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Galador holds tight to the door and motions Iselle forward. "Alright, fair enough. I'll hold it tight while you wrap it fast with your rope. Just don't use it all, I feel that we'll need more before this play is done."
He scowls at Raz. "Eh? Full light of the sun? When else would we do it? Are you fearful of witnesses?? Look around! Do you see anyone alive moving around? This is a sizeable village, shouldn't people be out and about, sharing gossip, washing laundry, burying bodies...cooking food. Do you even see any smoke from a cook fire?
Go knock on another door. If you find friendly faces, ask them about the ale at the nearest inn. But methinks this place is a land of the dead, and the only shelter we'll find is the kind we can take and fortify.
Pray I am wrong."
"Iselle, I've got spare rope in my pack. Just make sure that's strong enough to keep the zombies in."
She steps back several feet from the door, ready to strike with magic if the zombies come out.
"If they try to break out, we'll have to hit them from afar first. No sense in getting our hands dirty just yet."
Vasilios has never been a brilliant planner. He has been listening and hesitating while his friends were discussing the course of action but, now that they're actually doing something, he prepares for it. He takes a spot where he can fire at whatever appears after the door and waits.
Moves Ellynn next to Sheva, pushing down on her shoulder so she knows to stay low. Then, Iselle takes hold of her end of the rope and tosses it to whoever stands on the other side of the door, holding the rope tightly around shin height after stowing her bow and arrows and moving her rapier to be ready to draw. Nodding towards Galador, she whispers, "Open the door."
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Galador nods, makes sure everyone is ready, and throws the door open. He takes a small step back--enough so everyone can see in, but still close enough to stop the zombies from coming out. He hefts his shield and sword.
If the zombies do not attack right away, he'll start to feel self-conscious, and open communications.
"Um, hello. Are you, uh, are you undead? If so, can you speak? If you can't speak, then I'm gonna talk loudly enough so my friends in the back know to start to shoot you with things so you can't threaten us anymore. Does that sound fair? So, uh, if you can talk, um, well, I guess now would be a good time."
Opening communications isn't Galador's strong suit.
Sheva gives a nod to the others to acknowledge she's ready to open fire.
"I think some well placed cantrips should suffice for this. Zombies usually aren't the hardiest creatures."
She assumes a combat stance and raises her right hand, ready to cast Eldritch Blast at a moment's notice.
With preparations made and the rope taught with anticipation, Galador opens the door quickly and backs up.
Again, they stand there, unmoving. Even as Galador implores them to use speech if they possess it, they show no sign of any recognition to the fact he is speaking.
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Galador shrugs. "Alright. I...I dunno. We've all seen zombies before, but these are the oddest ones I've ever laid eyes on. My head tells me you all should lay in to them and we'll cut them down as they come, but...but my heart can not stir to battle as souless wretches just stare at us without ill will.
Sheva, Vasilios. Iselle must hold the rope so I leave to you to decide. Each of you have hearts that are pure, either cry havok and let loose into them, or come here and close this door so we might move on, deeper into this foul mystery."
Sheva relaxes from her combat stance, walks up to the house and closes the door.
Turning to the others, "I think this barely scratches the surface of what we've found here. Let's find some shelter, and possibly a strong drink. Then we can try to figure out what insanity we've gotten ourselves into this time."
She then walks from the door and sets off down the road, looking for signs of life.
Raz nods and leads the way but longsword now out and ready, his eyes sweeping the darkness...
-Ummmh... I guess you're right... but let's keep an eye open, shall we? I don't want to be eaten while I'm sleeping.
Deciding not to attack undead that aren't attacking them first, the group moves on further into the village hoping to find some signs of life in this desolate atmosphere.
Eventually, as you make your way to the center of town, you do indeed spot three buildings that seem to have living, breathing occupants. The sparse light from one building spills out from behind drawn heavy curtains. A sign over the door, creaking on its hinges, reads "Bildrath's Mercantile."
Your ears perk up as you catch the wailings in the wind again. From what you can tell, they seem to be coming from a dark, two-story townhouse. The moaning sobs seem to float across these still, gray streets.
The last of the notable buildings can only be taken for a tavern. Above its gaping door, a sign hangs precariously askew, proclaiming this to be the Blood on the Vine tavern.
"I'm sure the tavern is fine. I've certainly been to worse. But let's see if anyone is in Bildrath's. I'd just be happy to see another living soul right now."
-I'd be happier to go shopping after a good ale, but meh... let us have a look and leave the relax for later.
With the general opinion of the best idea to visit the local mercantile, the group marches up to the storefront.
As you step into the store, you find it empty save for the products that line the wall and shelves. Behind the counter, a man looks up from his reading to take notice of you. A look of amusing surprise crosses his face as he declines in his chair, stands up, and sets his book facedown so as to not lose his place.
"New customer's eh?" he chuckles. He strokes his long white beard that just reaches the counter. He has a mean look on his face, but a playful look in his eyes.
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"Greetings to you, good merchant. We are but newly come to this town and we have some questions for you.
What of the odd plague that affects this town? We see no one living out and about, but we encountered a hut full of zombies on our way here. Indeed, just before that house we found a body long decomposed and not buried.
So, too, how fares the lord of this realm? Is his family afflicted by it as well?
And yourself, how is business? And business of the inn across the way? I, uh...I do not see any customers. Is...do...um, how many are left alive in this berg?"
Vasilios was about to talk but, noting that Galador asks about the zombies, he restrains himself, eager to know about it. Instead, he just chooses a nice place near the counter and prepares to listen while producing a skin of wine and offering the concurrence, including the merchant, before having a sip himself.
Thank the gods for a place of civilisation
He turns to the merchant, somewhat in desperation.
You know of a place we can stay the night?
Sheva puts up her hood and steps back behind Galador, arms crossed and eyes glowing. Her gaze follows the merchant without any emotion on her face.
At Galador's questions, the bearded man starts to chuckle.
"This ain't no tavern boy," he says, easing himself back into his chair. "If you want answers I suggest you look elsewhere. This here is a place of business."
At this time, those of you looking around the shop curiously find it is poorly stocked, and only with gear worth less then 10 gp. Worse, it seems each item has been marked up ten times its normal amount.
Then the shopkeeper notices Sheva's stare, and shifts in his chair uncomfortably.
"Parriwimple!!" he barks loudly. Moments later, heavy footfalls can be heard from the backroom. A young man appears in the doorway, a rather dull look on his face, but rippling muscles under his leather tunic.
"Yes Uncle Blidrath?"
"Would you be so kind to show our customers the door?"
"We're selling the door? Don't we need that?"
Bildrath sighs.
"Get them out of my shop!"
At this loud command, Perriwimple hurries to comply, approaching you all and gesturing that you should leave. Now.
Hold on sir - we'll pay you a gold piece for directions to the local Inn or Tavern. One gold piece for directions. You can't say better business than that.
Iselle scoffs under her breath at the ridiculous prices the merchant has set his wares. Ducking under the shelves she quietly sets about nicking a few items, especially a small toy she thinks Ellynn would like. Pulling her pack closed quickly before she stands back with her group, a tight hand on her daughter's hand as she waits to see the resolution of the verbal disagreement.
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Galador casually draws his sword from his scabbard, but holds it loosely, point down. "Oh confound, man! We simply want to know about the town in which you live! Why do call out your dog as we state we are but travelers seeking shelter?? Takest thou Raz's coin and give us but simple words.
I know not what evil plagues this town, but we shall not be treated as thugs when we have offered up but simple words of inquiry."
Sheva, having enough, walks to the counter and leans in on the merchant.
"An̵͝s̶w̴er̵̨͘ ͡͞hì̶s̡̕ ̀̀q͏͟͡u̷͠ȩ͜st̀́i͞͝҉o̸̷̡ns̢.̷"
Stepping back, "Um, please. Thank you."
While Bildrath misses the deft movement's of Iselle's hands as she plucks a small children's toy from a low shelf, a voice soon reveals the act did not go unnoticed.
"Oh that's a nice one." Perriwimple says. "Me mum got me one just like it from the Vistani when I was a kid. I think I might have it in my room still..."
It only takes Bildrath a few moments before he realises what Perriwimple is going on about. HIs lips become more pursed, and there is a subtle rage in his eyes. He does in fact stand up once more, but as he stands he pulls out a sword from behind the counter.
"Get. Out. Now!." he hisses at the thieves in his presence. Perriwimple seems to be perplexed at why his uncle was so furious, but the daggers from his uncle's eyes make it clear that these customers needed to leave soon.
Raz is left shaking his head as the group leaves.
What the hell just happened guys? I thought my silver tongue was gonna help and the next he is about to attack us?
"I'm sorry. She got ahead of me in there." Sheva says, referring to the fiend within.
"I suppose nicking that toy didn't help much either, but good for you Iselle! He deserved it!"
Now feeling a bit better and perked up, "Shall we go see if they're friendlier at the tavern? I'm kind of in the mood for a fight now if they aren't."
Except I don't know where the tavern is and if we need to buy something we are screwed..., Rascal mutters.
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Galador, oblivious to Iselle's skulduggery, points his sword at the merchant as the man's steel comes out. "Oh confound! You are by far the WORST merchant I have EVER encountered! And that includes a rather repugnant fellow who threw an expensive merlot at my head, thinking I had ravished his daughter, when actually she and Rascal were at that moment alone in the stable. Gah!
Were I alone I would have your head! But there are women present and a job to do! But do not think this is done, knave. When I have rid the land of it's current plague, you and I...we shall have words."
Galador waits until the rest of the party exits, then backs away through the door himself.
"Gah! Is everyone in this town insane or bespelled or undead?!?
Come, Raz, the tavern 'tis but a stone's throw away. Though, 'tis easy enough to mistake it for a sepulcher, so no harm in missing it.
Aye, Sheva, 'twould be hard for the people there to be less friendly!"
Galador stomps toward the tavern, leading the group through its dark doors.
The group makes their way to the tavern. It seems even Vandalism still exists in this desparate town as the sign that proclaims "Blood of the Vine" have been scratched over so it reads "Blood of the Vife."
You open the doors and hear them creak in earnest alerting anyone inside to your presence.
A blazing fire in the hearth gives scant warmth to the few huddled souls within. Five people by your count. Three look like Vistani, those wanderers that travel in caravans from town to town. Of the last two, a young man who sits alone at a corner table stands up and approaches you.
"Travelers?." he asks as moves from face to face. His eyes widen in slight surprise as he spots Ellyn huddled by Iselle. A child was the last thing he thought he'd see.
"Come. Would you join me for conversation? I'll even pay your tab for today, but there's something I'd like to ask of you."
We're at your disposal - I was not expecting a friendly face.
Vasilios studies the young one's offer and counters.
-Alright... but let's do one thing. We pay our drinks, and we take turns to ask. Deal?
"I don't care who pays at the moment. I want two things right now, an ale, and some answers."
Pulling up a chair by the young man, Sheva smiles at him, "You ask us, we ask you. Deal?"
Ismark looks at you all. You can tell from the shadows under his eyes and the slight gauntness of his face that he isn't the epitome of youth or health. Still, something akin to smile appears on his face and he chuckles at your motley group.
"Agreed." he answers as he takes the seat next to Sheva and ivites the rest to sit as well.
"Arik! We'll need some ales over here." he says to the barkeep. A few moments later, a generous tankard is placed in front of you all, and some juice for the little one.
"As you are guests in this country, its only fair that you begin with a question."
He takes a sip of alcohol and awaits someone to speak.
Why is there a house full of zombified dead people living a few houses down that ways that no one has done anything about?, Like burning the house down around them?
Iselle busies herself with getting Ellynn situated close to the fire, making sure she stays warm and sipping on her juice as she takes the offered ale and drinks down a portion of it. Her off-hand moving to slide her hood off her head as she does. Listening intently to the man's answer...
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Galador interjects. "Ho ho! Stay thy tongue, Vasilios my brother! If the man says his coin flows freely, who are we tell him he is wrong!
Good sir, though others might scoff at thy generosity, I have not yet grown so untrusting as that. If you wish my good will, the least I can do is allow you to bid for it.
As to that, the -first- question we must needs have answered is the obvious one: I am Galador. But who, pray tell, are you?"
Galador pauses a moment to take a hearty draft from the beverage before him, allowing Raz to get his question out.
"Aye aye! And to that end, why was there a half-eaten dead body before the house, unattended and unburied? And how does that half-wit across the street stay in business?? His prices are of the gawds and his inventory is of the devils! I had have a mind to split his skull in twain were I not grateful to see at least one living face after the hut of unliving we had already encountered!"
Galador again does his duty by the mug before him, draining it and calling for more.
He cares not that he asked more than one question. Observing rules and social norms was never his favorite hobby.
Sheva takes a drink of the cold ale.
"You'll have to excuse my friends. They don't mean to pressure you, it's just that there's something seriously wrong here and we have many questions. Please, take your time and ask your own questions as well. I don't think we're in much of a hurry to leave here right now."
"I guess introductions are in order aren't they? You may call me Ismark, as that is my name."
He nods and passes some coin to the barkeep the next time he comes by with full mugs.
"The dead bodies are servants of the master of these lands. I'm surprised you weren't attacked on first sight, but they tend to stay unless you enter the abode they guard. We suspect there is some...familial attachment from when they were alive as the dead tend to stay familiar. They won't bother you as long as you don't bother them. And to be frank, we may have heard of another town trying the fire tactic. If what i heard is true, the undead carry fire a bit too well and don't care what or who they run into while they can still move."
At the mention of Bildrath, Ismark raises an eyebrow.
"You've already met Bildrath have you? His state isn't entirely his fault. The only way he can get inventory is through trade through the Vistani and what he makes himself. Hardly easy to keep yourself fed when you barely afford to keep the shelves full. But I'm afraid he's the last surviving store owner in this village. To be honest, he's fair as he can be in this land of ours and he's the only one who can procure some goods that we would be desperate without."
He pauses to take a drink.
"My turn. I am in dire need of assistance, and looking upon you all I can see you're capable. Would you hear my request."
He goes on to explain that his sister Ireena is in need of protection and he wants to move her to a safer town, Vallaki.
To Ismark, "Excuse us for one moment."
Sheva huddles with the others quickly, "In the letter I pulled from the dead man's hand, the woman's name is Ireena Kolyana. Probably the same Ireena? I can't imagine there are many Ireenas left around here."
"If there's a vampire after her, we should help get her out."
"Though we could end up like the poor guy outside of town."
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Galador nods. "Aye, 'twas named "Ireena Kolyana" in our letter too. Methinks this is too unlikely a coincidence that -every- man in this town seems to have GREAT love for the same lady?
We know solidly but two things: There is a woman named Ireena Kolyana in this town, AND this town is afflicted by a vampire.
Think you this helpless Ireena Kolyana lass actually IS the vampire?
Why else does it seem that every still living man can talk of nothing else but helping -her-?
Think you we are but patsies ensnared in a plot to move this vampiress to another town so she can do the same thing to it as she has done here?
And who exactly is the lord here? Our letter mentioned Kolyan Indirovich. Should we not at least meet with our original employer before talking a contract with a new one?"
"This is a small place. Is it possible Ismark is connected with Kolyan Indirovich?"
To Galador, "Something is off here. In the first letter Kolyan refers to Ireena as the love of his life, and in the second letter as his daughter. Pull out that first letter. We need to compare the handwriting with the second."
She pulls out the dead man's letter from her pack for comparison.
He seems pretty earnest, and the way he speaks makes you feel that he's been trying to find a solution to his problem for a long time.
Raz watches the conversation with interest.
Sheva attempts to compare the two letters, but the script on both is foreign enough that she can't discern if they were made by different authors.
"This Barovian handwriting style looks all the same to me. Anyone else want to give it a try?"