GM Fateweaver's Charnel Crown PbP (Inactive)

Game Master Wildebob

"Corpse chowder... I reckon that's a kind of sacrifice I'd rather avoid. Either way, givin' or partakin'..."

"I hate to interrupt a man's meal, but we are in a hurry, if I recall. There's Hearthmount there."

Heads with Sohar toward Heathmount's table.

On the way over, Sohar quietly says to Coiger, "The request comin' from you might go down easier. Though I'll do it if you want."

Coiger clears his throat and steps smartly ahead of Sohar to Heathmount's table.
"Mr. Heathmount. Gentlemen." He bows slightly to them. "I'm sorry to interrupt your meal, but we need a word with you, sir."

Knowledge (local)

I'm sorry, Morgrym, I'm not entirely sure what you're after. The fare looks pretty normal; a red stew with chunks of meat, meatballs on plates painted like the Moon, steak kabobs on thick, wooden skewers with veggies. There's plenty of beers being served in large, glass steins, too. You do a double-take as you realize that a few of the patrons are drinking a pale ale that is glowing a faint green.

Gibbs and his crew cheer loudly when they see Chellian move toward them. Gibbs shoves the younger man next to him hard out of his chair, sending him to the ground. Everyone laughs loudly, including the victim. Gibbs then pushes the empty mugs and dishes away from the spot and motions to the now-empty seat. Found ya a seat here next to me, girl. We all been dyin' to hear the story that made ya so tough. When Gibbs notices Morgrym, he jerks a thumb at another of his crew and shouts for him to vacate his seat for "the dwarf." Moments after you've sat, Zokar drops large mugs of the glowing pale ale in front of you both. Anything else for the moment, gentlemen? Miss? Master Dwarf? Can I get you any supper? The Corpse Chowder is fresh, the Wolfballs are howlin' good- Gibbs interjects, How many times ya gonna use that line, Zokar? Laughter erupts. Zokar scowls at him. -and the Vampire Steak skewers have fresh squash today.

Hearthmount looks up at the intruder and frowns deeply, but answers cordially enough, But of course, Father. I am always at the service of the Church. I trust it's urgent if you'd be coming here to find me. He makes a show of drawing a spiral in the air over his heart. He then turns back to his dinner company, Excuse me a moment, gentlemen. I shall very much like to continue our conversation presently. He stands and motions toward the door, following when you move that way.

Looking about before he begins to make sure they will not be overheard, Coiger says in a serious tone just above the tavern noise: "Indeed you are correct sir, the matter is gravely urgent. Councilman, we have reason to believe Ravengro maybe under threat by a dangerously fanatical cult of undeath--the Whispering Way. Perhaps a man in your position has heard something of them? We believe they may have infiltrated the ruins of Harrowstone to stir up trouble in the area. It makes sense given the location is taboo to tread upon--a perfect hiding spot from the law. And that sir brings us to our untimely visit. Being mindful of Ravengro's laws we seek permission to investigate the site from her ruling council. Alas, time is of the essence forcing us to interrupt your evening's repast to seek your aid in this important endeavor."

So uh... whats good? She asked the gathered men slightly coloring. She was not used to such attentions in the least. You know i will try the vampire steak skewers. She said giving the proprietor a large grin before turning her attention to the gathered townsfolk.

My Da would laugh to hear you call me tough, but thats normal I suppose. If it wasnt obvious my folk come from up north, though i was born and raised here in Ustalav. My father was a mercenary guardsman hired for a time as a guard for the local lord, around Kavapesta. He retired to take over one of the village smithies where I was born and raised. I've helped him there almost all my life, though when i grew older I took to gathering herbs and the like in the local wilds.

She paused taking a long sip of the strange glowing green beverage. Pursing her lips and then liking them a moment before taking another sip she contiued.

He taught me how to protect myself if need be of course, in those wilds It was there i met the.... the. She faltered for a moment and then looked down before she took a breath and continued. "The good professor, What is it you do Mr.Gibbs was it?

She asked doing her best to ingratiate herself a bit with the locals. If they were going to be here for a month the letter said might as well not have glaring and muttering folk everywhere.

Sohar listens to Coiger's approach with an approving nod. Well-spoken, indeed.

The councilman listens patiently, though with a deep frown. When Coiger concludes, he asks frankly, And you have evidence of this threat? Folk here are superstitious, but not stupid. You wouldn't be the first outsider to attempt to stir up a frenzy over some perceived threat. If you can produce hard evidence of such a threat then we can talk about convening the council and discuss the possibility of you accompanying our own sheriff to Harrowstone to investigate. Until that time let me warn you, if you go spreading around town that some invisible danger threatens the town then I will have you strung up and beaten for insurrection. I will not have hysteria in my town. Likewise, you yourselves are not to go anywhere near the prison. I will not have it spread that outsiders are poking around in what is none of their business. Am I clear, gentlemen? Now, I have heard you out. If you'll excuse me, I have company awaiting me. You want my help? Find proof.

Zokar nods approvingly at Chellian's order. He then looks to Morgrym to see if he he's ready and, getting no indication, he rushes off.

Gibbs jumps in, A northerner, yeah. That makes sense. And a warrior's kid to boot. Well, ya got b-...ahem...guts, kid. Me? I'm retired, a soldier. Held the line at Bleakwall in two raids. He gets a far off look for a moment before downing the not-insignificant remainder of his ale, then bounces back loudly. So, I guess old Lorrimor is in the dirt now, huh? Weird, old loon, that one. His kid is peculiar, too. Pretty thing, but never wanted a thing to do with the boys her age, am I right, Eduard? A young man takes some elbows and jibes with a sheepish grin. So, what's it fer ya now, girl? The loon is buried and it's back to yer father's smithy?

"Well, that went well."

At the mention of Professor Lorrimor, Richter's attention becomes focused on Chellion. "Hmm... So I was right, they do know the Professor or at least this woman does."

He sits quietly and waits to see if the pair mention anything beyond them coming here for the funeral that Richter had to unfortunately miss.

Sohar laughs at the dry humor as they walk away from Hearthmount's table. "He wants proof to allow us to go, but I reckon it's the most likely place to find said proof. Unless we come up with somethin', we can always try the 'better to ask for forgiveness' strategy."

"Agreed. Perhaps Jominda and Father Grimburrow may be of more help. I saw the apothecary shop on my way back from cemetery earlier today--'closed' for business because of the funeral, but the town temple should be open; after all, death can strike at any moment."

Morgrym waves at the departing Zokar, not ordering food for now. "Lemme see what yer weird ale is like..." He takes a sip, tries to hide a funny face, likely fails, and waves Zokar back over again. Pulling out three silver pieces, he makes a motion with one hand that looks like he's holding a cup and says, "Whiskey,", then similarly holds up the other hand, "...and a whiskey. Mebbe werewolf balls to help 'em go down."

He listens to Gibbs' story. "Bleakwall? Where be that stronghold - against th' orcs?"

Richter looks at Gibbs as he calls the Professor a loon yet again.

"Mr. Gibbs. You should not speak so disrespectfully of the dead. Although Professor Lorrimor had his quirks, he was far from a loon."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (11) + 10 = 21

He smiles at Mr. Gibbs. A genuine friendly smile and then at Chellion hoping that his comment would ease her pain of his passing some. She seemed put off every time Gibbs would make a joke about the man.

He looks to the dwarf sitting at the table. "I am sorry master dwarf I did not mean to interrupt you."

"If you're thinkin' that's our next best option, let's try it. As long as we 'member that time is against us by the Professor's reckonin'."

"The problem is if we are caught now, there may only be jail in our future, which would leave us a captive audience for whatever doom that does come to Ravengro."
Then he pauses in thought, puzzling at something until the words escape his lips.
"What is it about that place that these people fear so much?"
He struggles with the question until finally he yields taking away only one comforting thought:
"Its a small town; there's advantage in that--everyone will know something."

Zokar nods approvingly at Chellian's order. He then looks to Morgrym to see if he he's ready and, getting no indication, he rushes off.

Gibbs jumps in, A northerner, yeah. That makes sense. And a warrior's kid to boot. Well, ya got b-...ahem...guts, kid. Me? I'm retired, a soldier. Held the line at Bleakwall in two raids. He gets a far off look for a moment before downing the not-insignificant remainder of his ale, then bounces back loudly. So, I guess old Lorrimor is in the dirt now, huh? Weird, old loon, that one. His kid is peculiar, too. Pretty thing, but never wanted a thing to do with the boys her age, am I right, Eduard? A young man takes some elbows and jibes with a sheepish grin. So, what's it fer ya now, girl? The loon is buried and it's back to yer father's smithy?

She was unsure how wise it was to discuss such things with the locals but.. there was no harm in some information being shared.

The professor's will asked us to stay about for a short while, to make sure his daughter was dealing well with the grief. So i will be about for a few weeks at least. I might spend some time with your local blacksmith if he is not too curmudgeonly and some time in this fine establishment as well.

The strange glowing ale was going down smoother than she thought it might another pull from it had it almost empty.

That ruin the professor was found out. What is it? We certainly had nothing of its like back home.

She didnt have to fake the curiousity in her voice. Indeed she was curious as to what sort of place would have drawn the dear professor to his doom as it were.

gather info/diplomacy check: 1d20 ⇒ 12

Morgrym turns to Richter and says, "Well, if'n I'm t' be interrupted, it'd best be by a handome devil like yerself. No problem a' all. Ye knew the Professer, too?"

"I knew him as an acquaintance of my fathers. He was... an interesting man. We would borrow books from him every now and then."

Richter looks at his ale and then back to Morgrym. "How did you know the late Professor?"

She was unsure how wise it was to discuss such things with the locals but.. there was no harm in some information being shared.

The professor's will asked us to stay about for a short while, to make sure his daughter was dealing well with the grief. So i will be about for a few weeks at least. I might spend some time with your local blacksmith if he is not too curmudgeonly and some time in this fine establishment as well.

The strange glowing ale was going down smoother than she thought it might another pull from it had it almost empty.

That ruin the professor was found out. What is it? We certainly had nothing of its like back home.

She didnt have to fake the curiousity in her voice. Indeed she was curious as to what sort of place would have drawn the dear professor to his doom as it were.

Ha! Ya mean 'she' and yes, she's pretty 'curmudgeonly', as ya say. A she-dwarf, that one, but damn good at what she does. Older than Ravengro, she is, but stronger than all of us together.

He loses some of the jest in his eyes when Harrowstone is referenced. Spooky, old ruin, that place. Gives me shivers just talkin' about it. It's haunted as the Nine Hells, they say. It was a prison, a famous one, but it burnt a long, long time ago. Been crumbling and haunted ever since. My cousin went up on a dare once and swears he saw the ghost of the executioner at the block. Seems like half the people that go up, never come back, or so the stories go. Your own Professor will be keeping kids outta there for years though, I reckon.

"A prison? in this small a town?

She swallowed a moment and frowned. A haunted prison seemed ...well not the sort of place she ever wanted to visit if she could avoid it at all. She changed the subject quickly motioning for another drink to the proprietor.

"My father has always raved about the work of the dwarven smiths, his own tools, dwarven made and he swears by them. If this town has a dwarf smith, then its a lucky town indeed. If im to be here a few weeks at the least tell me more about yourselves and this place."

She said an awkward smile on her face.

I would imagine that is about the extent of her sluething. *lawls* Im sure she spends the next bit of time til Coiger and Sohar appear that they are ready to leave just chit-chatting about the town and themselves and the like.

"We should tell the others that we're headin' to see the priest. See if they want to join us."

Morgrym waves his hand at Richter, "Saved 'is life once, he's owed me ever since. Dinna figure tha' he'd put me in tha' will fer it, but there's no knowin' folk." Raising his glass, he toasts with Richter, "T' th' professer! Strange man with strange intrests he be, but no less a good man. Now wha's this I hear 'bout a lady dwarf bein' yer blacksmith, here?"

Richter's eyes shift over to Gibbs. "Ghosts? Undead?" Richter's visage grows dark at Gibb's story.

To Chellian and Morgrym: "We're heading for the temple to meet with Father, though you are certainly welcome to remain and continue your Looking at Richter, Gibbs and his mates carousing."

"Eh, already? An' we jus' met this'n," gesturing at Richter, "Says 'e knew the professer from a while back, him 'n 'is daddy. Maybe he needs to come give us a had wit' things, eh? Kendra'll want t' meet 'im."

Richter smiles at Morgrym after seeing Coiger stare. "I would be honored to accompany you and your companions master dwarf. Richter Kyras is my name."

He stands and offers his hand to Morgrym. As he stands a wooden holy symbol of Pharasma falls out of his shirt to lay in the open, although two braided cords can be seen around his neck. Whatever is attached to the other remains out of view.

Morgrym takes the hand and uses it to haul himself to his feet. "Morgrym be me name, an cheers to ye, Richter." He slams back the remainder of his whiskey and waves at Chellian to follow. "Les be off, lass, more jawin' t' do before we sleep this one off."

Looks like everyone is ready to head to the temple. Correct me if I'm wrong.

If the day was grey and dull, the dusk is even worse. Everything in sight appears stony and washed out, contrasted by inky shadow. The group has a cool, easy walk to the temple across the river. Many of the buildings are already starting to look a bit familiar. Approaching the temple, your eyes are once again drawn to the huge stained-glass window depicting Pharasma judging a cowering man in royal regalia.

The temple doors are open and inside you find several acolytes that appear to be about their duties of closing up for the day. One of them greets you by drawing a spiral over his heart and bowing slightly to Coiger. The Grey Lady welcomes you to her temple this evening. Brother, I've not had the pleasure. How may I assist you?

Coiger spirals back.
"Coiger of Edme, is Father Grimburrow about? Our business is quite urgent."

Lyra chirps excitedly as the group enters the temple. Sohar reaches up and pets her soothingly. Speaking quietly to her, he says, "Yes, yes, dear. But I doubt there are any whippoorwills here."

She merely smiled at the gathered 'gentle'men and left some coin on the table and followed the rest of the professors party. She did paused for a moment outside the church proper looking up at the beautiful stained glass window admiring it. She couldnt imagine the amount of skill something like that took.

Again she was quiet as they entered the place. attempting to make the same spiraled motion out of reverence for the holy place. She figured Brother Coiger would know what to ask and how, it was best she kept quiet and out of the way.

"It be like a dank mine in this town. Reminds me o' home." Looking up at the stained glass, he asks, "Now who do ye suppose that one was gettin' the stern judgment?"

Richter looks up at the stained glass that Morgrym talks about. He ponders about the image.

Knowledge(Religion): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12

"I am not sure Morgrym. But maybe it means no matter who you are, royalty or peasant, none shall escape their final judgement."
He smiles at Morgrym a reassuring smile. "It is the cycle of life and none shall escape it." A bit of edge coming into his voice.

The attending priest hesitates, looking over Coiger's Pharasmin regalia once more before answering, Of course, brother. Allow me a moment to see if he is taking visitors.

The priest heads through a door off of the chapel and out of sight. After several minutes of curious glances from the rest of the laboring acolytes, the priest returns following Father Grimburrow. The gnarled, old Father approaches with purpose and comes to a stop standing close to Coiger, uncomfortably close. He raises an eyebrow inviting an explanation and croaks a demand, Well, son? What is it? Does Old Lorrimor have a complaint about his accommodations? He wheezes in what seems to be a self-congratulating chuckle.

He then thumbs at Richter. And who's this ray of sunshine? Don't recognize him from this morning.

Richter smiles at Father Grimburrow and bows low. "Father Grimburrow it is a pleasure, Richter Kyras at your service."

"What do you know of Harrowstone, Father?"

Of Harrowstone? Not much. Never been up there. Not interested, to be honest. It was a prison of some renown until it burned to the ground near 50 years ago. Why would I care to see that? If that doesn't suit you, you'll have to convince Hearthmount and his rabble to let you go pokin' around.
I suppose we'd have some records of anyone that died in the fire in the archives, but we're closing up now, son. And, to be honest, I barely know you. How do I know I can trust you fishin' around in what Pharasma put to bed? Now, you folks did a good thing by Kendra today. She needs lookin' after more'n her father today. Go keep her company. Show me you're here to help her an' I'll let you go diggin' for what you're after. Agreed?

Chellian stands by quietly unsure if anything she could say would change things... She doubted it though so she just kept quiet looking about the church.

Sorry just dont have much to add at the moment!

Richter steps up next to Coiger. "Pardon my rudeness Father Grimburrow but this matter is not exactly something that can wait. If Professor Lorrimor's death was foul play then whoever... or whatever caused his demise is still out there and in my experience will probably strike again. Neither one of us would like that... but you too have a point.

What if just two of use were to look through your records and the rest go back and keep Miss Lorrimor company in this time of tragedy? Would that be acceptable to you?"

Richter nudges Coiger a little to indicate for him to help out.

"I would recommend Mr. Coiger and myself as we both understand, respect and honor the traditions of Pharasma. Would this be acceptable to you Father?"

Richter lets the holy symbol of Pharasma fall into view with a shift of his weight.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (4) + 10 = 14

Darn low rolls, :-)

Sohar also waits patiently as this is not his area of expertise.

Morgrym scratches his beard, waiting for a decision.

Just checking in. :)

Richter steps up next to Coiger. "Pardon my rudeness Father Grimburrow but this matter is not exactly something that can wait. If Professor Lorrimor's death was foul play then whoever... or whatever caused his demise is still out there and in my experience will probably strike again. Neither one of us would like that... but you too have a point.

What if just two of use were to look through your records and the rest go back and keep Miss Lorrimor company in this time of tragedy? Would that be acceptable to you?"

Richter nudges Coiger a little to indicate for him to help out.

Coiger looks at the stranger the way you might now well imagine he would look at any common barfly in a similar situation who attempted to touch him.

"I would recommend Mr. Coiger and myself as we both understand, respect and honor the traditions of Pharasma. Would this be acceptable to you Father?"

Then with an added bit of: I did not go to seminary for four years to be called 'Mister' indignation. ;)

Richter lets the holy symbol of Pharasma fall into view with a shift of his weight.

Through the use of shear will power, Coiger manages to contain the act of rolling his eyes and slapping his palm to his forehead to his imagination. It still hurts though as evidenced by the expression on his face he's trying to hide. Bluff (remain calm): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16

All this of course in spite of the fact he often uses a very similar technique (remember the funeral)--though he would vehemently argue otherwise.

He is also curiously (and keenly) aware of everyone's eyes upon him.

"Yes... Well... He takes a step closer to Grimburrow (and away from Richter). While it is true, you don't know us, He looks over his shoulder at Richter for a moment. it is also true that there is something more to these burnt ruins than meet the eye. I mean, Father, if Harrowstone is just a harmless brunt ruin, why the taboo surrounding it? Why not rebuild, or if its dangerous, raze it to the ground?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2

Edit: Ha!

Grimburrow hears Coiger out patiently until he finishes with his question. When he answers, his tone is now much more serious and final. The myths about Harrowstone are the hysteria of children. The law - which was supported by this temple - is in place because the prison is a crumbling, old ruin full of physical danger, as poor Petros learned. Do you believe that this temple would not have been the very first to scour that prison? Consider for a moment, son, whom we worship. Every few years a foolish youth sneaks up there and is injured or worse and the town is forced to send rescuers. There is never anything there. It is weathering stone, decaying timber, and rusting iron, worked upon by gravity that poses a threat. Nothing sinister. We've checked, son. We've checked. It still stands because there is so little left to "raze," as you say. A crumbling stone fell on the Professor. It was a fluke tragedy. End of discussion. I know you inquisitors exist to inquire. I respect your thorough evaluation of the matter. I'm assuming here that something of your regalia identifies you as an inquisitor, Coiger. If you're dressed as a common priest then strike that. But I say again, Petros is dead. By a rock. Just a rock. Kendra is not dead and she is hurting. Petros is in the Grey Lady's care, Kendra is in ours. Your duty is to her. Show me that you're here to help the people and not just satisfy your curiosity and you will have my help.
Now, if you will excuse me, we must close up the temple now. I have entertained you as long as I can. Should you wish to join us for worship tomorrow at noon, we would be delighted to have you. Good evening. Upon giving the farewell, he stands stock still and glares.

"Well! Tha' be final as th' grave. Purhaps we best be shufflin' off, me friends. "

Seeing that Father Grimburrow does not even acknowledge him, Richter steps back quietly with the others in the group. "Well now that was rude..."

He waits to see what the others do and stands quietly next to Morgrym.

Oof! Sorry, Richter. That was me not scrolling up far enough when I was looking at what I needed to respond to. Sorry.

Grimburrow then adds to Richter, That was a right logical compromise, son. You rays of sunshine always did know how to be diplomatic. The fact remains that we're closing up now. I know I can trust you to look after the girl. Take these others with ya. They look like they need something to do. He winks toward Sohar, Morgrym, and Chellian.

Sohar raises his eyebrows in surprise. That wasn't the first time that it has been suggested that we watch over Miss Kendra. Does he know something that we don't about her being in danger? One never can tell with these priest-types.

"Perhaps that'd be best. Miss Kendra probably could use some company."

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Sense Motive(Just for giggles): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 = 21