The adventurers, minus the "detained" Duron and Wesh, make their way back to Kendra's house. Several people watch them leaving the Sheriff's, clearly noticing the fact that they are down two members. As they make the short walk back to the Lorrimor mansion, there are hardly any words between them. After all, they are still somewhat strangers, bound together only by their desire to see the Professor's soul freed from its imprisonment by the Whispering Way.
Upon reaching the front door of the Lorrimor house, Melk raps loudly on the door. Kendra opens it within moments, looking as if she has gotten a bit of rest under the protective glare of daylight. "Good, you're back. Come in, come in." As they enter, she locks the door behind them, then places a bar to secure the door. She looks up at them and asks, "The townspeople say that the Silent Knife is back. We've got to be careful." There is a chill in her voice, clearly afraid of the killer.
Melk's voice raises with concern, "Miss Kendra, are you alright? The Sheriff told us a bit of the Silent Knife - do you perhaps know something more? Or perhaps where the good Professor kept his notes?" His smile is helpless as he senses Kendra's distress, but does not know how to respond to it.
Kendra shivers at Melk's mention of the killer. "Yes, but I was a girl when he first preyed upon Ravengro. My father kept me inside and told me I'd be safe there. He said he was hunting him, and not to be afraid. That's all. It didn't help. I had nightmares for months afterwards where he chased me through the streets. I'd make it home, but he'd be waiting for me when I climbed in bed. I know it was just nightmares, but they seemed so real..." She trails off, then picks up a moment later. "As for notes, he kept everything in his journal. I'm afraid that there isn't anything else."
'That will be a huge help Kendra. Thank you,' Aydan smiles reassuringly at the woman as he takes off his cloak and gives it a shake to remove some of the dampness.
'We had best read those journals. But I think food is also called for. I'm happy to do the cooking, but I will warn you that its a skill I never really... mastered as such,' Aydan grins lopsidedly at his new friends.
'Perhaps we can elect a cook, and clean up then meet up to read the journals in the dining hall? Have the study's windows been boarded up, or can anyone mend them magically? I'd rather do this work there, but it will be frightful cold with broken windows.'
"Errr..." Run, mortified, pulls the handful of scraps that are all that remain of Petros' journal from one of her pouches. "...sorry, Aydan. I promise you, no one is more angry with me that this happened as a result of my actions than I am at myself." She looks at the sad little pile of paper in her hands. "...I just didn't want it in the hands of those...of that monster and those...people. I didn't mean for this..." Sighing, the elf puts the scraps on a nearby table and starts looking through them again, this time for any clues about the Silent Knife. Her eyes are sharp, but her mind is clouded by sadness.
She is not hopeful.
"Dammit!" Azuk'ai flares, grinding his teethe, at the mention of the book. Heaving a sigh that would do a bear proud he raises he hand in apology. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just feeling realy frustrated about all this. Where do we start, huh? Can anyone tell me that? Hells! We're practicly alienated by the whole town and now the sheriff is holding two of our number to make matters worse." Azuk'ai starts pacing and staring at the ground.
Suddenly he snaps his finger and stops mid-stride, "Mending! Magical Mending! Can you do somthing like that Run? Can you mend the journal?"
Melk's favorably impassive face suggests Run and Azuk'ai's interchange swept passed him - but Aydan's words spark some response: "Ich... I can help in the kitchen. Ich don't want to be in the way when the thinking happens." His head inclines. Just a few moments after people lose their concentration on him some thought finishes, and he suggests, "The good Professor's journal may have his thoughts on the Silent Knife. But what the Silent Knife does, some ritual, should be in the good Professor's library. The ritual must be much older than the Stilles Messer itself."
Runyon shakes her head at Azuk'ai. "I don't currently have that formula, no, but I could possibly copy it if someone else did, if I could afford it. Maybe if there's a wizard about whose spellbook I could look at, it'd be a possibility...Even then, though, I'm not certain if it could restore Petros' words." She smiles faintly. "I'd be more than willing to try, though, that's for sure."
At Melk's comment, she nods. "That's a good point. I'll go look. I'm just kidding myself shuffling through these right now." The academic takes her giant coat and hat off and hangs them on a nearby chair, then trudges back to the library in her distinctively insectile gait, rolling up her shirtsleeves as she goes. Once there, she begins scanning book spines as rapidly as possible, looking for anything that might be helpful.
'Let's keep our heads about us Akuz'ai. We're in dire straits, this is when we need to think hard, and stick together.'
Aydan looks sadly over ther ruined journal and mutters to himself 'I'd hoped Kendra meant a different journal...'
He shakes his head then looks around. 'Okay. We can still get the victim lists from the Sherriff. That might help us identify a pattern. Especially if Run can find the ritual and what its for. If we figure out motivation, we're one step closer to an answer.'
Aydan rubs his forehead as he thinks, beginning to pace back and forth.
'We also need to know how the Knife is so silent. There must be magic at play here. Or at least something supernatural. Maybe if we find nothing in the library we can visit that magic shop again?'
The group sets down to research the Silent Knife, bereft of the Professor's original notes. The loss of the journal continues to haunt them, as it likely contained a lifetime's worth of insights and secret lore. If they are able to recreate it via magic, it would be a major step in learning extraordinary amounts of information about the Order of the Palatine Eye, the Whispering Way, the Silent Knife, and any number of other topics.
Runyon pulls a book out of the study to closer inspect it. It looks to be an academic thesis titled On the Nature of Obsessive Behavior in Compulsive Murderers, written by Hean Faramin in 4654. The author appears to be a doctor of the mind who studied a number of killers and their particular fascinations. He writes with the precise diction of an academician, but he is clearly fascinated by the subjects of his study. Runyon scans the work, looking for relevant studies. She grimaces at the grotesque fascinations of some of the killers: one killer kidnapped and killed halflings, using their bodies as horrifying stand-ins for his long-deceased sister; another would set up a number of traps to look like accidents, apparently under the impression that he was serving some dark god; an orc who would hunt down adventurers and kill them for sport before eating their flesh to grow stronger. The last of the subjects, though, is almost a perfect fit for the Silent Knife's actions. The killer, colloquially known as the Slicer but born as Aladil Kalkaroth, would slit the throat of his victims, then hang the bodies upside-down to drain them of blood. Faramin's thesis suggests that Kalkaroth would either bathe in it or drink it, but states that he never confirmed what happened to the blood. Faramin writes that it would not be long until Kalkaroth would be transferred to Harrowstone Prison for his eventual execution, but he held out hope that he would find out what the Slicer did with the blood before his inevitable death.
Holding the book, Run finds the others in the kitchen. "Everybody, listen, I think I might have something here. Earlier Wesh mentioned a creepy tree, festooned with a murder of crows, and it was near the Harrowstone monument, which itself was covered in blood. I can't say for sure, obviously, but this seems like a clue. I think we should check it out."
She sets the book down and points at the chapter heading about the Slicer. "In here a criminal similar to the Silent Knife is described, called the Slicer, who slit his victims' throats and drained their blood, for reasons unknown. Perhaps..." She pauses as the gruesomness of what she is about to suggest hits her. "Perhaps the most recent victim's blood is on that monument. Perhaps we can catch him there, or maybe speak with her shade, or at least get some clue as to who did this terrible crime."
Azuk'ai sits on the kitchen bench glumly munching on bread as Run walks in. "Harrowstone." he mutters, "Always Harrowstone. That damned prison is always coming up again and again. I'm getting a severe itch to go look at it, see what seacrets we can unearth from it's burnt walls."
Pragmatically Melk responds to Run's idea with: "If the monument is covered in blood, I will go and clean it. Does the Sheriff know about it?"
'Didn't it burn down fifty years ago? Thats not an insignificant time for us humans. Meaning this Slicer is old... or already dead. Unless an apprentice foloowed him to where he died.' Aydan says it quietly, steepling his fingers before him.
'They do say that Harrowstone is haunted...'
Aydan shakes his head. 'Lets assume its a copycat killer. Can we get magic in the magic shop to replenish the journal? We need it now more than ever as we are on lead. Thers a spell, make whole, or maybe mending? I never studied magic, but I saw plenty of the minor stuff in the south.'
"Yeah, it burned down but it's walls are still standing so it probably offers a great many places to hide. That place gives me the creeps, I'm certain it's hiding somthing, but Ill go with you to the mageshop to see if he will assist us with the journal. Looking at the monument makes sence as wll I suppose, we don't have that much to go on as we stand."
Melk busies himself in the kitchen, trying to scrape some food supplies together into a nourishing, if basic, gruel.
He comes back with mugs of steaming warm food, apparently content with his creation. "It is much easier to find food in the kitchen than in the alleys of Lepidstadt," he confides.
'Don't worry Akuz'ai. I have a feeling we'll have to pay a visit to Harrowstone. Whatever about the silent knife, the ghost that attacked Kendra has some tie to the prison. Of that I'm more certain even than all of that malarkey with the Whispering Way and the Order of the Palintine Eye. This is getting messy and we've only been here just over a day.' Aydan rubs at his temples, again.
'Why did you have to find food on the streets of Lepistadt Melk?'
"Was?" Melk appears temporarily taken off-guard. "Going into the forest would take too long."
Azuk'ai sighs and rubs his temples as well, oddly mimicking Ayden in his movements. "I know," he says tieredly, "it's hard to believe that Petros was only buried last night. It feel like a lifetime with what we've been through since."
Accepting steaming gruel from Melk Azuk'ai sniffs it suspiciously but with a shrug turns back to his bench and starts devouring the stew with grunts of approval. "This is good." he says with a mouthfull, using his spoon for emphasis. "You can cook Melk, I'll give you that."
"Das is all I can do, given the time. It is a pity there was so much meat on the bone, I had to scrape it off and make due with a white bone - usually it is better to leave the bone out for a few days to enrich." Melk seems visibly perked up as he spins the yarn, evidently he's hoping it'll spill over onto the others too. After staring at their relatively blank faces for a while he adds, "...prison humor."
'I uh... I see. Very good,' Aydan looks around at his companions and raises his eyebrows slightly as if to say whuh?
'I'll confess, I don't know that much about all of you. Seen as we're all here together for at least some time, and we're at a dead end until the Sheriff comes a callin', let's spin our various tales. You've already gotten started Melk, why don't you tell us about yourself? If your comfortable with that,' Aydan smiles at the man before beginning to eat the meal with the relish of a starving man, the broad shouldered Pathfinder's appetite clearly evident.
Put on the spot, Melk is a bit flustered. "Ich... don't have much to tell," he stammers, "I was born and grew up in Gefängnis . In Lepidstadt. I don't know my parents, but the Warden looked after me. Until..." Melk's voice drifts off, the ravines on his face lighten and darken in the firelight as he sees something in his memories and cannot look away. "...until... the fire... it all burned... all of it. So suddenly, so much heat. Nobody inside... is still alive. Ich... have been... guarding what was left ever since. Das is when I met the good Professor. He helped me settle the restless ones. The place is now at peace, I can move on." He looks at one of the large portraits on the wall, depicting the professor and his daughter. His question is directed straight at the image of the professor: "But whereto? I don't know..."
"..prison?.. Wait! You lived in the prison in Lepidstadt? I'm from Lepidstadt myself actually, I heard that fire was somthing brutal, your lucky you got out Melk." Azuk'ai's eyes flash a flicker of pitty for the quaint man with his leathery smile. His eyes harden in scorn for himself for feeling such pitty. 'People die. Get over it.' he admonishes himself as he turns his gaze back to the stew. "What about you big guy? Whats your story?" he quibs, nodding to Ayden.
"Oh. No. I wasn't in the fire. I was at the market when it started."
'Dark days Melk. I'm sorry for your loss. Their with the Lady no, if its any consolation.'
Aydan pauses with his spoon halfway to his mouth as Akuz'ai enquires after his past. Lowering the spoon thoughtfully he says 'I'm Ustalavic like yourselves, though from a bit further afield than yourselves. I'm from Caliphas, born and bred, my da is an innkeeper there. Grew up big, ugly and headstrong,' he grins at this and winks at Run, 'so I went south to Absalom to study with the Pathfinders. It was a good few years earning my place in the Lodge, Absalom has everything you could dream of or imagine.'
His face loses its smile rapidly after he finishes and he stares at his sword, now in its scabbard, 'Long story short,' he continues in a more monotone voice, 'I ended up headed for home, and have been working at this and that until I found our about Petros.'
At the outskirts of town, Tanner Illengrin arrives in the dusk of the early evening. His dust-covered boots stand on the muddy roadway, evidence of a recent rain. Professor Lorrimor's hometown is a quiet hamlet, though the quietness is actually somewhat stifling and overwhelming, like being at the bottom of an abandoned well. The trip from Taldor was long and difficult, as few trade caravans head willingly to Ustalav. Having taken a ship from Taldor that made port in Korvasa, which was gripped at the time by the death of their King, Tanner had to take some work on the caravans through Nirmathas, though none of them went past Vigil into Ustalav itself. The last leg of the journey was entirely on foot, his lucky flask as his only companion for the trip.
Suffice to say, Tanner is ready for some company in the inn before meeting up with the Professor at his home. The old man wasn't exactly expecting him, so he wouldn't miss him until after he'd had a proper rest and some relaxation. Surely this little town has an inn or a tavern...
Professor, why you insist on living in such an out of the way place I will never understand. The luck of birth I understand, I get it, you were born here. But why would you ever come back?
Now having finally reached his goal, he thought again on what he would tell the Professor. Of course there was no telling the truth. I am not sure what the truth is. But he was sure it would be fine. He talked himself out of screw ups before.
A day on the road did not set him up for a night in the Professor's stodgy manner. It would be best to see if this village had any redeeming values. I wounder what they drink around here...blood?..boooOOOooo...haha. As long as it's got a kick to it, I will give it a shot.
He walks up to the swinging sign, the Outward Inn. Shuttered, and not very inviting, he makes to go inside. Hey, if its dull scene, we just top off and keep moving. He pulls out his hip flask and gives it a shake, the dregs splashing around the bottom. Oh yeah, definitely need to fill this up before finding out how mad the Professor might be.
"I suppose we can wait for the sheriff, but I don't think we're necessarily stuck until he shows. We could certainly scout Harrowstone ruins while it's still daylight. See if there's anything to the bloodied monument. I could brew an extraction that..." Run's brow is furrowed and she talks while she thinks. However, seeing her companions tuck into supper, she shrugs and goes along. The ruins certainly weren't going anyplace, and perhaps the sheriff would have information that would give them a clearer path than wandering around the dangerous old prison site. She sips at the food Melk made, listening to the others' stories, perking up visibly at Melks.
"Melk, do you remember anything about the rituals the professor used to help put the spirits to rest in Lepidstadt? Any words, any motions or inscription? Anything?" She looks the monk in the eyes, her own leaf-green eyes are bright with interest.
Melk's brows furrowed. Not in response to Run's question, just furrowed because that was what they always did. "Oh ja. He walked a lot. And talked a lot. Not with me, but with the prison. Then he walked some more. A few times he talked with a spirit directly. Once it talked back and I dragged the good Professor from the room - it was burning blue." Melk's tone suggests that this wasn't particularly uncommon or disturbing. "The good Professor later returned to the room with holy water and sprinkled it around, he said 'sometimes it is important to know that the symbols we wield in this world are reality in others'."
Just as Melk's story ends he suddenly remembers, "Oh! One time he said, 'most spirits want to rest, you must just give them a place to do so'."
Azuk'ai listens intently as Melk tells his story, trying to sift through it for valuable information. Shaking his head he makes neither head nor tail of it and turns back to his stew. 'Holy water.' is the only significant bit he picks up.
Aydan listens intently as he finishes his broth, nodding along as Melk speaks.
'That could be very important to us. Very important indeed. Say Run, what about you? Whats your story? I noticed you went queit there,' Aydan says, scratching at his beard as he looks intently at the strange elven girl.
Runyon takes out one of her many little chapbooks that she keeps on her person and scribbles a couple notes as Melk speaks. She smiles a little bit. "That's just like Petros. Hah. That could end up being rather helpful, Melk, thank you." She smiles at the monk. "Quiet? I suppose." She says as she turns to Aydan. "I'm never completely sure about the unwritten social contracts in any given environment, so I try generally to play things safe. In this case, I didn't want to interrupt. It seemed to me the rules of this particular conversation "game" were to wait until one was directly addressed before speaking. I did not wish to seem excessively rude so I elected to wait for such an invitation, and I was right!" She beams. "You did eventually address me. Besides if I'd just started talking sometimes I have a difficult time knowing when to stop, and that it seems is often a breach of social contract all on its own. And well, I wouldn't want to begin racking up social faux pas so early in our budding knowledge of each other. Friendship I guess. Oh gosh I hope that's not presumptous. Maybe not. Oh also I wanted to listen to what each of you were saying. Oh but right! Figuring out the social rules of a given situation. There are so many of them! It's amazing. Did you know there are certain tribes that have specific orders of conversation? It's true! They're only in some mountain ranges, but local superstitions about where the mountains grew and the orders in which certain peaks arose govern who is allowed to speak when. Fascinating, no?" She smiles earnestly, then looks crestfallen.
"Wait, you asked me something. I'm sorry, what was our original topic? Oh yes! Origin. Well, I'm Forlorn, raised by frankly rather dull humans in a farming village. As soon as I could I made for the city, and from there into the university. Petros was an early idol of mine, and practically a patron, such was his support. I guess you could say I'm a perpetual student. I'm not always so great around non-academics. Oh gosh does that sound arrogant? Ugh. I'm sorry if it does." The elf shrinks back in her chair and takes out her abacus, and begins fiddling noisesomely with it.
A number of heads turn as Tanner makes his way into the inn, the heavy door closing a bit loudly behind him. The patrons are definitely locals, huddled together at back tables. They eye the stranger with a uniform look of suspicion and interest. As he fully enters, they lean in and whisper to each other. Tanner catches a few of the hushed and whispered words. "... could be the silent knife..." "...definitely suspicious..." "... today of all days? What are the odds?"
An older man eyes him from behind the counter. "You looking for a room or a meal?"
Tanner clumps in. He rests his walking stick against the counter and shuffles out of his pack. He makes to unfasten his equipment belt, but looking at the rough crowd, he keeps the machete on his hip. "Well..those both sound good." He bounces on the balls of his feet and looks around at the gathered townsfolk curiously, a weak smile on his face. Is it illegal to be happy in this town?
He turns back to the proprietor, "But I just finished doing a fair bit of muddy walking and I am just dying for drink. What are the local spirits?" He pulls out his flask and gives it an empty shake.
The old man offers a bitter snicker at Tanner's question. "Bad choice of words in this town, son." He barks to a back room behind the counter. "Customer wants a drink!"
A pretty young woman comes out, grabbing a bottle from a shelf as she does. She is beautiful, with reddish-brown hair and a great figure. Both the waitress and the alcohol she carries gets Tanner's attention. She pours him a small glass. She smiles at him, a radiant look that suits her. "Care for any food, or just going to have a liquid lunch?" Her voice is made for singing, rich and sultry. "What's your business in town? Will you be staying long?"
Kendra enters the room that the four of them are sitting in, catching the tail end of Runyon's awkward tale. "How are you all? Have you developed a plan? It was hard enough trying to get to sleep before the Silent Knife reappeared."
Suddenly, there is a loud knock at the door. Kendra nearly leaps a whole three feet into the air, deeply startled by the sudden noise. She puts her hand on her chest, almost hyperventilating. Her face is pale, as if all the blood rushed from it. "Obviously, I'm in no condition to answer. Can you all see who it is?"
Tanner takes the glass, gives it a swirl, and drinks it in slow measure. He closes one eye to concentrate on the qualities of the liquor, the other he keeps on her, giving her a wink as he finishes. "And now I know where this town hides its redeeming qualities."
"Some grub would be great!" He holds out his flask to be filled and adds, "The name is Tanner. And you know? Before I stepped in here, I swore I had no business here and wouldn't be staying long, but ,...that just doesn't seem fair. I don't think I gave your town a chance to grow on me." He gives a quick look around. The mutterers quickly look away or make quaint ritualistic gestures. Not much chance of them warming up to me, but who cares, I only need one warm body.
He turns back and flashes his companion his shy grin. Standing 5'8", he did not get his oldest brother's strong athletic build. Mostly Tanner was thin and wiry, but he did share a bit of his brother's Taldan good looks; the wavy hair, the strong chin, the smile. And he had something neither of his brothers had, a silver-tongue. He know how to make people relax around him, a talent he did not learn in university, yet has always served him well, first with Father, then at each temporary academy, monastery and university he found himself at.
"Kendra! Goodness, are you okay?!" Run rushes over to the woman's side. She looks over at Aydan and Azuk'ai. "Could one of you get the door? I'm going to stay with Kendra for the moment; I still have healing potions at the ready, and if who- (or what-) ever is at the door requires, um, "persuasion" to leave, I'm probably not the one you want at the front of things..."
The waitress returns the smile as she pours him another drink, though it's not clear if she's being flirtatious or just angling for a decent tip. "Grub, coming right up." She sashays off, swaying her hips as she heads into the kitchen. The old man glares at Tanner, clearly protective of the girl and unhappy with Tanner's interest in her. After she slips from view, the other patrons lean close to each other, their tongues wagging.
She comes out a moment later with a plate of lamb shank and fresh bread. It's not Taldan delicacy, but it's a passable meal this far from "civilization". She smirks at him and asks, "Surely you're in town for reasons other than to taste my father's world-famous food?" The old man, presumably her father, grumbles at her jibe.
Tanner puts his flask back on his hip. Then takes a big bite of the stew and makes appreciative noises. "My complements to the cook." As Tanner gives her father a friendly salute, tapping two fingers to his brow. And then in a much lower voice "Although I think it's charm is all in the delivery. I didn't catch your name." Giving her another wink as he takes another bite of stew.
"As to what brings me here. .." He pauses, What has brought me here? Tanner how did you screw it up this big? He talks loud enough that those at some surrounding tables might hear his adventure. "Well I have been traveling since Taldor. Plying the dangerous Varisian coast. Put in at Korvasa just as their King died and civil war breaks out on the streets. I escape the troubles on a caravan snaking through troubled Nirmathas, bandits and Imperial threats ever a danger. Finally I trudge across the border of Ustalav, each step bringing me closer...till...till... I find myself faced with a beautiful smile...truly worth it." He intermixed the story with a few more bites of stew and ends with another swig of the liquor.
"But as to why? Well, I am Professor Lorrimor's right hand man. He needs thing done and I do them. I suppose he must be like a hero around these parts. Famous academic, world traveler. The man is a genius. I just do my part. You know, the dirty work. Keep his hands clean." That should impress her.
Melk nods amicably, leaving for the front door with remarkable ease. For a moment it is easy to imagine him being an awkward buttler on his way to welcome guests.
"I'll go with." Azuk'ai jumps after Melk to answer the door, sparing a worried glance and what he hopes is a reasuring smile toward Kendra.
"A-actually. Um. Melk, would you mind staying? Here? By Kendra and I." Run looks somehow both abashed and hopeful.
The waitress smiles, obviously impressed by his adventures. She flirtily responds in a low, sultry voice. "I'm sure a brave adventurer like yourself can discover the hidden secret that is my name. Succeed in that quest and you might discover some other secrets else in the process..." Her voice holds a heap of teasing and a hint of promise. "I guess you're in town for the funeral, then. How was it? I always liked the Professor. He tipped very generously and always had interesting stories to tell."
Seeing Azuk'ai keen to go, Melk let's him pass and returns to Run and Kendra. "Ich don't mind staying," he notes the concern in Run's voice and how shaken Kendra looks. He feels a little helpless with indecision for a moment or two, having the urge to help but not really having experience with the how. "Vielleicht - maybe - we can go to the kitchen? Make something warm to drink for everybody?"
Oh, we are playing games are we? Good.
But her last words stop his spoon halfway to his mouth. He feels a chill on his back and he swallows hard as he tries to find the words..any words. He drops the spoon into the bowl, "Funeral?...Who's funeral?....you don't mean the Professor's, do you?"
His mind seemed to have listed under a great strain. "When?...How?" The alcohol fumed in his head, as the stew roiled in his stomach.
Runyon looks relieved when Melk stays. She leans in towards him and says conspiratorily. "No offense to the others, but I just feel that of all of us, myself included, you have the most calming demeanor, and it'd help if you were around Kendra more than I. I can heal, but I'm not...I'm not so great with people all the time." She straightens up and in a more normal tone adds "A warm drink would be lovely, Melk. Kendra? You okay to join us in the kitchen or would you rather stay put, here?"