"Well, the first thing to do is get the mayor and the sheriff informed and on board with arresting and questioning a few influential locals. It won't matter if we bring them in if we have to let them go again."
Milo's face visibly falls from its pleased grin.
"Oh gods, man, you mean to do this by the law? You are a nobleman. They'll be out before the ink is dry on whatever document you can persuade the mayor to sign."
"The terms are not ours to set. We were asked to perform a task. We are obliged to do it by the rules of our employers. If they wish to disregard the law, then we shall. I admit, if there was ever a time that would warrant such a thing, now would seem to be it. However, if the mayor wishes not to abandon the constraints of civilization just yet, we will respect that."
Milo gazes up as if imploring heaven, but only smiles and lets his hands fall to his sides. "Fair enough, Your Lordship. Lead on to the Mayor, then."
The mayor is surprised to see you back in the office so soon. “Any… do you already have a breaktrough? Did you change your plans?” his eyes fall on the book Xander is still holding. “What was so important in that book that jumped at your attention?”
Milo bows.
It never hurts to bow a lot to people with power, in his book.
"Names, my Lord. Names that are likely known to you."
He will let Lord Ravencourt make the case for why they should be allowed to arrest or question prominent citizens based on the presence of their name in a book. Noble to noble, and all.
"A passage in this book, in an area detailing summoning rituals, is signed by misters Baskerwhel, Crove, Hyve, Marshan and Myre." Xander said, letting the implications hang in the air.
“This is very disturbing: I do know some of those names…” the Mayor looks even more pensive, sitting with the elbows laying on his desk, and the chin resting upon his joined hands. “Waldur Crove is almost a pillar in our community. As the warden of the Asylum, he has helped countless citizens gone mad after venturing into the underground dungeons. Oleg, the swordsman I told you about, currently is being cured there.” he keeps tormenting his well-trimmed goatee with his left hand “And Rupman Myre… he control almost a third of the mittenstone business. There… there were rumors about him dabbling in necromancy, but we always assumed they were being spread by a rival businessman…”
The Mayor looks up at Xander “Yes, I know these people. They have always been good citizens. Now… now you say they are responsible? Did… did you find out what exactly they did? What did they summon?”
"This is not confirmation that they are guilty; but it casts a shadow of suspicion on them, most certainly. While is possible someone planted their names in this book to tarnish their reputations or to lead us in the wrong direction, it is also possible that they are the ones that summoned that thing. If they are followers of the Dark Tapestry, they must be stopped, and we cannot afford to ignore this lead based on outward appearances or standing in society. If given your blessing, we will proceed with all the tact our urgency will allow, and make amends later if this lead does prove false."
"What I would like to do is round them up under the guise of protecting them, as, obviously, this cult has 'marked' them. If they are innocent, they might be cooperative in helping us figure out why they're named in the book. If they're conspirators, we need to get them behind bars anyway."
"Will you give the order?"
“Of course, of course!” you can see the mark of desperation in the Mayor’s eyes “I… we have no other lead, and even if hard to believe, this evidence seems damning.” he quickly scribbles on a parchment, then pours some hot wax from a nearby candle and presses his ring upon it. he blows on the wax a couple of times then gives it to you.
“Here. Now you act in my name for all matters regarding this emergency. I am sure you will not abuse of such power...” he gives you a stern stare “With my Crows overworked by the riots, I am trusting you to carry the light of justice.”
“You already know where Marshan lived” he points on a map the house in the Slipper Market destroyed by the monster’s rampage “You will most likely find Hyve at the Elm Way Church, once center of worship of Aroden, now abandoned. Myre will be at his mittenstone vats – this rain can be quite troublesome for the production. And the Asylum is very easy to find.” he points at each location on the map as he describes them. “That should be all. Thank you again for taking on this task. May Pharasma’s Wisdom guide you!”
Varta studies the babbling man's face carefully.
Xander nods, takes the parchment and hands it to Mavro. "Hold onto this. I can't imagine someone managing to get it out of your possession."
Snapping the book closed again with a bookmark at the page of names, Xander tucked it away in his pack and readied to leave.
"Thank you Mr. Mayor. We will be as quick as we can. Our first stop is the jail. We will need a squad of guardsmen off the streets and preparing to receive these men."
"Hmph." Letting his staff rest against his shoulder for a moment, Mavro accepts the parchment and quickly rolls it into a scroll. It disappears into his sleeve, not to be seen again until it is needed. "This should prove interesting."
Milo is genuinely surprised it was so relatively easy to secure the Mayor's cooperation. He shrugs to himself and looks to Xander and Tempest with new respect for their ability to persuade the man.
"Well," he says when they are out of the Mayor's office. "Jail, then who? Myre?"
"As good an order as any."
"Indeed." Xander says scanning the streets as they begin to make their way toward the jail.
With your newly signed document, the few Crows left manning the jail are glad to help you.
“We’ll be ready when you come in with the perpetrators, m’lord! You can count on it!” replies to Xander a pompous corporal that can’t be older than twenty. His whole garrison amounts to two rookies, even greener than himself, and a couple of old-time veterans, both with more grey than black in their hair, that seem disgusted by their younger companion’s enthusiasm.
The jail, already hosting a few looters and a good share of violent, drunk and scared men arrested during the riots, in under-manned as it is. “I’m just sorry we can’t come with you! But I’m sure our Mayor made the right decision trusting you with the task! Bring these men to me, and they’ll see justice!”. You get out of the warden’s office still hearing the sarcastic chuckle of the two veterans.
"Its not about Justice at the moment, Corporal. It's about safety. We don't understand the situation, everyone is in danger, and the people we will be bringing back are involved somehow. That is all we know. Our first priority is making sure everyone is safe, and that includes the prisoners. Anyone who is brought in here, I want you to do your best to make comfortable, no matter what you might think of the things they might have done."
"Justice is a luxury afforded only to those with the stability to pursue it. This is the most secure building in town. Things are probably going to get worse and people are going to come here. They will be frightened, angry, some may be wounded. They'll try to order you around to make themselves feel better and might fight among themselves, or try to mete out their own justice against those they feel are responsible. As of now, it isn't a jail. It's a fortress, a beacon of the stability this town is hoping to regain, and you are in charge of defending it from the outside and keeping the peace within."
"So focus on that. Justice will come later."
"If I were you, I'd start by getting as many cots and blankets as you can, and bringing in as much water as you can get your hands on. Things are probably going to get very crowded in here."
"Yes, let's go wallow on the Myre"
"Well!" says Milo again, a lopsided grin on his face. He gives Xander a bow, and chuckles at Varta's wit.
"We're off to see the Myre, the wonderful Myre of Carrion Hill..."
Xander sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as though pained by Varta's pun.
You set up the last details with the Corporal, then venture out into the rain.
It is now late afternoon, and if the sun was visible behind the lead-colored cloak of clouds, it would be setting. Between the heavy rain and the fading light, it is getting pretty dark: as you make your way to Myre’s middenstone factory you see a lonely guardsman, holding a shielded lantern, that is attempting to light the lampposts. Yet the rain seems to be filtering into most streetlights, and half the wicks are too wet to be lit: the remaining flames flicker and oscillate in the dark, casting odd-looking shadows on the brick-and-middenstone walls.
You finally get to what the locals call Rupman’s Vat: a massive building on the northernmost edge of the Filth (Carrion Hill’s low class district) overlooking a stagnant and foul-smelling pool formed in a corner of the Kingfisher river.
Built with the same mauve-colored middenstone he now produces around a thick wooden frame, the Vat is a huge building: roughly 40 feet tall, 40 feet wide and well over 100 feet long; it sits overlooking the river, the long side of its rectangular base parallel to the stream, regurgitating dark, foul-smelling polluted water into the river through three sluice gates that on its side.
There seem to be no windows, only five small chimneys, barely large enough for a fat rat to squeeze into: that’s probably for the best, since even with those small openings, the air around the factory is thick with an unpleasant smell of chemicals. The smoke coming out of the chimneys is dark and takes a while to dissipates even in the heavy rain.
The loading doors – on the southern and south-eastern corner – are thick oaken frames filled with more middenstone. The doors are shut close.
In the muddy terrain surrounding the building skitter many carrion roaches, the large, flat bugs so common on Carrion Hill whose bodily juices are a crucial component in the formula for this cheap surrogate for concrete.
Xander leads the group up the walkway to the guardsman.
"Doesn't look like you're having a very nice day out here."
"We're going to go inside to try to find Mr. Myre. We don't know what we're going into, but there may be cultist activity. We need you to stay here and hold the door. We don't want any potential suspects getting out, and we don't want to end up locked inside."
Milo offers the man a cheerful grin in addition to Xander's words. "Yes, we've got to make sure that Mr. Myre is alright and not at the mercy of these cultists. Straight from the mayor's office, we are."
Varta blesses the nice man.
The guardsman, thin, balding man with emaciated skin, is a bit baffled at your request “Us-usually I just light the streets… today seems kind of important but… alright, I guess you need-need me…” evidently sweating even in the cold, the guardsman passes on the duty of lighting the lampposts and unsheathes his weapon – holding it pretty unsteadily. He positions himself in front of the door “I will… so you said cultusts? I-I wait here, right? You have business with the cultists and mr Myre, is that right?” he holds the sword in front of him as a kid holds a candle when going into the cellar.
"Our business with any potential cultists is pretty straight forward. Our business with Mr. Myre is a bit more complicated." Xander says.
"You just hold the door for us and don't let anyone out."
Xander moves to the front door of Rupman's Vat and looks back at his companions. "Anyone feel like leading us in?"
Varta strides forward. She looks like she wants all this over with.
"Good man!" Milo says with a friendly clap on the shoulder to the poor nervous guard.
"Do your duty, bring the light of... uh... justice... to the vats, and I'm sure there's a promotion in your future, mate," he tells the man, then follows the others inside. He will take up a spot in the back, rapier drawn, ears pricked for trouble.
It is immediately evident that both doors are closed, and with above average locks at that.
Ironically though, the middenstone that constitutes the doors so well locked is instead cracked and somewhat old.
There is a faint noise of bubbling water coming from the building, together with the acrid smell of chemicals – but loudest noise is by far the chemical waste being flushed out of the three sluice gates.
Said gates look big enough for someone to squeeze into them… if said someone was brave or foolish enough to endure a crawl immersed in the dreadful liquid coming out of them.
Xander sighs and breaks out his tools to test the locks.
"Milo, give me a hand here."
Milo leans against the door with his arms crossed and Helpfully Advises Xander on how to pick a lock. As if having all your family blithering in your head weren't enough!
…a bit more to the left… there you go…
No stop! Just stop! What are you telling him! It’s way too far to the left, poor boy will break the lockpick…
The lockpick can take it! I once escaped a dungeon using only a broken porkchop bone and…
“So you see, it’s less of a push” says Milo nonchalatly “and more like a gentle tap. The tool should tickle the mechanism…”
This boy knows what he’s talking about. Listen to him.
This boy won’t be able to open an egg using a wooden ladle, just like you, cousin. Use some of that strength, Xander, I’ll guarantee…
That’s funny coming from someone who once got locked into his own armory…
That didn’t… it was my sister who… and we were seven, for the Lady’s Spire, I don’t think…
With a hint of exasperation on his face, Xander wipes the rain from his brow, and with a loud CLACK! the lock concedes. A powerful, acrid smell of bubbling middenstone invests you as the doors open, strong enough to make your eyes water.
As agreed beforehand, it is Varta and Mavro who take the lead entering the building.
The old Pathfinder and the dwarven maiden find themselves in a hot, humid and foul smelling pit of a room. Roughly 30x30 feet, the room sports a ridiculously high ceiling – almost forty full feet, and the only openings are the door you just opened and its twin on the southern wall. Lit by glass lanterns, it is still hard to see well inside of the room due to the fumes and smoke tainting the room.
Three walls are high and void of openings safe for the doors; however the northern wall goes only up to three quarters of the height of the ceiling. Two flights of stairs go up, and it seems that the room they end up in is much higher above the one you are currently in – a crude metal banister prevents people from falling down in your room.
The room is sparsely furnished – just a sturdy table in the middle with bricks methodically piled on it, as if ready for a delivery, together with a few tools.
Among the fumes, you can see a network chains, ropes and pulleys dangling from the timbers that hold up the ceiling.
Xander has a hard time keeping a straight face while he works. Once the lock gives he backs up and waits for the others to go ahead saying quietly. "Thanks. Now hush or I'm going to be laughing my way through this disgusting place and everyone is going to think I'm strange."
"It's clear. The rest of you can come in - the only thing liable to kill you in here is the damned stench," Mavro says, his face even more wrinkled than usual. The odor was indeed acrid, but it was not quite bad as the foulness they encountered earlier in the day. Perhaps he just wanted (or needed) yet another reason to complain.
Losing interest in the apparently inconspicuous room, the magus climbs the stairway on the right and tests the door without opening it.
Milo goes to the further of the two stairs leading up, padding quietly up the stairs and peering into the large chamber beyond.
Tempest spurs Stormcloud up into the building, keeping a wary eye out, and keeping the words of a particularly nasty spell fresh on her lips. Stormcloud pads silently forward, soft paws making next to no sound.
Varta looks around carefully
The stench and humidity in the air here is cloying and choking as you walk up the stairways to the northern room. The doors are unlocked and just drawn near. As you peer into the large room your eyes water abundantly and a small retch comes up in your mouth – the smell of chemicals is getting worse with every step.
There is no proper floor in this room , only a series of five-foot wide middenstone walkways passing along and over a series of pits ten feet below. The ground is obscured by a layer of foul-smelling, bubbling water through which a tangle of violet middenstone pipes weave. Numerous huge metal cauldrons containing a nasty, bubbling violet sludge simmer in the pits, each vat cradled in a nest of steaming pipes. Above, the open ceiling is a tangle of timbers, ropes, chains, and pulleys, many bearing hooks sized for the rings around the cauldron rims below. Ropes and slippery ladders descend into the morass below every five feet along the edges of the slippery walkways, while to the north is a warehouse containing bins of coal, barrels, cages, and other supplies. Beyond this, a huge steaming furnace churns and roars under an upraised observation deck.
Four work in the northern part of the room (two feeding coal into the furnace while the other two work the pumps that keep hot water circulating through the pipes), and the other four lumber about in the pit below, moving from middenstone cauldron to middenstone cauldron and stirring the contents with iron rods.
Milo half-lowers his sword-- then his eyes pick up on all the horrible details.
"Undead," he hisses to the others, and the rapier is up again in a quick flick of an eye. Milo hates the undead as only a native son of Ustalav can. His feet are already moving.
"Do we need more proof of Myre's corruption? This is proof enough as far as I care!" he calls, as he darts for the nearest 'man'.
Everyone is a bit surprised when Milo screams and darts against the workers.
The Ustalavian rake doesn't even have the time to regret his decision in the fury of the charge: he slips for a second on the wet walkway, but quickly regains his balance. The chemical fumes, however, make breathing harder near the vats.
Milo quickly realizes that when his blow - dealt with a sub-optimal weapon - hits with less strength than usual; tears in his eyes make seeing difficult, and his throat and lungs burn from the fumes.
The noise of Milo's attack is enough to make the other workers turn to face the stairs where you are. They all groan, then move to attack you.
Varta moves forward and attacks the nearest zombie with her glaive.
for
Why do I never get surprise? she complains to herself. And go figure it's a man who moves prematurely. They never check to see how the other person is doing before they shoot off.