"No, I will not allow you to attend the questioning. It's difficult enough that you ask me to rip a soul from awaiting its judgement to answer your whims. A Speaking is not a fount of knowledge. It's a painful process for both the questioned soul and the questioner." Father Cidoimoikis pauses, frowning. "I do see your point about needing the answers to inform your next questions. I will allow one of you with me. Peredur, I believe, follows the Lady of Graves. He may join me in fielding questions. As for your concern, Peredur, once the soul is taken from the Boneyard, it matters not if it's asked one question or many. If I am to do this, it will be worth the suffering."
He listens as Iesha speaks, the frown growing on his face. When she's finished, he sits heavily, leaning his staff against his robed legs. "I don't seek his destruction. That is merely a means to an end. The bodies he was stitched together from were once people, and to make their bodies walk defiles their souls. Whatever drives the Beast, I refuse to believe its value outweighs the souls broken and tormented by his existence. I promise I will talk to the Beast, though. If he's found guilty, I will have to perform some sort of rites on him, and if innocent, you have my word I'll share a few words with him. Now, I'll expect Peredur here at least an hour before your trial starts. Leave me to prepare myself."
"Father, your understanding in this matter is a credit to yourself, your church, and your Goddess. You have our deepest thanks."
Sour Heck has been distancing himself from the discussion of interrogating the severed head, taking a step away from the party every few seconds until he’s standing with Father Cidoimoikis’s attendants by the door. “I want to go on record as thinking it’s never good when the dead start talking back,” he says to one of them. “Hey, you know a lot about the people of Lepidstadt--pretty much everyone comes to Gravecharge, right? What can you tell me about the bleach makers Vorkstag and Grine?”
“I have to say it was remarkably easy to carry a sack bulging with rotten heads through the streets without attracting notice. Makes me wonder if there are other folks who smuggle bodies through Lepidstadt. Do the scholars at the university work on dead bodies? How do they get them? Any chance there’s a black market? Uh, not that I’d start selling bodies. Gravecharge can have the monopoly as far as I’m concerned.”
Peredur bows to the priest. "It's honored I am, sir. Thank you, and if anything we learn makes this step unnecessary, we'll send word as soon as we know."
The attendant looks at Sour Heck in surprise and horror, glancing at Father Cidoimoikis uncertainly before replying. "Well, they, um...They're way down by the river, in the southeast part of town. They're pretty, er, pretty well-respected, brought a lot of coin into the town. Not from workers, though, I think they have their own on the premises, never seen any workers go in or out. Well, the owners, of course. Grine's an odd-looking fellow, but, um, what gnomes aren't, eh? Lots of people leave around dusk and come back close to dawn, though Strange hours for guests, and they're not uniform enough for workers. Odd, that." She sputters to a halt, suddenly realizing she's rambling, and looks at the Father again before continuing.
"If there was a problem with corpses, we'd know about it. It's true that the university works with cadavers on occasion, but they're always properly blessed first, by us. We have records of every body put into the ground in this city, you can see them if you'd like."
At this last part, the Father shakes his head sharply. "It could take days to find anything close to whatever you're looking for in that mess. Now, you were going to pay the chymical works a visit?"
Peredur listens to the Lepidstadters' speech carefully before replying. "Father, what of corpses from elsewhere? Th' trail we've followed has thrice led us to, or past, graveyards--on th' island near Morast, in Hergstag, and on Karb Isle. Th' graves on Karb seemed to have been disturbed, as well. Is it records you're keeping of all those places?"
"We have no records of those buried at Karb Isle, but I remember those who were there. It was the doctor, Brada, I think his name was, and perhaps a dozen of his patients. They were all burned quite horribly, and there wasn't much to bury in a lot of cases. If these heads are from there, as you say, then something unearthed them.
As for Hergstag and Morast, both those communities were large enough to either keep their own records or choose to do without. I cannot help you there."
Eloise turns to Sour Heck and the attendants and raises an eyebrow.
"So. None of their workers are ever seen, are they...? And they had a contract with the asylum... Did anyone else suddenly think 'slave labour'?"
"It wasn't your help I was after wanting, Father--it were but a thought about how a body thief might ply his trade here."
"If it's a ghoul or ghast, it could dig into a grave from beneath," Eloise says, shrugging. "Even if a grace suddenly sinks, most are loath to dig it up and find out what happened."
“Digging the bodies up is the easy part. We’ve been in Lepidstadt less than a week and we’ve found, what, a dozen? More? It’s the black market that’s tricky. I’m sure the church sells less shriven bodies than the university wants--not that I’m saying the Father there wants to keep the price high, but hey, gotta have money on hand to pay the bills, right? So there must be scholars with some money, less scruples, and more curiousity than is good for them. Can’t be easy to find, though, or the church would have shut them down already.”
Sour Heck shrugs. “Might be we can find some leads at the univeristy. But let’s follow the trail to the bleach factory first.”
Peredur nods. "Th' day's getting no longer, so best we be off."
The Father bids you a final good-bye, and one of the attendants guides you out of the Gravecharge. She points you to the southeast side of the town, and off you go. While there's a few people on the streets, the Guard has extra patrols out in the wake of last night's insanity, and most people keep their heads down and their eyes averted, hurrying to get to wherever they're going. With the sun beginning to set in Ustalav, that's a wise decision in any event.
Before long, you enter the southeast district, a run-down, soot-covered warren of streets and alleys with a few trees struggling to make it seem cleaner. Prominent among the buildings is a tall iron chimney, even at this hour belching a yellow cloud into the sky from a small brick-and-mortar factory. Large leaded windows arch in a dozen or more places along its walls, but are so covered in grime and dirt as to be opaque. A large gate opens onto an inner courtyard beneath a sign proudly proclaiming “Vorkstag and Grine, Chymic Works.” The building has two floors and a tower, topped by a lightning rod.
The half-elf looks up at the grimy facade with a grin. "It's officers of th' Court we're being, so let's go in th' front door like th' respectable sorts we are."
"They ought to use some of their product to clean their own premises," Eloise says, an expression of distaste on her face for the chymic works. Reflexively, she loosens her sword in the sheath...
“I’d like to know what goes on in there when officers of the court aren’t around. How about Leroung sends his little rock men in for a peek?”
"Odds are, it'll see patients from the Asylum in chains," Eloise says, her eyes narrowing. "That or their reanimated bodies."
"U... Pellious," Eloise says, briefly shaking her head, "can you conjure another spy for our use? Do you have such a spell prepared, still?"
"I need not conjure one, though I will certainly look into obtaining such a spell for the future. I think that Narastraxus should prove a worthy scout." Pellious says, producing the sleeping cat from one of his pouches.
The cat continues sleeping, unperturbed at the new surroundings.
Pellious clears his throat loudly, and the cat wakes up in that leisurely manner that cats seem to do anything and everything. It leaps from his hand, stretches at great length before commencing the feline ritual of self-cleaning.
"Do find your way inside and see what is to be seen, Narastraxus. Sooner, rather than later."
The man peers long at the building for a suitable entrance for the cat.
Approaching the building, the stone building looks much more intimidating. A twenty-foot-high stone wall, topped with broken glass, surrounds a small courtyard before the workshop. A heavy oak gate bars entry beneath a sign proudly proclaiming “Vorkstag and Grine, Chymic Works.” A bell hangs by one side of the gate.
While the gate is low enough to the ground that a person couldn't get inside, a cat wouldn't have any trouble squeezing through the gap.
"I'm not entirely comfortable with this," Eloise says, fingers drumming on the hilt of her sword. "If your companion gets in trouble in there, we'll have a right job breaking through."
"Hrm... you may be right, Eloise. Perhaps we should simply ring the bell and announce ourselves?"
As you stand outside the gates, contemplating how to enter, a door creaks open on the second floor, anda man, dressed in clothing indicating he's moderately wealthy, pokes his head out. "Who are you lot, and what do you want? We've got contracts up to our ears here, and there's no way we're taking on more. Factory's on a 24-hour run as-is, and no, we don't do bloody tours!"
Sour Heck shouts back, “A tour? A tour? We’re here for a refund, you scoundrel!” Pulling the bottle of bleach from Peredur’s pack, he waves it in the air angrily. “Vorkstag and Grine, Chymickal Bleach, it says on the label. But it’s full of...well...it’s full of piss! Is this one of your workers’ idea of a joke? Come down off that balcony and smell this!”
Iesha sighs, then looks up at the man calling out to them. "I apologize for my associate's rudeness. I'm sure this was just some sort of bizarre accident - maybe even a prank by the delivery boy. Still, whatever the cause, it does need to be addressed."
Looking down, the man lets out an audible snort. "Piss, eh. wouldn't put it past them. Now look here, how about you go off to your little beds wherever you sleep and come back in the morning. It's much too late to be worrying about any of this, but rest assured, if any of my workers did this, they will be punished. Oh yes, they will..." Turning, he quickly slams the doors shut behind him, and relative quiet falls on the chymical works, apart from a low gurgling from inside.
"Yeah, no," Eloise says in a resolute tone of voice. "We've got a timetable to keep."
The Magus strides forward and delivers an almighty kick to the gate...!
"Wait, Eloise. It's thinking I am to find a better way in, for 'tis clear he'd rather we weren't here. Best he not know we're inside."
Sour Heck tugs his companions’s sleeves and leads them around a corner, where a listener inside the building couldn’t hear them talking. “No sense in letting them know our plans before we know ourselves. Hmm...well, so far we’ve found out that their all-hours-of-the-day workers aren’t undead or golems. Unless piss golems are a thing. Please let them not be a thing.” The bard shudders theatrically at some private vision.
“I don’t think you heroes are going to be able to sneak in to that building, so we might as well let Eloise force a way in. But first, how about we have a peep in a window? Peredur can move pretty quietly when he tries, and he could use Walter to climb up and look around. Might be nice to know what you’re charging in to.”
"Walter? Who is this Walter?"
"The prisoner of Harrowstone that we set free, Walter Fray." Sour Heck indicates the magical elven rope coiled on his belt.
"'Twould be a variation on th' alchemical golem, I'm thinking. Animated by an excremental spirit."
In the silence that followed his feeble bon mot, Peredur sighs. "I'll take a look. It's happier I'd be knowing that one of you was there to catch me, and I fall." The ranger stows his shield, takes the rope, and pads silently over to one of the unlit windows before climbing up and peering inside.
Looking through the window, Peredur has a hard time seeing. At first, it seems to be because of the grime on the inside of the window, but soon it becomes clear that there's a light greenish smog all through the inside of the room. Seven huge cylinders stand on the floor, which is nearly twenty feet below the window. A series of narrow planks have been laid across the gaps between the cylinders, which seem to have various liquids boiling inside. A few figures move across the planks, while more shuffle across the floor far below, but between the hoods they seem to be wearing and the grime on the window, it's difficult to tell how many there are.
The half-elf will report what he sees.
"'Fore I go up and over, it's thinking I am that there may be arcane traps to deal with--Eloise and Pellious, would you do me th' favor of looking for such?"
“I’ll be right behind you, Peredur. Unless the people in hoods turn out to be more ghasts. Then I’ll be waaay behind you.”
"I'd wager a steak dinner and a good bottle of claret that they're patients from the asylum," Eloise growls under her breath.
The next moment, the Magus makes an arcane gesture and mutters a single Word of Power, after which she scans the premises.
Eloise's scan of the premises doesn't reveal anything magical, unless you count the magic of chymistry! The acrid-smelling scent of smoke from the single smokestack has begun to settle on the chymical work's surrounds with the approaching night.
As Peredur makes his way over the wall, he notices a few things immediately. First, the wall is topped with a lot more glass than it seemed from below, requiring a Reflex Save (DC 18). Second, the gate is barred with a solid beam of oak, but it could be opened quickly. Third, there seems to be a deep, guttural growl-moan from beneath the half-filled wagon in the middle of the courtyard, which is itself filled with heavy crates (each with their own lock).
From beneath the wagon, a hideous canine head pokes out. A dog as tall as Peredur's waist follows, its body stitched together from an assortment of dobermans and rottweilers, with what looks like a greyhound's hind legs. Much of its flesh is flayed off, and its chest cavity hangs open.
"Open the gate, open the gate!" Eloise hisses when she hears the moan/growl, and she draws her black longsword.
"This creature is immune to any magic that is halted by natural resistance to magic," Eloise tells her comrades, "but fire and cold work soothingly, whereas electricity agitates them! They sometimes break from their master's control and go berserk - do NOT stand in its way of that should happen!"
Peredur manages to keep from cutting himself too badly on the glass.
Peredur drops to the ground just inside the gate and unbars it.
"This could have been avoided..."
Repulsed, Pellious moves back away from the gate. His hands move automatically to various pouches about his person, and he chants a few words.
As the gate swings open, the flesh golem hound pulls itself the rest of the way free of the cart and rushes forward at Peredur, snapping and barking a sickening bark. Its jaws close around his leg and it shakes violently, coming away with a chunk of flesh, which it shakes around before tossing aside.