Aduard breathes in quickly, then huffs in frustration. "There's nothing I can do, now. Well. Stockl is right - we need to bury him, but not here. Most undead either rise near instantly or take hours. I suspect we have at least until sunset to get our companion to holy ground. I suspect the sherrif might want to investigate the death as well." Aduard has a bitter look on his face, and a cynical tone in his voice "We were warned this place was dangerous, and now we've lost someone. If we intend to investigate any more, then this is likely to be our only chance."
"Ms Masozi, take what you need and let's move on, quickly. If someone - or something - was responsible for the lad's death then I'd like to find them now."
Brogol stands and fidgets while Dashil goes through the dead man's possessions, and Radag goes through the motions. Sighing the young man moves over to the stage and starts looking around, checking for the purpose of this room. Chapel? Playhouse?
Perhaps the apprentice is more shaken up by Dmitri's death than he lets on. Brogol has trouble concentrating on the task at hand, finding his mind wandering to thoughts of his mentor, and hoping that the Doctor's fate has been better than Dmitri and the professors'.
Dashil looks up in a mix of weariness and bafflement. "No holy water. What sort of priest doesn't carry holy water...? Argh. Never mind. Let's just get the frack out of here before we attract more attention."
Hefting the late priest's body with a slight grunt, Dashil lifts the corpse over her shoulders and heads for the exit.
Mental note: find holy water. Frickin great.
"A dead one, apparently, Masozi." Aduard looks to the others [b]"So, we're going then?
Aduard follows Stockl while the others talk "Let's try to stay together."
Radag turns his head and spits, then traces a spiral over his heart, "All that live, must face her judgement" he mutters.
" What's this about holy water? I've got 2 flasks here." Radag says standing upright and pulling out his vials of holy water.
The group gathers up Dmitri's remains and makes the grim march back into town. The party encounters no resistance as they leave. As you reach the foot of the hill, a quick glance back over your shoulders shows a brief ray of sunlight break through the clouds and illuminate the prison, as if it were mocking your sorrow.
The Restlands being on the opposite side of town from the prison, the group decides to stop at the Lorrimor house for a brief rest and a quick check on Wakati. After explaining what happened and how Dmitri met his fate, Kendra looks crestfallen.
"I wish I'd never heard of that thrice damned prison. It's been nothing but trouble. I'm sorry things have come to this. If you like, I can stop by the church and make arrangements with Father Grimburrow. We can meet you up at the Restlands, and lay your friend to rest."
"Probably for the best" nods Aduard.
"Another man falls to the fate we all must share in time. If you need me, I'll be at the tavern."
Brogol nods to Kendra. "We'll see yer at tha Restlands then. Except fer Master Irefist, apparently."
It would probably be improper to carry a greataxe to a funeral, so Brogol leaves it in his room. The apprentice straps his falchion to his back, and putting his cloak over it, looks over his back into the guest room mirror. Satisfied that it doesn't show too much, Brogol makes his way downstairs to the others.
"Whenever yer ready, masters and missuses."
Aduard does not recall the proper ceremonies for a burial for the faithful of Cayden Cailean, but does recall that a proper wake, with at least one round of drinks by all involved, is appropriate. Radag decides to start that part of the proceedings immediately.
Audard calls out "Hold on a moment, Mr Irefist, Mr Stockl, Ms Lorrimor."
Aduard chants furiously, his hands weaving as if playing cat's cradle. Sweat beads on his forehead. Finally, seven breaths later, he relaxes.
"There. No hurry now, Tar Baphon himself would have trouble raising him while that holds. Mr... Dmitri deserves more than just a hurried hole in the ground. Even if we didn't know him that well, he fought alongside us and was a friend of the Professor's. He deserves a proper funeral..." he stoops to draw out Dmitri's holy symbol "... and that means a wake. A proper one. With his friends."
" What's this about holy water? I've got 2 flasks here." Radag says standing upright and pulling out his vials of holy water.
Dashil raises an eyebrow. "Good stuff to have." Assuming Radag permits, she takes one of the flasks and sprinkles its contents about the room where the knocking haunt was, making the sign of the Dawnflower on each of the doors.
"In the name of the Goddess Sarenrae, depart this place and never return!"
She holds up her holy symbol to each of the four cardinal points: North, South, East and finally West, toward the setting sun. Satisfied, she nods.
"There. That should dispel them. I owe you a flask at some point."
Kendra looks crestfallen.
"I wish I'd never heard of that thrice damned prison. It's been nothing but trouble. I'm sorry things have come to this. If you like, I can stop by the church and make arrangements with Father Grimburrow. We can meet you up at the Restlands, and lay your friend to rest."
Dashil nods. "Thank you Kendra. But I think Radag has the right idea - and Aduard. A Caydenite priest deserves a proper send-off. Too many friends lost now; I'm going to get drunk and reminisce."
She pauses, uncertain for a moment, before plunging ahead. "Tell you what, stick around. I'll see if I can rustle up some stories of your father that are suitable for your young ears..."
"Tell you what, stick around. I'll see if I can rustle up some stories of your father that are suitable for your young ears..."
Aduard snorts "Good L.." he pauses and continues "...er... Idea."
A shudder runs down Brogol's spine as the dwarf disappears, and Brogol stands looking in the mirror still as a statue, waiting to see if it comes back. Eventually he can't take it any more. Out. Now.
Bounding down the steps, Brogol rounds the corner into the foyer, stopping and throwing his cloak off, suddenly very warm.
"Upstairs," he says, panting as the adrenaline fades, "There's a dwarf. Red hair, long scraggly beard. Blacksmith, probably. Touched. No - caressed - tha back o' me head, crying. Then -" Gesticulating wildly with his hands, turning them in circles up to the sky, "poof."
Panting, looking to his companions, it dawns on the boy just how ridiculous he must look. Grabbing his cloak, Brogol throws it back over his shoulders, tone defensive. "It happened."
Radag eyes Brogol with a look that you'd expect of someone who suddenly went crazy.
The look slowly fading as he addresses the group as a whole, "Right... Well if you're all done now I'd like to get that drink and rem-in-isce." Radag draws out the articulation with a sardonic tone. "It won't take long, I didn't know him long."
"I know of an empty tomb." Radag says as the door closes behind him.
Prison
As Dashil finishes pouring the last of the holy water on the doorway, there is a rushing sound, followed by a fading moan. Afterwards, all these door act normally.
================
After discussing details with Kendra, you determine that the funeral itself doesn't cost anything. (The Church of Pharasma performs any funeral for free as a part of their guiding principles. They, of course, willingly accept donations.) A simple wooden coffin will cost 2 sp, with another 2 sp for the gravediggers.
Aduard knows that the worship of Cayden Cailean, although not unheard of, is not terribly common in this area of Ustalav. That, coupled with the fact that you are strangers in this town, suggests that bringing a dead body into a tavern would not be looked on favorably. As such, you determine that either or both options (having a token of the deceased at the wake or bringing alcohol to the corpse (at least 40 oz)) would be acceptable.
Kendra can see that the group is upset. "I will stop by the church to make the arrangements for burial for tomorrow and then I'll catch up with you at the Laughing Demon. It's the least I can do."
=================
The town square is busy with activity, as the townsfolk continue to prepare for the harvest festival. That leaves the Laughing Demon rather empty at the moment. There is a group of old-timers sitting at a corner table playing a game of Towers with a Harrow deck, but the rest of the establishment is empty.
A large, plump man with a big grin on his face hails you from behind the bar.
"Greetings, friends! Come in and pull up a stool. Can I start you off with one of our 'liquid ghosts', or maybe a pint of 'zombie dust'?"
"Mr Stockl, your psychic perceptions are second to none. We should investigate this dwarf more. Can I get you to try to sketch it quickly in my book - or yours - then we're off to join Mister Irefist."
"No, just the regular spirits..." Radag begins to say but stops cold at the unintended pun and shoots a "I dare you to laugh" look at the bartender before starting again, "Whiskey."
Dashil gives Brogol a sympathetic look. "I believe ya, kid. What can I say? Welcome to Ustalav, where even the dead are unhappy. C'mon. Let's go to the tavern."
She does however make a mental note of the details Brogol gave: a crying blacksmith dwarf with red hair. Curious. Something to bear in mind.
Brogol takes his formula book and sits by himself at the wake. Never one to drink, the young man finds it easier - and more enjoyable - to simply work away at a small task in his free moments. This one being, as Master Bookman had suggested, the representation of the dwarf in the mirror.
When his is finished, Brogol, holds the image up to the candlelight, pretty pleased with his results, given his lack of formal training. Though his charcoal pencil won't capture the dwarf's brilliant red hair. Brogol draws an arrow next to the dwarf's beard, and then writes, Brilliant red hair, like a hearthfire.
Taking the picture around the tavern, the apprentice shows it to various patrons. "Yer seen this dwarf around? Red hair, blacksmith?"
The man pauses a moment, then bursts out in a great guffaw of laughter, totally oblivious to Radag's dirty look.
" I like yer style mister. Can't be scared of 'em if yer laughin' at 'em, 'swhat I always say. One whiskey coming right up. What'll yer friends have?"
The man pulls a dusty bottle from behind the bar, and pours a shot into a small ceramic cup.
-----
Brogol shows his drawing to the group of old timers playing cards at the table in the corner. It seems to be a pretty good likeness, as one of the men frowns and turns to the half-orc with a scowl.
"What, is this some kind of a joke? What are you thinking, showing that picture around here? Get out of here, and quit bothering people. Especially with crap like that."
Radag turns to look behind him to see whom the bartender was referring, and after second looking at his recent companions he turned back to the bartender, "A second whiskey for the tall blue woman, but I don't know the others enough to order their drinks and I wouldn't go so far as to think they'd call me friend."
Aduard walks up to the bar and slaps a pair of gold coins on the polished wooden countertop. Loudly he announces, in an archaic accent, "Master barman, a good servant of Cayden died today. Two gold of Caydenbrew, if you will. I plan to toast to his memory." his voice gets louder as he turns to the tavern "And welcome those who join me in good humour. Drink up, fellows."
Once the ale arrives he puts Dmitri's holy symbol over a stool at the bar, and raises a glass in toast to the empty stool. "Dmitri Zorya!"
A tall shadow looms up behind the younger half-orc; Dashil has seen what was going on - and she is not happy about it. Turning her head to face the speaker, she matches the man's glare, and then redoubles the power of it, seemingly doing her best to freeze him in place.
"My friend here meant no offence. I suggest you take none. As a gesture of goodwill, why don't you answer his question? I know you know the answer. Who is - or was - this dwarf?"
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"Never mind, the second whiskey is for me, I don't know these people." Radag half turns to not witness to Dashil and Brogol's antics.
Wincing as Dashil rounds on the men, Brogol tucks the book into his satchel and holds his hands out, a gesture of non-violence.
"Forgive me, sirs. Aye didn't mean any offence. Just trying ta figure out who tha dwarf is, is all. My friend here, she's impatient, an quick ta anger. Tell us wha we want ta know an we'll be on our way."
The bartender turns to Aduard:"I'm sorry to hear of your loss. You'll be wanting the good stuff, to toast a servant of Cayden." He reaches behind the bar, and lifts a small, dusty keg onto the bar top, along with three mugs. "This here's what we call 'zombie dust'. The secret of its kick is that it's got real ground up zombie in it. But just a little bit." He says this last in a not-so quiet conspiratorial whisper, topping it off with a big grin and a wink.
Meanwhile, at the card game, Dashil's outburst causes the man to go quiet. His hands shake as he lays his cards on the table.
"Pardon, stranger, but that's not the kind of thing you show around town. That there dwarf was up at the prison. I seen them bring him in back in '61, when I was just a lad. Mosswater Marauder is what they called 'im. Died with all the rest of the scum in the fire. I'm sorry, kid, but what the heck you doin' with a drawing of him?"
Dashil blinks. '61... what was she doing, back then? Ha, yes. Most likely.
"The Mosswater Marauder, hm? Well, seems like the kid here has an overactive imagination; just a case of mistaken identity. Sorry to have troubled you."
Dashil tries to catch the eye of 'the kid' to get him to play along. Subtlety doesn't come naturally to her, it's fair to say.
The DC of this check is 15 for simple messages and 20 for complex messages. If you are successful, the target automatically understands you, assuming you are speaking in a language that it understands. If your check fails by 5 or more, you deliver the wrong message. Other creatures that hear the message can decipher the message by succeeding at an opposed Sense Motive check against your Bluff result.
Brogol stares at Dashil for a moment, squinting. Okay, if you think it will help.
"Aye seen him. She thinks Aye was seeing things, but Aye know wha' Aye saw. Appeared behind me an petted tha back o my head. T'was terrifying. Wha' did he do ta end up a tha prison?"
And why's he hanging out in Kendra Lorrimor's guest room? Brogol keeps the second part of his question to himself.
"..."
Dashil closes her eyes as Brogol misinterprets her and digs himself in deeper.
Goddess, I this country. I hate everyone who in this country. Right now, I especially hate anyone who was in this country in the last, oh, around 20 years or so...
Doing her best not to betray her feelings in her expression, Dashil pinches the bridge of her nose, shakes her head wearily and heads for the bar. Brogol will have to explain things for himself - that's tough on him, but life is full of these teachable moments. The kid'll be ok.
She takes the seat next to Radag, and catches the barkeep's attention. "Whisky. Make that two. Make them doubles. You know what, just keep them coming, long as I'm here and upright, OK?"
The blue-haired woman passes a handful of gold coin across the counter. "Let me know when that runs out."
Brogol blushes, embarrased, as Dashil pinches her nose. Obviously, he'd done something wrong. But what? Strange lady. Moody, that one.
Turning back to the men, he shrugged, apologetically, for the whole strange scene. "Well then, wha' did he do?"
Aduard gives Dashil a look, and slides a mug up to her meaningfully. "Dmitri's shout." he says, pointedly.
The card players glance at each other with quizzical looks after Brogol asks his question. After a second, the original speaker replies: "I don't know what you think you saw, but he's been dead these fifty years, so it couldna been him. As to what he was in for, I imagine it was the same as most of 'em. Murder. But it was a long time ago." He then shakes his head and returns to the card game.
As Dashil sits at the bar, the barkeep sets her up with a cup, then sets a mostly full bottle down between her and Radag. "Seems like you lot had a heck of a day. This'll get you started." The whisky is of average quality, but at least is not watered down.
About this time Kendra walks in the door and joins the group at the bar. "Well, I've spoken with Father Grimburrow, and made the arrangements. The burial will be first thing in the morning. They'll put him in the plot next to Father. Now, I think I will join the rest of you with a drink."
Turning to the barkeep:"I could use a nice glass of wine, Zokar. Have you got anything special?"
"Let me go check the cellar, and see what I can find." He comes back in a minute or so with a really grimy bottle. He pulls the cork and pours Kendra a glass. "Found this one way back in the corner. Almost forgot I had it. I think your friends here have covered the cost."
Kendra lifts her glass and offers a brief toast. "Here's to Dmitri. May his tankard never run dry."
As Dashil sits at the bar, the barkeep sets her up with a cup, then sets a mostly full bottle down between her and Radag. "Seems like you lot had a heck of a day. This'll get you started." The whisky is of average quality, but at least is not watered down.
Dashil nods. "Thanks. 'Heck of a day' doesn't even BEGIN to cover it, but thanks."
She pours a glass of whisky, empties it. Repeat.
Aduard gives Dashil a look, and slides a mug up to her meaningfully. "Dmitri's shout." he says, pointedly.
Dashil looks - briefly - abashed. "Oh. Right. Dmitri - may the Lucky Drunk welcome you into his halls."
The next whisky disappears.
Somewhat unusually, she feels the need to explain herself to the wizard: "Sorry. Just remembering all the people I lost before Dmitri; good companions, all of them. Too many. I'm nearly a hundred, you know? Been doing this since before you were born."
Another whisky goes the same way as its fellows.
"You know I was a paladin, once? Yeah, not a great life-expectancy. Specially in Ustalav. Seemed like every damn time I turned round, another funeral. Lucky to get a body back for burial, most times. My first girl - the one who gave me this -" she gestures vaguely at her wooden holy symbol "-****ing werewolf got her. Nothing left to bury. Didn't even see... what's the one after twenty? Oh, right, thirty. Didn't even get to thirty."
Whisky.
"And then, afterward, I work with Petros. Ha, Radag an' me could tell you some things about that! Dangerous stuff, he was always into; lost some colleagues there, too. Here's to all of 'em."
Shot.
Kendra walks in the door and joins the group at the bar. "Well, I've spoken with Father Grimburrow, and made the arrangements. The burial will be first thing in the morning. They'll put him in the plot next to Father. Now, I think I will join the rest of you with a drink."
"Thanks Kendra, good of you." Dashil realises she's rambling, and slightly drunk; not fit company for one such as Kendra. "I was just... reminiscing. Should probably head off, get some night air, clear my thoughts."
Aduard discovers, much too late, that his new body was a teetotaller. Finding himself matching Dashil's drinking, whiskey for ale, he forgets that he is not in his old body with a liver toughened by decades of hard drinking.
His eyes widen as Dashil mentions she was a Paladin. He nods as she talks, obviously strongly in agreement.
"I feel for you." said Aduard drunk, maudlin, and talkative, "The trick. Trick is not to care about people. Treat them all as just... just little pieces on a board, or puzzles. Whenever you care about someone, they all die. Better not to care - or so my notes say. Damned gods, putting death into the world. They all die, and if they get back up, you end up putting them down anyway."
At the stage of slurring by this point he whispers conspiratorially "I didn't really like Dmitri. I mean, nice enough, but I didn't have a chance to. I feel... you know... bad... that we're all he's getting. 'Happy Drunk' - bah. What kind of god lets a good man - his man - die out here without any friends around him? There was a time... there was a time I could have done something. Given him another chance. I probably wouldn't have though, would I. Just pieces. No one's going to mourn me." he continues past maudlin and into morose.
He sighs, all but unconscious by this point - obviously a man who does not know his limits - "I'm the Deathcrow. You know..." he caws in a drunk imitation of a raven "I fly through the world, and everywhere my shadow touches people die and the land withers." he quotes in archaic Hallit some Sarkorian poetry, then translates "The old man of the hills. Do not be his enemy or he will kill you. Do not be his friend or he will kill you. He will live until the last man dies, at his hands. Too strong to kill, to weak to die."
He stands - somehow, and raises a mug to the sky, yelling
Aduard then slams back the mug, stumbles, trips, slams his head on a stool and collapses into the bar. Dmitri's holy symbol shudders loose and lands on his head.
Radag takes a long drink from his glass and sighs over dramatically, "So much self pity. It's pathetic, all crying over how everyone dies. Whats the point, we all die. So we're weeping over you being alive despite their being dead. Doesn't mean you can stop caring, like everyone is a game piece. I argue that it is the opposite, you do care. And don't argue that it isn't. You're all caring right now how some guy you knew a day or two died in your company. Dmitri died because it was his time. Don't you worry, your time will come to." Radag has barely turned to address the others and his tone blunt yet under interested.
Brogol pulls on his hood in thanks and makes his way to the bar. Ordering a whisky, the apprentice takes the smallest sips when toasts are asked for, eventually passing his glass down to Dashil, where it gets tipped up into her mouth without a second thought.
Sighing as Aduard's toast ends with the man crashing into the bar, Brogol is taken back to the days of his Doctor's melancholia. Like then, he'd probably be carrying someone home tonight.
Kendra listens intently to Dashil's discussion of her past.
"Oh, wow, a paladin? That takes an amazing amount of faith. Something that's in pretty short supply around here. I'm sure it's not something you like to talk about, but I hope some day we know each other well enough you'd be willing to tell me about it.'
Kendra pours herself another glass of wine as Aduard launches into his little performance. She gives a little bit of a start as he crashes to the floor.
"Oh my. Do you think he's all right?" At this the bartender turns and yells into the kitchen: "Pevrin! Get out here and check on a customer!" At this a 13-year old boy comes out of the back room. With a little bit of a struggle, he manages to disentangle Aduard from the stool, and set him upright against the bar, but sitting on the floor. "He's fine, but probably out for the night." At this, the boy and the bartender go back to work, as if this were a common occurrence.
At this point, Kendra is starting to slouch a little in her seat, propping her elbow on the bar and leaning on her hand. After Radag finishes delivering his take on death, she offers a quick rebuttal.
"The problem is, it's been a lot of people's 'time' lately. I'm just worried my time will be up before I've had a chance to do much with my life. I mean, you all have had so many great adventures, and some amazing experiences. Ravengro is great and all, but it's not exactly the most lively town. I've been here most of my life. We moved down here 15 years ago, when Father retired from teaching. Mother was from here, originally, and she talked him in to moving back when he retired. I think she was trying to get Father to give up on his 'wanderings', as she used to call them. She was only partly successful. He never really gave it up until about five years ago, right when Mother passed. Now, I don't really have many ties left. They're all gone."
"PFFT!" A bit of hair has come loose from her bun, and she tries to blow it out of her face. When she lifts the wine bottle to pour another glass, only a few drops plop out. She frowns briefly, then looks up at the rest of you with a bit of a goofy smile. "Well, I think I'm done. We should probably head home. Can one of you help me with my wizard? I think he's a little too heavy for me." At this, she heads towards the door, her footsteps a bit unsteady.
"The bard's make a good story, but the adventures aren't great. The adventures are anything but. They are full of sleepless nights in stables... Radag trailed off a moment before snapping back to say, ...the ground worrying something will try to eat you in the night all because no one else can do anything about it." Radag finishes his drink and lurches from his seat to stand; one hand still on the bar to steady himself. "Then your friends turn on everything they value out of fear and desperation. It's sad. But no one else can, and so we must. Even in the face of an affliction."
Radag grabs Aduard by the belt and hefts him from the floor carrying him like a awkward duffle bag. "Lets go Kendra, I hate to see a pretty thing worry for her wizard."
"Here." Dashil leans forward and brushes the stray lock of hair away from Kendra's face. Doing so brings back more memories - Dammit, the girl's been dead for ! Longer than she was ever alive! - that threaten to crowd her, pushing at her, unlocking the door to other memories that she never, ever-
Carefully sliding her left hand to the dagger at her belt, Dashil lifts it slightly out of its hilt, enough that she can push her thumb into the blade. The pain is fast, urgent, and it drives out everything else from her mind. Folding her thumb inside her fist, she lets the wound clot.
Taking a deep breath, she does her best to smile, as if nothing has happened. "Radag's right. Adventuring sounds a lot more fun than it actually is. And you always, always lose people. I'd swap all my 'great adventures' for a stable home and a safe life."
She thinks for a moment. "Actually, that's not true - I wouldn't know what to do with a safe life. But how sad is that?! Don't go wishing for adventures, Kendra, sweetheart. You don't know what's listening that might grant it to you. Like Radag said, we do it so other people - better people than us - don't have to."
"I never said there were better people." Radag snorts half jokingly.
Aduard, half-woken by the pain to his middle when hoisted by the belt, blearily tries to get to his feet, murmuring incoherently and indistinctly.
"Don' wanna g'up. Leave d' tray. Killd'm'all."
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Brogol thinks back to his homes. His childhood, growing up with the barely concealed hatred and fear of his parents, the shunning of his neighbors,the beatings, until his mother and father couldn't bare it anymore, and young Brogol was put out onto the streets.
Those streets, his home flophouses and alleyways, great spaces of time filled up with nothing but hunger and discomfort.
Then there was the Doctor's manor, an improvement for sure, but cold in its own way, and hardly, Brogol considered, anything that could pass for a normal environment. The long hours of work and study, the Doctor's fits of pique, the everpresent smell of death emanating from the basement laboratory...
No, Brogol's companions were right. In the short few days Brogol had been Kendra's guest, despite the death of the Professor and master Zorya, and the apparent haunting at Ms. Lorrimor's domicile, the house had been the most pleasant experience of Brogol's young life. The warm hearth, the constant meals, filling - and tasty! - the tea kettle always available. Even Brogol's companions, good men and women, curious and flawed to sure, were, Brogol was positive, good people, even if they wouldn't realize it looking in the mirror.
No, Brogol wouldn't trade these last few days for all the gold in the world. "There's much wisdom here, m'Lady. Be thankful fer yer home, an be happy tha circumstances o' yer life have kept yer here."
The group leaves the tavern, and with not-so-steady steps, manages to make their way back to the Lorrimor house. The rest of the night passes peacefully, both for the party and throughout the town of Ravengro.
The group wakes bright and early the next morning. Everyone feels a little rough due to last night’s intemperance, but not to the extent that your performance is impeded. The party makes its way to the Restlands, where Father Grimburrow and the gravediggers have already arrived. A grave near the Professor’s has been prepared for Dmitri. The priest conducts a quick, but appropriate, service for the fallen cleric, including a small sacrifice of ale poured over the coffin.
After the service, Kendra turns to the group: ”So, what are your plans for today? Nothing too dangerous I hope. I think I will spend the day with Wakati, to see if anything can be done for him. Otherwise, I will just continue going through Father’s things.”
Radag rubs his jaw mimicking those that grow hearty beards as he leans back on his chair, "The prison again, I say. I've not relaxed my opinion, and something has those spirits all rattling their chains. Its time they were put to rest ... by force if necessary. If not for the Professor's, then Dimitri's vengence."
The psychic wave surges and breaks on Esta's conjured shield of white light. As quickly as they came, the sounds of despair and pain subside, leaving the chapel grounds quiet again.
Radag's suspicion proves correct: the attack was a haunt, similar to the hazardous regions of unquiet spirits the party had dealt with in Harrowstone. While Esta's magic seems to have quieted this particular haunt, it will surely return unless the spirits here are somehow laid to rest.
Beyond the chapel lies Karin's family's house, appearing to be in better condition than the rest of the village. Its shutters and doors are nailed shut.
Seranov
