At Dramin's words, the weapon student's hand instinctively goes for his sword, drawing it smoothly from its sheath. Warshawski's proclamation about the spirits...losing their minds...causes his lips to press together and his grip on his sword-hilt to tighten until his knuckles are white.
"Warshawski, can there be any defense against creatures we cannot touch? I have heard legends of warriors that could do battle with shades in the spirit realm, but I require a physical form to match against. Against the incorporeal, I am without purchase. What should we do?"
Dramin hears Dalton's words distantly.
"I believe I can come up with something, but it would take time."
If an outsider was looking upon him it would sound like the man was talking to himself; not exactly a far step from believable since the incident.
"If you need a defense against them, I can assist you Dalton. Its a small matter."
He continues to look at the symbol, knowing that the horror on the wall would be less disturbing than the look on Dalton and Warshawski's face.
Your knowledge of spirits, however, tells you a bit more. For the insanity to persist this way in the spirits lingering here after death, it must have been the result of coming face-to-face with something that simply should not exist; something that, by its mere presence, sent these men hurtling into pure madness. Even if they could not see their attacker, it must have possessed something- an aura, perhaps- that drove them to madness.
- - - -
Captain Roslyn watches with quiet interest as the party discovers their findings. As quiet settles over them, she crosses her arms and takes a moment to direct her men about the area in whispers.
"You say the creature came from below," she says after a few moments. "That much would appear to be consistent with what we know so far. If this thing really did come up from below, we can conclude that it must have gone back the same way- since obviously it isn't tramping around up here at the moment. I think the best course of action right now is to get in there and poke around a bit, see if we can figure out where the blasted thing came from. I've had a few men try to clear the debris in the interest of recovering the bodies of Commander Garus and his men, but..." she shakes her head glumly. "We've only recovered a few so far. My men report that there are some kind of chambers- tunnels- under this house. The whole area's littered with them, like a giant ant hill. I need to mount a proper venture down there. Something tells me that's where the answers lie." She pats the hilt of her longsword. "It seems like you know a bit more about the nature of what we're dealing with than anyone else around here. You're welcome to come along if you're interested."
Dramin ponders a moment.
"I wouldn't rush headlong into such a thing yet. Proper planning will be necessary, and there is a good chance that mundane weapons will not be able to harm whatever it is. I won't speak for the others but I will most likely venture down with you."
He looks at the others.
"Though I believe we should still have a talk with the mayor of this place. You learn a lot speaking to the head after all."
Dramin laughs at the 'joke' he makes.
Any clues we can scrounge before we head down there. I have no desire to die to something as trivial as a lack of salt or iron.
I didn't know what we were facing but I could tell it wore madness around it the way some nobles wore mantles. I made my way toward the others, wiping at my face as I went. I didn't need Marsh poking fun at me for being overwhelmed by what the spirits had shared.
"It isn't just a terror." I explained, quietly. "It isn't just that it tortures its victims. It has an aura of insanity. Just being near it, the thing crawls into your head and begins unraveling your mind. Going down there without being prepared isn't the best idea. We need to know more."
"My first instinct is to follow you down to face whatever terror lurks below," the monk replies, looking at Roslyn. "However, whatever this creature is could cause even more death and devastation if we confront it too soon. I think we should post guards, enforce the perimeter around the collapsed building to prevent people from investigating it themselves, and then come back when we're ready. That being said, I'm just an out-of-towner. You Crows have authority here to conduct the investigation however you wish."
He refers to Warshawski with a cock of his thumb in her direction. "Those who ignore her advice when it comes to the paranormal or the unexplained rarely live to regret it, though. Just speaking from personal experience here."
"Warshawski, Come're."
The big man motions for the raven haired beauty to join him egar to show her what he found. As she hesitates he waves her over more insistently.
Using his dagger as a pointer he illustrates the scene for the inspector as he walks her through it.
"Get a load of this s#%+. See these tracks? Look quick they're gettin obliterated faster than an elf at a dwarven drinkin contest."
"Okay so, the tracks have no clear startin point. It is as if the subject simply appeared out of f+&!in thin air and started walkin. From the size, shape an depth it was a female, gotta be a human or elf. You know good body, um, light and fit, low mass an all that. She moves forward a few dozen paces then stops ere, turns slightly this way ere, and ends up directly across the street from the ruin of the dicked-up house there. See this? The chick was facin in the direction of the destruction."
He circles the area.
"There ain't no sign of her leavin or doublin back. She's out here barefoot in the chamber pot muck'an mud. See her full foot profile? Toe marks, mud squeezing up through toes? No grown ass woman or elf is gonna be walkin around without footwear out here in the ghetto. Even the poorest have rags or somethin to cover their feet with."
"She's standing here for a while full weight on the mud, not movin forward. Settlin weight makes the prints slightly deeper and better-defined than those previous, these rings lapped up circular indicatin she stood in place for several minutes. It's conceivable that these tracks could have been here since before dawn. Conceivable, but not a given."
Marsh looks a Sebastian and Dramin speaking to the Watchmen.
"You thinking who I'm thinkin? Should we tell the others? You me an the monk are the only people not all screwed up on this Elven broad."
What could you be?
He looks longingly at the pattern, unsure whether or not it has any meaning.
He hears Marsh's explanation of the scene, but it barely registers in his mind. The words fall out and are muffled as of he was listening through a pillow. The only words that drive spikes through his brain are 'her' and 'she'. They punch through the clouds of his mind and strike a place he can't quite describe.
When he overhears Marsh's guess about the woman's being, he tightens the scarf around his neck; his eyes darting back and forth in the process, looking for the source of the humming.
Why would you even leave trails? You could have easily lifted off the ground... What then? Why?
He asks himself the questions hoping the saccharine voice answers back, but he hears nothing. Whether or not her presence is here or not is immaterial. He grips the scythe at his side and takes a breath.
I'd have to take Marsh's word. He tracked people. I tracked spirits. If he said she was here, I believed him.
"I think we need to talk, as a group, in a place where this isn't staring us in the face before we make any decisions."
Curiosity draws Captain Roslyn over to where Marsh is inspecting the tracks and frowns. "Oy, you. You sound like you have a theory on who might've left those. I had a few thoughts of my own, of course- could be a Pigeon- one of Arlend Hyve's little courier girls, but they don't come out this way too often. Care to share your thoughts with the rest of the class, then, mate?"
It seems she understands the party's hesitation on entering the building. "Well, I can certainly appreciate erring on the side of caution. Still, I should hope we don't delay too long. I'll have my men continue clearing the debris for now, but I'd like to get down there before too much longer. I'm aught to go stark raving mad just from all the standin' around. Whatever killed Commander Garus is likely down there. I'm not sleepin' 'til I've hacked it open from crotch to gizzard and thrown what's left to the fishes." A dark expression crosses her face for a moment, but it soon passes, and she sighs. "I'll be here. I'll have my men buff up the perimeter to keep out any onlookers. Doubt we'll have much traffic through here with the Market closed, but just to be safe, right? If you still wanna see the Mayor, Crown Manor's at the very top of the Hill. You couldn't miss it if you were blind."
"We'll be back as soon as we can. Thank you for keeping the perimeter secure while we're away." bowing respectfully, the monk makes to leave toward Crown Manor, to meet the mayor and discuss these dire tidings.
“Books come in many forms. Some are bound in leather, some bound in wood. But still others are bound in flesh and bone, their stories written in blood.”
He thinks on Aldridge's words for a time. While the librarian has had his share of fieldwork, his true calling has been the poetry of his research. Every piece of evidence leads to a tale.
Sebastian looks around and wonders at the story being told. His companion's words wash over him as they too set their respective talents loose upon brick and symbol and ethereal. Odd to the grim scene, Bacarov smiles at working with talented individuals who know their parts within the greater whole.
”Markum told us those involved in the Ghlaunder cult of Ravenmoor were amateurs after a fashion.” He is drawing the bloody symbol into his journal, speaking as if to himself. Once he's done he remains crouched in the muddy cobblestone and debris, looking upward at the spiral. ”Fetishist bloodsucker vermin worshipping a pestilent deity. Bit this...this is more...” He glances towards where he'd last seen Warshawski standing only to find her speaking with Marsh, two thieves thick within their rookery. ”...primal.” He finishes. For a few beats of the heart he tries listening in on their conspiracy but fails. Instead he glances back to the spiral. ”This feels ancient...it feels cold. I wonder if the insanity is the beast pressing upon fragile minds to see them yield to the...empty.”
To the Void.”
He stands and looks to the Crow. ”Captain Roslyn, are there other entrances to these catacombs? I wonder if I could trouble you for a map. I've no knowledge of the local streets, an alternate means of entry...or escape may prove uselful for when we enter.”
His eyes glow subtly, a dark blue it's nearly black. as he glances towards Warshawski and Marsh. We shared secrets, Vinne, you and I, when Phedron began his descent. What secrets do you share with her? Are my methods already...unsound?
”Captain,” Bacarov’s eyes linger for a moment upon the pair before they cease their glowing and turn upon Roslyn. ”We have not the bond you possess work your comrades, but I pray you'll let caution prevail here. Keep you people out of the catacombs, temper your lust for revenge with knowing it will come in due time.”
listening to Marsh
tunnels
spiral
Captain Roslyn bites the tip of her thumb as she thinks on Bacarov's request. "Sorry, I don't have a map of the current entrances and exits of the underground tunnels on me at the moment. When you get to Rag Manor- sorry, Crown Manor- ask the Mayor. He'll have a recent one in his records. I can tell you that most of them are currently sealed off. Us Crows spend about half our time patching the damn things up. Dark Folk come crawling up out of them at night sometimes to pilfer things out of the night markets or off of beggars. There're probably some exits on the south slope of the Hill- out by Elm Way I'd imagine. I've got a working theory that the Pigeons are using the tunnels for shortcuts when they don't feel like getting caught running flayleaf around. Anyway, I'll see you lot when you get back."
The spiral shape drawn in blood on the alley wall, however, is all too familiar to you. It is eerily similar to the shape cut into the fields behind the Chenowitz farm in Ravenmoor, the shape subliminally formed into the paintings of Abner Dagwood. You are correct in assuming this to be something more primal- more ancient. This is an old symbol, representing old cults. You are certain that this similarity is no coincidence. Whatever ancient powers spawned Ghlaunder must have a strong presence here.
- - - -
Bidding adieu for now to Captain Roslyn and her contingent of Crows, the party leaves the roped-off Slipper Market and heads east and north toward the Crown District. Passing between the tightly-packed buildings along streets that are clearly home to shops and taverns, the investigators are quick to notice just how quiet and empty the cobblestone streets are. Occasionally, a wary face might be glimpsed half-hidden behind a shuttered window, or a person might appear at the mouth of an alleyway or in the doorway of some business or home, but it is very clear that it is more than just the sour weather keeping people off the streets this day.
Eventually, the cobblestones become less uneven and take on a polished white shine, and the dull, purplish middenstone brick buildings are replaced with finer, more modern structures of solid stone and high-quality wood. Rows of olive trees line the thoroughfares of the Crown District, and lavender grows in profusion in and around these trees. The air up here, near the top of the great hill, is far clearer and more crisp- and, if not for the rain and occasional rumble of thunder, might actually be pleasant. It is a far cry from the Tangle and its sickly-purple structures, and even further from the roach-infested, ramshackle huts of the Filth.
Two structures of note dominate the skyline of the Crown District. One is a towering cathedral, whose gothic spires and stained glass windows mark it as a church of some kind- and its iconography identifies it as belonging to the faith of Pharasma, the Lady of Graves. With its bone-white walls and snarling, skeletal grotesques, it is a grim place for a grim faith... but beautiful in its own macabre way. This must be Carrion Hill's Ossuary Church.
The other place of interest seems almost like a miniature castle, with heavy stone walls, decorated with what seems like dozens of colorful flags and tapestries that fly- or rather dangle, sopping wet- from its walls and towers. Crown Manor looms at the highest point of Carrion Hill, and as the party approaches, they see a pair of Crows standing guard at the gate. Both men appear quite miserable, their hoods doing little to protect them from the rain. However, when the party approaches, they seem to liven up. "Oy, you lot must be here to answer the Commander's summons, then. About bloody time. Wait here a moment- I'd suppose you'd like to see the Mayor." The wait is not a long one, and soon the party is escorted inside.
Inside the great hall, the sense that this "manor" was once a fortress of some sort is further quantified. This place is very old and very sturdy, no doubt a final holding ground in the many sieges Carrion Hill has faced in its long and sordid history. An owlbear-skin rug does little to sop the moisture from the party's squelching boots as they come into the large chamber, lit by a number of wall sconces and a fine fireplace. At the end of a large oak table, flanked on either side by a leather-clad Crow officer, is the man that must be Carrion Hill's Mayor. The telltale lines of worry and exhaustion mar his otherwise handsome face, and his clothing is well-tailored but far from garish. Graying at the temples and possessed of twinkling eyes and an unfortunate goatee, the man rises from his high-backed chair to greet the party. "Thank the Gods," he says, "there's at least a few people in this blasted city with an upright spine among them." He steps around the table, walking with a slight limp, and smiles broadly. "I am Vanton Heggry, Lord Mayor of Carrion Hill, regrettably. Might I offer you lot a drink before I heap my myriad troubles upon you?"
On the way up, Dalton takes in the nicer environs and smiles. "Clearly a richer part of town in this area," he comments. "That Church over there is legendary; I've heard tales of its architecture as far away as the markets of Manaket. Travelers say they swear the gargoyles change position night to night." he gestures at the snarling stone creatures perched high up on the Ossuary.
Later, at Crown Manor...
"Greetings, Mayor Heggry," he says politely when approached. "If you have anything warm to drink, I'll take you up on it. It's a wet and cold day outside."
He throws part of his elven cloak up over his shoulder in an attempt to seem more presentable. "I am Dalton Thorpe, from the desert lands to the south. My companions are...experts in their fields, late from Magnimar and here on...personal business. We heard the tale your Crows were cawing, and decided to investigate. There's something...dark, twisting itself underneath this city's hill. I can practically feel it in the soles of my shoes." Looking down, you see that he's wearing tightly-laced boots of obvious Elven make. The bottoms are coated in mud.
Arlend Hyve...Pigeons...flayleaf...Dark Folk… Bacarov makes notes in his journal, circling the last as a point of interest. The first two, despite the possibility of them being nothing better than peddlers of narcotics, they may be able to curry this Hyve’s favor and barter for a guide...or perhaps a refinement to the maps available at the mayor’s office.
He takes in the surroundings as they climb the hill, thinking on the shadows cast upon those not fortunate enough to live upon it. Such disparity breeds contempt at both levels...but it presents interesting opportunities for information. ”There’s already an ingrained resentment of the general populace by those in place to protect them, all but labeling them cowards…” He says idly to the others as they make their way through the streets. Bacarov leans heavily on his spear, the incline playing hell with this back and leg. ”...we see it in Magnimar, but it usually means the populace are caught between an underworld of evil, and a protectorate that is little better. To help one side is to suffer at the hands of the other.” With his free hand he withdraws his whiskey flask finishes the last of it. ”...but this is Ustalav. There are darker things to fear in this place. Older things to hide from. We should be cautious. Whatever spawned that upstart whore, Ghlaunder, is here. It watches from the dark and plans and intervenes and seeks more and more to expand its influence.”
And I will see it burned away just as we burned out the infection in Ravenmoor. Bacarov smiles to himself, content with the knowledge that Abadar’s inquisition is hard at work in the swampy hovel. He is lost in the thoughts of Ravenmoor’s purging when they arrive at the gates of the Mayor’s home.
Inside, he finds further amusement in Dalton’s continued expression. Perhaps the only one of us positively influenced by their experience.
”Greetings, Mayor Heggry,” Bacarov looks around the room, but his ruminations rule his senses, leaving him unable to get a good bearing on the man. At the least, he could be diplomatic. ”I am Sebastian Bacarov, City Inspector late from Magnimar. My companions and I are here to follow up on a lead. An investigation of some import to us. However, upon hearing the news of your circumstances, we are - of course - at your service.” He pulls off his gloves (in the chance the mayor wants to shake hands) and fixes them under his belt. ”May I introduce, Inspector Warshawski, Officer Vincent Marsh...Master Thorpe you’ve already met, and this is Master Jodare.” His coat he pulls off and rests neatly on the back of the nearest chair, leaning his satchel and vihuela case alongside as well. ”And if you’re offering, I think the season is right for Vodka. The hillocks north of here have some of the best tubers available for the drink, if memory serves. It’s been many years since last I travelled this realm.” At the last, he rests his spear, the head covered in a worked leather scabbard with the decorations of scales, against the wall away from the table.
He finds his seat and smiles warmly, waiting. If the others had questions, he’d let them go first so he could calm his mind and observe. He’d ask his own questions later.
The young wizard makes note of Rosyln's words and ponders a moment.
What sticks out is the mention of fayleaf. Its as if history is repeating over and over.
He wonders what sort of darkfolk may exist in this area, knowing full well that asking the guard may be futile.
Dramin stares into the manor in the distance and begins to walk off, no other words for the guard.
---
Dramin walks past the Pharasman Church and hears Dalton's talk of gargoyles and just smiles. "It appears there is always a common thread for us in stories and knowledge." The man's desire to examine them on Dalton's words is clear, but he knows right now there are far more pressing issues, his own wants shoved to the back of his mind.
The walk to the castle is wet, and far from pleasant. He sees the structures and how the materials are so vastly different from section to section. Such squalor is so close to such decadence. I'll never be able to understand this.
When he thinks such a thing, a voice in his head springs up, coating the inside of his ears with honey.
Its no different than a lovely woman next to a hag. Although in this case, the district is choosing a mate and doing its best to pull you in.
The clarity is what worries him, and he focuses on the temple to Pharasma, hoping his intense look at the structure in the distance would block out the other thoughts. With what seems like a miracle, Bacarov begins to speak.
Funny you would rather speak to a now broken madman than be alone with your thoughts.
"This place is filled with despair. It doesn't take much to see that Bacarov. You've been here before, Ustalav, it can't all be like this can it?" He motions to the empty doors and the heavy feeling of dread in the air. The question is more for conversation, he knows full well what may be lurking here, but he knows the answer can't make it worse, only better.
Hedging your bets for a faint glimmer from that man? You're more likely to squeeze life from an ooze and not die.
"You're right about the creature, I wouldn't even call it a god. If there would be any place for it to sit in the shadows lurking, it would be here amidst the darkness and the lore."
---
When Dramin finally reaches the manor, he is exhausted. The journey had been tolling mentally and physically. The guards barely register in his mind, and what would normally be excitement at an owlbear rug is only just a fleeting look. He waits for Dalton to finish introducing himself and the others and he speaks up.
"Master Heggry, Dramin Jodare." He reaches out a hand to the man. knowing that the interaction here would be analyzed by the inspector and Marsh.
"Whatever drink you can offer would be fine by me." He looks around for a chair and slumps down, his weapons and tools clanking at his sides.
Marsh chuckles at Dramin's words.
"The whole world we live in is a f!$*in pit of despair Dramin. Most live at the bottom, others spend their whole lives tryin to climb up the walls a little ways in order to get just a little closer to the few lucky a#$@~#+s that livin around the rim."
------------------------------------------------------------------
Marsh listens to the conversation while he lets his eyes wander around the room.
"Nice to meet ya Mayor. I'll have a drink with ya. I'll take whatever yer havin, just make mine a double."
Vinnie was content to let himself be seen as simple muscle. He fought the urge to rest his hand on the enchanted cold iron heavy flail resting in its carrier. The scarred metal head of the weapon formed into a leering demons maw silently growled with impatience.
Darkfolk, or Caligni as they are sometimes called, are a mystery. That does not mean they have not been encountered many times throughout history- in fact, they are quite common among the underground dwellers of Golarion- but their true nature as a species, from what they are descended, and what their desires are as a society are completely unknown. They range from small to medium size and resemble humans (or halflings, in the case of the smaller "creepers"), but with colorless skin that darkens to black at the extremities, and they tend to explode upon death- with various effects ranging from blinding light to a burst of icy cold. Among their species, the halfling-sized Dark Creepers are the most common by far, and are often led by one or two lanky, human-sized Dark Stalkers. Other subspecies are known to exist, but those two are the most likely to be found.
Mayor Heggry seems to be on the level from what you can tell. He seems awfully relieved to see you lot- it's obvious that what's been going on has been torturous to him, but he's putting on a strong face for your benefit. Thankfully, compared to Kriegler in Ravenmoor, he seems far less shady.
Nothing particularly seems amiss other than, y'know, it's Ustalav.
- - - -
Mayor Heggry seems impressed by the group's introductions. "Oh, wow. And here I was expecting nothing better than unwashed, greedy mercenaries to answer the call for aid. Proper investigators from Magnimar! Goes without saying I'm glad to have you. Anything I can do to aid you during your stay, just ask. I, and the Crows, are at your disposal."
He summons a servant to fetch drinks for the party. "Let's have some good warm cider for Mr. Thorpe, and some Vodka for the rest- feel free to correct, of course." He allows the party to fill their own orders with the servant if necessary, then gestures for everyone to take a seat at his table.
With a nod of appreciation to the servant as the drinks arrive, he puts on a grim expression as he explains the situation to the best of his ability. "Carrion Hill is under attack," he says, his forehead creased in worry. "Not from outside our walls, as it's always been in the past, but from within- from below our own city streets, and at a time when our defenses are weakened... blasted hags and trolls and the like out in the hinterlands have far too many of our Crows tied up. And it's all happened so bloody quickly... you'll have to forgive us if we all seem a bit out of sorts. What do you know so far?"
After the party fills him in on what they know , the Mayor glances down at his papers and smiles a weary, bitter smile.
"Well, the news gets worse and worse. Not only is Commander Garus- Gods, a lovely man, he was, a good, trustworthy man- dead, but the thing hasn't stopped. The Slipper Market was just the first, and the most visible. Whatever this thing is, it's surfaced again three times- thankfully, not in areas nearly as populous. I only got the latest report a few minutes before you arrived. It's poking it's ugly head- I assume it's ugly- up out from under the ground almost at random, without any kind of pattern I can discern... though it's hardly my area of expertise. I've had the Crows keeping everything as quiet as they can. Last thing we need is for this city to blow up into mass panic. The Crows are trying to keep things mum, but already there are people murmuring about war, or invasion. On top of all that, with all the weird things going on lately... the bugs, the weird noises..." He shakes his head. "In any case, I'm fairly certain that this is a single entity causing all this havoc and killing my people. If we can find it, corner it, and kill it, I'll be happy- but I also need to know where in the hell it came from in the first place, so we can make sure it doesn't happen again. I'd think our best shot might be to explore where it first surfaced- down at the Slipper Market."
"I don't expect you to do this for free. If you can provide us with information on where this thing came from, what it is, and how to stop it, that's 1,500 GP a head for you lot. Twice that if you can kill the blasted thing. So... what say you? Can I count on your help, or have I gone and scared you off?" He laughs nervously at this remark, as if he fears he has suddenly spoken such an idea into existence.
I listened to the mayor talk. He spoke the right words. Sympathetic. Worried. Yet refusing to give into panic. Still a man in charge. But so did the last community leader we talked to. Too often, the rot inside a city extended right up to its head.
"What do your spiritual leaders say? You have temples. You must have consulted the clerics and priests in them."
Bacarov gestures to the servant to leave the bottle. He sniffs at the clear liquid in his glass and smiles and says in the Ustalavan dialect. "Vashe zdorovie." Then downs the drink in a single gulp. True to his word, the vodka is burning but very good.
He sits back and awaits the mayor's response to Warshawski’s question then proceeds with his own.
"Can we have access to a city map, sir?" Bacarov sets his glass down and sets his gaze upon the mayor. "I'd like to layout where the events took place, their timing, and what sort of structures were impacted." He pulls his journal from his coat pocket, then fishes out his writing implements. "And perhaps you can tell us a bit of the history to each of these locations. I wonder if their past shares something that connects to the monster. If that map could include entrances to these catacombs to which Captain Roslyn referred, more the better."
"Then, if it's not too sensitive a topic, I wonder if you could tell us about these Dark Folk. Knowing all the players in this affair helps."
I'll get to Arlend Hyve and their pigeons later.
Gratefully accepting the cider and cradling it in his two large hands, the monk listens carefully to the Mayor's proposal, and Warshawski and Sebastian's requests for more information.
He wanders slowly about the large chamber, the Monk takes a long sip of hot cider. As he covers his face with the cup, his eyes glance over the Mayor's table. Carefully avoiding looking suspicious, he attempts to read what is written there, on those papers, as best he can from his awkward vantage point. If there are any seals in wax or ink that are visible, he takes note of that.
Think like Bacarov, he thinks to himself. If I were a Magnimaran detective, what clues would I be looking for...
Dramin eyes the drink. He's not sure why he even asked for one, knowing full well what the last mayor was capable of. He quickly eyes it and drinks a small sip, trying his best to keep his veneer of comfort up.
This would be far easier with magic.
"I would also like to see this map. While it may seem trivial, times and locations are fairly important to many celestial and infernal occurrences. Even being able to glean a little information would be beneficial to us."
He tries to meet one of his companions eyes, hoping they notice his restrained and vague choice of words.
Dramin thinks on Warshawski's words about the clergy.
If we were to require help, would Pharasma even provide aid? This is Ustalav after all, and I would feel better with any divine help at our sides. If one of us were to be struck blind again...
Then again, it could be argued that Andretti Kriegler seemed to be on the level, too...
While it is hard to say exactly how the clergy of Pharasma would react to this creature since its exact nature is unknown at the time being, it is likely that if it turned out to be undead, you would all have its full support in eliminating the threat. Even if it does not prove to be a violation of the cycle of life and death, it is possible that their aid might be acquired with a bit of diplomacy.
- - - -
"You have a good question there, Ms. Wa... warsh... Warshawski, was it? Forgive me if I've butchered the name. As all this madness only started up this morning around dawn, I haven't had a great deal of time to confer with them- the High Priest at the Ossuary Church is not exactly one of my favorite people to deal with, but I did send a messenger to inform him of the situation. I heard back that he was conferring with his inner circle and digging for information, as well as thinking of putting together a group to look into the matter should it turn out that whatever monster is causing all this trouble is a threat to the tenants of their faith... or something. He's not known to be a quick-thinking man." He groans. "Maybe I should have told him there were zombies. The undead are about the only thing that puts some pep in that man's step."
"A map of the city should be easy to procure. I'll have one of my men fetch one from the city records." He looks to one of the Crows standing guard, whose shoulders sink in irritation as he marches into another room. Mayor Heggry, meanwhile, pushes forward the map lying on his own desk. "Here are the places where the creature has surfaced. Its first appearance was here, at the Slipper Market, just before dawn. After that, it went quiet for about six hours, then popped up here... here... and here, all in relatively sparsely populated slum areas. Those were all within an hour of one another, so obviously this thing can move about quite quickly. Thankfully, they were far enough away from more civilized areas of the city that the public hasn't collapsed into complete mayhem yet... but I fear that's only a matter of time. The Carrion Hill folk go through phases of fear. They're in the quiet, dread anticipation phase right now. Next comes the screaming and the panicking and the riots in the streets..." The Crow returns with a copy of the city map, and Heggry copies the points of interest onto it in red ink. "The only thing these locations have in common is that they are in poor areas of the city- except the Slipper Market, which is... well, middle-class is the only thing I can think to call it. Hopefully you're better at putting all these pieces together than I am. Gods, if Garus were still alive... damn old fool." The words sound harsh, but there is a sadness in the Mayor's tone that implies a certain fondness for the late Commander of the Crows.
"As far as the Dark Folk go... well, what is there to say? I hear stories about shadowy little people that live in the tunnels in the hill. Sometimes they come up and cause trouble, though thus far they haven't caused any major incidents. I understand they speak some strange language and, um- they, ah, tend to explode when they die." The mayor makes an odd little "bursting" gesture with his hands. "I don't know much more than that. They're something of a local mystery. Well... anything else I can help you with?"
Strange languages? I know a little bit about those...
Bacarov fills his glass again. "I know of areas in Magnimar where the history runs deep..." He sips at the vodka, enjoying the burning liquid quite a bit more than he should. "...but the nightmares run deeper. The slums and alleys and hovels, there are those who left them behind when they were better places. Now only the lower folk dwell there. Nightmares with a roof still keep the rain off your heads."
He finishes the glass and pours another. The edges of his vision shimmer as the alcohol thankfully begins its blessed march across his psyche.
"These buildings where the attacks took place. Do you or possibly a historian know what existed there before? Old churches...temples...perhaps an old tragedy?"
Mayor Heggry stares at Bacarov curiously, considering his words. "...well, they were only homes, so far as I'm aware. I suppose if you needed a historian, you could always talk to Arlend Hyve. He's... an eccentric, but he knows more about the history of this city than our own official records, from what I understand. If you decide to seek him out, he's been converting the old Church of Aroden on Elm Way- actually, not too far from some of the places that were attacked. South side of the slope- here, I'll mark it if you want."
- - - -
"Whatever we decide to do, we must do it quickly," the monk warns, addressing his friends. "As the Mayor rightfully observed, Carrion Hill is a powderkeg. I noticed it on our journey up here. Captain Roslin is still standing guard in the Slipper Market, waiting on our return. Perhaps we could find this...Arlend Hyve...and bring him along with us. I could take on responsibility for his safety personally, and he may be able to shed light on the mystery of this creature if we bring him below, where it caused the most damage."
He grimaces a little. "Though, convincing an eccentric historian to follow us into a monster-infested hole in the ground may take more diplomacy than I'm able to muster." He sips again on his warm cider, looking around at everyone else for thoughts.
"Hey, can we get some official papers or badges to show people were on officious business an stuff? An I could use a hot bath an some clean clothes at some point. We literally just got into town, I hadn't even finished my first beer when your boys came knockin."
An old historian?
The young wizard's mouth bends into a slight smile.
Could always be a useful asset in this journey...
He ponders a little in silence. He may even be able to help us figure out these Dark Folk and what we may be up against.
"I agree with Dalton, our time isn't exactly a luxury that we have to work with at the moment. Every moment we wait is a moment someone can die and the clock marches toward some unknown goal in the sky. I think that if we gather Hyve we have a lot to learn from him," he sighs, "and we certainly still have much to learn about the situation."
Dramin turns to Marsh. "If clean clothes are something you require, I can magic you a solution. Not like it will help us if we're going to be diving into the muck and these tunnels anyway." He does his best to make the words come off as a joke, though with Marsh, it was always hard for him to break the man's exterior.
"Yeah, do that magic thing cause somethin tells me Sebastian is about to go into a monologue, fist up, eyes all crazy lookin like, uh --- "Time is off the essence, we must hurry my friends, for law an order, city and countrymen!" Ya know? All that jazz . . . <<<sigh>>> . . . Your spell ain't like soakin in a hot bath with lavender bubbles though."
"I'll put some of my winnings toward buying you a special loofah when this is all said and done, Vinnie," the monk says, grinning at him.
Ugh. A bath. We'd been on the road too long and I was starting to smell like Marsh smelled all the time. It was a disturbing thought. But who knows how many people might die while we soaked in bubbles."
"We split up." I announced, firmly. "I think I'd best speak to the dead. Mister mayor, I'll need to either visit the corpses or where they are buried. Once I'm there, I can hopefully commune and learn a bit more."
I motioned towards Bacarov.
"You visit the historian. Learn any information you can that might help us puzzle this together."
"Marsh, there will be a group in this city that regularly travels into the sewers. Rat catchers, maybe, or just someone whose job it is to keep them clear. They might be able to provide us with a map and information. I think you'd be the one to talk to that sort of person on their level. Buy them a drink. Get them on our side."
"Dramin. Dalton. There will be magic users in this city. Either in shops or workshops. Magic users travel in different circles and often don't volunteer information to the non-initiated. See what they know."
- - - -
"Corpses? From the killings today, or corpses in general? If you're looking for where most folk in Carrion Hill are buried, well..." He pauses, thinking over how best to word this. "If they don't make it into the Ossuary Church, they usually end up somewhere out in the Wrythe- the moors outside the city. Or in the river. I'm sorry, I know how that sounds- most people do make it into the Ossuary."
"If you do choose to pay Arlend Hyve a visit, the Elm Way Church is where you'll find him. So far as I know, he doesn't go out much."
"I can't tell you where to find 'rat catchers'- most Carrion Hill folk take care of their own pests- but maybe ol' Rupman, who runs the Middenstone vats, might know something. They pull a lot of those Midden Bugs out of the tunnels. It's how they make those 'lovely' purple bricks half the buildings in this town are made out of these days. Long shot, though. If you're looking for magic users- especially someone selling items- your best bet is to try the Tangle. Watch your wallets, though. Those alleys can get very tight, and very shady."
Bacarov finishes his fourth and nods agreement. "As solid a plan as any. It will give me time to acquaint myself with the city as well." He eyes Marsh but lets his humor slide for the time being. Carrion Hill is a festering wound in the larger, corrupted body of Ustalav. Law and order is universal, but they would function differently here. Fear does that to and city.
He retrieves his flask and refills it with Vodka, replacing the whiskey he'd finished earlier. "I suggest we reconvene from our excursions within the next four hours." As if on queue, the heavy Bells of the Ossuary tolled the hour in brooding clangs.
He gathers his gear and sets his wide brimmed hat on his head. "We meet back at the Slipper Market in four hours."
Gather Info, find Arlend
This place must have struck a nerve with her.
Dramin nods at Warshawski and looks at Dalton. "Shall we head out then? I don't know what types of arcane secrets this place holds, but we shall uncover them." Dramin gets excited thinking on the potential puzzle pieces the people hold.
"Four hours it is then. If you encounter anything, anything at all, that is outside your power to handle, come back immediately." He knows he sounds either paranoid or like a mothering hen, but he's seen what the other world can do to those who take it for granted.
"Before we depart, give me a moment Dalton. I need to prepare for our venture in case things go south."
When Dramin is ready, the monk leads the wizard on their journey toward the lower class area of Carrion Hill, the Tangle. The monk grew up around Manaket and understands the dangers of pickpockets well; he lets Dramin look for likely shops and focuses on studying the people all around him.
"I don't like the thought of you or Sebastian wanderin around by yourselves Warshawski. I should go with one of ya and maybe the other can take a crow along with them."
If I didn't know better, I'd think Marsh's need to give me protection was touching.
"We've both investigated before, Marsh." I pointed out to him. "I think we can handle it again."
Dramin and I are Tangle-bound, looking for magic shops!
Bacarov steps over to the wall and grabs his spear. "The area into which I travel will have all the opportunities for you to gather intelligence and perhaps find this Rupman. But as Warshawski has indicated, this isn't my first investigation."
He's trying to not show his annoyance. He would rather have time to think and see on his own without influences. Looking at the big brawler though reminds him of a simple fact. Why not bring along the sledge, should there be nails to be hammered?
A small part of him wonders at the logic, even laments the hardening of his heart. But the larger scope of what might be happening in Carrion Hill is paramount in his mind. Whatever slumbering horror is seeking to be rekindled, I'll see it burned first. His sky-blue eyes rest on Marsh as another thought occurs to him. And there are the little conversations you've been having with Warshawski when you think I'm not looking. I'll not lose my sledge to the spirit talker. I'll have need of both of you before the end.
"Come with me, Vinnie. It will be like old times, no?" He says finally, drawing his gloves tight and nodding to the door. "Time slides ever forward on the blade of this new darkness, let's be away."
"Yeah this ain't anyone's first investigation---that's not what I'm tryin to say."
Marsh's ham fist lightly envelops Warshawski's shoulder.
"This isn't my first time in Ustalav. last time I, we uh . . . meh, just watch yer six, yeah? I respect ya an all, just don't want you endin up dead . . . eh, or worse. Who would give me s&#! if you weren't around anymore Warshawski? My life would be boring."
Marsh lets go with a gentle pat and turns to leave.
"An besides all that yer a lot better lookin than Dramin i don't want to have to stare at his ass the whole way back to Magnimar, heh heh heh! I'll be waitin outside for ya Sebastian."
"You know Marsh, there's always a glamer to fix that."
He shakes his head as the man leaves and follows along with Dalton.
Under his breath the man speaks, hoping that ventilating the thought would keep the insides in.
"Why do I bother talking into his jokes?"
With their individual missions determined, the party prepares to leave Rag Manor- ahem, Crown Manor. "Happy hunting and godspeed," Mayor Heggry says. "Miss Warshawski, if you'd like a Crow or two to accompany you so that you are not traveling alone, please just ask. I'm sure one of my men would enjoy the break from my company."
It is not fruitless, however. You are able to glean from your conversations with the few locals willing to talk that they are indeed held in the grip of fear. That fear is not directed toward their government or the Crows, but rather that they will not be up to the task of protecting them- that forces far too great are descending on the city. Much of it sounds like gloom-and-doom paranoia typical of the Ustalavish mindset, but there are whispers that things turn darker and darker with each passing day. The strange bugs that have begun appearing in the last few weeks... the rumbles beneath the city... the hags and their enthralled slaves in the Wrythe... and the escape of several lunatics from the Carrion Hill Asylum recently.
It seems a number of dark powers are converging on Carrion Hill. Some say the whole town will die out- which has happened before, apparently. The Taldans who lived here nearly five hundred years ago were all wiped out almost overnight, and Carrion Hill was occupied only by ghosts for some fifty years.
On a brighter note, these same people are easily able to direct you and Marsh toward the Elm Way Church.
This neighborhood is a shambles. Many of the nearby hovels lie in disrepair and would appear unlivable. That said, as one draws nearer to the church, there are some signs of life. A pair of girls linger outside the entrance to the church, filthy, dressed in clothing little better than rags with ratty cloaks. The rain does not seem much bother to them, aside from their efforts to protect the smoking pipe they pass idly between them before they notice the approach of strangers.
One quickly extinguishes the pipe and stuffs it into some pocket beneath her cloak. "Afternoon," the nearer of the girls says. "Anything we can help you with, or you got business with Arlend?"
Entrance into the Church is without incident. There are no guards posted outside, and as you pass through the enormous doors into the vestibule, you almost get the impression that the cathedral is unoccupied. But there is movement in the great hall of worship, as the elaborately-dressed priests and priestesses of Pharasma mill about. One of them approaches you, a short, balding man with a grim visage. "Welcome, and blessings be upon you, child. We are not currently in service, but if there is some matter with which you require our humble assistance, you shall not be turned away. What can we help you with?" Though his words and the tone of his voice are pleasant, his is the face of a man irritated at having to take time out of his day to speak with you.
That would be the only luck the two find, however. Neither of them are able to find a dealer in magic items, nor much of anything- aside from a few leering wenches that snicker from the open doors of a nearby brothel, promising a good time.
He is so busy ruminating over what they learned on their way to the cathedrals bulk that Bacarov almost misses the fear in their eyes. But in the mixture of greys that are now his constant vision he sees their barely held breaths and their tensed muscles. Ready to bolt should he and Marsh threaten them.
He holds up his hand, palm out, eyeing the leather scabbard covering his spear blade, and them looking to each of them with a smile. I am not the seeker of your ruin or the purge for your misbegotten souls. Fear breeds its spawn among the hearts of the lost... His disdain for them melts away to allow him to speak warmly...falling into the lower inflections of deep Varisian Magnimar.
"Peace, children. We only seek ta 'ave words with Master Arlend." He gestures very slowly to the surround. As he does so he glances about for others in the shadows. "We heard he's caretakin' this place." Bacarov glances back to the girls, his hand producing a silver piece, hiding one in his palm. "A silver ta the first ta help me n' me mate ta see 'im?" His smile broadens and he slips the second coin into view. "Oh, such lovelies, one coin to the each of ya for helping? I won't be responsible for strife between ya."
girls
talkin'
others?
coin trick
"Well this is embarrassing isn't it Dalton?" He pulls his coat and scarf around him tight, the water falling off of him. If you looked closely you would see the magic keeping him dry, a small bubble wrapped tight around his person.
"I really have no idea how best to proceed here... Perhaps we should at least look for damage that may match up with what we've seen so far. Ideas?" His eyes go up and down the wenches, and he swears for an instant he sees her face melded onto theirs, a broken glamer.
Out at the Elm Way Church...
You don't see anyone else around other than them.
The two girls exchange looks after seeing Bacarov's coin trick. The one further away seems visibly nervous, but the other, who seems a year or two older, relaxes a bit. "Hey, we don't ever say no to a bit of coin. A silver piece'll be a halfway decent dinner tonight for me an' my sis. Yeah, Arlend's around. He's in a bit of a mood lately, though. Real wound up about somethin'. Guess everybody around here is- the whole city must'a forgotten that this is Ustalav. Death's always right around the corner here." She snorts a sort of a half-laugh; not very ladylike. "It's what makes it excitin', ain't it? Here, I'll show you inside. Might help if we're with you. Arlend gets twitchy sometimes."
The younger girls sticks close to her sister as they lead the two of you into the Elm Way Church, through one of the doors on either side of the front face of the building. The interior of this small church is cold and damp. A short hall, with a door on either side, leads into the main area. Two man-sized statues stand to each side of the room, both draped with gray sheets. Dozens of stuffed, sagging bookshelves stand along the walls, and a stone altar has been converted into a table. One more door can be found here, just to the south of the eastern of the two statues.
"Arlend?" the elder girl shouts, but there is no answer. "Arlend, you got visitors. Um... It's Rissa and Lyse, and we got some people here to see you!" Still nothing. She turns back to Bacarov and Marsh, shrugging. "I mean, I thought he was here. Maybe he slipped out to pick up some drinks or something. Did you guys want to try comin' by later or something?"
The girls seem genuinely surprised at Mr. Hyve's absence.
- - - -
Historian, flayleaf dealer - if rumors are true. Bacarov glances Vinnie's way, the unspoken warning that their might be trouble. Another nod of his head to indicate he should keep an eye and ear open. But he's been unsettled of late...for good reason. If he's as wise as the mayor claims, then he knows what may be coming...and that knowledge comes with a target on his back. And the sisters are surprised by his disappearance...
As he looks about the space from where they're standing, he asks the girls, "Lovely lasses, can ya tell me, is there anythin' out of place here? Your lookin' a bit worried for Master Arlend."
within 60'
As the girls look away from him, Bacarov's eyes glow dark blue as he searches out any magical auras...
Marsh watches the girls closely for quite a while. Memories of his own girls and those in Ravenmoor coloring his thoughts and mood. He had remained silent up until now, pondering things before he began to speak.
"Did this Arlend guy take you girls in off the street? Or is this just your block?"
Marsh asks conversationally as he wanders over to check out a couple of books.
"This place remind you of someone Sebastian?"
"Does Arlend draw maps and pictures too girls?"
Marshes eye traveled around looking for signs of secret doors or potential hiding places.
No secret doors or passages, nor any magical auras, stand out. There are only the three doors- one in the larger chapel area, and the two near the front entrance.
"I'm sure he's just out," the older girl says, though there is a note of worry in her voice. "Arlend- well, uh, Carrion Hill has a lot of orphans. Most of the boys find work in the Filth. Most of us girls don't get that luxury. Arlend just tries to take care of as many of us as he can, considering the circumstance. That's all you gotta know, really." She walks over toward the altar-turned-workbench and glances over it without seeming to actually see much. "He does draw maps and things sometimes. He doesn't really show those to us. Keeps his private work private. Guess sometimes he takes his stuff with him to show his friends, or whoever- but I don't know where he keeps 'em. You should just ask him when you see him."
She shifts uncomfortably where she stands. "Uh, maybe you guys should just come back later, then? I can't imagine he'll be out long."
Dalton is familiar with "working girls" who live in brothels and call out to men walking by; he has no fear of them. He gestures with a cock of his head at them to Dramin and confidently walks over, hands inside the sleeves of his Elven robe. His demeanor is serious, despite the lingering effects of the ale from earlier, and he doesn't blink as rainwater falls from the lining of his hood and drips over his eyes.
"Afternoon, ladies," he begins, bowing politely from the waist and ignoring their tittering giggles in response.
"Has there been any weird violence around here lately? Anybody go missing? Any buildings get destroyed? We're...writing a story on it, for the Gazette," he says, thumbing over his shoulder at Dramin. He figures that working girls such as these might be less inclined to speak with him if they knew that he was working for the Law; so he came up with a little lie on the spot.