The letters come as a surprise, their sad message of the demise of Professor Petros Lorrimor being plenty unexpected on its own, but the letters had more than that. Your presence is needed for his funeral, with notes left before his death insisting on your presence before he be buried, as well as your attendnce at the reading of his will--both of these events are to be put on hold without you, and the pressing urgency can hardly be ignored, even if it's a little peculir that you have a place in his will, given that you weren't quite close, lifelong friends. But who are you to ignore the final wishes of a dead man?
Ravengro is certainly not the smallest village, but its population of three hundred-odd certainly fit the stereotype of a paranoid Ustalavan village. Every set of eyes upon you as you arrive in the city seems untrusting, save for four others who appear foreign enough to also likely be outsiders. The five of you arrive very soon after one another, and are impatiently ushered toward the cemetary for the funeral service; the professor's body has been on ice for two and a half weeks in respect of his final wish no matter how inconvenient it is, and there is a desire to finish the job. Only one person seems thankul for your presence, a woman in her mid-twenties, with brown hair done up in a bun, wearing a conservative, dark red dress, introducing herself as Petros's daughter Kendra.
"Please forgive the urgency," she says as you gather at the entrance gate to The Restlands, a very finely made coffin sitting on the ground in wait. "It's not common in Ravengro to put off the services for this long, and there is some pressure on me to get it done now that you're here. When the funeral is over, you are welcome back to my home for a proper greeting and some much-deserved hospitality; I imagine your travels here have left you in need of that."
Only a small handful of villagers have joined you to pay their respects, many of them more than a little old themselves. Six handles line the coffin, three on each side, and there are few gathered who look to be in proper shape to carry it. Kendra looks uneasily at you, her expression apologetic. "I hate to ask anything physical of you given how fresh from the road you are, but could I trouble you for one more thing? We are in need of pall bearers."
Four hours ago...
Stefan re-read the letter for what seemed the hundredth time. It was late afternoon, and the sound of the horses and the creaking of the private coach was lulling Stefan into an almost dreamlike state. It was hard to imagine the world without his dear friend Petros Lorrimor. I hated him when I first met him, he mused. He was so tough on all of his students, and woe betide anyone who hadn't done the assigned reading! That one lecture that he made poor Anya squirm by peppering her with question after question that he knew she couldn't answer... but none of us ever skipped an assignment after that! He smiled in his reverie, as he knew that his old professor used that prickly demanding persona to bring out the best in his students' scholarship... and if students earned the professor's respect, how he could become a mentor and a friend. He reminisced about those evenings at the public house discussing philosophy, arcana, and history with Andrei and Professor Lorrimor... and of how the professor had been so comforting and fatherly after Andrei's death.
Stefan broke out of his reverie when he heard the sound of three arrows striking the side of the coach, and a man shouting, "Hold, or the next three go in your chest!" The coach lurched to a stop. Stefan peered out of the coach windows, and saw four dark-haired men approach the coach, each holding a cocked and loaded crossbow. He briefly considered attempting to ensorcell them, but realized that he was unarmed and outnumbered, and that he'd heard stories of bandits kidnapping wizards to take advantage of their power. He decided to wait, but he first hid his wizard's ring, a gift from his grandfather.
The bandits were only interested in treasure. They went through Stefan's baggage, leaving mainly clothing and a few odd items-- they took just about everything of value, including his doctor's bag and his coin purse. He'd managed to hide a dagger, his cane, and a handful of coins beneath the seat, and the bandits didn't find those. After a few minutes, they retreated into the forest. Stefan re-packed his scattered belongings, and tended the coachman, who was also rather shaken.
"I am so sorry this happened! Regrettably, they took the money I was going to pay you with." He retrieved a sheet of paper and a pen and wrote a letter to his lawyer, sealing it with his signet. "After we arrive in Ravengro, you can drop me off and return straight away to Lepidstadt. Give this letter to my solicitor, and he will pay you for the trip, plus a little extra for the trouble."
Fortunately, the rest of the journey was as unremarkable as the first part.
* * *
Wearing a black frock coat over a starched white shirt and scarlet cravat, black leather trousers, polished leather boots, and a black top hat, Stefan arrives at the funeral with a look of true sorrow on his face. Doffing his hat, he bows before Professor Lorrimor's daughter, taking her hand. "Miss Lorrimor, I am so sorry for your loss. Your father was a great man, and a dear friend. I wish we were meeting under happier circumstances."
Surprised to have be asked to be a pallbearer, Stefan accepts the task as an honor-- his last duty to an old friend. Turining to the other apparent outsiders, he extends his hand and introduces himself to them all.
"Dr. Stefan von Herzog. I'm a physician from Lepidstadt, and one of Petros' former students. We remained close after I graduated, and I was honored to call him a friend. It was such a shock to learn of his untimely demise!"
Her father had been wary in sending Ileana off on her own, even though it was to attend an old professor's funeral service. Her grandmother seemed jubilant at the prospect -- the old woman had tried for years to be rid of Ileana and now it seemed the girl was happy to oblige her.
The carriage ride to Ravengro was overall uneventful. The Other spoke inside her mind a few times but for very short periods and left Ileana alone for most of the journey.
Professor Lorrimor did say he would seek me out when the time came -- but at his funeral? What could she do for him now that he was dead?
The Other's voice interrupted her own train of thought (more like commandeered her mind), You know of Dead and Undead things. It makes perfect sense to call in his favour, now.
Ileana clenched her small hands and tried (with the strength of her will) to oust the Other from the forefront of her mind and thoughts.
*********************************
She was dressed suitably in muted colours, her attire well made and kept. Ileana felt no real sorrow for she had only known the professor briefly, yet she was aware that funerals required obvious mourning and fixed her features to show such (in a muted way, like her clothing).
Approaching the professor's daughter, Ileana stood a little apart before inclining her head respectfully and introducing herself, in her usual soft, husky-voiced manner, "I am Ileana Cercel and Professor Lorrimor was one of my tutors some years ago. You have my condolences on the passing of your father, Miss Lorrimor. 'Tis a sad day, indeed." Her mismatched eyes (right eye blue, left eye brown) stared unblinkingly at the woman.
At the suggestion that the six of them each take the role of pallbearer, Ileana paused for a moment, not ever having undertaken such duty before. She was strong enough, although her petite frame would have suggested otherwise.
Ileana moved to one of the unoccupied handles and took hold of it with her hand; her long, sharp nails present and obvious.
As the stableboy told her the news, Drusilla could only blink as he looked into her mismatched eyes.
She had traveled a long way, from the Fangwood forest to Ravengro to see Professor Lorrimor whom she had met and listened to so long ago. The image was clear in her mind.
Sitting on the remnants of a knocked over tree, mostly rotted from rain and insects, the warmth of a fire on the left side of her face as she stared, listening, concentrating with all of her might on the words that the man spoke as he read from the peculiar book. The professor, more than teaching her to read, had introduced her to a variety of other things, the most important of which was the idea that there were others outside of the forest. There was so much more to see.
The boy was still talking as she walked away, marching in the direction she had been told the dead were buried.
She did garner several stares, as she was a slight, short girl, wearing a patchwork of scaled armor, a beaten but sturdy shield on her back, and a scratched and chipped longsword at her side. Her cloak was torn, and boots ragged, and loose as she wore them, her long black nails poked through the old leather gloves she had found two day back. More than that, she was dirty. Covered from head to toe in a light film of earth, the occasional weed or bit of grass hanging from her clothing, she must have looked as if she too, had been one for the grave.
When she reached the small gathering of people, her heart stopped, and she froze in her tracks. It was not the somber mood that a few around her exuded, or the apathy that the majority seemed to put forward, but something else. Merely ten or so long strides she felt an energy, cold and aged, as if she had missed it, but had never known till this moment.
Ahead of her, among the man with the grey streak in his hair, and the brown hair and red dress there was another, dressed in dull grey tones. Now she knew this was the focus. She cocked her head to the side, in a very canine fashion and paused.
What is this? Am I dreaming? Have I died and gone to the other place my siblings from the forest fear?
Shaking it off, she decided her questions had to wait. For now, she would do as the others did. Pay their respects, for she did...admire the Professor, and indeed did want to see him off into the After. She would have to question the girl who looked like her reflection later.
Hearing the red dressed woman who the man called "Miss Lorrimor" call for folk to lift up the coffin, Drusilla stepped up quietly and grasped the side opposite her twin, daring only a single glance before she quickly looked forward.
Ileana had kept still and silent as she waited for each of the pallbearers to take their place around the coffin.
Then she heard a growl expanding from the deepest interior of her mind. The Other had been considerate to this point and Ileana had felt in control and whole/stable. The wild sound which now echoed through her mind was something altogether different to anything she had heard before. It made Ileana a little fearful and wondered if she could contain it without drawing attention to herself.
The growl grew to sound like "Turn and look" and Ileana gripped the small handle harder, her sharp nails marking the wood of the coffin.
When the sound grew so loud she believed those outside her mind could hear it, she turned, looked and froze. There stood a girl much like herself, except she appeared feral/untamed. Ileana's interest was piqued and she tilted her head as if to get a better look or find a better angle with which to view the girl. The skin and hair were like her own ... except Ileana was cleaner. She could not see the eyes clearly from her standing place. There were other voices around the coffin, even as the growl persisted inside her head. Stop it! Ileana commanded the Other. I looked and I saw her. This is not the time. Later I will find out who she is. BE QUIET NOW! Ileana inwardly screamed the last to the Other as she turned her gaze forward again.
The sound inside her head subsided to the volume of the breeze through the trees. It was still growling, but the resonance did not frighten her anymore. Ileana knew what had roused it. Next she would find out why. After the funeral, she promised the Other. She released her unyielding grip on the handle.
The fourth outsider is young man of little above average height and lean build. His curly black hair is cut short and stands out, somewhat disheveled, against slightly dark Taldoran skin. His blue robe, of average quality, is similarly slightly unkempt though it is obvious that the man has made some effort to make himself presentable.
He clasps Kendra's hand and bows You have my deepest sympathies. It is hard to imagine that such a forceful and vital figure is no longer with us. He was an inspiration to so many... oh where are my manners, my name is Kith, Kith Jeova I only met Professor Lorrimor once but we had a regular correspondence... He trails off But we will speak of these things later of course. I would be honoured to be a pallbearer for your father.
He smiles slightly and nods at the others as they take their places. His seemingly permanently upturned eyebrows gives him a friendly, maybe somewhat naive, expression.
Once you've taken your places at the coffin and given Kendra your condolences, the somber procession proceeds along a gravel pathway winding through te cemetery. The villagers all seem silent and mournful, not paying you or anyone much mind as you walk.
About halfway along the path, you turn a corner only to find the way blocked by a dozen or so surly-looking locals. Standing front andcenter is an elderly but wiry man, built like a retired soldier. As soon as you're within earshot he begins to shout at you, "That's far enough. We've been talking, 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 goin' in the ground here!"
Kendra is swift to respond, her sadness switly transforming into anger. "What are you talking about?" she cries out. "I arranged it with Father Grimburrow. He's waiting for us! The grave's already been--"
"You don't get it, woman. We won't have a necromancer buries in the same place as our kin. I suggest you move out while you still can. Folks are pretty upset about this right now."
Necromancy?! Are you really that ignorant?"
The amassed brute squad becomes furious at the insult, and it looks like a fight is on the verge of breaking out.
Please please, I'm sure we can work this out. Professor Lorrimor dedicated his life to learning about all manner of things certainly but he was in no way an evil man. Quite the opposite really! Kith calls out. His training in song allowing him to call out over the rising murmer of the agitated mob.
"Yes, the late Professor was a foe to any who would defile the dead with unlife! He worked tirelessly to keep places like Ravengro safe. And this is where he wished his final resting place to be. Please, stand down and let us pass."
Ileana watched the angry crowd with steady/cool mismatched eyes. When she spoke, her voice was calm and clear,
"People of Ravengro, if your local religious man, Father Grimburrow, finds no issue with burying the good Professor Lorrimor in hallowed ground, then his decision should be respected and held as the standard."
It was a long trip from Caliphas and Maryska arrived in Ravengro a few short minutes after the others that had been named in Lorrimor's will. She still was not certain she wanted to be here.
Tragedy had long ago numbed her to effects of loss, and her faith had helped her learn to process and accept it when it did occur. However, she was here in this backwater village because the one living person who had some idea of who she really was, was now no more. This left an unfamiliar weight in her stomach, which made her fear the prospect of coming her and what parts of her that may force her to confront. Truly, it was her faith in the Lady of Graves alone that pushed her here.
She regretted her hesitance at serving as a pallbearer, a function she had performed so many times in her life in the church that it had nearly lost meaning. But she was already off her bearings, and being asked to help a bunch of strangers carry a man, who's meaning to her was still nebulous, to his grave made matters all the worse.
Walking some feet behind the procession, she saw it halt at the villager's assistance the professor would not be interred at the local graveyard.
She was dimly aware of the pallbearers negotiating in response as she moved swiftly and stoically up the the front of the procession.
"What in The Grey Lady's name is the meaning of this?"
Drusilla halted as the group ahead of them gathered and the lead man spoke his venomous words. In truth, she had been watching their feet as they walked, not really paying attention to the destination. She was still a bit shaken by the other girl, and merely wanted to get to the end and see the ritual through.
Truth be told, this was probably the most people she had been around at one time in all her life, perhaps more than she had even seen in her life. She had surrounded herself with sullen gnomes and strange fey folk, and they sometimes made little more sense than animals.
So when the make spoke aggressively, she instinctively tensed and her knuckles, covered as they were by torn gloves were white around the hilt of her sword.
It had only inched out of the scabbard a bit when the others talked and tried to reason with the mob. Drusilla saw it in a more basic manner. A pack was ahead of them, and they had wondered into territory that was not their own. She could feel hot blood in her jaw and it run through her veins as her teeth clenched tight, but her skin and demeanor were cold and her pupils grew large, ready to call upon the magic within her.
From the back of the group, she began to mutter, not really paying attention to the volume of her words, her voice rising up. Falling back on her first language, she spoke in Sylvan, perhaps not quite realizing it
Drusila's sudden outburst into tongues does little to quell the mob, but the well-reasoned arguments of the other strangers are enough to give the mob pause, perhaps alongside the fact that, fresh from travel, the outsiders are rather well equipped compared to the pitchforks and rakes the mob carries. The mob leader waves his hoe toward you and lets loose some threatening remarks that take very uncreative advantage of colourful language, but leads his group of reactionary townsfolk away.
"Thank you for being diplomatic about that," Kendra sighs, turning back to smile wearily at you. "The last thing today needs is blood to be shed."
"Curious," says one of the well-dressed old men walking behind the coffin. "I recognize them all; local farmhands of low character, but certainly not the sort to act like this."
With that, the procession marches onward, finding no interruptions until you come to the already dug grave. Flanked by two muscular gravediggers, an old man with a heavily wrinkled face and no hair except for a pair of very bushy eyebrows stands by the graveside. He wears the clothes of a Pharasman cleric and has a book tucked under his arm in patient wait of your arrival.
The ceremony is a fairly standard affair, with the man--introducing himself as Father Grimburrow--giving a short sermon while the gravediggers lower the coffin into the ground. Afterward, Kendra stands by the grave as dirt is shoveled in, fighting back tears as she tells some of her fondest memories of her father. After she's done, she wipes away some stray tears and asks, "Does anybody else have a story to share about my father?"
I only met the Professor once when he visited my place of learning for research. I do not mean to impugn my alma-mater in any way, but those few weeks were the most inspiring and fascinating of all my studies. He will be missed.
Kith then sings a short hymn to Pharasma with the message that if she judged Petros Lorrimor fairly, she would judge him worthy and that of all the humans she has passed through her stairs he would be second only to Aroden in stature and accomplishment.
After the last notes of Kith's song fade, Stefan steps forward. "Thank-you. That was beautiful."
Turning to address the other mourners, Stefan opens hs mouth as if to speak, pauses, looks back at the grave, and sighs deeply.
He turns again toward the congregation. "My name is Stefan Von Herzog. I am an old friend and colleague of Petros from Lepidstadt. I've been thinking about Petros Lorrimor and the time we spent together very much since I'd learned of his passing. I have a couple of stories I'd like to share. I first met Professor Lorrimor about 20 years ago, when I was just a second-year undergraduate student at the University of Lepidstadt. Within the first five minutes of his first lecture on Applied Thaumaturgy, I must admit that my initial impression was that I didn't like him very much. He had a reputation as an excellent instructor, but I wasn't prepared for his style of teaching. The good professor did not tolerate anything but the best from his students-- the assignments were always taxing, the readings voluminous, and the practical exams next to impossible to perform perfectly. He seemed merciless in the way he demanded perfection from his students, yet he had a way of pushing us to demand perfection from ourselves. Students who couldn't hack his demanding teaching style dropped the course, yet those who stayed managed to earn his respect. Once you had that, he became a very different teacher: someone who encouraged, challenged, and tried his best to make you the best you could be. I found myself honored to be among the few he chose to mentor through the rest of my days at the Universtiy.
"And, while he could be so intimidating to students who hadn't yet proven themselves to his level of satisfaction, his kindness and generosity were also legendary." Stefan paused to wipe his eye. "I lost a dear friend while at University, in a lab practical that went very, very, wrong." He paused again, clearing his throat. "Petros was there for me-- he was the one who came to our rescue. We couldn't save Andrei, but he did save me." Stefan looked into the assembled mourners again, gathering his words. "He gathered experts to make sure that the evil of that day was put to rest. And he invited me along, a third-year student of medicine, someone who would likely get in the way. Yet he realized that I needed to be there too...." His voice cracks. "...to end the evil that had taken Andrei from me." He sobs once, then wipes his eyes with a white handkerchief. "And afterward, he was there for me when I needed a fatherly friend."
Seemingly composed again, he smiles. "Sorry, this doctor doesn't usually get so emotional. That's the kind of man Petros was. When you get right down to it, he was a great man: a scholar not afraid of the darkness of the world, a man not afraid to get his hands dirty in rooting out evil, and a good friend. The world has suffered a loss in his passing. May the words and deeds of his friends and loved ones live up to his memory. Thank-you."
He nods as the assembly, then steps back to take his place among the other mourners.
The Lepidstadt doctor had much to say about his longstanding ties with the departed professor. And what did she have to say? Ileana had barely known the man except for the fact that he did not treat her unkindly when he briefly taught her and stepped in when her grandmother would have done her harm (or desired to do harm). The young oracle was here at his behest -- he had made her promise to attend any future summons. That it coincided with his death and subsequent funeral did not change the fact that theirs had been a brief acquaintance. So she stood solemnly by the grave, watching the daughter's tears and listening to the small assembly of mourners' recollections, not having anything of significance to contribute at this time.
With a slight side-eye to Kith for his grandiose performance, Maryska steps forward and quietly recites a short Pharasmin prayer.
Following this, she performs a small ritual of tracing a series of holy sigils in the dirt near the grave: intended to see the departed safely to The Boneyard. Pointless, as Lorrimor had been dead for several days, but it felt right.
After waiting for the others to speak their peice, Drusilla stepped up to the edge of the grave. She watches the dirt fall on the body and is reminded of how the gnomes packed the outer skin of their dead with clay and pulled them deep underground, to where the roots could grab them and hold them till their spirits left their bodies like blossoming flowers.
She wanted to reach down into the earth and touch the Professor's hand, to feel the cold skin, but it was all covered in dirt only a peice of his thumb showing.
She stood, still looking down at his closed eyelids as the last of the dirt covered his face.
"I was still covered in bandit blood when he taught me to read." she remarked, patting the worn book that sat in the pouch hanging from her waist.
"Sleep well. Goodbye."
After the funeral is over and Kendra has bade her goodbyes to the other guests, she turns to you and says. "Sorry for keeping you waiting. Please, come with me now to my fa--to my home." She looks of to the side and coughs, gathering herself a little and turning away. She leads you in relative silence through Ravengro, down from the Restlands and taking the slightly longer but less traveled road past several families' farmlands rather than through the village squre, given the strange band amassed behind her and the trouble townsfolk have already given her.
The Lorrimor residence is a modest home, and upon stepping inside you find every room lined with crowded bookshelves, a little on the chaotic side of matters with the sheer volume of cutter. "Councilman Hearthmount said he has business to attend to, and will be an hour. The reading of the will shall take place in an hour, but in the meantime, please relax. I will be in with tea shortly." She waves you toward the living room and hurries off to the kitchen for solitude, leaving you in a room with strangers who, for whatever reason, Professor Lorrimor has called together.
Kith takes his traveling pack off and awkwardly removes his spear and bow, placing them in the indicated cloak room.
Sorry for this he mutters as he struggles a bit with the weapons My physical instructors insisted that I have these things when they learned of my journey here... I'm still convinced that they were playing a joke on me.
Once in the living room he turns and smiles a bit shyly at the others. I do wish we were meeting in happier circumstances. I believe I overheard your names when we met Ms.Lorrimor earlier Dr. Von Herzog and Ms. Cercel. I'm Kith.. Kith Jeova. Please let just call me Kith he says demonstrating an excellent memory for names and faces. He turns to the other two of their fellow pallbearers. One who seems incredibly composed and alert while the other appears almost feral I don't believe I caught your names, my ladies
The doctor shakes the bard's hand with a firm grasp. "Glad to meet you, although I'd rather the circumstances were different."
Responding to Kith's apology for carrying weapons, "In truth, Kith, your instructors provided sound advice. Regrettably, brigands infest the forests nearby. Indeed, my coach was waylaid not five hours ago. The thieves made off with most of my belongings and traveling funds, including my doctor's black bag. Without my instruments and medications, I fear that any medical services I would be inclined to provide would prove woefully inadequate."
Stefan then turns toward the assembled women and waits further introductions.
"Maryska", she answered over her shoulder in a clipped tone to the Bard's inquiry on names.
Her back was to the group as her eyes methodically scanning the the books arrayed on shelves along the walls.
This house was fascinating to her. Petros Lorrimor was the only person in her life who knew more about her than she did about him, and she felt an unshakable need to correct this now that she was in the presance of his home and personal effects.
Silently watching the others, Ileana removed the morningstar, crossbow and quiver and placed them in the cloak room, along with her pack. She kept the sheathed daggers with her. The young oracle gently touched the bone holy symbol around her neck -- partially from habit and also some anxiety in being in the professor's home with strangers and the Other lurking and waiting to take control.
Once in the living room, she walked over to the window and stood, allowing the partial light coming in through the curtains to brush her face. The Other's growl was still rumbling around in her mind, like an echo.
"Kith", she said the name to feel its timbre on her tongue and familiarise herself with the man's name.
"You may call me Ileana. It is good to meet you." The instruction and statement were more for the entire group and not just the man alone.
Ileana watched as the one called Maryska scanned the bookshelves - she did not seem interested in disclosing more than her name. It did not matter. The will would be read in an hour, that is what the daughter had said. Yet, Ileana was happy that the professor was a collector of diverse knowledge -- by the number of books on display. There are probably more all about the house.
Focusing her mismatched eyes upon the doctor, she titled her head at his words of being waylaid by brigands. "Will you be able to replace your medical bag? And, is it costly, Doctor?" Ileana's voice was low and husky and her eyes shone from within, even the left eye/brown one.
She waited for an answer, aware of the other girl like her having come into the room behind the rest.
Drusilla waited in the room with the others, suddenly feeling a bit out of place. The room has an old musty smell, but not quite like the moss and roots of the Fangwood. It was more worked, and it stung her nose slightly, and she wrinkled it. She also became aware of how the others were dressed.
Although the showed the regular signs of travel, a bit of dirt on their boots, perhaps a bit of dust on their hands and shoulders, none was nearly so "adorned" as she. Even those of them that wore only dark colors, blacks and blues, theirs were vivid.
She squinted at the books all around her.
"I've never seen...so...many." she said lightly, coldly.
Her voice was a bit gravelly, as if she was used to only speaking a few words a day.
Turning to the man with the grey streaks in his hair, she did her best not to look at the girl who looked like her, but found herself staring as she made her introduction.
"I am called Drusilla. I am of the Fangwood far away." Frowning, she paused for a moment.
"What are we expected to do here? I've never been in a...burr"
She stuttered, trying to find the right word"..er, hearth such as this."
The doctor takes Drusilla's hand and bows. "Miss Drusilla, it is indeed my pleasure to make your acquaintance." Taking a good look at the rustic-looking girl, the doctor notes her mis-matched eyes. He then glances quizzically at Ileana, raising one eyebrow.
"Oh, what are we expected to do here? Well, as Miss Lorrimor mentioned, we are here for the reading of Petros' will." Seeing the look of confusion on Drusilla's face, he explains, "People who own property usually prepare a legal document that details what should happen to their lands, treasuries, and possessions in the event of death. Normally, land and most of the deceased's wealth is left to a direct descendant or a spouse. Other friends or loved ones can be named to receive other specific items or sums of money, or perhaps to carry on some other responsibility that had been that of the departed."
Turning back to Ileana, "Oh, regarding my medical bag: Yes, it is certainly inconvenient. Replacing the materials and tools in my bag will unfortunately take more funds than I currently have at my immediate disposal. If I were to stay here for some time, I intend to send a letter to my solicitor back in Lepidstadt to withdraw some of my personal funds from the Bank of Abadar and send it to me here. Of course, even if I had more funds, I am unsure whether a settlement of this size would be able to replace what the brigands took."
Returning his attention to Drusilla, "If I may be so bold as to ask, when you say that you are from Fangwood Forest, do you have a house there? I've not been there myself, but I've heard that the place is quite foreboding. I would imagine that your home would need to be rather fortified indeed against the legendary beasts of that forest!"
Kendra Lorrimor returns many minutes later with a large tray of cups with scones and jam on the side her face appears red and puffy from spent tears as she silently lays out the dishes not long after while Kendra is laying out the cups and linen napkins the telltale whistle of a kettle sounds and she excuses herself to take the kettle off and returns offering tea to each of you. I am sorry that I only have scones ready but since my father passed… It takes a moment for Kendra to find her voice again. Anyway I hope you enjoy them and the tea. It was imported from the continent of Tian Xia passed the Crown of the World it has a delicate flavor. Father enjoys… enjoyed drinking it before bed.
With no more than a half hour of awkward conversations there is a knock on the door. Kendra quickly answers and announces Councilman Vashian Hearthmount before leading him into the dining room and informs everyone that the solicitor is ready.
Ileana had placed a scone on her plate and spooned a small dollop of jam atop it. Laying the linen napkin across her lap, she delicately bit into the pastry and relished the taste of it. The imported tea gave off a light fragrance that was pleasant and Ileana placed her plate on the table to pick up her cup (gently blowing across the top to cool it) before taking a sip. It was an unusual, delicate flavour, indeed.
"This is more than enough, Miss Lorrimor. Thank you", Ileana quietly responded to the grieving daughter's apology.
The one called Drusilla from the Fangwood continued to draw her particular attention, yet Ileana did not broach the subject of their similarities. Not yet, anyway. Inside her mind The Other continued to growl, softly, more so when her thoughts turned to Drusilla.
When a knock was heard and the solicitor was ushered into the room, Ileana placed her cup on the table, gently dabbed at the corners of her mouth with the napkin and awaited his words.
Scones! Maryska's thought was accompanied by only the slightest widening of her eyes.
Finally, something to pierce the awful pall draped over this day.
Maryska steps briskly to where the refreshments have been laid out and, with a single brisk motion plops a large amount of jam upon a scone and takes a large bite.
It is, without a doubt, the most gusto the woman has displayed in the presence of these strangers since meeting them, made all the more jarringly unexpected by the fact she seems completely unaware of this fact.
The knock on the door barely registers to her, and she is still savoring the snack with her back to the door when the solicitor is shown in.
Sensing that their host is understandably not up to the task of entertaining Kith fills the many awkward silences for the next half hour with mostly frivolous patter about his astoundingly uneventful journey from Taldor to Ravengro. He's pretty relieved when the Councilman arrives.
The doctor takes Drusilla's hand and bows. "Miss Drusilla, it is indeed my pleasure to make your acquaintance." Taking a good look at the rustic-looking girl, the doctor notes her mis-matched eyes. He then glances quizzically at Ileana, raising one eyebrow.
"Oh, what are we expected to do here? Well, as Miss Lorrimor mentioned, we are here for the reading of Petros' will." Seeing the look of confusion on Drusilla's face, he explains, "People who own property usually prepare a legal document that details what should happen to their lands, treasuries, and possessions in the event of death. Normally, land and most of the deceased's wealth is left to a direct descendant or a spouse. Other friends or loved ones can be named to receive other specific items or sums of money, or perhaps to carry on some other responsibility that had been that of the departed."
...Returning his attention to Drusilla, "If I may be so bold as to ask, when you say that you are from Fangwood Forest, do you have a house there? I've not been there myself, but I've heard that the place is quite foreboding. I would imagine that your home would need to be rather fortified indeed against the legendary beasts of that forest!"
Drusilla looked back at the man without emotion and her answer was very plain.
"I see"she responded with a simple nod.
"I have...a home, yes. The beasts do not bother us overmuch. Our place was below, so much passed us by.
***************
The food was brought out, and Drusilla grabbed one of the scones eagerly with both hands, sitting on the floor and biting into the treat. There was flurry of crumbs as she ate quickly. She savored the slight sweetness of the pastry, not even really noticing the jam until after.
When the tea came next, she took a bit more time, watching the others as they sipped theirs. She watched the condensation rise from the beverage, letting the aroma fill her nostrils, and took a delicate pull from the teacup in imitation. She winced slightly at the heat, not expecting it, but the herby flavor soothed her. Around her face, the liquid had cleaned some of the travel grime from her, leaving her looking slightly comical.
As the other man entered the room, she looked up from her place on the floor, broken from her short reverie.
She nodded at him an informal hello.
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The cleared table that dominates the dining area offers an appropriately somber location for the business or possibly the business at hand is creating the gloomy atmosphere. The portly Councilman Hearthmount is dressed in fine cloths that are reminiscent of an old fashioned military dress coat his hair is well coiffed in a swept back style. His mustache even seems to have been combed out for the occasion. He holds a look of impatience and slight disdain as he glances over several members of the collected group as you find seats.
Councilman Hearthmount waits until everyone is seated and he has your undivided attention. Once satisfied he presents a scroll case to Kendra and shows that the professor’s personal seal remains unbroken. Do you attest Kendra Lorrimor that the seal to your fathers will is unbroken in front of these witnesses. Kendra nods her head in affirmation. which does not seem to satisfy the Councilman. Speak aloud please. Kendra seems to take Heartmount's actions in stride and makes the affirmation verbally. yes the seal is unbroken please continue Councilman. with the verbal affirmation taken care of to the councilman's satisfaction he breaks the wax and opens the case. As he does so a small iron key falls from the tube, clattering loudly onto the table. Unfazed Councilman Heartmount unrolls the scroll contained within and begins to read the Will.
Ileana listened intently, even with the Other's low growl echoing inside her mind. At least the oil lamps where not flickering in the room or some other strange phenomenon happening -- Ileana was grateful to not have such attention directed her way.
After the reading of the professor's will, Ileana leaned back in her chair. So, we are to stay a month to oversee the safety of the daughter ... But she was still mostly astonished by the vast sum bequeathed to each of them. Her family had wealth, yet to have such money in her hands alone? That was something she had never experienced before.
Scanning the room with her mismatched eyes, Ileana asked quietly but candidly, "If we are to remain in Ravengro for a month, where are we to live? With Miss Lorrimor here at the house or will we be renting in town?" Yes, they had to find the trunk with the tomes in the house and keep them safe until they could deliver them to Lepidstadt... So many thoughts moved about, including the restless sound of the Other.
This is... unbelievable Kith syas out loud in shock. One hundred platinum... to deliver some books? And how can books be evil or dangerous? Despite himself he glances at his rucksack and its contents before looking around at the solemn gathering. This is no joke or prank he thinks to himself and tires to pull himself together. I confess I do not know why the Professor would have chosen me for this but I will do what I can to fulfill his wishes. I think perhaps we should take the chest and find some accommodation nearby. The tomes are under our care and.. protection.. after all. he says to the group.
* * *
As Kendra brings out the tea and scones, the doctor brightens. "Why, thank-you, Miss Lorrimor. This looks delightful." He helps himself to a cup of tea and a buttered scone. After taking a sip of tea, he compliments her on the blend.
Stefan stands when Councilman Hearthmount arrives. He shakes his hand and introduces himself. "Councilman. It is an honor to meet you sir. I am Dr. Stefan vom Herzog, of Lepidstadt."
* * *
After the reading, Stefan looks both puzzled and concerned. One hundred platinum nobles? That's a lot of money to deliver books. They must be dark indeed! I wonder if that secret tome he lent me all those years ago is among them-- or even worse ones? In a moment of insight, he suddenly realizes that with Petros gone, Kendra might truly be in some level of danger from Petros' enemies. No wonder he'd asked us to be here!
After the reading, Stefan sits in silence for a moment, then stands. "Well, I, for one, accept these responsibilites. Given all that Petros has done for me over the years, it's the least I can do!"
Turning to Hearthmount, "And thank you, good sir, for officiating at this reading. It is a somber task, indeed."
And we really don't want him here once we start examining the books in question.
“I, Petros Lorrimor, being of sound mind, do hereby commit to this
parchment my last will and testament. Let it be known that, with
the exception of the specific details below, I leave my home and
personal belongings entire to my daughter Kendra. Use them or
sell them as you see fit, my child.
“Yet beyond the bequeathing of my personal effects, this
document must serve other needs. I have arranged for the reading
of this document to be delayed until all principals can be in
attendance, for I have more than mere inheritance to apportion. I
have two final favors to ask.
“To my old friends, I hate to impose upon you all, but there are
few others who are capable of appreciating the true significance of
what it is I have to ask. As some of you know, I have devoted many
of my studies to all manner of evil, that I might know the enemy and
inform those better positioned to stand against it. For knowledge
of one’s enemy is the surest path to victory over its plans.
“And so, over the course of my lifetime, I have seen fit to acquire
a significant collection of valuable but dangerous tomes, any one
of which in the wrong circumstances could have led to an awkward
legal situation. While the majority of these tomes remain safe under
lock and key at the Lepidstadt University, I fear that a few I have
borrowed remain in a trunk in my Ravengro home. While invaluable
for my work in life, in death, I would prefer not to burden my
daughter with the darker side of my profession, or worse still, the
danger of possessing these tomes herself. As such, I am entrusting
my chest of tomes to you, posthumously. I ask that you please deliver
the collection to my colleagues at the University of Lepidstadt, who
will put them to good use for the betterment of the cause.
“Yet before you leave for Lepidstadt, there is the matter of
another favor—please delay your journey one month and spend
that period of time here in Ravengro to ensure that my daughter is
safe and sound. She has no one to count on now that I am gone,
and if you would aid her in setting things in order for whatever she
desires over the course of this month, you would have my eternal
gratitude. From my savings, I have also willed to each of you a sum
of one hundred platinum coins. For safekeeping, I have left these
funds with Embreth Daramid, one of my most trusted friends in
Lepidstadt—she has been instructed to issue this payment upon
the safe delivery of the borrowed tomes no sooner than one month
after the date of the reading of this will.
“I, Petros Lorrimor, hereby sign this will in Ravengro on this
first day of Calistril, in the year 4708.”
With the ending of his reading of the document the Councilman presents it to Kendra to verify the authenticity of the seal. With Kendra assertion that it is authentic it concludes the Councilman's business in the home. While making ready to leave and Dr Stefan speaks up the councilman looks him over closely like a bug in a jar before answering Yes it is. I wish you to keep that in mind in the weeks to come He looks over the rest of those assembled before continuing. and let it sway any of you from doing anything unseemly. Miss Lorrimor if you would see me out.
With the Councilman's statement he departs the room with Miss Lorrimor in tow. Out of ear shot at the front door a quiet conversation is held
The conversation ends abruptly with the firm closing of the door followed closely by Kendra's reappearance she is obviously flustered as she unconsciously wrings a kerchief in her hands. I am sorry for the the councilman's rudeness. He is distrustful of outsiders and assumes they mean the worse for the town. Kendra makes exasperated sigh before continuing Even those men that tried to stop my fathers burial. I just don't know, the whole town has been ill at ease of late. Please accept my apology on there behalf. Stay it was my fathers last wish I will make room for all of you here. My father always had good reasons for his actions even if he did not always explain them and I can only trust in his good judgement now.
Ileana had no notion of any conversation outside of the one pertaining to the will. Her mind was still processing the contents and meaning. She ahd inherited money and responsibility.
When the grieving daughter, Kendra, returned, she made an apology for the councilman's terse behaviour and offered them all place in her home.
"I will accept your offer to stay in the house. Is there a private place your late father kept the trunk with his tomes? It is best we find the ones he prefaced in his will sooner rather than later, Miss Lorrimor."
Drusilla sat uncomfortably at the table, trying to listen to the portly man read the scroll. She knew it was important to the professor, so she cocked her head to the side, and took time to hear each word, though she did not understand them all.
What she did understand was that she would be staying here for a full moon, and after delivering some books (were there more like the professor gave her?) she was to receive some coin. One hundred seemed like alot to her for a simple delivery, but if it was the dead man's wish, she would abide.
She was more curious about the other girl.
Afterwords, as Miss Lorrimor spoke to the reading man, she found herself sneaking looks at the girl, taking in how she looked, how she moved. She was sure to have seen her in dreams...and she looked so much like Drusilla's own reflection in the water. She felt warmer when the other girl was near...more...at home. It was an odd feeling, for she never had felt it before, even when she cuddled with the gnomes in their burrow. Her brothers and sisters had treated her well, but she had always felt distant. Alone.
In any case, it was fortunate that she had this...excuse to stay. She wanted very much to learn about this girl called Ileana.
clearing her throat and wiping some of the scone crumbs from her face,
"I will stay too."
Though not a particularly observant young man Kith does overhear the conversation and is a bit flustered as Kendra makes her offer. Oh, I wouldn't wish to impose on your hospitality in any way he says a bit awkwardly. Though I don't have any money for lodging he thinks to himself embarrassed Wasn't expecting to stay for any amount of time.
Trying to change the topic of the conversation he says Er, perhaps we should take a look at these books first as Ilena suggested and see what they're about.
As the door closes behind the Councilman, Stefan comments dryly, "Charming fellow, that."
To Kendra's offer of lodging, "Why, Miss Lorrimor, thank-you so much for that generous offer of hospitality! I certainly do not wish to impose on you. Despite the highwaymen making off with most of my funds, I do still have a few coins, and could certainly rent a room at the local inn. However, if it's not a bother, I will accept your kind offer of lodging."
At Kith's comment, Stefan agrees. "I am in agreement. I would very much like to see these books that Petros was so worried about." He lowers his voice and leans in. "I have a sneaking suspicion that I may know what he was so concerned about, although I sincerely hope I'm wrong on that point."
Kendra seems to let go of a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. Thank you all for deciding to stay. I believe there is something going on though I don't know what. My father always tried to shield me from that portion of his life. I fear what ever he was last involved in was more then he could finish and he wished those he trusted with me if he failed at what ever task he had set for himself. Here I am dithering on Let me get the chest for you maybe it will provide some insights.
Kendra Quickly returns with a relatively small chest of oak and iron. I couldn't find a key to this particular chest when I went through my father's items after he passed so I can only assume it is the one found in the scroll case from the reading. Kendra offers the key to the group. Who wishes the honor. Kendra's demeanor seems better as if she is being caught up in the excitement of the moment. It is certainly something to focus on other then the grief she has been dealing with these past days.
Stefan nods and takes the key. Before opening the chest, he says, "First, let me check this for magical auras..." Seeing the quizzical looks from the others, he quickly explains, "In addition to being a physician, I am also trained in the magical arts. I've focused my career on the former for the past several years, but I do keep practicing..."
Assuming that he finds no magical auras, he then unlocks the chest and opens the lid.
Kendra waits until after you scan the chest for magic. You didn't find anything did you? I sensed nothing when I first cataloged the chest but I didn't have the key at the time so I was never able to check the contents.
With the doctor having taken the key and performed his magical examination of the outer chest, Ileana waited in place for the tomes to be removed and made available for review.
Drusilla too, was curious about the chest, slowly padding over to inspect it as the Doctor unlocked it.
She noted the new look on Kendra's face, and inwardly wondered what it was like to have a parent, much less one that had passed away.
Finding herself standing inches from the other girl, Ileana, she fought the urge to grab her hand and inspect her fingers.
Reluctantly, she instead made due with keeping Ileana in her peripheral as the new mystery was unfolding.
"No, I didn't sense auras."
At that, Stefan unlocks the chest and opens the lid.
Most detect spells penetrate visual barriers, allowing sensing of auras through barriers. A thin sheet of lead blocks detection of auras. Are you saying that I could tell something blocked the detection through the chest?
Resisting the urge to grab his own mysterious tome from the bottom of the pack Kith moves closer as the Doctor opens the lid.
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The key fits the lock perfectly, and within are several old tomes and two relatively new one. The newest tomes sit on the top and the first bears the phrase “Read me now!” scratched into the leather cover. These books are from Petros Lorrimor’s series of journals. The other tomes comprise the books of dangerous lore mentioned in the will—three of them have notes tucked into them indicating their contents and that they should be delivered to one Montagnie Crowl, a professor of antiquities at Lepidstadt University. The fourth, a manual of the Order of the Palatine Eye, has a note indicating it should be delivered to Embreth Daramid, a judge at the Lepidstadt Courthouse (although the note asks for this delivery in particular to be handled discreetly, and includes Embreth’s home address.).
Manual of the Order of the Palatine Eye: is a rich purple cover contains a brass scarab set with a single eye in its center. The book’s covers are rimmed in polished steel and clasped with a small but intricate lock, the keyhole of which appears to be for a key with a strange, triangular shaft. The key is nowhere to be found
On Verified Madness: This jet-black book is a treatise on aberrations and other entities found on Golarion that possess remote ties to the Dark Tapestry, the name given to the dark places between the stars in the night sky.
Serving Your Hunger: This text is a copy of one of several unholy books sacred to the goddess Urgathoa. Professor Lorrimor’s notations liberally sprinkle the margins.
The Umbral Leaves: This lexicon is a translation into Common of the unholy book of Zon-Kuthon.
Looking over the two journals they appear to be marked by Petros to indicate particular entries of note and walk you through these discoveries as he discovered them.
The Whispering Way is more than just a cabal of necromancers. I see that now. Undeath is their
fountain of youth. Uncovering their motivation does not place me at ease as I thought it might.
Their desire to be eternal simply makes them more dangerous.
Nine Years ago:
An exceptional student of mine came to me today he seems to be in over his head. I provided him some knowledge of what he is up against but I must do something about this. I must not allow the whispering way to act within the college with impunity. I need to do something to keep them from subverting our best and brightest.
Nine Years ago several days after:
I have ensured that the whispering way will not be bothering my student at least while I live. Hopefully he will be able to go on and live a normal life that doesn’t involve evil cults and undeath. I wonder how things would have changed if I had had someone to take on such a burden before I entered into such circles.
Within the journal on the pages set nine years ago is a note:
I am sorry Stefan If you are reading this then I must be dead and your life your very soul may be in danger now. A creature by the name of Morvius Wintrish or at least that was his name before he succumb to darkness had taken an interest in you all those years ago. He goes by many names now and works as a recruiter for the whispering way. You met him once before as you might remember. I was able to chase him off and acted as a buffer of sorts. Myself and others of a like mind that is. I had hoped to keep you from such a life and allow you to perform good works in your chosen profession but I fear that won’t be possible now. Others will contact you soon but until then arm yourself with what knowledge you can and be prepared to face the darkness to come. There are great gears that have been set in motion that where held still until now. May the gods watch over you.
It is as I had feared. The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be?
One Month Ago:
Whatever the Way seeks, I am now convinced their goal is connected to Harrowstone. In retrospect,
I suppose it all makes sense—the stories they tell about the ruins in town are certainly chilling
enough. It may be time to investigate the ruins, but with everyone in town already being so worked
up about them, I’d rather not let the others know about my curiosity—there’s plenty of folks
hereabouts who already think I’m a demonologist or a witch or something. Ignorant fools.
Twenty Days Ago:
It is confirmed. The Way seems quite interested in something—no, strike that—someone who was
held in Harrowstone. But who, specifically, is the Way after? I need a list of everyone who died
the night of the fire. Everyone. The Temple of Pharasma must have such a list.
Eighteen Days Ago:
I see now just how ill prepared I was when I last set out for the Harrowstone. I am lucky
to have returned at all. The ghosts, if indeed they were ghosts (for I did not find it prudent to
investigate further) prevented me from transcribing the strange symbols I found etched along the
foundation—hopefully on my next visit I will be more prepared. Thankfully, the necessary tools to
defend against spirits are already here in Ravengro. I know that the church of Pharasma used to
store them in a false crypt in the Restlands at the intersection between Eversleep and the Black
Path. I am not certain if the current clergy even know of what their predecessors have hidden down
below. If my luck holds, I should be able to slip in and out with a few borrowed items.
Seventeen Days Ago:
Tomorrow evening I return to the prison. It is imperative the Way does not finish. My caution
has already cost me too much time. I am not sure what will happen if I am too late, but if my
theory is right, the entire town could be at risk. I don’t have time to update my will, so I’ll
leave this in the chest where it’ll be sure to be found, should the worst come to pass.
The doctor removes all of the texts from the chest and lays them out across the table.
"I know these three blasphemous tomes," indicating Serving Your Hunger, The Umbral Leaves, and On Verified Madness. "They are the unholy books of the churches of Urgathoa the Pallid Princess, and Zon-Kuthon the Midnight Lord; and one of the foul and accursed texts about the Old Cults. None of them are, unfortunately, particularly rare, although those who possess copies tend mot to advertise that fact."
Thumbing through the journals, the doctor gasps when he recognizes a bit of his own story in the pages, and reads the note inearnest. He shares both the passage and the note with the assembled.