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Masym grunts as he takes off his cloak and slowly wipes the foul smelling substance off the back. "Charming place here. Mebbe I'll settle here after I retire..." Fixing his dark-colored cloak upon his back once again he eyes the distillery with a look of disgust, If'n Becher is there, it may take some strong-arming to get him to lose the distillery. Lots of coin available in hard liquors!"
Knowing he is not the smoothest tongue wagger here he waits for someone else to speak up for the group.
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Fifi steps up towards the front of the group, her scimitar drawn and her orange flaming hair glowing in the gloom. She drops her scimitar before her, and bows to the town, bending her knee till it touches the ground.
"Greetings, people of Railford. We are not here to 'take' your town, no. We are here to save it. We are here to help you, the common man, get a better standing in these times of need."-she says while keeping her eyes closed, picturing the Everlight in her mind.
"Please, allow us a chance to help you. We are a capable bunch, and have just dispatched a couple of thugs in the nearby area. To be a beacon of hope in the gloom of despair, that is my purpose and duty."-she says while standing up once more, her scimitar still on the ground before her.
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Londo chuckles. This actually reminded him of Mivon where he had wasted away after the crusade.
Hard liquor eh. Guess he was shit at growing grapes. Or shit at managing a vineyard. Takes real talent the way fermenting grain don't, I reckon.
He picks up the broken bottle and laughs theatrically. Guess all that money we want to advance to Becher will just have to go to waste. Too bad.
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Once the party ditches their pursuers, Marcus will seek assistance using his curative wand.
"My name is Baronet Marcus Vulpares Fantailler, son of Marcus Vultulus Fantailler, heir to the Fantailler family estate."
He pauses for effect as per usual, narrowly avoiding a bottle to the flank for his trouble. He seems to be oblivious to his companions' collective eye-rolling.
"My entourage and I seek an audience with Becher Railford, son of Iodan Railford, friend and ally to our benefactor. We mean you no harm, no do we have any intention of annexing your lands."
He mutters to his companions. "Hrmmm.... I hope they don't consider addition of a Pathfinder lodge a hostile takeover..."
The crowd continues to shout at you angrily, even as you try to calm them with words of reason... despite their words however, they do stop throwing things at least.
"Who you callin' common?!" One of them yells at Fifi. "Only thugs we see are you lot! We defend our own! Tell Grald to suck on that!"
"And this." Yells another, wavin' his pitchfork.
"Ya!" A third, clearly not big on comebacks.
"What's wrong with her hair?" Someone else mutters, staring suspiciously at Fifi... only to elicit a series of replies from others clearly also not sure.
"Some sort of Qadiran demon?" Someone shouts in response... clearly uncertain.
"Would she even burn?" A older woman asks, looking dubiously at the torch in one her hands.
They argue the point among themselves for a moment, until Marcus announces himself.
"Baronet?! Did he say baronet?" Another woman asks, with a derisive laugh. "I think I got more paper'n that!"
"Bah, only paper you got was the healer clearin' ya a the red ache." Another calls, only to take an elbow to the stomach from the same woman, as more laughs break out among a few of the other men.
"She probably got it from you!" Someone else calls from the back.
It goes on like this for a bit longer, until a second group of locals push their way to the front, as the first give way. This group seem much more experienced for combat then the others, all of them with hard looks in their eyes of those who've seen more than just dreary peasant life.
There are five of them, though all of them have only stout wooden cudgels for weapons but for one. That last is a large man with a bald head and a gray bushy beard. His frame is that of a man who was once all muscle, years ago, now covered by a layer of paunch. His hand rests on the hilt of a well-made sword that looks like it has seen a great deal of use.
He eyes you all for a moment, spending a few moments longer on Fifi and Londo, his mood hard to read, though his frown deepens.
"You ain't no friends of Belcher, that's for damn sure." He says finally. "This ain't the time for visitors. And if your workin' for Kretchmoor, then this ain't the place for you either."
"If yer not, you'd best move on anyway," He waves one hand absently towards the edge of town. "If his boys'll let you past a second time."
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Kioshi steps forward and raises his arms.
"Hello, we are definitely not part of the Kretchmoor gang! We are all members of the Pathfinder Society. We are here on a mission to aid the son of a former Pathfinder, Iodan Railford. He was an agent in good standing before he retired to start a winery here we heard. Seems like you live here now. So you now where we can find Iodan's son?"
"Pathfinders?" The large man says, with a frown. "Think I heard Io mention you lot. We served together in White Pass, some twenty years back."
"You certainly don't look like Phalanx members." He adds. "Though gang's probably a good enough description of Grald's lot, they got Three's backing for their business, so things have been dicey."
He scowls and again eyes you all thoughtfully, pausing on Londo.
"Where'd you serve?" He suddenly asks. "You got the look."
His hand finally moves away from his weapon, and you notice the four men with him all relax slightly.
"Day late... man short.. if yer looking for Becher though." He adds cryptically.
He waves one hand towards the assembled townsfolk, who mutter minor gripes as they go back inside, leaving just the five seasoned townies on the street with you.
"Picked a bad time for house call." He finally adds. "And as for the winery..." He waves back towards the large building behind him. "This place ain't pressed a grape since the Eddleston jumped its banks, seven... eight years back... and started running down though Thurston. Turned this whole place into little better'n a swamp. Ain't grown, or pressed, a grape here since. If Becher hadn't converted it to a distillery after Io passed, this town woulda died off long ago."
He takes a long breath, and you remember the smell as you came up the hill. "Now we got the Railford Perfume. All whiskey, no wine, now."
The man towers over Midge, and he looks at the little halfling's proffered hand as if pondering the logistics of it for a moment, before finally taking it gingerly.
"Dalard." He finally says. "Dalard Fritch."
"Don't know 'bout your business..." He adds. ".. and don't much care. As you've no doubt guessed, we got our own problems just now."
He glances back at the other men. "You'd best go back to your posts, in case Grald's men get ideas." The other four eye you dubiously for a moment, before quickly dispersing, all going in different directions through the small stone buildings.
It is only then you realize it has finally stopped raining... at least for a bit, though the sky continues to threaten more. Evening is quickly setting in, the clouds causing the darkened shadows to be even more pronounced.
"As for Becher. That's a longer story." Dalard shakes his head slightly. "Short version, he and some men went out to the old barrel caves. He said that Io had stored some documents there that might send Ketchmoor packing. That was two days back. They didn't come back."
He motions for you to follow, and starts heading back through the buildings to the far side of the distillery.
"Well, one of them did... kind of." He adds over his shoulder as he strides along.
It's a short walk before he stops outside a specific non-descript building.
"Jessup came stumbling into town this morning... bleeding and raving on. But he isn't doing so well. Old Mary's not sure he's gonna make it." He shakes his head slightly, a grim look on his face, as he taps lightly on the door frame.
There is a long pause before the door opens, revealing a wizened old woman with a piercing gaze. You catch just the briefest whiff of decay wafting out of the room behind her.
She eyes you briefly, before settling her gaze on Dalard. "No, he ain't no better." She says grimly. "Got the leeches trying to stem the worst of it, but it's spreadin' faster'n they can clean it out."
"Infected?" The old woman guffaws at the word, though there's little humor in the sound. "Ain't seen the like. No simple pox, that's fer truth."
"He awake?" Dalard asks gruffly, obviously his reason for leading you here.
"Aware enough." Old Mary replies, with a scowl. "Spikin' a fever... going on about walking corpses and such... but talkin'."
"Ain't no mercy, that." She adds.
She ponders Midge's request for a moment. "You, yer just a bitty thing, dear, so if you want to look, no harm in that." She eyes the rest of the assembled Pathfinders with a scowl. "But ain't crammin' the rest ah that lot in behind."
She seems to be doing some spacial logistics in her head, the tiny hut not nearly large enough for everyone. "Two a you besides." She finally decides, indicating Midge can go in, with two others.
"Could use some fresh air." She amends, stepping out into the muddy street. "It ain't pretty in there."
While you decide who might want to go check out the patient, Dalard answers Midge's previous question "Grald Ketchmoor. He's the bastard heading up all those other bastards camped down the hill. Fancy's to better his station using Three's reformation proclamations. Now he's figuring on Railford to make his claim."
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Midge looks at Dalard and crinkles her nose in disgust. "So he's just attacking your town because... he what? He wants it? He's raiding?" She shakes her head. "What a big jerk! I oughta clobber him!"
Midge turns away from Dalard and looks at the healer. She gives the woman a curtsy, "Thank you, Ma'am." Then she heads into the hut. She approaches the ill man and gives him a look over.
There's a flicker in Midge's eyes, like a spark, and a ripple of gold light glimmers across her irises. With a blink of her eyes, Midge's once brown eyes are revealed to be a deep gold colour. She examines the man again, on the off chance his illness is magical.
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Marcus brightens up. "Ah, well if there is one thing Pathfinders are good at it's patching themselves up after an adventure goes poorly."
He scratches his chin and tugs absentmindedly at his cheek, as though stroking whiskers that aren't there.
"Sounds like Becher is much like his father then from what I've heard of him... myess. I do hope he would allow us to lend a hand. Do you have a map to the caves you say he went to? And perhaps an idea of what type of documents he sought to secure?"
"Hrmmm... if I may be so bold, you may wish to refrain from using such... epithets for our sovereign ruler in the presence of mixed company."
Once most are out of earshot or to busy talking to listen closely he whispers back. "Seek out Lady Glorianna Morilla. She may be able to provide long-term aid that three won't. And he has ears everywhere..."
Upon entering the small structure, you are immediately greeted by a much stronger smell of decay and rot, hinted at by the scents at the door. Jessup Bose lay on a simple cot in the corner, covered in perspiration and shivering. He is a tall, rail thin man, of middle age, with scraggly brown hair.
You can see the source of the smell almost immediately, as there is a dark wound on his leg, and the flesh all around it has turned black and gangrenous. The veins all along his leg and running up through his torso stand out like dark lines against his pale skin, like the blood in them is turning black.
Some attempt has been made to bandage the wound, but it none of it appears to be helping.
You are looking at a very advanced case of ghoul fever! A quite dangerous infection usually transmitted by the undead creatures after which it is named.
Jessup is in bad shape the disease having progressed extensively. Without proper treatment, he is unlikely to survive the night.
Which of course, then would introduce other complications, as those who die of this particular disease often rise as hungry undead themselves soon thereafter!
"Who... who are you?" He manages to mutter, squinting at the newcomers through vision blurred by sickness.
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Fifi will enter the hut too, without worrying about potentially setting on fire the hut.
"We are here to help, Jessup."-she says.
Without being able to identify the sickness, Fifi whispers to Midge-"Do you know what it is? Seems those bandages haven't helped."
Either way, she takes Jessup's hand and tries to calm the sick man, letting him feel the warmth of the heat she emanates. "Don't worry, we are just here to help. Nothing to worry about."
Many Taldans died during the long drawn out war with Qadira. Including many family and heirs of the noble class. Sometimes entire lines were wiped out, leaving the titles and lands with no one to lay claim to them. Over time, some less scrupulous folks started to claim some those lands and titles for themselves.
In an effort to reform the kingdom after the wars and attempt to bring it slowly back to its former glory, Grand Prince Stavian III made many proclamations, one of which was an incentive program promising formal titles to any conscripted man in the Taldan military willing to reclaim lands from the many rogue lords who were, in essence, squatting on properties that did not belong to them.
"He said his dad had stored the deeds for the property, with the official seals, out in the caves. Was our best hope of turning Grald aside from his visions of gentrification." Dalard replies, with a derisive snort. He only rolls his eyes at Marcus' mention of watching his words.
"The caves are two or three miles outside of town." He continues, pointing to the northeast. "Back when this place was growing more grapes then mosquitoes they used to use them to dry the wine barrels...for flavor or some such."
He shrugs, not really sure how the process worked back then.
"Nowdays, of course, they ain't used for much of nothing, though Becher thought Ioford might have stored the documents out there. Was why he went."
He only shakes his head at Masym's question. "Well before my time." He responds clearly with no other information on the caves in question.
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"Bah! Gentrification... just another word for destruction of our history and heritage. All that has happened in these lands, for good or for ill, has shaped this glorious nation. Mistakes should be remembered and never repeated... and our triumphs should be celebrated! We shall find your friends, and the deed to this place and make sure that Grand Prince Stavian the Third learns not to stomp all over our heritage..."
He hushes and adds conspiratorially... "...or grace us by never having a Fourth...myess...."
When Midge finally emerges, Marcus quickly asks, "So how is the... hrmmm... patient?"
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Midge's eyes widen and she looks very, very sad. "Oh, no...."
She blinks a few times then clears her throat. She asks Fifi, "Do you have any way to cure a disease? Or restore lasting damage to a man's vitality or constitution?"
Then Midge approaches and takes the sick man's hand. "Hi, Jessup. My name is Midge. I heard you were sick and came to try to help you. I don't think I can cure what you have, dear. But, I want you to think about the thing that gave it to you. The walking corpses. Can you tell me where the walking corpses are? It's very important." She pauses, then repeats clearly, "Where are the walking corpses?"
She waits to hear the man's response...
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Considering the situation he comes to a realization about what's going on.
"Wait... you're looking for the deed... and those soldiers..."
He begins to let out a... vulpine growl.
"If this were years ago I may call this the best of intentions gone wrong but by now the Crown should have done something about it. Bloody proclamations... I for one would be quite happy to assist you in finding the deed and giving these conscripted THUGS a right thrashing."
Once he simmers down he takes a moment to explain the situation to his companions.
"After the war with Qadira, Grand Prince Stavian III allowed any conscripted member of the Taldan military to claim ownership of any lands they liberated from false owners squatting on the territory. As you can probably expect, this went poorly and really just encouraged the buffoons with polearms to march first and ask questions later."
Dalard frowns slightly, as Marcus makes his comments, clearly not entirely liking what he's saying.
Marcus seems oblivious to the man's reaction.
Jessup's eyes turn at the sound of Midge's voice, though they seem to focus on Fifi, rather than the diminutive halfling. You're not even sure if he's aware its the wizard speaking rather than the paladin.
"They ... they were everywhere." He starts to moan, as Midge asks about the 'walking corpses'. "Sharp fangs! Claws! They tore Padrik's arm right off, and started eating it ... right in front of him! I could see his face! He was starin' at 'em all confused. Like he couldn't figure out who's arm it was..."
His whole body shivers and he is wracked by a hoarse cough for a minute.
"The barrel-aging caves." He whispers, once the coughing dies down, his voice a raspy hiss. "That's where we went. They said it used to make the wine taste all good." A vague feverish smile flirts across his face at the thought, though quickly disappears. "Was all boarded up."
"We shoulda left it that way." He adds in a horrified whisper a moment later.
"Was all flooded... with a stink to it. Becher was lookin' for a box." He seems to fade out for a moment. Though his eyes remain open, they appear to have lost all focus. It only lasts a few seconds, before he seems to come back around, his voice continuing as if there were no gap.. "He found it, I think..."
His demeanor starts to change, the shivering slowly increasing, fearful memories working their way back into his head. "But then... then they rose up from the muck like demons! We tried to fight 'em off! They were too strong. Too many."
"Oh gods, the arm!" He wails.
"I ran. Gods forgive me, I just ran." He finally mutters.
"They followed so fast!" His tone rises quickly, taking on the high timbre of barely remembered panic. "They collapsed the entrance! Becher and Walmont got trapped inside."
Eyes wide, he looks around fearfully, as if he suddenly wants to flee this room as well, before his strength gives out and he collapses back on the cot. "They tried to pull me back in too... but I kept running."
"I kept running." He repeats, feverishly, his voice trailing off.
Once more he seems to lose focus, his voice going quiet, with just the rasping sound of his labored breathing reminding you he's there.
"I think I got bit." He suddenly whispers. "Did I get bit?"
He seems to pass out before either Midge or Fifi can answer the question.
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"Ah, if I do interpret your accent correctly I would say you hail from the People's Sovereign Lands of Andoran! A right hearty lot you are... our loss is your gain I suppose eh? Such a terrible tale... and you'd think our Crown would have learned their lesson by now right?"
He shakes his head and sighs. "The whole thought of democratic governance is something I see as being quite strange. The noble hierarchy instills a certain degree of formality and structure. But the success of the People's Revolt should be a lesson to the Crown of what can happen when that structure fails it's people... myess..."
"...assuming our Crown cares to learn such lessons these days..."
Dalard is still frowning, from Marcus' earlier comments, and it does not fade at his new observations. He shrugs slightly. "Andoran? Me? Not sure what those ears of yours are hearing. You sure they ain't full of rain water?"
Old Mary laughs. "Got that right. Fritch here fought 'gainst the Qadiran dervishes like any loyal Taldan!" She says. "He ain't no Commoner."
Dalard nods, though he continues to eye Marcus with a frown.
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Fifi gasps quietly and covers her mouth, before replying to Midge-"No, I'm sorry, so sorry. I have no means of doing that, no."-the Ifrit girl says with tears running down her face."I...I don't think we can stop this. I can try my best to give him a chance at survival, and hope for the best, but that's it."-Fifi says, a look of despair and shame plastered on her face.
Her flame seems to hang at a low blue, the shortest it has ever been. "We can both try, alongside one other person, to give him the best shot possible. But that's it.-she says sobbing.
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"Of course I can help you, Fifi."
After about ten minutes of work Midge sighs. "That's all we can for for him. Wish him luck. Poor guy will need it."
Then Midge casts a spell an waves it around the room, cleaning herself, Fifi, and as much of the hut as she can manage.
When Fifi's done, Midge leaves the tent with her.
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After 10 minutes, Fifi and Midge will exit the tent.
Fifi says nothing, just covering her face with her arm in a foolish attempt to hide her tears. Her eyes still red, and her body shaking nervously, she looks up at the sun and says a brief prayer in her mind.
"Everlight, give him the strength to endure, please. He has lost so much, and still this is the best I can do. "
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After around ten minutes Midge exits the tent. She looks incredibly sad.
"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Jessup isn't just sick. He and his fellows were attacked by ghouls out at the barrel-aging caves. It sounds like the others died. Jessup here was bitten. He's contracted ghoul fever and is dying. It's a necrotic disease that will kill him -- probably within another day -- and cause him to rise as a ghoul himself. When that happens he will attempt to kill and eat anyone around him..." She pauses solemnly...
After a moment she continues, "We've done everything for him that we can. There's a chance -- a very slim chance -- that our ministrations can turn the tide and help him on the road to recovery. But... I wouldn't bet on it. He's too far gone. I'm sorry."
Clearing her throat, Midge straightens herself. You'll need to keep guards on him at all times. And the moment -- the very moment -- he passes on you will need to kill him. Sever his head or something else final. Do not hesitate, or he could harm someone else and the disease can be passed on."
She looks around at her comrades. "As for us... We need to head to the caves and put down the undead that are there. Immediately. I won't let anyone else get sick."
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Masym's face is like a stone, completely expressionless, yet the burning rage in his eyes is not so easily hidden.
Taking a deep breath to calm him down he turns to face Old Mary, then Dalan, his voice like steel. "I can do Midge one better here ...Burn him...better yet burn the hut," he continues driving the point home remorselessly, "DON'T risk fighting him...it; we don't want to have to return later and put the rest of you down...but we will," he places a hand upon the hilt of his sword, "This, I promise."
Not giving the locals time to protest, he turns away from them and motions to the rest of his teammates, "Let's go."
As Fifi and Midge exit the building, the young paladin looks to the sky, and comfort from her goddess, but is disheartened to see only darkness, the sun having set while they were inside ministering to Jessup.
She can only hope that is not a sign.
Midge informs the others of what they learned, a revelation that raises some concern from both Dalard and Old Mary.
"Dead? All of 'em?" Dalard mutters, with a quiet curse. "If Becher passed without noting an heir on the deeds, we're all screwed. Grald's got royal proclamation on his side then... damnable Phalanx will as like run us all off then."
"Ghouls?!" Old Mary exclaims worriedly, the undead threat in her home concerning her more than the human threat outside of town. "No wonder the leeches was not workin'."
She seems suddenly concerned about the potential flesh-eating danger now lurking in her hut and makes no move to go back inside. Still, she is not so far gone as to not raise an objection, when Masym suggests burning down her home.
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Midge sticks her hands on her hips and huffs. "Masym Daleare! You will not have that man burnt before he's even keeled over!" she scolds as if she were his mother. "He hasn't turned yet, and there's a chance he'll recover. Now shoo!" She waves her hands to shoo him away from the hut.
Turning to Dalard, Midge remarks, "As for the deed... I spoke with Jessup about the attack. He thinks that Becher got his hands on the paperwork before being attacked in the caves. We'll look for it while we're tracking down the other ghouls. With luck we'll have it back before those thugs out there attack. Alright?"
"Now, where is this cave? I need directions -- good directions -- if we're going to be back in time to be of any use."
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"Ah... remind me to purchase some Alchemist's fire in case Masym gets bit by a ghoul."
He shakes his head and looks over at Masym. "If every pathfinder who got bit by a ghoul was immediately put aflame, the society would never have survived its early days."
He looks back at Old Mary. "Is there perhaps an alchemists anywhere nearby? What the man needs is some antiplague and rest."
He looks towards the hut and adds with a sleight smirk. "And at this point, probably a Wayfinder... myesss."
Marcus pulls his antiplague from his pack and hands it to Old Mary. "If you can find a place to acquire a few more of these, we may need them. Otherwise, feed this to him. No guarantees, but it should help. "
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Londo gives the soldier man a grunt Mendev. Took part in the Third Crusade - fat lot of good that did me. Came home from that one treated no better'n a common bandit. I suppose we deserved it though. We killed a lot of people, burned a lot of err...'witches' at the stake. Murder in cold blood all in the name of rooting out hidden demons. It was a bad time. Still wear the uniform, or whats left of it. Reminds me that authority doesn't always bestow wisdom. Pretty similar scene to this town just a moment ago. We all got wrapped up in the mania of it, me included. He shifts his axe back into place on his back.
Londo didn't like talking about the war.
You're still a warrior though Londo. A killer. You think just because you say sorry afterward that it makes it any more right. How much knowledge did you personally extinguish back then? Don't worry though. I forgive you. You are on the right path now, just don't let these people box you into a corner. You're a pilgrim now.
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Londo nods and then considers You know I wonder just how regulated all of that is with the Phalanx...its not I don't think right?
Londo wondered if this might the sort of thing worth fighting for. He was new to the path of peace. Still...what felt right, was to help these people. You might be able to hold it by force. I wouldn't expect the crown to save a place like this though...but maybe we can still help. We need to recover the old master's papers anyway and maybe...well maybe he did leave behind a will hidden some place. What would we be looking for here? Some sort of office?
Dalard only shakes his head at questions about the caves, having never actual been in them.
"Ain't been used in almost a decade. If you follow the north road out of Railford, you'll hit the marker in short order." He adds, when asked how to find it. "But Ketchmoor's men are all camped out down the hill. Including all the main paths in and out."
He leads you over to the north side of the hamlet, and points down the hill.
Now that the rain has stopped, it is easy enough to see the light of a campfire down below. In fact, you can see a number of fires circling the town... all of them close enough to the next to provide support should another raise an alert... as you've already discovered.
"If your going now, you'll have to do it with no light. At least 'til your well away from here." He waves absently at the fires down below. "Though I suppose it shouldn't be too hard to avoid those lot when you can see where they're set up."
He points out a small dirt trail going down a different direction, telling you it will meet up with the main path on the far side of the Phalanx soldiers.
"If Becher's dead, even the deed probably won't help us." He adds, his face grim. "But it's all we got. Thanks. This lot up here are good at making a drink... not swinging a club. Won't go well if those soldiers come stormin' in, but we'll try to buy ya time."
He pauses scowling, then amends, "To buy ourselves time."
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"Perhaps we should don the attire of these... hrmm... crusaders. May make it easier to assess the situation before we find ourselves... swinging clubs... as it were... myesss..."
He looks around at the party, eyes stopping on Fifi. "Or perhaps we should just make haste. May not be the easiest task to pass us all off as soldiers, and ghouls don't care who you fight for. I presume someone here can conjure light when we need it?"
Looking back at Mary with concern he adds. "Make sure your charge drinks that flask. And keep a good eye on him. If he appears to... erm... expire while we are gone, lock him in the room quickly and leave him to us."
He smiles back at Dalard. "When all of this is done, perhaps we shall sample your wares? I will admit I have a preference for wine, but Taldan Spirits to lift Taldan Spirits right?"