'Oh yes. Of course, my aopolgies, reading Harrow always makes me anxious to go and do something. I think that we should see about this feast and get up early for some exploration tomorrow.'
"Ein Fest will be most welcome," looking over cautiously to the looming silhouette of the Harrowstone Melk shivers, "if only to dispel the shadows in the night."
Runyon looks up briefly from her books when Wesh returns, but only glances briefly at the big cat now in their midst. Zoology was never really her thing. And anyway, she figures as long as it doesn't take its undoubtedly razor-sharp claws to any of the books or go off defecating on things, she has no problem with the creature being here. After all, every hand -- or paw -- we can get in a fight will be useful.
Soon after Wesh and Ramon return from outside and with Father Harking making the final touches to the repairs on the window, Kendra calls to them from the dining room. "The feast is prepared!" Runyon and Duron look up from their books, obviously having lost track of time in their research. They notice the smell of a delicious feast, some sort of smoked turkey. As they wander from the study to the dining room, the group sees a plentiful feast laid before them: smoked turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and ample wine. Kendra stands proudly at the head of the table. "This was my father's favorite meal. I learned to make it from my mother, before she passed. Please, I want to honor him with a good meal and a toast."
'I'm happy to oblige,' Aydan smiles and rubs his stomach, moving forward to take the nearest chair, he stops, standing behind it with his hand resting on its strudy back for a signal from Kendra to sit.
Table manners are the least I owe Petros.
Kendra smiles at Aydan, one of the rare signs of hope from her since her father's death. She really is quite lovely, though her beauty is subdued by her black clothing and how she keeps her hair in a bun. "Thank you, Aydan. My father wrote to me whenever he was away, almost every day. If I remember correctly, you and he met in Absolom, right? He had very nice things to say about your progress in learning to use what he referred to as 'the primary tools of adventuring, more powerful than any sword or spell.'" She manages to do a very good job of her father's cultured accent, bringing another smile to her face.
Run, wanting to be able to hear as much as possible of any conversation that may occur, takes one of the "center" seats. As she gets a good strong whiff of the delicious food her stomach lets out an incredible groaning rumble. Blushing so strongly her ears even turn color right up to their tips, the alchemist looks down in embarrassment and gives a sheepish little laugh. "Ehhhehe. Sorry. The Transformation takes a lot out of me, uses up more of my body's food supply than normal activity. Goodness I'm starving."
From the other side of the table, Father Harking laughs a bit at the elf girl. "Yes, I feel much the same way after healing. I was once injured very badly when an old beam fell on me, back when I was a child in Korvosa. The clerics there mended my injuries, but I was left with a terrible hunger for the better part of a month. I ate everything I could get my hands on. They said that it had something to do with the increased metabolism."
Run nods. "That would make sense, definitely. The expenditure of magical energy requiring the use of your own inherent dweomeric reserves, rechargeable only in the same way as everything else in most humanoid physiques; transformation of solid substances into energy. In this case, foodstuffs."
Melk is a bit put out of ease with this magical talk, which more-or-less goes above his head, but he's friendly - nodding earnestly and hoping it will make sense in a bit. He walks over to the table and seats himself near Aydan - something about the man put him at ease, perhaps it was the way the man resembled a collage of some prisoners and wardens that Melk was both familiar with and fond of.
Aydan winks in a friendly way at Melk, the magic jargon isn't unfamiliar to him, but it wasn't his forte. It reminds him of how he would let Hannari talk to him for hours when the others had no time for her enthusiasm about magic. That brings a nostalgic smile to his lips, turning to Kendra again his face takes on a kindly expression.
'Yes. He certainly helped me overcome some of my bigger hurdles in getting accepted to the Society. He was a man on many, many talents, but even more than a great teacher, he was a timeless friend. I was wondering if you'd acquiesce to me engraving his name on my blade? I like to keep my closest friends with me when I go into danger, and can think of no-one I'd rather have watching over me than Petros,' Aydan speaks in a soft tone, but tries not to treat Kendra like a delicate flower. She has gone through a horrible trauma, but no-one likes being treated like a fragile victim. Least of all the spawn of Petros Lorrimor. Best to speak of the dead, his old grandmother had always said.
Carefull not to get too close to the elves Azuk'ai selects a seat oposed to Run with his back to the wall, with no words he just nods to Kendra and tears into the meal.
Lagging behind for a moment to finish the passage he was reading, Duron reluctantly puts down the book and makes his way into the dining area. Upon seeing the delectable looking spread laid out before him, however, he soons forgets all thoughts of reluctance and moves to sit down.
Eyeing the available chairs, Duron opts to take a seat near the head of the table next to Runyon. Not having had many chances since his memories begin to interact with other Elves, he is quite eager at the opportunity and does his best to make conversation, "So, Marilwenn, have you ever travelled to the Elven homeland of Kyonin? I have never visited myself, but have a great longing to walk through the Fierani forest and study the ancient texts in the libraries of Iadara."
Melk looks at the others who have begun to eat, and cautiously grabs some food for himself too. He looks a little guiltily at Kendra, but after the first few bites starts eating a lot more enthusiastically.
Kendra nods at Aydan. "Of course. He would have appreciated such a gesture. He was always interested in helping those who needed a bit of guidance. He used to say to me, 'Kendra, no one is born with the knowledge of how to slay dragons. Heroism is taught.' He very much believed in a meritocracy. Little patience for spoiled nobles plotting against each other for no reason other than their own power."
Apparently Azuk'ai's diving in was all the prompting Runyon needed, as the skinny elf dives in immediately after him and is wolfing down huge chunks of food. She looks over at Kendra. "Mmf. Kemvdra. Mvat's a great imva-" she finally swallows "...I mean that's a great imitation of your father's accent. It makes me both happy and sad to hear it, if you-- if you take my meaning."
Wiping grease from her fingers and taking a huge swig of wine, she turns to Duron. "Kyonin? No, I...well, while I'm certainly not...opposed...to going, it would be difficult, I think. I don't know who my parents are and am kind of afraid to find out. I've been among humans for so long I find my manner and bearing tend to make both them and elves uncomfortable. I'm sort of in-between places." She smiles sadly and looks back at her plate. "I mean...I guess...I can't deny the ancestral lands sing to me at the biological level, perhaps ties coded into my very being that can never be broke still hold, even across everything I've done and all the distance I've covered. So I imagine that yes, I'll get there. Hm." She looks back at him with a sideways smile. "Perhaps we can journey there together when this is all done."
With that, she dives into another plate of food, eating like a starved thing, which of course at the moment she is.
'Excellent. Thank you. Your father was a wise man indeed, I hope to life up to his philosophy one day.'
Aydan begins to eat, he maintains a sense of decorum, but sticks to a simple set of utensils, and eats well and in large portions. Next to Akuz'ai and Run he looks like a cultured dandy however.
As they eat, Aydan turns to Melk. 'You threw some might punches in that fight. What manner of training do you have? I've seen a few men who fought like that, all tooth and nail, though rarely as big and hearthy as yourself.'
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Wesh takes a seat with little ceremony and snatches a turkey leg eagerly with his fingers beginning to eat with all the frenzy and finesse of a malnourished piranha. Glowering at anyone who meets his gaze as he does so he passes down a constant stream of tidbits to Ramon.
The lion himself sits besides his master head resting upon Wesh's thigh wearing a comically plaintive expression, only occasionally leaving this pose to spare Kendra arduous cleaning duties later.
Eventually Wesh's immediate appetites satisfied - not that this stops him eating - he offers Kendra what his Da always thought of as the highest of compliments; a contented belch accompanied by a thumbs up delivered by a hand midway to ferrying a dessert spoon full of mashed potatoes to the young druids waiting maw.
Between mouthfuls Wesh steals furtive glances at Azuk'ai, and ensures that he is drinking more than his fellow teenager, guzzling wine like water. It is not long before he becomes glass eyed and begins to hum tunelessly drumming his greasy fingers on Ramon head - which causes the lion to vacate his faithful friend position with an irritated yowl and vanish beneath the table.
A few moments later Melk finds an apparently starving cougar looking up at him beseechingly.
Kendra regards Wesh with a stunned look on her face. "I'm glad you like the meal, but why don't you have a little less of the wine. I know from my father's letters that you were literally raised in a cave, but--" She is interrupted by a shriek as she looks down at the meal.
For a moment, the meal looks as if it is a rotting carcass. Maggots climb over the putrefied meat, pulsating and dropping from holes in the meat. Kendra spills her glass in fear, its contents spilling out across the table. Rather than wine, it is clearly a thicker substance: blood. As the startled group draws aback from the horrifying and disgusting sight, the hooded figure appears briefly. Standing at the main entrance to the dining room, he is translucent and glowing with a malicious darkness. "I will have your souls! I will not be thwarted!" He extends his bony figure at Kendra. "Karauum belanaa teatska!"
With a cry, she shields herself with her arms. A light explodes and washes over the room, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. As the brightness fades, the glow came from her necklace. The robed figure is gone, as is the disturbing vision of their feast. With a frightened question to no one, she asks, "What?" and throws the necklace to the table. "What is going on?"
"Gyah!" Run jumps up with a start as the unwelcome incorporeal intruder appears and disappears. Blinking away the wash of brightness, Run pulls out a small vial of dweomersink solution she carries, useful for suspending trace amounts of recently cast spells or exuded magics so she can analyze them after the fact. Looking at it, she furrows her brow in concentration, then her eyes go wide. "Kendra! My friend if I were you I would put that necklace back on immediately. It is the only thing protecting you from undead beasts like that one that just appeared! The dweomer's syncros are location-locked and perimiter-sensitive, it appears, and while I can't get a bead on exact coordinates with such a tiny amount of data, I'm going to guess the limits are probably set by this house, or at least its interior. It'll keep you safe if you're in here, but won't help elsewhere."
Suddenly having lost her appetite completely, Runyon wipes her hands clean and pushes her plate away. "Tell me, did it come from your father? If so, that is a fine, fine gift for one in your position to have. But then, I would certainly expect such foresight from one such as Petros." She smiles at Kendra, hoping to set the brave girl at ease a bit, even though her own heart was still pounding.
Somewhat shell-shocked from the second attack on her home in the space of an hour, she quietly slips the necklace back on. "Yes, he did. He was a very smart man..." She stares off into the distance, clearly disturbed. Father Harking moves to comfort her, though she barely seems to register him.
Melk suddenly finds it hard to swallow - the sudden assault had left him stranded and unable to act. Now the food feels heavy in his mouth and hand, and he absentmindedly hands down the rest of his drumstick under the table (where a more appreciative maw awaits the morsel).
Aydan leaps back from the table when the food changes, his eyes wide with shcok and horror, his chair tumbles backwards crashing loudly to the ground while his hand goes to the hilt of his sword. What manner of sorcery is this?
A man cannot fight maggots and ghosts.
When the apparition dissappears Aydanwarily recovers his chair, and stands it upright, before sitting back down uncomfortably, he looks at his plate for a few moments, before pushing it away. What will the beds be like, a ribcage of teeth?
"F+@*!" Azuk'ai yells as he leaps away from the table. Pulling his chain he stares guardedly at the writhing maggots and blood. When the aparation apears he bars his teeth at it and prepares to charge it and is cought compleatly unavares as the light explodes from Kendra's amulet. Blinking away the spots in his eyes he quickly looks about, staring into the shadows as he turns every wich way.
Seeing no aparent danger he nevertheless does not put away his chain, two attacks in one night were enough to put anyone on edge. "It seems we'll get no peace from that thing. Maybee it would be best to pay the f~@~er a visit? Head out to the tomb now!?"
Duron jumps up with the others, but makes no sound, watching the events unfold around him and raising an inquisitive eyebrow as Kendra's amulet deflects the cloaked apparition's attack. Once things have settled down and Runyon exclamation has confirmed his suspicions of the purpose of the amulet, Duron speaks. "Marilwenn is correct, I would advise you not to leave the premises Miss Lorrimor." Looking to Azuk'ai, he nods, "I agree with your assessment. If this poltergiest has taken to invading the Lorrimor home, I fear that we cannot rest safely until we deal with its threat."
Runyon looks around with obvious unease. "If it is the will of the group to visit the crypt tonight, then of course I will go and assist however I may, but I still think we should wait until tomorrow; I have no more alchemical weapons to bring to bear that do not threaten an area and therefore risk harming us, and worse I have no more capacity to apply healing magics until I've rested for the night."
"There is also, as Aydan mentioned, the issue of possibly having to deal with the Sheriff if he gets wind of snoopers in the Restlands after dark. That could lead to troubles that may impede our future investigations -- making locals who would otherwise be predisposed to assist us turn unfriendly and unhelpful, which would be disastrous as there are precious few other sources of information out here."
"Also, while in this house we have a modicum of protection and a semblance of neutral ground. There is room to maneuver and we know Kendra is safe thanks to her marvelous father's foresight. If we go to the crypt, we will be on the ghost's turf and terms, and may suffer mightily for that. I would not be surprised to find there are other defenses in this house that we are simply yet to encounter."
"Perhaps we can stay here for the night and set two-person watches; Duron and I only require 4 hours of rest and can work our way through more books while on duty, plus I can get a head start on my alchemical crafting for tomorrow's expedition to the crypt."
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Wesh is prevented from responding to Kendra's chasisement by a full mouth, and then by the horrific display of the turkey leg he is holding turning into a rotting mass writhing with pale gross maggots. Swallowing involuntarily he could swear he feels the things writhing down his throat and turns pale.
The appearance of the apparition furthwer disturbs his equilibrium and when the necklace banishes it he gags. The acrid taste of vomit fills his mouth, but gritting his teeth he swallows it back down and - defiantly - takes another mouthful of wine to wash away the taste. Though he feels suddenly sober.
"I don't think heading out to a grave in the dark is anykind of good idea. But watches sound sensible to me, I ain't keen on anything gettin' in here with us all asleep."
"The Nacht is not safe," Melk's eyes look wide and frightened, in stark contrast with the smile chiseled into his face, "I... would like to stay here. Until tomorrow at least. The crypt will be less horrible by day---" Suddenly the thought of seeing the horrors of just moments ago in the clarity of day stops his thoughts in their tracks, and his voice follows only a step behind.
Duron listens silently as the others make their cases for staying behind and finally gives a curt nod, "Very well. I have no further objections to resting for the night, but doubt that the Sheriff will take any more kindly to us in the daytime." He looks to Kendra, "Miss Lorrimor, Father Harking, do either of you think that you may be able to smooth things over with the Sheriff and allow us entry into the crypts?"
Father Harking shakes his head. "It isn't the sheriff that you need to worry about, but rather Father Grimburrow. He is my superior and awfully protective of the graveyard. I can talk to him for you, but he might be a hard sell. You should come in person, give him a chance to look.you over. I can set something up in the morning."
'That sounds like a better plan. I think we all need to rest and gather ourselves. Setting watch is not a poor idea, though it is odd to do it in a house,' Aydan smiles wearily at his companions.
'We'll meet with Father Grimburrow in the light.'
Kendra nods and points upstairs. "We have a lot of room upstairs. Enough for everyone. Even you, Father Harking. I don't want anyone outside after night, not with that creature outside. I'll prepare your rooms." She sets off upstairs, her footsteps echoing in the quiet house. The storm has mostly abated, leaving only the faint sound of thunder in the far distance.
A few minutes later, she has prepared the rooms. Each of them is spacious and well-furnished, though there is a feeling of disuse in them. The wooden floors creak as the group walks in the hallway, selecting their rooms. The shadows flicker from the light coming from the magical torches, throwing a sense of unease in the corners. Kendra pulls on a set of double doors at the end of the hallway, ensuring that they are locked. "This was my father's room. Please don't go in there. Otherwise, you have free reign in the house. Have a good sleep."
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Wesh follows grumpily along, and his eyes are drawn to the old man's room as if by magnetism as soon as it is forbidden to him, but he is tired and a little light headed from the wine and the lure of sleep is greater still.
Entering the nearest room he shuts the door, gives the bed a disgusted look and drags the bedding off onto the floor before stripping off his armor and lying down next to Ramon who is already curled up upon the sheets. Tuggin a bit of blanket over himself and with the warmth of Ramon, the wine, and the vibration of the cougar's habitual sleeping purr he quickly sinks into a deep - if uneasy - slumber.
Melk volunteers for the first watch, his eyes imploring Aydan to join him, though he doesn't actually voice it. "Ich will start the watch. It will maybe give me some time to calm down too - I think Schlaf will not be possible for me just yet."
When he sees the room allocated to him, Melk's expression - as far as one can tell - is that of surprise. The room is far more luxurious and spacious than any place Melk had slept before. He nods, in wordless amazement, then after the others are nearly gone he stumbles out: "Das ist gut, ja..." Apparently his dialect slips out more prominently when he's absent minded.
Azuk'ai just nods as he eyes his room, "Wake me when my watch is up." he says as he enters and closes the door behind him. Waiting behind the door he listens as the party disperces and everyone goes to their rooms or whatever and sneaks out again, wanting a better look of the house.
Walking quetly around the house Azuk'ai keeps to the shadows and listens to the creaking of the house as he scouts it out.
Azuk'ai's startled when a voice near him offers, "Ja, I cannot sleep too." Melk follows Azuk'ai's glance, then adds, "We go explore? Ja?"
The house creaks ominously as Melk and Azuk'ai roam its quiet halls. Its wooden beams hang over the hallway, giving it the impression of closing in on them. Every so often, a flicker in the magical torchlight makes them glance at things that seem to be moving in the corners of their eyes. There are a number of paintings in the second-story hallway, all of fine quality and of tasteful subjects. One painting is a full moon over what appears to be Ravengro, with Harrowstone looming behind the town. Further down the hallway is a painting of an ornate courtyard, possibly in Absalom or some other rich city. Across from it is a painting is of a boat on Lake Encarthan with a storm lashing the ship with waves. The flicker of the light makes it appear as if the waves are moving. As they peer closer, they both notice a small hand jutting out of the water. The shadowy flicker makes it appear as if the hand slips under the water and back, as if beckoning for help or fighting for survival.
Unsettled, the exploring pair turn back around to put the painting at their back. As they turn, they are startled by the courtyard painting. A figure stands in the middle of the courtyard where there was none just a moment prior. A pool of water surrounds him, his skin blue and clothing soaked. The man's skin is partially rotted off, or perhaps eaten a small bit eat a time. His skeletal face has no nose nor lips, but what skin remains is bloated beyond recognition.
A small stream of water drips from behind the painting down the wall.
In Aydan's room, the Pathfinder sits at a small table writing a report on the day. While he wasn't technically on assignment, it was both habit and a good idea considering the horror they'd seen. His Harrow deck sits on the table, along with his thieves' tools and shortsword. His backpack lays near the door, its contents tightly wrapped as per Pathfinder standards. Turning to retrieve something from it, Aydan hears a small thump from behind him.
Turning back, Aydan sees that the Harrow deck has fallen from the table. As he leans over the pick them up, he notices that all but one have fallen face-down. The sole card laying face-up is The Uprising, the chaotic neutral card of the Strength suit. If pulled in a reading, it generally signifies being caught in the clutches of something more powerful than the receiver, crushing everything it comes into contact with. As Aydan looks at the card, the torch in the center begins to grow larger. In front of his eyes, the fire on the card begins to cover the entire face. Not a moment later, it catches flame and explodes outward with a flash of light.
Blinking and trying not to let the sudden conflagration blind him, Aydan hears the faint sound of screaming from far in the distance or perhaps in the basement of the house. In front of his eyes, the flame reaches a sudden height of almost two feet high, then retreats quickly back into the picture. The card looks as normal, though the smell of smoke permeates the room.
Duron sits at the edge of his bed, trying to read one of his books in the dim light. His elven eyes give him no trouble, reading over the words of Marching on Gallowspire with ease. His eyes fly over them as if going over long-memorized information. A creak behind him causes Duron to look up, glancing at the room. Seeing nothing amiss, he looks back down to his book.
Looking back down in his book, he sees a small red dot in the margins. As he takes a closer look, another dot appears with a small wet splat. He rubs it in curiosity, seeing it smear in the unmistakeable fashion of fresh blood. He looks up, alarmed by the drips of blood. Above him on the ceiling is a name forming in blood, letter by letter: D-U-R-O-N. Each letter is deliberately and intricately written, made only more horrific by the usage of what appears to be fresh blood.
Looking around in fear, Duron sees that the window is barred with iron rods. He leaps to his feet to get to the door, only to find that it is locked from the outside. Turning back to the bed, he sees that the room is transformed. Where there was once a comfortable bed, now there is only a bit of moldy straw in a sack atop a stone floor. As the breath begins to catch in his throat, Duron realizes that he is in a prison cell.
As Run sits at a table with her beakers and formula book, she is utterly focused on the proper allocation of alchemical ingredients for the desired results. With an eyedropper, she adds a single drop to the saturated liquid, waiting for the normal shift its normal shift to blue. The liquid begins to bubble, boiling over the edges of the beaker. As she watches both fascinated and horrified, faces and limbs begin to form in the green liquid as a sickly gas begins to emerge from the concoction. With a horrible screaming sound, the mangled and twisted figures swirl in the beaker.
With a loud crack, the beaker shatters into a hundred pieces. The liquid spills out over the table, still roiling and reaching towards Runyon. It begins to congeal and slow after a moment before seeping over the sides. The mass drips onto the floor, losing all consistency and cohesiveness as it does.
Deep in his slumber, Wesh has a terrible nightmare. A dark figure looms over him, its face covered by the mask worn by the robed ghostly figure. The dark man takes the mask off, revealing Wesh's own face, then a skeleton's grim visage. A snake emerges from the skeleton's mouth, reaching out to bite him. A pack of wolves fall on the snake, their sharp teeth ripping it to shreds. The wolves look hungrily at him, leaping at his throat. He reaches his hands up for protection, only to find them replaced by claws. The moon hangs in the sky, full and overwhelming. The hunger grips him. He bites down into the wolves, one at a time, until his mouth is filled with blood.
With a start, Wesh opens his eyes. Ramon sits in the corner, growling softly at the bed. The cougar's eyes are fixed on a spot under the bed, too dark to see. He scrapes his front paws against the ground, acting clearly agitated and aggressive.
Reporting is more important than the finding, his old teachers had used to tell him, and the Pathfinder set up camp in the room as he would if he were in the field. In truth, though he wouldn't admit it, it helped him feel more ready for the various horrible things that seemed to lurk in Ravenegro's shadows, he shuddered as he reocunted the meal.
Then the noise came, and his card took a dark turn to the supernatural, after tha flash Aydan lets loose a cry of shock and stumbles towards the table, shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes to clear them. He manages to retain his sight. Nothing more terrifying than being blind in this place.
His heart pounding he picks up the cards and checks through all of them, returning them to their pouch, he grabs his shortsword and walks to the door, looking out into the hallway.
Melk and Azuk'ai are oddly synchronized as they turn from one picture to the next. Their expressions equally stony - and even the smile on Melk's face has the quality of a grimace of fascinated horror. For a few seconds the pair appears to simply ignore the evidence of their eyes - as if sheer good will can overcome the insane reality that is pictured before them.
"Was do we do?"
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Fear tightens its grip around Wesh and in his panic he reacts the only way he knows how, springing to his feet he snatches his club and hurls it into the darkness beneath the bed with a roar of challenge that would sound more appropriate from Ramon!
Then he hurls himself forward and attempts to lift the bed, his hands trembling and face distorted into a snarl.
As the fear takes him Wesh's features distort ever so slightly taking on a distinctly leonine aspect, his nails become almost claw-like, and his teeth more pointed. Ramon alone sees this, and it could merely be a trick of the light, but...
'What manner of sorcery is this?'
Duron pounds on the prison door and yells out to anyone that can hear him, " Turning back to the room, Duron rushes to the window to look outside, afraid of what he might see beyond the prison's bars, but preferring nearly anything to confinement.
Duron's poundings and cries for help bring no one's assistance or even acknowledgment. As he looks out the window, desperate for any way out, he sees that even the view is changed. He now looks down from a high vantage point to a town below, the bars between him and the lights of a town far below. As Duron's blood-written name continues to drip from the ceiling to the floor, panic begins to set it on the wizard.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Staring at out the unfamiliar landscape, all hope begins to drain out of the elven wizard. no... No... No... NO! There must be a way out, " Looking back at the door, then at the stone walls, then at the ceiling dripping with blood, Duron yells out at the top of his lungs
Turning back to the window, Duron grasps hold of the bars and looks down at the ground below, 'GO!' booms a voice from inside his head. Concentrating on the space just beyond the bars, Duron takes a deep breath and disappears from the room, reappearing immediately outside the window. As he begins to fall, his ring glows with arcane light and he mutters a phrase in Draconic:
"hefoc vi nasir."
As his descent slows, he lets out his breath and drifts through the air, watching the town below rise up to meet him.