Kendra nods, and indulges Barret with a small smile. A will is a document - written, most often - that expresses the wishes of a person in regards to his or her property after death. It is a fairly binding legal document, and has the power to start wars in the history of many noble families
Just then, a knock comes at the door and Kendra excuses herself. She returns a moment later with a quite large man - round and quite obviously out of shape, though with broad shoulders and rough hands that showed a previous life that involved some sort of hands-on work. Now, he boasted an imperious moustache and a heavy double chin. He had been one of the silent attendees at the funeral.
Kendra waves a hand to the man. This is Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, who will read the will.
Hearthmount nods and offers a small bow to the gathered.
Thank you for taking the time to wait, good sirs and ladies. If you would be so kind, please hear and bear witness to the will of one late Petros Lorrimor, may he find his path under the guidance of the Lady of Graves.
He clears his throat as he unfurls a parchment and begins reading.
I, Petros Lorrimor, being of sound mind, do hereby commit to this parchment my last will and testament. Let it be known that, with the exception of the specific details below, I leave my home and personal belongings entire to my daughter Kendra. Use them or sell them as you see fit, my child.
Yet beyond the bequeathing of my personal effects, this document must serve other needs. I have arranged for the reading of this document to be delayed until all principals can be in attendance, for I have more than mere inheritance to apportion. I have two final favors to ask.
To my old friends, I hate to impose upon you all, but there are few others who are capable of appreciating the true significance of what it is I have to ask. As some of you know, I have devoted many of my studies to all manner of evil, that I might know the enemy and inform those better positioned to stand against it. For knowledge of one's enemy is the surest path to victory over its plans.
And so, over the course of my lifetime, I have seen fit to acquire a significant collection of valuable but dangerous tomes, any one of which in the wrong circumstances could have led to an awkward legal situation. While the majority of these tomes remain safe under lock and key at the Lepidstadt University, I fear that a few I have borrowed remain in a trunk in my Ravengro home. While invaluable for my work in life, in death, I would prefer not to burden my daughter with the darker side of my profession, or worse still, the danger of possessing these tomes herself. As such, I am entrusting my chest of tomes to you, posthumously. I ask that you please deliver the collection to my colleagues at the University of Lepidstadt, who will put them to good use for the betterment of the cause.
Yet before you leave for Lepidstadt, there is the matter of another favor - please delay your journey one month and spend that period of time here in Ravengro to ensure that my daughter is safe and sound. She has no one to count on now that I am gone, and if you would aid her in setting things in order for whatever she desires over the course of this month, you would have my eternal gratitude. From my savings, I have also willed to each of you a sum of one hundred platinum coins. For safekeeping, I have left these funds with Embreth Daramid, one of my most trusted friends in Lepidstadt - she has been instructed to issue this payment upon the safe delivery of the borrowed tomes no sooner than one month after the date of the reading of this will. I, Petros Lorrimor, hereby sign this will in Ravengro in good faith.
The councilman turns the will to show the professor's signature to the gathered. This will has been written and sealed in good faith and under no duress, so will be upheld in any court in Ustalav. He looks about to the gathered, then to Kendra. Have you any further need of me?
"I would gladly do this for him."
Rising to her feet, Lor-Sinn bows to Kendra, her right hand on her chest. "My lady, I am at your service for as long as you need me... or for as long as you'll have me." Giving the young woman a brief, crooked smile, the paladin seats herself again, nodding her thanks to the councilman.
She well understood the need to study the enemy, but also knew that not everyone saw things this way. Even if his possession of these tomes was a secret, or had been a secret, now that the councilman had read about their existence, it was possible that the professor had not been sufficiently discreet in his pursuit of knowledge. The reaction of the villagers in the cemetery becomes clearer now.
Gur looks over to the councilman. "No, it seems you have done all you need to. Thank you for your service." Having said that, Gur now turns to Kendra. "So, what would you have of us?"
Kendra nods graciously to Lor-Sinn, then watches as the Councilman bows again - only the slightest of a dip - and leaves. She then turns to the Gur, and shrugs while blowing out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. I ...I honestly don't know. Of course, there are things to do with the estate, but I'm not currently terribly busy and can handle them. This house is quite adequate for you to stay here, should you so desire. I can offer free room and board for the duration of your stay here in Ravengro. Now, let me fetch this chest that my father has left for you.
She excuses herself, but returns a few moments later with a relatively small chest of oak and iron. An ornate key opens it with a click to reveal several old tomes and one relatively new one. "Read me now" is scratched into the leather cover. Kendra hands this over immediately, her eyes wide with wonder.
The new tome happens to be the Professor's Journal and, while most of the entries are bland accounting for day-to-day activitites in a small town, there are several entries that are circled with red ink. The final entry, dated 17 days ago, was written on the same day the Professor's body was found.
My research is progressing well. I recently met with a Holy Warrior who claims to have rescued an individual who had the blood of the undead flowing in his veins. The individual also claimed to have been tortured and was the subject of strange rituals conducted upon him by a group of men who were part of a sect of The Whispering Way. It would appear that my assumptions were correct and that The Whispering Way is more than just a cabal of necromancers. I see that now. Undeath is their fountain of youth. Uncovering their motivation does not place me at ease as I thought it might. Their desire to be eternal simply makes them more dangerous.
27th Erastus 4711 (Current Year)
My research into the Whispering Way continues, alas somewhat in vein. The trail that I began to follow almost a decade ago now has grown cold. I have spoken with many individuals over this time, hoping to find another piece to this puzzle, but nothing. Since moving to this quiet hamlet I realise that my daughter does not understand how important this is to me. As I prepare to close the book on this misadventure, and ready myself to live out my days here, I received a letter from an old friend about the Whispering Way. As I read this missive, I realise it is as I had feared. The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be?
14th Arodus, 4711 (Current Year)
Whatever the Way seeks, I am now convinced their goal is connected to Harrowstone. In retrospect, I suppose it all makes sense – the stories they tell about the ruins in town are certainly chilling enough. It may be time to investigate the ruins, but with everyone in town already being so worked up about them, I’d rather not let the others know about my curiosity – there’s plenty of folks hereabouts who already think I’m a demonologist or a witch or something. Ignorant fools
23rd Arodus, 4711 (Current Year)
It is confirmed. The Way seems quite interested in something – no, strike that – someone who was held in Harrowstone. But who, specifically, is the Way after? I need a list of everyone who died the night of the fire. The list must include everyone, not just inmates, but wardens and visitor. There must be a connection. The Temple of Pharasma must have such a list. I just hope they trust me enough to allow me into their library
25th Arodus, 4711 (Current Year)
I see now just how ill prepared I was when I last set out for the Harrowstone. I am lucky to have returned at all. The ghosts, if indeed they were ghosts (for I did not find it prudent to investigate further) prevented me from transcribing the strange symbols I found etched along the foundation – hopefully on my next visit I will be more prepared. Thankfully, the necessary tools to defend against spirits are already here in Ravengro. I know that the church of Pharasma used to store them in a false crypt in the Restlands at the intersection between Eversleep and the Black Path. I am not certain if the current clergy even know of what their predecessors have hidden down below. If my luck holds, I should be able to slip in and out with a few borrowed items
26th Arodus, 4711 (Current Year)
Tomorrow evening I return to the prison. It is imperative the Way does not finish whatever it is that they have started. My caution has already cost me too much time. I am not sure what will happen if I am too late, but if my theory is right, the entire town could be at risk. I don’t have time to update my will, so I’ll leave this in the chest where it’ll be sure to be found, should the worst come to pass. There are too many things at stake here and I hope my daughter will understand the sacrifice I have made
"Who is this Whispering Way? What is this Harrowstone?"
Raphael knows quite a bit about the Way, through his dealings with the things that go bump in the night. Whether he wants to share it though...
The Whispering Way itself is a series of philosophies that can only be transferred via whispers - the philosophies are never written or spoken of loudly, making the exact goals and nature of the secretive philosophy difficult for outsiders to learn much about.
Lor-Sinn examines the journal thoughtfully.
"The name sounds vaguely familiar. Of more immediate interest to me is that the temple of Pharasma is mentioned twice as a potential source of information and resources. My lady, what can you tell us about the clergy there? Would they be amenable to assist us, should we want to investigate more?" A belated thought occurs to her. Perhaps the young woman would be content to let matters lie, but somehow she doubted it. "And... do you want us to investigate more?"
"Damn...." Raphael mutters after reading the journal entries. "The Whispering Way is a group of necromancers. Tar-Baphon also know as the Whispering Tyrant was a member of their little club. I wish the professor had sent us a letter if he suspected they were involved."
Gur scratches his head for a second.
"Guess we should check out this prison."
Kendra nods. Of course, Father Grimburrow, the very man who performed the rites at the service today is in charge of the temple. He has a few acolytes to run the daily activities, but he personally oversees nearly everything. You'll find that the Father isn't nearly as distrustful as the rest of town, and he was a good friend to my Father.
She sighs then, and casts a nervous glance at the wall...to the west and where the prison was said to lie. While I'd like very much to find closure and move on with managing my grief, I fear I'll never be able to while any doubt remains about my father's death.
She looks to Raphael. What would a group of necromancers want with my Father...and, should we fear for his gravesite?
"That is likely. This Father Grimburrow sounds trustworthy. We should speak to him."
Kendra nods. Of course, Father Grimburrow, the very man who performed the rites at the service today is in charge of the temple. He has a few acolytes to run the daily activities, but he personally oversees nearly everything. You'll find that the Father isn't nearly as distrustful as the rest of town, and he was a good friend to my Father.
She sighs then, and casts a nervous glance at the wall...to the west and where the prison was said to lie. While I'd like very much to find closure and move on with managing my grief, I fear I'll never be able to while any doubt remains about my father's death.
She looks to Raphael. What would a group of necromancers want with my Father...and, should we fear for his gravesite?
"Its possible they didn't want anything from your father, but if he got in there way they wouldn't hesitate to strike back." Raphael says as he runs forefinger against thumb as if rubbing a coin thinking. "What do you know about the old prison ruins?"
Kendra winces. I fear I'm not half the historian that my father was - probably not even close to that. I regret every time I failed to listen when he was talking of such things. I do know a few things though - Harrowstone is a ruined prison - partially destroyed by a fire in 4661. The building has stood vacant ever since, and the locals suspect that it's haunted. People around here don't really enjoy speaking about the place, honestly - as if to speak its name will invoke its evil wrath.
She makes a dismissive hand motion, then thinks better of it and shrugs. Who knows...with what my father, and no doubt many of you, have seen...I suppose we can't discount anything.
The prison was built about fifty years before the fire, and really helped to create this town by bringing all of the families of those working in the prison. It was said to have housed the worst criminals of all of Ustalav, though that could have been a point of personal pride at the time.
"A strange thing to be proud of, although I can see how entrusting the worst criminals for safekeeping would be a measure of trust and confidence in one's abilities. Although, I suppose they weren't ultimately that safe, as the fire attests. Were the prisoners housed in Harrowstone at the time it was destroyed? Did they survive?"
Lor-Sinn picks up the journal again, searching for a particular entry.
"Ah, yes, here, it appears that at least some have died. And the temple would perhaps have a list of names. Shall I go talk to them? Is the priest we met this morning the head of the temple?"
Kendra nods slowly, a grim response. Yes, it's said that quite a few prisoners were in the prison at the time of its fall, though I don't know anything about them. Father Grimburrow would indeed be the person to talk to; he's at the temple and is one and the same. He'll know who you are, based upon today, and will be much more keen to help than will the rest of the town.
"We should leave soon."
Gur sighs and pushes open the door. "We have been too long for soon." Slow is the March of the executioner.
The journey to the temple is a short, but uncomfortable one. The Lorrimor house is situated to the south of the town proper, but on the east side of the river. So, to get to the temple, one has to head south, then cross the river, and head north. Along the way are farms...many of them. And, with them are farmers - the most suspicious, surly looking lot of farmers that you've ever seen.
The strange crew traveling along their wagon-rutted path is not all that welcome, and the locals make it obvious with their dark stares, whispered prayers of protection, and their actions as they stop work to hustle their children inside or stand a bit closer to their sharpened implements of their trade.
The road opens up a bit, and the farms stop before the road reaches the Temple of Pharasma. The Temple is a sturdy place - obviously of good construction, and is more a building of use and purpose than one of gaudy decoration. Only a few small, stained glass windows surround the perimeter, and a simple spire extends above the entryway. Gargoyles above leer from their stone thrones.
The narthex is well adorned with stained wood - nearly over all surfaces. It's obviously well cared for - no doubt by the many acolytes who call the temple their home. After some brief introductions and then more exhaustive explanations of purpose by the strangers, they are ushered back to the office of Father Grimburrow. The old man sits behind a cluttered desk, his bushy brows furrowed into a solid line over his small spectacles as he views some parchment. He glances up at your arrival, mutters something line "Bah...papers", and then sits back to look up at you.
Please, have a seat...though I've not enough for all of you. What can the Lady's disciples help you with?
"We were told you knew information on Harrowstone and the prisoners. Please share with us. The late professor was searching it for something."
Lor-Sinn glances briefly at Barrett; she appreciated an honest and straightforward manner of speaking, but she knew from experience that not everyone did. Stepping forward, she addresses Father Grimburrow with a serious expression.
"Father, I imagine that you would like some context to that request. It has emerged very recently that the circumstances surrounding the professor's death may not have been entirely natural. Moreover, he believed that the ruins of the old prison held some manner of danger. I understand that Ravengro may not have the resources to deal with such a threat, so we would like to offer our assistance. But we need as much information as you can provide regarding the history of that place and the people housed within. "
-Posted with Wayfinder
A chuff of bored annoyance is the only noise Gur makes while waiting.
The old father sits up a bit straighter at Barrett's tone, his bushy brows narrowing to become one long gray worm beneath his wrinkled forehead. He turns, then, and listens to Lor-Sinn, his attitude seeming to improve.
At the close of her plea, the old man offers a smile. Of course...such files as the names and structure of the prison are public knowledge, though any things that aren't available as such would be kept elsewhere.
He looked concerned. I must ask, of course...what do you think may have happened instead...who would have reason enough to attack the professor in such a way?
"We have our suspicions. But we need your aid in this."
Lor-Sinn glances at Kendra before continuing, to ensure that the young woman did not object to her sharing this kind of information.
"Father, we have reason to believe that an organisation of necromancers have also taken an interest in the ruins of the prison, and they may have clashed with the Professor. If you know of the Whispering Way, you probably know that they can be up to no good."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Father Grimburrow sits back in his chair and laces his fingers together on the desktop in front of him. He contorts his face in such a fashion as if to show he was chewing on the information in reality. Ahh, I see. An ancient, some believe mythical organization. If they were indeed here, then that indeed would be ill news - for everyone here in town, that is.
Very well...there are some more protected archives here in my office, while you review the other sources, I'll have these gathered and brought to you. There is a study down that hall with more than enough table space for you to spread out.
Harrowstone was built in 4594. Ravengro was founded at the same time as a place where guards and their families could live and that would produce food and other supplies used by the prison. The fire that killed all of the prisoners and most of the guards destroyed a large portion of the stone structure above relatively intact. The prison's warden perished in the fire, along with his wife, although no one knows why she was in the prison when the fire occurred. A statue commemorating the warden and the guards who lost their lives was built in the months after the tragedy - that statue still stands on the riverbank just outside of town.
Most of the hardened criminals sent to Harrowstone spent only a few months imprisoned, for it was here that most of Ustalav's executions during that era were carried out. The fire that caused the tragedy was, in fact, a blessing in disguise, for the prisoners had rioted and gained control of the prison's dungeons immediately prior to the conflagration. It was only through the self-sacrifice of Warden Hawkran and 23 of his guards that the prisoners were prevented from escaping - the guards gave their lives to save the town of Ravengro.
The five most notorious prisoners in Harrowstone at the time of the great fire were Father Charlatan, the Lopper, the Mosswater Marauder, the Piper of Illmarsh, and the Splatter Man.
-Posted with Wayfinder
"So we got a haunted prison with a bunch of really bad inmates. This is going to be a fun one." Gur will wait to see what the others want to do, but he would rather go to the prison and get it over with.
Without further investigation, the group heads out towards the barren hill south of the city. A stark, sagging roof of its central structure is visible through a large gap in the surrounding wall as you approach. A partially overgrown track leads from the southern edge of town, winding around the base of the hill and then back up along its southern slope to the prison itself.
With the foreboding building in the background, you approach a sagging wood and metal gate set between a pair of stone guard towers that must have once barred entrance into Harrowstone. Now, though, the gates hang negligently open, creaking softly in what wind touches the ruined bars.
The stone wall surrounding the prison is covered with creeping ivy, and the blocks beneath it do not appear to be very sound.
Barret turns to look at his new companions and then enters through the gates.
Lor-Sinn unslings her hammer, using the butt to prod at the ground as they advance. Every now and then she comes across a fragment of fallen masonry half-buried in the soil. She keeps well away from walls, not wanting a similar 'accident' to befall her.
"Let's keep our eyes open."
"Indeed."
Barret pushes through the sagging gate with a slight struggle as it drags along the ground. As he enters, a sudden rush of claustrophobia and the split-second sensation of his skin bursting into flames threatens to overtake him.
Once inside, the group can take in the full interior of the prison walls. Dotting the perimeter, which is a hexagonal shape, are observation towers thirty feet high, stretching ten feet above the walls. The towers are largely in disrepair, rotten wood showing through the crumbling stone exterior.
Ahead is an overgrown dirt path that splits in a circle about a weed-ridden mound with an ancient oak in the center. A brick manor house rests off to the left side of the circle.
To the right is a wide open space where a black lake has formed at the base of one wall that is crumbled nearly to insignificance. The lake extends all the way forward to the wall of the massive stone structure of the prison itself, which looms ominously on the other side of the circle.
Barret's will is too strong and he keeps walking to examine the brick manor house.
This small brick manor house is overgrown with thick sheets of gray-green ivy. The roof sags ominously, and the front door hangs askew. Barret can see right away that the house is unstable - any time spent within would be a risk. A glance through the front doorway shows nothing of note; no doubt looters have long ago pilfered anything worthwhile.
Barret heads straight to the prison itself after finding nothing of note.
Lor-Sinn follows cautiously, sniffing at the humid air and glancing at the wall, trying to find the spot where the professor found his demise. Is that stone splattered with blood or is that just some lichen growing on it...? Mindful of the warnings in the journal, she closes her eyes for a moment, trying to sense any malefic auras.
Gur follows Barret towards the prison. Resting his axe on his shoulder as he prepares for anything.
Raphael enters following the others his bow at the ready. He tries to keep aware of his surroundings but a spiderweb breaks across his face and he has a moment. Now Raphael wasn't afraid of spiders they just freaked him out all those legs and eyes, a perfectly normal reaction.
After regaining his composure and a quick glance to make sure no one saw. He continues onto the prison grounds.
Lor-Sinn notices nothing evil in the vicinity of the front of the church, and Raphael notices even less as you continue towards the large central structure of the prison.
This two-story building looms in the center of the prison grounds. Ivy and moss cling tenaciously to the walls, while above the wooden shingles of the roof are often missing entirely, exposing the wooden rafters of the upper structure to the sky. Here and there, leering stone gargoyles perch on the eaves, once functioning as drainspouts and decorations but now seeming almost to serve a more ominous role of sentinels. Many of these stone decorations have crumbled away and lie in ruined piles on the soggy ground below.
Windows in the building's facade are narrow and blocked by grills of rusty iron bars. Stone columns support a slumping wooden balcony over the building's wooden front doors, both of which hang askew and reveal dark glimpses of chambers within.
Gur focuses on checking around the prison, walking along the left hand side till he comes back to the entrance... or hits a problem.
Gur sees little, save for a crumbling foundation and the obvious wearing of time and overgrown vegetation.