.
Singing to herself on the way to Ravengro,
"One more soul to the call, for all, in silence comes
Two more souls to the call, for all, and in time
Three more souls to the call, they fall, unknowing that
Four more souls to the call won't be all, and you know it"
In the comfort of her cozy wagon, a young and extraordinarily beautiful gypsy lady straps her doorway shut for the evening. Curiously, she glances with suspicion around her dimly lit abode, as if to ensure none are there to see what follows.
Satisfied, with a flick of the wrist, seven candles instantly flare up. She smirks with pleasure at the now amply lit and exotically decorated space.
She approaches a sealed envelope atop her rattan dresser. Bracelets, anklets, and jewels of pearl, silver, and red carnelian lightly jingle with her limber body's movements. She touches the framed pencil drawing of her father beside it, who looks over his beloved daughter from beyond the grave. Contemplating his visage, her eyes begin to water.
Seating her flexible self Vudrani style atop her Qadiran carpet, the young Varisian woman examines the envelope in her hands. Bemused, she crinkles her brows, 'K. Lorrimor? Kendra, his daughter? Why not him... Gods, no... NO!'
Memories of a recent dream come back to her conscious awareness now. 'Say it is not so...'
She swiftly opens and intently reads the letter quietly. Moments into it, she gasps swiftly as a hand reflexively covers her mouth. Brows raised, her eyes water. Again.
A few tears make their mark on the letter, adding to those left by the late professor's daughter before it's trip to Varisia...
...
Some several mornings later, the young woman hauls her large leather satchel over her shoulder, and grasps her walking staff. Giving herself a once over, she hugs and kisses her wandering companions one last time. Thanking them for accompanying her all this way to Ustalav in safety, the young woman somberly carries on down the road to Ravengro...
In his fist and only apparition to Ulrik, before departing from that world, the angel of Sarenrae had said "The life of the man to whom you owe, Petros Lorrimor, has been claimed. You are to go to Ravengro and declare that you bear upon you the obligation to pay Oldaric's debt."
Ravengro was a day's journey from the vicinity of where Ulrik had murdered Odalric. The orc strode further east each night and sought shelter during the day.
(It is unclear whether Kendra's letter ever found Odalric's hand. The parchment may have been buried with the late paladin, as it would be far too much to expect that Ulrik could read it and understand its meaning. Rumor has it, though, that one such letter was sent to House of Alberich, whence Odalric was born.)
A few torches populated the poorly protected girth of the main cluster of countryside houses, and their light was gradually overcome by the fire that intensified over the sky, as Sarenrae almost reluctantly peeked at Ustalav from afar, on the eastern horizon.
From the night's tomb, the wind spirits swept the tall green grass and the water mirrors, making haste to run downhill, drawing Ulrik's eyes along with them, and invading the flank of Ravengro.
The Paladin, The Midwife, and The Hidden Truth. The Cricket, The Unicorn, and The Keep. Six are drawn, and the querent is taken aback by the path laid out in the cards for the souls in question. Each newly-turned picture-image creates another twist as the bigger picture becomes clearer. Can they serve as a hand in the pitch-darkness against a seemingly stacked deck, or will they lose themselves on some forgotten byway or turning point of the hidden road ahead?
1 Sarenith, 4713 AR
Nestled as it was in the northern part of Canterwall, between Lake Lias and the Redwood River, Ravengro had reaped a mixed blessing from the late winter thaw: the fish were still plentiful, but the roads and pathways were slick with patches of shifting mud, making movement unpleasant in some places and downright hazardous in less-trod areas. The early morning's dew turned into a sort of humidity haze, cloying tendrils of the dawn's remnants clinging to trouser legs and the backs of shirts as the sky took on a sickly gray color that bade yet more rain.
Their approach through the town brought them past the Pharasmin temple, the stern stained-glass countenance of Pharasma judging Count Andachi, one of Tamivrena's most infamous former rulers in modern history. The muddy packed-earth road slogged ahead to the north and east, where the destination they'd all been seeking lay: the entrance to the Restlands. Situated on a large patch of moors above the town, the stout-walled graveyard was well-maintained and had numerous ornate headstones among its spiraling rows, and gathered in front of the massive wrought-iron gate was a small cluster of mourners, a well-wrought coffin resting on an elevated platform with wheels on the bottom, like a burial cart. Even there, at the northern-most point of the town, the collapsing structure of Harrowstone Prison squats on its barren hilltop, a leering face contorted by pain, hatred, and forgotten secrets, looking out from blind window-eyes over the town from the south.
A young human woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, with dark hair and wearing a somber full-length dress in navy blue with gold threading accents across the neck, bore a striking resemblance to the deceased and stood near the ornate coffin, her hand obscured by the number of funereal flowers atop its surface. As she saw more people coming down the path, she straightened up a little, her eyes puffy and red as she clasped her hands together in a somewhat anxious fashion. Besides the Professor’s daughter, only a few people were assembled for the ceremony, and nobody seemed particularly open or friendly, given the circumstances. Two older human men talked to one another quietly, the taller and thinner of the two stroking a beard that was becoming greyer by the day, while the shorter, chubby-necked one wiped some perspiration from his brow with a thick handkerchief. Another human man, with a squat build, round face, and a walrus-like mustache leaned over a little, putting one hand on the shoulder of a boy who looked a great deal like him but skinnier, just entering his teens. Standing apart from the others, a slender and short human woman with a narrow face and a mane of thick blonde hair that was seemingly suffering a bit from the days moisture looked down at her immaculate black gloves and shifted uncomfortably in the somewhat outdated funerary outfit that she’d worn.
Stepping away from the coffin, the hemline of her dress safe from the soft muddiness of the beaten path beneath her, Kendra Lorrimor moved towards the path as she saw others coming and held up her left hand to hail them as they came close, having been expecting and even anticipating the arrival of the unknown, out-of-town mourners. “Have you come for my father’s funeral?”
|
From deep in the shadows a cloaked figure immerges. Quietly walking forward. The figure makes no sound, it seems as if her feet fail to touch to ground so silently does she move.
As she moves closer a pale white hand emerges from beneath her cloak and slowly move up to her head and pulls back the hood.
"Yes I have. I am so sorry for your loss. The Professor was a great man who will be greatly missed." Zelda says with a tear in her eye.
"My whole town, or those that are left, owe him so much. If you ever need anything Please let me know."
With that said is moves over to join the other mourners, trying not to disrupt the ceremony.
The towering orc was a gruesome sight, with dirty clothes under his ill-fitting armor and a dreadful face displaying large fangs, scars, verrucae and orc fetishes over the murky green skin, crossed by scarce but long white fibers of orcish bristle made even coarser by the sweat, the rain and the lack of proper care.
For some moments Ulrik watched the funeral from a distance and he knew all to well what it was, but it only felt as though an animal had died: an event of little importance, for he knew not professor Lorrimor, and he was not moved by death. Nonetheless, when he saw the daughter's sorrow, when he saw her hiss and moan, incapable of containing her tears, he was taken by compassion. Ulrik was about to address Kendra when a blond woman approached her first -- he had not noticed her approaching until she had come very close to the professor's daughter. After the woman shared her condolences, offered her assistance in any issues and joined the other mourners, he moved in and added "May the light of Sarenrae return to you the joy and the peace that have been taken from these days," as he, very naturally, came closer to the woman in order to give her a consoling embrace.
Cellawyn walks up to the procession and nods at Kendra, "Greetings, I am Cellawyn Caventelva. I was a student of your father."
Cellawyn pauses a moment, fighting off tears. "He was very dear to me. I learned so much from your father. I'm so sorry for your loss."
Cellawyn hugs Kendra and then joins Zelda.
Despite the dreadful day a young lady in a loose raggedy brown robe with an equally raggedy large brimmed conical hat came moving down the road to the Restlands at a brisk pace, almost skipping like a child in how she jumped more than stepped as she approached the procession. The closer she got however the slower she moved until she was stepping in tune to rest of the somber movements of the day as she approached Kendra. With a sweet albeit scratchy and gravely voice she'll address the daughter of the late Professor "My apologies for my tardiness. My name is Naught and your father did a great deal for me in my time of need and although I wish I had repayed him sooner, I am here to help in whatever way I can. Both him and you have my undying gratitude and support, so if you need anything, anything at all, feel free to ask." With her greeting over she'll take the daughter's held hands up to her lips in hers and give them a slight kiss before returning them to the air.
A young woman approaches the Restlands, a slight bit later than the hatted lady in brown. Pausing respectfully at the graveyard's entrance, she traces a spiral with her right hand in the air before entering.
As she nears the gathering, her extraordinary beauty becomes most apparent. Those who know of the wandering Varisian gypsies of the west may recognize her rather exotic style of attire; others may mistake her for an eccentric dresser, or possibly a harlot. A bright red silk shawl of fine quality with elaborate embroidery is wrapped around her body, covering most of her torso, arms, and hangs down to mid-thigh. Jewelry of pearls, silver, and red carnelians decorate her ears, wrists, ankles, and neck. Vertically slitted green pants and mud-caked sandals complete her loose-fitting summer outfit.
Smiling kindly, Aliseya's own sorrowful eyes show evidence of tears as those of Kendra Lorrimor. She approaches Kendra next, grasping her hand with sincere feeling, "It's so nice to meet you Kendra Lorrimor, though I TRULY wish it were under FAR BETTER circumstances. I am Aliseya Belododia, and your father," as she speaks, her voice increasingly trembles and cracks, "he was such a good man, Kendra. I lost my father too, you see... a year ago... and I was SO fortunate to have met the professor when I most needed his guidance... and wisdom..."
Tears begin to trickle down Aliseya's cheeks. She cannot contain her emotions any longer as she moves in to fully embrace Kendra in a heartfelt hug of consolation.
After getting a partial grip of herself, she smiles through her lingering tears at Kendra, "I'm so sorry."
She moves back to join the two women now standing together. Smiling, she introduces herself to Cellawyn and Zelda with a handshake and a mild joke while drying her eyes, "Hi, I'm Aliseya. Well, so much for holding back the flood waters." The scent of a mild perfume wafts into their nostrils.
Upon noticing the provocatively dressed newcomer a sharp whistle will escape Naught's lips before she quickly turns away from the group of people present. Keep it together, this is a funeral! Not a bar... Though she does have such a lovely set of eyes...
Aliseya's head turns to see the whistle's source, and does a double take. She smiles at the hatted lady, greeting her with an extended hand on approach, "Hello, I'm Aliseya."
Naught will jump with a start before quickly turning around to meet her greeter. Oh! Hello there Aliseya. My name is Naught." She'll take the beautiful lady's hand and greet it with a kiss as well. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."
As he continued to chop wood within the 2 hectares of land he called home, Charles was oblivious to the fact two people were watching him from the front gate.
Ten minutes had passed, and having chopped all that he needed for a few days warmth, the dark aura'd man headed back inside, completely sodden under the harsh and stormy night's sky.
Not the wisest of night's to gather wood, but I shall take note of my mistake and better prepare myself next time. the man thinks to himself, as he trudges back towards his residence, eager to get out of his saturated clothes and into something finer and more relaxing, before his final rest for the night.
Entering the lobby, Charles slammed the door and swiftly removed his clothing just inside of the doorway, so as not to drip all over his floor.
That has certainly taken it out of me! he thought, still shivering from the wet and cold climate outside, as he lifted the wood once more and marched up one of the many stone spiral staircases within his ominously gothic castle-like home.
Depositing the wood next to the fireplace within his living quarters, the Noble headed upstairs and into one of the rooms central to the building. This was/is his sleeping chamber - Windowless, candlelit and a four poster bed with blackened wood and crimson curtains sit in the center of this wealthy looking room, while a desk with quill and parchment, and another fireplace sits to the east.
Now readied for bed, the man pulled aside his bed covers and clambered inside, resting from 11pm to 7am the very next day.
Morning already? This darkness always deceives me.
Charles sits up and clumsily kicks his legs out of bed and onto the floor to the right side of his bed.
Very well. I may as well get up. I'll be able to spot the morning sunrise from late Uncle Volgenstaad's bed chamber.
Donning his dressing gown and slipping on his slippers, the pale owner of the grand Castle on Ravengro's hill made his way from his bedroom and to the front of his mansion, partially covering his eyes from the obvious morning light, as he peered out and across the morbid landscape.
A courier? Post at this early hour? Charles questions, as he spots a figure approaching his front gates, 300 feet away.
Oddly sunny, Lord Bloodgrave slung on a fine gentleman's coat and made his way downstairs. As he opened one of the two double doors from the front of his home, greeted only by the "craw-ing" sounds of the Crows around him, the mysterious man walked down the long, winding pathway, past the tree stumps and through the mist that gently caressed the inner grounds of his home until he reached his intricately detailed front gates.
Reaching into his letterbox, there was something cold and smooth within. Grasping it, Charles warily pulled his hand backwards, only to reveal an envelope!
Sealed with wax and stamped with "University of Lepistadt - Est. 4422 AR", he believed it to be something of relation to Professor Lorrimor, mainly because the Professor was the only person he knew of to attend such a prestigious school of education.
Not thinking much of it, Charles made his way back to the warmer interior of his home, slinging the envelope on his dining hall table.
I'll take a read after I've readied my morning meal. I do feel abnormally peckish at this time.
As he made his way to the kitchen, Charles was unsure what the letter could have possibly been about. Igniting his fireplace once more, he filled a small metal pot with water, and placed it above the embers within the fireplace.
Waiting for the water to boil, Charles made his way over to the kitchen and began chopping meat and veg, preparing his morning breakfast of spiced sausages, eggs and bacon, before also loading these onto a metal saucepan and placing them within the fireplace.
As he sat, waiting for the water to boil and his food to cook, the Nobleman continued to read his book from the point he left off the previous night. He tried his very best to get into the tales written before him, but curiosity had truly settled in.
Why would I have a letter from the Lepistadt University? Surely this is of Lorrimor's doing. As for the stamp? Most likely a small trinket gifted to the man by the University itself.
With the water finally boiled and the food now cooked, placing his book on the table beside his high crimson chair, Charles stood once more and made his way over to his 18 seated dining hall table.
Already laid, he filled his teapot up and placed his dinner plate down, as he gracefully seated himself and used a bread knife to open the letter addressed to him.
"Dear Lord Charles Iridian Bloodgrave,
It has come to my attention that you knew my father, Professor Petros Lorrimor, and I believe you had crossed paths some time ago on one of the many outtings he so often ventured.
My father did not elaborate on the details, but he did inform me of one thing, and that was that he truly felt you saved his life the day you met, and he was always appreciative of this fact,talking highly of you at any given opportunity, regardless of what the locals thought.
That said, the news I have for you is regrettable.
My father and well known scholar has been found dead.
The investigation into his death still continues, but I will be holding a funeral at the Lorrimor Estate later today (11am), and I would be grateful of your attendance.
Please forgive me for not telling you in person. I would however, like to discuss matters further upon your arrival.
Kindest regards,
K. Lorrimor"
Sipping back on his tea, Charles glared out through the dining hall windows in thought.
That is indeed regrettable. Lorrimor, although naive in a lot of ways, was one of few people who could truly make a difference in this world. Knowledgeable and well respected, his mind was highly sought after. It is indeed a shame this has happened, but as a man of good upbringing myself, I will pay my respects and meet with his daughter. Perhaps she can inform me of the circumstances surrounding his late departure.
Several hours had passed and Charles was a little earlier than expected, but it would seem he wasn't the earliest.
Turning up wearing his jet black armour, his red tattered cape spread out with the wind, flowing almost as if it were alive. His sword firmly by his side, he watched as those around him mourned for the late great Lorrimor.
His attire wasn't fit for a funeral, but he was dressed in the way Professor Lorrimor first met him, and these clothes represented comfort for Charles, ever untrusting of his surroundings.
Spotting a younger woman fitting the description Lorrimor gave during his time spent with Charles alive, Lord Charles approached the woman.
I'm sorry for the intrusion, but I believe you are Professor Lorrimor's daughter?
My name is Lord Charles Iridian Bloodgrave. I received your letter and came immediately. he explains, as he bows to the regal looking woman.
Upon spotting the gloomy but regal man converse with Kendra Naught's thoughts will swell with both glee and dread. What a horrible day to have a funeral. And yet the lovelies keep coming...
Naught's gesture doesn't seem to phase Aliseya, who continues smiling as she gently retracts her hand. 'Kissing my hand like a man? Whistling too? How... unusual. It's usually the men who do that. Oh. My. Gods! Like, all the time. Oh... well, except for Tatiana. He he he...'
Aliseya then silently turns to spot the strikingly attired man in black and crimson greet Kendra Lorrimor. 'Now THERE'S an interesting man...' she thinks to herself, as an eyebrow raises and lowers momentarily.
Anticipating the funeral procession's imminent start, she remains politely silent. With sorrowful but kind eyes, she observes the other people in attendance, being sure to avoid impolite staring. Every so often, she looks down at her mud-caked sandals with a half-frown. 'Ugh... I really should have worn something more practical today. Something with heels. Clogs? Oh! I'll just have to go SHO-O-OPPI-I-ING!'
Aliseya's eyes light up, and her head turns a bit in the direction of town (where she thinks she saw a clothing shop, on her way through earlier). But she immediately halts and sombers up, remembering why she is here. With a sigh, 'Later...'
Cellawyn turns to the others, "Greeting, I'm Cellawyn Cayentelva. I was a student of Professor Lorrimor. He taught me everything I know about the undead. I studied with him for about a year here in Ravengro. Looking back, that was one of the best years of my life. I just wish I could have returned under better circumstances. How did the rest of you know him? Are any of you from Ravengro?"
Hearing the beautiful elf ask a question brought Naught back to the dreary present. "Oh! Well he helped me after a monster attacked me." She pauses only long enough to push her hat off, letting it dangle around her neck by a strap. No longer cooped up her bat wing like earlobes stretch out before folding comfortably next to her head as her hair, a mass of dark tentacles, writhes more freely and energetically. "Vargoiulles is what I believe they are called. Nasty little creatures, even if you survive an attack by them they always leave a mark."
"Do they?" Aliseya remarks to Naught. While nodding and smiling agreeably, her eyes open widely, transfixed by the sight of the unhatted head of fascinating hair and peculiar ears.
The young lady in red and green then uncomfortably shifts her eyes down at the muddy ground, embarrassed by her staring. And in her embarrassment, she utterly forgets to answer the questions asked by the elven woman.
"Quite." Naught will return with a smile, although intended to be sweet it does show off both rows of fangs more fitting for a shark than a person.
"You must be Naught? The professor told me about you. He mentioned how traumatic the Vargouille incident was for you. He also mentioned that only someone of incredible strength and resolve could have survived such an event. You know, he had a lot of respect for you. He mentioned that you had gone on to search out and learn about other creatures of darkness. In that respect, we are similar - I too hunt creatures of darkness. For me, specifically, it is the undead. It seems, alas, that I don't have to look too far to find them."
Cellawyn looks back at the funeral procession, "Do you think his daughter understood the darkness of her father's studies? I cannot but think that his work eventually caught up with him."
At first flattered by the elve's words Naught's face soon takes solemn. "If she does she does not show it, other than being nothing more than a loving daughter." She pauses for moment before her face takes on a more fiercer mien. "And if it was the darkness that caused the proffessor's untimely demise then it'll be our job to drag it kicking and screaming into the light."
The orc moves closer to the coffin, with his tusks exposed, and cries out with his tortuous accent "The professor...
* shock and awe! *
*le gasp*
♫♪ Dun! Dun! DUNNN! ♪♫
"Lo! A swine is in our midst," the paladin remarks, drawing out his warhammer. "It must have been sent by the gods for us to consume its flesh and mourn the vile assassination of Petros Lorrimor!"
The cute pig's jaw drops. Its calculating eyes shift to and fro, and it begins to slowly back away...
As it makes its way out of sight, everyone at the funeral becomes transfixed by the creepy, yet somehow soothing, alien words it seems to repeat using its mind alone...
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn...”
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn...”
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn...”
And then, everyone suddenly snaps out of their trance. Forgetting the orc's words, they resume the funeral as if nothing had happened...
Except that everyone secretly wonders why they suddenly have a craving for seafood...
"The swine is gone, but it is no matter! There is a small treasure in that crypt!" Ulrik cries out, leaving the funeral party and walking towards the crypt at the north end of the Black Path.