Carrion Crown - The Haunting of Harrowstone [IC]

[Creeping Doom]

http://cdn.obsidianportal.com/assets/57030/RavengroArt.jpg

(Opening scene music) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZo5Vhc2yx8)

The town of Ravengro looms before you as you make your way down the winding, leaf choked roadway. The loud complaining cawing of crows, with the rustle of dead leaves blowing in the wind fills your ears. Ravengro seems little more than a somber farming villiage, simple one and two storey buildings dot the countryside accompanied with a dozen or so tilled fields and a somewhat large cemetary, which seems far too large for a town so small. You see very few townsfolk as you make your way to Lorrimor's address, which is supplied with the note you received about the professor's passing, but those you do see are grim and scowl at you before disappearing inside their homes.

Finally you come upon the Lorrimor estate. It is a modest abode, standing two stories tall, and of better make then most of the homes in Ravengro but by no means the most opulent. As you knock upon the door a portly moustached man answers. "Hello there, you must the ones Kendra is expecting, please do come in," he says in a friendly enough tone before ushering you into the parlor. Once inside you see a trim and attractive young woman, her eyes are red and puffy and she wears dark colored conservative clothes. As she notices you she flashes you all a strained smile before speaking.

"Hello, I am Kendra, Kendra Lorrimor. I take it that you are Malcom, Yelis, Dimitri, Mogrym, and Mortimer, the ones m-my father had me send for? I'm glad that you all could make it here, and you're just on time." She seems like she is trying to be poilte in her greeting but you can easily see she is overcome with grief. "This is Zokar, the local tavernkeeper and a friend of the family, his son, and the others who are attending the funeral are awaiting us at The Restlands. I am sorry to ask this after your journey, as you no doubt would like to rest but can you come with us? The funeral will start momentarily..."

http://cdn.obsidianportal.com/assets/52609/Kendra_Lorrimor.jpg

[Smileybastard]

Dimitri

Dimitri bows to Kendra. A tall slim pale man with pale grey eyes and raven hair. "I am so sorry for your loss my dear."

~~~

"Of course I will come."

[Springjack]

Malcolm had passed through Ravengro a few times during his travels, so he was somewhat familiar with the cold reception strangers got around here, especially towards those who practiced magic. The townsfolk were a superstitious lot.

...

Once all present parties were introduced, Malcolm reached out and gently grasped Kendra's hands for a second before letting go. "Oh, but of course Miss Lorrimor. I would be honored to attend." He had heard many good things about Kendra from Professor Lorrimor during their travels, including the fact that she was a fellow diviner, but pleasantries such as small talk could wait until after the funeral. Right now there was a grieving woman to comfort.

Geronimo, perched atop Malcolm's shoulder, hooted his assent as well, giving the young Lorrimor woman a dignified little bow of his own.

[QuidEst]

Yelis shuffled his feet awkwardly, nodding in response to the thanks. He was not the sort of person to hold debt in any particular regard. Gods and goddesses knew he'd skipped out on plenty of debts accrued in the guise of sundry victims. But Lorrimor, he owed more than money; the late professor had been punctual when it had mattered most, arriving in the nick of time to save him from a fate worse than death. Even his slothful conscience would have protested if he hadn't attended the funeral, mention of a will or not.

When he'd received word of Lorrimor's passing, he'd set out at once, arriving in his best attire. As a kitsune particularly gifted at shapeshifting, "best attire" included choice of bodies. There'd been some deliberation over this, but at last he'd settled on his own human form. Tall and wiry, it didn't have the elegance of many of his favorite borrowed forms, but it was his, right down to the long nose and unruly brown hair. His actual clothes were fine beyond his means, spun by magic rather than purchased normally. Beside him, his companion, Waya, padded along silently, instinctively sensing the gravity of the situation and remaining on her best behavior.

"It would be an honor," Yelis answered solemnly, dipping his head.

[Othniel]

Mortimer Boone

Mortimer stopped near the first houses just inside the town and patted his mule's flank as he looked around. He'd never been to Ravengro, though his career as a thief-catcher often took him to different parts of Ustalav in pursuit (and sometimes recovery) of his quarry. He didn't like the look of the town. "Cheerful looking place, isn't it, Winifred?" Mortimer asked the mule. The animal had been his only traveling companion for some time, and he had taken to speaking his thoughts to her. Winifred twitched an ear and whimpered softly in response, Mortimer concluding that something of the same mood seemed to be effecting her as well.

The thief-catcher reached into a bag strapped to the mule's pack saddle and drew out a carrot. Offering it to Winifred, the man let her consume it entirely before he once again grasped the reins and guided the mule slowly through the streets toward the Lorrimor estate, mistrustfully eyeing each house and citizen he passed. He wanted to reread the letter once more, but he'd already committed the contents to memory. What had a chance meeting years ago where he had saved the Professor brought him all the way to Ravengro for? He had a troubling feeling that it was more than the sentimental generosity of a man he'd saved along the road. Mortimer paused as he thought about the situation that had momentarily thrown him together with the professor. He was on the road toward Caliphas when he'd saved the professor from bandits, his first (though unofficial) act of enforcing the law against those who would violate it for their own gain. The professor had shown extreme gratitude, promising to never forget Mortimer. The thief-catcher smiled at the thought, realizing that Lorrimor hadn't forgot.

The pair eventually reached estate where he saw several strangers engaged with some kind of serving man. "Mortimer Boone," he said, by way of introduction to the man. "And this is Winifred," he added, gesturing to the mule. "I didn't see any kind of stable to leave her at, so would you be a good man and watch her for me?" Not waiting for a response, he placed the reins into the hands of the man and followed the previous entrants into the house.

He waited silently behind the others and received the greeting of their hostess. Mortimer had to admit that she was an attractive woman, though he suspected she was more of the prim and proper type than he was used to dealing with in his career. Not that it mattered; Mortimer was here for the funeral and to satisfy his curiosity, rather than court whatever passed for local gentry. Still, once the funeral was over and the weeping was stilled, he thought he might inquire as to whether the town needed the services of a thief-catcher. He could extend his circuit to include Ravengro if the town lacked for decent administers of justice, or so he referred to himself in his own mind. While the thief-catcher's job was catching thieves and turning them in to the authorities for lawful punishment, in practice ne'er-do-wells often refused to come quietly, choosing the chance of avoiding his blades than the sure end of a gallows noose.

"My condolences as well, Miss Lorrimor," Mortimer replied politely. "I would be glad to accompany you and these folk, though I have a mule just outside, and Winifred needs stabling of some kind, lest she wander and get into mischief."

[Hattish Thing]

Mad Ol' Mogrym Mcallister:

A menacing figure lurches forward through the leaf-covered cobblestone streets, clad in a tattered, stained, and faded brown longcoat, several of the faded gold and silver buttons having been lost long ago, giving the coat a general look of disrepair and decrepitude. As the sun shines down upon the wary traveller, the figure adjusts his large hat, covering his face from the sun's rays, as well as from the prying eyes of any particularly suspicious natives of Ravengro. Despite the attempts to remain inconspicuous, the man somewhat stands out. He's wearing so many layers of clothing after all, and no skin appears readily visible. The wide-brimmed capotain type hat covers the majority of the strange man's face in shadow with it's dilapidated brown cloth, while the longcoat's tall collar covers his lower face and chin. It was almost as if the figure was hiding something. Mogrym Mcallister walks forward through the streets, his leather and metal brace that keeps his right leg together making a somewhat loud noise, creaking and all. The long travel here had left the old man with little time to oil his brace. Mogrym's weathered and old face gazes forward, his beady brown eyes looking over everything hungrily, mindlessly assessing and calculating all that he could see.

The wind picks up, and the coat flaps in the gale along with Mogrym's patchy and oily hair. He pauses here and growls something angrily to himself, before reaching into his coat to pull out a small map. "Walked the whole damn way here fine, and now I can't find a the one damned house I need. Too many people in this god forsaken village, too many houses, too many... too many..." There's a loud caw from a nearby crow, which distracts Mogrym, who takes the sound as a personal offense. "Too many ****ing birds as well!" Mogrym gestures violently towards the bird with his quarterstaff, tapping it against the cobblestone loudly. "Shoo ye blighter, shoo!" With another loud exclamation, Mogrym manages to scare off the crow. In the act of doing so, however, a small boy notices him. The boy is standing just outside a small home, playing with a wooden toy of some sort. He's staring right towards Mogrym, and the somewhat overweight professor turns to stare back. There's a very awkward bit of contact there for a second before Mogrym scowls. The old man seems about to say something, before a coughing fit overcomes him, the old man's cough sounding more like a malevolent bark.

Mogrym glares towards the child once more before bringing a worn cloth up to his scarred face, turning his head away as he brings the cloth to his mouth, coughing and wiping. With a turn, he puts the napkin away, his lower face once more covered in the collar. However, the boy notices a few dashes of blood on the cloth before the Inquisitor places the bit of napkin away. The boy seems somewhat concerned, but doesn't dare come any closer to the strange coughing man. Mogrym scowls once more at the boy before growling out towards the child. "What are you looking at, boy? Didn't yer mother every teach ye not to stare?" The old man makes a frightening face, and the boy rushes back inside quickly. Mogrym chuckles to himself darkly, before coughing a little bit once more, and heading forward again. His eyes narrow as he stares towards a building nearby, and the ex-hunter checks an additional bit of paper that had been stored in his coat. On it, there's a small charcoal drawing of a building that greatly resembled the one before him. "Now that looks more like it... The Lorrimer Estate. Hmph." Mogrym takes a quick swig from a private hip flask of some foul smelling beverage, some sort of whisky perhaps, before looking around once more, quickly looking to see if there was anything particularly unusual about his surroundings.

Perception: [roll0]

After his crazed looking eyes finish their sweep around the area, Mogrym hooks his hip flask back to his belt and continues his way forward, limping and relying upon his wooden quarterstaff once more. The professor, er rather, ex-professor knocks loudly, looking behind him once more before quickly turning his head back to facing the door. Upon seeing the mustachioed man, Mogrym squints his eyes, looking over the kindly-seeming man with a look of mild distrust. His eyes flash to the man's belt, then his shoes, then finally to the door-openers eyes. He's searching for weapons it seems, but ultimately seems confident that the man was relatively harmless. Mogrym doesn't bother greeting the man, instead making somewhat threatening eye contact for a prolonged bit of time, before moving by the man, his tall but somewhat hunched looking frame fitting through the door with ease.

He does not even offer a hand to shake.

Mogrym strides in and looks around at the others gathered, staring and looking them over from beneath the shade of his tall hat. His gaze is... penetrating, as if he's glaring right through anything he sees, assessing and calculating everything, memorizing details about each of the people around. The old man adjusts his wooden quarterstaff now, holding it close, placing his weight on his good leg while the braced limb juts out strangely. Now that he's been standing, anyone who looks his way can see that he leans heavily on his gnarled wooden quarterstaff, appearing to suffer from some sort of leg injury. Upon closer inspection, there seems to be some leather and metal brace just visible underneath a ripped up pant leg on the damaged limb. However, the man's dark brown cloak covers most of the rest of him. Still, a keen eye would notice that the man stands in a way that would suggest he was once military. Although his age and limp would suggest otherwise, the man is surprisingly nimble, striding forward in an odd hop-like motion as Kendra asks for the figures gathered to follow her. He speaks to her, his eyes darting animatedly across the room, always suspicious, always looking, always watching. "Of course, Kendra. Or rather, Ms. Lorrimor. Addressing ye as such may get some gettin' used to... Yer father always simply called ye Kendra. He always spoke so fondly of you..." There's a brief look of softness from the old man, and he smiles somewhat towards Kendra, but the expression is... somewhat twisted.

Mogrym continues, his soft tone gone as quickly as it came. "But enough, we'll have time fer fond memories later. Where we're going, missy, will there be windows? I certainly hope not. Or if there are, be there curtains to cover?" Mogrym comes a little closer, whispering to her, although due to his nature as being somewhat hard of hearing, his whisper is more of a soft exclamation, easily heard by most around him. "There were some strange an' tall figures I noticed out of town, hiding in the corn fields... Long hats and sour looks, hidden in the shade, yes, I know. I saw... Yer ol' Uncle Mogrym always sees. But iff'n we be havin' a private conversation with those here with us..."

"Might I suggest we have it good and fast?"

"Ye never know who may be listenin'..."

[Creeping Doom]

You don't see anything particularly out of the ordinary.

"I'm sure that we could bring, uh, Winifred is it? Around back and lash her to the fence, it's made stoutly and shoud keep your mule from wandering off. Could you handle that for me please, Zokar?" Kendra says to Mortimer before turning to the middle aged portly tavern keep.

"Of course, my dear" Zokar replies before disappearing out the front door.

Kendra then listens intently as Mogrym goes on in a half friendly half paranoid rant, and her soft expression takes on a bit of a quizzical look as she regards him. Before answering she takes a hesitant half step back from the stranger who was getting perhaps a little too close for her comfort. "For now sir, we're going to The Restlands to lay my father's body to rest... afterward I'm sure we can find a comfortable place for everyone to discuss things."

"Oh, I may be assuming you know too much of our quiet little town here, beg your pardon. The Restlands is what the local cemetary grounds are known as. Afterward we can return here for a drink and get to the business of father's will..." her eyes trail off as her voice does but she quickly regains her composure. "Councilman Vashian Hearthmont is the closest thing our town has to a solicitor, and will be present for the reading. It requires that all of you attend, to what end I cannot say, but I am glad that you all could make it. It was obvious that my father was fond of you all for one reason or another, and that you can be here now for him warms my heart."

Zokar opens the front door again, letting in a strong gust of wind that interrupts the meeting. "We really should be making our way, my dear. Father Grimburrow is no doubt already waiting for us..." he says giving Kendra a sympathetic look.

"Right, of course... let us get to matters then." Kendra ushers everyone from the parlor back out into the cooling autumn afternoon air. Zokar starts leading the way down a winding cobblestone road towards what you can only assume is The Restlands. Kendra walks amongst you all and continues, "I was hoping that you would do my father and I a great honor and be his pallbearers. It should only take about four of you to lift the, um, casket... but I'm sure you could all partake if you'd like, and it would perhaps be easier on some of the locals who were very close to him if they could just observe..."

Eventually you arrive to a gathering of about a dozen people or so, they all wear somber looks and dark colors. Zokar makes his way over to a young boy, the lad no older than twelve or thriteen, and puts his arm around him. Others simply give Kendra sympathetic smiles or wipe away at tears forming in their eyes. Resting on the cobbled road is a finely crafted wooden casket, it is plain but clearly well made, with brass handles on either side to allow the casket to be easily lifted and moved. Surrounding the cemetary is a moderately high stone wall, and peeking up over that you can make out a number of weathered mausoleums, and a few gnarled looking trees with only the most stubborn of dying leaves still clinging to their branches.

The procession waits for the pallbearers to take their place, and begin Petros Lorrimor's journey to his final resting place.

[Othniel]

"What charming names they have for people and places around here," Mortimer thought to himself. What he said instead was, "I would be honored." Stepping over to the casket, Mortimer takes his place and waits patiently for the others.

[Springjack]

A minute of prestidigitation and Malcolm's attire was free of the dust and grime (and a few dried tears as well) he had accumulated during his travels. Now he was properly prepared to pay the professor his last respects. The young wizard took his place in the procession as a pallbearer, opting to hold one of the coffin's front corners.

[Smileybastard]

Dimitri

Dimitri silently takes up his position as a pallbearer. It was hard to imagine the professor gone, but alas few live as long as himself. He would miss the man.

[QuidEst]

Yelis eyed the- man?- nervously. The outfit was uncomfortably familiar, and it took a few steady breaths to calm himself. It was fine. This was a friend of the late Professor, after all. Waya gave a low ruff, and put her head under his hand. Yelis smiled and gave her a scratch behind the ears before answering Kendra. "Of course. And if there's anything else that I can do, just let me know." He took his place at the middle of the coffin, where his weak arms wouldn't be depended on too much. Waya trotted along beside him quietly, instinctively aware of the somber atmosphere.

[Hattish Thing]

Yelis eyed the- man?- nervously. The outfit was uncomfortably familiar, and it took a few steady breaths to calm himself. It was fine. This was a friend of the late Professor, after all. Waya gave a low ruff, and put her head under his hand. Yelis smiled and gave her a scratch behind the ears before answering Kendra. "Of course. And if there's anything else that I can do, just let me know." He took his place at the middle of the coffin, where his weak arms wouldn't be depended on too much. Waya trotted along beside him quietly, instinctively aware of the somber atmosphere.

Mogrym notices Yelis staring towards him, despite the fact that the old ex-professor seemed to have his back to the sorcerer. With a slight turn of his face, he peers towards Yelis with one eye, looking like a particularly sour-faced lizard at that particular moment. His piercing eyes scan over the kitsune with particular zeal, attempting to find some sort of weapon hidden. Yelis may find the idea of his entire person being mentally scoured by the unpleasant looking man somewhat bothersome. However, it's over soon, and upon finding nothing that looked, the inquisitor turns his attentions away from the younger individual, muttering something beneath his breath and thinking to himself. "No weapons save a dinky lookin' dagger, scrawny lookin' little hairball innit he, Mogrym. His pup may give me trouble, if it ever comes to that... A magic user, no doubt, but not divine. No symbol presented, no heavy weapons, no armor. A mage, perhaps. We shall see, we shall see." The old man ceases his train of thought, having decided he spent more than enough time pondering the nature of this particular companion.

He turns to Kendra once more.


You don't see anything particularly out of the ordinary.

Kendra then listens intently as Mogrym goes on in a half friendly half paranoid rant, and her soft expression takes on a bit of a quizzical look as she regards him. Before answering she takes a hesitant half step back from the stranger who was getting perhaps a little too close for her comfort. "For now sir, we're going to The Restlands to lay my father's body to rest... afterward I'm sure we can find a comfortable place for everyone to discuss things."

"Oh, I may be assuming you know too much of our quiet little town here, beg your pardon. The Restlands is what the local cemetary grounds are known as. Afterward we can return here for a drink and get to the business of father's will..." her eyes trail off as her voice does but she quickly regains her composure. "Councilman Vashian Hearthmont is the closest thing our town has to a solicitor, and will be present for the reading. It requires that all of you attend, to what end I cannot say, but I am glad that you all could make it. It was obvious that my father was fond of you all for one reason or another, and that you can be here now for him warms my heart."

Zokar opens the front door again, letting in a strong gust of wind that interrupts the meeting. "We really should be making our way, my dear. Father Grimburrow is no doubt already waiting for us..." he says giving Kendra a sympathetic look.

"Right, of course... let us get to matters then." Kendra ushers everyone from the parlor back out into the cooling autumn afternoon air. Zokar starts leading the way down a winding cobblestone road towards what you can only assume is The Restlands. Kendra walks amongst you all and continues, "I was hoping that you would do my father and I a great honor and be his pallbearers. It should only take about four of you to lift the, um, casket... but I'm sure you could all partake if you'd like, and it would perhaps be easier on some of the locals who were very close to him if they could just observe..."

Eventually you arrive to a gathering of about a dozen people or so, they all wear somber looks and dark colors. Zokar makes his way over to a young boy, the lad no older than twelve or thriteen, and puts his arm around him. Others simply give Kendra sympathetic smiles or wipe away at tears forming in their eyes. Resting on the cobbled road is a finely crafted wooden casket, it is plain but clearly well made, with brass handles on either side to allow the casket to be easily lifted and moved. Surrounding the cemetary is a moderately high stone wall, and peeking up over that you can make out a number of weathered mausoleums, and a few gnarled looking trees with only the most stubborn of dying leaves still clinging to their branches.

The procession waits for the pallbearers to take their place, and begin Petros Lorrimor's journey to his final resting place.

Mogrym doesn't notice her step away from him, having only just turned his attention away from Yelis, and to the young woman. However, when he discovers that she seems father away than she was, he looks around somewhat confusedly, before squinting his eyes and bringing a hand up to the large holy symbol around his neck. He taps his Desnan symbol neurotically before nodding violently. As he does so, though, flakes and bits of loose skin seem to fall from his face. It's... incredibly distracting, but there's nothing really to be done about it. The scarred inquisitor speaks to her once more, and though he smiles, it's somewhat of a wasted expression, as no one can really see his face contorting to form the somewhat warm grin. However, there's a slight twinkle from under the shadow of his hat, where his eyes would be, that suggests he's attempting to be sympathetic. "Aye. That be the case missy? Excellent. The long walk here was hard upon me feet, and I seek the rest I so deserve. Yes, e'en a man as well-traveled as I occasionally require rest, is that so surprising a thing? Yer father and I had a running joke going about me and me tendency to overwork meself. But I've long forgotten it..."

"Ah, but wait! I've something! I said running, yes, and I was talking of travel, and weariness! Running! Tis a sort of 'play on words', yes! That's what they call these things, I'm certain. Play on words.... Or is it plays on words... Hmph. What were you saying?" Distracted by his mad ramblings, Mogrym seems to have forgotten the task at hand. He coughs loudly for a second before his mind catches up, and the old man continues. "Ah, but yes. We've got to go pay our final respects to the ol' fool. I miss him so, Kendra. Yer father was a great man, an' very good to me, when I needed it most. Never forget that about yer father. Never... Never forget... Forget." His sentence trails away into nothingness as he seems to remember something, before sighing quietly. Mogrym is silent from this point on, until Zokar comes and breaks the void of conversation. Mogrym will wait for everyone to leave, grumbling something about never letting a stranger behind where he can't see. Finally, after everyone else has left and gone a little ahead of him, he'll close the door behind him aggressively, before gazing both ways with his penetrating eyes. Upon finding nothing out of the ordinary, he continues on the cobblestone path, growling at the wind as it pushes his greasy hair before his face, stinging somewhat at the open sores there.

He makes his way to the cemetery, his braced leg making quite a bit of noise, for a thin layer of metal connected tot he rest of the brace he's built rests on the bottom of his injured leg, stuffed in a boot that does unfortunately very little to block out the sound of metal on stone. Paired with the clunk of his wooden quarterstaff on the path, Mogrym's making quite a bit of noise, his brown longcoat swinging in the wind. The man seems quite the figure, and glares and growls at any townfolk that approach too close. As Kendra addresses the idea of being a pallbearer, Mogrym decides to wait back and see who comes forward. When seeing that the job is taken care of by the others, he'll simply stay back by Kendra. He'll lean on his gnarled staff and take out a small bit of paper and his pen, looking around at those gathered at the funeral. With his paper in hand, the man that once hunted both man and beast begins to briefly write out a few things that seem to be mostly gibberish. Kendra might be able to look over and see a few things here and there, things like, "Tall nose man with a glare in his eye, susp." and "Woman w/white necklace, no sign of being upset." He seems to be writing details on each individual gathered. Who knows why.

As he continues to write though, he does speak to Kendra through the side of his mouth. "You miss him, too?"