Aleksandr echoed Iesha's thanks. It seemed that the Sheriff was under a great deal of strain from current events, and the sin eater could hardly blame him.
"It appears that all of the events centre around Harrowstone," Aleksandr said with a thoughtful tone. "Perhaps the spirits of those who died in the fire have manifested seeking vengeance, but why now? Why so long after the event? I doubt that the Professor was the first to set foot on the grounds; young boys are forever daring one another to do stupid things and setting foot on Harrowstone ground would surely rank high amongst the local daredevils. More and more, we are pulled towards the site of the prison. Perhaps it is time to review what we know and see if that is enough for us to undertake what needs to be done."
Caeller nods at the sin-eater.
"You ahve the truth of it. You weren't much of a man if you didn't come back with something from the prison in my youth. I couldn't tell you the last time it went badly for someone. But the town is restless. Fear is there on many faces lately, though no one can quite say why. Strange days." Caeller looks tired, worried and scared as he speaks.
The party assembles at Kendra's soon after, though Taanyth does not turn up.
Kendra seems concerned at his absence, but covers it by fussing over another delicious dinner.
"It looks like we've foun more on two of the remining prisoners; the Piper of Illmarsh -thanks Alanzo- and the Lopper."
Iesha reviews the information.
"Apparently no one ever identified this 'Piper' - the note Alzano fund reads: "He never gave his name. He never spoke after we caught him. He just hummed that melody over and over. Wistful, haunting even. Got under my skin for sure.- Good thing we took his flute, because he was somehow luring his pet stirges with that cursed thing. After he paralysed his victims with Lich Dust, he'd summon the winged beasts to suck the poor soul dry! Let him rot in Harrowstone!"
"And Peredur and Alekandr were able to find this information on the Lopper: Vance Saetressle: prisoner, transferred from *illegible*. - Crime: eleven murders by decapitation. - Cause of death: 'Perished in the fire at Harrowstone Prison -- no body recovered. Aged twenty four years.' What a pity one so young should be so steeped in evil"
"So, that just leaves The Splatter Man and the Mosswater Maurader. Do we want to use the same teams tomorrow? We seem to be working well together."
Aleksandr nods. "We appear to be getting to the bottom of who these prisoners were, now we need only come up with a way in which we can battle their presence. I think that heading en masse with the men of the church would serve to put more fear into the populace rather than allay their fears."
Peredur also nods his assent. "Aye, let's put names to th' last two, and then to Harrowstone. 'Twould seem that we've had what surely seemed to be a haunting of th' Piper--th' stirges at th' tavern, coming in answer to a flute. Are there other hauntings we've heard naught of, for that we're strangers here?"
"Nothing that I've heard of," Kendra intones. "And people here do love a good gossip. Unless one of the prisoners were a necromancer?" Kendra shudders at the memory of the walking dead.
Alzano frowns, "Hrm... have we really found anything useful for exploring Harrowstone? We can't afford antitoxin, and not sure how knowing one of the prisoners liked chopping people's heads off will help. If we don't learn anything further tomorrow, we'll be going in just as blind as we were to begin with."
"Hm. What type of information do you think we should be looking for? We've learned a bit about the prison and about the Whispering Way, the group Professor Lorrimor was suspicious of. The sheriff didn't find anything he thought suspicious about the Professor's death, though I think he was -uncomfortable - about it. All we can do now is try to guess what the Way was up to. The more we know about the prison and the prisoners, the better. Even so, one of these five may not be who they were after. Maybe it was a setup to kill the Professor. That wouldn't explain the events since, but it is a possibility."
"Well, that sounds to me like your next step is taking a look at the prison itself." Kendra notes solemnly.
"Dunno what we should be looking for. Was kinda just hoping the info we've dug up would help us in some way. Let us know what we're gonna face in that prison... the layout... secret passages... stuff like that, I guess?" Alzano grumbles.
"A floorplan of the prison? Would they keep copies here in Ravengro? I would think they'd be afraid of them falling into the hands of allies of the prisoners. Still, it wouldn't hurt to check. I guess the town hall would be the most likely place to find them."
Iesha thinks a little, then continues"I think the issue is that we can't prepare for what's up there except by learning about the prisoners. However, something has changed, something that may render all previous information invalid. If this sort of thing, constant undead popping up, had been going on for almost 50 years, there'd be records of that. These events are new. Something happened, something that seems to have begun about the time of the Porfessor's death. His notes suggest that the Whispering Way was up to something. We can't prove -or disprove- that by studying the past history of the place. We can only learn what is going on, what has changed, by going there. I have no problem with learning whatever's available about the place, but from what we've seen, much of that previous knowledge is no longer correct. We can't know what's actually going on unless and until we actually go there.
"You may have th' right of it, Iesha, though I still hold we'd be better off an' we knew more of what th' Whispering Way were after. This, then: let us go to Harrowstone on th' morrow, and see what we see. If more research is needed after that, well, at least we'll know more of what to look for."
"For that matter, if any records have survived, I would think we'd be far more likely to find information about the prisoners at the prison."
The party's course of action decided, dinner ends, the night descends, and sleep comes to the party each in turn.
You awake in the middle of the night to the sound of pounding on the door, heavy purposeful blows. With an explosion of splintering wood and a cry of triumph, they descend upon you.
”Monster” they call you, ”Beast!” and ”Demon-blood!”.
”Chain her!” comes the command, and they do. A mob of faceless villagers drag you from your bed and clap you in irons. The crowd is shouting for justice, for your blood, but for no crime you have committed. The last thing you see is the crowd crowding around you before you are blindfolded.
You walk for what seems like hours, a blade in your back urging you forward whenever you stumble. The earth beneath your feet becomes cold, dry stone. The blindfold is ripped away at last, and torchlight blinds your sensitive eyes –gift from your unsavory heritage—the heritage that has apparently brought you here…
Before Professor Lorrimor you are pushed to your knees. He stands astride an open oubliette.
”Throw her in!” he intones, and the oubliette swallows you in its darkness. Cold stone rushes up to meet you and shatters your legs. You hear the grating slam shut, and find yourself alone, broken and bloodied.
You are pulled from the nightmare by a scream, but it is not your own.
Seventeen up, eleven across
The masonry of your cell’s ceiling has been a comfort to you; the ordered, never-changing pattern that once mocked your dreams of freedom and memories of the night sky has become your oldest friend. The stones are all named, all known. They are your friends, the constellations in the gray unyielding sky you have come to known.
And when they pull you from your cell, from your one hundred and eighty seven stars, you whimper. When they thrust you through a wooden door and into the scorching sunlight for the first time in uncountable years, you drop, screaming and crying and shaking at the sight. They drag you to your feet and forward, thrust you down onto the headsman’s stone.
”May Pharasma’s judgment find you home.” intones a soft voice. A curved scythe whispers through the air, and the stones, your friends for all the long lonely years, reach up to catch you.
You are pulled from the nightmare by a scream, but it is not your own.
You wake with a start. Outside, the night has grown silent. Darkness surrounds you in the room. A chill creeps in slowly, freezing you to your very soul.
A clang of metal above you draws your gaze, the ceiling now a steel grating. The wooden walls now gray stone, the carpeted floor an unyielding bedrock. You watch as the window is swallowed by the bricks.
You stand and pound on the walls, try desperately to climb them, screaming at your unseen jailers to release you. Your hands bloodied by the futility, you collapse into the pile of filthy hay that has replaced your comfortable bed. Your blood paints the stone, dripping to the ground steadily.
The bloody smear of your efforts takes a slow shape in a scrawled, jagged handwriting.
One by one your name forms in blood. You try to wipe it free, but you cannot. Blood smears your hands, your face, the walls and the floor, and still the word, your name, forms in blood.
You collapse sobbing, more futility, more punishment, no explanation, just your name, etched in blood on the wall of your oubliette, and hideous laughter echoing in your ears.
You awaken screaming, back in the room you have held these last few days.
Blood covers your hands and the sheets; and your name, traced in the same jagged font adorns the bedroom door.
Your goal is clear. Your duty compels you. Your faith shields you.
Before you, stone stairs descend into blackness. Around you, you hear the screams of violence: the sounds of men killing and men dying. You grip your spear tightly and forge ahead and downward, into the belly of the prison. All around you hear the cries of the damned, the condemned, those steeped in sin. You can smell it, taste it in the air itself, and feel it slick on your skin like a corrosive sweat.
You go deeper, and the wrongness of this place thickens. Your burdens grow heavy; you stumble more than once, but keep on. Deeper and deeper into the heart of the evil you march. The sounds of rioting increase, and the stairs open into a square room. Four passages, one in each wall. Illegible signs denote each passage. The roar comes loudly now: pain, killing, dying—howls of victory and death. They echo off the stone, catch a spark and ignite, and roiling fire ignites the very air and descends on you. You fall, screaming as you catch, beating at your clothes and skin as it sloughs away.
You burn away to dust; you sink into the cracks and crevices of the stone. The roar is gone, the fire a memory, but the evil of this place lurks like an infection, quiet, insidious and growing.
You are pulled from the nightmare by a scream, but it is not your own.
Iesha sits up in bed, shaking from the effects of the dream, and only half-certain she wasn't the one who screamed.
After a moment to clear her head, she jumps out of bed, half-expecting her legs not to work, and calls out "Is everyone alright? Who screamed? What happened?"
Shaky, she makes her way to the door and heads out inot the hall, tracking the sound of the scream.
Alzano's eyes flash open, and he rises from his bed only seconds later. Years of service to the Sczarni teaches one to sleep lightly - the deep sleepers sometimes never wake.
Not bothering with his armor, he grabs his rapier and short sword propped against the doorway in easy reach. He opens the door to the room silently, stepping out into the hall where he pauses momentarily, waiting in the dark to see if he hears anything further.
Still hearing the echoes of the scream that tore from his throat, Peredur bolts from the bed, spinning around and looking for anyone else in the room. Lady of Graves, guard me. Lady of Graves, guard me. Only his natural coordination keeps him from falling over as he runs into furniture in his haste and panic. He starts to shout for help, but swallows the yell. Who knows who's about? As he pants, he slowly begins to pull himself back together, checking himself over for obvious wounds and looking for his sword.
Iesha, moving through the hallway, calls out"Kendra? Alzano? Peredur? Aleksandr? Is everyone OK?"
She will feel along the wall and cast light on the first lantern she finds (depending on the light level she can probably see, but she wants to startle any invaders).
Peredur replies in a still-panicked voice, "Iesha? T-take care...'twould seem there's something in here with me."
Iesha will head toward Peredur's room, stopping in her room to grab her battle aspergillum.
Iesha enters Peredur's room to find the ranger with a panicked look upon his face.
The blood seems to have faded. The sheets, your hands, and the door show no sign of defacement.
Peredur is looking quickly from side to side, all around the room. "Where did it go? But a moment ago, th' sheet, th' walls, my hands--all were covered in blood, an' th' blood on th' door spelled out my name, just as in th' dream.... Iesha, something dire be happening here." He pauses, then continues in a marginally calmer tone. "And why were you up and about, so late? Aught troubled your sleep as well?"
In the light from the lamp she carries (almost for comfort) she is as pale as her skin tone will allow. "A dream..." she sudders as she speaks.
"A mob seizing me, dragging me away, then...Professor Lorrimor...judging me, punishing me...for my blood..."
"But I am more than that..."
"I, I...am I?"
She breaks down and starts to sob, then runs blindly back to her room.
Peredur watches her go, a quizzical expression on his face. Being half-elf's naught to be ashamed of....
Kendra appears, clutching a robe around her, a tired and troubled look on her face.
"I heard screaming... then crying. Is everyone well?"
After hearing Iesha call out and the muffled voices of her and Peredur, Alzano stares at the ceiling One... two... three... as he waits several more seconds before relaxing. Was I.... counting the planks of wood? He shakes his head as if to clear it of the thoughts of his nightmare before cautiously making his way toward Peredur's room.
Alzano grunts in surprise as he barely manages to jump out of the way of Iesha as she runs to her room. Peeking his head into Peredur's, he gives the half-elf a confused look. "What happened? What was that about?" He gestures with his head in the direction he came and sees Kendra, replies to her, "That's what I'm trying to figure out."
Aleksandr paces from his room with a stony countenance. His nightmare had to be a portent for the future from the Lady of Graves herself. After all, was she not the Mistress of Premonitions?
"We are on a sacred quest," Aleksandr said, "It appears that the evil of Harrowstone is seeping into our dreams. We must stand firm in it's face, and show it no weakness. We shall drive it back from whence it came and leave this town in peace once again."
"Peredur, come, let us pray. The rest of you are more than welcome to join us if you wish," Aleksandr kneels with one knee on the floor, his hands resting on the other.
"Lady of Graves, we seek your wisdom and strength in this battle against evil. All evidence points to the stench of those who are to create undeath, and I swear upon all that you stand for that I shall participate in bringing low those who would seek to bring such devilry into the world."
Kendra places a hand on Aleksandr's shoulder as he prays.
"You are a brave man, Aleks. I will worry for you, and will pray for you all at the temple when you leave for the prison. May Pharasma protect you."
When he stands, she kisses his cheek, sighs heavily and exits the room.
A knock on the door sounds soon after, and Kendra opens it. Predictably, perhaps, it is Sheriff Caeller, with a grave expression upon his face.
"You will all come with me. There has been another incident at the memorial." His tone is not one to provoke discussion. The day is dawning cold as you approach the memorial, gray clouds smother the sky. Spring is approaching, yes, but it seems to be fighting an uphill battle against the long winter.
When the party reach the top of the rise that flanks the river, the statue stands before you, bathed in blood. A letter once more apparent on the base of the stone figure.
Worse, however, is the readily apparent source of the blood. Your temporary companion, the elf Taanyth's corpse lies crumpled at the base of the statue. His neck slashed from ear to ear.
"We have a suspect in custody." he announces. "She was found at the scene by Deputy Biggs."
Caeller walks over to two of his deputies. For the first time you notice that they are holding a woman, her hands bound behind her. She appears weary and confused. She is tall, pale with long black hair and clothes that show signs of travel.
"Peredur, see to Taanyth's body," Aleksandr shakes his head at his needless death of their companion. "Someone should fetch the acolytes and Father Grimburrow."
"What is your name, woman?" Aleksandr remarks in a cold tone, turning his attention to the arrested woman. He invokes his ability to discern the character of a person while questioning her. "You have been apprehended at the scene of a grave crime, so answer truthfully and be judged by the faithful of Pharasma. What was your purpose in being here in Ravengro?"
Iesha, her face still pale but freshly scrubbed, stares in total shock at the body of their so temporary companion. Drppping to her knees next to the body, she offers prayers to Shelyn and Pharasma as Peredur begins his rituals.
While the cause of death appears obvious, she swallows her churning emptions and begins to use her skills to check for clues.
The amount of blood is exponentially greater. It covers more of the statue, and has soaked into Taanyth's clothes.
Taanyth's equipment appears to be missing, he is left with just his clothes.
This woman is of pure intent, it would seem. Her behavior and facial expressions do not in any way indicate guilt. She is merely tired, and shows signs of grief. you note that her eyes of two different colors, one blue and one green.
Peredur prays with Aleksandr, hands clasped on his spiral symbol. He's still quieter than usual this morning, a haunted look in his eyes. He welcomes the sheriff's interruption, but the sight of the monument and its grisly decoration leaves him speechless. The tall half-elf shudders, both at the sight of the dead elf and at the bloody letter, evoking the terror of his dream. He struggles to speak, then has a sudden thought. "...splatters spell her name..., th' child's rhyme, and I dreamt of blood spelling my name...Sheriff, who in town has a name starting with V-e?"
Iesha, still shaken by the events of the evening and of Taanyth's horrific fate, still manages to pull herself together.
"Sheriff Caellar. Tannyth's equipment is missing. And...so much blood. Surely whoever did this would be covered in blood as well?"
She turns to look at the strange woman. "I see indications of recent travel, but...no blood?
Iesha moves around the woman observing her closely from all angles.
If she sees blood on the stranger she will comment based on the amount either
"Oh, she is splattered" or "I see some blood but surely not enough to have come from such a crime"
"Also, this does resemble the last incident. Surely if this woman had been the perpetrator then, someone would have noticed her around? I'm not the best person to conduct a search for such traces, still conducting a search of the area will hopefully give us a clearer indication of just what happened here?"
She pauses in thought, the need to solve this helping to clear up the after-effects of her dream. When she speaks again she is mainly addressing the group, though she looks at all of the locals as well.
"Does anyone remember when we last saw Tannyth? Did he say where he was going or why? Is his stuff still at Kendra's"
She also tries to check for signs of a struggle on both Taanyth and the stranger and will comment on what she sees.
There is no blood upon the stranger's person that Iesha can see.
Caeller looks long at the bloody letter. "I honestly cannot think of a single name. Many start with V but none move to E. Perhaps the word is VENGEANCE? I try to avoid deductions and accusations based on a children's rhyme."
Peredur nods slowly. "Aye, you likely have th' right of it. Starting at shadows, I am, but with all that's happened 'tis too easy by half to think there's something in th' shadows to start at. I'll see what tracks I can find."
you glean the following.
Taanyth approached from the town on his own. Whomever attacked him got him from behind. Most of the scuffle was from Taanyth's death throes. There are tracks that ostensibly lead back to town, but they are impossible to follow after a few steps.
The pale woman appears distraught, grieving, and confused. She does not struggle in her bonds.
Stifling a sob, she looks to Aleksandr and says, "My name is Talia Senshir, and you've no reason to fear that I should speak false. I have come to Ravengro to attend the funeral of my friend Professor Lorrimor, though I fear I have arrived too late."
Talia sighs, looking dejected.
"And while I hold little proof of my innocence of this terrible crime, still that is what I plead. I came straight here to discover the whereabouts of either the funeral or the Professor's daughter Kendra, only to happen upon this tragedy. My timing, it seems, is poor, as I was discovered here shortly after my arrival. Indeed, I had only just seen the body of this poor man and was about to call for help when the guards came. Please, you must believe me!"
The pale-haired half-elf squats to examine the ground minutely, then walks carefully around the monument. "'Twould seem that Taanyth were coming from town, either by himself or with someone who left no trail. He were likely taken from behind and struck mortally, for he fell here and thrashed about for a short time 'fore dying. And these may be th' tracks of his slayer...." He looks up at the captive woman. "Let me see her feet."
Alzano frowns as he looks at the body of his former companion, sparing a sidelong glance at the two half-elves' reactions. Are they gonna be like this for every dead body? Such fragile emotions... Looking up at the memorial itself, he speaks, "Well... it's a safe bet that someone's spelling out something. The 'V' could have just been blood sprayed in a pattern, but I think an 'E' would be a little more difficult to make."
After the deputies bring the woman forward, Alzano scratches his face and listens to Talia. "Heh... poor timing, eh? Poor timing, indeed... though that could mean many things. Still Iesha has a point: you're clean of any blood. Granted, it's a simple task for certain arcane casters to remove such evidence."
Talia looks quizzically at Peredur. "My feet?," she says, glancing down before shrugging and lifting first her left, then her right foot, offering them for examination. "Very well. If it may help to prove my innocence in this matter."
"See here," she continues, turning to the guardsmen, "I've a letter from Kendra in my pouch, asking that I come here to attend the late Professor's funeral. I've no cause to kill anyone. Indeed, were I given leave, I would do all I can to help find the perpetrator; if for no other reason than to prove I did not commit this crime."
There is no blood, just trail mud and the like. Her print and foot size do not match the tracks of Taanyth's killer.
"Sheriff, th' tracks left by th' killer don't look like hers. Shall we ask Mistress Kendra if she knows this woman, and will speak for her?"
"She speaks the truth, Sheriff," Aleksandr says, "It appears that the murderer hailed from the town. I'd like to motion that we comb the town for the killer before they strike again."
Alzano raises an eyebrow at the inquisitor. "From the town? How'd you figure that?"
"I think that's what the tracks Peredur found indicate. I'm not tracker enough to tell on my own. However, it does seem that they don't match her tracks. It's odd. Nothing makes sense. I can't see this as having been done by a newly arrived outsider, but at the same time, there's no reason for a townsperson to have either killed Taanyth or desecrated the monument."
She shakes her head, confused, then looks at the two Pharasmins. "Let's get Taanyth into the care of the temple. Maybe Father Grimburrow or one of the other priests can cast Speak With Dead. It's beyond my ability at this time. I know it's a bit -unpleasant- to contemplate, but perhaps Taanyth noticed something that would help."
Talia looks hopefully at Peredur and Aleksandr.
"I do speak the truth., she says. "Thank you for believing me. I know I am but a stranger, but who was this man? Did he have anything to do with the Professor or his death? I've a debt to the Professor for saving my life, and as he is no longer, if there is anything I can do to help, I would gladly do so."
Iesha looks at the stranger. "We were all friends and associates of Professor Lorrimor, summoned here by notice of his death and our inclusion in his will. There have been -untoward events- ever since his death, but, as far as we know, Taanyth's death is the first."
She pauses, then mutters, sotto voice 'or possibly the second..."
Caeller gestures at his deputies, who untie Talia.
"I am releasing this woman into your care and supervision. you will be held accountable for her, as Kendra is for all of you."
Kendra, who had been silent until now, pushes through to the front of the group. Deliberately not looking at Taanyth's corpse, she moves to Talia.
"I am Kendra Lorrimor. My father spoke of you, so please consider yourself welcome in my home for as long as you like. Thank you for coming. I am sorry you were delayed, but I will take you to my father's grave to pay your respects if you like."
Grimburrow and several acolytes arrive shortly thereafter. They place Taanyth's corpse upon a bier as Grimburrow chants a prayer under his breath.
"He will be interred in the restlands, unless any of you know of any family we should notify." Grimburrow says after he finishes.
"He were rather close-mouthed regarding his background, only offering that he's Kyonin-born and living in Cheliax. When he's interred, might be best to keep that quiet; th' reaction to Petros' burial weren't encouraging."