The sun hangs languorously over the town of Ravengro as you enter the tiny village. It is early in the afternoon, but between the dense sheet of clouds gathered in the sky and the aches of travel tingling in your limbs, it feels far later. You have reached your destination at last, but your business is far from concluded, for you have been beckoned by the death of an old associate, the late Professor Petros Lorrimor, who is supposed to be interred in under an hour.
As you pick your way towards Lorrimor's former residence, you endure suspicious gazes from the locals. They eye you with a practiced skepticism typical of these small, insular communities, and their scrutinizing glares do little to make you feel welcome here. Fortunately, Ravengro is not a large settlement, and it is not long before you find yourself standing before a modest home with black curtains drawn in all of the windows. The front door stands open for mourners of the dead or those who wish to offer condolences to the living.
Stepping inside, you are greeted by the musty smell of paper and the sight of a veritable library lining the walls. There is a large table set out, and upon it rests a closed black casket, presumably containing the deceased professor. A young woman sits next to the coffin, the sole inhabitant of the room, and it would seem the house. Her eyes are read and puffy, and she is dressed conservatively in a dark funeral dress. She is clearly not at her best, though even in her grief she presents a poised demeanor, standing to greet you as you enter.
"Good afternoon, and thank you for attending. I am Kendra, daughter of... of Petros Lorrimor. I cannot express deeply enough my gratitude for your presence. It is good to know that my father has..." She turns away briefly and wipes her eyes with a soggy handkerchief before continuing. "That he still had friends in the world." She takes a moment to look you each over in turn, observing your traveling clothes. "I know you must be weary, and I promise you that later there will be time to rest, but I'm afraid we haven't the time right now - Father Grimburrow is waiting for us in the Restlands, and..." She gestures to the casket on the table. "I can hardly carry this there myself." She attempts chuckle at her forced joke, but it comes out a quickly stifled sob. "I hope that you will act as pallbearers? There really isn't time to change, but I can provide you with a few dark cloaks that would be... acceptable attire. I swear, I will provide you a proper welcome to Ravengro when all this business is behind us."
Go ahead and post your PCs entry into the town and to the Lorrimor home. We'll take some time for people to get acquainted, give everyone a chance to arrive, then move on to the funeral.
Valachi paces back and forth in the woods at the edge of town, before finally grunting and forcing himself to start walking towards Ravengro. Each step towards the town heightens his nervousness, so that by the time his feet touch the first cobbles, he is high-strung and twitchy.
Val's experience of growing up in the city now made any large collection of humanity a constant reminder of the challenges he faced. The hair on the back of his neck is raised, and he feels the distrust and stares of the locals like cold needles in his skin. A half-hundred times, he considers fleeing for the woods or baring his claws to tear the insolent looks away, but for his old friend he presses forward.
Once inside the Lorrimor house and off the streets, Val visibly relaxes. He greets Kendra with a stiff bow and uncomfortable smile. He tries to offer condolences, but graceful words evade his tongue.
"Kendra, I... He was a friend, the professor. Helped when many wouldn't. I will gladly be a pallbearer... though, even I will need some help. More are expected?"
"Oh, uh... I am Valachi."
Kirill quickly strides into the small town. He'd come fairly far out of his way to reach Ravengro, and while he was no particular hurry, he was low on coin and badly needed a bath and place to rest his road weary body, and he doubted the village he entered would have a decent bathhouse, and few if any, rich tombs to raids. After inquiring of the locals he is able to find the Lorrimor house with ease and slows his pace as he enters. Kirill bows respectfully to the strangers upon stepping into the parlor. He is ill at ease. Death didn't bother the thief, he was around corpses regularly in his line of work, but he was far less used to the sadness and uneven stares of others. His own earthy tones and dark cloak were appropriate enough for morning, but he still stood out amongst the locals.
"It is unfortunate that we must meet for the first time under these circumstances, Kendra. I am Kirill Innokenti. [He bows again, this time specifically to the lady.] The professor was an invaluable associate who grew to be a good friend; I would be honored to bare his body and I know he would do the same for me. Please do not trouble yourself with matters of hospitality and pleasantry, you've nothing to worry about but mourning right now. [Kirill turns to the man who arrived before and offers a hand with a forced smile.] I don't believe we've met."
Zhan steps into town at last after a long journey, a stiff cold breeze whipping his heavy coat about him. He stops for a while at the threshold to the village, as if taking in the town as a whole, and memorizing each feature. He looks around the buildings, and then at the people visible in the streets. After a time he adjusts the bundle thrown over his shoulder, and resumes his pace into the town proper.
Having looked carefully at the town's layout, and having received directions in the letter that summoned him hence, he figures out at last the location of the late Professor Lorrimor's home without speaking to the locals, and strides up to it on nearly silent booted feet.
Seeing the door ajar, he slows, and transfers his bundle into his left hand, allowing his right to hang free by his side. He steps into the anti-chamber and looks cautiously at the men and the lady present. Cool blue eyes meet each of the men in turn before he turns to the lady, and his expression softens. He places his burden on the floor, and then dips his head towards the host.
"My lady." A smile touches his lips, and a warmth creeps into his eyes. "It has been far too long. You have changed a great deal! You were but a inquisitive and charming child the last time I saw you." His smile fades and he crosses the room to take both of the young lady's hands in both of his. "My most sincere condolences on the passing of your father. He was a man who could make an impression in many, and I will miss him dearly."
"Are these other friends of his?
"Well, Father, I do believe we have arrived at Ravengro." the young lady states as the large man steps out of the wagon, and offers her his hand to assist her in leaving the wagon.
She tips the driver as the two travelers shoulder their packs, the bulk of his matching his own impressive size, while hers does the same to go with her slight frame.
The large figure stands idle as she checks the letter, confirming the address of the late professor's residence. The looks from the townsfolk cause her to stop and check on Father's outfit. She normally tries to dress him subtly enough to escape notice.
Disguise Check to aid another for Father's disguise check. 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19
Comfortable that his appearance is better concealed, the two continue on looking for the home. Delia, in the front, walks with both hands holding her dress up out of the dirt, as is proper. Father strides always one step behind her, looking this way and that as if anyone that they pass may possibly be a threat.
"Here it is, this is the address." She tucks away the letter and draws a handkerchief, before knocking. As Kendra opens the door and introduces herself, Delia sweeps her into a comforting embrace. Before long she releases her, and wipes her own eyes. "I apologize, Mistress Kendra, please forgive my being forward. I feel your loss and want you to know that if you need a shoulder, I am here for you." her own sniffles adding to those of the Professor's daughter.
When she mentions the need for pallbearers, Delia responds "Oh, of course, Mistress. No one can expect you to carry both the burden of his passing as well as that of his body to the funeral. Your day is one of mourning and not of labor. I will help how I can, but I assure you that Father," she points to the large man that entered with her "can easily lend a strong arm to bear the dear Professor to his final rest. As I'm certain will these fine gentlemen." she adds looking, despite her young age, as if she's addressing children being instructed in manners.
She comports herself mildly, before adding "Hello, fellow friends of Professor Lorrimor. My name Is Delia, and this" again pointing at the big man "is Father. I am pleased to make your acquaintance." She holds out her hand, palm down with fingers together in a proper lady-like greeting.
Disguise check to look human 1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 4 + 2 = 12
Sadly, despite Delia's ministrations, there is only so much that can be done to hide his smooth and woody appearance.
As they enter he says little. A short "Pleased to meet you." as Kendra introduces herself. Later only adding a flat "Yes, my flower." when Delia assures that he will help as a pallbearer.
He only nods at the other men in the room, when Delia introduces him to them, but he crosses his arms and stares at each of them like he is judging them.
Agnar after a long journey south finally makes it to the town of Ravengro. He started the journey after getting news that Lorrimor had died. He came to pay his respect to the man who he had helped saved and who had saved him. He swore those years ago to come to help. Ignoring the stares from the towns folk he makes his way to Lorrimor's home. As he enters the building he sees who he believes is Kendra and other mourners.
Ignoring the others in the room he steps towards Kendra while saying "Daughter of Lorrimor I am sadden to hear that your father has passed way. I have come to pay my respect to him as well to give him this for his passing." Agnar than look down at his belt to take out a small necklace made from teeth and bones. Handing it to Kendra he than says "That is to show he was a good man when he goes to the after life."
Once he has given Kendra the necklace Agnar bows before the coffin while thinking to himself "Do not worry death is just a new start."
Sagaar shambles purposefully though the town. His face hidden by the the deep cowl of his cloak, he averts his eyes from the speculative townsfolk. He has a madness in his step and a fear in his eyes as he makes his way up the walk to the Professor's home.
Upon arrival there are multiple people there. All quiet, respectful. He sees the heavy casket, barely noticing the other people. He sits shadowed in a corner, unable to take his eyes off the casket containing Lorrimar. Lorrimar never forgets, not even in Death. He saved me from hell, and therefore, hell I shall have to pay.
An expectant silence overcomes the room and Sagaar realizes his brusqueness upon entering unannounced. Sagaar coughs into his hand, clearing his throat. "Sagaar. Err... I am Sagaar. I knew the Professor. Much respect to him and whatnot. Ummm. If there's anything that I can do, umm.. ahh.. do not hesitate to ask." He was unsure how to deal with the situations. The correlation between the grief and death seemed somehow alien to him. He understood the legacy, the past, how somebody always lived as long as those around them continued to be affected by them. He knew this from experience. His brother, though dead, still was very much alive to Sagaar.
Val remains quiet while the others arrive and pay their respects to Lorrimar. In a quiet pause, he introduces himself.
"I am Valachi, huntsman, scout and ranger by trade. It seems the professor had several friends of varied pasts. Any he would call friend is a friend of mine." He extends his hand to greet the newcomers with a firm shake, studying each closely to gauge their character.
'The professor kept odd company,' Kirill thinks to himself, casually examining the other pallbearers as they arrive one by one. 'It isn't often I'm the most normal man in the room.' Absently he brushes some dust off his cloak. After politely listening to Valachi's lead, the young Varisian introduces himself to the others as well with a amiable nod to each in turn, concuring with the other man's statement regarding friendship.
"Kirill Innokenti...traveller. [He had learned long ago that it was rather uncouth to identify himself as a graverobber, especially in light of current circumstances, and the term 'treasure seeker' often gave people the wrong idea.] Despite this dour time I am glad to meet some folk I can lift a glass with in ole' Lorrimer's memory. Shall we all meet up later to offer a toast to him once this grim business is dealt with?"
Perhaps his chosen occupation had made him a tad too comfortable with death.
Zhan's pale eyes sweep across the room, looking at each man, and the young lady, in turn. His eyes seem to linger a moment longer on Father, eyes perhaps seeking to penetrate the edges of his cowl. Perception check 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15
"It is good to meet each of you. As you have said, freeman Valachi, any chosen to bear the professor to his final rest, as I have been, must have been people treasured to him. I hope that I might be your friend as well. I am called Zhan. The professor was to me at different times patron, mentor, and friend. I owed him more than I thought possible to repay in my lifetime, it grieves me that I was not able to repay him within his."
Zhan takes a step towards Delia and Father, looking Father directly in the face, seeking his eyes. "Sir, the young lady calls you Father; is that a title, your relationship, or a different affectation?"
Kendra forces a smile as she weakly takes Kirill's offered hand and rises from her chair. "It's good to meet you all, and thank you again for coming, and for your, um, necklace." She seems baffled as she gingerly accepts Agnar's gift, regarding it skeptically for a moment before placing it on the table next to her. She turns back to those gathered. "And yes, Mr. Innokenti, I think a toast - and the drink that it implies - would be more than welcome after all this has been concluded, and I'm sure that a deal of reminiscence is in order. Let us use the anticipation of the evening to drive us through this unpleasantness, then." Straightening her mourning dress and taking a moment to regain her composure, she moves briefly into an adjoining room, returning with four folded cloaks in her arms. "It is customary for the pallbearers to wear these at funerals," she explains, her voice loosing a measure of its somber weight. It appears that the obligation to host is helping to take her mind off the death of her father. "Who will be doing the honors, then?"
As Zhan nears Delia, Father places one hand on her shoulder and leans a little forward. He watches the approach scrutinizingly, ensuring that the reason for nearing is in greeting.
Sense Motive 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21
Certain that the man has no harmful intent, he leans back once again, re-crossing his arms. He shows no sign of surprise that the man approached him instead of the girl, almost as if it was discerned by his previous scrutiny of the man.
However, despite a lack of surprise in his features, it shows in his stance when Zhan asks him the question. He responds quite simply with "That is my name." offering no other explanation, as if it is the only one he needs.
When Kendra asks her question, he steps forward and replies. "As my little flower has stated, I will bear the man." Taking the lead from the others, he sets down the gear he carries.
"Fair enough friend Father, I hope it will soon be the name of one I call friend as well.
Zhan approaches the girl wordlessly and takes one of the cloaks, "I will stand for him as well. There is no question."
Zhan deposits his travelling bag in a corner, but doesn't remove any of his other gear, before tossing the cloak around himself, and allowing it to settle over his shoulders.
"Kirill, please. Not to seem casual, but I don't have the status that's the prerequisite for a prefix. [He responds to being called 'Mr. Innokenti'.]"
The young man watches as four of the group step forward and offer to usher the body to its final resting place, a grave, out of respect, that Kirill would never filch from. He briefly wishes he had prepared a eulogy or at least some minor tribute other than merely showing up to the service.
Amidst the commotion around him, Sagaar lingers, reluctant to step forward and have to show is face to the crowd. A shudder runs though him as he thinks back to his only encounter with the Professor and his cautionary words ring in his ear.
An interesting group of company the professor seemed to keep, he thought to himself. Very interesting indeed. He made a mental note of the people gathered.
He stood, resolved himself, and stode over to Kendra. "Were there any last requests of Lorrimor. Anything we can do to ease the passing of his spirit."
Kendra raises her hand towards Sagaar. "That is a question that will be answered during the reading of my father's will. For now, we'd best get things underway." She hands off the cloaks, which fit easily over your traveling gear, and directs you to pick up the coffin, with Zhan and Kirill at the front of the casket with Agnar and Father bringing up the rear. Kendra lights a single candle etched with the spiral of Pharasma before taking her place at the front of the meager procession and guiding you out of the house and down a narrow dirt road.
As you begin to walk, you are joined by a small handful of other villager, including two well-dressed individuals that appear to hold some station of prominence. There is also a stocky red-faced man in a worn suit and a young boy that appears to be his son, and a middle-aged woman who carries herself with a weary resignation. These individuals walk with you in silence, and though the rest of the villagers remove their hats as you pass, most of them continue to observe you cold suspicion.
After ten minutes of hard silence beady-eyed glares, your march sees your arrival at the entrance to the Restlands, the local name for Ravengro's cemetary. Behind the wrought iron fence you can a field of headstones rising from the ground like a garden of macabre sculptures. Despite the grim nature of the occasion, there is a sense of calm pervading the air as you cross through the ornate gates and begin walking along the winding gravel path through the cemetery. This strange peace is quickly broken, though, as you near the center of the graveyard.
Gathered in the middle of path is a mob of a dozen surly-looking locals, dressed in rough working clothes and leaning idly on various farming tools. At your approach, one of them - an older gentleman with a prodigious set of muttonchops and a bushy brow set into an eternal furrow - steps forward.
"That's far enough," he begins, addressing Kendra. "We've been talkin,' and we don't want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You can take him upriver and bury him there if you want, but he ain't going in the ground here!"
Kendra seems shocked for a moment, though her surprise quickly begins to turn to anger as she presents the man with a glare icier than any you've yet seen in Ravengro.
Though Zhan is to a degree preoccupied with his burden, he shifts the casket onto his left shoulder, as he standing at the front right hand corner of the box, and turns himself to look at the spokesman.
"Begging your pardon, Elder, but may I ask who you represent, and what the nature of your objection is to our laying to rest a dearest friend?"
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27
"The man we carry here was a fine man, one of the best I have ever known. The other men here are his friends, and each would tell you just as I have, how fine a man he was in life. Any city or town should be proud to have such a man be laid to his eternal rest in their company. I ask you to stand aside."
If anyone else has a good diplomacy, you should roll to Aid Another and support me. With the roll I've got here, we may be able to defuse this quickly.
As the men step forward to bar the path, Delia places her arm on Father to ease his tension. Waiting, she listens as they present their argument, and gasps at the result. She places her hand again on Father as her gasp tenses him once again.
She lightly whispers to him, "Stay here, do not move unless they act hostile."
Lifting the hem of her dress she moves forward, toward the group of surly men. She lifts her voice to a somber cordiality. "Gentlemen, what seems to be the issue? We mourning few would like to ease the burden both in the heavy weight we carry in our arms, and on our hearts." as she nears the front she rests an arm around Kendra's shoulder, "Is there some reason you have chosen to disturb this most sorrowful procession?"
Diplomacy 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25
To aid Zhan, who ninja'd me, lol. That's what i get for watching TV as I post. Off to bed.
The man who seems to be in charge sets his face into a determined scowl as he steps forwards and puffs out his chest. "Elder? See you ain't been here long. Thing is, m'lud, that whatever Ol' Lorrimor may have done in life, we don't want a necromancer buried next to our kin." His eyes narrow, though more out of bemusement than hostility. "You altogether sure he was the man you thought he was?"
"Necromancy?!" Kendra hisses under breath. She mutters something about the ignorance of the locals under her breath, prompting a harsh glare from the mob's ringleader, but dismisses her vitriol and turns back to Zhan and Delia.
Diplomacy: 29 (with Delia's help)
"I can assure you the man we carry was no necromancer, in fact I can swear it to you. This man sought to fight all forms of evil, necromancers among them. You take for a necromancer a man who was instead their greatest bane! He fought against them, and on many occasions helped me to do the same. If it is necromancers you shun, then this man above all should be welcome here! Please, stand aside and allow us to lay a hero, one who should be yours as well as ours, to rest."
Kirill listens quietly to the conversation, a grim look of determination on his face. He doesn't know much about magics and likely couldn't tell subtle necromancy from other forms, but at the same he doesn't much care. If necromancy was so terrible for disturbing the dead then with his profession he had little reason to object if Lorrimor was, in fact, a necromancer. However, that title seems to sully his name, which the thief couldn't let stand. After a moment he pipes up.
"With all due respect, gentlemen, it matters not what rumors you've heard. There is an entire procession of people who knew the professor to be a great, great man, and it is incredibly disrespectful of you to block this burial, in addition to insulting his good name and family. I request you apologize to Miss Kendra before we continue this conversation."
Diplomacy (making a separate request from the others above):
1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24
Sagaar steps to the side, hoping the crowd will not see his scarred face under the hood and be more affirmed of the Professors link with things pretaining to death. Hoping to help the words of reason spoken by his compaininions, Sagaar uses Ventriloquism to try to add a calming voice in the middle of the mob. He stands behind the rest of the group and prepares and casts the spell.
"Folks, he was a harmless fellow, he never bothered us in life and he can't do much now, lets just leave them alone, we don't want any trouble." Says a nameless voice from the crowd.
There is a will save with a DC of 14
Diplomacy (seperate I guess?)
1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14
The man leading the rabble looks over his shoulder with a scowl as the men in the mob give innocent shrugs. He grumbles something incomprehensible and turns back to Zhan.
"Alright," he grunts, jamming a finger into the inquisitor's chest. "We won't keep you, but you make sure you bury the man the deep." He gives a jerk of his head and he and his men begin to clear out, giving you venomous glances as they shuffle back towards the gates.
"I... I can scarcely believe the audacity of those men!" Kendra is red in the face as looks back towards the aggressors with a mixture of confusion and rage.
One of the other attendees gives a cough, a man of prodigious girth in a tailored black suit. "They were farmhands, I believe - all men of low character, and small mind. I'd not give such churls a second thought." Nevertheless, he spares a nervous glance over his shoulder before the procession continues through the Restlands.
Kendra quickly regains her composure and continues to lead the procession to a fresh grave at the northern end of the cemetery, where a severe looking old man stands waiting for you. He wears a high-collared vestment of deep purple, with sweeping spirals etched along the hem. He is wizened and hunched, leaning heavily on a crooked staff, though his eyes remain bright and alert.
"Father Grimburrow, thank you for seeing my father to his final rest." Kendra bows slightly as she approaches the man and hands him the candle she has been carrying.
"Child, such is my duty and my privilege. Do not offer thanks for so simple a task - I do only what I know to be right and necessary." He accepts the candle and moves to a solitary torch planted before the empty grave, using the flame to light it. As the torch begins to burn, he whispers a short prayer and the fire wavers for a moment before turning to a pale shade of blue, casting an unearthly light over the surrounding area. He steps back and gestures for Kendra to come forward.
She does as she is bidden, keeping her gaze on the horizon as tears form in the corners of her eyes. Standing before the grave, she wipes her face and begins her eulogy. "Professor Petros Lorrimor will be remembered for many things. As a scholar, as a teacher, as a defender of the innocent. Many might recount tales of his brilliance as an instructor - surely he was one of the most respected teacher Leidispadt has seen in the two decades, as his former pupils can attest. Perhaps others would recant his many contributions to the many battles against the unrighteous, or his eternal vigilance against darkness. Some might even call him a hero. I would call him father. Somehow, between his duties as a teacher and as a protector, he found time for his family. As a child, he protected me from whatever dark fantasies my young mind could concoct, driving monsters out of closets and bogeymen out from under stairs. As I grew older, he made sure I grew in the right directions - he saw not just that I was given a proper education, but that I learned what truly mattered in this world. I never attended any of his classes - he said it would have been inappropriate for his daughter to be one of his students - but he remains the best teacher I have ever had. It is strange to think his lessons have come to an end, but his legacy shall remain. If those present are any indication, he has touched more lives than my own, and I would invite any whom he has so affected to share their sentiments." She steps back, making room for any who wish to speak to come forward and do so.
Knowledge: Religion 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8
Used up all my luck on my diplomacy roll...
Zhan places a hand on the young lady's shoulder and gives her a reassuring touch. As she moves aside, Zhan takes a quiet moment to collect his thoughts, and then speaks.
"Professor Lorrimor will be remembered for many things, and he will be remembered by me for as long as I live. Though we are all essentially strangers here, we are all bound together by this great man. It is a sign of his character that he was able to bring together such disparate folk, from so far, merely to commemorate his fine life. I for one know that I would not miss such a chance for anything, short of matters of life and death. Miss Kendra spoke of how he did many things for many people, and like those others he benefited, he did many great things for me. He saved me when he had no need to, no cause, and no guarantee of return for the action. He gave me a boon I can never repay. It fills me with great sadness, not only that my friend is gone, but that I will now never be able to repay that debt and kindness within his lifetime."
"Once saved, his passion for knowledge, and studies of things far and wide not only kindled such an interest in myself, but enabled me to open a new chapter in my life, and acquire the skills I would need to combat those same evils he sought to understand, that he might be able to oppose them. It is partially in his honour that I will continue to do so, and fight to surmount those evils whenever they arise. I will use the skills he taught me, the lessons of lore he imparted, and the wonders and devices he provided, as he would have intended. I will do what I can to pass on these skills as well, so that in this way, his opposition to those dark arts will never end."
"It is however his friendship I will miss the most. He was a kind man; one who always had a word of encouragement for me. I will miss you friend. Find peace!"
The Varisian had to fight the urge to applaud, his performer heritage kicking in and wanting to give appreciation where it is due. Once again the young man wished he had prepared a eulogy, but even if he had it would've been overshadowed by Zhan's words. Lorrimor had truly touched many. Kirill was not a particularly reverent man; he actually avoided religion whenever possible, but today he wished the professor a peaceful and eternal rest, and lowers his head in reverence, and manages to fight the urge to take a glance around the cemetery - it would be far too offensive to Lorrimor's spirit if he started looking for marks at the man's funeral.
Delia moves forward and gives Kendra's hand a comforting squeeze as she passes. Nodding to Zhan as he finishes and moves back to let her speak.
"The Professor was a dear man, and will indeed be missed by many. He was a generous and forward thinking man, and I'm certain there are many in this world that owe him if not a personal debt, then at the very least, one of gratitude. It was his kindness that allowed me to get a good education. When all others lifted their noses at a poor tailor's daughter, he saw potential. That was his gift, he was able to see the spark in everyone and bring it truly to life, to nurture it and foster it, until it grew into a true light of hope in the darkness of the world." She dabs her eyes with her kerchief before she continues.
"We see that bright spark in his daughter, Kendra, and in all of us that have gathered to see a great man into the heavens. I'm certain he has touched all of our lives, and found that spark within. That spark, in turn, will grow in us, that we too will shine on as beacons of great deeds. This can all be attributed to the light seen in us by the dear Professor. Though he fathered only Kendra, he was like a father to me, and I'm sure to many more. You have found a place in our hearts Professor Lorrimor, and we are grateful to have you in it." Finishing, she sniffles a few times as she moves back to let any others move up to speak. She stops and gives Kendra another comforting hug along the way.
As she stands in front of Father and sobs quietly, he rests his hands on her shoulders comfortingly.
Once those who wish to speak have said there words, Father Grimburrow once again takes the fore. He delivers a short sermon and administers the last rites. As he concludes his speech, he bids a pair of burly men to his side to lower the coffin into the grave. Kendra kneels down and scrapes up a handful of dirt, which she tosses onto the coffin, though she looks away quickly once this brief ritual is completed. Father Grimburrow concludes the ceremony, and your departure from the Restland is marked by the sound of shovels on earth as Lorrimor's grave is filled.
You all proceed back to the gates in silence, though once you cross the threshold, people slowly begin breaking from the procession and returning to their homes. Kendra turns to address the part.
"Thank you for your words," she offers gingerly. She seems to have been drained by her grief. "I wish I could say more, but I have business to attend to with Councilman Hearthmont before my father's will is read. I'm sure you must be weary from your journey, so I'd like you to feel free to return to my father's - to my house and make yourselves comfortable. Hearthmont is diligent man, and shouldn't take long. We ought to be by within the hour." She manages a half smile before turning to the portly fellow who remarked on the mob. The two of them begin making their own way down the gravel road, leaving you at the cemetery gates.
Your characters now have a brief reprieve before the reading of the will. You can use this for a bit of PC interaction, to explore the town a bit (though don't wander too far!), or if no one cares, we can skip ahead to the will.
Having no wish to spend more time than necessary amongst the already-unfriendly locals, Val returns to Kendra's home to rest and wait.
If he gets a moment with Zhan, Val will strike up conversation. "Your eulogy spoke for me, also. I had a similar bond with Professor Lorrimor. He helped me come to understand elements of my heritage - to control them for my benefit, or to combat them in others. His instruction and insight probably saved my life."
Delia looks up thoughtfully, before responding. "Oh, Agnar is it? I don't think those men were looking for violence in the first place. They were most likely riled by someone who has bitterness in his heart. If they had wanted violence, it would have fallen to violence. I think they wanted to believe that there was something wrong with the Professor's interests, and all we did was assure them that we good people would not associate with a wicked man." She pauses, briefly "I think they know in their hearts that he was not a bad man, and we just helped them see it."
She perks up slightly, causing Father to look around suspiciously, "I think it would be rude of us to stay with Mistress Kendra without offering a token of appreciation in these most difficult of times. Is anyone a capable cook? I can manage in a kitchen, but if any of you have any great skill it would be appreciated." lowering her voice to ensure Kendra is not near, she continues "I was thinking that we could either make a pie, or some other sweet, maybe something native to one of your homelands. If not the least we could do is look to the vendors to see if there is something we could bring. Anyone care to join Father and I into the town proper?" She asks, looking at each of the men before the group splits leaving the graveyard.
"I think I'll try to do a bit better than to just comfort Miss Kendra. But if you do find any gift that you think the lady will appreciate, please tell me the cost so that I can contribute my fair share, I'd hate to show up here with nothing to offer but my solemn condolences. I'm going to head into town myself for an hour or two and see if I can't find out where these vile rumors about the professor's character started and maybe even quell them before they spread. Please, any of you, feel free to come along."
Ever the independent, Kirill Innokenti will promptly head into the town and casually attempt to learn local rumors as to who thinks Lorrimor was a necromancer and why. Knowledge Local:1d20 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15 Diplomacy to gather information:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17 Time taken to gather information (in hours):1d4 ⇒ 1
Agnar thinks for a moment about what the young girl says than answers her question "I do not think that many would like the food from my homeland nor would it be easy to get food from my homeland. I will stay here though."
To tell the truth, he did far more for me than merely saving my life. He saved me from a true fate worse than death. There truly are fates worse than death, particularly where necromancers are concerned. Petros made a habit of finding the worst of them, it seemed. Yes, he gave me great things; new chances, a new purpose, but it was likely his company I appreciated the most. There are few who can understand the things some have gone through. Petros did not experience these things himself of course, but he was about the only one who ever took the time to listen and try to understand. I'll miss that a great deal."
Zhan's ears perk up at the larger conversation, and he stops his walking to close with the group and find out their intentions. "Miss Delia, those sound like good suggestions. I am afraid I am also not much of a cook. I can manage, and I cook for myself, but I do not think that my talents would impress anyone. I imagine what the young mistress needs most right now is understanding; the comfort of company when she needs it, the protection of solitude she does not. I suggest we do our best to gauge her moods, give her a safe place to grieve, with friends who can speak well of her father and share warm remembrances, and give her space to be alone when such company becomes too much."
"Lorrimor saved my life from demons. That is how I ended up like this" Sagaar removes his hood revealing his face. "He saved my life and I owe a debt to him, a debt he will no doubt keep even in death til it is the time of his chosing. He was a great man, skilled in many aspects, those men did not deserve the right to be within his presence nor talk about him with such disregard. There thoughts shall be haunted with memories of his untold deeds."
Sagaar sits back with an almost visible weight lifted from his shoulders. He spoke the truth. Standing, he follows Kirill.
Knowlege: Local check assisting Kirills stuff
1d20 + 9 ⇒ (10) + 9 = 19
After learning what rumors he can about town, Kirill heads back to the Lorrimor house. He was dissatisfied with how much populace could slander what he had known to be a genuinely kind man, and though he knew little of magics from what he understood there was little reason to shun the professors' practices. He sighs heavily, and looks for any appropriate flowers along the roads to either leave at Lorrimor's grave, or to brighten up Kendra's abode and hopefully lighten the poor girl's mood. He wished he could do more, but with barely a gold to his name, until he found a decent mark, he would need to be frugal. While travelling with Sagaar, the Varisian had to consciously remind himself to be mindful of his companion an not stare too long at his scars. To break moments of silence and try to gauge the other mourner, Kirill engages in a bit of conversation while they walked.
"I'm surprised that so many people have traveled so far to pay their respects to the professor. He must've been even more extraordinary than I've given him credit for. Without his help I'd likely be broke in a gutter somewhere stealing for other beggars to survive. I never had any talent for the arcane arts, but work was much easier with his magical consultations, and it almost motivated me to bother learning them myself...almost. [He reminisced to himself as much as the other man as they walked.]"
Kirill will return to the house with the others and wait patiently from then on.
Wondering why others were willing to head into town, just not with her, she taps Father on the shoulder to get his attention that she was heading out.
"Well, Father, what do we think a pie or a cobbler. How's the season for berries? I think it might be safer to stick to apples, they can always be found easily enough... ooh, tarts, I'll make tarts." used to his normal silence, she speaks more for her own sake than for his response.
As she goes through the town, she tries to stay proper and cordial to everyone, greeting all that she passes. While in town she picks up the ingredients she will need for the tarts, and tries to make small talk with the vendors.
Throwing in a Diplomacy in case 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17