Quiddling heads straight for the bar, ordering an ale and inquiring about tonight's menu. He will then try to strike up a conversation of the towns history and recent going's on with the bartender.
Quiddling's face pales at first as the bartender recites the menu. Then he composes himself and chuckels slightly, a nervous tint to the laughter. "Very good, sir! You can never go wrong with a steak. Might i inquire what sort of stake it is?", Quiddling asks.
Theodric takes note of the meal that shows up for Quiddling...
"That looks decent...I'll have the same."
Diplomacy:
Stannis moves around the room stopping to talk to the townsfolk. He asks them about themselves, their problems, the coming harvest and the last one. He asks about their children, their farms and businesses and how they like the town authorities. He saves questions about harsh topics for another evening. He asks about the local ale, the local cider. As he goes he spreads a simple message: I am one of you. I care about your problems and want to help you.
Take 10 on Diplomacy for 17
"So be it...another thought does come to mind though..."Splatters spell her name just right. With a hammer killed his wife." The bloody letter at the statue...a killer with a similar motive? Or perhaps the actions of Hean Feramin himself if he is one of restless dead of Harrowstone..."
Corinne turns a little pale at Theodric's guess; she quickly runs through the names of everyone's names she knows in Ravengro and relaxes a little when she isn't able to come up with one that starts with V.
Later, at the Laughing Demon, after she's put off the innkeeper by requesting a warm toddy and giving him detailed instructions on how exactly to make it, she works her way around the room, smiling chipperly, introducing herself and inquiring after everyone's name in return.
Her smile is so obviously false, however, and her manner so insistent that she fails to make any friends in the rustic tavern and is reduced to sulkily nursing her drink in the corner. "Not made at all right," she mutters, stirring it darkly. "Nethys knows how the Professor survived here without being poisoned before he could be haunted to death."
Finishing his talk with the "yokel", Morven moves over to sit and drink with Corinne, noticing the distance the locals seem to be giving her.
Didn't get on with the yokels then? Me neither... he begins, distaste and contempt clearly written into his voice. I only asked a couple of questions but I soon regretted it- suddenly the peasant thinks i'm interested in which animal crap makes the best fertiliser for his crops and which village maid he'd most like to bed... Well, anyway. A toast to intelligent conversation and to the late Professor... he finishes, finishing his first drink and awaiting service to be brought another.
Corinne smiles across the table at Morven. "To the Professor, indeed," she agrees, raising her glass, "though whyever a man like him would live in a town like this, I don't know. I suppose there's no accounting for taste. Was his family originally from here, do you know? I suppose I ought to ask his daughter."
The poor man no doubt planted more than just ideas in one of his impressionable students, likely kept a home here out of guilt... I'd imagine Kendra has some very deep emotional trauma hidden behind her facade of calm. I have a feeling his family weren't from here. Just an educated hunch though... Based mostly off the simple fact that if his early education was in this ramshackle set of hovels he would have been unlikely to ever make anything of himself in the first place.
"Unlikely to, perhaps, but not beyond the realm of possibility," Corinne replies astutely. "After all, to look at you, you must admit few people would expect you to be a student of the arcane. That was quite a display you made at the funeral; your technique is unfamiliar to me. Are you a specialist in the illlusionary arts?"
Hehheh... The irony of my statement was completely lost on me, Corinne. This one eyed half breed is feeling a little foolish now, excuse me. Morven takes a long, long gulp of ale, belching in appreciation while setting it down on the table. Much better... No, I merely dabble in illusionary magic. I want to transcend the cards fate dealt me, not merely disguise them... I'm considered a proficient apprentice at the Arcanamirium in the field of Transmutation, but I try not to overspecialise. I'm opposed to most Enchantment on moral ground and I never had much luck with Divination; the professors said I had no patience. How about you? Something about fire beetles right?
She flushes with pleasure, completely forgetting that she had been the one to bring it up repeatedly. "My study on the phenomenology of the summoned fire beetle, yes. A mere trifle, of course, compared to the Professor's work, but I had hoped it would be something to build on.... Yes, Conjuration is my field: making something out of nothing. Mountains out of molehills, as my family would have it! I never had any knack for Transmutation -- was always too blunt and willing to call a spade a spade, I suppose, to have much finesse in changing one thing to another. Must be why I had a difficult time in following your casting; I suppose the somatic components are taught differently in the Transmutation school. So," she goes on, leaning across the table, "what do you make of all this business with the prisoners and the haunts and (Nethys preserve us) the Whispering Way? What did Professor Lorrimor get himself wrapped up in, to his own detriment? I must admit, I think the hooded fellow might be onto something with the man spelling the name of his victim, but I can't think of anyone here whose name begins with V. I suppose it's too much to hope that greedy old ghoul of a Pharasmin priest has the first name of Victor?"
Quiddling claps his hands in excitement as the bartender brings out his dish and finishes his steak while engaging in conversation with whomever wants to listen. He is to caught up in conversation during the evening to notice Morven and Corinne at their table in the far cry of the tavern.
Too much to hope for indeed... Although Victor is a little lengthy for my tastes. Better to hope someone called the Pharasmite stiffshirt Vod, so he has less time to see his own demise coming. Morven sits in silence for a long time, gathering his thoughts before voicing his opinion. It does sound as though the Professor got in over his head. It is both intriguing and puzzling that he did not send letters for assistance; the man had a great deal of contacts and experts he could have called upon to help his investigation. However, if you recall the phrase is 'Splatters spell HER name just right'- this suggests a female victim. Of one thing I am certain though; its unlikely the Professor had an accident. He was onto something, and someone wanted him dead... And when these someones come for us, Gorum take me for a coward if I don't cut at least one down with spell and sword.
Corinne gives a little scream of laughter at Morven's irreverent dig at Father Grimburrow, but the conclusion at which he arrives is more sobering. "Didn't the warden's wife's name begin with a V? Terribly long name, though; I shouldn't think the murderer would have time to spell it before our month here is up." Her weak smile quickly wobbles into a worried expression. "You are a braver man than I, Morven. If the Professor's killers come after me, my best hope is to use my spells to escape. We're already marked as following in Professor Lorrimor's footsteps in the eyes of the town, despite the fact that we haven't a clue what he had discovered. I'm not cut out for this kind of thing," she sighs. "Can I tell you something?" she asks, leaning across the table confidentially. "I've never even summoned a fire beetle outside of the laboratory. Never! And it's my specialty!"
Morven does his best to pull a re-assuring face, ending up somewhere between a scowl and a stern gaze. You'll be fine I am sure Corinne. Just focus your mind and pretend your still in the lab. As for me... Well, i've never had much cause to use that illusionary magic before. I just react quickly to these situations; blame a lifetime of fending off the human boys in my village. It'll come, quicker than you expect I am sure... Nobody expects they can deal with impossible situations, not until they hit you in the face like a hill giants club. The road to fame is littered with accidental heroes, and corpses of those that couldn't adapt. I hope that is a little more reassuring than it sounds...
Corinne laughs again, a bit brittlely. "Hero or corpse, eh? Are those my only two options? No role for a scholar-cum-researcher providing vital yet unbodily support from a safe distance?" She takes another sip of her toddy and pulls a face.
Morven makes a mock gesture of puffing out his chest, striking a noble pose with a mock wink.
Every great man needs retainers dear Corinne... You can have your safe distance while I bask in the glory of your achievements!
"And you may have the glory," she counters, "as long as my contributions are properly footnoted for future researchers. Perhaps one day you'll be out there immortalized in stone, like brave Warden Whoever-He-Was, while the rest of us are merely graven at your feet."
Sarrah works the room like a natural. Though many of the locals don't remember her immediately, she uses her charm and looks to her advantage to disarm the locals natural fear and distrust. By later in the evening a small group is gathered around Sarrah laughing and joking about local rumors and legends.
Before retiring for the evening, Corinne browses through the Professor's library, looking for a little light reading to relax after the trying evening spent in the company of others. Her finger alights on a tome discussing Necril, the specialized language of the Whispering Way. "Miss Lorrimor, would you mind if I took this to my room to flip through?" she asks. "I find it hard to unwind for the evening without a little mental exercise."
She hesitates before leaving the room with the book. "My colleague and I were discussing something at the tavern. Forgive the question if it is too personal, but have you lived your whole life in Ravengro? I know you mentioned the dog from your childhood. Were you born here? Did you not leave town for your education?"
You wake up to find the morning similar to the one before. Kendra is busy making breakfast for your party, apparently having slept little if the candle stubs are any indication. "Now that we have some more information regarding Harrowstone and the prisoners who were detained there, what will be your next move?"
"Provided that the others are ready to go, I would assume our next step would be to gather any supplies we need to acquire, and then investigate the Harrowstone itself...though I could be wrong..."
You wake up to find the morning similar to the one before. Kendra is busy making breakfast for your party, apparently having slept little if the candle stubs are any indication. "Now that we have some more information regarding Harrowstone and the prisoners who were detained there, what will be your next move?""Provided that the others are ready to go, I would assume our next step would be to gather any supplies we need to acquire, and then investigate the Harrowstone itself...though I could be wrong..."
Sarrah eyes seem to glaze over for a few seconds before she speaks, Theodric, can you not feel it yet, our fate leads us there. We have been pulled together by destiny...even before I felt the professors end, something was pulling me back to Ravengro. I can feel them now, this close, the spririts of Harrowstone...there at at least some of them that want to be finally free of that place...and to move on. We must face them. Some will fight us, but they must all be sent to face Pharasma's judgement...we must go!
A drowsy Quiddling stumbles down the stairs and into the kitchen where he helps Kendra to prepare breakfast.
It only takes one or two bites of toast to bring the halfling back into his cheery demenor. He interjects some small talk inbetween bites as he devours his breakfast.
"The tales the villagers will tell. Yesterday a woman claimed that the ruins around the old prision is not haunted at all but only plagued with vermin that nest there. It doesn't really sound like the place we've been hearing about, does it? Yet, one could certainly hope that she was right. A few rats would be much easier to deal with than restless spirits."
Quiddling looks at Sarrah with wide eyes for a moment, caught unaware by the oracle's zeal. "I might not feel as strongly about it but i can't argue with that! There is not much left to do than to brave the grounds of Harrowstone."
Sarrah draws out her crossbow and loads it, staying as far in the back of the party as possible...
"My colleague and I were discussing something at the tavern. Forgive the question if it is too personal, but have you lived your whole life in Ravengro? I know you mentioned the dog from your childhood. Were you born here? Did you not leave town for your education?"
Against her better judgment was Corinne persuaded to join this expedition. Sarrah won't be any further to the rear than her.
She nervously scans the outside of the structure as she moves her hands through practiced motions and intones crisp, clipped syllables.
Ah, a fine idea Corinne. My thanks for sharing that spell with me yesterday evening... Morven remarks as he mirrors Corinne's movements with harsher words of power, finishing a moment later.
Perception:
"Other than the disrepair from the fire and years of decay and overgrowth, there is nothing really worth noting here so far. Let's get inside."
Theodric then casts a light spell on his morningstar and heads in...
"Wait," Corinne says. "Before we go in, shouldn't we look for the place where the Professor ... well, died? It should have been right out here somewhere."
Perception:
Corinne drops to the rear of the group, then seems to realize that if she is in the very back, something could creep up behind her. She will take up the next-to-last position, clutching a dagger with a silvery sheen.
Quiddling strides carefully through the courtyard with his senses on high alert. "Be careful with that balcony. It has seen better days and won't hold much weight. It might come crashing down", Quiddling whispers and points to the balcony overhead as he reaches the entrance. "Does anyone have a light?", he asks and takes a few steps forward to sneak a peak at what's behind the doors.
Stannis takes the lead, falchion in hand. He looks a little bit nervous, his eyes roaming over the surroundings, but determined.