Dmitri frowns at the sight of the girl's raven. "Well, it's clear that ol' nut certainly did what he said," the cleric states.
Dashil makes a wry face: she DEFINITELY doesn't think of Kendra as a child. Goddess, she looks adorable when she blushes like that... Doing her best to push those thoughts away (again), she considers the young woman's question.
"I doubt I'll stop being forthright! Drink less. Pray more. I haven't observed a dawn ritual in years, which is pretty bad, really. Going to do one tomorrow. And there's nothing wrong with curiosity; probably runs in your family - your father can't have been much older than you when I first met him. Although he never apologised for asking questions, so you didn't get that from him..."
Talking about the Professor is probably not on, she realises awkwardly. She clears her throat to cover the moment.
"So, now you know my secret." One of them, anyway. There are some that she'd very much resist sharing. Time to deflect some of the attention. "But what were you doing up so late? Are you having trouble sleeping?"
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Dashil winces as the claws dig into her shoulder, but doesn't make a sound as they pierce her skin - afraid to disrupt the ritual, she instead bites down on her lip, drawing a thin trickle of blood which runs down her chin.
As the weight of the presence leaves, and things return to whatever passes for normal around here, Dashil realises that she's shivering almost uncontrollably - her shirt is damp with perspiration, sticking to her skin. Setting the planchette aside, she carefully stands up, wrapping her arms around herself. Just as carefully, she takes in a few deep breaths of air.
"That could have gone worse" is her only comment. Despite the claws, she didn't get the feeling that it was hostile - and it didn't try to possess her. Still, it's never a comfortable experience. She looks at the pitiful corpse that Wakati has found. "Poor bird. Maybe I should go back and kick Antrellus' backside." She shivers again. Even the thought of that sort of exertion is tiring. She looks around. "OK, what now? Do we tell Lereia, or do we just give this thing a proper burial, right quickly?"
Her strength is returning slowly. She turns to Radag. "If you're ever haunted by a spectral chicken, let me know. I'll sell tickets. It could be the show of the year."
"Har, har, Radag gives a sarcastic laugh "You best wipe that blood from your chin before someone mistakes you for a vampire."
Radag puts his hands together, the start of a slow clap. "By Pharasma's tears, well done. You just prooved birds have souls. Thank you for that. Now I can't eat fowl ever again for fear of it haunting me."
Brogol turns from his duty on watch as Wakati pulls the raven from the fountain, and as Eronel's corpse is unwrapped, all thoughts of danger slip from Brogol's mind. "Hnng. Yer right, Dmitri. Tha old nutter did do it. He meybe more dangerous than we thought."
A confused expression crosses Wakati’s face upon hearing Dmitiri’s comment. ”No, no, I don’t have good eyes. Not since….” He suddenly trails off, lost in thought. After a moment, his attention snaps back to reality. ”What I have is patience. Getting results just takes time.”
He gently unwraps the corpse of the bird, and holds it up for the others to examine. ”I do not believe you have to fear all fowl, Mr. Irefist. This particular bird had a bond … apparently a rather strong bond … with the little girl. That is why the spirit decided to manifest. Avoid eating anyone’s pet, and you should be fine.” Radag's sarcasm seems to be lost on the elf.
”I believe we should tell the little girl what we found. Having proof of the fate of her pet should allow her to begin to move on from the loss. Without the proof, she could have doubts, and hold on to a false hope that the bird will return. That, in turn, could supply enough energy for the haunt to linger, and possibly even re-manifest. I suggest we promptly head to the girl’s house and provide an ending to this grim event.”
Dashil's too weary to retort to Radag's jibe, she realises. Confining herself to an eye roll, she nevertheless wipes away the blood on her chin, before re-fastening the wooden holy symbol around her neck. This takes longer than it should: her hands and fingers feel leaden. With a scowl, she concentrates on stopping them from trembling.
She nods at Wakati's remarks and his suggested course of action. "Makes sense. Brogol, you seemed to make the right impression on her; you want to do the talking? Oh, and maybe ask about that skipping rhyme - although perhaps now isn't the best time..." she trails off.
Aduard coughs politely, and hands a clean handkerchief to Dashil
"If we are to see my client about prosecuting this villain Antrellus for his crimes, I would like to be present. I might have been simply trying to help the girl, but once my help is offered I do try to see it through."
"Yes, to the little girl's house, let's get this over with already so we can tend to the pressing matter of the late professor's murder. Which way was is it?"
Looking at the little bird in Wakati's hands, its head twisted around, Brogol feels a twinge of sadness for Lereiria. Lost in his thoughts, he barely registers his name when Dashil asks him about speaking with the girl, and when it hits him that someone wants him to talk with her, a panic rises in his chest. No! There's surely more eloquent speakers here! Even Radag!
Thankfully, Aduard steps in. "Aye'd, Aye'd only talked ta her 'cause no one else was around. Aye'm surprised she wanted ta talk ta me at all. Aye'm happy fer someone else ta do tha consoling."
Gathering his cloak around him, Brogol set's off down the road towards the center of town. "Aye'm sure someone can point us ta tha girl's house."
With a nod of thanks, Dashil accepts the handkerchief from Aduard, before addressing Brogol's concerns.
"I know where she lives. We escorted her back last night."
Dashil looks at the young half-orc, steadily. "It's best if it's you that talks to her, kid. I saw her as a source of information; Aduard here sees her as a client - or a potential threat, I can't decide - but saw her as a . She'll respond to that. After all, she already did. Trust your instincts; they're pretty good."
Turning, she walks toward the girl's house. "This way."
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Brogol looks to the ground and shifts a little under Dashil's gaze, foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with the assimar's attention. "No, Aye, uh, just remembered wha it was like ta be a kid, and be fascinated by things tha look different, an' I played off it. But... thank yer for tha compliment."
At Lereira's house, the apprentice steps forward and bangs thrice on the door. When it opens, , Brogol drops to a knee, to be at Lereira's height. "Hello, Junior Monster Hunter. Aye hope yer staying safe." Tipping his hood back, Brogol gives the girl a crooked smile, all pointed teeth and a little warmth. "Aye'm afraid Aye've got some bad news fer yer. We found yer friend..."
Lereia's face brightens when Brogol appears, although it appears that the girl has spent the night crying. She looks at the half-orc, her eyes full of hope. "You found Eronel? Where is he?"
"Aye'm sorry ta have ta tell yer, but yer friend has gone on ta tha next world. He were a good friend Aye'm sure. Hnng. We've got him here wit us. Would you like ta say goodbye? Eronel would've liked tha, Aye'm sure.
Throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, the meaning is clear on Brogol's homely face. Help! I'm no grief counselor!
Probably should have lied.. Radag is some 50 meters away, arms folded and not interested in the exchange.
Dmitri shoulders his way to Brogol's side, hoping to help. "We're sorry that we can't help him, but he's restin' peacefully now. If ya like, we can help ya bury him," the cleric states, looking pained at having to deliver the news to such a young child.
Wakati lifts the damp bundle up, covering the body of the raven so the girl can't see it yet. He starts to say something, but then freezes in place. No words come to him. He's felt the grief of loss before, but cannot find a way to express that to these others. He bows his head, hiding the look of shame on his face, waiting to take his cue from the little girl.
.....pathetic....wasted emotion over an animal....mute in the face of what? SADNESS!!....weak.....
Aduard also crowds in around the girl, then backs away, and simply lays a hand on Brogol's shoulder for support.
Well said, Stockl. he says quietly, in a small voice, for the nervous man in front of him.
In a situation like this, too many voices will overwhelm her. Stockl has her trust. He's the one who needs to talk. Dashil's right - he has the instincts, but he lacks the confidence.
Speaking softly, Brogol looks at the girl with what he hopes is a compassionate look. "Master Zorya is right, Lereira. He's a priest o tha Accidental God, an I'm sure we can send yer friend ta tha afterlife wit tha honor an love he deserves."
Kneeling uncomfortably for a moment more, Brogol starts to get up when an idea occurs to him. A lie in the service of comfort is better than a hard truth. Brogol's not sure where the thought comes from - surely the Doctor would disagree.
"Yer was right ta go ta the fountain ta look fer yer friend. We saw him last night, back from beyond. Eronal wanted us ta give you a message. He says he's sorry tha he had ta leave yer, an tha he's happy where he is. There's clear blue skies there an plenty o leafy trees ta rest in, an swarms o fat bugs ta eat. An if yer good, real good, he looks forward ta seeing yer there some day in tha future."
"Now, let's get yer friend a proper goodbye. We've got him all wrapped fer tha funeral. It will make yer feel good ta say goodbye, now tha you know yer see yer friend again."
Dashil makes a wry face: she DEFINITELY doesn't think of Kendra as a child. Goddess, she looks adorable when she blushes like that... Doing her best to push those thoughts away (again), she considers the young woman's question.
"I doubt I'll stop being forthright! Drink less. Pray more. I haven't observed a dawn ritual in years, which is pretty bad, really. Going to do one tomorrow. And there's nothing wrong with curiosity; probably runs in your family - your father can't have been much older than you when I first met him. Although he never apologised for asking questions, so you didn't get that from him..."
Talking about the Professor is probably not on, she realises awkwardly. She clears her throat to cover the moment.
"So, now you know my secret." One of them, anyway. There are some that she'd very much resist sharing. Time to deflect some of the attention. "But what were you doing up so late? Are you having trouble sleeping?"
Kendra runs a hand through her hair. "Goddess, yes. I haven't slept well since my father's... passing. I understand what you're feeling, Dashil. Every morning, I wake up and walk downstairs, expecting him to be reading in the study. It will take me a while to get used to that, I suppose."
Lereia looks from Eronel's body to Brogol and then back to Eronel, her large grey eyes filling with tears. "Did crazy old Antrellus do this?"
Now! Strike now! thinks Aduard, then wrestles down old instincts as he waits for Brogol.
Brogol, closer in age to the girl than any of his companions, stares at Leriea for a long few seconds. Fool! She cares not for platitudes or comfort, and rightly so. This is not the world to coddle little girls - or little boys. No one coddled you, especially the Doctor, and you're better for it - rip the bandage off!
"Aye'm afraid so, little one." Sighing, the apprentice rubs his eyes, suddenly tired. Why must he navigate this girl's emotional landscape? Where's the dammned Doctor? He'd of... what? Drug that damnable lunatic here to apologize? No, that could just escalate things... "Look here, little one, right here, a' my eyes, an' know this. Yer not ta go anywhere near tha crazy old man, yer understand? He thinks he sees things come ta get him, an a desperate man'll do dangerous things. Do yer understand me?"
She clears her throat, suddenly nervous. What if she says it wrong? What if she says it right, but it comes out wrong? The Hells with it. "OK. Kendra. Most people say 'let me know if I can do anything' and don't mean it. I'm not most people. Your father is the only person who could have dragged me back to Ustalav and got me to stay here for a month. I really would do anything - anything at all - for him; I may have saved his life when we first met, but he saved me constantly, kept me sane - OK-" she gives a quick, self-conscious glance at the cuts on her arms - "mostly sane, but that's not the point."
What was the point? Oh yes. "So please, please don't feel you have to put on this brave face. I'm here to help - tell me what I can do. Please."
This is the first time Dashil has thought - really thought - about anyone other than herself for quite some time. Hell of a revelation to have at Goddess knows what time in the morning...
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Dashil watches approvingly as Brogol talks with Lereia. She's impressed. She shakes her head at what the poor girl's going through. Only in Ustalav would your pet be murdered by a madman convinced he's being stalked by the King in Yellow.
Adopting Brogol's direct way of speech, she addresses Lereia. "I'm guessing you want all sorts of bad things to happen to Antrellus right now. Revenge. And I can do that. I'm an avenging angel. I've done things I'm not going to tell you about. But none of what I can do will bring Eronel back, will it? So please, don't think about revenge."
Hypocrite! Is that what you'll say when you find whoever killed Petros?!
*cough* "Revenge is certainly an option. Another is Justice. If we bring Antrellus before the Council and explain what has happened, surely they'll see he is too dangerous to be allowed to run free. I understand there are excellent lunatic asylums in Carrion Hill."
"We can go to them right now, if you like."
'What could they still be going on about?! '
'Hey, we found your dead bird in the fountain. '
'Oh no! That's terrible news!'
'Yep. We communed with its dead bones and everything'
'Wow, that's awful too. You're weird. '
'Yep. Well now we should get going, there's an evil cult on loose and its killing our friends and colleagues and if we don't stop them soon he could kill you too.'
Radag pinches a nostril shut and blows snot clear of the other.
Brogol flinches when Radag blows his booger clear. Stabby Coleman used to do that, Brogol thinks, glad that he isn't still dependent on the Dockside Stranglers for food and friendship. Until Angry Marga took offense to him blowing a particularly slimy and noxious bit of snot onto her boot.
"Flattened his nose so completely he needed tweezers ta pick it," Brogol says, surprising himself by finishing the thought aloud. "Hnng. Anyways, do yer understand, Lereia?"
Lereia nods, fighting back tears. "Thank you for doing this. I'll give him a funeral, but I don't think it will be enough. Last night, I heard Eronel talking to me. He doesn't want to be remembered. He wants revenge. Just make sure he doesn't hurt anybody else, okay?"
Dmitri nods. "Revenge won't make him rest easy, but your love will. Remember him here," the cleric says, patting his chest, "an' he'll sleep peacefully."
Dashil frowns. "Wait, what? Lereia, how did he talk to you? How do you know it was him? Hold it. Back up. Did he use to talk to you when he was alive?"
The blue-haired woman is concerned: murmuring an apology, she leans closer and looks deeply at Lereia, trying to spot whatever is out of place: the slightest anomaly that might indicate possession, or madness, or anything to suggest that the little girl has had contact with something she shouldn't - or that something has had contact with her...
Even if she doesn't see anything, she whispers a prayer to her Goddess and lays a hand briefly on Lereia's head. "May the Dawnflower keep you safe, little one."
Fear crawls up Brogol's spine when Lereia mentions Eronal talking to her, the half-human's thoughts mirroring Dashil's questions. Talking to her? How? Is the girl cursed, and not the fountain? Did she go back to the fountain at some point?
Still kneeling at her level, Brogol keeps his eyes on the girl as she answers the questions. "Listen ta Miss Masozi, little one. An' let me ask yer - where did Eronel talk ta yer, as well?"
Sighing, Brogol rises to his feet, unconsciously placing his large green hand on the girl's shoulder, protectivley. "An' Master Zorya is correct, Lereia. Yer need ta remember yer friend wit love, an' not anger o' vengeance on yer mind. There's no happiness down tha' road."
...revenge...the sweet release of vengeance upon the deserving....
Wakati grows uncomfortable with the conversation. Talk of a ghost raven seeking revenge stirs up urgings in Wakati's unconscious. He remains silent, as he does not know what would come out of his mouth if he were to speak. He gently lays the body of the raven in the girl's hands, then backs away.
Aduard sighs regretfully as Dashil starts praying over the girl. Apologetically he slips past the knot of his friends and Lereia, towards the very lintel of the house's threshold.
"Hello?" he calls out, into the house "Are Lereia's parents home? We need to talk."
[ooc]As a side note, you don't detect any signs of possession or madness or lying. Lereia believes that Eronel requires some form of revenge or forgiveness from Lereia towards Antrellus to rest more easily, like a direct apology.
Lereia shakes her head. "He's a raven. Of course he talks. He came to my sill last night and all he said was revenge, revenge, revenge. I told my parents, but they don't believe me."
A barrel-chested peasant man comes to the door to speak with Aduard. "I'm her father. What has she gotten up to this time?"
"May we come in, sir. I'm afraid we need to talk, and I'd rather not do it with all and sundry looking on." he looks at the girl, and then back, speaking more quietly "In point of fact she hasn't done anything. It's more what we suspect might be done to..." he pauses "Inside first. This is not something for the neighbours."
Seeing Aduard going into the house Radag shouts, "Come get me when you're done screwing around!" He turns and heads toward the sheriff's office.
As Kendra touches her arm, Dashil's stomach is suddenly full of butterflies - and they're rapidly spreading. She takes a deep breath to steady herself, but the butterflies are unaffected. Get. A. Grip. Dashil admonishes herself firmly. The Professor was her mentor. She has no business messing around with his daughter. "Yes. Sleep is a good idea, particularly if I want to get up for dawn prayer tomorrow."
She hesitates briefly, wanting to say more, but not wanting to, either. Pause. "You're welcome to join me for dawn prayer - if you'd like. I mean, I know it's not a Pharasmin tradition, but..." Goddess. She's babbling like a teenager. Time to just leave, already - while she still has a scrap of dignity.
"Well. Good night."
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
As Aduard draws the attention of Lereia's parents, Dashil is nonplussed. This is Ustalav. If Lereia's parents find out that their daughter has been involved - wittingly or otherwise - with the undead, they'll likely burn her at the stake. What is he playing at? She follows him in, hoping he doesn't say anything that will alarm the superstitious peasants.
Dashil has a low opinion of the Ustalavic citizenry.
You find Sheriff Caeller inside the town jail, a building of modest size. You suspect that it's always been enough to handle the sort of problems a town like Ravengro would experience: drunks, vandals, and other minor thugs. The sheriff looks especially haggard, with bags under his eyes and a healthy growth of 5 o'clock shadow. He takes a cup of coffee from one of the deputies, a slightly husky young man the others call Trestleblade.
"You're one of Lorrimor's friends, right?" the sheriff asks. "Thanks for your help with that business yesterday."
Radag enters the jailhouse almost walking backwards as he rubbernecks to watch the hustle and bustle of the locals and maybe an elfen lass that caught his eye, "What? Oh right! The bloody graffiti, glad I could do some good for the local authority for a change." Radag pauses a moment, looking around the place as he walks up to Caeller. "Say, what's all the commotion in town for? I imagine that many people have got you working extra hard. How's anyone to expect a outfit like this to keep the peace? Color me impressed that you've found a way."
Aduard finds himself grinding his teeth at the father's tone.
"Nothing is wrong with her. Far from it - I suspect she has great Talent. Lereia is being courted by something trying to lead her down a Dark Path. We haven't managed to identify it completely, and your girl has done a superb job of fighting it off."
He holds up a hand to calm the father down, unconsciously cocking his head a little to the side.
"You have my congratulations, by the way. In my experience most of those who are tempted succumb. You've obviously raised a virtuous and stong-willed girl."
Returning his head to the straight he continues.
"Things like this might be Dark, but they're seldom stupid. She's not an easy target, and has no power at the moment. It must have a reason, and I suspect it has determined Lereia's Talent warrants such effort."
"She needs training. If she is not to be tempted down the Dark Path, then someone on the Path of Light needs to help her. I'd suggest an Arcanist, but there are priesthoods that could work."
Aduard braces himself
Dashil shakes her head and glares at Aduard: so this is when he chooses to start telling the truth? Great.
As he finishes his little spiel, she does her best to smile at the father "Trust a wizard to overcomplicate things! The fact is, that we think something might be targeting Lereiea - not because of anything she's done," she adds hastily. "We think we've dealt with the worst of it, but I'd like to drop by now and then to check that everything's ok. That won't be a problem, will it?" She fixes him with - not quite a glare - let's say a strong look. Aduard gets her glare: you and I need to have a long talk, some time soon.
Aduard glares right back, though his glower is nowhere near as impressive.
I want her to get help. Dashil wants to be here if she needs to be put down.
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As Dashil and Aduard stare each other down, Brogol steps between them, looking to Andrei, but purposely putting his body between Ms. Maxozi and the Bookman, trying to block them from the other's glare. The words come easily enough, but they aren't the right words. Your daughter may be cursed. Don't think for a second you can burn her at the stake, or whatever passes for good ole timey religion in these parts. Also, this ghost may be capable of moving about on its own, so watch yourself.
Sighing, Brogol drops his gaze to the ground. "Hnng."
Conflict with those who are not evil is pointless: in so far as is possible, live at peace with those around you.
The blue-haired, cold-skinned woman blinks. She knows better than this. Or she should, anyway, else her prayers this morning were in vain (although Kendra didn't appear, despite the invitation, and she's not sure why; maybe she wasn't interested, maybe it was too early in the morning, maybe she doesn't like me stopitstopitstopit - she admonishes herself).
Sighing inwardly, Dashil concedes the point. She has no reason to distrust Aduard, beyond a general unease - and the fact that he clearly had something to hide (why did he grab the Professor's journal? What was he afraid to find?) - but he has been a useful and (as far as she can tell, which is pretty far) willing ally. He's certainly keen on finding out and avenging whatever happened to Petros, which is a big plus in her ledger. OK, so he's hiding something - but her past doesn't exactly withstand scrutiny, either.
Dashil turns back to Lereia's father. "You can see we're not entirely sure what's going on. Your daughter is a victim of some haunt; Aduard here seems to think that she may have been targeted because she has gifts in that direction. I wouldn't know about that - but for what it's worth, Aduard's been right on a lot of things so far. You could do worse than let him talk to her for a bit."
She hopes fervently that the wooden symbol of the Dawnflower round her neck will at least help persuade Andrei that they're the good guys. Sometimes she needs to be reminded of that herself.
Bookman blinks a little as the hostility from Dashil seems to vanish - leaving only Andrei's to cloud the room.
"Uh..." he pauses, looks at Brogol and then back to Andrei, "Uh, I didn't mean... I'm not..."
He coughs and backtracks a little
"Perhaps I'm wrong. I think she has a Talent for magic." he says the word quietly, then raises his volume again as he continues "I can test for that, if you like. Then we'd know. If she doesn't have a Talent, then I'm wrong, and everything is a coincidence."
"I hope I am wrong." he confides "Then she can go back to whatever life it is village girls have around here."
Unspoken is the look on his face that says how unlikely that is
"If I'm not then you have a filial duty to see she gets proper training."
Dmitri nods emphatically. "They're not foolin' ya," he adds.
"I'm looking to get into the prison. Lookin for cultists and the wicked soul that corrupted my late friend's life. I heard there's a guard on watch up there, but I'm asking permission to look for signs of the Whispering Way. Normally I'm a fan of the saying 'easier to ask for forgiveness...' but the others are happy to fall on any excuse that keeps them from doing what's needed. The more time we waste poking around town, the more likely we'll fall into trouble here, or settle in, and more importantly the further these cultists might be getting away from me. Neither of us wants any of that to happen, so what do you say?"
Dashil rolls her eyes, before looking meaningfully at Aduard: see, THIS is why we don't tell the truth to dumb Ustalavic peasants - they can't handle it.
Doing her best to undo the damage, she stares Andrei down. Time to lie, again. It's in a good cause, though, she hastily reassures herself. "Did I not just say that we think she's being targeted by something? That it's not her fault? I serve the Dawnflower - do you think I'd tolerate witchcraft?"
The Aasimar glosses over the fact that it's barely an hour since she herself was involved in communing with the dead - an activity that would be classed as 'witchcraft' by many. She hopes Aduard at least has the wit not to point that out in this fool's hearing.
Brogol snorts, and then dips his head, looking to the ground. That tone - even when Dashil's being diplomatic, she's quick to show her impatience. Not that I would do any better.
"Yep, its not yer girl's fault, an' she's no witch - just a girl tha' got in the sights o' a spirit. Aye think we sent it on peacefully, but just in case - keep an eye on her, an' if the spirit is back, we'll take care o' it. But yer not ta interfere - yer understand?"
Not sure what else there is to be done, Brogol stands for a moment, shifting uncomfortably in his purple cloak. Then another thought occurs to him. "Yer haven't seen anything unusual around, have yer?"
Being uncomfortable with human relationships, especially human familial relationships, Wakati stays quiet and observes the conversation between Aduard, Dashil, and the girl's father.
We've recovered the body of the bird. Lay it to rest and the spirit should leave. Why does he think the girl has any magical ability?