This book is Professor Lorrimor's journal. Most of the entries prove to be quite bland, consisting of the day-to-day happenings of a small town. There are several entries that have been circled, presumably by the professor. Of important note is the latest one, which was written on the same day of his death.
Ten Years Ago:
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.
Two Months Ago:
It is as I had feared. The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be?
One Month Ago:
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.
Twenty Days Ago:
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. Everyone. The Temple of Pharasma must have such a list.
Eighteen Days Ago:
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.
Seventeen Days Ago:
Tomorrow evening I return to the prison. It is imperative the Way does not finish. 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
organization of necromancers that has been active in the
Inner Sea region for thousands of years.
seek alliances with undead creatures, or are themselves
undead. The Whispering Way’s most notorious member
was Tar-Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant, although the
society itself has existed much longer than even that
mighty necromancer.
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.
to discern, but chief among the Whispering Way’s goals are
discovering formulae for creating liches and engineering
the release of the Whispering Tyrant. Agents often travel
to remote sites or areas plagued by notorious haunts
or undead menaces to perform f ield research or even to
capture unique monsters. Their symbol is a gagged skull,
and those who learn too many of the Way’s secrets are
often murdered, and their mouths mutilated to prevent
their bodies from divulging secrets via speak with dead.
Has anyone ever heard of the Whispering Way before?
They are an old, old order of Necromancers: Tar-Baphon was once one of them. Traders in Undeath, they are to be both feared and reviled. If Professor Lorrimor fell afoul of them...I find myself questioning the nature and manner of his death.
Zazaria looks squarely at Asenath whilst delivering this diatribe: although her tone is stern, her eyes are kind as she gazes at the Dhampir girl, as if she wishes to take the sting out of her condemnation, or somehow exclude Asenath from her general comments on Undeath.
Kendra puts a hand to her mouth to stifle a gasp. I had wondered; many of the townsfolk had of course, but...do you think this group could have some part in my father's death?
Her eyes turn to one wall of the house, as if she could see through it. And...Harrowstone....that vile place. I asked him to avoid that place, but he always discounted the dangers.
Certainly your father suspected the Way of some goal or design involving Harrowstone. And certainly he feared them, and it. Perhaps we should learn more of this Harrowstone. Kendra?
As her companions discuss the Whispering Way, Asenath takes a greater interest in the book she is reading.
Kendra nods and her pretty face takes on a look of distaste. She tells you what she knows of the prison.
partially destroyed by a f ire in 4661, the building has
stood vacant ever since. The locals suspect that it’s
haunted, and don’t enjoy speaking of the place.
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 prison’s underground eastern wing, but
left most of the stone structure above relatively intact.
The prison’s warden perished in the f ire, along with his
wife, although no one knows why she was in the prison
when the f ire 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.
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 f ire 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 conf lagration. It was only through the self-
sacrif ice 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.
particularly notorious criminals had recently arrived at
the prison. While the commonly held belief is that the
tragic f ire began accidentally after the riot began, in fact
the prisoners had already seized control of the dungeon
and had been in command of the lower level for several
hours before the f ire. Warden Hawkran triggered a
deadfall to seal the rioting prisoners in the lower level,
but in so doing trapped himself and nearly two dozen
guards. The prisoners were in the process of escaping
when the panicked guards accidentally started the f ire in
a desperate attempt to end the riot.
Kendra looks sorry that she doesn't know more. There are a few places that may have more information within the town. Of course, my father kept an extensive libraby here, but there's also the Town Hall, the Temple of Pharasma, and the Unfurling Scroll, which is what passes for an arcane institution here in town.
"We could split up. Maybe Crag and Gerion go the Town Hall, while Zazaria heads to the temple? I am happy to stay here and begin sifting through the Professor's library for further information?"
I'm not certain splitting up is a good idea...if agents of the Way are in town, then we are safer together, rather than alone.
I would rather spend time researching these tomes.
"I would rather spend time researching these tomes," Asenath says, looking at the books on the table, "I will join you."
A month should give me time to unearth something of interest.
We have a month Zazaria replies in a gentle voice, clearly rather amused. I would like to check this false crypt Professor Lorrimor mentioned, too. If there are items of use there, we must secure them.
I'll be watching you carefully, Asenath. There will be bleak truths and vile falsehoods in these tomes you wish to read. I will not have you traversing such dark paths unguarded.
What say the rest of you? Gerrion, will you help? She smiles wryly. Or are you all a-lather to read as well? Crag?
I can't sit around forever
I'm in
Before Kendra leaves to make preparations for her new visitors, she offers her services. She's a diviner, and has some small measure of magical aptitude. She can read different languages, including magic, discover if something is magical, and even determine the properties of such an item. She also advises the would-be explorers.
The Temple of Pharasma may not take lightly to our walking about the Restlands and looking through crypts. If they find out that you did so without their prior consent, they may take issue with it. We passed the temple on the way from the Restlands; it is on the opposite side of the river from the main part of town. Father Grimburrow is there most of the time, but his acolytes are there if not.
Asenath looks at the tomes, and is clearly thinking of the Professor's library, before letting a long sigh. "I will join you in the investigations." She gives Zazaria a quick, cryptic look.
Maybe we will get to Harrowstone more swiftly if I accompany them.
"Maybe we will get to Harrowstone more swiftly if I accompany you?"
What's her hurry? What little we know makes Harrowstone a place of ill-omen.
One thing at a time, perhaps. Should we consult Father Grimburrow, Kendra?
Kendra nods. I would certainly suggest it; the people of Ravengro aren't exactly the trusting sort, so whatever you can have out in the open is probably best.
Then let us begin with him, then.
Zazaria draws herself erect, and looks around the room, her plain face set and her eyes hard.
We are not friends - or even allies - but we are, or were, all good friends of Petros Lorrimor. If, as I fear, he has fallen victim to foul play at the hands of the Whispering Way, he must be avenged and they must be thwarted in their dark design. I will attempt this - alone if I have to - but I would rather have strong hands and sharp minds alongside me. I hope that we will do this for our friend together.
The carriage is long gone, but Kendra advises that the majority of their small town is writhing easy walking distance of the house. After a short walk, the traditionally gothic temple can be seen in the distance, Its eastern facade displaying an intricate stained-glass mural depicting what could only be Pharasma judging a nobleman of high station.
The heavy wooden doors are unlocked and swing wide and easy on well cared for hinges. The entrance vestibule is wide and well adorned with images of the goddess, but it eerily silent until a young acolyte scurries forth from the shadows.
Welcome to the temple of Pharasma. May I help you?
As they near the temple, Asenath becomes more hesitant in her steps and begins to lag behind. Her face is an emotionless mask, but there is fear in her eyes.
The amulet pulses sluggishly, its malignant light wanes as it becomes a muted shade of red.
At the threshold of the temple, she pauses and after a moment of obvious internal struggle -- No, no, the water burns us... -- she takes a determined step forward.
Her usual cynical manner fades from her face, and she suddenly looks younger and yet tired.
The amulet throbs intermittently. Peaceful. Resting eternal.
"They are quiet in here. Resting eternal."
Zazaria looks at her companions, one by one. This is, perhaps, her place to speak, but she seems suddenly reluctant.
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Gerion pushes his way into the doorway meaning that the acolyte will have difficulty dislodging him. "Hail and well met friend! Me and my fr... associates were wondering if we could be allowed admittance to the temple" He subtly increases his proximity to the acolyte turning the full force of his charm on (it/he/her).
The acolyte steps back quickly as you rush in, then composes himself and moves to the side. Of course; the temple is open to any. Please just stay in the main areas and show your devotions peacefully so as not to disturb other devotees.
The professor always tried to convince me temples were like any other place. I still have my reservations.
And why are the other areas off limits?
The young acolyte sputters and backpedals, his hands up in a placating gesture. Why, we of course have nothing to hide, but you must understand that we have our quarters in the back, as well as storage rooms, and the office of Father Grimburrow himself!. The man sets upon you with a stern glare, as if angry that he'd have to explain himself to the likes of you.
Now, is there anything else I can help you with?. The question is uttered through partially clenched teeth, his aggravation evident.
Please, Brother, forgive my friends: we have all suffered a recent loss, as perhaps you know. May we speak with Father Grimburrow?
Pharasma, preserve me from the follies of others.
Asenath smiles, "Their eyes are closed, but they are watching us." She reaches out to touch the walls. "So serene."
The young acolyte's venomous gaze lingers on Gerion for a moment before he turns to Zazaria. At hearing her words, the man, visage turns neutral, then even accommodating. He nods quickly. Of course, miss. Let me go and get him for you
A few minutes later, the elderly Father Grimburrow ambles out of one of those locked back doors. He smiles as he comes close. I figured it had to be you, when Samuel said an odd troupe of strangers had arrived. My apologies; he is young and brash, but will make a fine representative of our Lady some day. Now, what brings you here to the temple of Pharasma? Do you have need of healing?
"No need for healing at the moment good Father. How do you make them sleep? So serene, and still watching us. So quiet, and still so attentive." Asenath caresses the stone of the wall.
The father furrows his brows slightly as he notices the target of Asenath's observations. Perhaps they', like us, await their final judgement in our lady's court, you miss. If so, then they're much more patient than many of us. If you have no need of healing, then what else can we help you with?
Asenath appears to really notice Father Grimburrow for the first time, regarding him silently for a moment with her pale eyes. "Yes, patient," she murmurs, before saying, "We would like access to the Restlands. We are concerned that there maybe reprisals for our actions with the townsfolk during the Professor's funeral, or that there maybe those who are interested in doing harm to his resting place while he awaits the Lady. Our concerns are not just local, but maybe enemies from the Professor's past. Is it possible to stand vigil over his grave so that we maybe, not only for ourselves but also for Kendra, my dear friend, sure that nothing foul will befall our beloved friend?"
It is true, Father Grimburrow, that the Professor had enemies: we fear they caused his death. Thus we ask your forbearance to stand vigil over our friend.
Father Grimburrow clears his throat as he looks away, obviously covering for an automated response that may have been less than favorable. He shakes his head slowly. I'm afraid such a thing is not possible. As you witnessed before in the Restlands, this town is full of frightened people that see you only as outsiders. We can't risk any harm befalling you, or the people of this town over a misunderstanding. If you'd like, I can send an acolyte to check on the site a few times a day until you can be comfortable. Will that suffice?
"We have read the Professor's journal. There are evils he was concerned about. If we are even remiss in our vigilance just once it may endanger all of us. Why would the Professor ask us to stay in Ravengro? Petros is intending on using us for some purpose. The clues may start with an interest in his abandoned vessel. Why take a risk? Use us. The church's resources remain available and you can take the credit for our work or cut us loose for our failures. We share a common goal, Father." Asenath stares at the wall and smiles.
And I must add, Father - in the name of Her whose Faith we share - that we mean no harm here, but that this matter may prove vital: not just for the people of Ravengro, but of all who serve and love the Lady of Graves.
Sorry just read that bit on no retries...wasted a halfway decent roll (Sigh)