"The divine. Yes. Hrm. Well, to be perfectly honest, I do not believe gods exist. I think those which we call 'gods' are simply extremely powerful beings of one sort or another. For example, Cayden Cailean; an ale-swilling roustabout sellsword who drunkenly passes the "test of the starstone" whatever that was, and is suddenly granted incredible powers. Or Iomedae. Same thing, just without the booze. My point being; I believe all the gods are simply mortal beings imbued with great power by some form of natural arcane might -- what clerics call "divine" but is probably just an aspect of multiversal natural power, like ley lines -- and that above them there are no beings that are truly deserving of being termed 'gods' as people think they mean the term when they use it."
She takes a drink of water. It is pretty obvious she's treading over an ancient set of talking points, probably oft-argued-over at university pubs and coffee shops. "While I readily confess I have no set of empirical theses for the existence of things like, say, Rovagug, I'm sure such could be put forth. In addition I should also say that I firmly believe that which makes mortal creatures into gods is a reducible dweomeric essence and can be trapped, tapped, and utilized if one knows the formulae." She laughs at herself. "But then of course I would; I am a scientist, after all." She smiles warmly at Duron and continues. "I recognize that at least part of this is purely a semantic concern; 'okay, if they aren't "gods" then surely something else is.' But the main thrust of my theory is that you can call them gods or you can call them ham sandwiches and it would make no difference; they are not, as I say, what people think they are when they use the term 'god' or 'divinity' or 'deity', and -- and this is my maybe most crucial point -- I believe that there is nothing out there that is such a creature. So, all things are knowable, their plane or place of origin can be visited and their power source found and understood." She shrugs. "In the meantime, I of course use the word 'god' as it is simply easier for getting along day-to-day, especially in places like this, though I don't believe in any such thing and simply take the word to mean "being of not-inconsiderable might."
Melk surreptitiously eyes the clouds for any signs of thundering and lightning. And takes a few steps away from Runyon, cautiously placing Aydan between himself and the elf. Slightly louder than is common for him, he says: "Aydan, you don't suppose there is somebody in Ravengro that is behind all this? I mean somebody alive?"
Aydan looks at Runyon askance. 'I happen to hold faith in the Lady of Graves as it were. I'm no priest, but she's always been there for me and mine. You seem to have argued yourself into a corner, you need to define what you think a god is before you go ahead trying to debunk them while talking in a circle. There is a form of magic, a powerful type, and it lets one see the magical power of others. It sees divine and arcane sperately, not everything is the same thing, the universe is a bit more complicated than that. Hells, even your alchemy is not considered truly arcane magic.'
Turning back to Melk Aydan says. 'Well despite the apparent madness of my faith in a provable, timeless goddess, we were always thought in Absalom to epect human interference first and foremost, but be prepared for the possibility of more supernatural cause. Unless there is a powerful spellcaster in Ravenegro though... I don't know that Father Harking would have misidentified a ghost. And it seems unlikely that there would be a conspiracy that would involve humans and the undead.'
"Hang on.. Wow!" Azuk'ai holds up a hand in surrender and pinches his brow in surrender at Run's lecture. "Sorry, you lost me there. So your saying that you don't believe that gods exist but you know for a fact that gods do exist?" he asks incrediously. "That godly power is there but the beeings that vield that power and grant a fraction of said power to their followers are, in fact, not gods?" Azuk'ai just shakes his head at the elfs logic. "I'm sorry. With the evidence presented your logic seems to run short somewhere. Now I'm no scientist but I'm pretty sure divine power is there somwhere, just like arcane power and the power of nature is undeniable so is divine."
"Divine magic absolutely comes from somewhere. The favor of the divine, for the purpose of following their plans. If you do not believe in the gods, you are clearly blind to their obvious presence." The voice comes from an old, almost decrepit man in the black shirt and stiff collar of a Pharasman priest. He stands in front of the altar, having come out from a door into the sacristy. Farther Harking stands behind him, looking pained. The ancient priest stares at Runyon especially, unquestioned authority coming from his light blue eyes despite his age. The intensity of his stare is withering. "I would expect such blasphemous thoughts to come from an elf, believing themselves as wise and powerful as the gods."
He regards the group as a whole, giving each of them a moment under the intense glare of his gaze. "I am Father Grimburrow, pastor of Pharasma's flock here in Ravengro. Father Harking has vouched for you, though I question his judgment in bringing heathens into my church. I have promised him that I will give you a fair hearing regarding whatever it is that you want from me, so go ahead."
Melk is awed at Father Grimburrow's appearance. He involuntarily readjusts his position to partially hide himself behind Aydan from that steely gaze of the head priest.
Aydan bows his head respectfully to old priest, in a traditional Ustalavic sign of respect. When he raises his head however, he meets the priests eyes, despite feeling reluctant to bear the old man's gaze.
'Our apologies Father. We would like to know more about the Restlands and those who have met the Lady who lie within its earthen folds. We are awfully sorry to bother you, but we need to do some research of the dead who rest, following the possibility that some may not rest as peacefully as others.'
Run sighs at her own foolishness for letting herself get drawn in to this old discussion, again, at such an inopportune time, and also at her companions' eagerness to trot out the same rhetorical parries that everyone else did. It was no matter. They could continue the discussion at another time, or not. She knew her views were quite unpopular and had no illusions of swaying anyone. Indeed; as Azuk'ai's and Aydan's klutzy jabs at the questioned legitimacy of her art and her own profession showed, her views on divinity were about as well-received as her beakers and flasks.
But if everyone else was going to get emotional about it, she would at least try to keep a clear head and remember why they were here, what their mission was and who it was inteded to assist.
"Greetings Father, There are none among these men who are heathens, only I would be referred to as such, for they are all of strong and clear faith. However, before I would be branded in that way I would submit to you I am no heathen, merely one possessed of a certain...questioning mind, like a child, perhaps, seeking simply knowledge and answers to the unanswerable." She considers bringing up the professor's name, but realizing that this Grimburrow wasn't at the funeral last night, reconsiders.
If they weren't close enough in life for the man to attend Petros' funeral, I question that they'd be close enough for his name to carry any real weight, though I would love to be proved wrong.
"Regardless of my status as a heathen or not, I find your temple to be quite lovely, and would enjoy hearing any of its history you may know, or that of its architects, if you've the inclination and time. In addition, as Aydan here states, there are certain data we seek that we feel may be found in records here. If we could peruse those records, or gain the assistance of one who has or can, it is our belief we can shed light on some...mysteries."
Azuk'ai just nods in respect to the elder and then holds himself back. 'I have no tounge for this.'
Father Grimburrow regards both Aydan and Runyon with a look bordering on contempt. "I do not have the inclination nor the time. I have little patience for ill-advised and ill-conceived forays into the library. Do any of you actually worship Pharasma?"
"Umm.. I do actually." Azuk'ai says hesitantly. Looking from the group he turns to face the elder priest, meeting his eyes he looks down at his shoes. "Well, um.. I venerate the Lady of Graves, father. I hone and train my skills to hunt and kill undead that plague our citys father." Looking up Azuk'ai holds the priests gaze. "The most fitting worship to offer our Grey Lady in my belief father. Professor Lorrimor was aiding me in my studies and training, our investigations have to do with is death."
Duron listens with interest as Runyon describes her beliefs, 'Her views are similar to mine, but she takes it a step further. As I had suspected, an inquisitive mind lurks beneath those emerald locks...'
As the Father makes his appearance, Duron stiffens at the old man's slight against his heritage, but makes no move to speak up. 'Leave the negotiations to the negotiators. As long as they can talk our way into the crypts, I have no quarrel with this man.'
Melk's eyes are a steady study in caution. He slowly mouths the words spoken by Father Grimburrow, brooding over their meaning and inflection in a wheels churning sort of way. Slowly he pieces together his impression of the priest and what could possibly sway the man's discontent.
With absolute certainty Melk raises his voice, his benign stoney expression easily matching his tone as he says: "We're friends of the good Professor - and want to do good by his last will and testament."
Father Grimburrow's scowl turns into an outright glare at the mention of Professor Lorrimor. Apparently they were not close friends. "I should have known. That old coot was too interested in the undead and his cults. Brought nothing but grief to this town. I'm still not convinced that he wasn't part of the killings. Even if he was telling the truth, the cult wouldn't have been here if not for him." He clears his throat, clearly having quite the axe to grind with the late Professor.
Melk's face - for want of the ability to do so - completely fails to drop. But his heart nonetheless is outraged at the notion, "Das is not possible. Bitte - please - allow us to clear the name of the good Professor."
The priest fixes his gaze squarely on Melk, withering him with intensity. "The Professor's good name was cleared by the Sheriff after he turned over the cultists responsible for the killings. The Sheriff was so distraught over his wife's murder that he would have taken any revenge he could. He was so intent on executing them and throwing their bodies into the Harrowstone that he had no chance to critically think about how the Professor might have figured out the identity of the cult members."
Being polite is getting us nowhere, but I fear treating him with the contempt he has earned; I don't want to make things more difficult for us in this town than they probably already are going to be. Plus I don't wish to risk damaging Harking's reputation. Ugh. There is nothing further I can do here. If I stay, I am an affront to him. If I leave, he will be able to claim I am unconscionably rude and use that as an excuse to slander us. What a hateful man. What a miserable situation!
"But you say you're not convinced. Bitte give us the chance to demonstrate his complete innocence." Melk's voice is getting a strained inflection.
Remembering something, he tries a different angle. "Last Nacht we were harrowed by some evil presence. We have Father Harking to thank for making the night safer for us again. Aber I'm worried for the Professor's spirit - the evil one claimed that his soul was trapped and withheld from rest in Pharasma's realm."
An angry scowl comes to Aydan's face as he sees the old man glare at Melk. 'Father, I too worship the Lady of Graves. But that has little bearing here, I assure you we were quite well advised, and this plan is very well conceived. And I'll certainly not hear you speak ill of a very close friend of mine who recently passed. It is for the Lady to judge him, not you.'
He steps forward and meets the old man's gaze straight on, refusing to back down or blink.
'Now, there is quite clearly something going on in this town, and it would be remiss of me and my fellows not to get to the bottom of it before anyone else gets hurt or this town suffers anymore. So you can help us help the town and your flock, or we can all go and stop wasting our collective time and efforts better spent getting to the bottom of Ravenegro's troubles.'
Something about Melk's argument and Aydan's determination moves the old man in just the slightest. "If Lorrimor is truly not in Pharasma's realm, that should be simple enough to verify. I imagine you've been lied to, and that Petros is now willingly the type of undead abomination he researched so thoroughly. But the Lady is very clear that all must be laid to rest at the end of their natural life."
"While I hold an augury to see if his soul was given a proper disposition, those of you who worship Pharasma can wait here and do your research under the watchful eye of Father Harking and some of the acolytes. Those of you who are not adherents should find yourselves elsewhere."
Turning to Aydan, Duron speaks his first words since Father Grimburrow appeared, "Aydan, you and Azuk'ai should be able to manage things here. We may as well split up now and use this church as a rallying point once our morning investigations are complete. Marilwenn and I will be going to the magic shop and Melk to the town hall. Wesh, you can scout out the surrounding area and report back to us on any trouble. Does this plan sound acceptable to everyone?"
"Thank you father." Azuk'ai nods to the old man and then waits till he leaves. Turning to father Harking he raises an eyebrow at him. "Charming fellow. Now, how explicitly do you intend to follow his instructions? We really need to get our more learned fellow to the archives, and he seemed to exclude someone from his invitations."
Run raises her hand and gives Azuk'ai a wry look. "Well I guess call me 'someone,' then. I suppose it's as good a name as any, and since I'm already curating a fine young collection of nicknames I can give this one a good home." She gives a little nod. "Good luck gentlemen, let's see what we can find. I'll be outside." The alchemist hoists her backpack up to resettle it, then turns and leaves.
After the priest's departure Melk looks a little uncertain to his companions, "Ich... - I don't... I think... - there's no need to go to the townhall right away. I... would like to be here to hear the Father's verdict."
Mari smiles at Melk. "I have no problem staying here, or going to town hall, but I am at least going to step outside, for everybody's sake, since I think things in general will go better for the remainder of this visit if I am not present. I'll wait just outside the door. If anyone else feels like leaving, I'll go with. Otherwise, I'll just stay there 'til you all come out." With that, she strides out the door, turning her trenchcoat's giant collar up against the wind and letting the door close gently behind her.
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Wesh stands scowling and fingering the hilt of his scimitar as the old wind bag of a priest insults the old man, knowing that his tongue will only cause more trouble he keeps silent. Instead he thinks on the yappy elf's words, prodding at them like a sore tooth.
As they head out into the air again, rejoining Ramon Wesh speaks his voice thoughtful, "I get what you mean. If anybody who is powerful enough can nip into a Church and become a god why should they have any right to be worshiped. God means more than just really powerful to most people I think, and I don't think grantin' divine power to clerics and s$$~ qualifies, afterall I 'ave divine magic and it don't come from no god. I mean I respect Gozreh, but I don't know that I really worship 'im, I respect Gozreh because of what he does not of because what he is sorta thing - if he told me to sacrifice a baby I'd tell him to s*$#tin' go f~%+ himself."
He shrugs, "Anyways, me 'n' Ramon 'll take a sweep around the Village, be good to know the lie of the land. We want to meet up somewhere? How long they need to be book botherin'?"
"Wesh! Yes, that's...that's definitely the gist of it. People like yourself whose divine power comes from just the world itself, the power in the air and water and what's around, that's a prime bit of supporting evidence." She smiles at him. "That's a good idea, to scout around. I was going to say that I wish you didn't have to go alone, but then I suppose with Ramon around, that's not the case, is it?"
She looks ruefully at the closed doors to the church. "I don't know how long they'll be. It depends how much time is required to placate this Grimburrow fellow, I suppose. Maybe just meet us near the Restlands? Whoever arrives first can get a look around, or wait at whatever inn or tavern is closest."
Father Harking seems apologetic for Father Grimburrow. "He's a good man, but he never warmed up to Professor Lorrimor. He tends to be rather single-minded in his belief that the Professor was responsible for what happened. It's not something that we like to advertise or talk about. It was a difficult time."
"I was just a boy, hardly a teenager, when it all happened." He seems saddened and burdened by the memory. "Ten years ago, the Professor returned home with a number of his associates from the University to have a conference. Over the course of the next month, starting as soon as their arrival, people started disappearing. One in the first week, three in the second, then one or two a night. The town was in a panic, especially after they found the bodies in a shallow mass grave. Everyone turned on each other, but the Professor kept a steady head. He figured out, based on the locations of the disappearances and who was taken, that the murderer was operating out of the Magistrate's house on the north side of town. He told the Sheriff, who was still reeling with the shock of his wife's disappearance, who led a mob to the house. They burst down the door and found a hidden cellar. The magistrate was sacrificing townspeople with the help of some cultists who had slipped into town unnoticed."
His voice cracks, terribly saddened. "I was on the table, next to be sacrificed. I recognized that language last night, but I was too afraid to admit it. It was the same one that the magistrate spoke to the cultists, the same cultists with their masks and robes as last night. Father Grimburrow has always thought that they were working at the behest of Professor Lorrimor and his colleagues. As many times as I've tried to tell him that the Professor saved my life, he simply won't listen."
He clears his throat and tries to finish his story. "The mob took the magistrate and the cultists to Harrowstone and executed them on the spot. They threw their bodies down into the prison's ruined pit, with Father Grimburrow casting a spell to ensure that they would not rise again as the undead. After they burned down the magistrate's house and razed it to the ground, almost no one speaks of those dark days. Thirty-one people were murdered. We tried to simply to put it behind us. If they are back, people will start disappearing soon. I will do everything I can to help you find them."
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Wesh listens frowning as his fingers kneed Ramon's forehead, "Hellfire, I will never understand what makes people so attached to a few stone boxes. If you live next to a haunted accursed prison, and have cults and occult shenanigans bleeding well leave, yer people not limpets. What use is a home ye can't feel safe in? Blah, anyways I'll be off. Let's say meet at the Restlands in two hours? I ain't sure exploring the graves on yer own is a good idea though."
Pushing Ramon over playfully the young druid darts off into the mist, with the big cat giving chase with a wrowl of protest. Soon the two disappear from sight and moving at a loping run they begin to circle around the village clockwise noting landmarks and terrain as well as they can in the mist.
Melk looks around, "Father Grimburrow suggested we have a look and research through the facilities available here. Perhaps there is something we can find." He starts picking up a bit of steam as he goes, and seems quite enthusiastic, now that he's found some direction, "Does the temple keep records of the prison? Maybe there are more names we can find. Both on the wardens and the in-mates."
Father Harking nods somewhat enthusiastically, glad to unburden himself of his past trauma. "Yes, we have the most extensive records in town. The Church would have prepared death certificates for everyone in the prison during the fire. I don't want to incur Father Grimburrow's wrath, so only one or two of you should stay here. Preferably avowed followers of Pharasma."
Melk deflates a little. "I don't think I'm an avowed follower of Pharasma. Ich haven't really had much Kontakt with the gods. I'll have a look at the town hall, ja?"
Aydan listens intently as Father Harking tells his story, after ward he lays a firm hand on the man's shoulder.
'I'll go with you, aye. We'll see what we can find out about the last inhabitants of the prison. Is there anything else you know about the magistrate? Or the spell Father Grimburrow cast? Could it be overcome? Actually, did anyone recognise the language those cultists were speaking? That may help in our investigation.'
Runyon takes out her dog-eared Liber Abacci and flips to the reference tables. Since the others seem to be taking a while, she sits down and starts sketching a couple of the arcade segments from the frieze above the temple door, taking great pains to get the scale and ratios right before reducing their proportions to their fundamental mathematical essences and comparing them to well-known equations and/or sequences.
Pharasma. What information will your temple give up? Whether from direct research in the records or mathematical divination, I would know more of the secrets you keep.
Duron steps forward, "I did recognize the language, though I can't say from where. It is an ancient tongue used by followers of the Whispering Tyrant during his reign. If you find anything relating to cultists venerating lichdom or the undead, that would be our best avenue of research. I will take my leave and travel with Marilwenn to the Unfurling Scroll to see if we can find any more information there." Giving a polite farewell to the Father and the others, Duron turns and exits. Seeing Runyon sitting on the ground and sketching in her journal, he makes his best attempt to look cheerful, "So, Marilwenn, shall we depart for the magic shop? Perhaps we will find the key to this mystery amongst its shelves."
Azuk'ai gives slight hiss and traces a sign of warding through the air at Dúron's mention of the Whispering Tyrant. Resisting the urge to spit as well he turns and nods to father Harking. "I'll stay. I can read just fine now that they've pointed us in the right direction."
Melk takes directions from Father Harking and makes towards the town hall. He's feeling a bit more upbeat again now that he's left the shadow of Father Grimburrow behind. He keeps a careful eye out for villagers, giving a little wave if any look his way.
If opportunity strikes, he attempts to put his ear to the ground - as it were - and listens for any gossip.
Though there isn't much he hears that he wasn't expecting. "Strangers about town".
Eventually he finds what, according to Father Harking's description, should be the town hall. He enters the place with a bit of trepidation. "Hallo?"
Wesh and Ramon do a quick lap around town, which really doesn't take much time at all. The areas not built up for agriculture are forested with thick heavy trees that loom almost menacingly. While Wesh is at home in the trees more than the town, it's clear that there is something ominous about them. Wesh stops at one particular tree, staring at the hundreds of crows sitting on its branches. The crows simply stare back at him, silent and still. It is unsettling, to say the least.
Duron and Runyon make their way across the bridge towards the town hall. Things are not as deserted as the night before, but the strange looks that the elven pair receives from the townspeople sort of makes them wish that it were. The villagers whisper and point as the strange tall pair walks towards the magic shop. Several of the smaller shop owners make a point to stand imposingly in front of their front doors. As they arrive at the Unfurling Scroll, the front door is open relatively invitingly. As they enter, ducking to make their way through the door, a tall older gentleman stands in the middle of the shop. Scrolls and spellbooks line the counters and tables, along with a few potions. Each is meticulously marked with fine handwriting, and impeccably organized along magical school. The gentleman bows to them in a grand Ustalavic fashion, giving a formal greeting. "Welcome to the Unfurling Scroll, honored travelers and children of Kyonin. I am the Magi Alendru Ghoroven, serving at the pleasure of my welcome guests. What can I do for you today?"
Melk makes his way to the town hall near the town center, spotting Duron and Runyon as they enter the nearby magic shop. The town hall is a good-sized building that appears more utilitarian than anything. As in most small towns, it is likely the public forum, meeting hall, reception location, and anything else the townspeople might need it for. As he comes close, the Sheriff walks from the jail on the other side of the town square to intercept him. "Melk Besonders of Lepidstadt, right?" His tone is suspicious, just as it was the night before. "If you're headed to the town hall, it is reserved for the citizens of Ravengro. The clerks there can help you with any requests you might have, but the building itself is not open to strangers."
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Wesh glowers at the murder of crows for a time seriously considering casting entangle upon the tree, but in the end he reluctantly concludes that he would feel very silly for having wasted the spell should it prove potentially useful amidst the graves.
With a pair of lingering glowers at the carrion eaters he and Ramon step back into the mists and make their way to the grave yard to await their new companions.
"Danke Sheriff, I will try to abide by Ravengro's ways. You are kind to care for your town so." Melk nods to the Sheriff, his face friendly by default. "Do you mind if I ask you to help me a bit? I don't want to cause any trouble. I am looking to go to the town hall to ask for any history on Harrowstone prison that is on record there."
The suspicion of the Sheriff seems genuine and without ulterior motive. Melk knew many lawmen growing up in a prison, and has an eye for knowing which ones are honest and truthful. Sheriff Caeller is certainly simply interested in keeping his town safe and protected, and highly wary of strangers. With Father Harking's story, it is fairly understandable. He adjusts his wide-brimmed hat, keeping a steady gaze on Melk. "What's your interest in Harrowstone? Place is nothing more than a tomb for vicious murderers, our little pieces of Hell here in Ravengro." His voice is quite gruff and gravelly. "You can make your requests to the clerk there, but like I said before: the town hall itself is for citizens only. Good luck, and stay out of trouble." He walks away slowly, glancing askew at Melk as to not let him at his back.
As Melk enters the town hall's entrance hall, it is quiet and mostly empty. A few people walk around, but the town is too small to have an active bureaucracy. A pretty young woman, in her late teens or early twenties, regards Melk as he walks in. "Good morning, sir. I'm Thea. How can I help you?" Her dark hair frames a pretty face, though her apparent friendliness does not truly extend to her dark, suspicious eyes.
'Its just us few now. Shall we go investigate these records Father? Before the old man runs out patience with us?' Aydan gives Akuz'ai a wink and cinches up his back, as if ready to explore a dank cavern, rather than a collection of records.
Azuk'ai shrugs at Aydan. "How long will the augury take father? Can we start our research now?" he asks Father Harking, his tone low and polite.
Father Harking leads them to the library. It's certainly not as large as any of Absalom's many grand libraries, but it is certainly more germane to the investigation at hand. It is mostly cabinets, with the exhaustive records of the town's deaths and births meticulously filed by year. A smaller segment of the library is dedicated to the study and destruction of undead in all sorts of forms. Seeing Azuk'ai eyeing the section, Father Harking explains to him, "Father Grimburrow has several tomes in his personal collection that he has deemed too dangerous to be kept here. If these aren't sufficient to do research on the nature of the enemy, we are certainly all doomed."
"I want to see if I can identify what we're facing. Maybee these tomes can help. Maybee you should find records on Harrowstone?" Azuk'ai says to Ayden as he steps to the the section dedicated to undead. Picking a tome at random he leafs through and starts reading.
'History is more my forte anyway,' Aydan nods to Azuk'ai and sets off to browse through the extensive library of town records.
Her eyebrows raised in surprise, Run looks from the shop owner to Duron and back. "I...that is, Magi Ghoroven, it is...most pleasurable to make your acquaintance. I must confess that though I certainly harbor Ravengro no ill will, I had of late begun to despair of ever again hearing a kind word whilst within her borders. Thank you so much for yours."
Not bothering to hide her high level of interest in basically everything in the shop, she asks "We are here as friends of the late professor Petros Lorrimor. Did you know him at all?"
The wizard conjures an illusion of Petros, flawlessly recreating him through weaving strands of magic together. He stares at the image. "I did, indeed, I did. You could say we were friendly rivals. He knew the touch of the arcane, just as I do. His specialty was the traditional school of divination, as befitting a researcher of his status. Mine is illusion, as you might tell. He rarely used his magic, though. He preferred to take the longer way to information, saying that the process of discovery was just as valuable as any gleaned knowledge." He lets the illusion fade slowly, a wistful look in his eye.
"As for Ravengro, the townspeople are simply a rather insular lot. Give them time. I spent several years studying magic in Kyonin, thus am rather used to elves. I picked up the language as well, if you'd prefer to speak in your native tongue. I'm likely a bit rusty, though, as it has been decades. A paltry time for an elf, but quite long for a human."
"I've no particular affinity for my native tongue, honestly, though I can certainly speak it if you wish, to help you stay in practice..." Run smiles warmly. "Anirela anelvya ela mylaana oem sa, illa amacc, illa E irilela faal lae celv el anira nyestyilla eo irysillla, faelv feanir milelaaw illw awynyilanaw selaanca fa aniras." She says a bit haltingly.
The alchemist pauses, herself looking wistful. "That was...a fine illusion, my friend. It brings back many memories. Can it really be just yesterday we laid him -- hopefully -- to rest."
Azuk'ai and Aydan bury themselves in the books. Father Harking gets them anything they need, or send acolytes to do so, but does his best to try to follow Father Grimburrow's orders. A few hours roll by as they scan book after book, looking for what information might be useful.