Please dot once I have approved your character! Than we will start!
Dot
*Lord Charles grabs the ladies hand, leaning down to kiss the back of it in acceptance.*
dot.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Keen to get going!
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
The stairs always seemed longer after a day like this. As she made her way up to her rooms in the Van der Geist manor, Rhia looked forward to a long soak in a hot bath, a much deserved reward for the hard work of the last few days.
Already her brother Garrick, a Paladin of Pharasma, had made his way to the temple, before heading home to reunite with his new wife. The graveyard of the village they'd ridden to aid had finally been put to rest after a hard fought battle, and Rhia longed to have the finger-bone scratches on her leg soothed by the hot water and bath salts.
A wall sconce snuffed out behind her, the work of one of the rebellious ghosts that traveled with her, a sign of her exhaustion, they were always harder to restrain when she was tired.
Despite the fact that it was well past midnight, she was glad to see a warm fire in her anteroom, a welcome home by Milen, the family's head maid. As she dropped her gear just in the door, and made her way to the bath she could see the steam rising, beckoning, an irresistible call.
Without hesitation she began to disrobe, the warm air comforting, a hint of what lay in store in the water almost too hot to bear, just the way she liked it. As the last of her garments hit the floor she noticed a letter, on the dresser. As she considered letting it wait until morning, the envelope floated up off of the dresser, hovering across the room to her hand.
"Fine, I'll read it now." she said in mock exasperation.
She broke the seal, unfolding the parchment to find an official looking script as she read, the world seemed to go cold.
The Professor was dead.
The tears came freely, the loss of a good friend striking deep until the sobs wracked her body as she knelt on the lush rug, clutching the letter to her chest. Unaware of the passage of time, she slowly rose, gently placing the letter back on her dresser and entered the bathing chamber, slowly lowering herself into the warm water. Though not quite as hot as it would have been, the water soothed her soul as much as her aching body if not more. She would sit here for a while, allowing her mind and body to relax, and then she would sleep. Because tomorrow......tomorrow she would be attending a funeral.
Vigilance sat at his poorly constructed desk and rested his feet on the edge. Crime in this part of the city had pretty much fallen to zero lately. Maybe not because of him, but Vigilance was fine with the result nonetheless.
Still, the night left him with only paper work to do, and he had finished inscribing his journal hours ago.
These were the rough nights. The nights where the city left him to his own devices.
Stuck in own head. Not pleasant place. Could be worse. Could have company in here. Lucky. Relatively.
His eyes strayed to the letter he had received earlier that evening.
Address familiar. Professor. Six months, two weeks, four days since last response.
Vigilance's head cocked to the side in thought.
Six months, two weeks, four days and seven hours. But, who is counting?
His lithe fingers grasped the envelope and opened it careful not to tear the piece of paper inside. Opening the message, his eyes traced the words on the page carefully and thoroughly.
Unexpected death. Unpleasant. Cultural courtesy suggests I should attend funeral. Will probably need to converse with others. Unfortunate.
The tiefling's face slowly lost its sour expression as he lowered his legs to the floor and stood up.
Professor was important part of town. Civic duty to attend and mourn loss of important tool. Besides, maybe Professor was murdered and there will be clues and suspects in attendance. Look on bright side.
Twirling his sword cane in a slow circle, Vigilance stood and walked across the length of his spartan office and living quarters.
Need to take lengthy look at definition of bright side. Will do right after funeral.
You have all made it to Ravengro, all by your own means, and have found the late Professor’s estate. Many of the townsfolk don't seem too keen on helping you, however, avoiding you and not answering any questions, if addressing you at all. Many close their windows on you, the shops seem to be closed.
The one person that is friendly to you is Professor Lorrimor’s daughter, Kendra. She is a 25 year old woman, quite lovely, dressed in mourning clothes, her eyes puffy and her posture sullen. After short introductions, she leads you all to the place where the procession will start, a place called the Restlands. You look around, noticing that there are few others who have showed up to pay respects to the late professor. Kendra looks kindly among the group. ”We have few people here, the ones who have made it are old and tired due to the sadness of our mutual loss of my… of my father.” She stops for a second to compose herself. ”We need some pallbearers. Four minimum, six would be more appreciated.” She smiles at you all. ”Only those of you who feel up for it, though. I understand the weight mourning has on a person.” She sincerely means what she says, obviously shaken and upset over her father's sudden death, but holding herself quite well.
As he continued to chop wood within the 2 hectares of land he called home, Charles was oblivious to the fact two people were watching him from the front gate.
Ten minutes had passed, and having chopped all that he needed for a few days warmth, the dark aura'd man headed back inside, completely sodden under the harsh and stormy night's sky.
Not the wisest of night's to gather wood, but I shall take note of my mistake and better prepare myself next time. the man thinks to himself, as he trudges back towards his residence, eager to get out of his saturated clothes and into something finer and more relaxing, before his final rest for the night.
Entering the lobby, Charles slammed the door and swiftly removed his clothing just inside of the doorway, so as not to drip all over his floor.
That has certainly taken it out of me! he thought, still shivering from the wet and cold climate outside, as he lifted the wood once more and marched up one of the many stone spiral staircases within his ominously gothic castle-like home.
Depositing the wood next to the fireplace within his living quarters, the Noble headed upstairs and into one of the rooms central to the building. This was/is his sleeping chamber - Windowless, candlelit and a four poster bed with blackened wood and crimson curtains sit in the center of this wealthy looking room, while a desk with quill and parchment, and another fireplace sits to the east.
Now readied for bed, the man pulled aside his bed covers and clambered inside, resting from 11pm to 7am the very next day.
Morning already? This darkness always deceives me.
Charles sits up and clumsily kicks his legs out of bed and onto the floor to the right side of his bed.
Very well. I may as well get up. I'll be able to spot the morning sunrise from late Uncle Volgenstaad's bed chamber.
Donning his dressing gown and slipping on his slippers, the pale owner of the grand Castle on Ravengro's hill made his way from his bedroom and to the front of his mansion, partially covering his eyes from the obvious morning light, as he peered out and across the morbid landscape.
A courier? Post at this early hour? Charles questions, as he spots a figure approaching his front gates, 300 feet away.
Oddly sunny, Lord Bloodgrave slung on a fine gentleman's coat and made his way downstairs. As he opened one of the two double doors from the front of his home, greeted only by the "craw-ing" sounds of the Crows around him, the mysterious man walked down the long, winding pathway, past the tree stumps and through the mist that gently caressed the inner grounds of his home until he reached his intricately detailed front gates.
Reaching into his letterbox, there was something cold and smooth within. Grasping it, Charles warily pulled his hand backwards, only to reveal an envelope!
Sealed with wax and stamped with "University of Lepistadt - Est. 4422 AR", he believed it to be something of relation to Professor Lorrimor, mainly because the Professor was the only person he knew of to attend such a prestigious school of education.
Not thinking much of it, Charles made his way back to the warmer interior of his home, slinging the envelope on his dining hall table.
I'll take a read after I've readied my morning meal. I do feel abnormally peckish at this time.
As he made his way to the kitchen, Charles was unsure what the letter could have possibly been about. Igniting his fireplace once more, he filled a small metal pot with water, and placed it above the embers within the fireplace.
Waiting for the water to boil, Charles made his way over to the kitchen and began chopping meat and veg, preparing his morning breakfast of spiced sausages, eggs and bacon, before also loading these onto a metal saucepan and placing them within the fireplace.
As he sat, waiting for the water to boil and his food to cook, the Nobleman continued to read his book from the point he left off the previous night. He tried his very best to get into the tales written before him, but curiosity had truly settled in.
Why would I have a letter from the Lepistadt University? Surely this is of Lorrimor's doing. As for the stamp? Most likely a small trinket gifted to the man by the University itself.
With the water finally boiled and the food now cooked, placing his book on the table beside his high crimson chair, Charles stood once more and made his way over to his 18 seated dining hall table.
Already laid, he filled his teapot up and placed his dinner plate down, as he gracefully seated himself and used a bread knife to open the letter addressed to him.
"Dear Lord Charles Iridian Bloodgrave,
It has come to my attention that you knew my father, Professor Petros Lorrimor, and I believe you had crossed paths some time ago on one of the many outtings he so often ventured.
My father did not elaborate on the details, but he did inform me of one thing, and that was that he truly felt you saved his life the day you met, and he was always appreciative of this fact,talking highly of you at any given opportunity, regardless of what the locals thought.
That said, the news I have for you is regrettable.
My father and well known scholar has been found dead.
The investigation into his death still continues, but I will be holding a funeral at the Lorrimor Estate later today (11am), and I would be grateful of your attendance.
Please forgive me for not telling you in person. I would however, like to discuss matters further upon your arrival.
Kindest regards,
K. Lorrimor"
Sipping back on his tea, Charles glared out through the dining hall windows in thought.
That is indeed regrettable. Lorrimor, although naive in a lot of ways, was one of few people who could truly make a difference in this world. Knowledgeable and well respected, his mind was highly sought after. It is indeed a shame this has happened, but as a man of good upbringing myself, I will pay my respects and meet with his daughter. Perhaps she can inform me of the circumstances surrounding his late departure.
Several hours had passed and Charles was a little earlier than expected, but it would seem he wasn't the earliest.
Turning up wearing his jet black armour, his red tattered cape spread out with the wind, flowing almost as if it were alive. His sword firmly by his side, he watched as those around him mourned for the late great Lorrimor.
His attire wasn't fit for a funeral, but he was dressed in the way Professor Lorrimor first met him, and these clothes represented comfort for Charles, ever untrusting of his surroundings.
Spotting a younger woman fitting the description Lorrimor gave during his time spent with Charles alive, Lord Charles approached the woman.
I'm sorry for the intrusion, but I believe you are Professor Lorrimor's daughter?
My name is Lord Charles Iridian Bloodgrave. I received your letter and came immediately. he explains, as he bows to the regal looking woman.
She nods. "Thank you for coming. When the others arive we shall go to the funeral." She invites you into a sitting room where she brings you a nice cup of tea.
Zadrol had made his way to Ravengo in a coach as was appropriate to his station. The trip he had made with rather mixed feelings. The death of Lorrimor of course was an unfortunate one, the Professor had not been the youngest but still in good health and spirit.
For Zadrol the message had come at somewhat of a relief. Zadrol knew he owed the Professor but had escaped this predicament by this event. However the fact that hge had been invited to this festivity was somewhat unnerving to Zadrol afterall perhaps the Prefessor had devised a plan for Zadrol to pay his debt afterall.
Now here at the ceremony meeting Kendra who had suffered such a loss the Elven Academic kept his calm.
After a short and formal instruction Taladia had stepped back into the crowd, but now that there had been the request to carry the cask and no one had stepped forward a pang of guilt attacked Zadrol and against his own habits he stepped forward.
My Lady I will gladly do your father this honor I owe owe himthis much!
Thank you. I do appreciate your hospitality, but I wouldn't expect it considering the circumstances. If I may, I would quite like to discuss the circumstances surrounding your father's demise. He was a well educated man, respected by many and although we had little contact, I remember the passion of which he spoke of when expressing his goals and ambitions.
Dr. Garriton Alderly crumpled the letter in his hand, tossing it on the floor of the Spartan boarding house room he had rented in Rozenport. Well. That's that, I suppose. I guess the appropriate thing would be to go to the funeral; curious that I would receive a personal letter. Curiosity gets the better of me again. Sighing in exasperation, Alderly began packing his few belongings.
He head out of his room, not bothering to tell Mrs. Inkerly, the landlady, that he likely wouldn't return. Who knows? Maybe I can make a new practice in Ravengro. A fresh start would be good.
He began the long walk down the road, and by occasionally getting rides from carriages and other travelers, was able to make the trip in only a few days.
Arriving at the Professor's estate, Alderly knocked on the door. After Kendra answers the door, he quickly introduces himself. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Lorrimor. I am Dr. Garriton Alderly, and I offer you my sympathies." Alderly's eyes went up and down the woman, although not in a salacious way. Hmm, she's got the pale complexion and non-calloused hands of someone who spends much time indoors. Paper cuts on her fingers, from reading and turning pages I think, so my guess is she's a scholar like her father. Not surprising; he had that effect on people.
Jethnash traveled to Ravengo as quick as he possibility could on foot, after receiving his letter. He was filled with relief mixed with sadness when he was able to arrive on time to the Professor's estate.
Making his introduction at the door to Kendra, and showing her the letter. Traveling inside he removes the dirt of his travels with magic, and bows to the young woman.
"Thank-you for letting me in. I know I cannot ever feel the loss that you have, but know that I will try to keep the name of the Professor alive though the ages. I have no problem with being a pallbearer for your honorable father."
Waiting a bit to make sure he is not rude Jethnash brings up a subject that is troubling him.
"I have noticed that many people have refused to help, or even speak to me. Is this something normally experienced by outsiders, or does this have another cause?"
Vigilance looks at Kendra and attempts an expression of sincerity that mainly looks like he's swallowed a bug.
"Ritual important. Will gladly bear pall. Your father was... useful to society. Strong compliment. Assuredly."
Feeling confident in his social exchange, Vigilance nods briefly to Kendra and goes back to inspecting the area around him.
Suitable burial arrangements. Remember to not speak out loud during ceremony. Considered inappropriate. Remember to not ask Professor's daughter about means and location of death. Not appropriate. Must sake curiosity in other ways. Silent ways.
Rhia looks out of the carriage window, the gloomy sky reflecting her mood. Though she knew that the Professor would be with the Lady of the Graves now, and that she should celebrate his life, the fact was that she would sorely miss the old man and their late night converastions over mulled wine.
It was he who had helped her come to understand her unique gift and truly embrace the connection she had with Pharasma's realm.
As the carriage rumbles to a stop she gathers herself, the door opened for her by the spirit of the ever chivalrous Guylain, her great uncle who often took on such roles.
I wonder if I'll get to see him like this, just once
The sky seems ready to weep as she exits the coach into the town square, a vision of somber ethereal beauty, dressed in flowing black and silver for the occasion, the deeply cowled hood of her cloak plunging her beautiful face in shadow, a reflection of the deep emotions she was feeling.
As overcast as the day is, the very air seems to mourn the Professor's passing. Those in already in the manor feel gooseflesh rise along their skin as the air chills slightly, faint mist coming from the mouths of all in attendance as the small crowd parts without truly realizing why.
The delecate, wraithlike figure seems to glide forward, her cloak moving against the wind almost as if under water as it wraps around her form.
As she lifts her head, grey eyes,of an almost crystalline clarity gaze out of a face at once both youthful and ageless, filled with an awareness far beyond imagination.
Those eyes pass over the assembled group occasionally seeming to stop on nothing, nodding to something unseen.
Looking at Kendra she moves forward to embrace her.
"He's so proud of you, you know. I'd be honored to help."
She looks upon all of you with kindness and gratitude. She smiles as Rhia offers consolance and embraces her with open arms, hugging her warmly. "Thank you, Rhia. You have a kind soul. But we need just one more or it will be off balance. Please. I would do it, but I must lead the procession." She barely looks at the casket, looking more at the party.
"Of course. I will be happy to take a position." Alderly goes to the empty space, ready to take up a spot as one of the pall bearers.
Perhaps you should see a doctor my lady?
With the pall bearers picked, the other members introduce themselves. You learn that they are Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, Councilman Gharen Muricar, tavern keeper Zokar Elkarid and his 13-year-old son Pevrin, and Jominda Fallenbridge. They were all close to the professor and are here to pay their respects, all showing obvious signs of grief. ”Let us begin. Everyone is here. Thank you, you have no idea how important this was to my father and to me.” Again being strong through her grief, the professors daughter stands tall and does her duty well.
She leads the procession up the hill, those holding the casket behind her and the other mourners behind them. You get about half way up the hill and see a mob of townspeople, all obviously agitated. They address the professors daughter directly. “That’s far enough. We 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 swiftly transforming into anger. “What are you talking about? I arranged it with Father Grimburrow. He’s waiting for us! The grave’s already been...”
"Please leave the young lady alone. She is grieving for her father, and you should stay out of the way."
Rhia glares at the townspeople, the sounds of irritated whispering faintly audible as if amongst the villagers.
"You would obstruct a funeral?"
The Professor stands there bearing the considerable weight of the coffin and would prefer to move on. He considers this disruption of the procession rather distasteful and hopes that it can be handled diplomatically.
Looking up at Kendra, Charles was quick to show his polite and good natured personality by way of an apology.
My Apologies Kendra. I only ask because if darker forces are at work here, I wish only to uncover the truth.
With Kendra's silence being enough, Charles turned his head as he spotted the councilmen on their approach.
And here come the respectable folk on the council. I must admit, I am a little apprehensive to put my trust in such people. I shall keep my wits about me until I've investigated this matter further.
As Kendra introduces everyone and proceeds onwards with the ceremony, Charles hangs back somewhat to analyse the situation, taking note the appearance of everyone present. It would seem that one eye was enough for the man to make his way in the world afterall.
Appropriately dressed in colour for such a sorrowful event, Charles moved forwards as the people present made their way through Ravengro. Lifting a casket in his mind proved pointless if the party were to be jumped by any unsuspecting creatures, and so, requiring someone to serve as a guard for the now deceased Professor's body, the dark and noble warrior served only to protect those around him for the remainder of this trip.
As everyone in attendance made their way fourth and approached the angered crowd, Lord Charles made his way fourth, moving past all of those present for Lorrimor's funeral, and made his way up toward the troubled townsfolk.
Standing there clad in jet black armour, sword by side and shield on back, the pale man stood before the crowd as his tattered and crimson bloody red cape blew eerily in the wind. His look was that of concern. His eyepatch and dark attire only served to frighten the crowd as he spoke out to the disrespectful commoners before him.
This man has now left our world, both in mind and in spirit, but not in body. You would do well to step aside because one day, you too will be in his position. If you cannot respect the dead, how do you expect to be respected in return?
The others around in the mob seem not to care about the interruption and only on the hindrance of the procession. The one that continues talking is a tall, older gentleman. He doesn't seemed swayed by Lord Charles' words. He continues to address Kendra.
“You don’t get it, woman. We won’t have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin. I suggest you move out while you still can. Folks are pretty upset about this right now.”
Vigilance watches the spectacle with unease. His grip adjusts on the casket so that he can see the mob more clearly.
"Poor taste. Funereal ritual important. People should go home. Enjoy benefits of lawful society. Mob activity benefits only chaos.
His distaste for the people ahead of them is evident in the sneer starting to spread across his lips. Still, the investigator's instincts fire into motion and he analyzes the group trying to figure out what exactly their intentions are.
Jethnash tries to understand why the man would claim that the Professor is a necromancer.
"The Professor is not a necromancer he is simply a man who dedicated his life to helping others. He deserves to be buried as is appropriate for a man of his station. Besides you have no power here the priest is the final arbiter on who is allowed in to the graveyard. Unless you wish to claim he is also a necromancer?"
Surprised by the comment, Lord Charles looks down to the ground as he raises his hand, placing it over his chin.
Hmm, perhaps there is more to this than meets the eye.
Interrupting the tall, older gentleman, Lord Charles puts his hand out and slightly contorts his fingers.
This statement comes as a surprise to me. Is there any evidence to prove such an accusation?, the nobleman questions.
Kendra covers her face, but with the help of the party, the men seem to be dispersing. They truly seemed like they believed that the old man was a necromancer, but, persuaded by the party they leave, and feeling a bit guilty about disrespecting the dead. They shoot venomous glares at all of you, especially Kendra.
Kendra smiles at you sadly. "Thank you all. That could have been real trouble, I don't know why they would do that!" The surrounding townspeople pat Kendra on the back. "They are just local farmhands, all of low character. I recognize them, a surly lot. Always causing trouble.”
After they all leave, the procession continues undisturbed. You get up to the burial site and there are two grave diggers and a priest ready to begin.open grave by the gravediggers. Father Grimburrow gives a short sermon, then invites Kendra to say a few words about her father. Kendra fights back tears and briefly recounts a few of her father’s more courageous or selfless moments, thanking everyone once again for coming.
"Would anyone else like to speak? I know he holds a special part in each one of our lives."
"Necromancer? The good professor was nothing of the sort. In fact, I studied with him about most sorts of magic, and micromanage was not a part of that. By his choice, actually, since I always thought a wide study was essential to a proper theory. Besides, if he were, we'd have no need of gallbladder, since he would have all kinds of zombie slaves around, wouldn't he?"
A childlike mind deserves a childlike argument and logic...
Aid another diplomacy.
Edit: Sorry, posting on a kindle in Italy and you beat my post!
Vigilance shuffles his feet nervously. Public speaking is definitely not his thing. Still...
"Professor had excellent penmanship and grammar in correspondence," he manages.
Satisfied with his thorough compliment of the man he once saved, Vigilance stands back, thankful that he is now able to observe without attention.
In the awkward silence that follws as Vigilance finishes speaking, Rhia looks to the side, her head tilted as if listening to something. ”Yes I was going to.” she whispers to the air before moving to stand next to the priest.
”My name is Rhia Van der Geist. It was studying my family’s place in the nation’s history, and the continued impact of our presence in Ustalav that brought the professor and I to first work together. At that time, he was a brilliant expert on everything supernatural, and to a young girl unsure of her destiny, an excellent outside view of what her family’s presence meant to people who did not even know of their existence.” she sighs deeply, and it seems almost as if the sounds of sighing and sniffling multiply throughout the cemetery.
”The professor was an amazing man who understood the land we live in in ways no one else did, and above all simply wanted to make the world safe for everybody.”
Zadrol likewise speaks up a bit at aloss for words the otherwise so eloquent Elf stammers a bit before he gets going.
The Professor...Professor Lorimor was a great academic, a keen mind and a open minded... and free spirit who knew very well that the prgogress of science, the progress of civilization, could not always pay heed to the common man's fears or the moral objections of wrinkled old pri ... pr...pretenders. Thus he was a true inspiration to many and I have him to thank for much of my academic career to date!
Diplomacy
Resting assured that his words have suitably offended most people in attendance Zadrol decides it might be better to take a seat and remain silent for now.
Jethnash steps up to the stage.
"Many of us have known Professor Lorimor through his work, and we have all been affected by him in some way. Some of us were friends, some of us family, some of us were research assistants, and some of us who were just acquaintances, but all of us knew and cared about this man. It is sad to see that now he lies here dead, but now we who remain shall continue on his work, and memory. May Pharasma bless his soul as he travels, and wherever he goes may there be something to research when he gets there."