“A festrog,” says Castiel, once again smiling in thanks at Larissa as she hits him with the happy stick. “A plague carrier. Do not approach too closely, or touch the corpse. Iomedae, in her infinite grace, grants me immunity from disease ... Sheriff, if you can have some folk dig a pit for the disposal of the thing, in an unused part of the community, I will place the corpse within. Cover the hole with dirt and mark it with rocks, and let no one plant anything in the area, nor let children play there.”
"Sounds good. Carry it this way then,.....immune one."
He leads you back a ways to the Sheriff's office.
"We'll bury it out front of here. Where I can keep a watch on its whereabouts.
Well, that was a tidy hall.....you all should get some rest.
Want me to send for the clerics, to heal you up, Castiel?"
"If they would be so kind ..."
They bring two of the acolytes around;
"Heavens!" they gasp at the wounds Castiel has suffered;
they heal him up to max straightaway.
"Such violence is becoming all too commonplace.....It's good we have you heroes here....."
His vitality restored, Castiel pitches in with the digging, then dumps the festrog’s corpse into the pit once it is deep enough, piling a few shovel-loads of dirt back on top of it before leaving the rest to the deputies.
“Now,” he says to the Sheriff. “We should perhaps see why Mister Gibs was so intent on defacing your monument.”
"Aye."
He goes in there; Gibbs was healed up too, though he is now shackled in a stout chair with like wrist straps, chest straps, feet straps;....trussed up like Hannibal Lecter;
"So. Gibbs. What the deuce?"
Gibbs just scares and tries to look mean and surly. Doesn't speak.
"I never much liked you Gibbs."
“What were you doing in the square tonight Mister Gibbs?” Castiel asks. “Why are your hands covered in chicken blood Mister Gibbs? What was a ghoul doing protecting you Mister Gibbs? WHY WERE YOU WRITING ON THE STATUE ... Mister Gibbs?”
"I don't know. I don't know why I was there.....sleep walking."
“Did you sleep slaughter a chicken and sleep pick up your paint brushes too?” Castiel asks sceptically. “Did you sleep wash the blood off yourself and sleep dispose of the evidence the last two times you did this?”
"Well, if I was asleep at the time, I suppose I wouldn't know that either. I'm in a bit of a place here, seeing as you either don't believe me, and I don't really know how to convince you of a really odd set of circumstances.
My wife, Pharasma rest her soul, said I snored. Again, I don't really know if I snored or not, seeing as I was asleep at the time, and she was a lying thieving harpy.
Huh. I've also noticed that all of this started going down when you and your cadre of chumly's showed up. Where is your psychotic friend? The one with.......the dead gnome in his rucksack? Maybe he'd know why I was walking around, doing stuff, when I was completely unaware of it?........or,.....some of your other oddball chumly's. Like the one that threw incendiarys. Or the one that....uh....summoned a demon here and there?
You keep odd bedfellows, Holy Man.
Sheriff," he looks at the other man;
"Please, I....I'm afraid of this "holy man....." I swear, I didn't know what was happening."
The Sheriff replies, "You been drinking Gibbs?"
Gibbs: "Nothing more than usual. You know I'm no teatotaller, but I'm not a lush....please, don't let him do this stuff to me Sheriff...."
Rholf turns off the jets when it becomes clear that the fighting is over and none of "ours" are down. As he slows to a jog, he develops a slight limp. After making sure everyone is okay (too late to get there and do any healing), he sits down and, taking off one boot, reveals a pasty white foot with a toe nail ripped off.
"Well, that's not ideal." Rholf sighs as he finishes off the wounded nail in one quick yank. Stepping out of the other boot, he carries them as the procession makes its way to the jail, only speaking to interject that "The undead thing should really be burned, as should its spilled ichor at the battle scene, so to minimize the chance of further infection to anyone or anything."
Not too proud to request a quick healing from the acolytes, Rholf soon retires once again, knowing he'll need to be at his best on the morrow if he's going to be of any use to the group.
“My companions and I are trying to save this town Mister Gibbs,” retorts Castiel. “You seem to be doing your level best to destroy it. You’ve been caught red handed – quite literally – in the middle of applying your blood magic to the statue. And you have the cheek to accuse my companions of practicing foul magic? If you live in a house of straw Mister Gibbs, then be careful of lighting fires.”
Castiel looks like he’s about to begin speaking in THAT voice again, but instead he takes a step back and speaks in a softer tone. “So, you’re a sound sleeper am I to understand Mister Gibbs? Tell me ... have you had any strange dreams of late?”
Oh; and they can burn the festrog and its ichor no problems.....
Larissa pipes up, "Please, Mr. Gibbs, I hope you can understand. We've lost a dear friend and come here to honor him, we find ourselves beset by all sorts of fiends and creatures and things that should be dead, like that one that defended you tonight. We are not perfect and are trying to figure out what's going on. Seeing you coming to the statue, you appeared to be involved in the evil going on, but if you weren't... Please, do tell us what you remember of last night and the nights previous - your actions, your dreams. Perhaps some foul magic was controlling you."
Diplomacy
"I don't remember my dreams anymore. I have to partake of liquid fortification to sleep."
then;
"I see your game. Frame me....poor old Gibbs. The only one in this village of gowks that can see through your game. I don't know what you're about or why, but......I see through you.
It's perfect. I salute your cleverness.
Now, get them to do me in quickly please; I'm. So. Tired."
"Nobody will be 'doing you in' without a trial and verdict, Mr Gibbs." Alinya says firmly. She looks at the Sheriff, "Maybe a night or two in gaol would help him sleep more peacefully? When Larissa and Castiel are done, of course."
"If he remembers nothing from this night or his dreams, I have nothing further to ask. I think a restful night or two in gaol would be helpful."
"I doubt I'll sleep here much.
My.......jury trial.....I'm sure that will be fair."
"Now, do you want to know anything else, or ask me the same questions again? I'd like to take a dump. I'll inevitably do it trussed up like this, although I'm trying ernestly not to......I'm sure that would irritate the sheriff to no end."
“This is your jurisdiction Sheriff, so I’ll not presume to advise you on what you should do,” Castiel says quietly to Caeller (or whatever his name is). “But I’m convinced that what Gibbs has been writing on the statues has something to do with the haunting at Harrowstone – whether he’s a willing or unwitting accomplice I don’t know. If it were me I’d keep him in cell for a couple of nights, and have someone keep an eye on him.”
"Yeah; that's about what I figure to do.
Maybe the priest can figure you what's up with him.
Or a psychoanalyst in Lepidstadt.
I understand they're delving into the human psyche there...."
"That seems a fine solution. I am done with this unpleasant person. Now, perhaps we should leave the Sheriff to his duties and prepare ourselves for tomorrow?"
"Oh,.....you're not done with me.........HE HE! HEE HEEE HOO HOO!!!"
Sheriff:
"Well,......I still don't know about that.....festrog. If there's more of them about, I think I should curfew the town.
You lot are exempt of course, although communication would be a good idea if you have to go bumping around in the night."
heh heh
“Curfew. Excellent idea,” says Castiel. “For the good of the people of course.”
“Yes, a good night’s rest before venturing back to Harrowstone tomorrow. Sheriff, wake us if there is any trouble during the night that you would like assistance with, otherwise we will be heading up to Harrowstone about 0800 hours tomorrow.”
"Sounds like a plan.
Sweet dreams,"
he says kinda sarcastically.
Dawn comes. Everybody rested up......
The Professor's daughter is out and about allready; she left a fruit basket and some biscuits, and a full pot of coffee.
Huzzah!!!
Castiel is up bright and early for a good session of prayer and weapon polishing before breakfast.
“What a considerate young lady Miss Lorrimer is,” he comments over coffee and biscuits.
A horse rides up; there's a knock at the door....
If Castiel’s nearby he opens it.
It's a Deputy.
"Oh, begging your pardon sir, I hope I didn't interrupt your rest, I.....I just came to tell you that.....
well,.....the third letter was written last night after all.
"V. E. S." has been written so far....."
Castiel clenches his jaw and breathes out loudly though his nose.
“Hrmph ... So if not Gibbs then someone else ... it appears we are on a very real time limit. Thankyou friend, we’ll take it under advisement.”
Castiel updates the others. “All the more reason to conclude our business at Harrowstone as efficiently as possible,” he concludes.
He nods;
"Aye. Gibbs was in the hoozegow.
Guess he told the truth then,.......maybe."
Alinya sighs, "I agree, Castiel, time is clearly against us. I had hoped that we had forstalled that doom; but it seems not. Do we have time for a brief visit to Father Grimbriar before we return to the prison?"
Not unless you have anything to ask them; they just get a status update on the mission so far; that's about it......
"Yes, aquiring additional holy water is an excellent idea Lady Alinya."
On the walk back to the prison, Castiel enquires of the group, “Well, we said we would investigate the dungeon today – should we start with that, or have another look about the upper floor first, to ensure there is no more evil lurking thereabouts?”
It's foul weather out; it's decided to sleet, and the morning is foggy and chills you to the bone. The prison is almost welcoming as you trundle soaked through into the Prison courtyard.
Hugging her cloak tightly around herself, Larissa shrugs. "I think there is evil everywhere in this place."
heh heh heh....MWAHAHAHAHA!
"Ugh," Alinya grumbles, nearly under her breath. "The grey lady grants me protection from elements, and what do I ask for? Bless, so Castiel and Rholf can swing their swords a little better. Is that keeping me dry? No. No it's not." She keeps up a half-meant litany of complaint as the group trudges up the sodden hill to the sodden prison under the sodden skies.
Her feet feel slithy and frozen from slogging through the mud, and her hair, those locks as have disentangled from the ponytail, flops wetly over her forehead like seaweed on a chilly Scandinavian beach........
Rholf eats quietly, listens to the updates, and walks almost somberly along with the group on the way to the prison with his hood covering the wisps of flame that would normally be dancing around his head.
Edwin receives the news of the third letter being written with a scowl.
"Of Course. In hindsight it is so obvious. Almost painfully so. He was telling the truth. Or at least most of it. He obviously wasn't the culprit we've been searching for. He was the decoy. And we took the bait and swallowed it whole. Leaving the true villain free to finish the third letter." Edwin muses. Then he slaps his hand on the sideboard in an uncharacteristic outburst.
"I will make sense of this." He declares softly to no one in particular.
He keeps his bow under his cloak to protect it from the drizzle as they slog through the mud towards the ruined prison.
"Hm. Either way presents potential solutions, and yet more mysteries I'm sure. But first, we need to stop by the warden's office and try this out." He reminds everyone, holding up the key.