To whom may concern,
I am Councilman Vashian Hearthmount of the town of Ravengro, and the executor of the estate of Professor Petros Lorrimor. The professor has recently perished due to a tragic accident while poking about some ruins near the town, and as per his instructions, I am sending you this letter to inform you that you are named as a beneficiary in his will. He has requested that you please come to the town of Ravengro to attend his funeral and the reading of the will, which he has stipulated cannot be done without the presence of you, his daughter Kendra, and five other named individuals. We ask that you kindly make haste.
As a show of good will, Kendra Lorrimor has made arrangements for you each to have a room at The Outward Inn for the day of the funeral and two nights after. A room key will be given to you when showing this letter to the innkeeper.
The letter finds its way to you, stamped with the seal of the city council of Ravengro. The professor showed you kindness in your time with him, a sharp and brilliant man always willing to use his knowledge to help you resolve your problems, and now even in death it seems he has given one last consideration to you, some manner of gift. But it's not the promise of his will that drives you to answer the letter's call, it's your fondness for the departed man himself, a somewhat eccentric old wizard with a very professorial and dusty demeanor but a wiry cleverness underneath it all.
No matter where you come from and whether it is on foot or by carriage, each of you arrives early on an overcast and dismal Gozran morning, the ground muddy a bit muddy from heavy rains last night and the sky looming with thick, dark grey judgment as if more rain is the only fate that awaits you. The spring air is only mildly cool, but there is something bitter and uninviting about it, like it's already warning you of how unwelcome you are here.
Ravengro itself is a quiet and dingy sort of town, one of countless small towns in Ustalav that see little in the way of travelers outside of merchant caravans. You draw some distrusting looks from the locals as you head toward The Outward Inn, everyone keeping their distance from you and marking you as immediately out of place as they go about their work. Rural Ustalav is where superstition and distrust reign supreme, and the cold stares do little to make you feel invited or welcome here as you step into the inn. The peoples' colours are largely washed out and dulled, and there is a distinct smell of animals in the air, and all of the side smells that come with the presence of animals. Dirty carts drag straw and produce, and the gloomy sky overhead gives a gray filter to the world around you, making it feel just that much more distant and uncaring.
Fortunately, that chilly, unwelcoming distance melts away a little bit as you step into the inn. The smell of fresh breakfast being cooked early in the morning rouses your senses enough to help put away the animals smells of outside, and a smiling, silver-haired human woman is quick to greet you. "Good morning," she says brightly, a softly musical air to her voice that feels like nothing you could have expected to find given everything you've seen before. Before she has even seen the letter, she smiles and adds, "You must be here for the professor's funeral. We don't see many visitors around here otherwise. May I see the letter? Breakfast is almost finished, and it comes highly recommended. Much of the town come here to treat themselves to our cooking."
If you show her the letter, she hands you a key and directs you on how to get to your room upstairs. The funeral will not be in too long, but you have enough time to relax a moment and lay down any belongings you'd like to stop lugging around before enjoying a warm, fresh breakfast. A ringing bell calls you downstairs shortly though, and into the main floor dining area for freshly cooked and delicious breakfast.
Mihaela, a woman of average height with what looks to be Varisian ancestry hands the letter to the innkeeper and says, "And a good morning to you, mistress. I am indeed here for the funeral and would dearly like some breakfast to chase away the chill of the morning, just as soon as I've freshened up slightly."
Mihaela smiles and her violet eyes lit up at the mere thought of warm food. I really hope it's as good as the innkeeper claims, she thinks to herself, before tucking a few strands of her brown hair out of the way.
She takes the key to the room, picks up her belongings and heads upstairs, making sure that her colourful filter scarf is safely wrapped around her neck. Other than the scarf, she wears nondescript, dark clothing that are clearly worn more for their practicality than for fashion, with leather trousers and a blouse of fine, but otherwise unremarkable, quality.
After about fifteen minutes, she comes down the stairs and heads towards an empty table, sensing the distrust from the few locals that are already here. Surely I cannot be the only one from out of town. After all, the letter stated that there were five other individuals and Professor Lorrimor's daughter that needed to attend the funeral and at least one more must be from afar. I do not wish to be the only outsider at this event. Mihaela fervently hopes someone else will arrive soon, so that the stares of the locals can be distributed amongst more people.
Sofia loved the smell of the morning rain, but this morning the smell didn’t cheer her like it normally would have. This morning, as she came into the town of Ravengro, her heart was heavy and her legs were tired. She had been a little girl the last time she had been there, but the town did not spark any nostalgia -- only sodden remorse. She asked a local for directions to The Outward Inn and made her way through the muddy town. The pace and distance of the locals’ shlick-shlop footsteps told her how they felt about her, keeping their distance, with the odd pause likely to stare, or the hastened stride to get away from her. Sofia was simply happy when she made it to the inn.
The scents of a fresh breakfast did cheer her up some. She stomped her feet in the doorway, hoping to shed as much mud from her boots as possible before navigating her way towards the counter and the pleasant voice of the innkeeper. Sofia wore a drab but well-made dress with a heavy coat, and carried a well-worn staff. Her long hair was wet and frazzled from the journey, and a black veil hung loosely from her brow, just long enough to cover her eyes. She smiled and handed over the letter. Sofia had made her brother read it to her more than a dozen times; the words, committed to memory, still saddened her. "Thank you," she said politely when given her key.
Sofia found her way upstairs and to her room with surprising ease, and spent a few minutes to unload her gear and coat, then freshen up. She returned downstairs with her clothes much cleaner, and her hair dry and combed. The room smelled even better, and her stomach growled a little at the promise of a warm meal.
She took a seat at the counter, and placed a gold piece down. "Some hot coffee if you have some, please?" she asked politely. "Tea will do fine if you don’t. And I would love some of whatever you’re cooking -- it smells incredible!" Her brow furrowed some, and a twinge of sadness entered her tone. "And... I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from Kendra, miss? Or the other five that are coming?"
The gloomy morning suited both Elisa's eyes and her mood. Foolish old man, always sticking his nose into dangerous places without thinking, she thought with fondness tinged with sorrow. An "accident" in some old ruins near here the letter said. He should have called for me, he could never spot even the most obvious of traps..., a frowns flashes across her face, ...or enemies for that matter. I wonder if it had to do with my search?
As she enters Ravengro proper, she notices the reaction of the locals and a smirk creeps onto her face under her hood. Ah, rural Ustalavians, as welcoming as always. As she enters the door to the inn, the smell of food makes her mouth water, That smells amazing!
Good morning she replies back to the innkeep, flashing a smile. Some breakfast would be lovely, she says as she produces the letter. She takes the key, thanks the innkeep, and heads upstairs to her room where she drops her backpack. She gives herself a quick clean and, shortly after hearing the bell for breakfast, heads back downstairs.
As she reaches downstairs, she quickly scans the room, almost immediately spotting the two other outsiders who the locals are giving cold stares to. She introduces herself to Sofia with a smile, Might you be here for the funeral as well? One of the five others apart from Kendra and myself perhaps? Elisa Salazar is my name, pleased to meet you. She exchanges pleasantries for a few moments and, having noticed that she is blind says, I believe another one of the funeral attendees are sitting at a table just a few feet away, perhaps we should introduce ourselves?
If Sofia agrees, she will head over with her to the table Mihaela is sitting at and introduce them, in a very similar fashion as she introduced herself to Sofia. Might you be here for the funeral as well? One of the four others apart from Kendra, Sofia and myself perhaps? Elisa Salazar is my name, pleased to meet you, and this is Sofia, she says introducing her, I've just met her a few moments ago myself.
The innkeeper comes around with tea and coffee on request, and in front of each of you she slips a plate of food. Good food, too. Cooked sausages still billowing with a bit of steam, a sweet porridge dotted with bits of fruit, and some cheese to slip onto slices of freshly baked bread. It's better food than you would expect to find in a place like this, as any of you who have traveled can attest. The food you would find in a small town inn like this often ranges from faintly acceptable to "at least it's food", but this is a genuinely well made and tasty meal, which helps lift your spirits a bit after the gloomy day morning you came in from.
If only the others in the inn were as warm and inviting as the innkeeper. The locals who have come here to enjoy breakfast are easy to tell apart from any guests who may be staying, as they keep off to one side of the room and give you a wide berth, occasionally casting judgmental and distrusting glances over toward you. They don't say anything loud enough for you to hear, but there doesn't seem anything about them that would imply they'd be too quiet with these thoughts. Simply selective of who to share them with.
"I don't believe that Miss Kendra will be coming," the innkeeper says as she pours Sofia some tea. "I was told when she made the arrangements to have you on your way after your bellies were full, and to point you in the direction of the church. I would wager she is there now, making preparations with Father Grimburrow. I admit, I do not know the Lorrimors too well, so I don't know much more than what she asked of me. I think she only came here because I have open rooms, and because I'm not entirely a local myself, so I wouldn't scare you off with my idea of hospitality." She gives a rich, musical laugh as she finishes pouring off the coffee and starts away from the table.
Mihaela comes out of her reverie and looks up at Elisa, surprised that there are now two other outsiders in the room. I cannot let my focus wander off like that, she silently scolds herself.
"I am indeed here for the funeral. My name's Mihaela Ardeluc and I was one of the Professor's students. How do you do? I'm so terribly sorry, I was lost in thought and didn't notice either of you coming into the room, otherwise I would have immediately introduced myself. Please, sit down", Mihaela says, indicating two empty chairs at her table, almost knocking one of them over with her arm as she does so.
"I'm not sure I've ever encountered an unfriendlier-seeming village than this, the innkeep excluded. I can't even begin to imagine why the professor would choose to live here." As she talks, Mihaela cuts a piece of cheese to put on the marvellously smelling bread.
Sofia nodded respectfully to Elisa, and introduced herself in kind. "I am here for the funeral, yes," she answered. "Sofia Covanu. And it's a pleasure to meet more of Professor Lorrimor's colleagues." She thanked the innkeeper graciously when the food was brought.
She followed Elisa's footsteps to the table, and carried her plate along. She found herself a chair -- the one Mihaela had bumped -- and took a seat. "A student? I immagine Petros must have been a wonderful teacher," she said, after Mihaela's introduction. She nodded slightly as she sampled some of her breakfast. "I'm sure the locals are pleasant enough to the Lorrimors. We're outsiders here, but I'm sure these people have their reasons for being wary of strangers."
Elisa smiles at Mihaela again as she offered her a seat at the table. "Thank you and don't worry yourself about not noticing us. If you knew Prof Lorrimor well, it is quite understandable that you'd be distracted. His loss is a tragedy, I find my thoughts drifting to memories of him as well."
As the innkeep turns up with food and drink she turns to her saying, "Thank you, dear, it smells delicious!" before pouring herself a cup of tea.
Elisa turns back to Mihaela, nodding at what she is saying, "Unfortunately, rural Ustalav is not very friendly to outsiders. As Sofia says, the Professor was probably well-known to the villagers and wouldn't have received the same treatment, at least, I wouldn't imagine so." She then slices up some sausage and cheese and places it on a slice of the fresh bread before taking a bite. "Delicious!"
Ugh. Why is it so damp here? Ellie shivers and pulls her cloak tight around her as she trudges up the road to Ravengro. The coach she was traveling in from Korvosa dropped her at the main highway but wouldn't go any further off the path; in truth, she can't blame them. This place looks... unprepossessing. It's a good word, and she savours it for some minutes as she continues walking, leaning against her ancient staff for support.
At least it isn't trying to whisper to her now, if it ever was. The news of the Professor's death shocked her off her sickbed and back towards sanity (she hopes). With nobody to rely on now but herself, she can't afford irrational fears. One hand runs along the carvings on the staff, as if unconsciously making sure they're still in place and haven't moved.
You're doing that more often, and it's still just as irrational as when you started doing it, she tells herself firmly.
Finally making her way to the Outward Inn, she ignores the suspicious looks of the locals and pushes forward to the main room, savouring the smell of good, fresh-cooked food. As the silver-haired woman offers greetings, she nods and smiles in reply. "Good morning. I'm-" a fit of coughing interrupts the rest of the sentence, a tearing sound that makes her whole body shake, leaving her clutching her staff with both hands to stay upright. "-I'm Ellie. And I am - I am indeed here for the..." she trails off. This is silly. She's going to have to admit it at some point. He's dead and she can't rely on him any more.
"...the funeral." she whispers, looking around miserably for anyone she might know.
With the town's gate finally in sight, it seems to Christoph Metzger that every step had become just the slightest bit harder. The mud here clings to the boot more. It's not so much, for just a step. But when you've had to keep putting one foot in front of the other for what might well have been an eternity, it adds up. It wears you down. And Pharasma alone knows how much farther I'll need to walk before I've a rest. Footsore and irritable, the Voice of the Spire has no energy for the suspicious stares and judging whispers that trail him as he makes his way through the worn and battered gates into familiar streets.
He pauses there a moment, eyes glancing back and forth as a weary mind searches through the greyscale light of the early morning for the right path. Huffing an irritated sigh, he decides on his route and begins his trek anew. The Professor's knack for finding new ways to make me sweat and strain doesn't seem to have diminished. Never mind that he's in Pharasma's court awaiting his judgement, that old man still won't be satisfied til I'm worn to the bone. A fond grin turns to a bitter grimace as he's reminded of his purpose in this dingy, backwater town.
Finally finding The Outward Inn, Christoph does his best to scrape the caked mud of the road off his boots before he steps into the common room. His weary melancholy is momentarily forgotten as the delicious smells from the kitchen draw a protesting growl from his still-empty stomach. He's sufficiently distracted by the smell that it takes him a moment to realize the innkeeper was speaking to him. "Errr... uh, yes. I am here for the funeral. Hello, ma'am. I'm Christoph Metzger and I am... ah, was... a friend and student of the Professor's."
He digs for a moment in a his tunic before drawing out a wax sealed envelope in which he'd kept the Councilman's letter. "Given the smells from the kitchen, ma'am, I can hardly blame the townsfolk." He accepts the key, and reluctantly leaves the tantalizing smells behind to traipse up the stairs to his room. After taking a moment to store his frightfully heavy pack and wash the dust of the road from his face, he hurries back to the common room.
At the bottom of the stairs, he scans the room in search of the silver-haired innkeep. He spots her, but is surprised to see her speaking with another of the Professor's students. I shouldn't really be surprised. Ellie always did seem to be one of his favorites. I wonder if Elisa is here as well then? His stomach growls again and he gives no more time to hypotheticals.
"Hullo, Ellie. It's been a little while but its good to see you again. I don't suppose you've seen Elisa? I can't remember a time that I visited where you weren't both here with Petros." His smile wanes a little, at the mention of the Professor. "Maybe you'd like to have a seat and a bite to eat while we wait? I've only just arrived. The walk from Caliphas is not any easier under pouring rain and its left me a bit peckish."
"What grenbund dauh would live in thi' mud drenched bog? Don' even 'ave a proper stone road!" Freija muttered to herself as she trudged upon the muddy road, the town of Ravengro finally in sight. Smallfolk gawked as she passed through the gates, a female dwarf wearing scaled mail and bearing a shield and several weapons was no common sight in these parts.
"Why'm I even comin' ta this funeral?" she thought, wandering through the town in search of the inn. "I'm a damned fool m'self." Eventually coming upon the Outward Inn, Freija leans her spear against the wall out side the door and intones a practiced phrase in dwarven as she grips the iron icon hanging from the fine steel chain about her neck. As she finishes the phrase a large globule of water appears just above her boots, falling and washing away much of the mud. Repeating this process twice more, she shakes her feet and steps into the common room, noting several odd looking humans eating about the room, as well as several locals and a matronly woman with the air of an innkeep.
Closing the door behind her, she approaches the woman and says "Inkeep yes? I've a letter." Reaching into he belt pouch, she retrieves the somewhat sodden letter and presents it, taking the proffered key, then placing both key and letter in her pouch. "Thankye kindly. I'll take some o'tha' sausages I smell, and bread. Butter and honey if ye have it, thanks."
The dwarf sits down at a nearby empty table, doffing her pack, but not bothering to take it upstairs. She thanks the innkeep once again upon receiving the food, eating it efficiently, though enjoying the flavor.
As you go about eating your food or mingling, some sound from the other end of the room grabs your attention. "It's not right. Not right at all," says a voice, bitter and tense, belonging to a wiry, somewhat elderly man who's rising up from his table noisily. "Even when he's dead we can't know peace. He has to bringing that lot into town to bother us some more."
"Please, father sit down," implores a young woman, who tries to pull at his sleeve and get him to sit. "You're making a scene. Please, they'll likely leave after the funeral, just let them pass. We don't need to make this an incident."
"Bah, the funeral is the problem!" he says, pushing her arm away and starting to storm off. "But it won't be for long!" He storms off before anyone can do anything about it, and despite the fact that he's the one shouting and making a scene, as he leaves, eyes turn toward you as if you're to blame for the outburst, although everyone quickly goes back to looking down at their food and going about their breakfast.
The innkeeper is quickly upon you to try and smooth things over. "Don't mind him," she says, topping up any tea of coffee each of you might have, and slipping some more food onto your plates. "Gibs is a... Very opinionated man. But he won't hurt you or anything. Just keep your heads high and worry about what you're here for. Ravengro always takes a while to warm up to travelers, but once they get to know you, you're family." She offers a faint smile before shuffling back off again.
Mihaela's eyes flash red for a moment when she hears the old man's outburst. What an uncouth man!
"Dh'fhaodadh an duine sin seasamh gus modhan ionnsachadh agus spèis do na mairbh", she says to herself in Abyssal, as she tightly grips the edge of the table, knuckles white.
Suddenly, she gets up from the table and walks over to the young woman who tried to stop Gibs. "What is the old man's problem?", she asks in an accusatory tone. "Did no one ever teach him to respect the recently deceased?"
Mihaela does not wait for an answer before walking back to the table and sitting down again. She grabs a spoon and starts to eat some porridge, face still flushed with anger.
Ellie almost visibly wilts in relief at the sight of a familiar (and friendly, she hopes, despite their previous arguments) face. "Oh... -Christoph!" It takes a few seconds to remember his name, but she gets there. "It's - it's good to see you as well, despite the..."
At this point, their conversation is interrupted by a more-unfriendly-than-usual local. Ellie tenses slightly, but it's obviously all hot air on the man's part and she's grateful when he leaves. She does her best to be understanding about it: Ustalav has more than the usual amount of undead and other arcane unpleasantness, after all. It's all perfectly susceptible to a rational explanation, of course, but if she were an ignorant villager raised on religious superstition and nonsense like her mother's fiction books, she can see that it would be tempting to blame outsiders for bringing trouble with them.
She sighs. The world would be so much more sensible if people would just think. She glances briefly at Christoph's holy symbol, trying to remember what they had argued about - the Starstone, wasn't it? Anyway, it suddenly all seems very small and trivial in the light of Professor Lorrimor's death. She should really move on.
"So, uh, did you know that he'd mentioned you in the, uh, in his will? Because it was a complete surprise to me!"
Sofia was glad to hear more new people coming in and conversing, although the more that showed up the sooner they would need to depart for the inevitable event. She was startled by the sudden outburst from the elderly local -- 'Gibs', the innkeeper called him. Assurances that he was harmless were nice, but something the man had said didn't sit well with her.
"What did he mean?" Sofia asked, as the innkeeper refilled her tea. "He said, 'the funeral [u]is[/u] the problem'... What would he mean by that?"
The innkeeper sighs nervously, keeping her head low. "Nothing wrong with the funeral. The town just doesn't always warm up to everyone quite so easily, dear," is her answer, which doesn't say much, but she doesn't seem to want to say much more.
Much more telling is when Mihaela goes over to speak to the woman, who suddenly doesn't much care about making a scene as she snaps her tongue. She rises up quickly, eyes flaring over as she stares at Mihaela, refusing to let that remark pass. "I dare you to speak that way of my father again! He was a soldier who defended this city proudly, and it's no right of yours as an outsider to come in here and pass judgment on him!"
A man sitting beside her chimes up as well, just as furious. "Interesting talk about 'respecting the dead' coming from you. Here to mourn a warlock like that. Always interested in the dead and in necromancy. He wasn't right, and neither are you." He grabs his coat and begins to storm off, the woman and the children sitting across from them leaving with him. Then, several other people at their tables follow, storming out but stopping to remark to the innkeeper about the food and making sure to leave money on the table for her as they leave, dour and furious. No time to consider a response and no interest in hearing it, they simply leave. The rest don't take much longer either, and most of them keep their eyes forward as they leave, not even bothering to look down on you as they head out of the inn and abandon what's left of their breakfast.
The innkeeper sighs and leans against the wall, waiting for the doors to close behind the leaving crowd as it comes down only to the lot of you left in there. "I'm sorry about that," she sighs, offering a sympathizing glance as she looks across at you. "You don't deserve that. I know, you lost a friend and hearing people speak that way about him hurts, but... Right or not, Ravengro never really learned to grow fond of the professor. I had an easy time becoming one of the village, but I was ready for a quiet life after I retired in Calipha. I wanted the quiet life. Petros was still an academic to the end, and people here didn't trust him. I knew better than that, but they... They're good people. Please, don't let this bad first impression sour you on these people. But still, maybe you had best be going as soon as you've finished your food." She hangs her head low and goes about cleaning up after the mass exodus of townsfolk.
Elisa thought she heard a familiar cough behind her and was about to turn around when the old man began his outburst, distracting her. The beginnings of a smirk started to form on her face just as Mihaela got up and was heading across to the table before she could do or say anything. The resulting ruckus and mass exodus from the inn didn't surprise her much, as she was used to such treatment from her youth in Caliphas, which was much more accepting that rural Ustalav. "Yep, same old Ustalav alright!" she thought to herself.
She waits until Mihaela comes back and shrugs at both her and Sofia saying, "I guess the Professor wasn't as accepted as I thought, not too surprising when you think of his interests and how superstitious and close-minded Ustalavians, especially rural folk, tend to be."
As she begins speaking, Elisa nods along at what the innkeep is saying, "Like the innkeep says, they're not all bad, but they'll protect one of their own over an outsider even if they don't agree with them." She shrugs again, indicating it is what it is.
Remembering the cough, she turns around to the direction it came from and spots Ellie and Christoph. "One moment, I think I've spotted two more of the funeral attendees," she says to Sophia and Mihaela.
She walks over to the familiar faces with a smile and a wave as she goes. "Ellie, Christoph, it's good to see you both again, even under the circumstances." Her smile fades. "I should have known you'd both be attending the funeral, but I never thought to ask. I should have thought to ask you, in particular, Christoph. We could have travelled together from Caliphas. How are you both," she turns to Christoph, " and how is Kjell, I haven't spoken to any of you for a while?" She waits for them to answer, then says "You should come over to the table and meet the two women there. They're also acquaintances of the Professor and will be attending the funeral as well. I'll introduce you. There's also some tea, coffee and a breakfast spread if you're hungry?" she says with a smile and a wink.
"Sofia, Mihaela, this is Eldarel and Christoph. They knew the Professor and will be attending the funeral. Ellie, Christoph, this is Sofia and Mihaela. They both knew the Professor too." She sits back down and allows the others to talk, slicing up some more cheese and sausage and pouring herself another cup of tea.
"Doh." Freija says under her breath at the old fool's outburst, continuing to eat the surprisingly good sausages.
The second outburst changes her mind, all the smallfolk are dauh. The others, however, seem somewhat less foolish, for humans. She sees no point in joining them at present, however. There will be plenty of time for fraternization after the funeral.
Amid the sudden argument between the newcomer and the townsfolk, it's good to see another friendly face and Ellie smiles at Elisa. "Hey, Elisa. Long time no see." She makes a face. "We could have used your services a few months back - we missed a trap, and the tomb collapsed around us and I breathed in some really nasty dust. I spent most of the last three months being treated by the Pharasmins, but they haven't magicked up a cure yet." She coughs again. "Anyway, how have you been?"
She gladly follows Elisa over to the table, slightly envious of her friend's ability to just meet new people and strike up a conversation. Taking a seat, she toys indifferently with some of the food. It's nice, but she's never really hungry. She makes an effort to eat more, but chokes slightly as Elisa introduces her - she can't believe she drank too much one night and confided her real name to the other woman.
"Sofia, Mihaela, good to meet you both. And it's Ellie. Just Ellie. So, how did you know Professor Lorrimor?"
Christoph glances away from his conversation for a moment, eyes seeking out the old man who put words to the tension in the room. The tirade earns the man's retreating back a frown. Why won't be the funeral be a problem for long? I don't remember this village being so hostile. Perhaps it was Kjell's presence. Realizing that Ellie had asked him a question, he coughs into his hand to hide his embarrassment. He replies, "I didn't. Don't think I ever really understood why he did what he did. Don't suppose that he'll suddenly start making sense now that he's passed to the Lady of Graves either. Ah, right... forgot you don't think-"
Whatever Ellie may not think, Christoph was spared from finishing his sentence as the tense quiet of the inn is broken by angry voices yet again. He scowls at the second man's retreating back, anger flaring for the first time since he'd entered the village. To slander the Professor like that. Only Pharasma can send the dead to their rightful rest but he has no place insulting a good man's name. Still glaring daggers at the retreating figure, he is caught off guard at by Elisa's greeting.
"Errrh, ah... Elisa. Good so see you as well, even given why we're here. As for the travel from Caliphas, I'm just as much at fault as you so we'll have to call it even. Wasn't expecting to return here any time soon and had to ask for dispensation from my Speaker to take leave of my duty for the funeral. I spoke to Kjell then, briefly, and he was sorry that he couldn't make it to pay his respects to the Professor. He'll be investigating reports of something that's been attacking livestock near Feldgrau by now. Wolves, in all likelihood. The reports of the woun-" He cuts off, glancing back to the still angry villagers for a moment. After a moment, he manages a wan smile for Elisa, "Breakfast would be fine, now that you mention it. Thank you. The walk from Caliphas in this confounded rain was good only for working up an appetite."
Allowing himself to be led to the table, he takes a seat and greets the already sitting pair, "Nice to meet you, Sofia, Mihaela. I wish it were under better circumstances. Lady of Graves grant the Professor his rest." He spears a sausage and dishes up a bowl of porridge for himself, listening to the conversation as he tucks in.
Mihaela stares daggers after the departing locals, pettily hoping they all slip in the mud and fall over.
Wincing inwardly when Elisa introduces Ellie, she thinks, I can absolutely see why someone would not want to go by Eldarel. That's like something straight out of the romance novels I used to love, back when Tomah was still alive.
"How do you do?", she says to the newcomers. "I only met the professor once, at a lecture he gave in Caliphas, but we corresponded frequently. He taught me a lot of what I know of the customs, local legends and culture of Ustalav." As she's talking, Mihaela absentmindedly strokes the scarf around her neck. "We hadn't been in contact for the last few years, though, so I must admit I'm not entirely fully updated on his adventures."
"I was extremely surprised when my presence was requested here. I didn't think I'd made that big of an impression. Surely Professor Lorrimor would have met much brighter and more dedicated students in his years as an academic?" Mihaela finishes the porridge and looks at the others. "How did all of you know the professor?"
Sofia wasn't quite satisfied with the innkeeper's response to her question, but didn't pry any further. The outburst and mass-exodus from the locals drew her attention away, anyways. Calling the Professor a warlock stung; she knew Petros didn't deserve that ire, but also hadn't suspected he'd lived in a place so opposed to his work.
With the venue a little quieter and friendlier after the locals' departure, Sofia set to eating her breakfast and meeting the others. She offered a friendly greeting with each introduction, and was astounded to hear how many of them had also traveled from Caliphas.
"It's nice to meet all of you, despite the circumstances," she had said politely, then set to answering Ellie and Mihaela's question. "I was one of Professor Lorrimor's patients. It was a long time ago, I was just a little girl then, but he's kept in touch ever since." She smiled a little wistfully. "Every time he sent a letter I'd make my brother read it to me over and over, and help me pen a response. Petros has done a lot for me, and my family -- I owe him so much! It's...hard to believe he's really gone."
"Lady of Graves grant the Professor his rest."
Ellie shoots Christoph a swift, burning, glare - seriously? You're going to go there?! - but ultimately decides that this is not the time for another argument. Particularly since their new companion has already effectively emptied the tavern.
Putting down the bit of toast she was making a pretense of eating, she considers Mihaela's question. "I met Professor Lorrimor maybe ten years ago - he'd written something in a Pathfinder Journal and when I wrote him about it, he asked to meet me. After that, he pulled some strings to get me to the Acadamae. I, uh, I got into a bit of trouble there..." her voice trails off and she runs the fingers of one hand along the staff which (even sitting down) she hasn't let go of.
"...the details don't matter right now, but they basically threw me off the premises. He's let me tag along with him ever since. Not that I was much help - I think he just wanted to keep an eye on me to make sure I didn't get into trouble."
And I've no idea what I'm going to do without him.
Sometimes Ellie wishes that the gods really did take an interest in mortal affairs. That way, cursing them would be a rational thing to do. She wipes an angry sleeve across her eyes. "Sorry. Got a bad cold."
seriously? You're going to go there?!
Christoph takes a long swig of tea, unaware of Ellie's glare as he listens to his companions explain how they knew the Professor. That kind old man may have been eccentric, but he did his best to help those who he could. All those who judge him will face Her judgement in time as well. Gritting his teeth, he takes a deep breath to calm himself as the reality of the Professor's death hits him again. He glances back to the others, then says, "As for me, I met the Professor while hunting... something. I am of the Voices of Spire. We are tasked by the Lady of Graves and her church to hunt undead. I was with Kjell -my mentor, Speaker Sjogunsson- and we were tracking a monster that had been killing livestock. We followed it into a glen, but were separated in the fog and mist." Memories of the stench of decay and his moment of terror still Christoph's story, and his eyes grow distant as he remembers. "It found me before we found it. I was attacked and got away by dumb luck. Still not sure how."
Not sure how... you fled! Abandoned Kjell and fled. And now you can't even own up to the truth... pathetic. He continues, "Found Kjell and the Professor looking for me after I made it out of the Glen. Kjell went back in, while the Professor took me back into town. He had a battery of questions for me, but not enough to identify what it was. You know how he was. Had to have all the details, til you were going mad trying to remember. We talked a while, and then corresponded when I went back to my training. Went back through Ravengro with Speaker Sjogunsson a few times," He nods at Elisa, "And trained with Miss Elisa here and there. The Professor always wanted to hear what we'd been hunting last. I've just become a full member of the Voices. Hadn't had a chance to tell the Professor. And now... well..."
Christoph runs a hand through his beard, staring at his plate. His voice a little ragged, he says, "Anyway, that's how I knew the Professor."
Freija's sharp ears catch the conversation in the now nearly empty inn, and she decides she may as well introduce herself. "No need to ruffle feathers any further, though." She decides her opinion of the old fool of a professor will remain unvoiced.
"I hear yer tellin' stories abou' the deceased, may as well add me own," the dwarf says as stands by the table. "I met him abou' nine years ago in ol' Saggorak, an abandoned Sky Fortress." The look on Freija's face turns bitter at the word abandoned, but she quickly regains composure. "He was being chased by sev'ral undead, zombies, that is. Anyhow... my group from Magrim's Cathedral found him runnin' and screamin' and put the dead back to rest. He was quite appreciative, least enough ta have me in 'is will, anyhow."
At this point Freija realizes, she's only told a story and never actually introduced herself. "Name's Freija by the way, of Clan Runeshield, from down in Janderhoff near Varisia."
It's shortly after you've given your introductions and the stories of how you know the professor that your food runs out, and the innkeeper, with as polite a means as possible, starts to subtly urge you out to go head to the funeral. "There will be more food for you once you're back. Miss Kendra has seen to that," she says. "And if it would be more comfortable, I can set you up in a private dining room so you can mourn without being disturbed." Though she seems sympathetic about your plight, you can't imagine that on some level, she isn't thinking about striking a balance that will keep the locals happy too. An inn in such a small town can hardly afford to run off of the scant few travelers ever passing through a town like Ravengro.
In only the short time you spent inside the inn, the sky has grown even more dour, the cloud cover starting to grow so so thick in some places that it becomes a dark, threatening black. There is a storm on the way, and the air feels slightly electric and very thick. It's going to be a hard one, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. But at least the storm is a force of nature, and not the very human worry that pervasively follows you through the streets as you follow the innkeeper's directions north from the town square, past some general stores and lots of people staring daggers at you as you move, only drawing more attention and scorn as an even loosely clustered group moving on than you had individually. You come to a bridge, beside which is a large pole, upon which a series of papers have been nailed into the very broken and worn down wood. The papers are all local matters; mentions of a marriage in a few days' time, a job posting for a new farmhand, a notice about a missing dog, and the largest paper, reading the Wealday Parchment, seems to be a summary of recent city politics. There is no indication anywhere on the post of news from the outside world.
The bridge is the only way across the river, and it is not the most confident bridge walk you have ever made. It creaks and groans under your feet, little spaces of splintered or broken wood warning of its age, while the shoddy roof put up over it has holes and even some spots of rot and mold. This bridge has not been tended to in a very, very long time, and the river current underneath is strong and noisy enough that the slight peril holds onto you the whole way across, uncertain if the creaking might give way to sagging and then to breaking altogether. Fortunately, you make it across just fine, and pass by a little more farmland on your way up north toward the graveyard.
A sign by the entrance to the burial ground reads "The Restlands. Please circle Pharasma's sign over your heart before entry, to respect our fallen loved one." Underneath is Pharasma's holy symbol, the spiraling comet, which both makes the area as under the stewardship of the Church of Pharasma, and indicates the sign it asks of any who step into the gates. By the gate, you see a trim woman dressed in dark, conservative clothes, whose eyes are red and puffy from what must have been a very recent bout of tears. Her brown hair is done up in a tight bun, and aside from the sign of recent crying she looks very well put together and composed, like she has taken great effort to be dressed as sharply as she could for the funeral. Some of you recognize her as Kendra Lorrimor, the daughter to Petros.
She stands by a coffin, upon which sits a bed of flowers already waiting. On the other side of the coffin stands a [url=http://dfry.warpmail.net/HH/Father%20Grimburrow.jpg]furrowed, wrinkled old man with thick, bushy eyebrows and a strangely proportioned face, who looks around stern and composed, but perhaps with an air of not-quite-impatience about him. Robed Pharasmin acolytes stand on the fringes wearing robes, but there are very scant few locals standing about. A round-faced and red-nosed man looks at you as you arrive, and he has a somber, understanding look on his face, sympathizing with you for the professor's loss. By his side stands a thirteen year-old boy, even rounder, who keeps his head down low and quiet as he looks at the coffin. A middle aged woman wearing a veil stands off to another side, holding in her hand a small bundle of herbs and flowers wrapped in twine. Two older men dressed in finer robes than anyone else you've seen in town and who hold the sort of regal bearing one would associate with dignitaries or politicians stand silently beside one another. Five locals, one of whom is evidently the son of another. You outnumber those in this city who have come to pay their respects to the professor.
As Kendra sees you all, she sighs in relief, waving you over happily. "You're here! Thank the gods, you made it. Nobody else has come to pay their respects, and with the way things are in town these days..." She looks around, grateful for the very few people who came from town for this, but it is an understandably sad and scant affair. "I'm afraid there is no time to catch up or talk right now, but we shall retire to my home after, okay? I will prepare us some tea." She moves to hug each of you, whether she knows you or not, and at a few points wipes her puffy eyes with her sleeve. Her voice sounds a bit congested and shaky, but she holds herself together well.
"Will this be all of them?" asks the old priest, whose voice can only be described as dusty. There's a faint wheeze to it, and a certain emotional distance away from the matter at hand that doesn't quite come off as cold and uncaring, but certainly doesn't seem particular moved by the proceedings. He must have watched over dozens of funerals in his time.
"Yes," Kendra says, casting one more frustrated glance out toward the crowd. "If it's not too much trouble..." She turns back toward you all. "I hate to ask another favour of you when you have already come all this way for my father's request and are fresh from the road but, would you please do one more kindness and serve as pallbearers?" Kendra's face softens, weary and tired, but there's an edge of hope to it that for once, something will go right.
At the tavern, Ellie politely introduces herself to Freia, whom she notices is not that much shorter than she is herself, and whose muscled arms are thicker than Ellie's legs.
Beyond that, she is silent, lost in her own thoughts. She makes the trek to the graveyard with the others, following along with them almost blindly, both arms holding her staff protectively. She barely registers the hostile stares, or the creaky bridge - once you've had several tonnes of Osirian burial tomb crash around you, danger takes on a slightly different meaning. She crosses the rickety structure carefully, but without too much in the way of concern.
Outside the cemetery, she hesitates for some seconds in front of the sign. On the one hand, the request is pure ritual, irrational on its face, utter superstition. On the other hand, it's rational to want to fit in, and to make appropriate gestures of respect to those who you are with. It's on that basis - and ONLY on that basis - that she acquiesces, circling one hand over her heart. She wipes the hand on her tunic before again grasping her staff, just because.
The sight of Kendra makes her own eyes start streaming again, and she wordlessly hugs her friend, beyond speech for the time being. The sight of the coffin seems somehow preposterous - how can so great a personality be contained in something so small?
She hastily averts her eyes from it, looking instead at the bunch of flowers, which she identifies effortlessly, as if by rote. The exercise serves to calm her, and she pinches the tears from her eyes with one shaking hand; pale, but resolute. Death comes to us all. It's irrational to pretend otherwise.
She nods at Kendra's request. "Thank you. I would be honoured." Her voice is much, much huskier than she would like. It's an effort to get the words out.
Mihaela also introduces herself to Freija and makes sure to thank the innkeep on her way out. Oh my, Freija seems to be a gruff sort of fellow.
As she feels the stares of the village people, she stares back, a challenge in her eyes. I can't wait to get out of this forsaken place. The weather's even worse than the rest of Ustalav, it seems, and it must have affected the people living here. She frowns a little a the bridge, but figures that heavier people than herself have managed to cross it without incident, so it will probably support her as well. As she reaches the pole, she stops to have a look at the notes nailed to it. "Curious, not a single piece of news from outside Ravengro.", she muses, almost to herself.
Even though Pharasma is not the goddess closest to Mihaela's heart, she circles the sign over her heart before entering the burial grounds. She assumes from Ellie's reaction that the woman next to the gate must be Kendra, Professor Lorrimor's daughter, and readily hugs her back when Kendra moves to embrace her, trying but failing to hold back her own tears.
To distract herself, she looks at the flowers in the woman's hands, her alchemist's training helping her to identify them without much effort. A stray thought passes through Mihaela's mind. I wonder who that woman is? Those are not the most common flowers for an occasion like this.
She looks at the coffin and experiences a momentary flashback to Tomah's funeral. It rained that day too. Though there were many more people in attendance. She berates herself for her selfishness. I'm not the only one who's ever lost someone dear to them. Get ahold of yourself, Mihaela. Looking up, she nods at the gathered townspeople.
In response to Kendra's request, Mihaela nods and says, But of course, you don't have to ask. It's … it's a great honour, her voice catching slightly.
Elisa pays close attention to the stories of how everyone met the Professor. She already had a good idea of how Ellie and Christoph met him, having known both of them for quite some time, but it was interesting hearing them explain it again to others. She thinks, "Incredible how he made such a big impact on so many lives," after Mihaela and Sofia tell how they met him. When Freija comes over to tell her story, she nods politely at her and lets out a peal of musical laughter after hearing how she met him. "That sounds like the Professor alright, always getting in over his head because of his curiosity. Thank you, I needed that laugh. I'm Elisa Salazar by the way, pleased to meet you."
She then tells how she met the Professor. "I met the Professor years ago after my mother and I had been attacked by the undead. I was knocked out in the attack and my mother was missing when I woke up, but the Professor was there and helped me deal with the aftermath. He has been teaching me about the undead ever since then and introduced me to Christoph and his mentor so I could better deal with them in the future. I still can't believe he's gone. It doesn't feel real," she finishes, her face going still.
As she's leaving the inn she thanks the innkeeper, "Thank you for your hospitality, it's appreciated." She ignores the stares of the villagers as she walks with the others to the funeral. As she reaches the bridge, she scans it for structural integrity and comes to the conclusion that it should hold, if barely. Still, she feels tingles up her spine as she crosses and is relieved when she reaches the other side. She quickly and genuinely marks the sign over her heart having spent a lot of time in the presence of Pharasmins and respects their beliefs.
As she sees Kendra, a look of sadness passes over Elisa's face and she fiercely embraces Kendra when she hugs her. "Oh Kendra, I'm so sorry to hear about Petros. We'll talk more over tea." When Kendra asks if she will be a pallbearer, she immediately replies, Of course, it's the least I could do after all he has done for me."
Sofia walked along with the others to the graveyard. Introductions had been made and breakfast had been eaten, leaving no more room for reprieve from the inevitable. She tried not to concern herself with the locals, even as she practically felt their stares. She heard papers flapping in the breeze and vaguely wondered about them as they neared the pole, but Mihaela's muttered comment told her all she really needed to know.
The bridge was a much less pleasant league of their journey. Sofia tread slow and carefully -- a drop into the waters below would have made this bad day much, much worse. Outside the church, she noted the others took pause...
...and briefly signed the symbol of Pharasma over her heart, hoping she had gotten the custom right.
Sofia felt the deep sadness when she heard Kendra speak, and hugged her friend back. It was terrible that so few people had came; she had always thought that Petros had many colleagues, friends, and contemporaries, and knew he had touched many lives. The thought that he had lived in a place that loathed him so was nearly too much to bear. Though tears would never fall, she choked back sobs and fought to keep her composure.
"Of course," she answered Kendra's request. "It would be an honor." In truth, Sofia felt that the Professor had carried her through some of her harshest days...and it seemed oddly poignant for her to carry him, now.
Christoph is distant while listening to the last of their unsual band telling how they came to know the Professor. Lorrimor was a unique man. It's a varied company that's come to pay their respects. With the meal finished, he allows himself to be shuffled out by innkeep. He makes a point of introducing himself to Freija as they leave the tavern, "Miss Freija, it's good to meet another of the Professor's friends. He was brilliant, but with a knack for finding trouble. I'm Christoph-" As they pass through the town, the hostility of the townspeople becomes almost palpable, and he pauses mid-sentence to look back at them. Did I not notice this hostility before? Was I so blind? Or is there something else at work here? On edge, he finishes his sentence in a rush. "-Metgzer, Voice of the Spire."
The bridge crossing does nothing to ease his tensions. The churning waters under his feat as the bridge noisily protests its age and misuse have a hypnotic effect on the Voice. Dark skies overhead and dark waters below. He reflexively traces the Spiral as they enter the graveyard. His years in the Church have left their mark. He nods his greeting to the assembled townfolk, his throat constricting at Kendra's tearful greeting. "It's good to see you as well, Miss Lorrimor. I'm sure Kjell would wish to be here as well but we weren't able to contact him in time." He glances at the priest, unsure if he should introduce himself, but decides against it for the moment. When asked to be a pallbearer, he replies without hesitation, "Of course. I'd be honored, Miss Lorrimor."
Freija nods to each of the others as they greet her, then retrieves her pack, shield, and spear. She follows the others out of the building and through the bog of a village. The stares of the villagers are beginning to offend the dwarf. "Much more o' this and someone's going to have a rough time in the mud."
As the party crosses the bridge, Freija takes note of it's shoddiness, and the way it creaks unpleasantly under the weight of an armed and armored dwarf. She decides that she'll mend the ramshackle construction if she's in this gods forsaken town for very long, if only for her own safety.
At the gate, Freija politely makes the symbol of Pharasma, followed by that of Magrim. Though Magrim keeps the souls of dwarves in his Cloister in Heaven, Pharasma sends the souls to him at their time of death, and is respected by his priesthood.
She takes in the scene of the priest and scant townsfolk, deciding that something must be wrong with either this town or humans as a whole to have so few attend a funeral. Though disconcerted by the human woman's hug, Freija has seen enough funerals to merely accept the gesture and nod. As to the question of pallbearing, she merely answers, "Aye."
The coffin has space for all six of you lift it up. Father Grimburrow takes a moment to explain the rite of walking the Dreamwake, a gravel pathway leading up through the cemetery, and will stop only upon reaching the grave prepared for the professor. He instructs you to think about your times with the professor and the memories you would like to see him buried under, while he will pray and lead the march. Kendra will walk ahead of the coffin, as his surviving family leading him to his final resting place, and the rest of the attendees will walk behind the coffin, flanked by the gravediggers. Once each of you understands and you have your secure grip on the coffin, the funeral march begins.
The old cleric's wheezing voice begins to call out prayers to Pharasma, calling on the Lady of Graves to judge this man fairly and to remember that he was a good man. Those of you who have received formal education find yourselves reminded of dusty old professors whose voices drones on such with continuous, flat exposition for hours upon hours that it was difficult for you to keep focused for too long, and Father Grimburrow's continuous prayers make it all too easy for you to slip into reverie. It's as if by some miracle that for as sad as the day is, your fondest memories with the professor shine through immediately, bright and warming in the gloomy, gray, unwelcoming town you've found yourselves in. Perhaps it is a miracle, as the whip-poor-whill's song rings out from the distance with perfect clarity. But still, the thought of the professor at his best and his kindest, regardless of the hurt you may have met him through or the pain you shared with him, feels stronger a memory than it ever has before, and it gives you some warmth in this bitter and peculiar cold, which not only lingers, but seems to blow right through you and chill you deep as the winds begin to pick up.
The graveyard is much like the rest of Ravengro has been; gray and gloomy, but it feels deserved here, and it's a grayness more solemn than bitter. Grave stones sit along the path and run deep in all directions, laid out not in rows but as in spirals, organized to evoke the symbol of Pharasma and to coil the weight of this city's history around it, as the spiraling gravestones push outward across the years and continue to expand out. A scant few crypts and mausoleums stand out amid the rows of grave stones, but unsurprisingly for a rural farming town, there are very few of them even in a graveyard as long standing as this one seems to be.
Under your feet cracks and crunches the gravel, which provides a firm foothold against the effects of last night's rain, allowing you to walk confidently to your destination with somber acceptance of the situation and of the professor's tragic passing without slipping or balance problems. Everything seems like it's going well, until you reach the halfway point on your march, rounding a corner onto a path called the Eversleep, and you find your way blocked by a dozen surly looking locals who all stand unarmed but with intimidating posture as they block off the road. Tallest and frontmost in the group is Gibs, the man who raised a stink at the inn, and he seems to have only grown stormier. Behind him, the make-up of the group seems to skew older, other somewhat elderly men, but a few younger ones and even a young boy stand to block the way.
"That's far enough. We been talking, and we don't want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You can take him upriver and bury him there if you want, but he ain't goin' in the ground here!" The men behind him nod in agreement.
Kendra has been through a lot today, and you hear the barely-held back sadness cracking in her voice a little bit, but the stronger force is the anger at the front. "What are you talking about?" she cries out, and you see her hands ball up into fists. "I arranged this already, and the grave is waiting for us! Please, let us pass, my father has done nothing to do."
"You don't get it, woman. We won't have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin. I suggest you move out while you still can. Folks are pretty upset about this right now." Gibs stands firm, and some of the men in the back laugh at Kendra's outrage as she shakes in front of them.
"Necromancy?! Are you truly that ignorant?"
The first half of the Dreamwalk had been a sombre experience. Sofia let the memories of her time with Lorrimor flood back in uncanny detail. He had been kind and caring examining the damage tissues, and helped her to recall the details of the attack that blinded her. Petros had been the first person to truly believe her story, and went above and beyond to identify the creature. While the event that led to their meeting had been wrought with misfortune and pain, Petros had changed everything, and put on the path to recovery.
Sofia was stirred from her reverie by the crunch of gravel up ahead. It sounded like a sizeable gathering in the road, and there wasn't much time to contemplate their intent before the lead one -- Gibs, from the inn -- spoke. The accusation was appalling, and her heart sank for Kendra. This was the last thing the poor girl needed.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," Sofia called out to the men. She did her best to keep an even tone, loud enough to be heard but calm enough to not sound angry. "If this troubled you so much, then you should have aired your grievance before the preparations were final. Go home. Please. Don't let that exchange at the inn affect what happens here... This is a funeral. If you respect the Lady of Graves, then please respect this procession and leave us in peace."
Even Elisa is surprised at such a lack of respect for the dead. "I gave them too much credit earlier, they really are disrespectful idiots," she thinks to herself.
She tries to persuade the men to let them pass.
"You would deny his family the comfort of burying a loved one? I had heard you were a respected soldier Gibs, one with the honour to defend this town. What I heard must not have been true as no honourable man would deny a family's comfort in this manner," she says shaking her head with disdain. "It's strange that so few of you represent the wishes of the whole town in this matter," she adds.
To further convince the men, she alludes to the potential enmity of Pharasma in thwarting her wishes.
"In addition to your lack of respect, you must have a very close connection to the Lady of the Graves to know her wishes better than her clergy," she says with raised eyebrows. "It would be a terrible shame to be cursed by her for thwarting her wishes. You do know her will better than her clergy in this matter, don't you?" Elisa says with a questioning tone.
I knew that old man would be troublesome, Mihaela thinks as her reverie of Professor Lorrimor is interrupted. I should have confronted him directly, instead of his daughter.
"You've been talking, have you? Well done. Well, I'm not surprised that people as insular as you can't recognise and appreciate greatness, even when it lived in your midst. Do you own this graveyard, Gibs? If not, I don't see how you would have any say over it. As far as I am concerned, you have no authority interfering in Pharasma's business. Now, get out of the way." As she's saying this, Mihaela is shaking with rage that someone would dare interrupt a funeral.
The whip-poor-will's song is mournful, plaintive, the perfect accompaniment to Ellie's thoughts and memories as she treads the long path. Her eyes well up as she remembers all the times he has been there for her, and imagines the countless conversations that they never had, and now never will.
Questions that she should have asked: seriously, is this staff really that big of a deal? Am I supposed to carry it my whole life? How do I prevent someone taking it once you're gone? She'll never have an answer, now.
The interruption of the locals is almost welcome.
Almost.
Making sure to keep hold of the coffin, Ellie looks beseechingly at the crowd. "Please. Just let us bury our friend in peace. Please."
Tears stream down her face, unbidden, uncalled, unwanted.
While the attempts to reason with the bitter villagers don't seem to allay their forward intentions, the threat from Elisa does. The same superstitions that make them fear the professor and his "witchcraft" now give them pause as they ponder the idea of Pharasma, and weigh their fear of the Lady of Graves's wrath over any possible dangers posed by a wizard's grave. As if seeking to drive that point home, the singing of the whip-poor-whills off in the distance has fallen silent, and the emptiness left in the silence of Pharasma's scared animals is an abrupt and ominous portent that seems to make them hesitate to advance, deeply nervous and uncertain as they look around. It's a foreboding emptiness that gives them pause, and the more they think on the words, the more their fury and anger begins to falter.
The first few members of the mob step away, heads hung in shame as they walk past you and give up, taking the shortest way back in town. Their decision to walk by you rather than take the longer route isn't only convenience; it's concession, and some of them almost seem apologetic in the chance to think for a momen about their actions and what they really mean, like a moment of clarity has them regretting what they've done. Nobody offers up any passing, bitter comments, pacified even if only through reluctance and superstition into decency. A few more follow after, and slowly, the party dissolves, until it is only Gibs standing before you, and there is no mistaking the pure stubbornness in his bitter expression as he stares you down.
Gibs seems sto struggle for some kind of indignant words to leave you off on as he drops the thick tree branch he'd brought with him in case things came to blows. Finally, he manages to spit out the cloest he can muster to a proper response "Well when the dead start rising from their graves, it'll be no skin off my back, and you'll all be begging for my forgiveness." He storms off, proud enough to take the long way back home, back around where he had come on his ambush route rather than passing by you and acquiescing to anything. He leaves with his head held high, firm in his conviction and
It's as people pass by you and your eyes follow them that you notice there is someone new in the group. A bony, pale Human man in a very well tailored and kept suit, whose black hair is swept back in a way that emphasizes his widow's peak. There is a very polite, cultured bearing to him, one that makes him stand out even from the other well dressed and older men in the group, as an outsider. He offers a quiet, apologetic nod for his tardiness.
"We will continue," Father Grimburrow says, wanting to move forward and urging the funeral forward as he continues on with his prayers and continuing the funeral procession. It continues on without a problem, but all of the mournful calm feels sucked away from the moment now. The serenity of good memories gives way to frustration and annoyance, even if no more threats bother the procession, allowing you to guide the coffin toward the grave that has been dug out for it. A headstone reads "Petros and Annabeth Lorrimor" and then the dates of their births and their deaths, with the professor's death recently carved in; he has been dead for seventeen days. You're instructed to place the coffin down, allowing the gravedigging acolytes to take over and set the professor into the ground, and as you do so, the congregation is shifted over a little toward the side of the headstone, the priest hanging his head and finishing his prayers. "And now," he wheezes, "We will open the floor to memories. First, the professor's daughter, Miss Kendra."
Kendra takes her place beside the old priest, and the tears are back in her eyes again as the tense moment is over and she's had time to come back down from the anger high and into her sorrows. Fighting back the urge to sob, she begins. "First, I would like to thank everybody for coming. Father was always a little worried he may one day perish delving into some tomb and never be recovered; the older he became, the more he worried about it, I think. He never could slow down. In the end I'm only happy that what happened, happened near town where people could find him. His fear was never being put in the ground and never allowing his friends this chance.
"Father was a... An interesting man. Kind and courageous, and he was like no professor I'd ever met. His students have told me for years after that they had no other teacher quite like him. His sense of adventure and his desire to help people in any way he could always made me respect him, always pushed my own interests and intellectual pursuits, because I looked up to how much he touched the lives of those who he met. Mother did love that about him, but she was so constantly worried he might not come home to us. But he always did." She offers a soft, sobbing laugh, wiping some tears from her eyes. "And he would have been so happy to see that you all came out for this." Kendra seems unable to say much more, and with a polite bow steps aside.
"Would anyone else like to share some memories of the professor?" the old priests asks, motioning for anyone who wishes to eulogize to step up to the plate.
The familiar prayers to Pharasma, normally a source of great comfort to Christoph, are little more then a droning distraction as they walk the Dreamwake. The whip-poor-will's cry -a shocking departure form the priest's voice- seems to echo. A good omen then. The Lady of Graves will see to the Professor's rest. His fond reminiscence continues, despite the gloomy gray of the rural town, until they round the bend and see the disgruntled locals.
They would dare interrupt a burial? Christoph's jaw clenches and he is forced to take a deep, calming breath as the men's demands are made clear. By what right do you think you can dictate how a Pharasmin can see to the honored dead? And to interrupt Kendra's grief? I had thought these fools superstitious, but to be so heartless?
He remains silent, jaw muscles flexing as he grinds his teeth, as his companions are able to talk down the men. Best I could do is shout some sense that'll stay in their heads only long enough to get lost again when they find some drink. Elisa and Ellie and these others should be able to talk 'em down. I hope. His faith is proven true as the men disperse, save for Gibs. The obvious contrition of most of the men earns them a grudging nod, but he scowls at Gibs back until the man is lost to his sight. If the dead rise, I'll be there to see them put back to rest. Fool man.
With a soft grunt, he helps to set the coffin safely into place. His hand lingers for a moment, brushing the top of the coffin, before he steps back to listen to Kendra. After the intensity of the encounter with the villagers, Christoph finds himself having to bite a lip to hold back a quiet sob as he listens to Kendra. Like no man I've met, not just professor. He was very kind to me, Petros Lorrimor was. I doubt I deserved it, but I loved the man for it. He smiles weakly at Kendra's laugh, then nods to the priest and steps forward.
He clears his throat and says in a voice raspy with emotion, "I mentioned before on the day that I met the Professor, Kjell and I were after something unpleasant. I'd been separated, attacked, but had managed to flee. Met the Professor just outside that foul glen. I can remember being introduced, and I remember particularly the intensity of how he was looking at me. His eyes, I'll always remember, were always keen and searching. Never missed a detail, so long as he cared to look." Christoph pauses a moment, a small thoughtful smile on his face as he remembers. "I was cut up and also pretty shook up. And even though I could tell he was burning to follow Kjell to get a look at whatever nasty creature was in the glen, he agreed to see me back to town. Knowing now, how much that sort of thing fascinated him, makes it all the more impressive how much cared to see me safe and well. Now granted, he was asking questions like a madman. No time for breath, just questions. But what strikes me, looking back, is that even though he was interrogating me in that way he had, he was just looking out for me. I was badly shook up, and he was keeping me distracted and in focus. I might well have simply shut down and gone numb if he hadn't. We sat and talk a long time, the Professor and I, in the village's tavern over tea. He was like that, always willing to drop everything to help a stranger in need. And that's how I remember the Professor. As a kind and caring old man, never mind his little oddities."
Christoph steps back, nodding to Kendra and the priest.
The anger and obvious contempt of the man Gibs, as well as his willing embrace of superstition and ignorance, is exactly what Ellie needs right now - driving away her sorrow and tears and replacing them with a righteous anger. Magic visibly coalesces around her staff, forming a nimbus of light around her, whipping her cloak and her hair into movement, and erasing the tear-stains from her face.
"If the dead do rise, fool, they'll not be troubling you! Because Petros - or someone like him - will be there, has always been there, to put them to rest, that's why! You should be begging him for forgiveness, you...you... bumpkin!"
Steam practically coming out her ears, she marches the coffin to its final rest, slowed only by her companion pall-bearers. She seethes quietly at the effect that interruption has had on the proceedings, and doesn't hesitate to step forward when invited to do so. Her speech is rapid, the hundred miles an hour speed of someone who has something to say that they cannot contain any longer.
"When Petros asked me to join him on his explorings, I asked why. Why did he want me, out of all the more experienced people who'd have given their right hand to be picked by him? What could I offer, who'd just left the Academae under the blackest of clouds? And he said - he said that he - he could buy talent, but he couldn't buy goodness. He said that he knew I'd never dabble in dark magic if I could get through the Academae without doing so. He said that - that people who could be trusted like that were in short supply."
She takes a breath, and gazes at the crowd, defiantly. "So THAT'S how I know he was no necromancer. Any undead he encountered, he put back in the ground. People were safer because he was there. And he never asked the likes of Gibs for anything. Not gratitude, not recognition, nothing. But I would ask people not to slander him at his funeral. Not when you didn't know him, or know what he gave his life to doing."
Public speaking isn't really her thing: pulse racing, cheeks flushed, she looks around, waiting to see if anyone is going to be stupid enough to try and pick an argument with her. The magic she called up crackles around her, a breeze of static flapping her cloak in the still, lifeless air, an outward manifestation of her inward anger, an unspoken message: Go ahead. But you'd better be feeling lucky.