Pharasma slouches towards Ravengro, after the unfortuanate passing of my father, Profesor Petros Lorrimor. In his will, he has asked that you attend to his funeral party, and listed you as a benificiary to his estate. The proceedings will commence on the 7th of Sarenith, once everyone has assembled at the Restlands, outside of Ravengro.
Signed, Kendra Lorrimor
With the wax seal cracked open only three weeks ago, the news of the Professor's death is still fresh in everyone's mind. It is a cool summer morning, the sun slow to rise, and the normal chittering of birds scaled back to a few somber peeps and chirps. Huddled near the rusted and pitted wrought iron entrance to the Restlands is a group of people dressed in black and grays. Beside them sits an ornate wooden coffin.
The group consists of three men, a young boy and two women. Two of the men are old. The first one is short and pudgy, sporting several chins. He's constantly wiping his pale, sweaty face and neck with a well-used rag. The second is tall, broad in the shoulders, with a thick head of silver hair and well-manicured goatee, who keeps stealing sideways glances at any women within eyeshot. Both of them are wearing black suits.
The third man is middle-aged, and has the proportions of a barrel. Bloodshot eyes, and short brown hair in disarray, with crumbs of food in his thick handlebar mustache, he appears to be the least comfortable near the graveyard, as he casts nervous looks at the nearby gravestones. He keeps his arm around the young boy next to him. Where the man is portly, the boy is skinny as a pole, but they share enough facial features to indicate that there's a close relation. One of the women is petite, in her late 30s. Her auburn hair has been pulled back into a tight bun. Pushing her wire-framed spectacles up the bridge of her nose, she fidgets with a book clasped in her hands, crossed across her chest.
The other woman is tall, attractive, in her mid-twenties. She's wearing a conservative red dress and has her milk chocolate hair pulled up into a loose bun. Her eyes are black, like she hasn't been sleeping. Her almond-colored eyes are red and puffy, as if she had been crying recently. Looking up as you approach, she forces herself to smile. "Oh, hello. I'm Kendra Lorrimor. You must be one of the beneficiaries of the will. Might I have your name?"
The gathered crowd stops talking amongst themselves and look up, watching the newcomers cautiously.
"Vitaliy Vladovich at your service. I'm sorry for your loss miss." mumbles a raspy voice from behind a cloth face wrap. Covered from head to toe in a thick, dark grey robe and cowl, the figure awkwardly bows. He then shuffles off to the side, avoiding eye contact where ever possible. While not made of a fine material, the cloth appears recently washed and hangs at odd angles as its wearer moves.
A young woman with auburn hair approaches, her head down. She is dressed in flowing white robes with black trim, and clutches a holy symbol of Desna in her hand.
When it is her turn to speak with Kendra, she steps forward lightly, and offers a sad smile, "I am so sorry for your loss, Miss Lorrimor. I knew your father only in passing, and I do wish that I knew him better. But I am sure that he is in a better place now, and looking upon us with a smile. Please accept my truest condolences."
She then moves slowly to stand next to Vitaliy, looking sideways at him every once in a while with a curious look.
Echo trudges the last couple miles along to Ravensgro with her brow constantly furrowed in deep thought. Possibilities of what could or should have been keep crossing her mind. It wasn't until she stumbled through a mud puddle that she lifted her thoughts out of her reverie.
She looked down at her muddy boots and sighed. I guess that will just complete my look for today. No time to clean up for the funeral. I'll barely be on time as it is. As she lifted her eyes from the ground she saw that she was nearing Ravengro, and even more importantly the Restlands where Prof. Lorimoor awaited his final internment.
When Echo took her final steps into view of the Restlands, she did not cut an impressive figure. She wore her chain shirt, which had sweat and grime from traveling on it, and generally appeared to be a disheveled mess with her dark hair dangling in knots, tied up only so it was out of her eyes. She looked at the other people attending with curious glances. Shortly after the Holy Woman had expressed her condolances, Echo found herself gave to face with Kendra. "I'm truly sorry for your loss. I only wish I could have known your father better."
When Echo joined the crowd, many would have expected such a sloppy woman to give off a poor odor. Instead she smelled a bit like warm lavender, odd for one so poorly taken care of.
Viktoria exhales a puff of white smoke into the cool grey morning, drops the remainder of the rolled tobacco into the slick mud and stamps out any lingering embers. With a sigh of resignation, she grabs her walking stick and begins a somber trudge towards the gates of the restlands.
As she rounds the corner, and the restlands come into view Viktoria sees the gathered attendees.
"Not much of a turn out I see. Well, I'm here my dear Professor..."
Viktoria is tall and narrow waisted, with pale skin and long black hair that is covered by a weathered tri-corn cap. Bright green eyes, and a sharp nose lend a small measure of beauty to her otherwise plain features. She wears simple grey breeches with high boots, a long white over-tunic which shows the wrinkles of being packed for travel, along with a well-worn leather coat. A symbol of Pharasma hangs delicately from her slender neck.
Walking up, careful to avoid any large spots of mud, Viktoria approaches Kendra. "Your Father spoke of you many times in his letters, it is a sad thing that we should first meet under these circumstances Ms. Lorrimor. You have my sincerest sympathies, your father was a dear man."
Vitaliy fidgets uncomfortably under the scrutiny of the Desnite.
"Oh yes, pardon me, you asked for my name. I am Viktoria Savitskya. I met your father after he gave a lecture while I was in University." Viktoria walks with an air of dignity despite the grim events of the day. Stepping aside, she takes up a position near the other recent arrivals, nodding at each as she takes her measure of them.
"...something is very strange about that man...a Desnite, interesting...hmm, is that, lavender? How odd...Obviously travelers, I wonder how they knew the professor.
An impossibly tall, rigid figure stomps into the Restlands. The various nicks in his well-worn studded armor, dirt in the crusted fingernails of his oversized hands and collection of weapons on his back and sides obviously portray him a traveler or mercenary. He pulls back the tattered cloak of his hood revealing the large bald head and toothy, misshapen face of an Orc.
He displays the letter Kendra sent him. In a deep and steady voice, he slowly speaks.
"I am Ulam. I comes with word from Kendra Lorrimor. I comes to pay respects to the Professor." He bows his head, pockets the letter and backs away. He re-dons the hood of his cloak and takes a position towards the back of the others. Arms crossing chest, he waits, and listens.
Kendra greets the newcomers in turn, giving you each a bracelet made of small bones. Without a word, she wraps it around your wrist, and under her breath says "For remembrance of those lost," as she fastens it.
The adults assembled make a V with their right hand (index and middle finger), and place it over their heart when Kendra says the words. They reply with "May Pharasma guide them to the light."
Stepping forward to the coffin, she turns to all of you, and asks "Who would carry my father up to-"
Her words are cut short by the screech of an old man. "The beast has many legs! Many legs the beast does have!" he shouts, then dodges behind a tree, his dirty robe snagging on a nearby bush, exposing his equally dirty skin.
Vitaliy nods in silence as he accepts the bracelet. He is just about to answer Kendra's request when the old man runs up. Vitaliy's head snaps to the left, to the direction from whence the agitated new arrival came. "What beast vexes you, venerable one?" he asks without making eye contact.
Damn if I'm not late like usual. I swear, I'll be late to my own funeral at this rate...
Pleased at the thought, Catherine picks up her pace, nearly running for the Restlands. Ducking through the high gate, she hurries toward the group gathered around the grave.
"The beast has many legs! Many legs the beast does have!"
Slipping into the small group, Catherine pulls at the edge of her jacket, covering the pistol riding on her hip. Strange old man. Still, don't want anyone thinking I'm going to start shooting or anything. That kind of thing can get out of hand in a hurry.
"Greetins Mistress Lorrimor. I'm Catherine Black of Les Betes. I saved yer pa up in the Shudderwood. Sorry that he's finally met the Lady. Sorry fer bein late, never mind me, I'll jes be over here."
Her words, clearly rehearsed, come out in a rush with neither pause nor thought behind them. Embarrassed, Catherine steps to the side, looking curiously at the madman, uncertain how to react.
Dawn watches the old man in the trees, hoping he does nothing further to disturb the ceremony.
How bizarre, and at such an inopportune moment. I hope that wasn't his plan.
She looks back to Kendra, trying to smooth the awkward situation out, and steps forward, "I'll carry your father, Kendra."
Kendra stands with her mouth open in surprise, watching the old man for a moment. The other woman clutching her book shouts out to him, "Go on, then! Get back to whatever hovel you crawled out from!" Turning to the party, she flashes a brief smile.
"Don't worry about old Antrellus, he's as mad as a badger in a trap." She looks over her shoulder as she continues, "Ignore him long enough and he'll eventually go away."
Turning back to you, a smile quivers on her lips. "I'm Jominda. It does my heart well to see the professor's influence spread to such a wide variety of people." Casting her eyes down, she dabs at her eyes with the sleeve of her dress, and goes to stand next to Kendra, holding the young Lorrimor's hand.
Seemingly unfazed by the strange man's antics, Ulam abruptly steps forward.
"I will also carry the professor." He announces. "Puh-proudly." He adds, taking a place beside the coffin.
"Does no one look after him then?" Vitaliy asks as he hefts the coffin.
Lucky I am that the professor was not so callous as his progeny when our paths crossed.
"I would be proud to carry your father on his final journey." Says Viktoria, as she attempts to ignore the man as Jominda suggested.
Dawn tries to adjust her robes so that she doesn't trip over them while carrying the coffin.
Please, Desna, don't let me trip over my own robes!
Catherine feels the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Looking around, she tries to identify what is bothering her.
Stepping up to the coffin, she silently picks up her end with her right hand, leaving her left free for her gun.
"Watch the old man, he's got a bad reputation in town with leaving traps lying around for people," Catherine whispers to the others.
Echo goes over and takes one of the relmaining handles, willing to "assist" since she would not be able to lift such a heavy load on her own. While carrying the coffin, she takes the time to survey the rest of the area.
Image of the funeral procession.
Picture of Kendra.
As the party assembles around the coffin and take their places, Jominda continues talking, though much quieter now. "The old man takes care of himself. Been living in the woods since that ugliness..." She cuts herself off, staring at the ground, chewing on her lower lip as the other townsfolk glare at her.
Up the walkway into the Restlands, the sound of a violin strikes up a melancholy hymn.
With the coffin lifted, Kendra moves ahead of the party to take her place leading the procession. "Father Grimburrow is waiting at the grave. It shouldn't take long to get there." Looking up the hill, you see a trio of figures on the far side of the cemetery.
Red hardly seems the proper color for a funeral but then, this is an odd one, isn't it? What could this damn fool of a Professor have that would make coming all the way down here worthwhile? Was he really that accomplished if he wanders into the Shudderwood, no matter how many guards he brings with him?
Her left hand keeps twitching upward toward her pistol unconsciously as her eyes narrow. Perhaps the coffin will provide some cover if shooting starts.
Vitaliy's head pans around to find the source of the music. He notices Catherine's uneasiness and and hopes that her ire isn't directed at his person.
The funeral party makes it's way along the gravel path (known as The Eversleep), where they see a female elf playing the fiddle. Her jet-black hair is in sharp contrast with her pale skin, which seems to shimmer in the morning sun. Wearing a black ankle-length dress with slits running up the legs to her thighs, she joins the funeral procession when they pass.
Rounding a curve in the path, the party comes across a dozen or so people blocking the road. Armed with pitchforks, shovels, and various other makeshift weapons, they look like they're itching for a fight.
One of the men steps forward, receiving pats on the back and shoulders as he steps away from the group.
"I think that's far enough," he bellows. "We been talkin', and we don't want to see no Lorrimor buried up here in the Restlands. You can take 'im upriver and bury him there if'n you want, but he ain't goin' in no ground here!"
Kendra's veil of shadows dissolves in a matter of moments. She shrugs off the sadness which quickly transforms into anger. Fists clenched, she nearly spits out her words. "What are you talking about? I arranged it with Father Grimburrow. He's waiting for us! The grave's already been..."
"You don't get it, woman. We won't have a necromancer buried alongside our kin. I suggest you move on out while you still have the chance. Folks are pretty upset about this funeral right now."
Kendra stands still, her mouth agape. "N..Necromancy!? You can't really be that ignorant."
"Necromancer?" Vitaliy lets the word hang in the air. "You think him a necromancer? Blustering simpletons such as yourselves would not know a necromancer if one stood right before you. No. The professor could not be farther from your accusation. Everlasting shame upon your houses for the indignity you seek done this night. Return to your homes and trouble this procession no more." The cloth shrouded man stands tall as he speaks and grips the coffin ever more tightly in his conviction.
Dawn looks troubled at the crowd before them. As soon as the first one steps forward and pronounces that the professor should be buried upriver, she speaks in a strong voice, "I do not know you, nor you I, but I knew the Professor briefly. Whatever quarrel you had with him is in the past. Let us bury him in peace. We do not seek violence, only to let the deceased move on under Pharasma's protection. I ask only this of you."
Looking at each member of the crowd, she asks again, "Please, just let us bury our friend and be finished. I believe he would have done the same for you."
Ulam's body tenses up as he casts his eyes toward the ground. Well aware the very presence of an orc might goad the crowd on further, he lets the others take the lead on this.
Wait...listen...
As voices are raised, Echo's heart thumps faster inside her chest and muscles clench in rage. She can even imagine her blood boiling as her anger builds as these people impede what should be considered a holy and gods given moment to the departed. How could they! If only... If only... but no. I'm sure that I could mop the floor with these men, but then I'd probably never be able to get some answers from Kendra. I need to know, I just need to keep the peace as long as I can.
Echo audibly exhales in an attempt to quell her anger, knowing that nothing good could come from an armed conflict against this mob.
Implements of violence are lowered, as the mob look to each other, and stare at Dawn. There are nods of agreement about the professor helping out their families, and the group slowly dissipates.
Jominda steps forward to stand with Kendra, and berates the leader of the group. "Gibs...don't be thinking your good wife is going to get any of that discount when she needs my herbs."
The older man glowers at her, spitting in her general direction. "You were probably in cahoots with that 'doctor'...bringing sin to the good folk of Ravengro with your witchery." He pushes his way through the funeral party, and continues over his shoulder. "These lot won't be here long, Jominda," indicating the PCs. "There will come a day when the county judge will want names, and I'll be sure he has yours."
He hastens his pace while the party is occupied with the coffin, and sets off at a jog down the pathway.
Once Gibs is out of sight, Kendra bursts into tears again. "Can't they just leave him to his rest?" Jominda holds her close, and waits to release her until her sobbing stops.
Catherine allows her hand to briefly leave the gun at her side. Mobs with pitchforks are new to her and holding ire for the dead seems misplaced.
"Fangs in the nighht and shuffling undead feet leave no time for these trivialities. Still, we must watch this night to make sure he stays down and if he doesn't, we'll have to put him back down again.
Catherine does not speak loudly enough for the locals to hear.
"It is over, doushenka." Vitaliy consoles the grieving daughter. "Ignorance can be a dangerous thing, but it is double edged. Do not blame them for their disregard. Instead, pity them for the path down which it leads." His hollow eyes stare off into space and you get a sense of deep regret from the strange man.
At Catherine's suggestion, Vitaliy falters slightly. The sure hands of the others on the coffin prevent any more indignity than a slight jostle. He whispers back "No. Not this one. That would be cruelty beyond even the purvue of the gods. Unless... do any of you know how the good professor met his end?"
Kendra and Jominda walk hand-in-hand ahead of the funeral procession. The black-haired elf follows behind, starting her hymn mid-chord, as if there were no interruption.
As the party continues on their way, the sun beats angrily against their backs. What started out as a cool morning is turning into an early-summer scorcher.
The party crests a hill, where they see a withered old man dressed in black, standing between two men in dirty coveralls, shovels in their hands. The man in black steps forward to greet Kendra, who is willingly led to a seat at the head of the grave.
As you stand next to the grave, the chilled, damp earth below your feet gives off wisps of steam, which encircles your feet, giving your ankles an unholy chill which soon fades with the warming sun.
The man in black, who introduces himself as Father Grimburrow directs the party to place the coffin next to the grave, and invites you to take a seat on one of the dozen chairs arranged around the site.
With everyone assembled, Grimburrow pays last respects to Petros Lorrimor as his coffin is lowered into the ground. Grimburrow looks to Kendra, who shakily stands up, and stands at the pulpit.
She gives a summarized account of his life: The years spent as a teacher in Lepidstadt, the many journeys through Ustalav and the neighboring countries, and his final days in Ravengro, where he'd hoped to live in anonymity.
"A small handful of his associates were able to attend this heartbreaking event," as she waves her hand towards the PCs. "Would any of you care to share a story of my father? Maybe one which would lift my heart this day?"
Dawn stands up and walks to the pulpit, head lowered and hands clasped in front of her. As she stands at the pulpit, she takes a moment to compose herself before looking at those gathered for the Professor. Why so few, I wonder...
Clearing her throat, she speaks in a clear voice so that all may hear, "I did not know Petros Lorrimor well, I'm afraid, but we did spend some time together discussing various things. It was what he truly lived for, I think, searching for these different viewpoints than his own. We would discuss many topics, ranging from philosophy, to religion, to politics."
She smiles fondly in remembrance, "He was a good man, and never told you that you were wrong. He only sought knowledge, and how different people looked at different ideals. And he was a brave man, willing to cede his own viewpoints if what was presented before him made more sense or provided solid proofs."
She looks down at the fresh grave sadly, "The world will be that much smaller for his loss. May Desna guide you in your travels to Pharasma's arms, my friend."
Brushing at her eyes, she retakes her seat.
What am I to get up and say - that the damn fool needed rescuing after going into the Shudderwood with foreign bodyguards? That he should have ended his life as dog food on that day and every day since was borrowed time? Best if I sit here and keep an eye on this hooded one. He's a bit too jumpy around the mention of walking carrion for my comfort and maybe he's responsible for the stories surrounding this Professor.
Seeing no other volunteers, Vitaliy shuffles up to the podium. He simply stares at the audience for several seconds. Finally composing himself, his dry voice barely makes it across the hill. "When I first met Professor Lorrimor, I must admit that I did not think much of him. Of course, I didn't think much of anyone back them, except as..." He stops mid sentence, rethinking his turn of phrase.
"I was at my lowest point. A lost soul beyond my depth. Any other man would have simply put me out of my misery. But not Lorrimor. Where others found only ugliness, he found wonder. Where others showed hatred, he showed mercy. To put it simply, he saved me." Vitaliy looks to the coffin below. "I owe you everything my friend, but never had the chance to repay your kindess."
Returning his gaze to those assembled, he concludes "The world may be smaller at his loss, but it can be greater still if we can all follow his example."
Feeling a bit embarrased and exposed at his own pontificating, Vitaly hunches down and shuffles back down to his seat.
A few moments after the last speaker, Echo awkwardly walks over and stands behind the pulpit. Her move around uncomfortably, trying to find the right place to be. They wander from her side to the rough wood and metal of the portable podium, even holding each other at times. None of it seems right, and it makes her already rough words seem all the more unprepared.
"I didn't know the Professor for very long. Um, we only met for a few minutes one day, and it was only to get him out of a bit of trouble. Maybe he always got in trouble. Anyways, I didn't know much about him, but he said that he was a man who always, um, paid his debts. He sounded like a man who always wanted balance in the world, and to keep good to balance out the evil we all find."
Echo took a moment, and thought. She didn't know what else to say, but then she remembered part of her training at the Calistrian temple. She then simply spoke a short prayer that she had been taught for the funerals of strangers if they were found murdered.
"Byddaf yn dweud cyfiawnder y wraig am byth: â'm genau Byddaf yn dweud ei barn i ddod. Chi, er anhysbys eto oedd ei annwyl, ac wedi cael eu barnu yn gyfiawn. Gall y rhai a achosodd i chi boen ddod o hyd i'w ben yn tristwch."
After her short prayer, Echo walked right back to hear seat, sat down in a hunched over posture, and squarely set her gaze at the ground, careful to avoid all contact with others after that prayer as her cheeks burned red after thinking of the senselessness of anyone's and everyone's death.
After Echo's speech, Ulam abruptly stomps forward. He plants his feet firmly on the group and places both large hands on the wooden podium. His eyes scan the entire gathering before him and with a deep grunt, he slowly speaks. He carefully forms each word between his heavily tusked lips, taking pains to speak as nearly as articulately as those before him.
"Many human people fuh-fear me. Fear Orcs. Not Professor. Professor show me respect. Many human people are very sss-stupid. Not Professor. Professor very wise. Gods bless the puh-Professor."
He curtly bows his head and withdraws from the podium, returning to his place among the group.
After Echo returns to her seat, Father Grimburrow looks over the crowd to see if anyone else has anything to share. Seeing no one coming forward, he ends the ceremony with a prayer to Pharasma. His voice is like gravel as he gives each word reverance.
O Pharasma--Goddess of the Dead
Guide your bird, calm my soul,
Lead me to my rest.
Kendra throws a shovel of dirt into the open grave, her face a roadmap of pain and anguish. She drops the shovel, and stumbles a few steps before Jominda can help her. Arms linked, the pair walk back to the main road where they talk quietly to one another.
The black-haired elf plays a few minutes as the gravediggers fill the grave, then she wanders off to a small copse of trees, and seems to vanish into thin air.
The short, pudgy man with the handkerchief comes up to the party, and introduces himself as Vashian Hearthmount. "I assume you're the six that Lorrimor requested be present for the reading of the will?" he asks, wiping at his many chins and neck as he speaks. Before waiting for a reply, he continues on. "I have little enough time for outsiders getting muddled into the affairs of any 'locals'. I'll be at the Lorrimor estate at precisely ten o'clock. Do be on time."
With that, Vashian turns, and waddles his way down the slight incline to the road, where he turns for Ravengro. The rest of the attendees ignore any introductions that the PCs attempt to make, busying themselves with items in their pockets, the grave, or simply not acknowledging the PCs.
Jominda returns to the PCs, leaving Kendra to rest on a stone bench. "Miss Lorrimor has asked that you escort her back to her home." She stares down the hill at the young girl, and sighs. "Poor girl. I would take her home myself, but I have to return to my shop."
Echo looks at Jominda and nods. "Of course, nobody should be left alone after they have lost their family. But if I may ask, what is your shop? If Mr. Hearthmount and Mr. Gibbs are representative of how this town reacts to people who haven't lived here their entire lives, I would like to know anyone I could trust, especially someone who I could do business with if the need arises."
She also turns to Ulam and says, "Thank you for speaking so... plainly. Your honest words are refreshing in the harsh world that we live in. I'm sorry for this loss that we all share. My name is Echo. Shall we keep Miss Lorrimor safe from angry mobs for a little longer?"
Jominda's back straightens, though the pain of it lances across her face. "I'm Ravengro's apothecary...an herbalist." Watching Vashian walk away, her back eases into her normally hunched figure, "No, there are precious few who are comfortable around strangers." She pulls Echo near, and whispers to her.
She disengages from Echo, returns to Kendra, then makes her way out of the Restlands.
Ulam walks alongside Echo as the group proceeds out of the Restlands. He gargles a large amount of spit out from his throat and spits it on the ground before he speaks. "You are welcome, Echo. And I thank you. You are 'freshing, too. You are right. This world is harsh. These lands are harsh. Yes. Let's look after the yuh-young lady." He diverts his gaze directly to Kendra, then all around them, keenly searching for any more potential threats.
Viktoria approaches Echo and Ulam, her eyes slightly puffy and pink. She blurts out, very directly, "I'll follow with you, I..for Ms. Lorrimor's security."
After saying this, Viktoria drops a few steps behind the pair, turns up the collar of her leather jacket, and walks with her head bowed.
How false I am! Some of these who barely knew you were able to get up and speak in your memory. But I just stood away and wept...You were as a father to me Professor, I shall carry your memory with me always.
It is not difficult for any to see the pained expression on Viktoria's face.
Dawn walks behind the group in silence, fingering the holy symbol of Desna around her neck.
The loss of the Professor is tragic, certainly, but for what reason am I here? Why would I be in his will? We certainly had not spent any significant time with each other. I'm surprised he even still remembered me.
She looked around at the village. The demeanor of its citizens towards them did not surprise her. These were hard times in Ustalav, and especially these smaller settlements.
But why was the Professor here, of all places? So peculiar a home for such a man. I imagine he would have lived more at peace in a large city with a big library on hand. Perhaps at a university, but not in a small, out of the way town such as Ravengro.