Death and Taxes - GM Budd the C.H.U.D.'s Feast of Ravenmoor

Game Master Budd the C.H.U.D.

When she notices something in the trees, a bit further along the way the tracks seems to go she hesitates briefly.
I will not check this out alone. she told herself, realizing full well that she was a bit of pussy cat again, but that wouldn't stop her from getting Windmane.

She walks in a far circle back around the tree, mounts Windmane again (which is a relatively complicated process with a shield strapped to the left and obviously requires to temporarily sheath the sword) and rides through the bushes, avoiding the existing tracks, towards whatever she saw in the trees to see what it is. Hopefully not a dead body, she did not want to bring Lyila that kind of news.

Bacarov spots no suspicious characters lurking about the Anikee residence, and head to Rag's End without incident. Arriving at the "tavern"/brothel, you are greeted by the jolly stylings of the house band, and more than a few scandalously-clad working ladies prancing about. More than one of them makes a pass at both Bacarov and Marsh. Eventually, the two of you make your way to a back room where you are greeted by a pale, handsome man known to Bacarov only as "The Rook." Though his manner is friendly enough, there is a coldness to him that might unnerve most folks. Bacarov happens to know why that is, but that is a secret best kept between "friends."

"Good to see you, Sebastian," The Rook says, sipping from his glass of dark, red wine. "I see you've brought your trained ape with you. Don't fret, Mr. Marsh- it's only a joke. What brings the pair of you to me on this fine evening? I imagine it is more than simple entertainment, though this, too, could be arranged should it please you."

Ball's in your court, boys.

Let's let Dalton check in before we go too much further here.

The sight that awaits you is a grisly one.

Something appears to be suspended in the air between two of the burned-out trees, and the realization of what it is turns your stomach. A body hangs there, suspended by a web of gossamer strands woven between the black branches. The man who hangs there has been dead several days, judging from the state of decomposition, and no doubt ravaged by the local wildlife- a pair of ugly crows flap about nearby, no doubt struggling to find a way to peck at the body without risking being caught in the webbing.

He would have likely been handsome in life, and from the subtle point of his ears, he looks to have been half-elf, half-human.

Calwen thought about the tracks as she approached the body, trying to occupy her mind with something else. Why was the distance so erratic? A galloping quadruped could have seemingly erratic tracks, but a quadruped her four legs, not one. A large human with a pole arm on which he rested its weight in irregular intervals? Seemed most likely, but she was not yet convinced. Which pole arm had a curved lower end, shaped like a beast claw?

She was so lost in thought that the smell and the horror of the body almost surprised her, even though she was half expecting it. Shelyn! I am too late. She hadn't known him, but from what Lyila told her he had been a good guy who had certainly not deserved this. The corners of her eyes filled with tears and she tried to figure out the most gentle way to let the body down, so she may bury him as she notices the rustling in the bushes.

She wasn't in the mood for playing games right now, but turned Windmane to attack position and pointed her blade at it: "Show yourself!" she called out in Taldan. "Know that you are facing Calwen, a Knight of the White Rose, an ally of the man who was murdered here and set to avenge him." Well, maybe it was just a bird. Maybe it was an ally or a frightened innocent bystander, maybe Calwen would have to fight for her life or hunt down her enemies pretty soon. If it was an enemy there was no way she could let it leave after she explained herself, but it was better to do so in order to avoid fatal misunderstandings.

With the spirit's aid, you peruse the entirety of Magnimar's records on Ravenmoor and learn quite a bit.

Ravenmoor's mayor is a man named Andretti Kriegler. From the records, it looks as if this is far from the first time a Kriegler has been in charge of the village, whether as mayor or some sort of spiritual leader- going back several generations to one Iola Kriegler, who is credited with "saving" the town from some awful blight that nearly killed its industry. The people there are noted to be odd, but friendly, and indeed it appears that the whole mess with the missing taxes is in fact due to an overlooked clerical error leading to not a single tax collector being sent out that way in nearly a decade. At least, from what you've seen, it appears to have been a simple misunderstanding.

The town is listed as being almost entirely made up of Desna worshipers, and it is noted that they are fond of keeping strange pets, including creatures often categorized as monsters (Stirges, in particular). They hold a "Founder's Festival" once a month, on the eve of a full moon, which seems to act as the only real entertainment in town. It is also noted that they do not have an inn, as visitors to Ravenmoor are exceptionally rare. Finally, the files also happen to mention that they frequently trade with the local Hawk Tribe of the Shoanti people.

In the words of McCoy... He's dead, Jim. The sight of it may be so horrific that you simply can't bear to look at the wounds to see what has killed the man. Go ahead and read the next bit after the Heal check, though.

I don't understand... that was what I was reacting to when Calwen lifted her sword and called out.

A large, shaggy wolf creeps out of the bushes nearby, patches of long-dried blood on its coat and one eye forever closed thanks to a wound now scarred-over. Between its jaws it carries some strange object- an oblong thing that looks almost like a ladle. It takes a few cautious steps toward you, then drops the object from its jaws and backs away, keeping its head low to the ground. It whimpers weakly as it looks up at the body of the slain druid.

The object, upon closer examination, looks as if it were a part of some strange mask made of clay and sloppily put-together, with an overlarge eyehold covered in mesh, and a long, sharp, beak-like nose that brings to mind the mask of a plague doctor... but proportionally longer and more narrow, almost like a mosquito's proboscis. Some protrusion above the eye is broken off, but it gives off the impression of an antennae. The mask is broken nearly in half, and there are bits of dried blood splattered across it.

The wolf watches quietly as you examine the object, keeping its eye fixed on you.

She took her backpack off and got two of her rations out. Corn, berries, hardly suitable food for a wolf but everything she she had. She took a small bite of it and then offered it to the wolf, bowed her head, avoided eye contact but sought its proximity. If he would take the first ration, she would offer him a second, drenched in her healing potion. I am your friend and feel with you. I am not here to challange you. She tried to tell it. She picked up the broken mask and cast a quick look at - Does that nose fit the strange markings on the ground? - but she couldn't make sense of it right now, though it might be worthwhile finding out how the wolf came into its position. Maybe it had killed the original owner and his body was laying somewhere around here or in the hut.

Handle Animal: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26
Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23
Brief investigation of the mask. I suspect it has been used to somehow poison or otherwise spoil the soil, so I would particularly like to know whether that is think able.

While she didn't really think that the wolf would understand her she continued to speak to it trying Taldan, Elven and Sylvan: "Now what do I do with you? I cannot remotely fathom the loss you suffer, but I understand the bond between a druid and his companion is not unlike mine with Windmane. You are wounded and you have no pack to belong to anymore, but you have proven your loyalty and bravery... Do you remember Lyila's glade? I will take you there when I tell her about... this. But first we need to bury your friend and I need to investigate what happened here. Damn I wish you could talk." Well, maybe a druid could talk to the wolf, but alas she had none with her. She held up the mask and tried to somehow communicate an asking demeanor: "Can you show me from where you have this?" She did not want leave Armand hanging there as a feast for the crows, but this lead may be important.

After several tense moments of sizing you up, the wolf finally accepts the proffered ration and chomps it down. Its lone eye peers up at you as it sits back on its haunches. It seems rather intelligent compared to a common wolf- no doubt due to being the companion of a druid master. Still going to offer it another ration with added healing potion?

After eating its fill, the wolf continues to look on as you examine the mask. The strange nose on the mask does at first look like a good fit for the protrusions you found on the ground earlier, but upon closer examination it seems a bit too wide and too brittle. When you look into the inside of the mask, you note some fragrant ground herbs stuffed into the tip of the nose, but other than that, there is little more to learn from it.

After you ask where it got the mask from, the wolf turns back toward the brush, then pauses to look back at you, as if hoping you might follow.

You know a fair bit about Galduria's infamous Twilight Academy, as well as the Ember Lake. The Twilight Academy is a relatively new institution, but already is considered a rival of the Stone of Seers in Magnimar or Korvosa's own Academae, so far as schools of arcane learning are concerned. Its reputation is a bit shaky, as most people understand the place as a home to freakish experiments and shady mage professors, but the locals don't seem to mind since it generates a good deal of revenue for local civil projects.

Ember Lake is home to rare, bioluminescent, salamander-like creatures called Charig. Schools of these weird, glowing creatures swim about at night, the strange patterns formed by their luminescence creating a dazzling display on the surface of the lake. Some claim that there is some greater meaning to these displays, but locals are more skeptical. Ember Lake is connected to the Lampblack River as well as the Yondabakari and the Malgorian. A lot of scholars pop over to the Lake to study the Charig, which seems a fair enough cover story.

Windmane bears you along the wolf's trail until, after a minute of trotting, you see a shape lying still in the mud near an outcropping of bushes. A white robe stained with old, dried blood covers the bulky humanoid, who seems to have been savaged to death and then dragged off into the brush, considering the way the muck has been disturbed. Perhaps the wolf slew this one during the struggle, then hauled the body away into the foliage sometime later. When you draw closer, you see that it is a ruddy-faced human, with a graying beard and balding head but few notable features aside from that. One of his hands still holds an object, his fat fingers curled tightly in death around the handle of a large, rusting sickle whose edge bears a bit of flaking blood. The wolf glares down at the dead man, then turns to watch your reaction.

There was a time 5 years gone that Bacarov wasn't so chummy with the Rook. Time was the purveyor of fleshly goods was the prime suspect in the murder of one Bumpy Raiushin out of Dock-a-way. But for all the evidence Sebastian was thorough in the investigation. He knew the Rook was all cautious man, so the detective's alarm bells sounded when the clues were so blatant.

Three months research and working his contacts and the evidence, Bacarov saw through to the real culprit. Finding Horatio Bilfew also brought him his first contact with a group of sadist who had a nasty habit of harvesting skin-suits. He'd have run ins with them for years to come.

A year later, Bacarov was sent a message. In no vague terms, the Rook wanted to have a sit down. Sebastian was curious, so he went. It was made apparent that the pale peddler of desires had been watching the case with great interest and studying Bacarov in the wake of its success. The Rook wasn't a fool and had known that he'd been the original suspect.

It was in that interview that the Rook - named Thessal - knew the victim quite well. Bumpy Raiushin had been a servant of a shadowy figure whom the Rook had been hunting for 100 years. Yes, the was 1 0 0 years. This figure, whom the Rook called Mathius, had been his sire. Thessal revealed to Bacarov that he was the product of a vicious assault; his elvish mother had been attacked by a vampire. For as long as he'd been an adult, Thessal had been hunting him. Now, seated in the office deep in Rags End, he was enlisting the aid of a City Watch Inspector in his hunt.

By the end of the evening, Bacarov had agreed to do what he could in exchange for some assistance now and again. Deep down, Bacarov would have done it for free.

Bacarov shakes his head and wipes at the stubble on his face. "Business first, old boy. Mind if we have some privacy?" Once the girls are gone Bacarov continues. "Our favorite Chaplain-Protector is in town."

The Rook's grin persists, but his eyes tense with anticipation. "And how is fair Olivia?"

"Better than you'd expect after returning from Ustalav. She'll be at the Pharasma temple for a week before leaving again." Bacarov pulls a small envelope from his coat and passes it to the Rook. The pale business man opens it and reads the scrap of paper within, then slips it onto his own coat. "Thank you. And how might I be of service? "

And here's the acrobat's rope I walk with you, old chum.

"There's a fellow we've been asked to find. He just went on the straight and narrow, but he wasn't quiet about it. Might have been a little too frigid with his old mates and little too chatty with others. Word in the Mush (Ordellia) is that his new leaf is rubbin' people the wrong way."

Bacarov withdraws the map of Riddleport from his coat and places it on the table between them. "First question, there's a few locations marked off on this map. You've traveled to Riddleport on business a few times, what can you tell me about these areas?" He interlocks his fingers and leans back in his chair. "Second, have your heard anything on the vine about someone looking to settle on Elias Kyle's accounts? Maybe take advantage of the fellow?"

Bacarov glances Marsh's way to see if he's got any other questions.

The Rook kept peace and order in his area of influence. He had a sense of justice. Abusers of the old and infirm were often found oddly drained of blood. The Rook couldn't drink blood, but he obsessed for it. An urge he could never fulfill.

Vincent walked a tightrope of his own. The Rook wouldn't like knowing that he had put his name in his mouth, but he knew the creature would be frightening enough to cause the average rough to steer clear of Jum at the mere mention of him. If they were bigger time than that, they would rub up against the Rook's network soon enough. The Rook was as territorial as any full vampire. He'd take care of business.

"How you doin Rook?. Long time no see, but for you what's a long time, right?! Where's the wolf? He's not gonna flap in here like a bat then pop up out of a mist scarin the s~$# outta me is he? I'm just kiddin, I came here to make nice."

"Like Sebastian said we are looking for this guy. Our client is a square, she's only looking to find out what happened to her family member. We are headed out to Ravenmoor, you ever stalked out that way?"

After asking the wolf where Armand might want to be buried, it shows you to a spot a few hundred yards north of the giant dead oak where there is a small patch of furtive land, a tiny circle of narrow-trunked trees and dotting of brush that seems quite peaceful. Perhaps the druid once used this place as a safe haven in which to meditate and commune with nature? Lowering the poor druid's body from the trees takes nearly a half-hour's work cutting away at the spidery webbing, but eventually, you are able to lower him to the ground and carry him to the tiny grove, where you set about the task of burying him.

Now that you are so close to his body, you note that there are a number of small, round piercing wounds dotting his body that resemble more than anything overlarge mosquito bites, and that his body seems to have been drained of all its blood. It is hard to tell whether or not this was what killed him, or if these wounds were inflicted postmortem. Regardless, with great effort and no small amount of patience, you bury the slain half-elf and sit back, exhausted from the effort.

Your next task is to search the shack for any clues. After entering through the front door, you find signs of a struggle; the lone bookcase is overturned, and there are spatters of old blood across the walls, though nothing that indicates any fatal injuries. I assume you'll want to Take 20 for a total of 27? After a thorough search of the druid's home, you notice a floorboard that creaks more than usual underfoot. Sure enough, the floorboard comes up, revealing a small, leatherbound book that looks well-worn. You flip through the pages and find that the entire thing is written in Sylvan- which, thankfully, you are more than fluent in. It appears to be a journal, though the entries are not dated with any regular schedule- it seems Armand simply jotted things down as they came to mind. Your search also turns up Armand's masterwork quarterstaff, 13 GP and two potions of cure light wounds.

Most of the entries are the same, tiring, poorly-worded odes to Lyila's beauty- or angsty passages lamenting that some "villain" named Galeth had stolen her attention from him. Then, finally, you stumble across his notes on his trip to Ravenmoor, the most recent entries:

1 (dated eight days ago). "The people of Ravenmoor are strange, but friendly enough. Daravon had to stay on the other side of the river, I fear, but she can fend for herself in my absence. I think I may be the first elf- part-elf, at least- that they have ever seen. Mayor Kriegler is a friendly sort and has done his best to help me in my investigation. It seems that, when the first blighting occurred here so many years ago, the town priestess Iola Kriegler (of relation to the current mayor, I imagine), a cleric of Desna, underwent a vision quest deep into the Churlwood to seek aid for her dying village. There, she had some divine encounter with what they claim to have been the Dreamweaver herself, who shared the secrets of stopping the blight with her. Iola returned to her village alongside a pair of druids who shared this knowledge, and together they performed rituals that turned back the blighting and restored their village to health- though from the state of it I cannot say that old Iola was entirely successful in this effort. Still, if any life at all can be siphoned back into these blighted regions, there is hope that they might grow anew with care. This fills my heart with hope- I cannot wait to bring this news back to Lyila! She will reward me sweetly for certain. Perhaps enough to share herself with me and me alone.

2 (dated six days ago). My continued studies have yet to bring forth any details on the rituals Iola Kriegler used to turn back the blight. The novelty of my appearance seems to have worn thin on some of the town's citizens. I have seen more than a few unwelcoming stares over the last few days. This is nothing new- stares like those are what drove me to the druidic life in the first place. Still, for the forest and for Lyila, I will press on until I have uncovered the secret to stopping the corruption that is eating away at this land.

3 (dated five days ago). Had to wildshape into a falcon and fly across the Lampblack to get away. Don't know who they are or why they came for me in the middle of the night. I fear for my friend, the Mayor. If he has learned the same as I have, they will be after him, too. They wear masks like mosquitoes- no, like Stirges. Those abominations... I hear their wings buzzing everywhere I go now. The masked men carry sickles and scythes. They did not cross the river in pursuit of me- fear of the ferryman's "Wolf of the Water," no doubt, but still I must be careful. Daravon, my faithful companion, worries for me. She will patrol the wood around my home tonight while I rest and tend my wounds, and then, I will report my findings to Lyila. Tired now. Need sleep. Daravon will protect me.

The entries end there.

Armed with what you have gathered from the journal, you wander back outside and, following a theory, attempt to determine whether the holes in the ground contain poison- but you are unable to detect anything, and there seems to be no smell like the poison you found on the dead attacker's body earlier.

Both the wolf and Windmane seem anxious to leave the place- the wolf, seemingly quite fond of you, requires little convincing to come along with you back to Lyila's glade. After you swing back up into Windmane's saddle and take the reins, the wolf keeps pace just a bit behind you as you begin the long ride back to a kinder part of the wood- to deliver the unfortunate news of Armand's fate to Lyila.

Whew. We'll take care of your return visit to Lyila on my next post. If there's anything more you wish to do before you get there or involving Armand's shack, feel free to throw that in; otherwise, we'll jump straight back to the ol' oak tree.

He takes the map of Riddleport from Inspector Bacarov and takes a long, hard look at it, stroking his chin as he does. "These locations are housing districts- low-income areas, mostly. Riddleport has a culture of vice that puts our Magnimar to shame, I fear- areas like these would make Rag's End look like the Alabaster District." He smirks and leans back in his seat. "Sorry to be of so little help, friends. Seems you will have to do the footwork on this one on your own. When do you leave for Ravenmoor? I imagine, if this involves a missing person, you will be on the road first thing in the morning. Can I not persuade you to part ways with a bit of your coin before you go? The trip to Ravenmoor will likely take more than a week. Better to know a woman's touch before you go, lest you come to ache for it on the road." He says this knowing full well that neither of you is likely in the mood for such a thing, but hey, a businessman has to try.

Adventuring party? Could be nothing, but fellow adventurers can be tightly knit to their groups or harbor some of the deepest hatreds... Bacarov clasps the bowl of his pipe and leans forward a smidge. "This adventuring party he'd run with, you wouldn't happen to know some of their names, eh? Or maybe who was giving them jobs? Could prove useful if we encounter strangers along the path."

Vincent holds up the potion he had received.

"She gave me this, said it was left over from her wayward youth. What?! She gave it to me freely Sebastian. I sat down for a bit of tea with her, quite nice actually. Good chat. looks like your nicked map might explain why Elias was lookin into those parts of town, goes along with the skin mags in his footlocker."

" I am guessin he may have been a client of yours Rook if he had enough coin. Maybe one of your girls knows him in both senses of the word. Meh, unless his desires were more off the beaten path. Heh heh."

"I'll take a pass on the offer. I may not be the easiest on the eyes, but I don't have to pay for it yet."

"Oh but I do have a question before we shake on this deal." He stresses the back end of that statement and he slowly put his scroll back inside his vest, revealing his coin purse in the process. "A colleague of mine went up to Galduria recently, he's a brutish looking man, flat faced and with reddish hair, sort of an idiot really. I sent him up to survey a spot in preparation for my arrival; I like to give him work to help him stay on his feet and feel independent." The lie was pretty bad but if things were to go sour he had another shot he figured.

There is always another path.

"I was wondering if he took your ship. I worry for him but at the same time I like to give him his chance to shine." It was laughable really if one spoke to Dramin for longer than a minute; they could easily recognize the insincerity in his voice.

The Rook nods his head when Marsh suggests that Elias Kyle might have been a customer of his. "Yes, well, I try to keep a thorough record on those who utilize my facilities here. It... helps keep my employees safe. Let me browse the records a moment longer and see if there is anything here that might be of use to you." A few moments later, he sighs. "Hmm. Saw a different girl each visit, no problems reported. Has a note saying that he spent more time crying about his dead wife than having any fun. Nothing else of note- aside from that he went several months building a rather large tab that was eventually paid off by... well, well. Jeminda Anikee."

She went through her collection of little clues that she carried in her backpack: The mask, a sickle, a vial, some flayleaf (note to self: don't get caught with it), a sickle, a bit of the webbing in which Armand was wrapped, the most sacred part, Armands notebook. She couldn't show that to Lyila, because, well, there was no reason to mention Armand's most understandable obsession with her again. Too bad she hadn't found out about that earlier. He may have been half-human, but he had also been an elf. The degree as far as she is concerned didn't matter: elf is elf. She might have to create a copy the relevant parts.

"Good evening, fey of the forest. I am afraid we bring dire news." she said ruefully as she reached the border of the lake. "And a plea for your help. Will you let us into your sanctuary?" She may be tired, but not that tired as to take the welcome of a fey for granted without asking for it. So much for not getting mixed up in druid matters she thought as she recalled the letter she left. Their enemies might find it, too, but there was little to find out from it other her name. But Calwen doubted they would come back to the crime scene any time soon and Armand's allies, namely the druids, deserved to learn his fate.

She let a woeful sigh. She could not stay here. This place was too tempting. If she stayed here for a night she might not have the strength to leave for a decade or two. But the forest didn't have that much time. Without even knowing it she had stripped, sat by the side of the pool and started to play - a human song often played as a requiem, she couldn't say why she picked that one, with Daravon close to her side and the evidence she found like a medicine bundle at hand.

So, there's the connection of loyalty...adventuring chums.

Sebastian looks to the Rook's coat where he'd stashed the envelope. "If you want some company looking into that, Olivia expressed an interest." He stands slowly and offers a hand. "Thanks for the info. It'll come in handy."

After appropriate greetings, Sebastian looks to Marsh to make sure he's ready to go. If he is, then they'll make their way to the docks to meet with the group. "I know a food stall that serves up the best eggs and sausage in the city. We can have our fill and then meet with the others."

Not sure if the timing is right for the meetup. I'm assuming it's well into the wee hours of the morning.

"Elias Kyle. It was within the last few weeks as he asked if he could leave at his leisure and I said why not." Dramin just shrugs as if to say he wasn't quite sure about specifics. "Either way, don't worry if you can't find it, I will know more when I reach my destination anyway."

He hands a gold piece to the halfling as a token of thanks and moves to face the unflinching Dalton. "If you wish to head out and gather the rest of the people who needed a ride to Galduria, you're released to do so. I can finish with the rest here, and if the Captain allows perhaps I can just stay the night."

He turns to Bach, getting out the 25 gold pieces needed. "Would that be alright? I have some work to get done and to be honest, the place I am staying is far too loud and here it seems like it will become dead silent at night. If you require some help I am sure that my talents can make some quick work."

He knows that its a stretch and the work is far below him, but he wants to be on board in case he has to set sail earlier than anticipated. Nothing will stop me now.

"Impressive display Rook . . . you do your homework an' keep your books. I respect that and the trust you've shown us."

Message received Rook. Well played. You're one scary ass m&!$*##$+++%.

"Needless to say we'll keep it close to the chest."

To the grave---You bet your ass, I'm not gonna be a blood donning gimp kept down in a basement for crossin this guy. But I'm not scared of him either cause I've never crossed him. Luckily he likes chattin with Sebastian, Looks like my friend fascinates him in some way. Maybe he thinks of Sebastian as some kind of son. S#**, who knows what this guy thinks, but one thing for sure, this guy is crazy smart. His mind as keen as the razors he keeps in his desk.

"Thanks again Rook, and ah, please feel free to give us the gift if we start inadvertently start steppin on toes."

Arginost, the wolf that the Rook kept was conspicuously absent. That wolf, he gave me the creeps. The Rook was old but looked young, the wolf seemed to be old as well, but when he looked at you, it was like lookin into the eyes of that Osiron Jackel statue down at the library. Some sort of elven or fell magic was at work in that animal's mind. Sometimes, I thought I could hear what the wolf thought when he looked at me. Most of the time it looked relaxed, but you knew it was listenin. Arginost was ready to strike at any moment. Not seein the wolf must have been part of the message, or maybe it was The Rook havin a little fun mind f*#!in me.

It was a reminder for me that I came from a little different place than Sebastian. I worried about the edge he chose to walk.

"See ya around Rook. If I come across any old books to sell I'll bring em here first."

"Godspeed, Sebastian," The Rook says, his stoic expression as difficult to read as ever. "I hope you find the one you're looking for. Take care on the road." He glances at Marsh and nods his head curtly. "Mr. Marsh. Farewell."

With your business with The Rook concluded, you leave his nest and make your way toward Bacarov's favorite food stall. The food is every bit as good as Bacarov claimed it to be. It's probably well into the night by now, but it's never too late for eggs an' sausage.

"You serious?" Bach says with a grin as Dramin offers to spend the night aboard the ship. "I'm that charmin', am I? Sure, sure, you can help out around the boat, do some grunt work that I'm gettin' a little too stiff in the joints for- yeah, that'll do just fine. Anyhoo, let me see if I've got an Elias Kyle in my records here..." A few minutes later, he emerges from his ledgers. "Yup, almost a month back now. Elias Kyle, rode up to Galduria. Couple other passengers aboard that day, none of 'em in his party, though. If I recall, he wasn't the friendliest of fellows. Bit of a heavy drinker. Hope that helps."

The sorrowful tune you play upon your flute is answer enough; by the time you have finished, Lyila sits atop one of the large roots that bridges out into the water, quietly weeping. "Poor Armand," she says quietly. "How did he die? If only he had not chosen to take up residence in that dead place to try and nurse it back to life... I could have heard the whispers of the trees. I could have saved him..."

Daravon slips up alongside Windmane and takes a tentative sip of the pool. Lyila sighs sadly as she looks at Armand's longtime companion. "Poor thing must have fought her heart out trying to save him. Worry not, Daravon is welcome in this glade. I will heal her wounds, and she can stay here with us if she so chooses. Thank you for bringing her hear- she shall remind us all to keep Armand in our hearts."

The trio of nixies pop their heads up from the pool at your feet, and when the music has finished, they begin to chatter in anger and sorrow:

"Armand must be avenged! To arms, sisters!"
"It might help if we knew what killed him, idiot."
"Does it matter? Let's cook up a Sargassum Fiend and send it to Ravenmoor! It'll eat 'em all! Let their Gods sort out the innocent."
"You're crazy. Let the elf handle it! That's what we've got her here for, isn't it?"

"Quiet," Lyila says, a sudden harshness in her tone. "Knight of the White Rose... I imagine you understand what I would ask of you?" She awaits your answer, then says: "Please, come forward. I will bestow a gift upon you." She approaches and lays her hands upon your shoulders, then leans in close and whispers some fey incantation into your ear, and you feel a surge of some magic tingling across your skin. "Here... I will enable you to hear the words of the trees. It should last you long enough to get out of the Churlwood, but after that, you are on your own."

She squeezes your shoulder and gestures to the trees beyond her glade. "The wood speaks again of a coming force, one that ventures forth to Ravenmoor on a mission much like your own. They come from the south, from Galduria upon the Ember Lake. Their path will most certainly lead them along the old trail that runs alongside the Lampblack's western shores. I will not tell you how you should proceed, but I imagine that as your goals are in common, you might benefit from one another's aid. Please, finish what Armand started."

If you have anything else to say to Lyila, do it now- and then we'll put you on the road to meet with the others. Also, did you take any of the other items you found in Armand's hut? If so, please add them to your inventory.

Bacarov holds his own council regarding the Rook. Some things he'd keep private because he owes the fellow that much. He is a scary guy with a wealth of eyes and earsb in the city...human and otherwise, but the Rook out those talents to use for a higher purpose. One Bacarov understood all too well.

When Marsh mentions the Sandpoint connection, he nods and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his coat. "Let's leave it be for now. Anikee's got enough on her plate without us adding more to it. I think she's on the level...though I don't like the idea of her holding back information while asking us to get her oysters out of the pan." Bacarov shrugs once continues on down the street with Marsh. "I don't like it, but I understand it. Unless I've missed something, I'm ready to depart to Ravenmoor. Five coppers says Warshawski found something of use in those records of hers."

He snaps his fingers in recall and chuckles a bit. "Heh, the fancy man is a Alberto Raldhing, pushing new
cuisine in the Marble District. The other is a hitter I've...read about. Chances are Raldhing is trying to rub out an obstacle to his grand opening. You know, I'm not sure what's worse; the wise guys who know what they're doing? Or the men with money who think they do." He waves it away like a bite-me gnat. "I've got someone looking into it for me. You know me, Vinnie, I hate multi-tasking."

It's a short jaunt to the first good spiritual hub in Galduria- a small stone monument in town square dedicated to a number of people killed in some accident about a decade ago. More than a few wayward spirits are clustered about it, and seem quite cheerful that they've found someone to whom they can vent. They're all whipped up into a fury over the news that someone at the Twilight Academy is working on putting together a new golem- seems that most of these poor deceased folk reached their current state of being thanks to a rather unfortunate episode in which a number of "stitched-together men" escaped the Academy, slaughtering several townsfolk and more than a few unfortunate young students. The Academy was nearly shut down in the aftermath, and apparently the decision to keep it open was quite controversial. The thought of one of the "nutters" at the Twilight Academy attempting to fleshcraft again has the spirits of the dead more than a little upset. None of them has anything useful to tell you, distracted as they are- but if you've learned anything from the conversation, it is that Elias Kyle is not among the dead interred here. You make your way around town, visiting local graveyards and mausoleums, but there is no sign of your tax collector or his spirit.