S#%@ s!%% s$$+! Just hatched and already Voyla was down on the ground. From where I stood, she seemed more dead than alive. I offered a quick prayer to the Divine Spark. If Voyla was alive, I prayed she would remain so. If not...
... well, I hoped she would find her resting place.
Whatever this thing was, it was more than we could handle. Too many of us seemed to be moving in slow motion, as if swimming through molasses. Voyla was down. Marsh was blind. And most of our weapons were useless.
Most of our weapons. Most of...
I felt the mythril dagger, left here by the ancient elves, tucked into my belt. It had magic. It could hurt this beast!
But not in my hands. Blind or not, Marsh was three times the fighter I was.
And so I ran. I was putting myself in harm's way but there was no chance of avoiding the monster if I was to give Marsh his shot. I ran and I pressed the dagger into his big, meaty, ugly hands.
"The dagger is magic, Marsh! The bug is ahead of you, ten paces! Just above Voyla's body! Stab at shoulder level!"
I prayed again. Please let him kill this horror!
"Heh! Now we're talkin!"
Marsh grabs the dagger and -----
"Here goes nothin! Hey! Warshawski? Whud if I save yer ass again! Heh heh!"
"Champion chip round guys!"
----- brings it down in a two handed haymaker rabbit fist.
hits with Marsh's lowered AC from Blindness.
CON
PASS! No poison.
Pass, for half damage.
hits for
miss
hits for
hits, for
With Voyla collapsed beneath the Blightspawn's bulk and hemorrhaging severely from the gaping wound in her chest, the party leaps into action to fight the monster- and hopefully save the young priestess' life.
The creature seems to not respond to Bacarov's words. The inspector passes into the aura of torpor unaffected, and lays a hand on the beast's hide as he guides the blinded Marsh forward. Wounding energy flows forth into the Blightspawn, injuring it, though it seems not to take the full effect of the magic.
Dramin is unable to identify the nature of the poison torturing Voyla, but the arrow that flies from his magical bow does find purchase between the monster's armored plates, striking it a considerable wound.
Warshawski, trusting Marsh's fighting skills over her own, risks injury by rushing past the Blightspawn and delivering the mithril dagger forged by the elves that once inhabited this land into the blinded warrior's hand. The Blightspawn tears its stinger out of Voyla and lashes at her, but between Warshawski's agility and the guidance of the spirits, she is able to tumble underneath the lashing proboscis and pass by safely. She thrusts the weapon into Marsh's hands.
Marsh takes the dagger in both hands and thrusts it forth in the direction he is guided by Warshawski and Bacarov, and the weapon plunges straight through the creature's armor. It howls in pain- or, perhaps, the howling comes from somewhere else?
Duroj, feeling the power of the Dire Collar fading, leaps forward in a last-ditch effort to finish off the ailing spawn of Ghlaunder. One of his claws misses the flailing beast, but one finds its target, and Duroj's jaws also close around one of the creature's deformed arms, tearing a foot loose. Thick, black ichor pours from the wound. The bear's master, Niklos, uses the opportunity to slip around the creature and grab the quickly-fading Voyla by the wrists. His movements are slowed by the creature's aura, so he is only able to get close enough to grab her. It is clear that his intention is to pull Voyla out from under the Blightspawn as soon as he can.
Dio cries out to the party in Draconic:
- - - -
The eyes of the Blightspawn of Ghlaunder turn red as they focus first upon the dagger, then on Marsh. It rushes forward and stabs its proboscis into Marsh's body, much the way it had Voyla earlier. As it does, its wings begin to beat, and the gory remains of Andretti Kriegler slough off onto the ground. The razor-sharp stinger tears into Marsh almost unopposed, as without his sight, Marsh is unable to dodge. With the stinger still embedded in Marsh's body, the Blightspawn rears up and grabs him by the shoulders with its claws and its wings begin to beat a terrible rhythm. It begins to lift up off of the ground...
Duroj claws at the monster as it lifts off, still gripping Marsh, raking it along the back of its thorax as it takes flight. The beast begins to waver as it takes flight, still holding the blinded Marsh, but it does not fall...
- - - -
.
Bacarov watches in horror as the monster attacks Vinnie. As it tries to fly away, he leaps forward to grasp Marsh's hand... "Vinnie, the monster has you! Fight!"
Vinnie
Bacarov withdraws the Lesser Restoration wand points it towards his friend.
CON Damage Restored
---------------
Bacarov lunges at the winged filth and hits again with his glowing hands.
Will Save DC 15
Bacarov looks down at the altar, searching for the spear he'd hurled earlier...but then he sees Kreigler's. Bloody bastard probably had it magicked... He grabs it up and hurls it at the monster.
watches in horror as the monster attacks Vinnie. As it tries to fly away, he leaps forward to grasp Marsh's hand... "Vinnie, the monster has you! Fight!"
Touch Attack: 1d20 + 5 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 5 + 1 = 13 Vinnie
Cure Moderate Wounds: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (8, 2) + 4 = 14
Bacarov looks down at the altar, searching for the spear he'd hurled earlier...but then he sees Kreigler's. Bloody bastard probably had it magicked... He grabs it up and hurls it at the monster.
Touch Attack Kreigler's Spear: 1d20+3+1 ⇒ (16)+3+1 = 20
Damage?: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4
Status
HP: 21/30
Condition: 1 Bleed - X Rounds
Condition: Staggered - X Rounds
Buffs: Gravity Bow, Shield - 2 rounds
Round 8
Dramin sees the abomination begin to lift Marsh off the ground. He didn't know much about this thing, but it didn't take a trained specialist to know that if it took flight Marsh would be dead.
Thinking small again Dramin. The world could be in danger.
He was never one for melodrama but the words in his head were solid. Despite all the shaking of his studies in the past few minutes, this was a truth and one that chilled him to the bone.
He aims an arrow at the creature, with Marsh in his sights.
You don't become food for that. If I can't land the shot on this thing, at least I can do you one mercy...
His focus isn't on the healing spell Bacarov lets off and he puts some faith into his shot and just lets go. I know where this is going. I know this shot. You are my prize now parasite of Ghalunder.
Any sardonic reply I had to Marsh's boasting died on my lips as the giant bug's stinger pierced through his chest. Gods. I could see it come out of his bag. He was impaled. Even with Bacarov rushing to heal him, how could Marsh possibly survive?
My hand worked faster than my mind did. While my brain reeled from the horror, my bladed scarf whirled out. I didn't aim for the beast but for its wings. If we couldn't save Marsh, at least we could lay him to rest. That thing would NOT have him!
"Uugh, ooooohah! This f*&*ing sucks."
"allright bug this is it."
"Ha! That one's for Calwen. How you like them apples! heh heh heh! Wait?!"
"Ummmmm hey? Am I flyin away or somethin?"
The Blightspawn attempts to drag Marsh into the air with it, in spite of its wounds. With its stinger piercing the big man's body and its claws sinking into his shoulders and hips, its multiple sets of wings begin to flap rapidly, and it begins to pull away from the ground. Marsh, suffering from massive blood loss, goes limp and hangs unconscious in the monster's grip as it begins to lift off.
Bacarov takes the opportunity to lay a hand on his longtime friend's shoulder and send a charge of healing energy into his body- and just in the nick of time, as the terrible wounds killing Marsh begin to knit themselves together. Warshawski, rushing in from the opposite side, lashes at the monster's wings with her bladed scarf. It wraps around one of the creature's larger wings, and though the wing shakes itself free, the blades lacing the scarf tear through the gossamer membrane, shredding it. The Blightspawn of Ghlaunder begins to falter in its flight before it gets more than a few inches off the ground. As Niklos drags Voyla out from underneath it and Dio races forward to retrieve her, Marsh regains consciousness.
The monster pulls free of the melee at last, struggling to escape over the fields on a ruined wing. Before it can get too far, another of Dramin's empowered arrows strikes it in the side, and it squeals in pain and begins to fall- just as Marsh plunges the elven dagger back into the monster, this time right between its eyes.
The Blightspawn and Marsh fall, tumbling end over end into the reeds, vanishing into the darkness.
The horrible droning that had filled the heads of the entire group are cut off in an instant. High above, the pattern formed within the clouds begins to lose its shape, and they resume their natural drift, as a gentle eastward wind blows.
On the other side of the field, Marleyna Bartley begins to stir. Groaning, she works her way up onto hand and knee, and glances about, as if working through a daze. Though confused and a bit dirty from the ungraceful way in which Dio dropped her into the dirt, she seems unharmed.
Voyla, lying in a pool of blood and gore just beside the stone altar, coughs weakly. Though still wracked by poison and badly injured, it seems she will make it.
Duroj slowly begins to shrink, the power of the Dire Collar fading. Niklos steps forward and strokes the bear's neck, thanking it for its brave efforts.
In the midst of the reeds just north of the mound, Marsh shoves the weight of the Blightspawn off of him, and rolls painfully away from it. The creature has already begun to decay, its armored plates dissolving as if by acid, its proboscis curling up and withering, its eyes burning out. Its thin, insectoid legs twitch and then curl inward.
"But... while this moor might yet be saved, the one who brought the evil here in the beginning lives stlll. The Dancer in the Dark abandoned this place and this cult long ago. Ghlaunder was only the beginning for her. Her shadow grows in the tortured land beyond the great lake. This will happen again and again, and on an even greater scale, if she is not found and destroyed."
- - - -
Marsh sits up for a few moments.
"Damn it. . . "
He lays down on his back facing the sky while he gathers himself.
"Hey guys? I'm over here in the reeds or whatever."
The big man listens to the sounds of his companions.
"Heh heh. We won. Hey Warshawski, nice knife by the way."
"I'm blind so you a~!@!$%s are gonna have to help me get out of here. Jeez something stinks . . . Is that me?"
The Horned King appeared before me. As he whispered his words I could feel tears flowing down my cheeks. Tears for the friend I had lost and tears that she knew her task had been completed. Tears of relief that we all lived and that an evil had been eliminated from the world. Tears of frustration because the future held still more horror. This was a fight against true evil and it would never be done.
I wiped the tears from my cheeks.
"We did it. The spirits say that no one else knows the rituals. The cult is well and truly broken, even if anyone survives... but we aren't done. The Dancer in the Dark is still out there. We need to go to the tortured lands beyond the great lake."
I wanted to sit down. Every muscle in my body screamed that it was time to rest. But...
"We need to get Volya and Marsh some help. Come on."
"Dancer in the Dark? Tortured lands? Beyond the Great Lake? Why does everything have to be a freakin ominous soundin riddle with this group."
"Don't we have to go to town and tell what happened to Elias?"
"Sebastian, what the hell? Are you coming over or not?"
♤
♤
♤
He watches the monstrosity fall. There is little left in him for celebration. Little room for the victory they'd fought so hard to achieve. Elias Kyle, Calwen, the list of others added to the butcher's bill as they fell to this cult. Yet Markham had dubbed them fools, children playing at demon worship. Bacarov understood the notion. He understood where he would need to go next.
Maybe that is why joy is so hard to find.
Warshawski mentions the great lake and the tortured lands and he wants to vomit. A dread instinct fills his mind a day he is tempted to strangle the woman before she reveals much more.
"Don't look, Sebastian...don't look into the darkness..." Phedron's voice echoing in his ears. He looks down at his hand and sees that dark blue glow. "If you come back to the emptiness...you'll never depart it again..."
Bacarov turns his attention to Voyla, withdrawing his two wands and going to work. Warshawski's words about broken cults a dull haze beyond the forest of his own thoughts. If he has his way, they'd be hunted and burned for their crimes. But that isn't the center of his thoughts at the moment.
He reaches Voyla and begins first with the healing wand...
...then he uses the Lesser Restoration wand they'd taken from Kreigler's...
CON Restored
...he steps away from her as the magicks close and bind get wounds and looks back to Warshawski. "Lake Encarthan in Ustalav. It's the place Markham's handlers directed him."
He says nothing more and moves in the direction of Vinnie's calls. "Put a sock in it, Vin. I know where you are..." He draws his short sword and hacks his way thru the weeds to Marsh's location. He pats him on the shoulder and helps him to a seated position. Then he commences healing him as well.
CON Restored
"Yeah, mate. We will return to Magnimar. Set things aright with Kyle's affairs. We need to get you to the church, restore your eyesight." He helps the big man to his feet. "Unless there's someone in this hole."
[ooc]I've adjusted the # of uses on the wands in my profile.
Voyla, barely conscious, grabs her wounds.
"Praise Desna! And thank you, I am in your debt, as you have saved my people from the corrupt..." - She coughs and stops taking.
She grabs Warshawski's hand and looks at her eyes, thankfully, before falling unconscious again.
Dramin falls to the floor and begins to cast the infernal spell he prepared. A drop in the bucket.
He saw Bacarov run to Marsh and knew full well that asking for any more assistance was petty compared to what the man and the Desnan felt. I can handle myself fine here, no need to trouble them.
He lets the energy wash over him but he stays seated.
"Warshawski, Dancer in the Dark? The lake?"
"So the horned king knows something about these places as well... Can't be a coincidence then." He recalls a dusty book he studied what seemed like years ago. It was a book he had never seen another copy of and once he finished it, never saw again. Dramin had always written that mystery off as some sort of prank a younger student had played on Orin, the youngest archivist.
No such thing as coincidences, the cosmos is too complex to write it off that way.
"If you'd have me Warshawski, I would like to investigate into this as well. Differences aside, another set of eyes," Or three. "could never hurt."
The words coming out of his mouth almost felt alien to him, not because of his mannerisms (or the delicacy)... He couldn't quite pin it down.
"Bacarov, we do need to tie up some loose ends here. As much as it pains me that we cannot pursue immediately, that woman back in Magnimar deserves to know the truth, however painful. That and Marsh deserves better, despite what everyone says." His attempt at humour lingering in the night air.
He begins to stand up and walk toward Marleyna, knowing full well that he couldn't do too much if she had been bleeding at all. Using that magic on myself is one thing, but not on an unconscious woman.
"To think, I have a sample of a failed demigod on me."
He begins to laugh heartily into the night sky as he works. The languish and exhaustion that had festered into his bones almost gone as if by something greater than magic.
"The Dancer in the Dark" does not seem to refer to any particular deity or creature that you know of off the top of your head, but it does seem to tickle something in the back end of your mind. You feel a slight stinging in either side of your neck- and, just for a moment, hear something buzzing in your ear.
Marleyna staggers weakly toward the group, life slowly blinking back into her. She clutches at her head and repeatedly blinks, trying to shake away the grogginess. When she seems to have come to, she takes in the horrific scene around her and closes a hand over her mouth.
"Mayor Kriegler..." she says quietly. "He... after the Feast..." She trails off, nearly gagging at the sight of the bloody altar she had been tied down to only a scant few minutes before. "I... I won. I was the Queen of the Festival... Shel looked so mad..." She sinks down onto the ground, eyes glazed over, and begins squeezing her own arms for reassurance. She seems to be in shock. Dio stalks over and nuzzles her a few times, and Marleyna clings to the drake like a warm blanket.
Dramin finds the remains of the Blightspawn lying in the broken, withered reeds only a few feet from Marsh and Bacarov. The plant life surrounding the creature seems to be decaying by the second, almost as if the blight is bleeding out of the creature's wounds and into the world. It seems its body will decay quickly as well, but not so quickly that Dramin cannot take a few samples...
- - - -
Bacarov provides a shoulder for Marsh to use and leads him back to the group. He nods back towards town. "The Khorza's place. We need to ascertain Dalton's condition." His eyes drift to Marleyna as she holds the drake. "We all need to take our rest. Then we can set out for Magnimar tomorrow."
At Dramin's question on locations and the riddle of Warshawski's words, "As I said a moment ago, Lake Encarthan in Ustalav. It's the place Markham's handlers directed him. Seems like we were at his house months ago..." He grins and sighs heavily. "First Magnimar. I have connections with the Abadaran church, they will see to Marsh's restoration. And yes, the dispensation of Mr Kyle's fate should be handled."
He sets Vinnie near the altar and stoops down to pick up Kreigler's spear. His eyes swim for a moment, his feet feel the cold waters of the lake soaking them to the bone. "...es akkor, tovább sodorja a szívünket a semmibe."
Bacarov shakes himself and looks towards the town. "Come on. I need sleep. I need to think and have time to compile my report."
-----
Every part of me ached and I was covered with human debris but I felt good. We had stopped a horror from entering this world. We had freed a town from the grip of evil. It was up to them to rebuild. We couldn't do that for them but, as I picked up Voyla, and staggered with her toward shelter and healing, I knew that Ravenmoore was in good hands.
"Hey? didn't some of the cultists get away? And what about the ferryman? Was he a cultist or just an a&~~+@!?"
"I suppose the people need a true follower of Desna to lead them. Maybe Voyla can be put in charge, you know ummm, like a magistrate? You could swear her in Bacarov. Heh, heh, too bad you burned down the mansion. We never did get to spend the night there."
Voyla is in bad shape, but it seems she will live- though it may take days for the effects of the Blightspawn's poison to leave her system. However, by the party's own witness, there is no more devout follower of the Starsong than this young priestess. If anyone is fit to help turn Ravenmoor back onto the true path of Desna, it is Voyla Sloboda.
The party slowly begins to make their way back toward town, the refreshingly normal sound of cicadas and buzzing of mosquitoes- normal mosquitoes- begins to slowly resume. The heat remains squelching, and a thin layer of sweat begins to form on the brows of the surviving investigators.
Marleyna still seems to be in shock, and barely responds when prompted on the march back. She stays close to Dio, and moves slowly.
Finally, the Korzha house comes into view. The small barnhouse behind it beckons, and after a moment, young Ornigaard Korzha steps out of the shadowed doorway and smiles broadly. "It's them, Papa!" he nearly shouts, and then excitedly waves the group forward.
Inside the barn, Dalton and the Korzhas await. The monk smiles, then approaches wearily, and it is clear that he has been wounded- though, thankfully, not seriously. "The ferryman, Skender Cardzi," he says quietly. "He was one of them. Stronger than he looked. Came with a pack of stirges and caught me by surprise. I'm fine... he is not, I'm afraid. I'm sorry I could not get to Marleyna in time- Kriegler and his friends were quick to accost her after the Feast." His eyes narrow. "And what about Kriegler?" When he sees Marleyna, he smiles warmly and moves to embrace the girl, but when he sees that she is still as lifeless as a ghost, he settles for laying a hand on her shoulder- at which she flinches. "I'm glad you're all right," he says, backing away.
Orni, Viorec, and Brekka Korzha all converge on the girl, and Orni throws himself at her and hugs her around the waist. This finally seems to shake her out of her stupor, and Marleyna's eyes clear. Looking around at her friends and her saviors, she is overwhelmed and begins to sob. It seems she will need a few minutes alone with the family that served as her only comfort during those hard years with her psychotic father before she can speak.
"Krieglar is dead."
No pretense, no prompting. "I would regale you of the story Dalton, but I don't think now is the time." His eyes glance over to Marleyna.
"What of Windmane and Calwen? I don't know if she was religious but she does deserve better than to be left here in this place." He knows that she adored nature and the purity of the land, but he knows nothing of that type of desire and what it would entail; so he leaves it hanging.
"As much as I would say that we should bring her back home... I'm afraid I don't know if that journey is feasible."
He faces the monk, "Some of us decided we are heading back to Magnimar to finish what we started and then..."
He looks at Bacarov and Warshawski, he knows they can explain much more eloquently than he.
You don't want to tell him, you want me all to yourself don't you? Making excuses about elegance.
He shakes his head and pulls out his book and tears a small page out and begins to scribe out something, while surveying the scene. His eyes look at the woman they rescued and under his breath he thinks he feels a hint of magic in her. Could she have what it takes?
At some point his mind wanders to the drake.
Draconic
"Dio. You have been more than a help, not once, twice, but as many times as there are stars in the sky. You should know there is nothing to owe young one, and your bravery and protection will be remembered. The family one there is much like you, and she has taken a liking to you. If you wish, we can introduce you properly." If his theory on Marlyena is right, she may need a companion in the future.
"It um . . . Sounds like they are gonna take her in huh? Marleyna that is. Good, good that's probably best."
Marsh stares off into space but looks very uncomfortable. He latches on to what Dalton is saying to try and distract him from the young girls sobs.
"Yeah, ummmmm. We've got Warshawski with us. She can help make sure that Calwen makes it over to the other side. No one better at it really. Uhhhhhhhhh. . . . I'm sure Voyla can say some nice words too and uhhhhhh."
His face turns red as he dabs at his eyes.
"Ah crud guys I think I got a mosquito in my eyes, can someone lead me outside please."
The drake kicks anxiously at the dirt before responding:
Dio's speech patterns can be difficult to understand, even for those who understand Draconic, but it seems as if he wishes to stay with Marleyna, wherever she ends up going.
Viorec Korzha offers, "Well, I won't pretend I have much of an idea what went on out there in them fields tonight, but I do know y'all have risked a lot... and lost a lot... an' if there's anything we can do for you, we're yours. I don't know what's gonna happen in Ravenmoor once you've gone, but if Mayor Kriegler really was some kinda freaky cult master- and dead, for that matter- then we've all got a lot of catchin' up to do. If Marleyna wants to stay with us, then... well, our home is always welcome to her. And to you folks, too, though somethin' tells me you ain't in a hurry to come back here again..."
His wife shudders. "Ey, look, I don't mean to come out of the blue with this, but... Vi, do you really want to stick around here after everything that happened? Wolf's Ear's not that far. What would you think if we all packed up and, uh, migrated down that way? Marleyna's welcome to come, too, o'course, but..."
Viorec scratches his head. "Ehh... we can talk about that later. Why don't we see what Marleyna wants to do, first?"
The girl in question slowly stands up, still hugging her arms. "Um... I..." she starts, then shakes her head and looks up at the investigators. "If y'all are going back to Magnimar... um... Do you think, uh... I could maybe... tag along with y'all until Galduria? I wanted to maybe see about... well... I mean, I had some friends there... maybe the Twilight Academy..." She trails off again, then smiles shyly at Warshawski. "Guess I better get you your dress back..."
Voyla looks resolute.
"Ravenmoor is my birth town. I will stay and help return it to Desna's grace, and with some luck we will manage to become the town we want to be. Marleyna, you can always go with my sister, and her caravan. You would be welcome there. But to tag along with these chelaxians is safe, as I have seen beyond their rugged and somewhat harsh exterior, and they are good people."
She turns to them.
"You saved us all. We will be forever thankful. If you ever come this way again, please come and visit us."
"Yeah sweetie, we can drop ya off on the way. Can we rest up a day here though? We are pretty banged up and gotta clear up a few loose ends. The windmill, the fields an whatnot."
"The General Store needs new management, but if you and yours are gonna pull out of town Korzha, you an I need to talk business."
"But, uh I am gonna go outside for a bit."
Marsh fumbles along feeling for a portal while keeping his back to the group.
The man walking outside is still Marsh.
Dramin looked at him and decided that while the many had pride, it never got in the way of who he was. Not like Dramin's. Despite being blind, he still carried himself with dignity.
"Voyla, I'm not much for flowery speeches so I'll be quick. Thanks."
He puts down the almost completed scroll and walks toward Marlyena. "I can't speak for the others, but Marsh and I would definitely have you. I'm sure Bacarov would as well." He hesitates on the last bit. If it was the Bacarov from a few days before he wouldn't have had any concern, but as the man currently stood he was worried.
You know he might very well snap again. Who knows what is going on in his head, for all you know he might try to kill her in her sleep; trying to purge the world.
The voice in his head was spitting the words out, and for once Dramin agreed with them somewhat. I'll set an Alarm each night then and keep watch if I must. He was unsure of himself. His selflessness was for pure selfish reasons.
"You say you wish to study magic? Do you mean this? I am not much of a wizard despite the appearances; only a few parlour tricks that I picked up from my father. That being said, there is more to magic than spells and books. Its about learning, gathering whatever knowledge you can. It stretches far beyond the arcane arts and to the physical as well."
He thinks of all the lessons he had ignored and all the lessons he had learned here. Worth their weight in pure adamantine. Some of his peers would mock, the purists would scoff, but he knew that there was a peace in balance.
"Take this. It is a custom of Nethys to pass along a small puzzle each day, and I think that this one is perfectly suited for you." He attempts a small smile, the scroll being an incomplete copy of the seducer's eyes scroll he was gifted in Galduria.
Niklos withdraws to the shadows at the fringe of what follows, his first intent and action to see to his companion. Neither tenderly nor brusquely he sees Duroj cleared of the blood and viscera that coat his claws and teeth, smoothing out the bear's fur as he does.
That done with he lingers and listens, neither offering words nor suggestions... seemingly waiting until matters of the town were complete before speaking of his mind.
I was glad to lend my sleeves of many garments to Marleyna but it was better to have it back. I slipped them on and transformed my outfit to a simple but lovely business suit.
"We'll escort you wherever you want to go, Marleyna." I insisted, putting my hand on her shoulder. "We have to go back to Magnimar to give our report. I'll need to resign from my position. The Bright Spark has told me all my life that I had a higher calling. I think I've found it."
The Korzhas seem quite content with Voyla's offer to stay and help Ravenmoor tend its wounds; Viorec seems to remember the girl from her time in the village as a youth, and both of them remember her formidable showing at the Festival earlier that day. "You seem to be the first real Desnan we've seen in these parts in a long time," the simple farmer says, tipping his hat to Voyla. "It ain't gonna be easy. People had a lot of faith in Mayor Kriegler. But we'll stand by ya, if we need to. Gonna be a lot of damage control to take care of when the sun's up, best believe it. Hope you're ready for all that." He then turns to Marsh. "I don't know if an' when we'll leave Ravenmoor. I guess we gotta see how things are gonna work out with our new priestess first- but somethin' tells me that she can get things back on track."
For her part, Marleyna seems uplifted by Dramin's words, and takes the scroll from him- immediately unfurling it and giving it a once-over. "Thank you," she says quietly, then rolls the scroll back up and gives Dramin a light hug. "I'll do my best."
- - - -
♤
♤
♤
Bacarov sits at the corner table of the Korzha household. Since departing the field he's remained silent, listening as the others formulate next steps. He nods the occasional agreement when the topic turns to Marleyna. He doesn't say it, but her ties to the community would only serve to twist her young mind towards a...similar evil. Ghlaunder had set its hooks in Ravenmoor, they could serve to reignite the flames they'd spent decades nurturing.
He grinds his teeth and leans forward at the table to refocus on Kreigler's lockbox in front of him, pointedly not letting his gaze drift to the right. This town should burn...move those not in the cult to Wolf's Ear. This place, though the evil of Kreigler, the leafers...may be removed...I wonder if there is something worse about this place? A sickness that draws evil to it. Are these elves Warshawski communes with entirely free of responsibility? He sets his lockpicking probes and begins working the iron and brass lock on the chest. His sky-blue eyes flicker to Warshawski then back to the lock in front of him. She's in love with the dandelion-eaters. Chances are she's missing the larger picture when it comes to them. Either way I'll be glad to dust my boots of this place. Let the elves have it.
He sees Marsh fumbling for the door and stands awkwardly, hissing out a curse as the pain in his lower spine flares again. A hand settles on the table and he moves over to his friend, giving him a tap on the shoulder. "Five steps from the door, straight out, to to the right, a section of fence you can take your ease." He says to him, then uses his grip on Marsh's shoulder to guide him towards the door.
Over his shoulder to the group, "Let's give it the night, rest up before getting back on the road. I have business in the city."
Once Marsh is on his way he returns to the corner table and sets to work on the lockbox once again.
"Who says you have to resign Warshawski? Our quarry is a fugitive guilty of a lotta crimes against our people right? Might as well wear the mantle and wield the cudgel it grants."
"Oh, speakin of weapons . . . Here, take your super light feelin knife back. I'm flippin blind and don't wanna get rolled for it."
Marsh holds the knife out indicating for her to take it.
"Hey you have every right to tell me to f!#! off, but would you mind walkin out with me Warshawski?"
Marsh follows Sebastian's directions in an attempt to get outside with the urgency of someone trying to find an outhouse in a time of dire need.
Due to his current condition, Marsh's normal grace and reflexes have been robbed from him. As he moves with haste in order to escape the room, his boot hooks something sending the mountain of a man spilling to the floor in an inglorious heap.
He tries to gather himself back up, but his pride falters and Vinnie sinks back down to his knees, his shoulders heave with the telltale signs of sobbing. One sausage fingered ham fist struggles with the buckle on his sling bag while the other clamps down over his eyes.
" . . . Son of a b**%~ . . ."
Bacarov continues to fiddle with the lock, and after some time, manages to crack open Andretti Kriegler's lockbox. Inside, the box is lined with red velvet. A number of familiar golden coins lie within, and a cursory glance through reveals that there must be more than the owed 500 gold in back taxes to Magnimar; there must be over 700 in gold here. In addition, half-buried within the coins is a small, leather-bound book with the name "Kriegler" embossed upon the front.
Those looking within the pages of the "Kriegler" book find that it is in fact a sort of journal or diary, but unusual in that it seems to go back several generations, with entries from more than a few members of the Kriegler family line. It begins with a somewhat more detailed summary of Iola Kriegler's journey to save Ravenmoor from the blight all those hundreds of years ago...
- - - -
It was then, as Iola found she could no longer will her body to move, just as the last of her life began to slip away, that the Goddess finally came to her. She had arrived at the holy place. Ravenmoor would be saved. But it was not Desna that had appeared to our ancestor; it was not a Goddess at all, at least not in the traditional sense. She was the Dancer in the Dark, an apostle of the Gossamer King. This was no messenger of Desna that had called Iola Kriegler to the Churlwood's deepest and darkest point, but the most faithful of Ghlaunder's followers. But Iola was too weak then to resist Beliandral's words, and so she was drawn in by the Dancer in the Dark's whispered promises. She could save Ravenmoor, Desna be damned!
And so for seven days and seven nights Iola consorted with the Dancer in the Dark, her withered form restored to life. Beliandral spoke to her secret words, secret prayers, and showed to her the sacred rituals that would hold back the blight. When their time was done, Beliandral sent Iola on her way, bidding her return to Ravenmoor to save her people and take the faith of Ghlaunder with her. To accompany her, she sent along two "druids," in reality the Ugothol, the faceless ones, that remain with our family to this day; in disguise, they would serve as Iola's advisors and protectors.
The Ritual of Ripening worked. Every full moon for many years after her return, Iola drew the corruptive power of the blight into herself, sucking it out of the land and the people and into her own body, where it began to coalesce and grow. Iola would not understand the true purpose of this ritual- the real reason for Ghlaunder's priestess sharing with her the only way to save Ravenmoor from the blight- until years later, when the Spawn of Ghlaunder that had grown from those very energies burst out from within her and flew away into the midnight sky. But this was not betrayal- no, far from it. Ghlaunder's scheme had given Iola and the people of Ravenmoor a true purpose. They would survive where so many villages had died slowly, every month drawing the blight out from their corrupted land and hosting it within the body of the reigning priest- always a Kriegler.
We are chosen, you see- chosen by the Dancer in the Dark to be the parents of Ghlaunder's children. The Blightspawn are born from the corruption sewn into the land so long ago, nursed within our bodies, growing fat and healthy and strong on that power until they are ready to come out into the world. We know not the purpose of these Blightspawn, but they are Ghlaunder's own blood, and it is our great honor to birth them into this world."
- - - -
From there, passages detailing the lives of Ravenmoor's other Krieglers fill in much of the book, but these reveal little else- aside from the revelation that, at least in those days, there was no ritual sacrifice involved in the cult's activities at all, at least not unless someone suspicious of them drew too close. It seems that there was a great deal of tension in the cult's early days, as the people of Ravenmoor then remembered the tenants of Desna's faith much better, and were resistant to the sudden changes in doctrine that Iola and her mysterious druid advisors had brought back with them from the Churlwood, but as generations pressed on, the worship of Ghlaunder slipped in right under their noses. The increase in ritual sacrifice, in fact, does not seem to have occurred until Andretti Kriegler's recent reign as the master of Ravenmoor's shadow cult; but there is more of him in this book than anyone, including his father, Stellan Kriegler, whose entries suggest a growing disillusionment with Beliandral, the cult's patron. It seems that Beliandral had "grown tired of Ghlaunder. The Dancer in the Dark was never a true believer, but a charlatan- she only used Ghlaunder as a gateway to her 'great old ones,' those who spawned the Gossamer King in the days when the stars were young and our world was but a gathering ball of dust. We will always be indebted to her for bringing the Gossamer King's love to us, but as she stands now, more interested in her dark new gods, she is a lost cause."
That bitterness seems to continue in his references to his own sons, Leonard and Andretti. It seems not all was right in the Kriegler household some thirty years ago, as is further evidenced when Andretti Kriegler's portion of the book begins- including a number of reflections on his childhood.
- - - -
"...Father beat me savagely many times in those days. Leonard, bless him, was larger and stronger than me. He would stand between my father and I when he could, and on one occasion even struck him to the floor. Leonard was my hero- a brilliant and brave young man. But he was an obstacle. Father hated him even more than he hated me.
I was not surprised when Leonard did not come back from that hunting trip with Father and Markham. I had been expecting such a thing for years. Markham wore guilty eyes for weeks, months even, after that. I do not imagine he killed Leonard himself. I do, however, imagine that he knew what Father was up to and did not stop him. I do not blame him. I doubt I would have been able to stop him myself."
Later:
"One of the Ugothol took Leonard's face and name. The story goes that he had been away studying in Galduria for years. Father now insisted that Leonard was the younger between us, and no one seemed to know any better, other than Alizna and Markham, but there was no harm in that. Father continued to groom me as his successor, but I knew that if he had his way, he would have had another son and passed the leadership down to him instead. He still called me weak, soft, and said that I would never be able to make the hard decisions he had. Perhaps he was right; the cult's strength has waned since I took over. It is no great matter of importance, however; I need only hold onto the reins until my own child is born, at which time I may be free of this burden."
Further entries detail his struggles with his first two marriages, and reveal that he had tried unsuccessfully for years to conceive a child. He reflects fondly upon his trip to Kaer Maga and his return to Ravenmoor with a third bride, the beautiful Miranda, upon hearing of his father's passing. But Miranda, too, failed to give him a child, and blamed herself- falling into a spiral of depression as a result. By then, Kriegler had begun to wonder if it was in fact himself that was infertile, but before any more could be said, Miranda- not a part of the cult at all- stumbled upon one of their rituals and fled in fear. Convinced that her perfect husband was a mad cultist and hating herself for her perceived infertility, she hung herself in the old church that she and Andretti had once planned to rebuild. It seems that that much of Kriegler's story had been true, then.
The human sacrifices came later, when Kriegler was visited in a dream by Beliandral, who told him that if he did not pass on his bloodline before he died, he and his ancestors' souls would be barred from ever entering the Gossamer King's court, and cast into oblivion. This led to the desperate fertility rituals involving human sacrifice- though, it seems, they were unsuccessful, as Kriegler never did manage to produce an heir. The passages also reveal a shocking truth about the fate of Brie Bartley, Marleyna's older sister- Kriegler, in his depression following Miranda's suicide, had a tryst with the Bartley girl. "Leonard," or rather the Faceless Stalker that had impersonated him, strangled Brie and threw her into the river when she threatened to reveal Kriegler's actions to the town.
There is much here to consider, but it does shine a good deal of light on what exactly happened to this town...
- - - -
"Yeah, Marsh. Sure." I walked out with Marsh but didn't take his arm or hold his hand. I knew he was too proud for that. It turned out to be a mistake. He went down and I got to see something I never thought I would see.
Marsh humbled.
And so I sat down next to him and slugged him in the shoulder.
"Don't get used to this, you big baby." I said, [b]"We'll find a cleric who can fix up your eyes and you'll be back to staring inappropriately at women in no time."
Dramin is taken aback from the young Marlyena's actions.
"You're welcome."
The words come out stifled, almost as if it was a question being asked.
"The night is still upon us and frankly, I am in need of a good rest." The entire time he talks of rest, he looks upon the lockbox and Bacarov. What mysteries do you have inside? The thought comes out quickly and upon second thought he is unsure whether he is referring to the box or the inspector.
Dramin looks uncomfortable. With Marsh and Warshawski outside and Bacarov consumed, he had to deal with the Korzhas.
"Any idea where we can stay safely?"
"I still feel her touch on me even as the night wanes. Could someone watch me overnight and record what you observe? That book felt like time ago but I know for sure its still there, the impacts are..."
He ponders.
"It may give us something on this Bel. A new perspective."
He doesn't realize that he refers to her as Bel instead of her full name.
Rest does not come easily this night to any of the party from Magnimar, nor those who experienced the horrors beyond the Chenowitz Field alongside them. The threat of Andretti Kriegler and the half-formed demigod born from his ruin may have ended, the cult of Ghlaunder may have been scattered, but there is little sense of relief as sleep finally overtakes them all.
The horned king and his lover recline on the hillside, staring up at the night sky. They are beautiful in the way that only the fey can be, pure, nature distilled down into a pair of solid, humanoid forms. He looks so young, strong, and noble. She looks so much like Calwen, though her hair is as black as midnight, rather than the soft golden-white locks that your late friend had.
"Staring at the stars again?" the king asks, running his hands through her hair.
She nods and makes some little loving sound, then nestles herself closer to him. "Yes."
"You're lying."
She raises up onto her elbow and glares down at him, surprised. "What? Why would I lie?"
"It's not the stars you've been staring at, is it, Bel?" His voice is soft, but there is concern there. Perhaps fear.
She sighs and lowers herself back down, lying her head atop the king's chest. "...You can't see it, then, can you?" she asks. When he shakes his head and asks what she means, she says: "Not the stars. It was never the stars. No... The spaces between them. Those are what draw my eye every night. Can't you see them moving, there, in the blackness? Twisting and turning and pushing and struggling to get through...?"
The horned king looks down at her, his brow furrowing. "Bel... are you sure you are all right?"
Another sigh. "No, I... You are right, my love. I apologize... my mind has not been the same since I read that book. Sometimes I look up there and I swear I can see... things. So far away, but so close, reaching out for me, calling to me... Whispering..."
The sound of wings buzzing overwhelms this vision in a flash, as if a swarm of mosquitoes has suddenly flown between you and the pair. When it passes, the scene has changed, though the players remain the same- dressed differently, aged somewhat, but still doubtless the same pair of lovers.
The horned king looks up as he flings blood from his mithril blade, then stomps forward after his lover. "Beliandral!" he cries, anguish and fury thundering in his voice. "Come back here! This is your fault- you will make it right!" He steps over the body of the stirge that lies nearly bisected at his feet, and pauses but for a moment to cut down another as it flies toward him, seeking his sylvan blood.
She stands at the top of a ridge, staring down at the king with his antlered crown. She is dressed all in black, her cloak ragged, her hair hanging long enough to drag along the ground. Stirges and insects of all sorts flit around her in a cloud as she stares at them, transfixed. "No," she says calmly. "I have blessed this place. You must trust in me, my love. They have called to me. I have heard the whispers. I know the way."
"Enough nonsense!" the king cries. "Bel, please. I never should have let you see that book. Your madness has brought these abominations to our sacred land, and they will kill it if we do not drive them back! You can still help us do it. Please, just... come back to my side!"
She smiles again, wickedly, as she holds out her arm. A lone stirge lands almost gingerly upon it and stares into her eyes, as if understanding her every thought. She glances down again at her former lover with disdain and repeats, "No."
The warmth of the elven king's spirit fades from you as you awaken, the first rays of the morning sun bleeding in through the windows of the Korzha barn.
Burn the girl. She has seen too much. She could be one of them. No one will ever have to know.
Hell, just burn everyone. Marsh is dead weight without his eyes. Dramin is already a slave to Her. Warshawski is too dangerous with all those spirits flitting about inside her. The rest? Who cares? They mean nothing. Burn 'em. Burn 'em all.
The most horrible thing about the voice in the dream is that it is not that of Andretti Kriegler. It is not that of poor Phedron, or the Rook, or anyone that would make sense.
It is your own voice, and it sounds eerily confident in these statements. But in your dreamscape, you see yourself standing, smirking, offering you this morbid advice... and he is standing in the waters of Lake Encarthan, mist rolling in behind him. And She is there, too, treading atop the water behind him/you, dancing in the dark... She stops only to embrace this mirror of you from behind, caressing him/you, and finally biting down lovingly upon the neck that you and your mirror-self share...
When you wake, you can still feel the warmth of her lips on your neck, the moisture of her saliva. And it stings. Oh, how it stings...
Her voice is in your ears, in your mind, everywhere. It is in the hollow droning sound that fills the air around you, and in the buzzing of insect wings that licks at the back of your mind.
"Their minds were not cast open far enough," she says, fingers walking their way up your chest and onto your neck. "They saw only the Gossamer King, and their minds were too weak to see beyond, to the ones that spawned it. Ghlaunder's power is great, but it is a dwarf compared to its sires. You are different. You desire knowledge. Your mind is open as wide as can be. That is why, even now, you can hear the whispers..."
She kisses you, for what feels like an eternity. She moves to the side, whispering in your ear: "And you shall know the way."
She bites down on your neck, and your body is overcome with... passion? Pain? Even upon awakening, your body coated with a cold sweat, you cannot be sure...
Dalton stares down at you as you come to, concern heavy on his painted face. "Dramin... your neck..." He points to his own, and retrieves a mirror from his pack.
Both sides of your neck are marked with the Dancer in the Dark's signature. It is redder and stings more intensely than ever before...
- - - -
The sun rises over Ravenmoor. In many ways, it is the same as every morning in this isolated, boggy Varisian village; the heat is sweltering, the mosquitoes buzz loudly, and stirges flit about nervously in their cages.
But something is different.
The Lupescu Trading Company is eerily silent- no Saul stomping about, preparing the shop for the day's business, no Anya cooking up stirge sausages in the back barn, no Shel knitting dutifully on the front porch. The Dagwood residence on the far side of the old pond is quiet, as well. Atop the hill on the eastern side of town, the Kriegler manor, once the tallest building in Ravenmoor, is a smoldering ruin, greasy smoke still wafting upward from its ruin. So, too, is the Chenowitz property on the outskirts of town, as both the house and the barn have been consumed by flame, cinders still occasionally puffing from beneath black-scorched piles of debris.
The wheat fields beyond the Chenowitz farm are still drenched with blood and gore- the remains of men and monsters alike. As the residents of Ravenmoor begin to stir from their long, fitful post-Festival sleep, most still remembering the vivid, lucid dreams brought on by the burning of their ritual fetishes at the end of the Feast, they begin to realize that something horrible happened during the night.
Some go looking for answers or missing persons. Others gather in the town square, gossiping. This is a stranger day than Ravenmoor has seen in many years, and Ravenmoor is a town in which every day is strange, truth be told.
A naked, filthy man wanders into the town square, nearly collapsing onto one of the troll-stones gathered outside the Lupescu residence. "Mayor Kriegler.... Mayor Kriegler's dead..." he murmurs, his eyes wide and panic-stricken. As the crowd gathers around him, he clutches at the arms of the nearest man, nearly screaming into his face. "We was gonna kill 'er... the Bartley girl! The Mayor was gonna cut out her heart an' offer it to the Dream Tender! Gods, what were we doing? Why were we doin' it? I thought I was a good man! I thought I was a good man..." He collapses to the ground and curls into a ball, sobbing.
Others are soon found, much the same. They seem to have awoken as if from a dream, a most terrible dream. Some show remorse. Some are furious that their ritual was interrupted. Others seem confused, only half-remembering that they were ever in the field at all...
A short while later, the bodies of the Lupescu family are found at the edge of the gossamer maze, the sickly field of reeds behind the Chenowitz farm. They are carried back to the town square quickly. Their garb seems unusual, and each of them carried vials of poison. Many of Ravenmoor's flock are shocked and appalled. Others call out for justice, especially for young Shel, who certainly could not have known what she was doing, running around with these strange people in their handmade stirge-masks. But she is dead, for certain, and her death seems to hit the town harder than anyone's, even Mayor Kriegler.
- - - -
♤
♤
♤
Bacarov wakes with a start. His back flares in pain as he pushes away from the corner table in the Korzha household. On the table two books are open before him; the Kreigler book and his journal where he'd been copying down the notes he'd turn over to his captain in Magnimar. His clouded vision clears enough for him to read the last words written in his journal… ”None survive!” Sebastian closes both books and stretches his back. His journal goes into his satchel hanging from the chair back. The Kreigler book goes under his arm.
”Awake.” Bacarov calls out to the party. ”It seems the citizens of Ravenmoor clamor for an explanation of the night's events.” He pulls on his coat, drawing out his badge of office to hang from its chain about his neck. ”Get packed up and ready to depart. I'll handle them.”
His gear is already packed and ready near the door, Kreigler’s spear leaning alongside. ”Master Korzha, Voyla, I will need your assistance with the crowd, a way to grant my words more credence since I'm a stranger after all.”
Bacarov’s hand rests on the door handle, thumb depressing the latch. Get the Korzha’s out, get Marleyna out, convince Voyla to leave, then request a garrison be sent from Magnimar...priests from the Abadaran church for order...some to purge the town…
”Kreigler and his merry band of inbred forefathers released more of those blight spawns over the years. We killed one. According to this book, there may be over a dozen roaming the night.” He grinds his teeth, still facing the door. ”This place should burn…blind ignorance is no excuse.”
He depresses the door latch and flings it open, the heat of the day hitting him full in the face and earning a curse from the Inspector. On his way out he grabs the spear and makes his way to the town square. "Be ready to slip out of town should this not work. I'll keep them occupied."
The townsfolk murmur and spit invective and curiosities at the appearance of the stranger from Magnimar. Bacarov takes it in silence and finds a platform upon which he can stand to address the gathered crowd. He holds aloft two items; Kreigler’s book and spear.
”Citizens of Ravenmoor, I am Inspector Sebastian Bacarov. Yesterday, I and my companions arrived in your town to investigate the disappearance of a Magnimaran official, one Elias Kyle. Over the course of that investigation we uncovered the existence of three evils infecting your home.” He takes in a breath, silently calling upon Abadar to lend his voice strength . ”First was Robb Bartley. Known to this town as a gruff and disagreeable personality. But his evil involved the rampant abuse of his daughter, sacrifice of multiple persons to his vile deity, and the distribution of flayleaf. When confronted with the truth, he chose to attack rather than surrender. Those who doubt the man's evil need only visit the basement beneath his house and see from what we rescued young Marleyna Bartley.”
”Our investigation into Elias Kyle’s disappearance then led us to Markham Dagwood. In the course of questioning the huntsman, we found connection between him and a cult member named Nettleby Brackenweld, a gnome who'd been poaching rare animals in the Churlwood. When confronted with the truth, he too opted for a fight versus surrender.” He withholds details about Ustalav, wondering darkly if members of Markham’s ilk lurk in the crowd.
Bacarov holds up the book and continues. ”Lastly, our path found us at the steps of Andretti Kreigler. Connected by Markham Dagwood to the growing evidence of cultist activity,” He eyes the curled up naked man briefly. ”...we searched his home for evidence. In this book are details of the past generations of the Kreigler family dating back to Iola. It tells the story of how the worship of a bastard god named Ghlaunder took hold of this region.”
He motions for Voyla to step forward and hands her the book. ”There are those in this town who've no doubt struck contracts with Andretti Kreigler and can testify that the latter sections of this book are in his hand. Let his own words damn his own soul and those who served...willingly to enslave Ravenmoor to Ghlaunder.” Bacarov gestures to Voyla. ”Most of you know Voyla Sloboda. You know the dedication she has sworn to the true Dreamer, Desna. I advise you lend her your support in bringing this town back to a worship which will not see Ravenmoor doomed and cursed.”
”I and my companions are departing for Magnimar. There I will see to it that the Kreigler family name will be stricken from the records as rightful leaders of this territory and recorded as the cursed line they represented. I could have officials sent here to aid in your rebuilding of a new local government…” He holds up a hand as grumbles of anger roll thru the crowd. ”...but that wouldn't be right. Leadership must come from Ravenmoor! So think well on who that trusted person or persons should be. Think well and choose.”
He looks about the crowd, dark corners of his psyche wanting nothing more than to see the fools burn for allowing such evil like Bartley and Kreigler to thrive. But instead he steps down from the platform. ”May the Scales ever balance for your community.”
♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤
for the speech | wow
As Bacarov delivers his speech, Niklos keeps behind at to his side... the overt implication that he and Duroj are there to observe, but carrying with it a sub-text that both he and the bear stand with the Inspector.
I woke with a headache. No. That wasn't right. My soul ached. Like there was a drop of poison deep inside, rotting away my core. I wondered if that hadn't happened to all of us. Marsh was blind. The wizard was probably still hearing voices in his head. Bacarov had turned into an inquisitor when I wasn't looking. Only the monk seemed unchanged but he had always been quiet.
I didn't tell anyone about my dream. Not yet. Not until we were on the road and away from here. Until then I would take a dip in the pond and clean the horror away from my body, if not my mind and spirit. Then I would pack my bags and I would leave this place with the others.
Dramin wakes up. Or he thinks he does. He tries to lift his head but it comes off as if he was drugged. Love is sort of like one you know.
The voice is back and he reaches for whatever he can find and ends up on Dalton's face.
"Yes. Its as I suspected." He doesn't try to hide it, the monk is far more perceptive than he. "She says there was something bigger than Ghalunder, that he was nothing."
Your mind is open as wide as can be...
The words continue to haunt him and as he does, he swears he can feel his neck get hotter and hotter, as if a hand was caressing him or a breath was upon him. He thinks for a moment, trying to understand if it was a curse or perhaps something greater.
That book. It has all come back around to that book. It wasn't just me, Iola felt it as well didn't she.
He slams his fists on the floor and screams a curse.
"And they burned the bloody thing! Ashes! The answers to this affliction would have been in there!" He looks at the monk's face and ignores the concern, "I'm fine. I'm not like the inspector or the haunted one. The answers will come soon enough, even if we have to traverse a maze to reach it."
Dancer in the Dark? You're listening, I know you are. I am coming.
He is unsure if the thought is a threat...
----
Dramin walks out, he puts his collar up. No need to frighten the locals, they've been through enough and well a lynching... He shudders at the thought.
He listens to Bacarov speak. If he didn't know the man for the last few weeks he would have thought nothing wrong. He eyes the rest of the party to see if the night had been as fruitful to them as to him.
He knew something was wrong with Marsh, the blindness definitely, but he suspected something more. The magical scythe in his bag weighed heavily. This should be able to pay off his affliction; but it did belong to Markham and he was close to her... He coughs. It was better to give it up before things got worse.
When he looked for the medium, he couldn't find her. This is unlike her. She is usually prompt. He notes it down for later, but doesn't care enough to follow up if it doesn't present itself.
He begins to look for Marlyena.