Pellious shoots a look at Sour Heck, then nods as understanding dawns on him.
He mutters an arcane word and then whispers something before pointing at the bard, the words magically sounding in Heck's ear.
"So this monster, the last thing this wretch saw, was not this same beast you've been defending.
"Well, it's been a while, but I'd say I could touch the ceiling if I reached for it. Call it eight feet. And yes, I said it looked like the Beast, exactly how you described him. Damn tall, scales, pustules everywhere, fur coming off one shoulder. I saw it with my own two eyes, I did.
That was the Doctor's whole research, as far as I can tell. Caring for them, trying to fix them when he could, and making their lives better. He died doing the work of the gods, so he did. If you go to the old Sanctuary, maybe you'll find something to show what I mean better than I can say."
A clock-bell goes off somewhere deeper in the house, and Karl's head snaps up at the sound. "Seems to be about time for dinner. I've got some mutton stew on the pot, from last night. It's a poor offering for guests, but if you'd like to stay, you're more than welcome to break bread with me. I've not had guests interested in more than my blindness in a long while, and few enough willing to approach it with a laugh and, I assume, a grin."
Sour Heck flinches when Pellious directs his spell at him. He rubs out Karl’s sketch, and replaces the image with “please dont do that”. He taps the chalk on the board thoughtfully a moment, then adds, “yes some other giant freak”.
Sour Heck sniffs loudly at the air and smacks his lips loudly. “I never turn down stew from a man honest enough to name the meat in it. Can’t linger, though. We’re expected at church and court tonight, and if you say there’s a chance we might find something at Sanctuary, we’ll have to leave early tomorrow to check it out.”
“But before we go, tell me--did the Beast say anything that night? Would you recognize its voice?”
"You're kind to offer, Karl," Eloise says, "but as Sour Heck says, we have business to be about - after we've had the answer to his question, of your kindness."
"Why, no it didn't. Least, I never heard it say anything." Karl looks puzzled for a moment. "Now, why would that...oh! Right. You want me to identify the Beast by sound. I'm sorry, friends. As for dinner, I am sorry you can't stay, but maybe I'll be seeing you some other time?" He stands, grinning, and walks you to the door.
"Thank you for your hospitality," Eloise says with grave courtesy.
Once the group is back on the move, she asks: "So. Where next? The court, in case some of the rabble decides to show up early?"
Peredur nods absently. "It's a fine idea that's being."
On the way to the courthouse, a number of guard patrols pass you, heading out into the town. Some of the guards curse at you, while one nods solemnly as you pass. The majority, however, ignore you.
At the courthouse itself, a handful of guards stand near the doors. One, the sergeant with the hastily-sewn-on patch, beckons you over. "Good, you're here. If we can't sleep, neither can you, that's what I say! The boss called up and extra dozen, but less than half of 'em showed up. Could be you'll see 'em tonight, or could be they'll just stay home. That's my bet." He laughs and shoves his hands in his pockets.
"You are mistaken," is all Eloise says to the sergeant, her voice frosty.
The Magus calmly walks out a distance from the doors, draws her black blade and rests its tip on the ground. Using her free hand, she pulls a leather-covered book with a picture of a blood-red rose on the cover and flips it open.
Humming under her breath, Eloise thumbs through the pages until she finds what she seeks -- and she starts to sing. It is a beautiful, uplifting hymn, one of the many in the hymnal of Milani the Everbloom. Her voice carries in the gathering darkness...
Iesha also begins to sing, her song, dedicated to Shelyn, weaving in and out around Eloise's.
Iesha and Eloise's song fills the air as a crescent moon begins to rise over the city. For a few minutes, their voices are the only things breaking the silence, but as the song continues, a few faint chants can be heard, gradually moving closer. "Bring out the Beast! Burn him!" The circular courtyard outside the courthouse gradually fills with townsfolk, some carrying torches and others pitchforks. Among the crowd are the sisters from the trial, as well as a few guards, still in their uniforms, and a number of other citizens, totaling perhaps fifty. One of them, a young, frightened-looking woman in a pale blue woolen dress, steps forward. "B-Bring the Beast out! It's a murderer and...and an abomination, and we intend to set it to burning. Father Cidoimoikis may not be able to tell who the monsters are, but Pharasma can, and if the Beast has a soul, we'll send it to be judged!" The crowd gives a rousing cheer.
Pellious scowls deeply, anger and frustration showing in well-worn lines on his face.
"If this night ends without bloodshed, it will be a miracle of no small measure..."
"Aye, though if 't can be done Sour Heck has it in him to th' thing."
Eloise finishes her song, taking her time to do so. With the last word still echoing -- or it would be, if not for the noise from the rabble -- she casually puts away the holy book and puts both hands on the hilt of her black longsword. Her posture shifts subtly; anyone with the eyes to see can tell that Eloise now only appears to be relaxed, when actually she is ready to spring into battle.
Then she deigns to meet the eyes of the young woman in the blue dress. "Who is in charge?" she asks, raising her voice to be heard by all. "I see a pretty young thing, pushed forward because she is young and easy to push around. Shame on you all for that, by the way. But who is in charge? Who said, 'Let us go at once to the Abode of Justice and flout the law by lynching a chained opponent'? Step forward and speak with your own voice, instead of making others do your dirty work for you while you remain unseen. Anyone who claims the patronage of Pharasma should stand forward, not lurk and creep like Urgathoa's filth."
Sour Heck slouches in the shadows, trying to avoid the mob’s attention, until they begin to cheer the girl in blue. Then he jumps up and rushes to the front of the mob, cavorting and cheering the loudest of all. “This young lady’s a genius! Why have a courthouse at all? Whenever someone is accused of a crime, we should just cut their head off, and let Pharasma judge them! Why has no one ever thought of that before? It’s probably a conspiracy of judges. They really, really like wearing those robes and wigs. Well, I say no more! No more wigs! No more wigs! No more wigs!” He moves to next to the drunkest-looking member of the mob, pumping his fist in time with his chant. He keeps it up until all eyes are on him--and, perhaps, some of the more addled townsfolk have joined in confusedly--then abruptly drops the chant and wheels to address the mob.
“Wait--wait a minute now. Pharasma judges everyone? Everyone? So she’ll judge you”--he stabs his finger suddenly at the girl in the blue dress-- “for what you’re doing here tonight? Defying her law, defying her church and her priests, usurping her place as judge and executioner?” He wheels and points at other members of the crowd who seem to be wavering. “And she’ll judge you? And you? And you?” He thrusts his finger aggressively at them, stabbing it towards the Grey Lady’s spiral if they wear it.
Abruptly he notices the uniformed guards in the mob. “Oh, thank the Lady, more guards. You must be the reinforcements the sergeant there told us he was expecting. What’s the punishment for defying a sergeant’s orders? Not what Pharasma passess out, now, I mean what the judges order. Five lashes? Ten? More if it’s Aldaar, especially if he thinks it’s desertion--I hear when he was a general, he had four score of his own troops impaled, for desertion.” Sour Heck shudders theatrically. “On my list of all-time worst ways to die, impaling is pretty far up there, just above burning and just below flaying.”
He turns to the sergeant on the courthouse steps. “Here’s your troops, sergeant! What are your orders?”
When Eloise demands that the leader of the mob step forward, Sour Heck’s eyes grow comically wide. “Oh, hey, I wouldn’t call myself a leader, exactly. I just, you know, kind of got caught up in all this. Didn’t even bring a torch.” He elbows the nearest person with a torch, and stage whispers, “She’s got a really big sword. Put the torch down.”
Iesha steps forward, turning her laughter at Sour Heck's performance into a mocking laugh. "Yes, put out the torches...Hide from the Lady of Graves as you attempt to usurp her prerogatives."
She brings her glaive forward with a flourish, planting it blunt end first and casting Daylight on the blade.
"Let Shelyn, who seeks redemption of all, remove that cloak!"
Though a small ripple of laughter flows through the crowd, only a handful leave, sneaking furtively away from the back of the group. The sergeant of the Guard steps up. "Now, men, either go on home or join with us. There's no reason for you to be out in the mob." His words, however, prove less effective than Sour Heck's jokes
"They didn't push me to do this! I have a child at home! A little boy, three years old, and I won't stand and let this child-killing abomination threaten his life!" The woman in the blue dress looks at Eloise, shouting loudly enough for everyone to hear. The group shies away from Iesha and Eloise as they draw their steel, and as the night turns to day over a section of the courtyard, the party can see that, in addition to the pitchforks and torches much of the mob carries, a few have more lethal weapons. specifically, crossbows, one of which looses with a loud twang that cuts through the crowds murmuring.
The bolt slams into Iesha's side as the Guard sergeant shouts. "Inside the courthouse, quickly!" He follows his own advice as the mob begins to stir, a few citizens beginning to push forward toward the courthouse itself. The man who loosed his crossbow begins reloading it, while others start loading theirs. Meanwhile, the young woman who was the spokesperson for the mob starts shrieking at the sight of Iesha's wound. "I never meant for this! I never meant for this!"
Eloise moves to stand in front of Iesha, holds one hand up against the crowd - and chants a single Word of Power. The effect is immediate; the Magus grows taller, larger, until she looms over the crowd like an Ogress.
she booms.
Eloise sweeps her gaze across the rabble.
The Magus growls.
The Magus breathes in deeply, then out again.
Eloise's eyes, dark and demanding, sweep the crowd again.
Iesha sways, staggered briefly, shocked by the unanticipated attack.
Then she speaks, her voice quiet after Eloise's shouts. ”I believe that you never meant harm to me or to any innocents. While I have no child of my own, I hope I do understand your fears for your son. I assure you, if I believed that he whom you call 'Beast' was such a threat I would stand against him with all my strength. I was there, I saw what those poor children had become. I had to strike to free their poor souls. I still carry that burden, though we stood firm and freed them from the horror of undeath. The -thing- that slew and transformed them has been destroyed in turn. Go home. Go home to your son, to your families. Hold them tight, be grateful for them. Pray for the souls of those innocents, now freed from a terrible curse. Pray for their families, now alone and having to live with what their children had become, unaware. Pray for those, who in the past, also took matters into their own hands, thinking themselves justified in cruelly slaying one who had, in fact, struck down children, setting the stage for what happened in Hergstag. Leave the judgment of the Beast to those whose duty it is. Do you not trust your own Justices? Do you truly think they would release one known to be a monstrous threat to this town? Would you also have them convict one they knew innocent of the crime charged, just to pacify a mob? What happens them, with such a precedent? Who would be the next sacrificial victim? If you cannot give us, who are strangers to you, trust to keep your town safe from a true monster, trust those who must share this town with you.”
She looks down at her bloodied hand, pressed against her wound, then again directs her words to the female spokesperson. ”You can surely see how easy it is to pervert good intentions.”
She lifts her hand, shaking off blood and wiping it on her outfit, then holds it out to the woman and the crowd. ”Please. Go home, forgive yourselves as I choose to forgive you.”
Sour Heck is in the middle of calling a morose greeting to Garrow, Starle, and Flichte when the crossbows come out. His eyes pop wide with fear, and he immediately ducks and dodges through the flatfooted mob to take cover inside the courthouse.
The woman in the blue dress, her face streaked with tears, pushes her way through the crowd and disappears into the darkness. However, a large group of citizens, armed with sledgehammers and woodchopping axes, pushes forward, mounting the courthouse's steps. Two more crossbows fire, one zipping within an inch of Eloise's head, the other thudding harmlessly into the courthouse and bouncing off.
Peredur sets his shield in place and draws his sword, striding to meet the group coming up the steps.
"Get BACK!" Eloise shouts, warningly, as she falls back to stand at Peredur's side. "I AM WARNING YOU!"
The Magus makes an intricate gesture with her free hand and scatters a handful of greasy powder; a mixture of tallow, brimstone and powdered red iron while she rapidly chants Words of Power. The powder, instead of falling to the ground, rises and starts to glow. At first, it looks like a spray of fireflies. Then the sparks fly together and a 5-foot diameter sphere of roaring flame kindles there.
"Be gone or be BURNED!" Eloise roars as she places the fiery orb in the mob's way.
Pellious sneers at the surging mass of humanity and draws back toward the door. He withdraws strands of diaphanous webbing from his component pouch and tosses it out in front of him, barking an arcane word and gesturing it forward with an open palm.
Propelled by the spell, the strands grow exponentially, moving forward to cover the mob.
As the sticky cables of highly incindiary Web spread to cover the torch-bearing crowd, Sour Heck risks a peek out the courthouse door and past the Flaming Sphere. “Are we being haunted by the invisible ghost of that giant spider freak, or did Pellious squirt that out? I’m not sure which I’d find more disturbing. Smart move if it was you, Pellious--Eloise would feel pretty guilty if she set a bunch of frightened townsfolk on fire.” The bard unfurls the Hawthorn Society banner as he chatters, taking exaggerated care to keep it away from the flames.
"Don't know that one," Eloise replies, shrugging. "Yet."
"It'll burn away too quickly to do any lasting damage. If it doesn't manage to hold them back or scare them off, then..." he shrugs, at a loss.
The crowd presses forward, stopping momentarily as Eloise's flaming sphere rolls to a stop at the foot of the stairs. Just as they start to press forward again, however, Pellious's web falls on the wave of tool-wielding townsfolk, and they grind to a halt only a few feet from the flaming sphere.
The webbing settles onto the crowd, and as it does, it touches first one torch, then another, until it's solidly ablaze. As quickly as it catches, it's out, leaving behind ten panicking townfolk, who fling their weapons away and start screaming. All possess varying degrees of burns.
The rest of Lepidtadt's mob backs away, milling uncertainly. A few yell for more people to take up the axes and charge the doors, but others burst into tears. For a few moments, whether the night will end in more blood hangs in the balance.
Peredur stands fast, waiting for the better talkers to get on with it.
"Get out of here," Eloise growls, her black sword gleaming as she raises it high - and she wills the flaming sphere to roll towards the remaining miscreants. "BEGONE!"
“Where’s everyone going? Afraid of a bunch of guards, a couple of fire wizards and some battle-hardened warriors?” The bard goggles at Eloise's naked blade. “Fair enough, that makes a lot of sense.”
“Here’s a thought...the Beast is still facing a death sentence, hey? How about we call it a night, and come back with a bigger mob if the judges, having gone insane, say he isn’t guilty? Because I’ve seen that giant freak in court, and we’re going to need a bigger mob.”
Iesha, still holding her glowing glaive aloft, ducks nimbly around the flaming sphere (incidentally making sure more of the mob are exposed) and channels energy to heal those burned.
She speaks once more, projecting her voice to reach as much of the crowd as possible. "Please! Return to your homes. We do not wish to harm you, we only want the truth. We want, as you surely do, for the guilty one to pay for his crimes! Consider this: If, in fact, the one you call Beast is not guilty of these crimes, then who is? If the 'Beast' is punished for them, and is not guilty, then the true criminal is still out there...still murdering folks, still robbing graves, free to continue! Let us help to find the truth, for only the truth will save your city from this monster, whomever, whatever, he -or she- might be. Let justice rule, for if you fail to do so, you, your city all suffer...not just in letting a killer walk free, but in making certain that this 'Beast' and the next person charged with any crime truly receives justice!
Some in the crowd nod in agreement with Sour Heck and Iesha, while others look around with more than a little fear in their eyes, shocked from the suddenness of the battle and Eliose's words. With everyone's combined efforts, the mob slowly disperses, leaving behind a quiet street on which fragments of webbing still smolder. The sergeant looks out the door, both frightened and relieved. "I hadn't imagined it'd actually come to violence. Last time we had a mob, they showed up and screamed for an hour, but no one got hurt. Listen, I'm sorry about my reluctance. Still think the Beast is guilty, but we'll see about that day after tomorrow, won't we?"
A few of the other guards nod, smiling in relief that's only compounded when a squad of guards marches in from town. The sergeant looks them over and turns to the party. "I think we can hold for the night. Doubt that mob'll reform anyways, after that thrashing."
Peredur sheathes his sword with minimal flash and nods. "That were well done, all. No one dead."
Eloise sheathes her sword, but does not dispel the fireball. Rather, she makes a curt gesture at it and causes it to hover at a safe distance behind her as she approaches the sergeant.
"I'll accept your apology on one condition," she says. "Don't let your guard down. Someone did murder at the old asylum. If it wasn't Andrew, the prisoner, then whoever it is could try to stir the mob back up again. You need to stay alert from here on in. Alright?"
"None dead, but I'm sure the local healers will be busy on the morrow." Pellious says without a trace of sympathy. "When the judges hear of this, I'm sure there will be further... repercussions."
"Well, they'll likely not be happy about it, but no one died, which is about as good as can be expected. And I'll be sure to keep my guard up, but I don't think that mob'll be stirring again anytime soon. Not after that show of force, at least." The guard steps back inside the courthouse. [b]"I'm going to lock this place down for the night. You ought to find yourselves some beds, you look exhausted.
Sour Heck yawns. "Get a good night's sleep...might never get another chance. Sure, some dead people look restful at first, but I'll wager it's hard to get comfortable after the worms eat your eyelids. At least we have no idea what we'll be up against at the asylum tomorrow...less nightmares that way. Or at least, less specific ones."
"On the other hand, that means we can't prepare ahead of time. Might be more spirits. Best prepare to spells that will work on flesh or shadows alike, Eloise."
"Pellious, you have a place to sleep?"
The group, including Pellious, heads to Ghoran's. Though the Crooked Kin have been around, none are awake, the last of their farces having ended some time ago. A few old barflies trade tales of the day's events, but nothing particularly useful comes up, and bed is calling.
Morning arrives soon enough, another grey Ustalav sunrise. A quick breakfast, and the party is on its way. A narrow track, just wide enough for the party's wagon in places, follows the Lesser Moutray River toward the north through a moldering grey-green swamp for a handful of miles, and it's perhaps midday when Karb Isle, actually an isthmus, comes into view. A short spur of the main road leads toward the river, where the sanctuary once stood. Of the sanctuary itself, only one stone wall, badly holed, remains standing, with the others collapsed inwards. Even from a distance, the tangle of stone and beams and shake-shingles seems like it could take a while to sort through. On either side of the road-spur stand a half-dozen tombstones.
"We need to work quickly," Eloise says, grimly. "We've got a deadline, after all. So. Tombstones first, then sweep the building?"
"Truly a fine day that starts with looking at a grave, and then poking around a burned out ruin." Pellious says. "Onward, then."
Peredur nods and takes the lead, looking for anything out of the ordinary.