A letter arrives...
As the messenger attempts to deliver the letter, the man is captured by the Soulfang Clan. After he explains that he is in fact not a spy and just here to deliver a message to Barret, he is set free with only a few minor bruises. The young barbarian knew what he had to do. "This Lorrimor may have been physically weak, his wisdom has saved our tribe countless times. He has earned our respect and I will give him that much for the last time." His fellow tribesmen understood. Even his childhood friend, Inka, understood and embraced him before he left. "Come back to us." Barret nodded before he took off, with little but a few knives and the clothes on his back. It takes but a few days travel for the quick-footed barbarian to reach Ravengro.
The training yard is busy this morning, the sparring knights soaked in sweat despite the chilly weather. The messenger looks around uncertainly until a squire points to one edge of the courtyard, where two women are trading blows with blunted greatswords. As they pause to catch their breath, the boy darts in, clutching a folded and sealed letter. The taller of the women takes off her helmet, revealing two small horns poking through her auburn hair, now plastered to her skull with perspiration.
"What's this, then?"
Her tail whips around and snatches the parchment from the messenger's hand, causing him to yelp in surprise and leap back. The other woman laughs at his discomfiture, but the tiefling frowns as she breaks the seal and reads the letter. Without a word, she turns on her heel and stalks towards a smaller building on the other side of the training yard, flipping a silver coin over her shoulder for the messenger.
In the Knight Commander's office, she stands at attention, her helmet under her arm, the parchment held tightly in her other hand.
"Yes, Lor-Sinn? What can I do for you?" Kazz, the commander of this small outpost of the Knights of Ozem, is an older man, his hair starting to thin. He paces behind his desk with restless energy, now and then glancing at the disordered stack of papers waiting for his attention.
"Sir, I am very grateful for your hospitality and the opportunity of serving alongside your order..." the tiefling woman begins.
"But...?"
"But. I have a debt of honor to someone. A blood debt. And that debt has just been called."
Kazz nods slowly.
"I understand. Well, it has been a pleasure having you with us, even though some of my knights were... skeptical of you at first. Iomedae's blessings on your journeys, Lor-Sinn. Perhaps our paths will cross again."
She nods, salutes one last time, then turns on her heel towards the barracks, to start her preparations for the long road ahead. The professor had never called in her debt to him, not while he had lived. Now, he was calling her from beyond the grave.
The headsman's axe comes down hard and the crowed groans in disappointment. The new lad had no showmanship, no flair, no entertainment value. They had been hoping for another Two-chop, or at least a bit of a wind up and a slow arc. Instead it was already over in one swift blow. He didn't even pose with the head...
The new headsman dismounted the stage after cleaning his axe, just in time for a man to run up with a sealed letter.
"Are you the one they call Gur?"
The headsman nodded.
"Message for you."
Fur took the letter in his large fingered hand, tearing open the envelope and reading the missive. It takes the man merely a second to heft his pack and begin the silent trudge back towards Ravengro.
The letter reached you in your daily pursuits, much to the dismay of some of the messengers. The “L” of your friend, Professor Lorrimor showed as a deep impression in the gob of wax that was the same deep red as dried blood. Your concern at the letter’s unexpected nature was evident as you broke the seal.
It was a long time before you accepted the news…the letter from Kendra Lorrimor, daughter of your friend, delivered ill news that you’d hoped you’d never hear. Your great friend, Professor Petros Lorrimor, is dead. The details are lacking, but Kendra has invited you to attend her father’s funeral in their home town of Ravengro. She also states that you’re included in your late friend’s last will and testament, and that his last wishes were for you to be present at its reading.
The trip is grim and quiet, as most are in Ustalav, a land just starting to fight its way back to humanity. The countryside is barren in some places, overgrown to hazard in others. And everywhere, the gray clouds of a perpetual gloom loom overhead.
As you enter the small town of Ravengro, you reflect upon what you know of the Lorrimors’ chosen home. A small town of hardy folk, mostly farmers, Ravengro’s only claim to fame was the now closed and dilapidated prison of Harrowstone, which was once notorious for holding some of the most vile criminals in Ustalav. From your understanding, Ravengro was founded to house workers and provide support for the prison, and became a self-sufficient farming community after its closure.
You’ve gathered with a select few of the late Professor’s friends at the entrance to The Restlands – the only graveyard in Ravengro, when the young Kendra Lorrimor appears. Her eyes red and puffy, and dressed in dark, conservative clothes; Kendra is still trim and attractive. She greets you with a mixture of curiosity, sadness, and relief – no one else from outside of the town has come to pay their respects to her father, and only a few from Ravengro itself have come out for the funeral. These few, seemingly villagers and common folk, are somber and hold their heads down in their pain.
[/b]Thank you for coming. I…my father, he…he wanted you all to be here; you were so dear to him. It means a great to deal to me, and to him…[/b] She put a hand to her heart. …that you came. Kendra seems to want to say more, but is overruled by her desire to put her father, and thus this dark day, to rest and peace. If I may, could I ask any of you to bear your friend to his final place of rest?
"I will, alone if need be. He was a wise man who deserves respect."
The journey had been uneventful. She had attached herself to a caravan going from Caliphas to Lepistadt, offering her sword arm in exchange for some companionship along the road. Halfway through they had parted ways as she veered westwards towards Ravengro and the caravan continued on its route. They had been pleasant enough people, although their manner was probably helped by the fact she had concealed her particular heritage from them.
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A tall, armoured woman strides up the path to the Restlands, wearing a veritable armoury on her back and a knapsack slung across one shoulder. Her helmet sits unusually tall on her head and seems custom-made, with two decorative wings painted crimson sweeping up from her temples. She doesn't remove it as she approaches the group and addresses the elegantly-dressed woman at the centre of it, snapping her heels together in a rather military fashion and bowing from the waist.
"Miss Lorrimor, I presume? My sincerest condolences. Lor-Sinn Imass, at your service. We have never met, but I owe a great debt to your father. I would not be here today if not for him, so if there is anything I can do to honour his memory, you have but to ask." And the woman does ask, a request so small and one that fills Lor-Sinn with pride - to help bear her respected friend and mentor on his last journey. She nods to Kendra and takes a place by the side of the coffin, ready to shoulder this burden.
Nodding towards the others who join her, she thinks back on the last time she saw the professor, when they parted in Caliphas.
"That we have in common then. The professor was a great man who knew many things. I am Barret of Clan Soulfang." Barret says with little surprise. He stands tall at a towering 6 feet 6 inches tall. He has dark brown hair in braids with dark brown eyes. He is nearly all muscle and he shows it off by wearing little but a few furs his people are known for. He has no weapons or armor save a few knives along his belt in contrast to Lor-Sinn. He takes a place on the other side of the coffin.
Gur stands even taller then the towering Kellid, A mass of scarred green skin and corded muscle. Decked head to toe in Banded segments of armor and carries a laden pack. He rests comfortably in the corner, leaning his great axe as if it were but a walking staff. There is something all together wild about this beast, and yet somehow restrained and disciplined at the same time. The odd wooden dove perched on the wooden axe around the orcs neck seems almost out of place when taken with the rest of the man.
"You got my shoulder... or maybe I carry professor at hip level so others can help."
Kendra nods quickly, then sniffs and inclines her head more slowly to acknowledge the kind words. I am Kendra Lorrimor, yes...and I thank you for coming. Her eyes roam over the unlikely group assembled, and to her credit she doesn't doesn't make note of the fact that these new arrivals are quite different than the rest of the funeral-goers.
Those other members of the assembly include a robed, wizened man wearing a holy symbol of Pharasma, two large men with shovels - quite obviously the gravediggers, and just under half a dozen men and women who are undoubtedly locals and were acquainted with the late professor.
Kendra nods as Gur and Barret also take their places. Please just lift, as one, as soon as everyone is in place.
Gur will take up a position at the head of the casket.
The news of the professors departure from this world washed over Livana's mind like rain over a window; everything went blurry and she could no longer distinguish between sadness, shock and disappointment. The scent of the stale parchment and the crisp sharp edges of the letter were a reminder that the terrible news was real and that he was gone. Livana didn't handle death very well, not after all the pain she bore since the incident with her brother. The world seemed a bit more gray and her throat tightened like a tourniquet, just enough pressure to staunch a sob. With a silent and fluid motion she handed the letter over to Rafael and slithered her arms around his waist. For just a moment she reverted back to a child seeking shelter from the cruelties of the world. After Rafael finished reading the letter, she interrupted the silence with a wooden voice, "Mi amor, lets begin packing. It is going to be a hard journey for us."
"Yes it will." Raphael says with a sigh as he returns Livana's embrace.
Raphael's amber eyes taken in the others who all seemed to know the professor. "We'd be honored to carry him."
Lor-Sinn takes in the other two warriors with a small, crooked smile, seemingly unfazed by their rather outlandish appearance. She judges that between the four of them they could handle carrying the coffin, so she grasps the bar on her side to signal her readiness.
"I reckon the four of us will do nicely. Gentlemen...?"
Her voice is a pleasant contralto, carrying easily in the chill air despite her efforts to lower it. It is a voice that has been trained to make itself heard on battlefields, over the din of clashing weapons and shouts. The force and depth of it match the woman's towering frame, although on this occasion she finds herself looking slightly upwards at the Kellid and... the half-orc? Must be, the professor may have kept strange company, but she doubts that he counted a full-blooded orc among his friends. Although, stranger things had happened, so - why not?
Kendra remains somber as the pallbearers take their places around the coffin. Raphael takes the last spot open in Livana's stead, as an uneven number would cause the coffin to be unbalanced.
Kendra offers Livana a small, quivering smile and motions for her to walk beside the grieving daughter.
Kendra explains the layout of the cemetary as you walk, as if only to fill the sorrowful silence. This cemetary is called The Restlands, and the good father Grimburrow and his young acolytes maintain Pharasma's blessing over the grounds. This path we're on is called The Dreamscape, and up ahead...
She trails off as she gestures, and her face takes on a look of tight disapproval - bordering on anger. Ahead of the group - about twenty feet to the north along the path, a dozen surly looking locals black the way. One man, a wiry older fellow with what looks to be a permanent scowl, stalks forward towards Kendra as he speaks.
That's far enough. We been talkin', and we don't want yer dad buried here in the Restlands. You can take him upriver and bury him there if ya want, but he ain't goin' in the ground here!
"What is the meaning of this? Why do you not want him buried here? This is his home." Barret growls.
She could venture a guess that this was not part of the interment ceremony, but with Kendra present she is reluctant to intervene, lest she is missing some crucial fact. It would not be entirely unlike the late Professor to defy custom and habit, even from beyond the grave. Although... he wasn't in a grave just yet.
Softly, Lor-Sinn calls to Kendra, hoping for some indication on what they should do. "Miss Lorrimor...?"
Gur looks on the whole situation with annoyance.
"I don't think growling at them is going to help, these good people seem to be agitated enough as is."
Gur sighs and looks at the one who seems to be leading the group.
"Please let us pass, all we want is to bury our friend in peace."
What's this about... Raphael thinks to himself as he watches over the assembled men blocking the path. He thinks longingly over his longbow he left at the inn he and Livana had rented. He didn't think these men would resort to violence but he'd seen scared villagers lash out before. If it came down to it he'd just make fear his better weapon.
Livana's face flushes with rage. She steps forward closing her eyes briefly and opens them revealing a pair of brooding green eyes. Trying to maintain her calm, she asks in a low voice. "What is the meaning of this and why are you interrupting this funeral? How has this man offended you, and why do you deny him the honor and rest he deserves." She couldn't help but think that if this pissant didn't move quickly or produce an answer that is to her satisfaction. She would like to throw him in the grave instead.
Kendra is swift to respond, her sadness swiftly transforming into anger. What are you talking about? She cries out. I arranged it Father Grimburrow. The grave's already been...
You don't get it woman. The man cuts in, then looks about the gathered friends of the late professor. And, none a' you strangers should be here anyway, traipsin' around in grounds that been sacred to this town for generations! He seems to take the words of Livana and Barret as confrontational, and apparently extends that feeling to Gur, but perhaps only due to the orc's imposing appearance.
A few of his fellows move forward, their solidarity with there chosen leader showing. He puffs up a bit with the reinforcements. We won't have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin. I suggest you move out while you still can. Folks are pretty upset about this right now.
"What in the nine hells are you idiots talking about? Necromancer you see this mark, it's a slayers mark I hunt undead and other creatures you think I'd befriend a necromancer. Now move before I get upset and do something you'll regret later." Raphael growls as he shifts the weight he carries to pull at the collar of his leathers revealing the spiral of pharasma over his heart.
A WHAT? Lor-Sinn blinks in surprise as the man's accusation rings in the air. Reflexively, she focuses her special attention on them. They seemed no more than aggrieved townsfolk, not very educated and perhaps not very smart, but you never knew...
"My friends, please listen to me. I understand your concern, and your vigilance does you credit. I am a paladin, good people, and I have served with the Knights of Ozem, who, as I am sure you know, make it their mission to destroy undead and necromancers. Professor Lorrimor was my friend, a man to whom I owe my very life, a good man. He was no necromancer, friends, believe me. I would have known."
She puts emphasis on that last, hoping to drive the point home. As she speaks, she glances at the others, trying to signal through her relaxed tone of voice and friendly demeanor that they should not escalate this further. She had been slightly surprised at the half-orc's restraint, and she smiles gratefully at him, but the Kellid and the human woman seemed quick to anger. She really hopes the villagers will see reason. It would be blasphemy beyond belief to shed blood on these sacred grounds.
"Necromancer? Lorrimor was no such thing. My clan would never be allies of such a man. You would do best in watching your words and who you accuse."
"We just want to bury our friend, can we please be civil about this?"
Kendra seethes, her anger barely contained. She glances aside as each voice speaks up for her father. Perhaps from a feeling of not being alone, or from genuine gratitude at the support, her eyes well up with moisture as she levels her gaze on the lead commoner.
The man looks from one potential enemy to the next, and his followers behind him suddenly seem to be more interested in other things - the path, the foliage about, their own lapels. The surly man speaks up.
Well...this cemetery belongs to the people of Ravengro...a lot a' good people have their ol' bones buried here, and no dark magic is gonna' disturb their rest. If we hear of such a thing, you can bet the old professor will be movin'. Feeling as if he got in the final word, he turns, and starts to lead the rabble following him away.
How she wishes she had her hands free, the young woman seemed in dire need of comforting. In moments like this, even a light touch can strengthen someone's soul and help them deal with difficulties. Poor Miss Lorrimor, first losing her father and now hearing him accused of necromancy. She wasn't angry at the villagers, but she felt sadness at the state of things that caused people to be so suspicious of one another. Necromancy carried a far darker stain in these lands than back in Magnimar, that was for sure.
After the men depart, she clears her throat. "Miss Lorrimor..." "Are you alright?" would be a stupid thing to ask, obviously she was not. So Lor-Sinn settles on "Shall we move on?", pitching her voice as gentle as she can.
Barrets lets out an angry snort as the foolish commoners leave.
"We will have to deal with them again."
"Troubled times make for troubled people. It is to be expected."
Kendra watches the men disperse, her gaze still hot with anger. She takes a second to compose herself before turning to Lor-Sinn. Yes, Miss Imass, thank you. And thank you all for your kind and sensible words. As you can see, the people here in Ravengro are a very suspicious lot - not all bad, mind you...they just have quite the history in Ustalav to site in their prejudices.
Of course, let's move along, then. Kendra once again leads the procession with Livana at her side. Behind the group, the attending friends of Lorrimor - the ones who definitely did not speak out at the angry mob - talk among themselves about "local farmhands of low character."
In time, the procession continues to the plot that Kendra purchased for her father. No further complications prevent the lowering of the Professor's coffin into the open grave by the gravediggers. Father Grimburrow gives a short sermon, then invites Kendra to say a few words about her father. The young woman fights back tears, but she nods, then briefly recounts some of her father's more selfless moments. Then, she looks to the gathered friends of her late father. If any of you have some words to say, or some story to recount, then it would be appreciated.
Gur does not wait for others to speak.
"I remember the Professor, he saved my life. Dad brought me in, dieing of the ghoul plague, got myself bit when I was playing down in the dark. Little me, broken and burning, scratching and half mad with fever. Nearly tearing out my flesh myself. Professor is the only one that would treat me, being of the orcish persuasion and all. Now I bring the people's justice to those of dark deed, it is good work, proud work, a proper kind of work. By the dove, I am only here to do my good works because of this man."
Gur hangs his head in respect for the lost life.
More than one of those gathered is a councilman, and a stern look or disapproval is hard to miss at Gur's words - no doubt a hereditary prejudice that they just can't help. Still, they bow their heads in respect, and Kendra inclines her head and whispers her thanks to Gur before looking at the gathering to see if anyone else wanted to say something.
Smiling wasn't very appropriate at a funeral, so she doesn't. The half-orc had proven so far to have a more considered and level-headed approach than the others, so she hopes that he can see the warmth and appreciation in her gaze as she looks at him and briefly nods before stepping up to say her words.
"The Professor... was someone who saw beyond the surface. His mind was keen and his heart was kind. Like our friend here, I owe him my life, and more. He showed me the path to a life worth living, and guided me to where I would be able to do the most good. Even though I haven't seen him in years, whenever I struggle with a decision I think of him and try to imagine what choice he would make. My soul is saddened beyond measure by his passing, but I choose to look at the legacy that he left behind and follow that compass in a way that honours his memory and his living spirit."
She ducks her head as she reaches into her belt pouch, withdrawing a beautiful crimson feather which she lets fall into the open grave before stepping back to join the others.
Once Lor-Sinn steps back, Barret steps in to speak. "It seems the professor has a knack for saving lives. My clan encountered him when we were facing an abomination. It was a fierce creature that we had never faced before and it almost destroyed us. He was watching us and studying the thing. Afterwards he approached us and gave us wisdom and knowledge. His knowledge helped my clan in future encounters and thus saved many lives, including my own. The world has lost much wisdom with his death."
"It seems our meeting with the professor differed significantly from the rest of you. We interrupted some thieves trying to rob him on the road. We had actually been planning to come here in the next month or so...fate obviously had other plans for us though." Raphael says as both he and Livana step forward hands intertwined.
Kendra smiles at the shared memories, her eyes moist but thankful. She moves forward and gently touches Barret's arm before glancing down at Raphael and Livana's intertwined hands with a smile, as if appreciating something good and true in the midst of such despair.
You have my thanks, both for attending, and for sharing your memories. My father was not perfect, no...and who can claim to be? But he was ever one to help those who couldn't help themselves or, even as we see here, be helped by those others whom he affected.
With these lasting thoughts, and with the prayers of the lady of graves herself, we send my father to his next stage of life. If you please, Father Grimburrow.
After the Father finishes the rites and the gravediggers set to their grim task, Kendra approaches the Father's friends. If you would, there's the matter of my Father's last will and testament. It will be at my father's...or, my...home I suppose. If you'd join me there for a drink and the reading, I would be thankful.
The Lorrimor residence is a modest home in the southeastern part of the town proper. Backing up to the river, the home is situated far back from the main road through town, accessed by an old cobblestone path lined with apple trees.
Within, the home is a testament to the Professor's life work. Nearly every available space on the walls - even into the foyer - is lined with books. There are professional books, journals, self-written notebooks, roughly sketched maps, and even some suggestionable materials that would no doubt have him banned from some of the more reputable institutions in Lepistadt.
Kendra leads the group into a study - large and well furnished with chairs worn but deep and quite comfortable. She leaves, but returns moments later with drinks - tea and water, as well as some more potent libations. She opts for the latter, and pours a glass of wine for herself, before taking a seat with a sigh.
We'll just be waiting for the councilman...it shouldn't be long. As we wait...I wanted to thank you again...you didn't have to be here today but you came. My father's death was...sudden, and to be honest, strange. You've seen how many here in town viewed him, but he didn't deserve this, as you know.
"Yes, the man I met would not be as reviled as this town would have me believe. How was his death strange?"
Lor-Sinn settles into a chair without taking her helmet off, gratefully accepting a cup of tea from Kendra and inhaling its aroma with obvious pleasure. She directs a slight frown at the Kellid, with his blunt questions when the young woman's grief was so obviously fresh. Lifting a hand, she addresses Kendra.
"Your father has done many things for others and few for himself, so it is only natural that those he has helped are now answering in kind. And, if you will forgive me, you are mistaken, my lady. I did have to come here today. I owe a debt of blood to your father, my honour would permit me nothing less." She smiles faintly in an attempt to make her words less solemn-sounding. "And I enjoy road trips through the countryside."
"He was good."
Kendra nods and smiles slightly at Lor-Sinn's attempt, before turning back to Barrett.
My father had made the short trip up the hill outside of town to old Harrowstone prison - a dismal place, and haunted if you care to listen to the superstitious lot in this town. From what I gather, he was inspecting the grounds and trying to discover the veracity of such a claim. That, I can believe...my father's aims were rarely known to anyone but himself.
He...or, his body was found lying on its back near one of the old prison's walls, his face and neck....well, crushed. Kendra seemed to achieve a clinical detachment - enough to describe the scene at least. There was a heavy stone gargoyle next to him - the obvious cause of the tragic accident. It must have fallen from the wall above - again, believable, given the disrepair of the prison and the nature of its history.
But...something about it feels...wrong. My father has lived here all his life, and rarely took an interest in the prison of more than a passing sort. Sure, he enjoyed the tales of its haunting and history, but never enough to go and explore. Why now?
"Has anything strange been happening in town?" Raphael asks as he leans his longbow against his chair in easy reach. After the cemetery incident he made sure to pick it up on the way to the house.
Livana listened to each word Kendra spoke. She turned each detail in her head like monk running beads through his fingers during prayer. Something about the whole scenario didn't feel right. Could it be possible that it wasn't an accident after all? Could one of the people at the cemetery that interrupted the funeral be behind all this? If so what did the professor know or see that could have gotten him killed? Livana tapped Raphael's hand,
"Mi amor, perhaps we should investigate the scene of his death for clues. Maybe there is something that has gone overlooked"
Barret takes a seat as Kendra reveals what she knows. "Yes, we should check it out atleast. He was too wise to be downed by some twist of fate accident."
"I concur. However, we should talk to the law enforcers in this town first. In my experience, they don't take kindly to strangers tramping all over a scene where a possible crime occurred. And perhaps they can tell us something useful, if they are so inclined." Lor-Sinn glances at Kendra, hoping that the young woman will volunteer more information, but not wishing to press her with questions about her father's death... possibly triggering gruesome memories. She pictures the professor with his skull crushed and suppresses a shudder.
"Ya don't know much bout small towns do ya?" Gur shifts on the sturdy sideboard that he has co-opted as a stool. "Probably got a town council that deputizes some townsmen to subdue any major criminal, rest of it is all taken care of as family matters. Or did you see a line of town guards encircling the mob earlier that I missed? Major problems and they call for someone like me to come deal with it."
Kendra gives a slight shake of her head at Raphael's question. No more than as is usual, though the normal here is a bit peculiar anyway. These people have a hard life here, and they stories of the past have them all on edge around anything that isn't a turnip or a cow.
She nods at Gur. You've the right of it there, we have a council - and you saw some of its members today at the funeral. Councilman Hearthmount is at its head; you'll meet him shortly for the reading of the will. Together they make the decisions for the "good" of the town.
There is a Sheriff - Benjan Caeller, and he has in his employ a few deputies who are no more than boys, truth be told. He works out of a small jail near the center of town.
"I guess we'll be talking to this Benjan soon. What is a will?"
Gur scratches his shoulder and stares at the others, waiting to see if anyone else has something to add.
"I would like to speak with this sheriff, but first things first."
Lor-Sinn stretches out her long legs and settles deeper in the chair as they wait for Councilman Hearthmount.