Kendra pauses. "...Ms. Longsong, I see nothing wrong with you wishing to pay your respects."
"Still, there is the matter of his last will and testament..." She sighs. "...although I don't know how binding it is now. He wished for those he called his friends to help me adjust to life in Ravengro, now that he's gone... and there's still the matter of his murderers to deal with."
His last will and testament? Did he list me among his friends? But, but... why would he do that? I can't help you... I'm not ... I'm not like these people she gestures to the rest of the room. I don't have any special knowledge, or any means to do that which the Sheriff and his constables cannot. What possible help would I be? I agree his murderers need to be brought to justice but I can't help make it happen.
Or can I? The Professor knew of my... my curse. Did he think it could be put to use in some way?
Kendra gives Filiana a small smile and kneels before her. "I think you give yourself too little credit, Filiana. My father saw worth in you..." She glances at the others in the room before continuing. "...and saw worth in everyone else here. And he was a good judge of character."
Khardan looks at the halfling with doubtful concern. "Aye. The Professor knew people well enough. Still, if you're not up to it, you don't have to go. People get hurt. Good people," he says, glancing at Jayla protectively.
Filiana feels curiously touched by Kendra's assertion and her eyes well up just a little.
Did he? Did he really? He did seem to understand in some way, what was going on. And he never showed a hint of revulsion or fear. Is this what he intended all along?
Thank you Miss Kendra. You are as kind as your father was.
When Khardan speaks up, she looks across at him. Go? Go where? I thought you were here to guard Miss Kendra?
The doctor finishes his examination of the changeling woman and begins to pack his instruments away. "You show signs of exhaustion, but beyond that you appear to be in fine health. No wounds or signs of infection which would account for erratic behavior. You should definitely have plenty of liquid and get a day or two's rest; I'll have some tea brought up for you." His bag once again in order, he politely excuses himself and returns downstairs.
"I find nothing physically wrong with Miss Jayla beyond signs of exhaustion and some chafing at the wrists - I assume is the latter to be the result of having been bound? If you felt the need to restrain her, then obviously her condition is quite serious. However, I cannot confirm that it is supernatural in origin. It is possible that the past few days - the professor's funeral, knowledge that his death was deliberate, the events at this Harrowstone - have overwhelmed her and brought about a delirium.
"I have promised the girl some tea; if you would be so kind as to direct me to your kitchen, Miss Lorrimor, I'll put the kettle on and take some to her, after which perhaps we can all sit down to a cup and discuss the particulars of the situation, as Lord Bramwell has suggested?" Cawthorne waves away any attempts by Kendra to play hostess with the tea, insisting that she should have a seat and relax as well. A shame she does not appear to keep a maid; I shall counsel her to set aside a stipend from her inheritance to provide for a servant or two at a more appropriate time.
Bramwell stares back at Filiana, puzzled. "Why would he? I am no necromancer."
Imperia chuckles quietly. ”I’m the closest thing this group has to a necromancer. I’m certainly not raising the dead at present.” She glances at Khardan. ”Even if I were so inclined, Khardan would have an issue.”
When Khardan speaks up, she looks across at him. Go? Go where? I thought you were here to guard Miss Kendra?
”We are here to help Miss Kendra settle into life here. Then we need to take some borrowed books to Embreth Daramid in Lepidstadt after the requested 30 day stay with Miss Kendra.” She sips some of the tea Dr. Cawthorne brings to her. ”These books mentioned dark arts, and secret societies. They are dangerous and need returned safely. If you choose to go with us, we’ll be together for a while.”
”We’ve come upon information that the Professor was murdered by a group seeking power at the old Prison.” Imperia looks to Lord Bramwell. ”Did you bring those items with us?” she ask referring to the haunted items. ”There are four malevolent spirits in the prison, and one that’s been helpful so far. I believe we’ve taken care of the Piper, and left the Friar be for the moment. That leaves two more, and any other haunts that are about the ruins. Both of your help will be valuable.”
She shrugs. ”In addition to finding the Professor’s murderer, what else would we do for a month? I can catalog and organize every library in this town in a couple of weeks. We might as well solve the puzzle of the Prison, and send the spirits to Pharasma for judgement.”
Khardan grunts assent to whatever Imperia is saying. The half-orc stands where he can see Jayla's front door, only half-listening to what's happening in the room.
Bramwell sips his tea. "Yes, I have the items, Miss Imperia." He puts the teacup down and bends forward, looking at Dr. Cawthorne. "They are cursed, you see. Gave me nightmares this evening, actually." The dhampir stands up and picks up a sac set aside on the corner of the room. He picks it up and pours its contens out on the table. "They belonged to the so called 'Five Prisoners' of Harrowstone—the most wicked of all inmates. The flute belonged to the Piper of Illmarsh; it was used to lure his victims, which he paralyzed with poison and fed to his stirges. We seem to have rid Harrowstone of his presence. As a result, the flute is no longer cursed; instead, it is capable of producing a most pleasant tune now."
The dhampir picks up the set of holy symbols chained together. "These were the false symbols used by the one called Father Charlatan. His crimes were heresy, scamming, and murder; the man was a swindler who posed as a priest of different deities to defraud the churches and its worshippers. When they came for him, his accomplices murdered the officers. We spoke to this man; he is a liar, he is, but less inclined to violence than the others. His heretic symbols are scorned by the gods; any who carry them will have trouble casting magic of the divine sort. However, the charlatan's luck—up to the point where he was caught, that is—emanates from the symbols, protecting the bearer from the haunts and spirits of Harrowstone."
Moving on to the silver hammer, the nobleman goes on. “This is the signature weapon of the Mosswater Marauder, a quizzical dwarf turned killer by an obsessive love. He murdered his unfaithful wife and moved on to a killing spree. The marauder would creep up from behind and bring his silver hammer down upon his victim’s heads, crushing their bones and picking up the pieces in an attempt to repair his wife’s shattered skull. The hammer is still connected to the killer; should we face the ghost of the Mosswater Marauder, it will make its bearer attack any who try to harm its master.”
Bramwell puts down the hammer and grabs the axe. “The Lopper’s blade, used to chop off heads. A hunter that stalked and killed his prey for no apparent reason. The most violent of them all, perhaps. Yes, yes. I know it is cursed as well, but I am not sure how.”
Finally, he slides the grimoire across the table and taps on its cover. “And this is the Splatter Man’s spellbook. Perhaps you know him by another name, Dr. Cawthorne, since he was a scholar himself: Professor Hean Feramin. He drew his chosen victims’ names in blood before murdering them. He tried to spell out Jayla’s name, but as far as we know, he did not complete it. We believe that’s the spirit that possessed Jayla, for when I followed her, a male voice resisted me claiming that he needed to write someone’s name. She had slashed her hand with a knife to provide the necessary blood, but I stopped her and brought her back with Khardan’s help.” He waves his hand. “Anyway, the book: according to Miss Imperia, despite the value of the spells written down therein, the bearer becomes cursed with an extreme desire to hoard his own arcane magic, rather than use it. These are the men we face, and these are the facts we possess. For some reason, the Whispering Way is working to release them from the invisible shackles of death.”
If you choose to go with us, we’ll be together for a while.
Go with you?, Filiana looks puzzled... Why would you want me to go with you?
She then watches with increasing dismay, as Lord Bramwell presents and describes the cache of cursed items to those in the room. She wipes the sweat that has sprung up on her palms onto her cloak before speaking.
What a ghastly collection. What ever are you going to do with them?
Bramwell quickly turns to Filiana, surprised to see her speak before the doctor. He squints the eyes and scratches his chin. "Hmm. We've had some difficulties fighting the haunts at Harrowstone. We have relied mainly on the use of positive energy," he says shuddering slightly at the mention of such power, "but I suspect we can use these objects against the ghosts. Without lifting the curses, however, that could be dangerous. It is one of the things I'd like to talk to father Grimburrow about."
Cawthorne "sips" his tea as Imperia and Bramwell explain, carefully pouring small amounts into the tip of his beak then tilting his head back to swallow. His eyes dart curiously from object to object as Bramwell describes their natures; upon the unfortunate lord's conclusion, the doctor is lost in thought as he digests the information.
"Yes, I'm sure this Father Grimburrow would be a good man to consult on such tainted instruments. Ms. Albus, you say that these necromancers who killed the professor were at the prison seeking power. What power is to be found in unleashing these spirits you describe?"
"We're not exactly sure. The professor was convinced they wanted something or rather someone at Harrowstone. They Way seeks alliances with undead creatures." she pulls the Professor's journal off of the shelf where it had been stored. "Take a look."[b]
[b]Starday, 9th of Neth, 4699 AR
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.
Moonday, 1st of Arodus, 4709 AR
It is as I had feared. The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be?
Oathday, 2nd of Rova, 4709 AR
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.
Sunday, 15th of Rova, 4709 AR
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.
Toilday, 17th of Rova, 4709 AR
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.
Wealday, 18th of Rova, 4709 AR
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.
Imperia replies to Filiana's. "The Professor invited you to his funeral. He saw something in you that would help with the last two tasks he asked us to complete. Helping Kendra and returning dangerous books to Lepidstat."
Cawthorne reads the journal with growing concern. By the professor's own hand, he was hunting these necromancers - this 'Whispering Way' - right here in Ravengro, and found the prison to be home to ghosts! It seems this folktale is one that still rings true. Most distressing... Oh, professor, why didn't you send for aid sooner?
"Look here," he taps one of the circled entries, "It seems the professor deduced that these necromancers were after a specific prisoner who perished in a fire. Perhaps one of these specters has some knowledge they required, and they were at the prison to interrogate it?" His talon moves to tap the entry on the opposite page. "And what of these 'strange symbols' he describes? He thought them important enough to mention - might they be at the root of the spirits' unrest, either by their presence or their defacement?"
Lord Bramwell's eyes widen at Dr. Cawthorne's observation. "Yes, the etchings! I'd completely forgotten about that. What a fool!", he exclaims, smacking his hand against the side of his own head. "Had I heard it, it would not have slipped from memory! But journals, and notes, ah, always the damned books, and writings!" The dhampir's anger seems disproportional to the revelation, obviously sprung from some deeper, personal frustration. He shakes his head. "Mouth to ear, that's the old way, the surest way..."
He pauses for a moment, staring blankly at the floor, oblivious to the presence of anyone else in the room. Suddenly, returned to a state of calmness, he raises his head and speaks. "We must look into that when we return to Harrowstone. Miss Imperia, Dr. Cawthorne's remark reminds me there was another book that might have information regarding possession and evil spirits. It spoke about the Pallid Princess, no? It is probably a better source concerning the undead than even the church of Pharasma, I say." Bramwell walks up to the shelf and runs his hands over the books, looking for the volume in question. After going through the whole collection about three or four times with some difficulty, he picks one of them up. "Here. Serving Your Hunger. Perhaps you should take a look," he suggests to Imperia and Dr. Cawthorne, shying away from reading it himself.
Imperia takes the book from Lord Bramwell. "Let's see what I can find." She opens it and begins to read it searching for information about possession and evil spirits.
The book goes into detail about what types of intelligent undead are the most worthy of emulation, but says nothing about dealing with evil spirits possessing someone.
Filiana stands, quiet and ill at ease for a while, watching the others read. She has never been in the presence of so many books at once and the sensation of being around so many words compressed into such a small space is making her feel a little uncomfortable.
Look at them, so many books. How very odd to be around the words of so many dead people. No wonder these Whisperers slipped into the evils of necromancy. I think I need to get outside for some clear air.
Miss Kendra. Can you tell me the way to the graveyard. I might go pay my respects to your father while these folks are busy in their books.
Kendra nods at Filiana. "The path to the Restlands is on the northern edge of town. Would you like some company?"
Filiana smiles back at Kendra.
Thank you. Some company would be nice. Graveyards are such sombre places. Wandering about in them on your own can lead one to gloomy thoughts.
With that, she retrieves her cloak from beside the door and makes ready to leave.
Kendra takes a moment to put on a warm, fur-lined cloak before following Filiana out the door.
-------------------
The chill of last night hasn't abated in the least as you and Kendra step outside. A gust of wind blows a few dead leaves across the Lorrimor home's front porch as you step onto the dusty road and begin the trek through town.
As you pass through the town, you see few people up and about. Those few you do see have a nervous, unsettled look in their eyes, which dart in yours and Kendra's directions for a moment before turning to the sky. Some of them cross the street away from the two of you, their heads bowed and their hands moving in furtive, holy gestures.
Kendra wrinkles her nose at them with a measure of annoyance. "Superstition and fear--two concepts in no short supply in this place, evidently. I'm a bit surprised none of the townsfolk have tried anything foolish regarding Lord Bramwell and Ser Khardan--perhaps they still have enough basic decency to honour my father's last wishes, if nothing else."
Filiana looks saddened by what she sees.
Fear ... it is the constant companion of the smallfolk. There are so many things to be afraid of when you are small and powerless. The rich and powerful, the lawless, monsters. Especially monsters here in Ustalav. There are so many about that people start to see them everywhere. And that fear can so easily turn to anger. The people of my village are no different. They .. they tried ... umm .. they would react much the same to anything they didn't understand ... anything even just a little bit different. Even if it was someone they had known their whole lives.
She pulls her cloak tighter around her as if suddenly cold.
Truth to tell, it's possible I'd be no different from them if not for my cousin. He came visiting in search of family and told me tales of the world and showed me other parts of Ustalav. If not for him, I'd never have met your father. I wouldn't be here at all.
"Fear ... it is the constant companion of the smallfolk. There are so many things to be afraid of when you are small and powerless. The rich and powerful, the lawless, monsters. Especially monsters here in Ustalav. There are so many about that people start to see them everywhere. And that fear can so easily turn to anger. The people of my village are no different. They .. they tried ... umm .. they would react much the same to anything they didn't understand ... anything even just a little bit different. Even if it was someone they had known their whole lives."
"And instead of making an effort to learn about the things they fear, they hide in their beds and lash out at whatever it is they're frightened of." Kendra sighs. "Father wanted to change that--to fight fear born of ignorance, using the Art as both a weapon and a means of education."
"Truth to tell, it's possible I'd be no different from them if not for my cousin. He came visiting in search of family and told me tales of the world and showed me other parts of Ustalav. If not for him, I'd never have met your father. I wouldn't be here at all."
"Hmm." The young woman looks down at you as the two of you approach the northern edge of town. "You and your cousin were blessed to have met him, I've little doubt."
Filiana muses on Kendra's words...
The thing is ... people in this situation, have been like this their whole lives. They were brought up being told that this is the way things are and this is the way you react to it. They do not make an effort to learn about what they fear because the fear is generations old and they have no reason at all to believe that there is anything to be learned. They need to be shown or they will never know there is another way.
She smiles somewhat wryly... Of course, if the people of my village are anything to go by, many would not recognize a lesson like that if it bit them on the knee. Some people are too set in their ways to ever change. But some .. some could. The thing is though, for most smallfolk, being taught something by someone like Doctor Cawthorne, or even your father would not work. The good doctor is too far from the smallfolk for them ever to learn from him. It would need someone a bit more ... normal... someone like my cousin Cobble perhaps. He had a wonderful way with words and he was fearless. It's a shame he could not have stayed longer... perhaps he could have taught these folk not to be so afraid.
Imperia finishes reading the book. She snaps it closed. "Nothing in here about possession. There are a few pages detailing how to have a happy & healthy marriage. It stresses the importance of communication and (strangely still) forgiveness. That makes sense if you are in a relationship with someone. It's good advice, but not particularly useful at the moment." She looks around. "Where's Kendra and Filiana?"
"The thing is ... people in this situation, have been like this their whole lives. They were brought up being told that this is the way things are and this is the way you react to it. They do not make an effort to learn about what they fear because the fear is generations old and they have no reason at all to believe that there is anything to be learned. They need to be shown or they will never know there is another way."
"Something my father dedicated his life to, in fact." Kendra says as she leads you into the Restlands proper. "It was a pity so many of them didn't believe he was worth listening to."
"Of course, if the people of my village are anything to go by, many would not recognize a lesson like that if it bit them on the knee. Some people are too set in their ways to ever change. But some .. some could. The thing is though, for most smallfolk, being taught something by someone like Doctor Cawthorne, or even your father would not work. The good doctor is too far from the smallfolk for them ever to learn from him. It would need someone a bit more ... normal... someone like my cousin Cobble perhaps. He had a wonderful way with words and he was fearless. It's a shame he could not have stayed longer... perhaps he could have taught these folk not to be so afraid."
"Really?" Kendra glances down at you as the two of you walk amongst the headstones. "What does your cousin do for a living?"
Upon Imperia's question, Bramwell raises his head and looks around the room. "Ah yes, they are not here, are they? I believe they went to the Restlands. The little one did not share our interest in research and asked Miss Kendra to be taken to the Professor's grave, if I overheard correctly." He stops by the window, looking out once again. "Well, it seems we'll get no answers locked inside this house. I suggest it is time to seek Father Grimburrow." The dhampir approaches Dr. Cawthorne. "You too must be interested in visiting the graveyard, no? We can stop there first, and maybe meet with Miss Kendra and the little one."
Your father was very wise Miss Kendra. It is a goal worthy of such dedication. Perhaps someone will be inspired by his example to carry on his work.
Filiana looks thoughtful at the question about her cousin.
Cobble? I think he might have been an adventurer in his younger days. He was just full to the brim of stories and songs about the heroes of old, but he didn't talk about himself all that much. But he had a sword, and he knew how to use it. I saw that the day we met your father. He gave me this... she gestures to the finely worked hilt of a dagger at her waist... It was his. And he said it had once tasted the blood of a dragon. He gave it to me to remember him by. He was fearless and happy and he just loved meeting new people. He is just wandering all over Golarion seeking out members of the Longsong family, just to meet them. Part of me wishes I had gone with him. But I was too scared to leave home ...
"A trip to speak with Father Grimburrow sounds like an excellent plan." Imperia makes ready to go with the others.
His beak buried in the professor's journal, Cawthorne is oblivious to the pair's exit. Only when Imperia snaps shut her own book does he come back to the moment, looking about the room in mild confusion.
"Yes, m'lord, thank you - I am so interested. My apologies, I'd quite lost myself in the professor's writings. Sadly, nothing outside the circled entries looks to be of much assistance in the current matter either." He stands, handing the journal back to Imperia, and straightens his vest. "I should have accompanied them - certainly these ghosts can wait until after I've properly paid my respects." He puts his bowler back atop his head and retrieves his walking cane from the hall, joining Imperia by the door, then looks expectantly at the remaining pair.
"Shall we?"
"No one's left to stay with Jayla," says Khardan, clearly torn by opposed duties. However, it doesn't take him long to decide. "We can't leave her alone in her condition. I'll stay here until you return."
Lord Bramwell nods in agreement with Khardan. "Yes, yes, good. Someone should watch Jayla, and I can think of no one better." The dhampir opens the door and lets himself out, leading the way.
Walking to the cemetery with Imperia and Dr. Cawthrone, Bramwell keeps his eyes open, alert to the comings and goings of the people of Ravengro. He explains his uneasiness to the doctor. "We've been stopped before and challenged for no reason. This man, Gibs I think, did not want the Professor buried in the town. Thought Lorrimore was a necromancer, that the dead would rise from their graves. Pff."
"The ghosts are rising. Not in the Restlands, but the Prison. Perhaps we should check the bleeding statue on the way back to see if it's changed." Imperia points out as the walk along the path.
"I admit, I was quite dubious of the sheriff's claims of ghosts - but if the professor himself witnessed them at this prison, as have you all, then there can be no doubt. Perhaps, in this case, the suspicions of the townsfolk may be forgiven; to live so close to such a place for so long must surely take its toll." Just the sort of place the lords of the land should make sure is dealt with! "I must say, I'm quite impressed by your direct involvement in resolving the matter, Lord Bramwell - taking the reins to make sure it's done properly. Quite right, if you ask me. Ustalav could use a strong hand from the nobility, steering us towards reclaiming the land from the fears of our forefathers." Cawthorne suddenly stares at Bramwell, mortified.
"Not that I'd presume to tell a lord what to do with his own lands, of course!" he says hurriedly. Clearing his throat with a squawk, he turns to Imperia and quickly changes the subject.
"A bleeding statue, you say? Why, that sounds quite remarkable. Is it too tied to the prison and the professor's death, or is it a separate phenomenon?" The doctor's eyes beg her to respond, hoping to gloss over his faux pas.
Bramwell does not gloss over the doctor's remark. "No, Dr. Cawthorne, these are not my lands," he says, absentmindedly grabbing the pendant in his neck—a small glass phial filled with earth and dirt. "My lands lie on the other side of the lake, and are blighted and deserted, a testament to the end of the great circle of life. They will live again one day, but probably not under my rule." He looks around, staring at the town. "Many of these people must descend from the peasants that worked my father's fields. They turned their backs on us, they did. I care little for their suspicions and concerns, but I care greatly for the memory of Professor Lorrimore," he concludes with a scowl, grinding his teeth with resentment. "As to the statue... it is probably connected, I say."
"I agree. It is connected with what is going on at the Prison. If we clear that out, we'll take care of the mystery of bleeding statue. I specifically want to see if there are more letters being written."
Cawthorne nods emphatically in agreement with Bramwell and Imperia's observations, happy to let the lord overlook his momentary putting on of airs regarding the nobility. It's only after a few moments that their words actually sink in.
So he is the original Gideon Bramwell. Fascinating! His deformities, while aesthetically displeasing, have apparently granted him extraordinary physical health. To think he's close to a century old! The doctor looks Bramwell over, a strange gleam in his eye. If only I could study him in earnest... After a few moments he returns his attention to Imperia.
"More letters? Yes, of course - the sheriff had mentioned someone was writing in blood. I presume the connection is to this 'Splatter Man', then. Most disconcerting." Up ahead, the gate to the Restlands comes into view. "If only the professor had sought help sooner..." the tengu laments, his tone bordering on a whine. He then smooths out his jacket, straightens his hat, and squares his shoulders before continuing in a more confident, matter-of-fact tone. "But no use in wishing for things that might have been. We shall deal with these prison ghosts and lay the matter to rest, once and for all. For the professor, and for the future of Ustalav."
A quick detour to the south leads to the stone monument of the old warden of Harrowstone, standing on the riverbank, as solemn and quietly proud as it ever was. A blond man with a full, bushy beard and dressed in leather armour is kneeling before the base of the statue, a bucket full of water next to him and a wet sponge in his hand. He's scrubbing the base of the statue with a singular focus, the truncheon on his belt occasionally tapping against the bucket.
--------------------
Kendra sighs as she walks down the Dreamwake, leading you along. "...come. We are not far now."
The headstones of Ravengro's Restlands are already an ominous enough sight in broad daylight, and the chill winds flowing past the silent, stately memorials to those who have gone before do little to settle your heart. The dust kicked up in your wake catches on the wind and disperses throughout the graveyard, coating a few gravestones.
The mageling abruptly stops with a gasp when she reaches your destination.
The late professor's white marble headstone is immaculately measured and fitted, with a simple image of a lit lantern engraved on it. Above the engraving is a simple epitaph.
Here lies Petros Lorrimor.
Sapientia Gratis.
The source of Kendra's shock becomes readily apparent as you look on the ground before the gravestone. The earth here appears to have been freshly upturned. And the once-dignified coffin lying interred has been opened.
Something emerged from it, clawing its way up from the earth.
Your vigil over Jayla seems to provide some comfort to the distressed and bound changeling. Her little thrush flits about your head as you watch over her, chirping and singing a mournful song before sitting on the bedpost.
"...Khardan, what's going to happen to me?" She finally asks, breaking the silence. "I did not anticipate being... possessed by those who lurk in Harrowstone... there is a cure for this, right?"
...
Filiana follows along quietly behind Kendra, her head hanging down somewhat as the relentless air of gloom that permeates the Restlands lays itself on her heart. She is sad... and why should she not be? I am sad at the thought of this visit, and he is not my father. It was foolish of me to have asked her to come with me. I could have found my way here on my own.
She pulls her cloak tighter around her in a forlorn attempt to block out the chill bite of the wind as it eddied around the gravestones, clutching at her with gelid fingers to add to the misery of the moment. She was about to apologize to Kendra and suggest that she should return to the warmth of the house and the companionship within, when she heard the other woman gasp.
A step or two behind Kendra, Filiana didn't see the disturbed ground at first. For a moment, she just stared at the headstone, wondering what the second part of the inscription meant. But then her gaze was drawn to the disturbed ground below the headstone and her hand moved almost instinctively to make the spiral symbol of Pharasma over her heart. Staring, almost spellbound by the sight of the desecration before her, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper... By the gods! Who... who would do such a thing?
Suddenly realizing that the answer to her question is probably the mysterious group that Lord Bramwell and the others had been discussing earlier. Suddenly feeling very uneasy and exposed, she looks around as if expecting to find mysterious, black cloaked figures behind every gravestone. The Whisperers!, she hisses.
"Any luck getting the lettering off? Has it changed?" Imperia asks the blond man as she watches him work.
The man looks up from his scrubbing at Imperia, and his head tilts at the sight of the three. "I'm afraid not, ma'am."
He stands up and points at the base of the statue. The letter V is still as bright and bloodied as it was before. "I suppose I should be grateful it isn't gettin' any worse. But the damnable thing is harder to get off than my dog's fleas."
--------------------
Kendra's hands clench several times, and you can see sparks flying from her fingertips every time they do. Her jaw twitches and works, and her eyes are wide with a visible mix of fury and fear.
"...this... this is..." She starts, but stops and starts pacing in the dirt, keeping her eyes on the ground and away from the opened grave. Her hands cover her face and clench into fists again, shaking. A cloud of dust starts rising from her furious steps.
"What, is it not enough that you have to murder him, you unholy bastards? Now you have to deny him his final rest as well?!"
Your vigil over Jayla seems to provide some comfort to the distressed and bound changeling. Her little thrush flits about your head as you watch over her, chirping and singing a mournful song before sitting on the bedpost.
"...Khardan, what's going to happen to me?" She finally asks, breaking the silence. "I did not anticipate being... possessed by those who lurk in Harrowstone... there is a cure for this, right?"
The half-orc squats on his haunches and regards the slight scholar. "Of course there is. Once we beat the ghosts you'll be alright. Bramwell and Imperia are smart. Not as smart as you, but real smart. They'll find the right answers and Lord Arqueros will protect us from harm. You'll see."
Jayla swallows and looks down at the bedsheets. There's an exhaustion in her eyes, mingling, unmistakably, with an undercurrent of fear. Her fingers twitch, and she squirms on the bed.
"...I wish I had your confidence. I don't remember last night; before today, I was in complete control of my faculties. Now, I feel like I no longer even have full control over my own body." She licks her lips and sighs.
"You're a smart girl, Jayla. If you're not ready to hear your heart, then listen to your head. You are under the influence of a malign spirit. You are seeing your future through its distorted lens. I am a servant of the Golden Bulwark, the great Wall of Heaven. I see things through the optimism of prepared action. Lean on my judgment to get you through this and you'll actually be leaning on Him Who Guards the Blessed Realm. You will be okay. It might get rough, but you will be free of this, and soon."
Filiana stares aghast at the scene before her, overwhelmed in equal measure both by the desecration of the grave and the anguish it is visiting upon Kendra. It is also Kendra's pain that breaks her free of the moment however.... Do something girl! Don't just stand there like a lump, there is nobody here but you. You must be the one to help.
Slightly unnerved by the sight of sparks coming from Kendra's fingers, Filiana forces herself to step up to the edge of the hole in the ground. Looking down into the hole she quietly speaks. Great Pharasma, Mother of Graves. Guard and guide this man to his just reward in the world to come. He was a good man. A kind man. Do not let the desecrations of these evil people keep his soul from its proper place in the great journey to come.
As she finishes, tears begin to run from her eyes. This is wrong. It is just wrong. He was a good, kind man. He was kind to me... he was... This cannot ... this cannot be borne.
Then, as suddenly as they began, her tears end and her eyes begin to glow with a pale white light as her jaw tightens. Her voice takes on a harder, stronger tone as she begins to speak again. Lady Dawnflower, shine the healing light of your love on to us and lift us up out of the darkness. The people who did this are evil, evil beyond redemption. Bring the searing flame of your judgment down upon them and bring them to justice.
As you look down into the hole, you see that the grave is empty.
Your prayers cause Kendra to stop for a moment, and she looks down at you as you offer prayer to Pharasma & Sarenrae. She blinks a few times, wiping away unshed tears with the back of her hand.
As you finish, she nods once. "We need to find the gravekeeper. Maybe he knows what happened."
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Jayla doesn't say anything, only meeting your eyes for as long as you speak before she looks down at the bed. "...I hope so. I hope so."
Lord Bramwell's eyes turn red and glow eerily, and his gaze falls upon the bloody letter. He grunts. "You are wasting your time. We told the sheriff before, and if he set you to this task, he must not have believed us," he says, looking sideways at Dr. Cawthorne as if hoping to prove a point. "The writing is magic. Necromantic, yes. Soap won't do. But perhaps getting rid of the Splatter Man will." He keeps walking, leaving the bearded man to his hopeless chore. "Come, the cemetery is nor far now. It's a small town, after all."
"Well, at least it's better than sittin' around with my thumb up my arse." The watchman sighs and stands up, bloodied sponge in hand.
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It doesn't take too long for the trio to catch up with Filiana and the bereaved Ms. Lorrimor in the Restlands. However, upon approaching them, it appears Kendra is pacing about in a fury and the halfling is in the middle of a prayer before the Professor's grave.
A grave, as it turns out, that has been opened.
Filiana looks up from her prayer as the others arrive at the graveside. For the briefest of moments those approaching think they see a white glow coming from her eyes, but it fades and is gone so quickly that is not clear if it was really what it seemed or just a trick of the light. There is however clearly a far more resolute look on her face than any has seen thus far.
Thank the gods! The others are here. Perhaps they will know what to do next.
Just in time! There has been evil of the worst sort done here! The professor's grave has been robbed and he is gone! Again she glares about as if seeking the villains nearby.