Round 5
Initiative 22+
B'Yelka begins to sing, inspiring her allies to stop the fire.
Initiative 22
Anton puts out some of the fire.
Initiative 19
Drosil steps up but is unable to put out part of the blaze.
Initiative 13
Janos also fails.
Initiative 12
As does flappy-hands.
Initiative 8
Dantrian puts out part of the fire, redeeming the team.
End of Round 5
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Begin Round 6
Initiative
B'Yelka 22+
Anton 22
Drosil 19
Janos 13
Tibideau 12
Dantrian 8
B'yelka sees her friends struggling to put out this fire, and though it really is distasteful, she tucks her hair into the back of her coat as best she can and then takes her own cloak and begins to bat down the fire as best she can. Oh! This had better be worth it!
After a few rounds of furious fire fighting it becomes clear that despite their best efforts, they cannot put the fire out. Retreating before it becomes impossible the heroes retreat outside. The town stands watching in horrified fascination as the hall slowly burns to the ground. The bucket line forms in a minute or so, and enough water is thrown on surrounding structures to keep the blaze contained.
Councilman Hearthmont approaches the party once things have died down a bit. "Thanks for your help back there. Without you all we would have lost a lot of people. Where before Ravengro was scared, now they are terrified. We can offer you 500 gold each to solve this problem quickly and efficiently. You have the full support of the sheriff and the council to go and do whatever needs to be done."
His battered brown coat and beloved scarf still smouldering and coughing up a lungful of smoke, Anton has rarely looked so dishevelled.
Good job everyone. He goes around the group, making sure there are no injuries from the flaming skulls, checking if Dantrian’s hands are burnt from clutching the victims, ensuring Tibideau hasn’t messed up his hair and so on. The building can always be rebuilt, it was the people inside who were our priority.
He turns to the Sheriff and gathered Councilmen.
It is clear to all now that there is Evil abroad in this town. With courage, determination and by the Grace of those deities we each here serve, we will tear it out like a weed – root and all. It seems the Professor had some insight into what was happening and everything keeps indicating the Prison itself. If what his journal says is true, there are things stirring in the darkness there and we will need all our strength to face them. Father, I was injured in the discovery of the cache in the Restlands, some kind of poison. I have little to offer in the way of a donation right now, but if there is anything you can do for me, I would be grateful and gladly donate some of my payment for your services.
Janos spits out some ash that had gotten into his mouth. His face and hands are covered in soot. His cloak is filled with holes now and burned over most of it. "Sorry, Mayor. Maybe we should have tried to get the records."
He looks to Father Grimburrow. "Is everyone ok? Some of them got burned pretty badly."
Tibideau inspects the damage done to his person. A few patches of his purple coat are burned, and his purple boots appear to have gone through a chemical reaction and become a strange, brilliant pink. His hair, however, remains in pristine condition, despite his disheveled braids. He frowns, but decides he prefers his "new" boots. Not a problem!
Thankful now more than ever for Anton's long speeches , Tibideau quietly slips away from the rest of the group and begins to survey the injured villagers. He sees some are in great pain and suffering, and he immediately sets himself to healing the worst of their wounds.
Father Grimburrow turns to Anton, "A donation of 140 to the temple outta cover it. C'mere kiddo." He grasps at Anton's arm with an arthritic old hand and invokes a prayer to the Lady of Graves. He can feel the lethargy fading from his limbs.
"I've already healed the burn victims. They'll be fine." he says to Janos and Tibideau.
Hearthmont turns to Anton, "If the problem's source is the prison, then by all means go and investigate. We trust you'll know how to handle it."
Dantrian casts the blackened, charred curtain aside as he and the others emerge from the building. He looks over the crowd of villagers, his face a mask of passivity, before turning back to look at the burning building. To those who can see his face, his expression wavers slightly and his brow knits with concern as he takes a few long, steadying breaths.
The beast grows stronger by the day. I felt the same urge as I did a few nights ago when we attacked at Kendra's home. If... if these people I just fought to save had seen - if they knew...
They would cast me into this blaze without hesitation.
Professor, I certainly hope your books hold the key to my salvation. And that these villagers do not damn me before I can find it.
Dantrian then visibly gathers himself, sets his shoulders, and turns back to the group. "There is still the matter of our research into the Prison. We have learned much over the last few days, and yet a day or two more of preparation may mean the difference between success and failure."
"Perhaps those of us less inclined for research can help in other ways. We can clear the rubble and help sift through the remains of the hall. Perhaps something will survive, or at the very least we can help clean up."
"Also, we might want to look into any notes on how the Professor died. I think it's safe to assume his death wasn't an accident."
Drosil is quiet as he watches the hall burn. Would have been nice to have been able to save it, but as they said, at least we got the people out. Eventually, he shakes himself off and turns to the rest of the group.
"I agree - let's finish the research we began, prepare ourselves, and see if we can finish this. I'm tired of constantly being attacked here..."
Dantrian idly begins to wander around to the side of the building, a thought suddenly striking him.
I wonder if there are any signs near the building our arsonists left behind.
I could use a day or two to shake the effects of his poison anyway, wouldn't want to let you guys down in there.
B'yelka turns to Tibideau, "You and I could use the services of a good tailor and seamstress. It seems our allies are set on rummaging in ruins and this," she motions to her gown, "is not suitable attire for such dirty work." She smirks and continues, "Not to mention you may want something to match your new shoes."
She then fixes Dantrian with her dark eyes, "I think you would like some help in the dusty aisles of the temple library. Believe it or not, I may actually remember where some of the pertinent books are." Her smile is hard to read, a girl child pleased that she has learned a lesson from a teacher she respects, or just a politeness given to a servant?
"You will do as you please, B'yelka, as has always been the case. Or have you changed much in that regard and little in others over these past years?"
There are no signs of arson.
Tibideau smiles at B'yelka, then sighs deeply in resignation. "I'm afraid I can't do anything about these rags until we've been paid. But I will daydream about my new wardrobe in the meantime." He addresses both Dantrian and B'yelka. "Come, fellow bookworms! To the library!" Lastly, he finds Kendra. "Dear hostess, your great skill with research could be of assistance to us. Will you come to the library, too?"
He heads back to the library with the others and sets himself to finding out more about the other prisoners. I hope they're even more spooky than the last two!
"The details of this last prisoner are very... elusive. Can anyone else find anything?"
Father Charlatan (Sefick Corvin; 400 XP): Of the five notorious prisoners, only Father Charlatan was not technically a murderer, yet his crimes were so blasphemous that several churches demanded he be punished to the full extent of Ustalavic law. Although he claimed to be an ordained priest of any number of faiths, Father Corvin was in fact a traveling con artist who used faith as a mask and a means to bilk the faithful out of money in payment for false miracles or cures. He became known as Father Charlatan after his scheme was exposed and his Sczarni accomplices murdered a half-dozen city guards in an attempt to make good the group’s escape.
The Lopper (Vance Saetressle; 400 XP): When the Lopper stalked prey, he would hide in the most unlikely of places, sometimes for days upon end with only a few supplies to keep him going while he waited for the exact right moment to strike. Once his target was alone, the Lopper would emerge to savagely behead his victim with a handaxe.
The Mosswater Marauder (Ispin Onyxcudgel; 400 XP): Only 5 years before his hometown of Mosswater was destined to be overrun and ruined by monsters from the nearby river, Ispin Onyxcudgel was a well-liked artisan and a doting husband. When he discovered his wife’s infidelity, he flew into a jealous rage and struck her dead with his hammer, shattering her skull and his sanity with one murderous blow. Wracked with shame and guilt, Ispin became convinced that if he could rebuild his wife’s skull she would come back to life—but unfortunately, he could not find the last blade-shaped fragment from the murder site. So instead, Ispin became the Mosswater Marauder. Over the course of several weeks, the cunning dwarf stalked and murdered nearly 20 people while searching for just the right skull fragment. He was captured just before murdering the daughter of a visiting nobleman from Varno, and was carted off to Harrowstone that same night.
The Piper of Illmarsh (real name unknown; 400 XP): Before he snatched his victims, the Piper taunted his targets with a mournful dirge on his flute. He preferred to paralyze lone victims by dosing their meals with lich dust and then allowed his pet stirges to drink the victims dry of blood.
The Splatter Man (Hean Feramin; 400 XP): Professor Feramin was a celebrated scholar of Anthroponomastics (the study of personal names and their origins) at the Quartrefaux Archives in Caliphas. Yet an accidental association with a succubus twisted and warped his study, turning it into an obsession. Feramin became obsessed with the power of a name and how he could use it to terrify and control. Soon enough, his reputation was ruined, he’d lost his tenure, and he’d developed an uncontrollable obsession with an imaginary link between a person’s name and what happens to that name when the person dies. Every few days, he would secretly arrange for his victim to find a letter from her name written in blood, perhaps smeared on a wall or spelled out with carefully arranged entrails. Once he had spelled his victim’s name, he would at last come for her, killing her in a gory mess using a complex trap or series of rigged events meant to look like an accident.
Tibideau shivers with terror and delight upon learning the new information. "20 people! You'd think you'd be better at smashing skulls in just the right way after about 10. So dreadful. And that Piper! I always hated the flute. Not as much as the oboe. If I were forced to listen to any instrument while paralyzed, facing my impending death, it had better be the double bass."
Shaking her head at the imminent sillyness of Tibideau, B'yelka jokes, "Better a flute than an off key tenor in the chorus that ruins the drama of your own death, no?"
She reflects a bit before speaking, "Letters written one at a time as a warning of your impending doom? How many letters in blood have been splashed on the statue here in Ravengro?"
I don't think we should underestimate this Prison. Tales of gruesome murder are all very well but these were real killers, real victims and whatever evil was in them may have left its taint on that prison. There have been far too many thinigs returning from the dead in recent days for us to be complacent.
He also chews over B'yelka's mention of the bloody letters.
Perhaps someone is copying this Splatter Man's methods?
Or worse it is the man himself, returned from the grave.
"With the items from the hidden cache and this information I believe we are as prepared as we might be. Let us arise early tomorrow and enter that forsaken ruin at dawn.
I will need to carefully consider which tonics I prepare in the morning. This venture may be our only opportunity.
I agree. I admit I don't relish the thought of entering that place but perhaps that's where we'll find our answers. I'm glad you will all be there with me. he says with a smile.
B'yelka thinks about trolling about in ruins and knows that she cannot go in the gown she is wearing now. While the others are conducting research, she finds Kendra to ask for help. "Kendra, do you have a minute? I was thinking about the task before us and how important it is; I want to do all I can to ensure our success." The Diva blushes as if a bit embarassed by such a silly request, but continues, "Do you have something I could wear? Something more practical than this dress? Fashion has it's place, but I doubt any old haunts and goblins in the burned out ruins cares about it." She finishes with an earnest smile to her host, still blushing. By the Gods, how humiliating to not be able to help yourself with something so simple!
Hearing Anton's quip, she turns to him and says in a grandiose manner, "Of course you will be glad that I will be with you. What could make anyone happier than to have the voice of a generation for company?" Her smirk makes everyone question if it is a jest, or a fact-according-to-her.
My lady, Desna herself would walk long roads to hear your voice. he says with a smile but absent sarcasm.
But some would argue that a beautiful aria or my 'folksy' religion are no match for a good blade at your side.
Fortunately, we have some of those too. he nods to Janos and Drosil.
Janos has taken the time in the evenings to sharpen his blades with the constant droning of his whetstone.
"If the Splatter Man survived the fire, then what about the others? Those were stirges at the Professor's funeral. The Piper? I didn't hear any music other than B'yelka's."
"I also think we should clean off the blood from the statue. If it is the Splatter Man, it might confuse or delay him."
The blood has already been cleaned up by the time that Janos goes to check on it. The two days of research pass quickly, and the morning of the sixth day dawns misty and cold.
Tibideau considers Janos's remarks. "Then we've seen signs of only two of the prisoners about? Thinking back, I suppose the prisoners are the subject of that nasty children's rhyme we heard a few days ago."
Dantrian will "prepare" a dexterity based mutagen, and cure light wounds, shield, and enlarge person as his extracts.
Come morning B'yelka gets dressed in borrowed trousers and a heavy linen shirt. She spends over an hour trying to get it to lay right. Growing frustrated with the lack of process she fumes to herself, "Too much fabric here, not enough there! How do these people live like this? I feel like I am literally wearing a bag of rags!"
She finally comes downstairs her face cloudy with her irritation. Her outfit looks like someone's garden clothes, except not. The shirt's collar is too open, and the dark green scarf that rests there seems more to add color than to protect against the cold. The pants are too big across her hips, and belted tightly over her waist. The lower legs of the trousers are pulled back tight around her calves and thrust into the top of her heavy boots. When she steps the tap-thump of her heel-toe stride is reminiscent of a march. The only thing that looks like the Diva is her hair and face. Once again she has on very stark makeup, lips and eyeliner. Her hair is styled into a ponytail, pulled back hard enough that it gives her already proud face a very aggressive appearance. Tied to her belt are two of the spirit siphons.
When she sees the men waiting to go she quickly brings a smile to her face and her eyes dance with apparent glee. The stage is set, the cast is prepared. Shall we raise the curtain on our next scene?"
Tibideau sleeps relatively soundly, dreaming only of flutes, oboes, and double basses. An inferior assembly for a proper symphony orchestra! He is just about to tell the first chair of the oboes that they need to hire a more diverse group of musicians when he is rudely awoken by his darling familiar scurrying across his face. "You tiny b******!"
Tibideau spends an hour feeding Bonbon fish and having what appears to be a one-sided conversation with him. After the hour is through, Tibideau puts on his tattered winter clothes and slips the tiny turtle into the inside pocket of his coat. He puts his hair in a charming low side ponytail, picks up his bag full of scrolls and potions, and bounces downstairs for breakfast.
He sees B'yelka's new wardrobe and can't help but smile. "My dear, your beauty is apparent even in those common clothes!"
Addressing everyone, he says, "I'd like to stop by a shop and pick up a few torches on the way to our destination, if that's alright with everyone. We can purchase any other odds and ends we're missing."
Anton is up before most of his companions this morning, just before dawn. He dons his long coat over his kikko armor and wraps his long scarf around his neck several times before quietly slipping out the front door.
The town, so down-trodden and fearful in the past few days, looks picturesque in the early morning light. He notes the beads of dew on the grass, stops to run his hand along the base of the statue, listens to the silence at the gates of the Restlands and stares long and hard at the road to Harrowstone.
His stroll around town takes a couple of hours and by the time he returns he is ready for breakfast. B’yelka and Tibideau are up and about, the songstress dressed in plain ill-fitting clothing, hair tied simply and the only real colour apparent is in her jade green scarf and the red of her flustered cheeks. In truth, he thought he had never seen her looking better. In her usual gowns and jewels she looked like she belonged at the top of a tree during the Merrymead festival. The same could be said for Tibideau.
Morning both. I can see you’re nearly ready to go. I’m going to put some bacon and eggs on if you’re interested.
The smell of cooking wafts through the house and it’s not long before the others stir. When everyone is gathered over breakfast Anton asks:
Before we head to the prison, is there anything anyone needs? If the structure has been damaged rope and pitons would be useful, as would a crowbar and of course Tibideau’s suggestion of torches is a good one – we don’t really know what to expect in there.
The statue is covered in blood once again, the letters "VES" spelled out at its base. Anton is the first to discover it while on his walk.
Anton relays this information and despite the unease it brings he is glad to be heading to the prison to finally start to do something about it.
Janos is a deep sleep. He dreams of being back in the swamp, but somehow he keeps hearing the children sing their rhyme. He searches for the children, running through the swamp, but his ears betray him, first leading him this way and then that. He finally runs up and the children are all gathered in the burning town hall, singing as they incinerate.
"Nooo!" The half elf bolts out of bed, getting tangled in the sheets and lands on the floor with a loud thud. He looks around, realizing it was only a dream and lays back on the floor, relieved.
After a few moments, Janos realizes he hears the others below and the smell of cooking. He gets up and pulls on his old, singed trousers and shirt from the night before. The cloak is in tatters. Why did I even think it could be saved? He tosses it aside as rags.
As he makes his way downstairs, he has a sullen and tired look. "Good. Food." is all he says before grabbing some bread, tea, and two boiled eggs. He sits and wolfs down the meal.
Only afterward does the discussion seem to pierce his brain. "The letters came back, huh? I guess it was too much to think we could stop it that way. It sounds like we have to figure out what's going on in the prison."
Harrowstone is located on a barren hill south of the city of Ravengro, the stark, sagging roof of its central structure visible through a large gap in the surrounding wall. A partially overgrown track leads from the southern edge of town, winding around the base of the hill and then back up along its southern slope to the prison itself.
The stone wall that surrounds most of the prison grounds is covered with creeping ivy, and the blocks beneath that growth are eroded. A sagging wood and metal gate set between a pair of stone guard towers once barred entrance into Harrowstone, but the gates now hang negligently open, creaking softly in what wind touches the ruined bars.
B'yelka masks her nervousness with a smile, "Finally the players arrive, only to find their stage riddled with age and ivy." Still, she unlimbers her scourge and her rapier doing her best to look like she is comfortable going into this place. What horrors are hidden in this place?
Dantrian spends the morning in brooding silence, going so far as to skip breakfast. As the group prepares to leave, he is in the middle of decanting his final extract so he sends the group on ahead with assurances that he will catch up. He arrives a few minutes after the rest, while they are still gathered at the entrance.
"Well, I doubt we need to knock." Janos takes a breath and then pushes the gate open to go through.
"No doubt, Janos. Still should we be careful, or brazen? Do we look around or just walk in?"
Drosil responds, "If there was something here that killed the Professor, I suggest we err a bit on the subtle side of things..."