Also dot.
Cellawyn reporting in.
Dotty dotta dot...
Indeed, the professor had died. His sentence had been served out, he had met the only irreconcilable evil, that which brands our strange fate on this land, that inexplicable fact that evens all which is alive into one single herd of condemned souls, for all which is alive, dies.
This is what Cellawyn's message read, and the contents of the others were not much different, although the conditions of the papers, by virtue of their handlers, varied greatly.
"Ravengro,
Undodecapharast 4710.
Dear Cellawyn Cayentelva,
In great sorrow I write this message to inform you that my father, + Petros Lorrimor, has passed from this life in a tragic accident.
The funeral services are to be held on Moonday, Heptagozran 4710, morning. Until the eve of the funeral, we will be in vigil, and my father will rest on the Temple of Pharasma in Ravengro.
Yours truly,
Kendra Lorrimor.
P.S.: That same day, if circumstances are favorable,
Hon. Cm. Vashian Hearthmount shall read my father's last will. You will find attached a letter from Hon. Cm. Vashian Hearthmount."
"The Municipality of Ravengro hereby invokes Cellawyn Cayentelva for the reading of the last will of the deceased Petros Lorrimor, to be held on the seventh day of Gozran of this year, at the Lorrimor Residence, in Ravengro.
The Municipality of Ravengro expects your utmost celerity in responding to this summons.
Signed in Ravengro, this undodecapharast day of 4710,
Lt. V. Hearthmount, Hon. Cm.."
Kendra's handwritten letter reached your hands, and her call reached your hearts, for you came.
It may have reached the galleries of U. Lepidstadt, which was to send a representative to transmit the condolences to Kendra.
Petros, her father, was right to name you in his last will.
What had he named you for? A fortune? An arcane heirloom? A reward?
It was of no matter, for in your hearts you had no desire for a payment when you set yourselves on the road to Ravengro (pronounced \rā-vən-ˈgrä\).
Let us see what the dead man will ask of us.
It was a fateful day, the day Professor Petros Lorrimor was buried. The doors tight shut, the Temple of Pharasma in Ravengro was the sole company to the body of Petros Lorrimor, enclosed in a fine coffin and left on that arid street by the acolytes and head priest of Pharasma, to reach the land of its last repose, not by his own volition, but by the desire of those who outlived him. Pharasma was to inspire diligence in the hearts of those who were to bear the burden of Petro Lorrimor's last earthly journey.
Who will gather to be the legs of a dead man, to take him to the northern Restlands of Ravengro?
In the comfort of her gypsy wagon, a young lady straps her doorway shut for the evening. Curiously, she glances with suspicion around her dimly lit abode, as if to ensure none are there to see what follows.
Satisfied, with a flick of the wrist, seven candles instantly flare up in her exotically decorated home. This extraordinary beauty in red and green shades smirks with pleasure as she glances about the now amply lit place.
Spotting a sealed envelope atop her rattan dresser, she approaches it. Bracelets, anklets, and jewels of pearl, silver, and red carnelian lightly jingle with her limber body's movements. She touches the framed pencil drawing of her father beside it, who looks over his beloved daughter with loving eyes from beyond the grave. Contemplating his visage, her eyes begin to water.
Seating her flexible self Vudrani style atop her Qadiran carpet, the young Varisian woman examines the envelope in her hands. Bemused, she crinkles her brows. Kendra Lorrimor... Kendra?! His daughter? Why would she write to me? Why not him...
Memories of a recent dream come back to her conscious awareness now. Gods, no... Please, no!
She swiftly opens the envelope. Intently, she reads the letter in silence. A moment into it, she gasps swiftly as her hand reflexively covers her mouth. Brows raised, her eyes water. Again.
A few tears make their mark on the letter, adding to those left by the late professor's daughter before it's trip to Varisia...
...
Some several mornings later, the young woman hauls her large leather satchel over her shoulder. After grasping her walking staff, she gives herself a once over, then hugs and kisses her wandering companions one last time. Thanking them for accompanying her all this way to Ustalav in safety, the young gypsy woman somberly carries on down the road to a small town called Ravengro...
Mirelenza sits at a table in a faceless inn in yet another faceless village. She knows she's doing Sarenrae's work in a very small way but that undercurrent of a weakness of faith keeps nagging away in the back of her mind.
'A sign...not a big one. Nothing too grand but a sign...please. Am I doing the right thing? Do you want me to carry on this work in your good name? Is there a greater good I need to perform? Is it not true that silver and gold are the same with your eyes closed? Have I been blind to your will?'
As she sat in complete silence, her drink untouched, a courier enters the inn. A glance around the room is all he needs to identify the paladin. He walks over and hold out a letter. 'You're a tough one to track down. I had to follow the trail of dead undead bodies. Is that how they're described?"[b]
Mirelinza tugs the note from his hand and filps it over to break the seal (recognising it to be from Profesor Lorrimor).
[b]"I redeem the ignorant with words and actions. If they will not turn toward the light, I redeem them by the sword." The word trip off her tongue like the well-rehearsed speech it is. She hasn't finished speaking before her brain is focussed on the words on the page. By the time she looks up, the courier is gone.
Mirelinza pulls at the holy symbol around her neck. [i]'A sign was welcomed - but not this one. Why oh why him? Is this my calling? What a stupid question. I will do your bidding. Ravengro? Ravengro? Near Lake Lias I remember the professor saying.'[/b]
Ignoring her drink, she goes to collect her belongings and begin her journey, filled with sadness for the professor's death and a growing curiosity as to what Sarenrae has in store for her.
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Zelda returns to the locksmith shop once again, Tired but satisfied with a job well done.
"Mrs. Sutter's chest is unlocked again. I really wish she would keep a spare key, but then again I am sure she would lose that one as well." she says with a sigh.
"Oh well I guess it is people like that, that keeps us in business!"
Scott the owner looks at her with sorrow. "This came while you were away. I am so sorry!" he says as he quietly hands her a letter.
Zelda looks at Scott strangely "Why are you sorry about a letter" she asks.
As she opens the letter her expression changes from curiosity to sadness and then tears.
"How many people have been saved by that man! How many will die because he is no longer here!" she exclaims.
"I am sorry Scott but I have to go. Take care of yourself and thank you for all you have done for me."
Zelda quickly packs her things a prepares to leave for the funeral.
Cellawyn walks into mist shrouded streets of Ravengro and surveys the shuddered buildings. The city remains the same as it always has. She pauses and contemplates the predawn silence. The city still sleeps. The people aren't aware of the doom that lies on the horizon. The Professor couldn't wake them from their torpor. Now that he's gone, the killing will begin. Perhaps that will wake them from their slumber.
Cellawyn pulls her hood down over face and walks to the cemetery. Professor, dear friend, I will avenge your death.
Indeed, the hooded Cellawyn walked to the cemetery, brewing thoughts of revenge against the unknown forces (of nature? of misfortune?) which had reclaimed Petros's life. From the Outward Inn, where she was lodged from the late arrival the previous night, she went south along the creek -- she had been given wrong directions, or, at least, been told the long way to the cemetery.
A hot spring day was the Heptagozran, 4710. The morning air was mild, with the mists of the fresh and silent night lain over the streets of Ravengro and the surrounding landscape, a green land stretching itself in unpronounced hills over many miles.
The village still slept: the thick, wooden window panels of the modest masonry peasant dwellings were tight shut; the small sowing areas and pastures felt vast and empty.
Aside from the cold, ever-flowing water of the creek which traversed Ravengro from south to north (branching from the Vistear into Lake Lias, whence it again ran into the Vistear), the only movement was due to a few stray dogs who roamed in search of food, but, even then, most of the large number of stray dogs populating the streets of Ravengro idled in the morning chill, scattered wherever they decided to lie down.
(One's mind would be often be taken by the strange idea that if suddenly any of the dogs became hostile, and the others started to mirror that single dog's behavior, one could find oneself significantly outnumbered by a vicious urban pack, with hardly anywhere to run, or enough stamina to fend them all off.)
As Cellawyn resumed her northbound walk after crossing two bridges, over a branching stream and then over the creek, she ran into the lone coffin of Petros Lorrimor, in front of the Temple of Pharasma. The building, large for Ravengro standards, stood nearly one hundred and eighty feet long and two hundred and ten wide. Its walls presented stained-glass windows along the sides and above the three southeast-facing entrances, showing motifs of death, birth, fate and prophecy. The architecture of the building was hardly up to the beauty of the gargantuan, elaborate style of the Temple in Caliphas, which displayed its sustaining arcs as ribs of an oversized stony carcass, a reminder of death and dread that only Pharasma could make pleasant to the eye.
Atop the dark-blue steepled-hat tower, sat a pole with a thin, long light-blue silk flag, coiled around it by human hands. Every dusk the acolyte set the flag in its coiled position around the pole, and every night and day the wind slowly undid it. A similar, but smaller, version of the flagpole was set by the wall of the Temple, close to the coffin.
(Pharasmin tradition held that the pall-bearers and the procession was to set itself without directions from the head priest of the locality. All that he could do was to wait in the Restlands, and the people would ask him to perform the funeral rites on the ones brought to them.
Custom had shifted from the traditional ways, in manner but not in essence, so in the morning of a burial, the acolytes would set the coffin in front of the Temple, close the building and leave with the head priest to the Restlands, and they waited at the burial site for the procession to arrive.)
(The procession would start when there were enough pall-bearers, at least four, in the case of Petros Lorrimor's coffin, as well as a flagbearer, who will then guide the group throughout the town or city towards the Restlands, with people joining the walk along the way.)
Thus, there stood Cellawyn by the closed coffin, the first one to arrive for the funeral of Petros Lorrimor.
Cellawyn nods at Zelda, "I regret to say that it is. Yes, it appears that several of the Professor's close students and friends will be pallbearers or flagbearers." Cellawy pauses to wipe the tears from her eyes. "I'm Cellawyn by the way. How did you know the Professor?"
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Zelda quietly pulls the hood of her cloak down.
"I am Zelda Lamplighter, I grew up in a town called . The town was hit by a plague or should I say a plague was brought to my town. The professor saved the survivors from starvation. I owe my life to him, and now it appears I owe it to his daughter.
Zelda tried to put forth a brave face. "I will repay the him, or at least his daughter for the life he gave me, somehow."
Zelda looks down at the casket sadly "I thought I had more time. More time to let him know my life was worth saving"
She turns her head trying to hide the tears.
In the early morning light while the mists were still high in the air a girl whimsically by the river, fruitlessly casting her line again and again into the slow waters. The act of casting and receiving nothing for her act had become automated for her, simply going through the motion of it, cast after cast, until she felt something cold rub against her leg. Looking down with a start she saw a bottle floating in the water, having been stopped in its course by her one of dainty legs she had dipped into refreshing stream to soothe them. "You are not a fishy." She will say with a tang of annoyance in voice, punctuated by the erratic chewing on of a reed she had plucked from the riverbed.
Finding the bottle stopped as she plucks it from the waters she will struggle with it for a moments before finally releasing the innards of the makeshift vessel, a rolled up note, or rather, a rolled up rather exquisite letter, sealed. And signed to her. Looking around in bewilderment to see if whoever had sent her the letter in a bottle had still remained nearby. Finding no one she will go about opening and reading the the letter.
In the hours far exceeding what would be needed to read the one page piece of parchment the only difference in Naught's form or expression is the gradual slacking of her jaw, allowing her chewing reed to eventually fall out into the waters below. The soft [i]bloop[/b] is enough to break her reverie as she finally folds up the letter and puts it away in her robes before gathering the rest of her fishing equipment. "To Ravegro we go..."
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Arriving at the temple of Pharasma a lot later than she would had hoped she approaches a coffin flanked by two beautiful women. The women dressed in a robe more befitting a hermit contrasted with her choice of headgear, a large brimmed conical hat that become bent with age and a pair of rose colored glasses, both during well to hide her face and head. As she comes closer she becomes visibly tentative as her mouth tries to from words. "Is this the procession for Petros?"
Mirelinza wondered if she was the last to arrive as others seem to be in place for the funeral procession. Seeing only a couple of people were currently pallbearers, she moved towards the coffin, hoping to pay her respects in the most dignified way she could see fit. Ahead of her another woman seems to have the same idea.
'I wonder who sent the letter?' Mirelinza's throughts wandered as she scanned those present to identify Kendra.
Wishing she'd had time to dust off her armour, Mirelinza steps up to the group and wonders if the newcomer is a woman or a girl? The marks on her face suggest the former. 'That's a face that's seen life.'
"Greetings," Mirelinza adds once the short woman has spoken. "And I was wondering the same thing. And if I may be so bold, is there room for another pallbearer. It's the least I can do to honour the life of someone I would like to count as a friend."
As the day's first light shines through the small window of her rented room at the Outward Inn, it lands gently upon Aliseya's angelic, sleeping face. But she shoos the ray away, and gentle sun dust whirls about in the chaotic wake of her hand. Grumpy-faced and groaning, she turns over in her comfortable bed, facing away from the offending brightness.
Ugh. What a most ungodsly hour to awaken! If it were but for ANYONE else, dear professor...
A teardrop sheds to the pillow.
She sighs. Well then. I'd best get up, don't want to be late for his funeral.
Half an hour of turning to and fro later, sleeping beauty rises from her bed.
I wonder what I will wear. Ack! Only brought two outfits... and I don't think they'd really appreciate THAT one at a FUNERAL. Hmpf. Well, I do believe I spotted a clothing store on the way, not far from here... SHOOO-O-O-PING!
Smiling, Aliseya gets a move on it. Dressed, bejeweled, hair brushed, mouth rinsed, perfumed, room straightened out, and ten-pound handbag packed and shouldered, she takes her leave.
...
Passing over a bridge, Aliseya is lost in thought, oblivious to the middle-aged man walking past her. Dropping his jaw on sight of her, it takes the astounded man several seconds before remembering to look away... and the smoldering red-faced woman walking beside him, she did not fail to notice one lingering second of her husband's folly.
Aliseya hears a man cry out in pain behind her as she reaches the other side of the bridge. She turns to see him rubbing the back of his head, and an angry woman walking briskly away from him. She wonders to herself what that was about, then carries on, returning to her thoughts.
Oh! I just LOOOVE this. Not my usual style, but it IS such a nice weave... and black WOULD be more appropriate, I suppose. And it was SO nice of that nice man to open his shop early for me, too.
Oh, hello... Spotting several gathered before the gothic temple down the road, Aliseya pauses to take in the sight of the temple. Turning her attention to the gathering, she then approaches...
...
A young woman approaches a bit later than the others. As she nears them, her extraordinary beauty becomes most apparent. Those who know of the wandering Varisian gypsies of the west may recognize her rather exotic style of attire. Others may mistake her for an eccentric dresser... or perhaps a harlot. A finely woven black shawl of delicate linen is wrapped around her upper body. It covers much of the bright red silk shawl of fine quality embroidery wrapped around her beneath. Together, they cover most of her torso, arms, and hang down to mid-thigh. Jewelry of pearls, silver, and red carnelians decorate her ears, wrists, ankles, and neck. Vertically slitted green pants and sandals complete her loose-fitting summer outfit.
Smiling kindly, she introduces herself to the women before her. The scent of a mild perfume wafts into their nostrils.
"Hi, I'm Aliseya. Might this be the gathering for the late Professor Lorrimor? And did someone say we need pall bearers?"
In a place immediately north of the Outward Inn whose placard simply read Goods, the salesperson seemed less than willing to do business with Aliseya. The shopping was not nearly as enjoyable as she initially expected. Nonetheless, coin still held its value in Ravengro as much as anywhere else in Ustalav, so, for a total of eleven shields , Alseya spent a nearly-refreshing night at the local inn, and also sported a black linen shawl.
Those who waited for long enough by the coffin, and who were not too distressed to feel a bit... wishing that the funeral would start, would have noticed a large wooden log jutting out of the ground with three sheets of paper nailed to it.
One was Kendra's note of Petros Lorrimor's passing, but clearly not in her own handwriting. Its contents were similar to the those of the letters sent out by the daughter.
A second note could be barely read due to the degrading effects of repeated rain, and, from the other, one could read a text in large print, namely Wealday Parchment, a short excerpt about the city council meeting to take place the day after, and some price quotes for local crops.
A boy, in his early teens, arrived shortly before Aliseya. He studied the odd crowd of ladies from out of town, dazzled in a mix of curiosity and teenage interest in good-looking women who were but a few years older than himself.
After waiting for Aliseya's arrival, whom he saw coming in the distance, the boy, with a stern brow of formality, grabbed the flagpole of Pharasma placed against the wall, and started walking.
The pallbearers knew this was their cue to follow: the funeral march had started.
The day was silent and in the late hours of that morning, the town seemed less active than one would expect. Whereas one would imagine that women would be by the creek doing the laundry and collecting water, and that the men would be working the fields, the windows of the houses remained shut, the kids did not come out, and only the many dogs circulated the streets.
The procession started northbound, with two men in military attire joining shortly after. The two seemed to be close in age, but the one who came out of his house, north of the Temple, seemed better-disposed than the sweaty, fat gentleman who strode to catch up with the procession from south of the Temple, and now gasped in between whispers to his comrade. One could see that from their expressions the death of Lorrimor had, too, been a toil to them.
At a northernmost cross in the small town, the procession took a turn to the right -- unexpectedly, to the pallbearers, who then realized they would have to carry the heavy burden around Ravengro at least once. The crowd proceeded in silence, only their steps marking their movement over the gravel streets east of the creek.
Without stopping or slowing down, the boy marched forward with the flagpole, past a gazebo in a small square around which were the general store and the Outward Inn. From another building, signed Apothecary, emerged a woman in her late twenties, in deep sorrow, sad enough that outsiders would have though her to be Kendra Lorrimor, were it not for her apparent age. Consoling her came a tall, corpulent man in ordinary clothing, who then moved ahead of the procession, placed his hand on the teenager's shoulder and a kissed his hair. He seemed less affected than the others, but his exhausted eyes betrayed in him the grief of that morning.
Kendra was the last one to join the procession. All could see her standing in a black dress, with her hair tied up, and a cold face, by the porch of her simple house. She seemed to study the strangers, surprised not to see any man in the group, but with some reserved relief that at least someone had come. She also observed the locals that accompanied her dead father, and it took her a minute to realize that the procession had stopped in front of her house, it seemed as though she waited for them to pass, just like any other funeral processions she had grown used to seeing over those years.
Reality struck her hard, when she recalled that her father was not in his study, reading.
Then, the procession circled around town, passing in front of the Temple of Pharasma, and then leaving the city through the north exit, towards the Restlands.
The burial grounds were at a slightly elevated area, and carrying the coffin up the slope was a straining effort, especially after the 1.15-mile circle around Ravengro. The second mile walked to reach the cemetery was certainly the harder.
Yet the walk uphill was not complete, for when the members in the procession were about two hundred feet away from the Restlands, they could see twice as large a group walking down from there, bearing rakes and scythes and shovels and pieces of wood.
Ahead of those stark local farmhands, at a faster pace, came the tallest, an elderly man not less discontent than the others, and he came yelling from a few feet away, with his arms wide open, as if blocking the way "I'll have to ask ya to step away."
As he quickly continues his approaching stride, so does the group of men behind him, and he adds "We been talking, and we don't want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You can take him upcreek and bury him there if you want, but he ain't goin' in the ground here, and you ain't goin' back with that procession into our town either!"
Naught, regrettably too short to be a Pallbearer for the late proffessor had been walking solemnly behind the procession as it made its way through Ravengro into the Restlands. Upon seeing the group of townsfolk start to approach them she is at first relieved to see that more poeple had come to see Petros laid to rest. As the leader of the group talks the relief soon changes to confusion and then annoyance and finally brimming with anger. "What... In Hell?!?! What is the meaning of this!" As the anger in her voice shows her right hand instinctively starts to twitch, predicting its need to grab the trusty axe she had strapped to her back.
Mirelinza shoots the group a stare. 'Is this what passes for hospitality in this town?'. She bites her lip, as she knows diplomacy isn't her strong suit.
She then considers the short woman, who is the first to speak up. 'This one's got a short fuse, someone had better step in before things get past the point of no return.'
When Corvus saw the woman's hand start to twitch, she wanted to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder - but didn't know her well enough to risk it. Instead...
"We have travelled far to bury our dear friend." There was no attempt to defuse the situation - it was instead a hope to play for time, to start dialogue and perhaps for someone with a silver tongue to step in before weapons were drawn.
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Zelda looks up.
"This is a funeral, not a place to fight. The gods are watching us now. Is this how you want them to see you?
Are you sure Pharasmin will be please with your actions?
We all know this is not true. Let us past to bury our dead as Pharasmin would wish us to do."
Zelda says quietly but sternly.
Keeping her hand on the coffin, Cellawyn barks orders at the unruly mob, "Back away from the funeral possession or we will forcibly remove you! We will not tolerate you disrespecting the professor!"
Cellawyn turns to her fellow pallbearers and whispers, "This may get out of control. We need to deal with this. Let's put the coffin down on three."
Biting her lip at the prospect for this inflammatory situation to erupt into a fight, Aliseya attempts to diffuse their anger by appealing to their baser instincts.
A mildly seductive expression, appearing to be innocent in intent, comes across her smiling face. With a sweet tenor, "Now, now. Why don't we all stay calm. Yes? I'm sure this must be a great misunderstanding..."
Aliseya winks in agreement to Cellawyn's whispered suggestion. She lowers the coffin in sync with the other pall bearers. But as she does so, she appears to innocently position her lower body in ways that would, shall we say, become the subject of the mens' staring. Perhaps this will endear her to them, and knock down their resolve a peg or two out of the desire to please her...
Sense motive:
In spite of Cellawyn's ferocious roars in full military strictness, which briefly pushes shakens the men's morale, and causes their rakes to waiver and their shovels to lower, the farmers stand ground, and their "leader" adds "The same to ya, lady! You are heading into trouble if you're try'na bury 'im in our Restlands!"
Aliseya's beauty, on the other hand, seemed to have been less effective than Cellawyn's ferocious threat, for although her appearance indeed was dazzling, that was not a situation in which those man were paying attention to, or even thinking about such things.
The farmers seem resolved not to accept the burial of Petros Lorrimor, but, when the pallbearers motion to put the coffin down, it becomes clear that they want to settle things by force.
In a fraction of a second the volatile situation erupts into the violence of a combat against six RAVENGRO THUGS who charge against the procession.
Mirelinza will look to lower the coffin - a body spilling out onto the ground won't win favours from any quarters.
Mirelinza sighs at the speed with which the situation has escalated. 'The blonde woman seemed to have it under control and then we had to go and threaten them!'
Regardless of what the others do, Mirelinza will look to lower the coffin carefully - compensating if any of the others simply let it go.
As she does so, she says out loud. ""The strength of the sun shall guide me through the fog of mortal words."
Mirelinza will make no attempt to draw a weapon and is prepared to take the first blow undefended.
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Zelda shakes her head in sadness. I have seen so much needless death and now we will see more. I could have talked them down I know I could she thinks sadly.
"ONE MORE DEATH IN THIS TOWN THAT NEEDS NO MORE DEATH, SHAME ON YOU. Your families will dearly miss you." she yells as she carefully lowers the casket then draws her weapons.
You see the other members of the procession back off, in order to avoid confrontation.
The fat military man barks, outraged, "Mr. Hephenus! What do you think you are doing? You all stand down at once! This kind of behavior in Ravengro will not be tolerated!"
The other military man seems willing to step in the middle of the two crowds and stop the fight, but he hesitates...
The flagbearer is soon snatched by his father as he yells "This is madness! We should discuss this around a table, not at arms! I know all of you, you are all reasonable men!"
The lady who came from the apothecary shop seems more concerned about what the outsiders are about to do, and adds, with a tone of powerlessness, to those around her, "Let us hope these strangers are also reasonable. It looks like they are going for blood."
After all the threats issued from the outsiders, and after the paladin's war chant, Kendra seems convinced that a slaughter is about to take place, and she yells in great, great distress "No, shame on YOU, how come do you threaten the lives of farm men? In what kind of hell did my father meet people like you?"
She directs a reproach to the farmers as well "You ignorant brutes! What makes you think my father is less worthy of a proper burial than any other in this town?! Move out of the way!"
Seeing the angry men only getting angrier, Aliseya starts to panic. She continues letting the coffin down carefully, and yells out loud at everyone, "EVERYONE, PLEASE! JUST CALM DOWN!" And to Hephenus and his gang, "WHAT KIND OF PEOPLE ARE YOU? ATTACKING A FUNERAL PROCESSION?!"
"WHAT?!" Dumbfounded for a moment at being grouped by the apothecary and even Kendra as blood thirsty and threatening the farm hands, she then manages to muster, "I don't want blood! I just want everyone to CALM THE F^@< DOWN!"
Aliseya worriedly looks down at her quaking hands after safely releasing the coffin to the ground. Calm, she is not...
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Zelda carefully sheaths her weapons then looks at the gentlemen in charge.
"Thanks you so much for your timely arrival we really appreicate it" Zelda exclaims.
She then turns to Kendra
"Kendra the last thing any of us wants is to shed blood on this day. Yes we drew our weapons to defend ourself but no one was hurt. Clearly most of this group is more than capable of defending themselves but we waited until someone attacked us first. she said with a sigh
Then she turned to the group of farmers.
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"Gentlemen you are clearly men who usally think carefully before you act. Carefully planning which fields to plant and the best way to care for your animal. Acting rashly and without thought would leave your animals without food and the lack of thinking could put your animals in gave danger.
Clearly something terrible has occured to cause you to threaten this young lady who is in deep morning at the loss of her father.
You can see this man is truley dead and his spirit has left this world. He is in no way the threat to you or your families.
Please tell me what is the true cause of your problems. What is it that would make you think a dead body with no life of its own could possible cause you such fear.
If something is amiss in this town, I owe it to the professor to find the cause and remove it. Please tell me why you would choose to do such a thing'
Drawing her axe as she places herself firmly Inbetween the procession and the mob Naught will begin half-mumbling/half-growling. "There is a burial happening today. How many people go into the ground though depends entirely on you."
Cellawyn carefully lowers the coffin and then draws her rapier.
"This is your last chance. Run while you still can."
It all happens too fast in a great confusion, as some back off and cry in distress, and others lay down the coffin, some defensively, others not quite.
The same goes for the mob of dissatisfied farmers: the six who did not move in scatter and cautiously back away to a safe distance, scared of confrontation against so violent outsiders, and then remain watching the situation unfold.
A thug who was about to move in to strike Naught drops his rake, cowering and dropping to the ground in utmost despair, as he tries to run. He crawls away, trying to pull himself up, and runs to a safe distance, and remains observing, but clearly ready to resume his runaway.
One of the thugs tries to hit his shovel against Mireliza's shoulder, but she simply steps aside, and he misses.
Two of the thugs advance against Cellawyn, but their rudimentary handling of farming tools is nothing compared to her military skill: they both attempt to hit her with the back of the scythes they hold, but she kicks one of the shafts aside, and dodges the other wooden pole.
A third thug attempts to strike against the beautiful Aliseya, but he hesitates! This makes his strike easy to evade -- had he not been careful, though, the gypsy would have suffered injury from his shovel.
The last thug to move in does so against Zelda, who most graciously dodges the thug, making it seem as though he was going into another direction altogether.
In the view of such unfavorable odds, you also see Mr. Hephenus move away to a safe distance.
Attacks (against)
"Fools, stand down and drop your weapons."
Cellawyn strikes one of her attackers with the back of her rapier.
"If it wasn't such a grim occasion this would actually be a very amusing spectacle." Naught will mumble aloud to no one in particular as she softballs a swing at the nearest thug.
The military elf who had just frightened an outnumbering mob with a vicious threat, now displays very poor handling of her rapier, nearly dropping it on the ground as she tries to pummel the stomach of one of the thugs.
At the same time, Naught flings the back of her greataxe against the other man who attempted to strike Cellawyn. The thick metal just grazes on his chin, but it is enough to knock him out completely. The man falls over his left arm, with his head hitting hard on the ground, and his face falling over some pieces of gravel. Had Naught used her weapon to its full capacity, she would have slaughtered the man, and he would not have lasted another thirty seconds before bleeding to death.
The group that was joining the procession, having decided to stay away, are still processing all that is happening, and trying to better understand the situation.
Amidst all the confusion, as attackers from both sides exchange blows in attempts (not to kill, but only to incapacitate) their opponents, Zelda sheathes her weapon and declares "Gentlemen you are clearly men who usally think carefully before you act. Carefully planning which fields to plant and the best way to care for your animal. Acting rashly and without thought would leave your animals without food and the lack of thinking could put your animals in gave danger.
Clearly something terrible has occured to cause you to threaten this young lady who is in deep morning at the loss of her father.
You can see this man is truley dead and his spirit has left this world. He is in no way the threat to you or your families.
Please tell me what is the true cause of your problems. What is it that would make you think a dead body with no life of its own could possible cause you such fear.
If something is amiss in this town, I owe it to the professor to find the cause and remove it. Please tell me why you would choose to do such a thing"
Mirelinza sighs a very audible sigh and shakes her head. "My apologies dear Professor. None of this was of our doing, but circumstances dictated we were part of the unfortunate spectacle."
Mirelinza tursn to the other pall-bearers (studiously avoinding any eye contact with the farmers). "It seems various gods have spoken. I suggest we proceeed."
Aliseya shudders a moment longer as the thug raises his shovel to harm her. He hesitates... not only because she quite suddenly ceases to shudder, but her head tilts a bit to one side with a most... unnatural speed. The accompanying popping sound emanating from her neck bones twisting so is rather... unsettling.
The expression upon the Varisian girl's face now becomes unwavering, unblinking, intense...
It becomes a stare of unbridled rage.
Zelda's speech seems to have effect on the man that was attacking her, as he adopts a less hostile stance (but still cautious) and argues back, pointing to the coffin "That man is a necromancer! He will bring nightmares to our parents and curse the living with misfortune!"
Realizing that he is outnumbered, he also decides to run where Mr. Hephenus stands.
Again, the farmer that attempted to attack Mirelinza tries to strike her shaking head with his shovel, and this time again she moves out of the way with relative ease, evading the attack.
Likewise unskilled in combat, the farmer who advanced against Aliseya once more fails to connect a blow with his shovel, but now Aliseya reacts differently, with her odd eyes staring at him as if he was something else... The stare is not sufficient to demoralize the farmer, but he does notice the sudden change in Aliseya.
The other members of the procession remain at a distance, watching the situation unfold.
You hear a voice, almost as a chant, "Yewande, Yewande..."
Attacks on
Standing still and refuses any temptation, Mirelinza wonders about what is driving these simple men to attack well-armed adversaries. 'Is there more than meets the eye?'
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Zelda looks at the farmer with sorrow in her eyes.
"A necromancer does not save lives, he waits until they are dead then uses what is left.
Let me tell you about the Professor.
I was in a village hit by a plague. A plague brought on by a witch coven. No on would come near the village for fear of the plague, we were just left to die.
The Professor and his colleagues road into this plague-infested town, cured those still alive and gave final rites to those who died so they would not rise.
I am alive because the professor risked his life to save me.
Does this sound like a necromancer who wants to curse the living?
You surely know the professor, he was a caring man who wanted to help others not hurt them!"
Round 3
Cellawyn attempts attacks one of the thugs engaging her, again attempting non-lethal damage.
Naught will continue to use her axe more like a club, flailing it about the thugs still attempting to be aggressive.
With a threatening tone in her voice, Aliseya speaks in a rather creepy tongue to the farmer before her, "Y'kuul glaaki az'gazkh, duul een." She then seems to swiftly reach for the farmer, but her arm falters, and she gropes at the air in futility instead. A glazed, dreamy look comes over her face at this moment...
Though they have not had much of a chance to get to know her yet, it is clear that something is very wrong with Aliseya...
Caught off guard by hearing those alien yet familiar words Naught wil respond, almost instinctively.
Mirelinza coldly analyzes the farmer in front of her. As she inspects every corner of his soul, she finds no more guilt in him than she would find on herself.
The man seems to stand down, given Mirelinza's lack of aggressiveness and Zelda's attempt to dissuade him from attacking.
"...and who's to say he'll not bring plague to our village?" he responds. "I don't want no trouble, miss, but that one ain't tormentin' us! If you think he's harmless, then bury him somewhere else!"
This man seems more resolute about not letting the professor be buried in the Restlands, but, at the same time, his reaction to Zelda's plight shows he can be reasoned with.
The people from the procession seem to be considering approaching the coffin and grabbing it away from the battle, into safety, but they do not act on it. The two military men start barking orders for the farmers to go back home, or else they would be sure to be put on the trunk for a whipping. Their threats seem effective, because the farmers who backed off into a safe distance start to move back into the city -- even their presumed leader, Mr. Hephenus, does so.
Kendra, overcoming her indecisiveness, runs back towards her father's coffin.
As for the other man, Cellawyn and Naught attempt to hit him, but he somehow manages, in spite of his obvious lack of combat skills, to deflect their blows with his shovel.
The beauty Aliseya, with her mind twisted into a strange behavior by the stress of the moment, proves her well-tended fingernails are less delicate than it meets the eye, when she tears the sack cloth covering the man's chest, who shifted away from her attempt to grab hold of his neck. As she advances, he does try to push her with his shovel, but he is not successful at doing so.
With torn clothes and a somewhat of a surprise in the eyes, he attempts to hit her on her legs, but she avoids with a high, unexpected jump. The evil subtleties of Aklo are far too much for the man's intellect to comprehend, but the sound of it, and the overall sight of Aliseya do cue him that something is out of the ordinary with that girl.
See Reuben! The young witch is a disciple of the dead man! he cries, not too scared, as he seemed to expect some witch of sorts to be associated with the necromancer.
Your instincts fire up as you notice that two of the strangers that came to the professor's funeral are conversing in Aklo, the dark speech. You are unaware of what they said, but you clearly recognize the evil nature in their words. Yet, the sole fact that they employed this language to communicate is already strong grounds for suspicion...
Not to mention that now you start to cogitate the nature of the two women, as one of them is clearly assaulting one of the farmers and, the other, who just knocked one of them out, actually seems to match the description of a tiefling, from what you have read in your books.
You feel that it is not the first time you hear the language in which Naught and Aliseya exchange words. The phonemes make you somewhat uneasy.
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Zelda looks at Naught and Aliseya and thinks
This strange language where did they learn such awful words. Surley speaking in this language is not helping
Zelda looks at the man
" Ok we shall see you are buried in some far away corner where no one will know where to find you.
Does this offend you? I would hope so.
No one want their loved one buried in some corner, they want them to lay buried with their neighbors and loved ones.
I know the professor. What ever he was doing here was to protect his daughter and neighbors. It is what he always did.
Please tell me what it is that makes you fearful of shadows. What is it that has cause you to behave is such a manner?" Zelda asks