The three and a half weeks in Lepidstadt seem to pass all too quickly. Winter breathes its last for this year, and spring blooms all around. Drinks are never paid for and never lacking, meals are taken with Kendra, with the council, and with Father Grimburrow with frequency. The peace and the quiet grow comfortable and familiar.
Ravengro, it seems, has returned to complacent sense of normalcy it has clung to for so long. Time spent in research, reflection, and study has not been wasted.
Lepidstadt is a little more than one hundred miles north, around lake Lias, along the Lesser Moutray river, through the border-city of Tamrivena and the village of Cortaud. The road follows the southeastern foothills of the Tusk Mountains.
It is roughly four days travel by foot.
Kendra had busied herself packing--an offer was made on her house, through one of the councilman Hearthmount. She agreed to the price, and readied herself to make way to Caliphas, to resume her studies. With the house to exchange hands on the first of the month, the party found themselves released to complete their task, and deliver the tomes to the appropriate parties in Lepidstadt.
The day before Kendra was set to leave, a carriage was visible outside Kendra's house, as the party returned from their own preparations.
Upon entering, they find Kendra conversing with a familiar face. Adivion Adrissant, well-dressed, sits in one of the well-worn chairs in the library.
"My friends," Kendra announces as she stands. "Many of you have met Lord Adrissant previously, but to the rest; this is Adivion Adrissant, a professor at Quatrefax Archines in Caliphas and old friend of my father's. He has offered to let me stay in his apartments there until I find lodgings of my own."
The man stands - he is tall, pale and impeccably dressed. His long, thin white hair is tied back, and his hands are gloved. He shakes hands with each in turn as they are introduced.
To those he met previously: "A pleasure to see you again, glad you are well."
To those he had not met: "Well met, friends of Lorrimor. I have heard of your exploits and offer you my congratulations on the deed done. Most impressive, Lorrimor would be proud."
"Good day to you," Eloise says, returning Adrissant's handshake with slightly greater strength than she had before coming to Ravengro; in addition to all her studying in the late professor's library and the town wizard's, she has been working out these past weeks.
"It's a nice thought that the Professor might be raising a drink to our work, in whichever of the Heavens Pharasma ushered him into. It truly is.
So... How were you acquainted with Professor Lorrimor, Professor? And what brings us the pleasure of your visit?"
Dotting; more to come when I get back to a real computer.
Lorimor's notes, previously located by the party were readily available to Eloise and all who needed a refresher. They stated the following:
A sinister organization of Necromancers, the Whispering Way has been active in the Inner Sea region for years. Members seek alliances with the undead--and it's most notorious member is certainly Tar Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant. Though the cult existed long before the Tyrant came along.
The Whispering Way itself is a series of philosophies, transmitted only via whisper, and never written. Their exact goals and nature are impossible to pin down for this reason.
The only obvious goal of the Whispering Way is to engineer the release of The Whispering Tyrant. To this end they apparently investigate many haunted locales to research the nature of undeath and to sometimes capture unique monsters.
Their symbol is a gagged skull, and those who learn too much of the Way's secrets meet their end in hideous ways: mouths and faces mutilated to prevent communication via speak with dead spells.
"A pleasure to meet you, my Lord. And our thanks for offering to house Kendra for a time. She has been a generous hostess and a good friend this last month."
Peredur returns the handclasp and gives a short bow. "Well met again, Master Adrissant, in a rather finer setting. It's glad I am that Mistress Kendra has a place to stay." He looks over at the Professor's daughter. "It's hoping I am that you've found a place for old Petros' library. Without such as yourself or Petros here, few there be who would use it as it should be used. Perhaps I'll see you on my way back to Almas, when all's done...my best way home is 'round Lake Encarthan from Caliphas."
Sour Heck shakes Lord Adrissant’s hand solemnly. “It’s kind of you to loan your town quarters to a troubled young woman living under a curse, beset on all sides by affliction and misfortune. I’d offer my hopes that none of those troubles, curses, afflictions or misfortunes spread to you as a result, but I can’t muster the optimism.”
The Adrissants are a noble family hailing from Ardis, former capital of Ustalav. As the nobility fled to Caliphas, the Adrissants remained behind with a few other noble families.
Kendra nods to Peredur.
"I will bring it with me, of course, Lord Adrissant has provided the means to carry it to Caliphas." she smiles, graciously to her benefactor, who merely nods. "I would love it if you come to visit, all of you." Adrissant, finely dressed and perfectly coiffed, seems intent to show no reaction to the idea.
Kendra reacts to Heck's endorsement with a shocked laugh, and swats at the bard.
"Heck, you wound me." she says, grinning.
To the bard, Adrissant smiles slightly. "I have no doubt that the lady's fortunes will improve once she is clear of this place." Was that disdain? Perhaps just the product of a noble bearing...
"Just try and keep us away," Eloise says, a big grin splitting her face when Kendra mentions the newly minted 'Hawthorn Society' visiting her at Adrissant's place. "I swore my blade to your defence in honour of your father; I take that kind of oath seriously."
"Of course. We'll be glad to visit."
She chuckles and winks.
"Just don't get so caught up in the nightlife and parties you forget us."
She hugs Kendra.
"Or your studies. Do your father proud, and our thanks again for th' hospitality." The half-elf hitches up his new pack. "Time we were on th' road ourselves. It's not overfond I am of nights outdoors, so th' sooner we're there th' better."
"Why don't we travel together as far as we can?" Eloise suggests, still smiling. "Oh - I need to go pay the livery stable that's been taking care of my uh, noble steed. Heh. I won't be a moment."
"Is that right?" Eloise says, scratching the back of her head. "Shame. Well..."
The Magus enfolds Kendra in a brief, fierce hug.
"I hope to see you again soon," she tells her. "Stay amazing, Kendra Lorrimor; I know you'll do all of us, and your great father, proud. And now, I really am off to collect my noble steed."
Talia politely waits her turn, before hugging Kendra as well. "Stay safe on your journey. I hope you get settled comfortably in your new home. And know that our prayers and thoughts go with you."
Kendra gratefully returns the embraces.
"And mine go with you, my friends."
No charge for the heroes of the Hawthorn society
And with that, Kendra is gone, the house emptied, and little left to the Hawthorn Society but the open road, west then north...
Stopping off at the Restlands to pay final respects to Professor Lorrimor before leaving, and asking Father Grimburrow for a blessing for the road. In whichever order makes the most sense.
Eloise accompanies Peredur on both visits, leading a grey donkey by its lead while she does so. The animal seems content enough to follow, even though the Magus has saddled it and fit it with well-filled saddlebags.
If anyone gives her or the donkey any odd looks, Eloise is defiant.
"What? He's strong and loyal, and he gets me where I want to go in the end. And less people try to steal him."
"I was just wondering how you and Kendra both ended up with a noble ass for a traveling companion," Sour Heck drawls.
Peredur smiles slightly. "It's thinking I am that Eloise' noble ass is more useful."
He stops and reddens. "Wait, that didn't come out th' way I meant it."
"Well, it does look like her ass has gotten plenty of exercise in the last few weeks. It should be fit for the long ride ahead."
"Yes, yes," Eloise says with a dry drawl to her voice, "I can see where this is going. Just don't try to pinch my ass without offering a few drinks first, hmm?"
"Sour Heck, it's doubting I am that any of us will be riding--well, you take my meaning."
"I know you heroes have gotten pretty attached to old Ravengro and its ways in the last few weeks, but I think we should get on the road without any more fuss. In my experience, fewer goodbyes means fewer last-minute marriage proposals, paternity suits and stabbings. And I'm trying to cut back on getting stabbed."
"I were actually looking forward to seeing Lepidstadt. In truth, I've read so much about th' place in Petros' library that I feel I know it as well as I know Almas."
"I guess you have a point, Heck. Still, stabbings...I do need healing practice."
Iesha looks at the pointed end of her glaive and then at Heck, speculatively.
"Please don't," Eloise says. "I'd rather hear sombre jokes and dirges all the way to Lepidstadt than moans of pain and recriminations."
No gaggle of well-wishers to wave them off, the heroes depart without fanfare. Not an insult, necessarily. A week of celebrations had followed their victory, but spring was here and work was to be done. As they marched west around the lake, farmers waved and called out their blessings to the heroes as they passed.
But the farms quickly fell away to a dismal and endless moor, expanding west and north from Lake Lias. The mountains to the north loomed closer as they trod on, they'd be among the foothills in the next day, the Old Mountain road would finally earn its name. Lake Lias now lay to the south and east, the first day's travel came to an end.
Finding a dry spot for the first night's rest proved a bit of a hassle, but it was done eventually. The party settled down to rest in a copse of trees some thirty feet off the road.
"I will offer to take the first watch, with Kieli keeping a lookout as well, if no one has any objections? Given the length of the night, unless we wish overlaps, perhaps two hours for each of us?"
"It's th' middle watch for me, I'm thinking."
“I’ll take second watch. Probably won’t sleep for first watch either. Or third. It’s a shame, too; I’d rather the orcs kill me quietly in my sleep.”
"I need eight straight hours of sleep," Eloise says, apologetically, "or I won't be able to cast my spells, come the morning. If the last watch falls outside of that, I'll take it."
"I'll take the watch after Peredur, then wake Eloise for the last. Who's our best cook? Eloise can wake that volunteer mid-way through her watch."
The party settles down, routine established, to their watches.
Talia's watch passes without issue: only the sounds of the moor settling down or waking up for the night fill the thick air. Heck takes up the second shift.
Heck idles away his time, listening to the music of the Canterwall night. Peredur then takes his shift, as agreed.
Peredur's watch as well is uneventful. Iesha is next.
Iesha's watch is punctuated by the long, mournful song of a wolf, somewhere off in the distance. She spends her last hour attentive for more sounds of the creature, but nothing occurs.
Eloise, well-rested, rises for the last watch.
The sun rises over the moors, bringing warmth to a chilly, and blessedly uneventful night.
"Looks like we lucked out tonight," Eloise says to the others as they stir for breakfast; they find the Magus going through a series of exercizes with her black longsword, shifting from one stance to another at a relaxed pace.
Soon enough, though, Eloise takes out her spellbook with the red-and-black cover, bisected by the white lion, and starts to study her spells for the day.
The party trudges north, and soon, the moors giveway to the foothills of the mountain. Not long after noon, the party comes upon a cluster of brightly, even garishly painted wagons, assembled in a semi-circle, facing away from the road.
The sound of two women crying, and a bizarre howling noise can be heard from a good way away.
Coming closer, the wagons display the names of their occupants in large, bright lettering.
Lidia, the Bearded Lady.
The Pinhead Sisters.
S'jeer, the Vudrani Princess.
Prince Zar: the Human Caterpillar.
Trollblood the Giant.
The Wolf Child.
The Swarm of Clowns.
"Sounds as if someone's in a spot of bother," Eloise says, one eyebrow raised. She clicks her tongue at her donkey, which starts to clip-clop over to the small carnival.
Sour Heck hurries into camp and descends on the person with the biggest hat, longest beard, or most tattoos.
"I see you've found trouble on the road...well, no surprise there. How many eaten by orcs?"
"Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Sour Heck, manager of the Hawthorn Society traveling freak show. And these are my companions: Eloise the Man-Handed Lady; Peredur, the World's Oldest Virgin; Talia and her Astonishing Half-Trained Raven; and Iesha, the Glaive-Swallower. At your service."
"Do you think there's any way we could avoid whatever calamities have befallen you recently? Without encountering worse ones?"
Eloise, who has ridden into camp on Sour Heck's heels - unless danger presents itself at once, necessitating different action - briefly puts her face into her hands - and then brings one of those hands down on Sour Heck's head, somewhere between a tap and a reprimanding rap.
"And please allow me to introduce," she says in a calm voice, "Sour Heck, the man with the middle-hinged tongue. But yes, we are the Hawthorn Society. Do you need assistance?"
Talia whispers to Eloise, "I believe this is a troupe of mummers, though they certainly appear to be in distress."
She turns, addressing the troupe before her. "Allow our humorous companion his jests, but while his description may be a tad off, our dear Eloise speaks plainly. Is there naught we might help you with?"
In the camp, the painted names take on life. To one side, an albino man with long hair, wearing a shoddy looking striped suit, discusses something in hushed and urgent tones with a seven foot tall... woman? with a truly spectacular beard, and what must be Prince Zar, the human caterpillar. A man with no arms or legs.
Near the fire, two women, who must be the Pinhead sisters, are sobbing uncontrollably. A cage nearby holds what looks like a miniature werewolf. It takes up a howling chorus whenever the sister's crying reaches a crescendo. A Vudrani-looking woman with three fully-formed arms comforts them, and an utterly monstrous eight-foot-tall man simply wanders the camp, with a blank expression on his face.
As Heck bursts onto the scene, the albino man races over, pulling on a tall red top hat. The rest of assembled turn and look, save for the crying sisters.
"Kaleb Hesse, Master Heck. A pleasure to meet you and your uh... menagerie."
"Sadly, we're in a bit of a bind. Aleece, one of our dear sisters has gone missing. We believe she may have wandered south into the moors while the party was resting."
Indeed, not too far from the campsite, the last efforts of the moors around Lake Lias cling to the foothills of the mountains.
"While a few of us want to run off to look for her, against my wishes and instructions, we are not warriors, merely entertainers..."He looks at each of the society members in turn with pleading eyes.
"If you can help us find our lost sister, I can reward you. A magical dagger that came into my possession is yours in return."
Peredur shakes his head at Sour Heck's audacity. "It's thinking I am that we can find this Aleece. Though 'twould be easier by far and I knew what her tracks might look like."
“Don’t worry, friends. Whatever danger lurks out there, it’s sure to strike us before it does your lost sister.” He sighs and gazes theatrically over the desolate moor. “Well, let’s get it over with quickly.”
"Might we bother you for a description of Ms. Aleece?" Eloise asks, seconding Peredur.
"A description would be most helpful, yes. And do you know what she was wearing when she left? The color or make of her clothes?"
"She was dressed the same as her sisters, in a simple dress. I doubt you'd mistake her for any other, though. Her condition makes her quite unique."
The man gestures at the sisters. Microcephaly would be the techincal term, pinhead the more vulgar, but either way, the two remaining sisters both have abnormally narrow heads.
“If the gods were kind, you’d have lost a chicken-footed boy, but maybe Peredur can follow some ordinary girls’ footprints across the moor.”
“Not that I’m excited to be crossing the moor. You hear all kinds of stories about what’s lurking out there. When we go missing, Hesse, don’t send another search party...just spread the word that leaving the road on the moor is pretty stupid.”
"I'll be hitching my ride with you while we search, if you don't mind," Eloise says as she gets down from her donkey. She affectionately pats the grey animal on the neck. "If we don't make it back, please find a decent place to put him out to pasture."