Hellard grins. "Yes, in the basement, I think -- though he's hardly in a condition to be too choosy about his lodgings. If Master Zellayun is about, can someone ask him if he knows anyone who can talk to this chap? I'm hoping he'll tell us what happened to the bauble. Oh, by the way -- Malcolm, you don't see any of this; of course there's no body here -- perish the thought! We're guardsmen and nobles, not grave robbers."
Malcolm's eyes flicked from the body on the floor, to the two slightly battered looking men. His hand drifted towards his short sword, resting comfortably on the pommel."You brought the body here? It wasn't killed by one of those things was it?" His boot nudged the body slightly, assuring himself that it was indeed dead."The guard hire mystics for these occasions. If the body was in a location where further evidence contamination could have occurred, we should be able to do this by the books. Plus, we're the Hell Squad, I doubt anyone is really going to disagree"
"Well, I certainly didn't kill him, and there were zombies present... I suppose that's what you chaps call 'circumstantial evidence.' In any case, I couldn't very well leave it where it was -- the bauble was gone, and I wasn't about to give up our only eyewitness as well! By the time we got a mystic to the tower, well, no telling if the second floor would still be there, much less this fellow. So... who wants to see about getting one of these mystics here? Or do we need to take the body elsewhere? I'm getting deucedly tired, carrying it about."
"Set it down in the cells, this way we can secure the cell door. Just incase it decides to start moving again." Looking about the room, "Let's wake Master Zulleyan and see if he has any way or know's of whom would be useful to getting this corpse to speak as you suggest."
"Master," Hellard says, with none of his usual jauntiness, "the Orb was stolen, and this great sage struck down, and there is no one but us to see justice done. Only this man himself saw the thief and murderer... and so only this man can tell us who it is that must pay for this tragedy."
Riven looks to Master Zulleyan, "Do you have the ability to gather the information from his spirit?"
Placing his hand on Zulleyan's shoulder, "I am sorry for the discomfort this causes you, but yes it is something that must be done. What supplies are you in need of?"
Malcolm nodded briskly, "Of course Master Zelluyan, what will you need?".
Riven moves over and places his hand on Malcolms shoulder, "I will go with you. The roads are not safe to travel alone, and if our enemy knows of our groups organized existence it would make it more wise to travel at least in pairs."
"Dust from a maiden's grave?" Given the morals of this city, I would guess finding that to be the most difficult of the tasks..."
Hellard smiles. "Zounds! Nowhere does it specify the age of the said maiden! All we need is to find the grave of a little girl, or to be extra-safe, even a baby girl that died soon after birth. A quick check of the obituaries should turn up several examples easily enough."
"This tongue? Would one from the now walking dead work?"
Riven looks at our newly acquired corpse, "Could we use his?"
"So then all we need is the Maiden's grave dust?" Riven looks to Malcolm, "Shall we go to the cemetary?"
"As a member of the Hell Squad I would not call it grave robbing." Riven bolsters the resigns, "However the local peoples I fear would not agree, please join us Brother Thomas."
"What do you suppose would happen if the dust was not from a Maidens grave?"
Riven shrugs, "Well I suppose we should start looking at the names on the graves...perhaps we can identify one that way as being female and go from there?"
"Look for a girl's name, and then a birth and death date VERY close to one another... the closer they are, the better our odds, even in this city... Hey! Here's one:
"Melinda Springstreet; born 18 Reapharvest 1492, died 25 Reapharvest 1492. Her sweet smile brightened a cold month."
"Perhaps we should sample a few graves?"
Is the corpse still there?
"Well it would seem it isn't wise for us to split apart at all." Riven looks about the room, "What should our next step be?"
"Malcolm would have left a note, or some sign... but maybe something less obvious, if he were afraid others' eyes might see it... let's search the body's pockets, the book, and maybe the walls to see if he left any word."
Very pointedly, Hellard makes no mention of looking for fresh blood or other signs of a struggle; the floors have seen so much of it over the years that recent stains might well go unnoticed.
Riven will examine the front door, looking for any possible sign that might indicate the door was forced open or perhaps marks on the inside indicating someone was trying to hold the door shut.
Riven looks up at his compatriots, "I can find no sign of forced entry or even a struggle...whomever took them is certainly skilled enough to hide their tracks or simply came with enough force to warrant an immediate surrender."
"Blast! Our compatriots and our only witness -- all gone together. Methinks this is more a job for Strabos the Omnipotent, the legendary archmage who could bind demons to his will -- or so it was said -- when he wasn't becoming possessed of other spirits himself, if you take my meaning. Even while drunk, he could probably solve this case, without disappearing himself halfway through...
But, sink me, Strabos seems to be notably absent. And my mind is notably empty of ideas now. Short of waiting for another zombie attack, there seems to be little we can do that won't be undone faster."
OK guys, at this point, shall we just call it quits? It's been dead three weeks without anyone posting... if anyone reads this and disagrees, let me know. Otherwise:
Thanks to the players who stuck it out. It wasn't always easy, but I appreciate the effort. Hellard, Brother Thomas, Riven, I have enjoyed playing with you guys, and will hopefully do so again some time. If you're ever in Australia, drop me a line, you would be welcome at my weekly gaming table.
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Thomas stretched out his hand toward the vile tome, attempting to hide his involuntary tremble fro the others. Whether their associates had been abducted by physical agents, or destroyed themselves in their ritual, he could not tell, but he owed it to them to find out.
For the first time in a long while, he felt he had a purpose. This went beyond internecine ecclesiastical disputes, or petty noble vendettas. Good men had laid their lives on the line, for the safety of the city, the welfare of her citizens, and possibly the soul of mankind, and he had to rescue them, avenge them, or die trying.
He grasped the book, and inwardly flinched, in expectation of its evil prescence awakening...