we might consult the washers... one of the acolytes, I suppose. You see, the gosts are not corporeal and, as far as I know, have forms of attack quite unlike falling stones. Not sure these leave the marks visible after an exposure to falling stones, but they probably do." - Ebert looks at the others, letting people make any relevant comments - "Also, I really want to know how this man Gibs came to the conclusion about necromancers. Just not sure what I should tell him and what I should not. Kendra, can you tell anything about this Gibs?"

"I am assuming no one is quite ready to run for their lives? This might well be the smartest thing to do, but as for me... well, not yet."

[Lost Demiurge]

Kendra chews her knuckle again.

"I don't know much about Harrowstone," she admits. "My father could have probably told volumes, but... Well, it was a big prison, and about fifty years back there was a fire. A lot of people died, and most people around here think the ruins are haunted. They don't like talking about it, but I imagine some of the greybeards could probably fill your ears, a lot of their parents worked there."
She frowns. "There's a monument to the guards that died, it's southwest of here, near the river."

NOTE

Location "O" on the Ravengro map
http://www.myth-weavers.com/showthread.php?t=222801



"I'm pretty sure the town hall would have records, and I know the temple of Pharasma has some, though they'd be more about deaths there I'm sure."

GELLIT

Kendra's confirming most of what you've heard of Harrowstone... It's old, it's dangerous, and it's haunted by ghosts of those who died in the fire.


She nods at Gellit's comments. "Yes! That place took my father from me. His journal indicates his wishes, but... Well, it wouldn't do to go in without knowing more about the place. Or without proper equipment. There might be something left in the hidden crypt he mentioned... Or..."

Kendra moves to the mantle, pulls out a notebook, and squints at it. "Well. I've got a bit of household money set aside. I was saving it, but... This is important. If you need supplies, or find something that needs money, I have about twelve hundred gold crowns that I can use on your behalf. Just... Nothing frivolous, okay?"

Ebert's words cause some thought. "Gibs? He's an old troublemaker. Father had nothing but disdain for him, so I doubt there's anything sinister, just two old men who couldn't stand each other."

She sighs, and leans against the mantle. "I didn't think he'd try to stop his burial, though, so my judgement might not be the soundest, here. I-" She rubs her head. "Father didn't have time for most people, here. The old mage at the Unfurled Scroll, Father Grimburrow, occasionally the sheriff and Zokar. The rest he pretty much ignored. No wonder no one would... Help... Bury..."

Shaking her head, Kendra puts the notebook away. "I'm sorry. It's late. I'm going to turn it. Here, let me show you to your rooms, I think... We can pick this up tomorrow."

------

Your rooms are cozy and cluttered, but the beds are warm.

However, your sleep is troubled by shuddering nightmares, and you wake in cold sweat as sickly light glimmers through the shutters. You grasp at the details of your dreams, and find them sliding away, almost mockingly...

EVERYONE

Will save, DC 12 to try and remember what you can.

[G.A.M.D.]

Sometime before bed Ashton speaks up. "There are a few things the Professor taught me how to make. I could begin preparing a few things tomorrow while we begin looking into matters. It would also mean I could keep an eye on the house."

[Merellis]

"I'm less about the making of things and more for the finding out. I'm gonna give the journal, and a couple of these books a look over tonight and see what they can tell us." She picks up the journal, the book with the lock, and the one with the lovely cover of human skin. "Any objections?"

The redheaded scholar paws at her tools, wondering if she can possibly open up the locked book today, before looking over at Caedis with a wry grin. "Mind if we room together?"

"I don't have to prepare spells or anything, so long as you don't mind the light I'll give this journal another reading. Or maybe look a bit more into a couple of these books." She says with much enthusiasm while grabbing tossing the books back into the trunk. "Plus with the two of us, better chance of hearing if someone comes for this thing."

"Or I could just sleep, but by the gods I want to read this."

[Oneris]

Before Bedtime
The warm bed was a welcome change from the hard cots of the inns and hostels, but more immediate matters were on Caedis's mind.

"Only a moment." she said to the young scholar sharing her room as the bed was shoved aside. "Time will fade the wax, but not the scorch marks, so do mind the candles."

For the next fifteen minutes, Caedis knelt within the ring, murmuring to herself. Sometimes a snatch of a melody or a chant could be heard, but not in any clearly audible volume. Then abruptly, the candles extinguishing themselves; Caedis's time communing with her gods was over.

"I fear the month ahead shall bring horrors untold upon this town and its people. Guard them, guide them, deliver them from misfortune so they shalt see the beauty of life."


Preparing and casting Lucky Number (http://www.d20pfsrd.com/magic/all-spells/l/lucky-number) into unused slot.
Lucky Number: [roll0]
Will Save: [roll1] +2?

[Lost Demiurge]

Aisling flips through the professor's journal and the book bound in skin, before going to sleep...

Much of the professor's journal is boring, but he comments now and again on his daughter's training in wizardry, and his joy at her knack with divination, musing that she may have more talent than he did, when he was her age.

The skinbound book, Serving Your Hunger, is filled with praises to Urgathoa, the goddess of undeath, plagues, and gluttony. It's filled with profane rites, dark prophecy, wicked commandments, instructions on infecting others with different strains of disease, tips on becoming undead and an explanation of the different types, and recipes for cooking most sentient creatures. This is definitely an unholy book, probably a significant one of her religion, if not the main one.

BENEFIT AND PENALTY (OPTIONAL)

You can choose whether or not to be significantly affected by the book.

If you are, then you gain +2 to knowledge rolls to identify any undead for the length of this part of the adventure, as you have learned how to recognize the various types. Furthermore, you can make knowledge-religion rolls to identify undead even if you don't have the skill. (Just roll intelligence modifier+2, in that case.)

However, if you take this benefit, you gain -2 against fear rolls against the undead in this part of the adventure, for you know how each and every one of them hungers unending to consume your flesh, your blood, your very soul, seeking a relief that will never ease... An undying eternity of hunger, and consumption of all that you are if you are unlucky enough to fall before one...



-----

In the morning, Ashton remembers his dream...


Smoke. Firelight glinting off of stone, and you're running down a twisted stone corridor, but to no avail as the shadow grows on the wall ahead of you. The shadow of your pursuer, and the axe he bears in one hand, and the head of your friend Barsoi in the other...

You can't stop running or he'll catch you, and then-

But you can't breathe, the smoke's too thick, and you cough, and you cough and stumble-


And Caedis remembers hers.


It's the church in Ravengro, but it's darker, more weathered, falling to ruin. Only a few torches are lit and Father Grimburrow is speaking, but as he does so his mouth stretches and distorts, and the soothing words are turning to groans and malevolent chuckles. And from his cassock, chains start to fall, clanging against the ground, a multitude of shackles that couldn't possibly fit under there as he twists and writhes, face set calm and serene and beatific-


Meanwhile, Ebert tosses and turns, and manages to snatch a few scenes from his subconscious.

Skulls on a table, skulls on a shelf, skulls all around you in this tight room, and you realize that you're stuck in a barrel, or in stocks, your head one in a row and all others skulls.

And in the darkness a short, bearded figure paces, a hammer in his hand.

CRACK! He flickers, and a skull explodes as he strikes it!

WHACK! Another skull explodes, burst into fragments! He falls to his knees and sifts through them...

...And then you realize that he's heading for YOU next, and as the hammer descends-


But Aisling, Aisling remembers it all...

Words. Words in the well, and water dripping down, and words scratched into the stone of the oubliette, while a pale light flickers.... And as you watch, new letters appear, scraping into the wall as if by an invisible hand. And as they do, blood seeps from the scratches, and the stone shudders and writhes...

"Aisling..." Whispers a breathy, delighted voice, and the letters appear one by one, searing pain erupting in your skull as if they're being drawn directly from your brain!

A.... I.... S.....

The pain is so bad you can barely see!

L... I... N....

You feel something burst, and-


And Gelit remembers every second...

It was a waking dream... You think.... You woke in the darkness and couldn't move, a strange taste in the back of your throat.

Tap, tap, tap....

Something at the window! You flick your eyes that way, and see strange, winged shapes dancing, and tapping on the window with.... Beaks...?

Tap, tap, tap....

Drip, drip, drip....

Your eyes flick downward, and you see black, wet spots spreading in the sheets. Your blood! Your blood is oozing out of you!

And then a sound, a cacophony of pipes, a melody mad and skirling around the room coming from no visible source...

TAP. TAP. CRICK.

The glass is breaking!

CRASH! And the horde of winged shapes descends upon you as your blood flows and the pipes play madly on, and-


You wake. The morning sun has vanquished the horrible night.

The smell of bacon wafts up the stairs, as does the sound of sizzling. Breakfast seems to be cooking.

[Segrain]

Some say that sleeping and dying are alike. Whether that means that death is not frightening, because it is so similar to something already familiar, or that dreams are actually quite scary, because they are like little lives that are born from sleeper dying every evening and die when he wakes up at morning, is unclear - perhaps it depends on the dream in question. If that is so, this night was definitely of the latter variety.
Darkness. Many children are afraid of it, and most of them grow up to overcome that fear. At least this is the way of proper human beings - for those whose eyes can pierce the blackest gloom, but cannot stand brightness of a sun, night is a time of relief, and darkness is a welcome friend that never was even slightly scary. Which is why suddenly awakening to seeing the true darkness of nothing and being unable to move a finger is... actually much closer to dying than any sleep and more frightening than any nightmare. It is even relieving to see and hear again, no matter how weird is the taste of those sensations - at least they clearly signify that life is not over yet. But whence is that gloom? And why is such an unusual sight - if seeing nothing can be called a "sight" - comes with so familiar sound of... of... of blood. Of something that is warm and bright and red in any proper living human, but freezes solid dark over closing wounds, and simply runs black in somebody who is neither yet dead nor ever was really alive. Being afraid of the sight of blood is also common, and even though no worthy healer would be scared by something that he sees all the time, watching own blood while still being unable to move is somewhat different... maybe it is a death after all. Or maybe it is just a dream - for it comes to the end, and the real awakening occurs.
Of course, if difference between dream and death is unclear, telling life from dream is also uneasy. If it is possible to wake up in a dream once, why cannot it happen again? If nightmare can bear a guise of dreamer's own death, why should the demise of beloved teacher be so real? Of course, the answer is "because life is cruel, and death is doubly so". It cannot be fixed or fought, it can only be accepted - and thus new day begins, and lifelong journey towards the mystery continues. At least today it is not a path of voyage, but a way of study; clothes of travel can be put away until the road calls again. Gelit brought the traditional scholar's garments to honour the professor's funeral as a student should; fate and haste intervened against it, but for a guest in teacher's home they would be appropriate nonetheless. He is still following professor's footsteps, after all, even if through a journal; of course, the books are already taken by somebody else... he winced - yesterday there was not a lot of time for introductions, and names were still difficult. Well, somebody else had the books, and there was not much to be done without them, so it was time to go listen if that somebody had any findings to share. And maybe start making notes - his own journal still had plenty of blank pages. And filled ones, too - for example, last one of them...
Checking the last of his notes reminded Gelit of one more thing. He came to Ustalav to attend the funeral, of course, but as long as he is here, it was an opportunity to learn a lot from this strange and interesting land. As yesterday was shown with a lot of yelling, merely the name of one of his professions - the one that had nothing to do with alive people and wounds of past, but everything with dead animals and signs of future - was among the most unwelcome words here. But this land has its own ways, and even before coming to Ravengro he made some research. Thus, the last used pages of his notes now was covered in repeating drawings of rectangles and numbers with quite strange symbols...
Leaving his room, Gelit was idly shuffling a deck of thin wooden plaques. Grey fingers moved slowly, still unaccustomed to the act, but there was no need to hurry. Teacher's books were real and more important than any uncertain fortune could be, and after the night's dream he was still unsure if the right thing to do was to start divining right after awakening or to put the cards away and forget that he ever bought them. This was not going to be an easy day...

[u-b]

Ebert gets up, casts Detect Magic and scans himself and everything around. Then performs the usual morning rites of washing and dressing (in whatever order the house layout dictates) and arrives to the kitchen.

"'Morning. Not exactly good, I suppose. Had a nightmare. Did not have one for years. I don't even remember how many... not since I started to work for Professor, I think. Know anything about nightmares? I mean, those of magical sorts, because seems it was that."

[Lost Demiurge]

Kendra is downstairs in the kitchen, and several pancakes and strips of bacon are already hot and waiting on plates. Eggs wait their turn nearby.

She looks curiously at Gelit's plaques, but declines to comment, respecting his silence.

When Ebert greets her, she smiles. "Hi. Nightmares?" She blinks, shakes her head. "I haven't had a good night since... Well. I've had plenty of bad dreams myself lately."

A knock at the door interrupts her train of thought. "Ah! That'll be Zokar. Could you keep the food from burning, please?" She asks the people who are up, shoving the spatula and skillet into the nearest friendly hands.

It is indeed Zokar at the door! He smiles and comes in, looking curiously at the gathered people, and delivering a few bags of groceries to the pantry. "Here you are, Miss Kendra. Everything fine last night?"

"Yes. He's finally buried, thank you Zokar. Ah, I should mention, his friends will be staying the month. Could you adjust the deliveries for five more, please?"

He blinks, surprised, but nods. "Of course. Payment now or-"

He's interrupted by a sound of running feet, and both turn to see a kid running hell for leather toward the town center. A few kids chase after him, one yelling "SHERRIFF SHERRIFF SHERRIFF!!!! THE MONUMENT!!!"

[G.A.M.D.]

Ashton seethes. Coward. I'm a damn coward. Running all night long, after I swore! I'm not going to let this stand. I'll burn every last Whispering Wretch here. There won't be enough left of them to raise. Their eternal fountain of youth is going to to dry up so hard they won't know what to-

*Sniff Sniff*

Ashton flips the pancake, this brown one will have to be his.


"SHERRIFF SHERRIFF SHERRIFF!!!! THE MONUMENT!!!"

[Oneris]

Dawn found Caedis, to use a colloquial turn of phrase, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, with more emphasis on the bushy tail and less on the bright eyes. Evil dreams all through the night left her hair mangled into a haystack, and the searing morning sun right in her eyes during her morning prayers (the bedroom faced east) left her blinded and somewhat singed .

Despite being the first to rise, she was very nearly the last ready, her morning routine marred by an extra 20 minutes of mending and scrubbing the spilled wax from the floor. The rag was still in her hands when she finally descended the stairs, blinking in the light.

"The smell of sweetened smoke. Did something burn?"

[u-b]

As the screaming kids run by, Ebert takes some bakon (whatever seems not to be too hot), puts it in the mouth, then takes two pancakes and is out of the door. He hustles to the stables, chewing on the way, throws one pancake to Laika, puts the other one in his mouth, then wipes hands against each other and starts to saddle the horse. He intends to either follow the kids or join the sheriff on his way to whatever has happened, depending on how quick is the sheriff.

[G.A.M.D.]

"Did something burn?"

Smoke, fire, the shadow of an axe-

Hearing the child, Ashton hastily ensures that the kitchen won't burn down, scorching a finger in the process, before grabbing his belt off one of the chairs. He fastens it quickly, adjusting both whip and scabbard, before rushing outside to follow the commotion.

[Lost Demiurge]

As people start to scramble out after the commotion, Kendra takes the frying pan back. "Well, all right. The food will wait if you want to-" Ebert and Ashton grab food and other things and scramble out. "Go... See... Ah, fine."

Zokar shakes his head, and takes his leave.

-----

It doesn't take long to reach the monument, a 25-foot tall moss-covered stone statue that overlooks the river. It depicts a proud, muscular human man in leathers and wielding a truncheon, and there's an engraving chiseled into the stone base.

THE ENGRAVING

IN MEMORIUM OF THOSE BRAVE GUARDS AND INNOCENTS DEAD IN THE HARROWSTONE FIRE OF 4661

AKOS BORAS
ALEXANDER MONFONT
ANDRAS GIYGAS
ANATOLY VINCENT
BARNABAS BLAK
BARBAROIS ARKOT
CSABA TSVA
DANIEL DOREI
DEZSO PIYIN
FABIAN VANSUDOS
ERVIN CHOLAN
GIULIAN PERTOBA
HENRIK VANSUDOS
JOLAN BEARKILL
LESTAD ARKOT
OLIVER TUNLR
OTTO VINCENT, PRIEST AND CONFESSOR
PAL ARKOT
ROBI VANSUDOS
SZILARD KRAUS
TEODOR INOMEN
TIBORIC CNAMU
VANCE ECTORAN
VESORIANNA HAWKREN, LOVING WIFE
VENCEL TORM
VIKTOR MONTGREW
WARDEN LYRAN HAWKREN


Clustered around the monument are a small group of farmers and young'uns, tools of their trade carried in hand. They're muttering among themselves, but shut up and squint at you suspiciously, as you approach.

Presumably they're talking about the large, bloody "V" splattered onto the statue, just above the base, with drops of more blood clearly sprayed about the area of the letter.

[Merellis]

Aisling is the last one to awaken and the last one ready herself for the day. To the point of stumbling down the stairs while casually brushing out her bush of a hairdo and looking pretty out of it. She hears shouts of some kids and the door opening and shutting a few times, but doesn't seem care for the most part as her feet take her to the kitchen.

That's when she sees the sizzling bacon, the fluffy pancakes, the delicious smell of coo-

devour
Devour
DEVOUR
FLESH
DEVOUR THE FLESH OF THE HUMANS.
MAKE THEM SIZZLE ON THE FIRE

Her stomach heaves for a moment, memories swirling about every disgusting recipe of profane ingredients and of the unsettling dream of her own head splitting open. The scholar shakes her head gives Kendra a strained smile.

"Good morning, Kendra! You didn't have to make us breakfast you know." She says with that strained smile that slowly shifts into a pleasant one. Her thoughts move back towards the fact that she is hungry because her body needs sustenance, not because the undead abominations cra- No, not going to think about it for now, she'll tell herself inside the privacy of her own mind.

[Oneris]

"Ah, good morrow, Kendra, Aisling, Gelit," she said, nodding to each in turn. "I trust your night was restful, and not so dream-wracked as mine?" The matter of the morning commotion was set aside, to be processed after certain other duties were addressed.

She maneuvered to the kitchen and took up a long bread knife, slicing two thick slices of bread soon made into darkly browned toast smeared richly with strawberry jam. Chewing one thoughtfully and savoring the faint sweetness, she offered the other to Aisling.

"How goes your perusal of the forbidden texts? Have they enlightened you as to the nature of our quest?"

[u-b]

Ebert nods to those looking at him, stops Chapek and spends some time looking at the statue, trying to guesstimate the type of method/tool used to make that "V", the age of the blood, and reading and counting the names: 27 names total, with Vincents, Arkots and everybody else. Then eventually looks at the crowd, at every one of them. Then leads Laika closer to the nearest drops of blood and commands her to "Track".

Perception (spot): [roll0]
Sense motive: [roll1]
Handle animal: take 10 for 18

Survival by Laika: [roll2] (tracking by scent; vs whatever DC)

[Lost Demiurge]

LORRIMOR HOUSE

"Honestly, I don't mind at all!" Kendra beams at Aisling, preparing a plate for her. "I've been cooking for so much of my life that it helps settle my mind. Though if you our your friends want to help with some of the meals, or show off your own recipes, I won't fuss."

She glances out the window. "Looks like they found the sherriff. Poor man's been running himself ragged, looking for Gstad Svents ever since he went missing out on the moors. Hopefully whatever this is isn't as troublesome..."

------

THE MONUMENT

Ebert's pretty sure no paintbrush made that "V", but beyond that, it's hard to say. No one's acting guilty that he can tell.

The crowd parts to let Ebert and Laika work, watching them with suspicious eyes. Laika sniffs and tries, but the recent scents about the area seem to muddle her. The best she can find is a patch of blood by the treeline. There's a couple of black and white feathers near it, small ones. Looks like... Chicken feathers?

In the few minutes it takes for Laika to do her job, a weathered man in his 20s-30s, clad in studded leather armor topped by a well-worn leather overcoat and hunter's hat arrives, trailed by the children who ran by earlier. There's a hatchet at his belt, and a well-used longbow on his back. He takes in the scene, and whistles, then turns to the crowd.

"Alright, y'all seen all there is ta see. Get on to yer bizness, I'll get it from here."

They start to disperse, showing a bit of relief at his arrival. The kids try and linger, but he swats at a few with his hat until they disperse. After that, he glances at Ashton and Ebert. "Not you two, please. Meanin' ta have a talk with ya."

He keeps his distance, letting Laika work. "Name's Benjan Caeller. Sherriff Caeller, ta be official. I understand yer gonna be in Ravengro for a while?"

[u-b]

"Ebert Malkovich." - nods to Benjan, then nods at the dog - "Laika."

"Will be around for some time, at least about a month, then we'll see how it goes. I don't really like some recent happenings and the Professor asked to take care about his daughter. Also, wanted to talk to you about said happenings, if you are willing."

[G.A.M.D.]

Ashton eyes the dead bird, a hand running through hair that matches the gore before gripping the base of his neck. He eyes the statue before looking over the sheriff. A momentary hitch of breath is audible when he sees the hatchet. Ashton forces himself to finish looking over the man, calming himself.

"Ashton Moniak, I share my companion's desire to speak with you."


[roll0] to get a feel for Benjan. He's Ashton's studied target.

[Lost Demiurge]

THE MEMORIAL

Sherriff Caeller nods. "Alright, we can jaw. A month, huh?"

He looks Ashton back over, cool eyes meeting the slayer's own. Finally, he turns to the business at hand.

"Basically I was settin' to give you the we-got-a-quiet-little-town-here-please-keep-it-that-way speech, but this kinder interrupted."

He points at the statue.

"Timin' on this one is bad, too, with y'all showin' up last night. People gonna be sayin' you did this. I'm assuming you didn't cause you don't strike me as damnfools, but I could be wrong."

"You got nothin' to do with this, right?"

[u-b]

"Not quite sure." - Ebert makes a short pause to let the sheriff some quick hypotheses, then continues - "As you have said, the timing is... ghm. And, people will say we did this. So seems quite possible we do have something to do with this... I mean, it's not one of us who killed this chicken and made some art with it's blood, but whoever did this, he might have taken our arrival into account." - Ebert makes a longer pause - "Well, anyway, they say a hunter passing by found his body under remains of some old wall. I'd like to talk to that hunter, if you do not mind, though for now I'd rather be around while you are investigating the case. I'm afraid, the dog will not track any further, but if we can privide any other assistance, just name it. We would be quite delighted to see you talk with the artist."

[Merellis]

"Ah, good morrow, Kendra, Aisling, Gelit," she said, nodding to each in turn. "I trust your night was restful, and not so dream-wracked as mine?" The matter of the morning commotion was set aside, to be processed after certain other duties were addressed.

She maneuvered to the kitchen and took up a long bread knife, slicing two thick slices of bread soon made into darkly browned toast smeared richly with strawberry jam. Chewing one thoughtfully and savoring the faint sweetness, she offered the other to Aisling.

"How goes your perusal of the forbidden texts? Have they enlightened you as to the nature of our quest?"


LORRIMOR HOUSE

"Honestly, I don't mind at all!" Kendra beams at Aisling, preparing a plate for her. "I've been cooking for so much of my life that it helps settle my mind. Though if you our your friends want to help with some of the meals, or show off your own recipes, I won't fuss."

She glances out the window. "Looks like they found the sherriff. Poor man's been running himself ragged, looking for Gstad Svents ever since he went missing out on the moors. Hopefully whatever this is isn't as troublesome..."

The jam is such a vibrant yet dark red, the smearing ooze of it reminds her too much of the previous night. Aisling closes her eyes and wills her stomach to behave long enough for her to eat. "Thank you for the offer, Caedis." She answers the sweet gesture with a small smile, taking the toast and bringing it to her mouth. The scent of strawberries, the delicious taste, and the crunch of the toast dispelling the illusion of flesh, blood, and ichor.

The little scholar is positively beaming now as she devours the toast, the bacon, and whatever else is tossed her way. It's too good not to eat! "They sadly had nothing to offer towards the cult we discussed last night, just a lot more than I ever wanted to know about rituals, undead, and cookery."

"I take it that's where our companions ran off with then?" She reaches for a cup of water, hoping that the change in conversation would not shift back towards the tome... and it's unpleasant ideas for how to make maple bacon.

[Lost Demiurge]

MONUMENT

The sherriff raises an eyebrow. "Well, looks like you understand the sitchy-ashun a fair amount. I hope yer tellin' the truth on bein' innocent of this. Give ya benefit of the doubt, anyhow."

"Th' hunter's Clive Respin. You kin usually find him at the Demon when he ain't out trappin'. Think he's in town now."

"The artist is stayin' at the inn. Feller's been in seclusion fer a few days now, insistin' no one interrupt his work. But maybe he'll see yah."

"Far as assistance goes... Ya wanna look this over and try things, go ahead. Just so long as y'all don't cause trouble or unrest."

LORRIMOR HOUSE

Kendra nods. "Yes, that's where the menfolk went, off after trouble at the first yell. I've no idea what happened, but no matter. I'm sure I'll hear about it sooner or later."

Breakfast cooked, and plates prepared for people's return, Kendra starts cleaning up.

"Would you like a tour of the town? It won't take long."

[Oneris]

"It is true, the Whispering Way can scarcely seem to be concerned merely with cadaverous cookery."

As for the crockery, it seemed a certain few members of the house paid them even less mind; the after-breakfast cleanup took considerably less time than expected. A few minutes of caring for her mule in the stable, and her daybreak duties concluded.

"Such an excursion would gladly turn our thoughts away from the events of previous day. Gelit, perchance, will you accompany us?"

Caedis clipped her cloak once again around her throat and lifted her hood; the light, though no longer so searing, still shone a most unpleasant glare into her eyes. Hopefully her manner of dress would no longer arouse suspicion in the gradually dipping temperatures of fall.

[u-b]

Ebert makes a to talk simpler when dealing with the locals. So, there's a real artist in town, too. This is not necessarily useful information, but if the real artist paints landscapes or such, he might just as well wander around and see things. Ebert gets off the horse to take a closer look at the site Laika was most closely investigating, picked up half a dozen most representative feather, gets back in the saggle and nods to sheriff.

"I'll do my best to either cause no truble or to inform you in advance."

He intends to go see the artist, because, well, why not?

[Merellis]

Aisling joins in with the cleaning then rushes off to get herself ready for the day, which mostly consists of locking up the chest and finding a secure place to lodge it while grabbing her cloak. She meets Caedis by the door, looking a good deal more awake and aware than before she had consumed her portion.

"I would definitely like to see what caused the other to rush out in such a state earlier. Here's hoping it's not too much of an issue." She seems ready to follow Caedis anywhere.

[Lost Demiurge]

THE MEMORIAL

The sherriff nods, and glances again at the statue. "Ah'll send one of the deputies round later t'clean it, so if you got anythin' more to do here, do it fore noon." Then he gives the scene a look over, and departs.

Ebert picks up the three feathers he found near the splotch of blood. The actual carcass of the chicken is missing...

THE OUTWARD INN

Ebert finds his way to the small, two-story inn, passing Aisling and Caedis as he goes. When he passes through the door, a bell jangles, and a woman just approaching middle age comes out from the back, putting a feather duster away behind the desk. "Ah, morning!"

Her face is guarded, but she's smiling. "Can I help you? You're one of the newcomers, yes? I expect you'll be needing a room, then."

She loses a bit of the smile when he asks to see the artist. "I'm sorry. Mister Adrissant left strict instructions not to be disturbed. Are you a... Friend... Of his? Does he have a reason to see you?"

THE GRAND TOUR

Kendra puts on a much-used coat, and leads the way out. She doesn't bother locking the door behind her. "Well, the town square's closest. This way, then."

She points out locations when you get to the... Well, round, square.

"The posting poles are over there. Jobs, notices, whatnot. There's a sort of paper that goes up on there every wealday."

"The Laughing Demon tavern's over there... You met Zokar. He's a good man, with a weird sense of humor. All his menu items are named after monsters, or morbidly."

"That big building is the town hall. It's kept locked most days, though there's a meeting every month or so, or when emergencies happen. I think there are some records in there... Mind you, only the councillors have the keys."

"That's the general store. The Avanakis run the place, they're friendly enough. Do a lot of business with the hunters and fishermen that make their living from the moors."

"The low building with the smoke is the forge. There's an honest-to-gods dwarf running the place, and the town's glad to have her."

"Over there's the jail. One cell and a little office for the sheriff and the deputies. There's about four of them, all of them are working now thanks to the missing hunter."

"And that new building is Jominda's apothecary. She's an alchemist by trade, specializing in medicines and remedies. Which reminds me, there's a few things I should pick up later..."

"Oh, and that's the Silk Purse farmer's trust. It's sort of a combination of bank and pawn shop. They help farmers who need money in emergencies, and accept heirlooms and strange things in trade. They've got a lot of weird items and antiques... I think they have a magical ring in stock, but it's quite out of my price range so I didn't look too hard at it."

"That's the Outward Inn... Oh, there goes Ebert! Anyway, Mrs. Vai runs the place. Most days it does little custom, but there's been an artist from Caliphas staying at the place for the last few months."

"And lastly, there's the Unfurling Scroll. Alendru runs the place, he's a fairly competent wizard who specializes in scribing. Does up all number of minor charms for people, and scrolls made to order. Also collects books and old parchments, I think he's got a lot of unsorted records in the back. He's also the local tutor for village children who want an education. Reasonable rates, really. It's a pity that he and father never really got along..."

She tucks her hands in her pocket, and glances north.


"If you follow the road north or south it'll curve back west and take you across the river. The only thing over on that side are the church, the Restlands, the councillor's houses, and a lot of farmlands."

"Before you hit the bridge on the southern side, you'll see the monument."

"Everything else is houses. Well, that's that. Like I said, the tour didn't take long. Any questions?"

"If not, then... Well, I've chores to do. You're welcome to help if you want, but it's nothing I can't manage..."

[u-b]

"Please tell mister Adrissant there is some unusual new art to see in town, and I would like to hear his opinion about it. Unfortunately, the opportunity expires just before noon, so, while I'm sorry to disturb him, I cannot make an appointment for any later date, at least with relation to this particular matter. I also have a job proposal, which can wait for as long as mister Adrissant finds convenient." - Ebert pauses then adds - "I cannot say for sure that I am a friend of his, but I might be. I will await his response."

[Lost Demiurge]

The innkeeper considers Ebert...

EBERT

Gimme a diplomacy roll, please. Though with your careful phrasing there, you could substitute a bluff roll...

[Lost Demiurge]

....Then shakes her head. "He did say he wasn't to be disturbed, hon. I'll ask him when I bring him lunch, but I expect the answer will be the same as it is whenever I ask somethin' of that sort. Anyway, are you looking for a room, or where should I send the girl on somewhere to let you know if by some chance he says yes?"

[u-b]

"I'll be around somewhere, but that won't be one specific place, so... how about I'll just come in myself after a few hours? At what thime you usually serve the lunch? Umm... you say he's been busy in his room for some time now, it's not just today's inctructions not to disturb him? How long he is not open for business? If he's too busy right now, I can wait for an appointment for about a week or two with no problem, but that's about it."

If this concludes the business at the inn, Ebert then goes to the tavern, but will stop to chat with any boys that might be hanging around.

In case another diplomacy check is required: [roll0]

[Oneris]

Caedis smiled and nodded politely at Kendra's descriptions of the town, but it was the mention of the artist at the oddly-named inn that caught her attention. What luck, that another disciple of the Eternal Rose shall reside in the same town as she. They simply must get together and exchange their techniques for capturing the artistry of love and life.

She quickly excused herself from the small group under the pretense of seeing after Ebert-what was he doing, going to the inn?- and entered the establishment in time to see him request-and get rebuffed from-a meeting with that very artist, a mister Adrissant! Were they known to each other? That would be wonderful, perhaps he could introduce her.

As he made his way out and towards the tavern, Caedis stepped up after him. "You inquired after the esteemed artist, did you not? Pray tell, are you and he acquainted?"

[u-b]

Ebert stops for a moment to talk with Caedis. He seems to be quite surprised by the question.

"So, the man is famous? I am not much into art, so today's the first time I hear the name. The sheriff mentioned him and I wanted to talk to him about the new bloody painting on Harrowstone Memorial, which was the cause of the morning's commotion, and maybe order an ordinary painting, of Petros,... though if you say he's famous, the later is probably beyond my pocket money limit."

[Lost Demiurge]

THE OUTWARD INN

"He's been secluded for about three weeks now, hun. I usually serve lunch at noonish, so don't bother checkin' before then."

She nods as Ebert leaves.

As the group talks in the town "square," a group of children run by, giggling and chanting a macabre rhyme...

"Put her body on the bed.
Take a knife and lop her head.
Watch the blood come out the pipe.
Feeds the stirge so nice and ripe.
Drops of red so sparkly bright.
Splatters spell her name just right.
With a hammer killed his wife.
Now he wants to claim your life.
Tricksy father tells a lie.
Listen close or you will die..."

[u-b]

"Hey, you! Stop right there!" - Ebert says that in a rather joyful manner, and as soon he has some attention, continues - "Paying coins for rhymes and stories. One copper for a good rhyme or story. Two coppers for a true story. Come on, impress me!" - he smiles

Know (local) regarding such rhymes: [roll0]
Diplomacy: [roll1] (also, a bribe is involved)

[Oneris]

"So, the man is famous? I am not much into art, so today's the first time I hear the name. The sheriff mentioned him and I wanted to talk to him about the new bloody painting on Harrowstone Memorial, which was the cause of the morning's commotion, and maybe order an ordinary painting, of Petros,... though if you say he's famous, the later is probably beyond my pocket money limit."

"Should his name indeed reside within the halls of fame, then I've not yet spied it there. I merely wished to peruse his talents, and possibly steal some for myself. " She smiled and turned to look at the children as they ran past. "As for portrait of the good professor, if this Mr Adrissant wouldn't oblige, mayhaps the honor could be mine. Those years in the Shelynite convent need not prove entirely ineffective. "

"You say the Memorial has newly gained an aspect most sanguine? Whyfor would the artist be of suspicion? Blood is a terrible agent of or our craft, in more ways than one. "

But he was no longer listening.

[G.A.M.D.]

Ashton finds himself lacking the will to follow Ebert as he pursues matters further. Standing mutely in place after both the sheriff and Ebert depart, he finds himself drawn to the monument.

A severed head, face new but familiar. Ash. Blood. Terror. Barsoi.

Ashton looks over the listed dead, taking comfort in who he doesn't find listed.

“Still,” the young man mutters to himself. “Didn't someone mention records?” Maybe it would be best to be sure. Then, perhaps, his mind could rest?

Blinking dazedly, Ashton glances about the square before seeking out his fellows.

[Lost Demiurge]

At first skittish, the kids warm up to Ebert, and are soon laughing and playing around him, and the others.

Ebert finds himself short about 12 copper... They know a couple of good stories.

One is that Zokar is secretly a werewolf, who ate Gstad the hunter and keeps his skull in the inn's cellar.

One is that the artist Adrian is creepy, and was sneaking about trying to peek in on Kendra bathing before he shut himself up because the ghost of Old Man Lorrimor is haunting him.

Another is that the Executioner's scythe walks the battlements of Harrowstone prison by itself, looking for heads to lop.

Then there's the one about how the new herbalist lady (Who moved to town six years ago, and is STILL new) is secretly smuggling things. It's true because sherriff hangs out around her shop all the time, tries to catch her at it!

Then there's the one about how the memorial statue comes to life every full moon, and speaks in strange voices. The next full moon's in two days!

Oh, and a lot of cows in the neighboring farms have been turning up dead, pale white with no blood! It's got to be vampires!

As the group talks with the children, glancing around, it's obvious that the onlooking townsfolk are relaxing a bit. Just a bit. But the kids getting along with at least one of you seems to be a mark in your favor.

[Merellis]

Aisling had spent most of the walk with a slight grin, taking in every word and commiting it to memory in case they'd need it. The one place in particular that had caught her attention was the Unfurling Scroll, who knows what it could be holding within the musty tomes there!

She smiles over at the Professor's daughter, keeping in mind that their task for the month also included assisting her as they could. "I haven't got many questions for today, and while the Unfurling Scroll sounds like a lovely way to spend the afternoon, I think I'll spend it assisting you instead."

"Besides, I think you could use the company for now."

Either way, it's not like she and the others can't switch off with spending time here.

[Lost Demiurge]

"All right..." Says Kendra.

With you all helping, the chores are finished easily, and well before noon.

"Well, that's a help. Look, don't worry about me. I saw you eyeing that scroll shop, Aisling... Please, feel free to go anywhere and talk to anyone. I'll be fine, really..."

[u-b]

Ebert tells children that he'll be sure to meet again to hear more stories, but right now there is a business to do, so he has to go. Then he goes to the tavern to talk to Clive Respin.

[Lost Demiurge]

TAVERN

There's a smaller crowd now before noon, which makes sense. Harvest is almost here, and the farmers will be working days, drinking at night. That said, Ebert's reception at the tavern is close to last night's... Most of the people staring, conversations gone quiet. The only exception is Zokar's friendly wave. And once Ebert goes up to the bar, people turn back to their business, trepidition changing to disinterest.

In the corner a plump girl with a fiddle is berating a boy with a small drum. "You gotta play better! The play-off's tomorrow, an' Gerrig's got his hands on a metal horn! From the city!"

Zokar offers a mug and a smile for a copper, and is happy to point out Clive Respin. The grizzled hunter is a man of perhaps thirty summers, clad in the standard patched greatcoat with a fur hat pulled down on his head. Unshaven whiskers droop under rheumy eyes as he considers you.

"I know you, stranger?"

Two tables away a pair of housefrau paused from their chores chatter on about the vandalism on the statue, and how it's obviously that NECROMANCER, come back from the grave to frighten the village! The quieter of the two shoots Ebert a worried glance, and shushes her friend.

[u-b]

"I don't think so." - Ebert shakes his head. - "Ebert Malkovich. I've been working for Petros Lorrimor for last couple of years and have been here several times, but I don't believe we've met, other than maybe in passing."

"Anyway, I'm sure you know the recent happenings, and stories too. As you can understand I'm somewhat surprised and disappointed by all the present talk about him being a necromancer, for so far my experience was rather opposite. I'd say I want to see it to believe it, but there's no denying things are happening and it seems unclear what's going on. I want to find out. Benjan Caeller said it was you who found Petros' corpse, at Harrowstone, right? Can you tell me about it?"

Diplomacy: [roll0]

[Oneris]

Caedis tarried a while with the children and saw them off singing a new skipping-song, one far cheerier than those other macabre verses.

Not wishing to enter the small drinking establishment, she bid Ebert farewell at the tavern door, and continued her progress once again towards the Restlands. The events of the funeral the night prior weighed heavily on her mind, not to mention the ominous dream and the adolescent poetry to which it seemed to bear more than just a passing resemblance.

At the church door, she knocked quietly three times, then hesitated. The unnatural nightmare shook her badly, and had scarcely been suppressed by an entire hour of devout meditation. It now strove to defend its grotesque hallucinations with an undeniable wariness to meet with the man it had so thoroughly slandered. For a moment, she was caught in an overwhelming desire to flee, but just as quickly, the more rational parts of her psyche took up arms and beat the rogue impulse down, giving it a strict lecture on the difference between dreams and reality before sentencing it to a long session of sitting in the corner and contemplating its existence.

[Lost Demiurge]

TAVERN

Clive Respin squints at Ebert over his mug. "Can't say nothin' or t'other about the man's magic. As to findin' him, not much to tell, really..."

"I'm headin' out ta hunt grouse in th' morning, when I find man's tracks cuttin' my trail. I foller 'em, and see they heads toward th' Stone." He makes a little spiral gesture, a Pharasmin ward against evil. "I start t' turn back, but th' sun's rising and I sees some red through th' trees. So I goes and looks and there he is, legs stickin' out from a big crumbled gargoyle off'n th' wall."

"I goes and tells the sheriff. Then I goes and hunts grouse agin."

SENSE MOTIVE DC 12

He hesitates a bit when he mentions finding tracks.


THE CHURCH

In most churches, someone would call to enter, or the door would be unlocked.

This is a Pharasmin church in Ustalav. As such, the door opens after a minute, and an acolyte carrying a cleaning bucket surveys Caedis quietly, before letting her in. Once done, he gets back to holystoning the floor.

Up towards the altar, Father Grimburrow is handling a mop with slow, dogged persistance. He nods at Caedis as she approaches. "Ah. Good morning to you. I trust your assistance is helping Miss Lorrimor cope with her loss?"

[u-b]

"So you did not come with the sheriff to recover the corpse, umm... did you tell him any more than this? Maybe he asked about other tracks or something else? Or maybe you can remember now... or conclude or guess, something you did not tell him at the moment?"

In case more diplomacy is required: [roll0]

[Lost Demiurge]

TAVERN

"No, I didn't recover the corpse. He's got arms an' deputies. That's his job. Mine's hunting. Don't know how things work in yer city, but here if I don't get game, I don't eat."

He frowns at Ebert. "Other tracks... Yeah. There was other tracks. Weren't just the perfessor's I was followin'. Looked like a whole mess o' people. At least six wearin' boots... and..."

He lowers his voice.

"At least six barefoot. And two of'em weren't nothin' but bones."

He takes a long pull of his mug.

"I told the sherriff so don't go sayin' I didn't. And I didn't see no other bodies outside and I ain't fool enough to go inside th' Stone, so I booked it out of there an' yer a liar if ya say you'd a done different."

He looks at his empty mug, grimaces, and stands. "Best be off now. I got traplines ta check."

[u-b]

Ebert responds, also in a hushed voice and making sure he's turned away from everyone.

"That's a very good info, mister Respin. In my city... I didn't do much cities lately, but the professor used to pay me good money for good info. And that's how I'll do." - Ebert gets 7 silver coins out of his pocket and puts them on the table before Clive Respin in such a way that they remain covered from everyone else either by Ebert's body, his mug or his hand. - "This should be good for a week of hunting. Or you can name other price, and I'll match it." - Ebert pauses for a short time - "I've got friends, mister Respin. And some day, we might have a reason to get interested in hunting. Some sort of serious game. That sort. We might invite you with us, either for tracking or more than just tracking. If you are ever interested, just name the price. I'll match it."

Then Ebert waits for Clive to leave (or name other price, which will be paid on the spot if within 10 gold) and sits drinking from his mug, not hurrying anywhere, intending to sit until the mug is empty and then to leave too.

Sleight of hand:
Diplomacy: [roll]1d20+9

[Lost Demiurge]

TAVERN

The hunter eyes Ebert, but takes the coins. "You have somethin' ya need done, we'll talk and might be I'll work for you. But if you ain't got nothin' in mind right this minute, we can talk price when you DO have somethin' in mind."

He departs. The rest of the tavern is fairly quiet, save for the kids practicing for the play-off.

[Oneris]

THE CHURCH

In most churches, someone would call to enter, or the door would be unlocked.

This is a Pharasmin church in Ustalav. As such, the door opens after a minute, and an acolyte carrying a cleaning bucket surveys Caedis quietly, before letting her in. Once done, he gets back to holystoning the floor.

Up towards the altar, Father Grimburrow is handling a mop with slow, dogged persistence. He nods at Caedis as she approaches. "Ah. Good morning to you. I trust your assistance is helping Miss Lorrimor cope with her loss?"

"The morning's greetings to you, too, Father." She moved to take the mop and motioned for the elderly priest to rest. "Please, strain yourself no more with these menial tasks. Recuperate a while, and perhaps you can ease my mind while I ease your burden?"

As she scrubbed away at the floor, Caedis mused on recent events. "Bereavement is an affliction yearning to be shared, though its potency dwindles when spread across so many. The gloom of the esteemed professor's passing shall soon yield fair skies ahead. Her merriment this morn glowed like a new-bud snow rose." She paused. "I fear the snow may pile ever higher on, and it chills me to the core. Visions most evil plague my nightly rest, and, I beg that this in no shape or form reflects anything of our fair reality, but in my dreams last eve, I saw within it you, twisted in a most unseemly manner, your form bedight with a thousand chains that writhed as vile serpents do while your visage, corrupted into a hideous ruin, speaks blasphemies and-and-"

In her confession, the girl had worked herself up into a tearstained frenzy, the events of the horrific fantasy coming back as if the hallucination was upon her once again.

"Please father, forgive this most grave insult I have visited upon you. Tell me that these foul fantasies are born not of my own mind, but children of cruel spirits that seized upon my inattention to defile my innermost thoughts. I can not bear living with myself, should I learn that within myself lies potential to inflict such ugliness upon the world. "

[Lost Demiurge]

THE CHURCH

Father Grimburrow stares at Caedis.

"That sounds like quite the nightmare. Did you eat cheese before bed?"

He shrugs as she takes the mop, and folds himself into a pew, grimacing as his back pops.

"I shall be certain to inform you if I become a chain-bedecked, blasphemy-shouting thing. In the meantime, I appreciate your work with the floors."

That said, his brow furrows as he seems pensive, and considers something... "You are not the only one afflicted with horrible dreams. It seems an endemic, of late. I have not noticed such, but my own sleep has been troubled, for reasons I remember not upon waking."

[Merellis]

"All right..." Says Kendra.

With you all helping, the chores are finished easily, and well before noon.

"Well, that's a help. Look, don't worry about me. I saw you eyeing that scroll shop, Aisling... Please, feel free to go anywhere and talk to anyone. I'll be fine, really..."

"Well, I have been wanting to give it a bit of a look. If you don't mind, I'll just give it a quick visit, and plan out longer ones through the month." She says with a bit of a red in cheeks, embarrassed to have been caught. "But Kendra, you don't really have to pretend to be fine if you aren't. We're here to help you out however you need this month, and if that includes just keeping you company for a day and not doing much, than I'm fine with that too."

She grins and heads to the door. "Anyway, those books are calling to me, and I have a few things I want to get him to check into for me if I can. I'll be back shortly!"

[u-b]

Ebert spends some more time at the table, eventually finishing his drink and leaving. He then rides to Lorrimor's house to tell Kendra about his findings and hear about the information broght in by the others. He intends to ask about the life and death of Gstad the hunter; about the artist Adrissant (or Adrian, or whatever) and his relationship with Kendra and his stay in the village; about relationships between memorial statue and full moon (real or imagined); about dying crows and about whatever strange weird and/or creepy stuff going on, because there certainly seems some. He then intends to tell about his talk with Clive Respin, in maximum detail, mention that he does not want this information to be known to anyone outside the house, tell that he'll ride to Harrowstone and take a look, listen to anything Kendra has to say, then be on his way.

[Oneris]

THE CHURCH

Father Grimburrow stares at Caedis.

"That sounds like quite the nightmare. Did you eat cheese before bed?"

He shrugs as she takes the mop, and folds himself into a pew, grimacing as his back pops.

"I shall be certain to inform you if I become a chain-bedecked, blasphemy-shouting thing. In the meantime, I appreciate your work with the floors."

That said, his brow furrows as he seems pensive, and considers something... "You are not the only one afflicted with horrible dreams. It seems an endemic, of late. I have not noticed such, but my own sleep has been troubled, for reasons I remember not upon waking."

Caedis contemplated his words. "No, I cannot disparage my meal's provider so. The aura of menace that assaulted my senses possessed malevolence unheard of from mere cheese. And if this evil has harried persons apart from myself"

Her eyes widened. "Could this fair village have displeased the Great Dreamer so, that only the dead sleep restfully? Or is it a sign of misfortunes to come? Pray, dear father, tell me of the dreaming woes of your flock. Mayhap lies within the key to our deliverance."

[Lost Demiurge]

THE UNFURLED SCROLL

The bell jangles as Aisling walks through the door. This store is jam-packed with papers, books, and writing supplies. Behind a cluttered desk, an old man peers at her, rheumy eyes staring from overlarge spectacles.


"Oh, you'll be one of the strangers, then. Welcome to my store. What do you want?"
THE CHURCH

Father Grimburrow squints at Kaedis, considers her words as he scrutinizes her...

CAEDIS
Gimme a diplomacy check, please.

HARROWSTONE...
The path out of town soon turns to overgrown trail. The old road here is completely grown over, but remains visible, a scar in the land. He follows it as it rises up past the moors, to the hilltop upon which the ruin rests...

All too soon it's visible through the barren and leafless trees. A carpet of black and brown leaves crunch underfoot as he climbs... It's a bit early in the season for this much leaf-fall, and as he approaches the old prison it only gets worse. After putting an errant foot in a pothole or two, Ebert takes it more slowly.

And at last he stands before it.

A two-story building surrouned by a thick and crumbling wall, it lurks in shadows even in the highest point of this hilltop. THe gate stands open, revealing a weed-choked courtyard within. Watchtowers and gargoyles stud the walls, a few of them fallen to the ground leaving cracks and gaps behind. To the east, a pond has formed, crumbling the wall and leaving jagged teeth of stone sticking out of the dark and muddy water. It looks cold and uninviting.

The wooden gate groans suddenly, as it swings a few inches in the wind.

That is the only sound here at the minute, save the howling of the wind through the barren trees...

[u-b]

Ebert rides slowly circling around the building, remaining within several yards to avoid any "accidental" falls of heavy stuff, and looking both inside and outside. Inside - to see the site where the professor has been found, with a gargoyle nearby, and possibly some smell of some form(s) of dead still somewhat intact. Outside - to make sure there are no casual observers.

(the following assumes no one is spotted)

Eberts rides a couple of yards farther away from the building and starts the summoning ceremony. After about a minute, there is a flash of azure light and a creature appears, clearly unlike anything that could be found in nature - a stocky black feline, with mane, two curved horns, and strange azure marks on all limbs and body, the marks slowly fading. Ebert nods at the building. The creature slowly walks around and gets inside, with Eber following at first but then stopping several yards out of the door, looking around and waiting.

I am assuming Kendra has exactly zero words to comment about "the life and death of Gstad the hunter; about the artist Adrissant (or Adrian, or whatever) and his relationship with Kendra and his stay in the village; about relationships between memorial statue and full moon (real or imagined); about dying crows and about whatever strange weird and/or creepy stuff going on". Anyway, all the stuff has been asked and told.

Perception (Ebert): [roll0]
Perceprion (Chapek): [roll1]
Perceprion (Laika): [roll2]
Survival (Laika): [roll3]
Stealth (Zapka): [roll4]
Perception (Zapka): [roll5]

Feel free to cut this sequence short at any appropriate moment. Zapka does her best to leave minimal tracks as she moves. Ebert's mark also activates, but it cannot be seen because of the headband. Chapek, as opposed to everyone else, is not specifically looking for anything.

[Lost Demiurge]

Kendra's comments:

Kendra knew a hunter named Gstad was missing. She thought that Adivion fellow, the artist, was polite enough but a little distant. She didn't talk with him much though father had dinner with him a few times, discussing history. She doesn't know of any relationship between the memorial and the full moon. She hasn't heard about any dying crows.

And when Ebert mentioned going to Harrowstone alone, she looked panicked. "Why do you want to die so badly? That place... Just... Be careful, all right?"



Ebert notices some strange runes on the foundation of the building, now that he's inside the walls.

There look to be three ways into the building... The closed front door, under a sagging balcony. To the west there is a stairway leading up to a platform that runs along the building, there looks to be a door up there. The third way would be to wade through the dirty, ominous water, to get into a large, gaping hole in the eastern half of the building.

There's also a small house in the courtyard... Single story, built well, but falling to pieces from time and neglect.

As he and his eidolon approach, Ebert notices a series of chalk runes drawn along the foundation of the building.

[u-b]

An amendment to the previous post: "Ebert rides slowly circling around the building outer wall ... nods at the building prison. The creature slowly walks around and gets inside." - that's before Ebert himself getting through the gate. Specifically I want to visually (and animally) examine all the gargoyles on the ground near the wall and visible from the outside. I'd like to know whether or not each such site seems in any way special (like featuring some evidence of a dead body* being taken from there). If such a site cannot be found, Ebert makes a precise count of all places a gargoyle have (or might have) fallen from, and what's behind every one of those.

*Looking closer at perception rules, Laika has an extra +8 to detect scent for a total roll of 26 (if any scents are involved). I'm pretty sure this does not involve any tracking as that is a separate roll.
Once in the in the courtyard, Ebert takes a look around, trying to notice all the details, and leaves. He rides to some place outside that gives him a nice view either across a crumbled section of the wall, or across the water, stops there, nods to Zapka. Zapka walks her usual soft steps towards the small house.

I'd like to use a map of it, if there's no spoilers in there. It would make things more clear.

How many "strange runes" are there on the foundation of the building? I want a rough approximation, like 30, 300, 3000, etc. Are they grouped somehow? The same about "chalk runes". Right now, Ebert's not going to read any (he does not know runes), but the quantity of information present might be somewhat useful.

Ebert just sits in the saddle and looks around, that's it. Laika is doing whatever within 30 feet of him. Standard procedure underway, business as usual.

Zapka at 3 hp because of distance. She is not hurrying and takes 20 on perception for a total of 24 while she is through the ruins. If there is something to report about the small house, she gets to Ebert and reports in Common. Otherwise, she will continue with the walls and watchtowers, full circle around the large house, then through the water into the large house (coming back each time there is anything to report, or making sure she gets a nod each time there is nothing to report).

[Lost Demiurge]

Ebert


A spoiler free map? Sure.

https://www.google.com/search?q=harrowstone+outside&biw=1170&bih=775&tbm=isch&imgil=TZJEHsBQgFRIiM%253A%253BYudjLk9TQpINCM%253Bh ttps%25253A%25252F%25252Fcarrion-crown-kyle-s.obsidianportal.com%25252Fadventure-log%25252Fchapter-4-harrowstone-the-haunted-prison-feb-10-2012&source=iu&pf=m&fir=TZJEHsBQgFRIiM%253A%252CYudjLk9TQpINCM%252C_&usg=__e8skEZx8bcGw3Z3-fi1qsXrAEYc%3D&ved=0CCkQyjc&ei=R3Q9VL29NZHJggSiqoHQBQ#facrc=_&imgdii=_&imgrc=TZJEHsBQgFRIiM%253A%3BYudjLk9TQpINCM%3Bhttp% 253A%252F%252Fcdn.obsidianportal.com%252Fassets%25 2F152086%252FHarrowstoneOuterYard2.png%3Bhttps%253 A%252F%252Fcarrion-crown-kyle-s.obsidianportal.com%252Fadventure-log%252Fchapter-4-harrowstone-the-haunted-prison-feb-10-2012%3B400%3B249


Zapka eventually tracks down the gargoyle she thinks the professor was under. The blood scent is weeks old, but there's scent there, and there's some obvious tracks where people came and disturbed it... Probably recovering the body.

The other gargoyles, 4 in question, seem to have fallen from the wall. About 13 more remain on the wall, in various states of repair. Some might have already fallen into the dark pond.

The runes scrawl across the foundation... Some of them are smudged, but there's no way this didn't take days to do. They're countless in number.

Zapka ignores the main building of the prison, as instructed, and moves into the small house. She reports three rooms... Kitchen, dining room, and probably a bedroom in the back. broken furniture, crockery, and other remnants of furnishings, but doesn't smell anything fresh. She also reports that it's creaking alarmingly, the further in she goes. Does he wish her to poke around in the back room?

[u-b]

Ebert nods and tells Zapka that looking into the bedroom from the outside would be enough for now and that she should look at everything else that's worth looking outside of the big house before going inside. Zapka proceeds with the investigation.


The runes scrawl across the foundation... Some of them are smudged, but there's no way this didn't take days to do. They're countless in number.
Does this refer to "strange runes" or "chalk runes" or that's the same thing? From #111 it seems Ebert notices whatever runes twice - once on first line of the post and once on the last.

The plan is as follows (returning back to Ebert as necessary):
https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/62563118/Harrowstone-plan-A.jpg