Kitch watches the pack sail through the air towards him and lifts his arms as if to grab it, but allows the pack to brush past his hands and land on the ground with a heavy thud.
Coiger rolls his eyes at the sound of the pack crashing to the ground.
He asks Sohar, as he seems to be the more friendly of the two, "Anything interesting yer finding, Good Sohar? What'll be this in the bag then?" he asks. Kitch lifts the pack slightly and gives it a gentle shake, listening with a keen ear for that telltale jingle.
"Our" By which you get the feeling he means everyone presents' "(possibly broken) equipment."
Kitch looks again at the pack, "Well drats'n'drunnit. That's terrible! Least me'n Lady Cassandra didn't have none of our things in it yet! Small mercies, not so M'lord?" He grins brightly and disgustingly, revealing his cracked and blackened tusk, likely attributing to his permanently twisted visage.
Varro grins and replies, Varro is fine.
He leads Chellian inside and to a table near the crackling fireplace. After seeing Chellian into her seat, he asks what she'll have to drink and then moves off to order. A minute later, he's back with the drink and sits across from you. So, where do you come from? Tell me about yourself. It appears that he's going to hold you hostage for the information as long as possible.
My family lives in Ardagh, along the Moutray river side. My father is a blacksmith. She began accepting the drink with a smile. Again she ran her hand over her ear and took a sip.
I helped my father in the smithy and sometimes went out into the woods between Ardagh and the Graidmere swamps for berries and herbs and the like to sell. The ruling family in that area raised taxes again for the 4th consecutive season and it was hard on my family. I met the professor there a few years ago, he was searching some old site or another and we stumbled across each other in the woods.
She offered setting her elbows on the table and leaning a little closer across the table. "What lead you to work in the town hall Varro? Is it hard work?
The job is a means to an end. My father is on the Town Council. He expects me to follow in his footsteps, and I certainly don't want to be a farmer, so I let him make the arrangements for me. Most of the time I just sit around in the town hall and draft documents, but I also keep minutes on all Council meetings. It's dull, but it's a life of means and status.
The serving girl comes by and asks what you'd like to eat. Varro orders the Vampire Steaks and baked squash then looks to Chellian expectantly. I clearly enjoy the Vampire Steaks best, but the Wolfballs are good, too.
Standing amid the stone monuments of the Restland's under the greying sky Coiger looks at the pair and then off in the distance to a patch of recently disturbed turf. "Have you said your 'goodbyes' yet?"
Kitch's self satisfied smile at his minor battle of wills going on with the human was mostly hidden in his hood, but the mans words wipe the smile off fast as falling dusk. He follows the humans gaze to a patch of ground, still freshly packed, and his eyes grow strangely moist. Get ahold of yerself! he chides himself, looking away and blinking furiously. His voice comes out sounding strained, even to him, "So that-- that's the spot then is it?" He regards Coiger solemnly, and gives a single deep nod of appreciation, "Wants I should catch you up at the Lady Lorrimor's home then? I'll just be a minute, an I'll keep this right safe if ye like." he states, giving the pack on his shoulder a small bounce. Unless someone objects he strides off towards the indicated headstones, his step heavy.
Such a shame. Always seems to happen with friends -shoulda kept my distance better. Kitch you bloody fool. Kitch's face is dark as he approaches the newest grave to the yard, and he kneels next to the headstone. Reading the words on the grave, he absorbs them and then rereads them quickly, hoping to remember, and hoping to forget them at the same time.
His words come out softly, and any listening would likely have to strain to hear them, and he places a hand on the headstone briefly, then stands and heads back to the others. By the time he arrives he's composed and shambling along like he was when he first arrived, "Well, here's hopin' he rests well. Shall we be along?" he asks through an ugly grin.
The sun sets just minutes before you reach Kendra's home and the cool day quickly transitions into a chilly night. Kendra greets the party warmly, Oh, good! You found each other. The house is getting crowded...but that's a good thing! she rushes to add. I'll put some tea on for us. Tell me about your day. What have you learned? Has anyone seen Chellian in town? I'm dying to hear about her dinner with Varro.
Before leaving the cemetery Coiger utters a short prayer of healing. Whether its for the departed, himself or all the above is unclear, though he certainly seems haler for saying it.
[dice=cure light wounds]1d8+1[/dice]
Later, back at the house, after giving the barest acknowledgement of Kendra's greeting for social convention's sake, Coiger retrieves and empties the pack on the dining room table (or perhaps a desk after hes cleared it of the books he hauled down the night before). He asks for Pharasma's guidance before taking a moment to consider each.
The job is a means to an end. My father is on the Town Council. He expects me to follow in his footsteps, and I certainly don't want to be a farmer, so I let him make the arrangements for me. Most of the time I just sit around in the town hall and draft documents, but I also keep minutes on all Council meetings. It's dull, but it's a life of means and status.
The serving girl comes by and asks what you'd like to eat. Varro orders the Vampire Steaks and baked squash then looks to Chellian expectantly. I clearly enjoy the Vampire Steaks best, but the Wolfballs are good, too.
I'll have what he's having,
She began with a smile. Trying not to think too hard about his first words. He had put emphasis on not wanting to be a farmer. She was trying to figure out precisely what he meant by that. Was the land bad here? Did he not enjoy the outdoors? Or did he look down upon those who worked the soil? His additional comments especially about means and status lead her to believe it was the latter.
Your father? What does he do? Something important I bet to be elected to the council.
Kitch bobs his head in response to Kendra's sunny greeting, but looks a little out of sorts. "Sorry lady, these'uns knowed the details of their foray. Miss Cassandra and I arrived an they was on their way out. Had a nice pack a'goods though, the good an noble Lord has knicked off with'em. I will take that bit'o tea though, thankee kindly Lady!"
Kitch settles into a chair, gratefully accepting the profferred drink, wrapping his hands around the cup carefully, and takes a leisurely sip.
What an interesting group, and I can't wait to meet this Chellian lady. Though they don't seem to function together much, maybe they're as much strangers and Cassandra and I. Ah well! Hot tea in my hands, roof over my head... this could be a great job for me!
In the satchel of items gathered from the crypt you find: a dozen silver arrows with no magical aura, four alchemical sunrods, six flasks of water in vials marked with Pharasmin symbols, 10 fine arrows with a weak magical aura (+1), five fine arrows with an aura of conjuration (+1 ghost touch), two fine arrows with an aura of positive energy (+1 undead bane), four potions of cure light wounds, two potions of lesser restoration, a scroll of detect undead, two scrolls of hide from undead, a scroll of protection from evil, a thin darkwood case decorated with the image of a scarab with an open eye on its back (very finely made), and inside the box there is a spirit board, a brass planchette with a faint magical aura, and four iron-and-glass jars full of swirling, green mist. Unfortunately, one of the jars is broken and gives no aura, as well as a vial identical to the ones containing the potions of cure light wounds. The three functioning jars are covered in runes and decorated with creepy screaming skulls, and they give off a faint aura of necromancy that suggests an ability to trap energy or spirits, but its nothing you've ever encountered.
When Kendra sees the jars she gasps. Hey! There were some of those jars in the satchel that my father was carrying when he died. She runs upstairs and returns a moment later carrying three more of them. I detect an aura of necromancy, but have only guessed that they are magical traps of some kind. Do you recognize them?
Do? My father is Gharen Muricar. I don't think he's done much of anything in his life. My grandfather was a stone mason of some skill in Caliphas. When Harrowstone was to be built, he was recruited to oversee its construction. He came here, made a fortune, and the family has been here since. My father never had to work a day, and he got his position on the Council by his name and by making all the right friends. That's one thing is is good at. No one can resist his boyish charm. Varro's voice is thick with exasperation as he speaks that last line. Anyway, that's why I became curious about your inquiries into Harrowstone. My grandfather built the place and it never occurred to me to look into its use after that point, but I learned some very interesting things.
You've heard, I'm sure, that it was a famous prison and that it burned during an uprising nearly 50 years ago? The town of Ravengro was established in order to support the prison. Economically speaking, it's a bit of a wonder that the village survived the prison's closing. All of the prisoners, most of the guards, the warden, and his wife were all killed that night, though no one's ever really known why the warden's wife was there that night? Visiting her husband, I suppose? Anyway, there's a statue outside of town. Have you been to see it?
Anyway, the prison was pretty notorious - most of Ustalav's executions were being done there at the time. The worst of the worst were sent there and the town was paid well for the "risk." What was fascinating is that I learned that the fire was actually a bit of a blessing in disguise. A surviving guard reported that the prisoners had actually won control of the dungeon level and it was only by accident that the fire started and killed everyone on that level, including the warden and guards.
At the time of the fire, the prison was rather full. Most were pretty rough criminals, but apparently five of them were also quite famous. The "Father Charlatan", the "Lopper", the "Mosswater Marauder", the "Piper of Illmarch", and the "Splatter Man". There wasn't anything about their crimes in the records, but I can guess at a couple of them. I'll wager the temple has records of them men's deeds. They were all set to be executed and the church keeps track of that stuff.
[dice=Spellcraft to identify items]1d20 + 5
In the satchel of items gathered from the crypt you find: a dozen silver arrows with no magical aura, four alchemical sunrods, six flasks of water in vials marked with Pharasmin symbols, 10 fine arrows with a weak magical aura (+1), five fine arrows with an aura of conjuration (+1 ghost touch), two fine arrows with an aura of positive energy (+1 undead bane), four potions of cure light wounds, two potions of lesser restoration, a scroll of detect undead, two scrolls of hide from undead, a scroll of protection from evil, a thin darkwood case decorated with the image of a scarab with an open eye on its back (very finely made), and inside the box there is a spirit board, a brass planchette with a faint magical aura, and four iron-and-glass jars full of swirling, green mist. Unfortunately, one of the jars is broken and gives no aura, as well as a vial identical to the ones containing the potions of cure light wounds. The three functioning jars are covered in runes and decorated with creepy screaming skulls, and they give off a faint aura of necromancy that suggests an ability to trap energy or spirits, but its nothing you've ever encountered.
As the loot is spread out, analyzed and categorized, Kitch can feel his hands start twitching ever so slightly as each new item is revealed. Hold it together you idiot! You just met these people, you won't be robbing them! He closes his eyes and takes several deep, steadying breaths, slowly relaxing till he's seemingly back in the moment.
"Well, that's as good a haul as one might 'ope!" He looks around at the others, eyes bright, "I'm knowin I just got 'ere, but umm... what'r you folks planning t'do with all them goodies?" and grins broadly.
In response to Kendra he just shakes his head, "Sorry m'Lady, I'm not recognizin those jars a wink."
"Well, that's as good a haul as one might 'ope!" He looks around at the others, eyes bright, "I'm knowin I just got 'ere, but umm... what'r you folks planning t'do with all them goodies?" and grins broadly.
"They will be handed out to those who can make the best use of them." Coiger answers automatically as he inspects the divining board.
He looks up from the table at the grinning half-orc,"Who are you, exactly?"
Kitch visibly deflates slightly at the logic and finality of Coigers statement, but he figured that'd probably be the case. He stands quickly at Coigers direct question, not exactly nervous, but past experience with authority and conflict eliciting a certain level of wariness. "Beggin' yer pardon m'Lord. Names Kurkorikt, most-time caravan guard to those'need of guardin. That's 'ow I knowed the Professor, may he rest easy, he an I rode together on some of 'is wandering outings. Looking for wills o' the wonders and other tids'n'todbits. Easy to call me Kitch though, if ya please." he inclines his head a bit awkwardly and sits back down. His look to Coiger posing the question if the answer was enough to appease the nobleman.
Do? My father is Gharen Muricar. I don't think he's done much of anything in his life. My grandfather was a stone mason of some skill in Caliphas. When Harrowstone was to be built, he was recruited to oversee its construction. He came here, made a fortune, and the family has been here since. My father never had to work a day, and he got his position on the Council by his name and by making all the right friends. That's one thing is is good at. No one can resist his boyish charm. Varro's voice is thick with exasperation as he speaks that last line. Anyway, that's why I became curious about your inquiries into Harrowstone. My grandfather built the place and it never occurred to me to look into its use after that point, but I learned some very interesting things.
You've heard, I'm sure, that it was a famous prison and that it burned during an uprising nearly 50 years ago? The town of Ravengro was established in order to support the prison. Economically speaking, it's a bit of a wonder that the village survived the prison's closing. All of the prisoners, most of the guards, the warden, and his wife were all killed that night, though no one's ever really known why the warden's wife was there that night? Visiting her husband, I suppose? Anyway, there's a statue outside of town. Have you been to see it?
Anyway, the prison was pretty notorious - most of Ustalav's executions were being done there at the time. The worst of the worst were sent there and the town was paid well for the "risk." What was fascinating is that I learned that the fire was actually a bit of a blessing in disguise. A surviving guard reported that the prisoners had actually won control of the dungeon level and it was only by accident that the fire started and killed everyone on that level, including the warden and guards.
At the time of the fire, the prison was rather full. Most were pretty rough criminals, but apparently five of them were also quite famous. The "Father...
She swallowed and did her best to hide the sudden distaste in her mouth when he mentioned his father. he was that learing older man at the funeral... and this was his son. This could be trouble and she had no idea how to extricate herself from it. She tried to hide her sudden unease with a smile.
Those are some interesting names fit for a horror story I think.
She shuddered at the words rubbing her arms as if suddenly cold as she glanced about the place.
I wonder how hard it would be to look into the temples records? probably foolish of me to be so curious. She finished weakly.
Varro raises an eyebrow at Chellian's smile...which comes across as more of a grimace. Is something wrong with your drink? Here. I'll get you a new one. Zokar! He beckons the barkeep over, who nods and holds up a finger indicating he'll be a minute.
They do sound like names right out of a tale meant to scare children. But people love to be melodramatic. Look at the "Beast of Lepidstadt" today. We can't let a tale go unembellished. I'm sure they were just horrible men. Anyway, I couldn't say about the temple granting access. I'd say it depends on old Grimburrow's mood. He can be a goofy old man, or a stodgy grump depending on the whim of the moment. I hear he's partial to good bourbon, but I'd handle a bribe carefully if that's your intent.
At that moment, Zokar brings out two plates of kabobs with steak, peppers, onions, and squash, still sizzling from the grill. The dish is accompanied by some buttery biscuits and steaming mashed potatoes. Zokar looks to Varro for approval and asks, Was there something you needed young Master Muricar?
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10 fine arrows with a weak magical aura (+1), five fine arrows with an aura of conjuration (+1 ghost touch), two fine arrows with an aura of positive energy (+1 undead bane)
Sohar whistles at the haul. "Someone definitely had somethin' specific in mind when they put this together. What's down in that there prison?"
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Chellian smiled weakly at his comment on the drink not sure how to proceed. The preist at the temple had already rebuffed their attempts that way but perhaps they could try again. She certainly didnt want to get his father involved. So instead she began with her food. . .
If A lady was supposed to pick at her food Chellian had never been taught that little fact. She took to eating the meal with a gusto. She could easily say the food that Zokar prepared was very very good.
Lorrimor Residence
----------------------------
Kitch's eyes are full of the loot on the table as he responds to Sohar, "That'll be a great question good Sohar. Kendra done said the professor was found up in there. I've definitely been wanting to l- explore the place anyways. Judgin from these here things, lotsa evil and spirity nasties look to be the main residents now."
Kendra looks to each of you. What will you do now?
---
Just as Kendra asks the question, the door opens and Chellian enters. A young man in a nice overcoat can be seen walking back toward town over her shoulder.
Well that was interesting...
She began blinking at the newcomer[s] Head tilted slightly to the side just for a moment the tall statuesque maiden smiled broadly.
More friends of the professor's?
She asked not wanting to go into details of what minor things she had learned during her dinner if they were just locals, wouldnt want to seem like they were defying the local authorities or anything.
Kitch introduces himself in his deferential manner, explaining again his and Cassandra's late entrance.
After catching Chellian up on his presence he asks, "Are you a Lady then? Or a Miss perhaps? Or a Missus maybe? It's good ta be formal when meeting new folks I finds."
While he waits for Chellian to respond he asks the group, "I'm knowin I just arrived an all, and clearly you all have some plan in mind. Iff'n you don't mind me tagging along, for the Professors sake, then I'm wondrin' what's next on this new adventure?"
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"Seems so, Miss Chellian. Professor was a good sort. Lots of friends and such. And Miss Kendra, I reckon we're eager to look over that there prison to investigate the Professor's suspicions. What do y'all think?"
Sohar leans forward, his face half-hidden by the firelight, and responds solemnly to Kitch's question with little trace of his normal accent. "Let it be so. The web of fate has snared us and we must find our way free." He shakes his head briefly as he leans back. His face is fully illuminated again and reveals his usual affable smile.
Kendra looks to each of you. What will you do now?
"Seems we'll need to visit Father Grimburrow tomorrow. I doubt though that he will be any more receptive to our investigations than he was last night." Coiger says rubbing the bridge of his nose and looking quite tired.
Kendra nods, then adds in a tone that betrays her lack of faith despite her optimistic words, Perhaps Grimburrow will be in a better mood tomorrow. And I'll accompany you to show him you've attended to me well. He can't deny you then if you've done all he's asked.
Now, Chellian, tell us what you learned from Varro.
Not much as far as i can tell. That nice young fellow Varro is Mr. Muricar's son. She shuddered slightly once again recalling the slightly sleezy way the man addressed her at the funeral.. and his eyes. She gave a slight shake of her head for a second.
The old prison,housed some infamous prisoners 50 years ago, and their was an uprising and a fire most of the guards, the warden, and his wife perished in the fire, along with the prisoners.
The five famous ones were, The "Father Charlatan", the "Lopper", the "Mosswater Marauder", the "Piper of Illmarch", and the "Splatter Man". He thought maybe some record of them and their misdeeds might be at the temple.
She frowned again as she began to unpis her hair running her hands free through the long blonde tresses. Her eyebrows perked up and her eyes widened for a moment.
Oh yes! He mentioned one of the surviving guardsmen said it was a good thing the fire happened, I guess the prisoners had managed to take a whole level.... Oh and the good father Grimburrow likes a good bourbon. But thats men for you. She said sticking her tongue out for just a moment.
Turning her attention to Kitch she smiled broadly.
I'm a miss, though you dont have to be so formal, Im Chellian Oaks, the blacksmiths daughter from Ardagh.
She offered her hand to the half orc to grasp in greetings.
Kendra raises an eyebrow when Chellian mentions 'Mr. Muricar.' You didn't know Varro was Gharen's son? Is that a problem?
So, I guess we're bringing a bottle of bourbon with us to the temple tomorrow? Only about half remains of my father's bottle, but Zokar will have more, I expect.
I have news of my own. While you all did your work today, I did some of my own here in my father's archives. I have learned some unsettling secrets my father kept on the Whispering Way. Should it come to light that they were indeed involved then we'll want to be prepared.
The Whispering Way are an ancient cabal of necromancers. They frequently ally themselves with the greater undead and enslave the lesser. Tar Baphon himself was their leader for a long time. Their learning can only be shared by whisper, thus their name. They are exceptionally talented infiltrators. The ultimate goal for the most devout of them is to learn and carry out the formula to become a lich. If this is truly the enemy we face, I fear we may be in over our heads.
Anyway, in the excitement of this mystery, I sometimes forget that it's my own father's death that we're investigating. Thank you all for the work you're doing. I'm going to retire to my room and do some thinking about my plans. I'll accompany you all to the temple tomorrow and then I'm going to visit Alendru's schoolhouse to see what records he has. Sohar, he deals in items of magical quality. You may be interested, should you care to accompany me.
Kendra raises an eyebrow when Chellian mentions 'Mr. Muricar.' You didn't know Varro was Gharen's son? Is that a problem?
So, I guess we're bringing a bottle of bourbon with us to the temple tomorrow? Only about half remains of my father's bottle, but Zokar will have more, I expect.
I have news of my own. While you all did your work today, I did some of my own here in my father's archives. I have learned some unsettling secrets my father kept on the Whispering Way. Should it come to light that they were indeed involved then we'll want to be prepared.
The Whispering Way are an ancient cabal of necromancers. They frequently ally themselves with the greater undead and enslave the lesser. Tar Baphon himself was their leader for a long time. Their learning can only be shared by whisper, thus their name. They are exceptionally talented infiltrators. The ultimate goal for the most devout of them is to learn and carry out the formula to become a lich. If this is truly the enemy we face, I fear we may be in over our heads.
Anyway, in the excitement of this mystery, I sometimes forget that it's my own father's death that we're investigating. Thank you all for the work you're doing. I'm going to retire to my room and do some thinking about my plans. I'll accompany you all to the temple tomorrow and then I'm going to visit Alendru's schoolhouse to see what records he has. Sohar, he deals in items of magical quality. You may be interested, should you care to accompany me.
"Yes. Well. Goodnight." Coiger excuses himself and retires to his as-of-yet unslept in bed.
She offered her hand to the half orc to grasp in greetings.
Kitch listens intently, and more than a little warily to Chellian's enthusiastic greeting, but only pauses briefly before gripping her hand in his, "Well it's sure being nice to meetcha Miss. Chellian it'll be then."
As Kendra reveals her findings Kitch can feel his heart sink, what he knew about Lich's could be counted on his pink fingers -which is to say not much. All he really knew was they were the stuff of legend and nightmares, and he didn't appreciate either of those things. And yet...
"That's a heapin load of news Lady Lorrimor, and is raise'n more questions than answers t'me. Welp, it'll keep till the morrow I'm certain. Gnight folks."
Kurkorikt takes his leave, heading for the local inn to rest for the night, ready to rejoin the others at first light tomorrow.
Suddenly you awake in your bed at the inn with the choking feeling still present in your throat and the ripping of your flesh still burning all over your body...but there are no rats to be seen.
Suddenly, you awake with a violent start. Your heart is racing from the shock and your head aches where it struck the ground in the dream.
**THUMP**
"Ugh!"
Sleep wasnt going to come easy to Chellian, She had lay in bed for what felt like forever, before sleep finally overtook her. It was certainly restless however.
Dawn breaks with some sky actually showing through the usual Ustalavic could cover. Kendra puts out some bread, peaches, milk, and coffee for breakfast. The girl herself appears a bit distant in her thoughts.
Kitch dresses early, sitting cross-legged on his cot as he waits for the sounds of the inn to guide the timing of his departure for the Lorrimor home. He steps lively, keeping an extra eye out and an ear tuned for the slightest sound. It's quite safe to say he's on edge. He arrives and knocks briskly, with an undercurrent of eagerness to be off the street. When he greets those awake he appears disheveled, and seems to have slept very little. "Top of the mornin'. Not the best sleep I've ever had I must say." He chuckles ruefully, "Seems I remember a beatin or two that were more restful."