"If it... Trust me, Grimburrow, I know about curses."
"And you are lucky we have been there, fool. Do you know what has happened at that fell place?" Aduard's voice raises in volume as it lowers in pitch - it seems impossible that such a thin man could have such a deep voice. His words echo and clash through the peaceful chapel.
Dashil glares at Radag. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, but some people care about how they look to... you know... others." Her non-human physiology doesn't blush, but the faintest of white spots appear on her cheeks.
Shaking her head, she does her best to move on hastily. "Anyway. I look terrible, but we've got things to do. Let's go."
Dashil puts a firm hand on Aduard's arm; she can sense that he's just warming up for a proper rant, but this is not the time or place. "Enough. Father Grimburrow is an ally." She nods at the priest. "Thank you for your healing. Trust me, we wouldn't have gone up to Harrowstone if it wasn't necessary."
She narrows her eyes thoughtfully as she turns back to Radag. "Your 'curse' started from the time you picked up that accursed spellbook. Seems easy to me. Burn the spellbook, lift the curse." She shrugs. People over-complicate things. Assuming you count 'men' as 'people'.
"Oh shut it, you look fine to me. Do I need to prove it to you?" Radag chuckles to himself with a twisted, dareful look across his scarred face. "Who are you so worried to impress? Wait, wait, I just realized I don't care. Let's see to getting Bookman's confidence restored and whatever other bloody curses the rest of you have come into."
Radag doesn't join the others at the church as he splits off waving them on toward the church as he heads into town. "I'll catch up with you later. Let me know how your curse lifting goes. I don't want to catch your curses so I'm not going to be there."
Radag heads into town to stop by the sheriff's office to save the sheriff the trouble of tracking the party down and to check on Gibbs(?). Then barring any complications, Radag stops in town to purchase a boquet of flowers; that twisted smile on his face.
------
Gibs is still locked up firmly in the town jail. Sheriff Caellar appreciates the update from Radag, and is glad to hear that the party is still (relatively) in one piece.
Finding a bouquet of flowers ends up being a bit of a challenge. Ravengro is not know for its cheery decorating. The closest thing Radag can find is at Jominda's Apothecary. The frowsy woman behind the counter is willing to sell Radag a bunch of dried moonflowers, which she insists are an excellent cure, when brewed in a tea, for sleepwalking. She does mention that the harvest festival is tomorrow, and some of the farmers might be selling something more in line with what Radag wants.
Aduard sighed "I suppose I'm not arguing with your interpretation, Dashil. Yes, logically the curse is associated with the book. Certainly the ghost of an arcanist like that would logically be obsessed with his spellbook, and might well manifest some selfish curse around it. It also explains certain hallucinations I've been having..."
"On the other hand, the book could be invaluable in working out how to put this ghost to rest. While it is obvious we're dealing with no second Geb here, there does seem to be some real power. A wizard's journal is symbolically the source of a wizard's power - while we hold it we have a significant advantage, if we can leverage it correctly."
Aduard waves the book around
"I suppose it is also that I have such scorn for book-burning. Still..." he breathes deeply and continues "I leave the decision with you. It is all but impossible to rule out that the book might be having some small influence on my preferences in this matter."
Brogol steps forward, consternation showing on his face. "Forgive me fer being abrupt, but tha flute wer impervious to my attacks. Aye suspect tha book will be tha same. Still, wer should try an burn it. To be cursed is no such a thing ta take lightly."
Brogol holds out his hand for the book, intent to take it outside and set aflame.
Reluctantly Aduard hands over the book.
Brogol takes the book outside, and attempts to set it on fire. A smell like a mix of mildew, burnt dog hair, and pig manure rises from the spot where the flames touch the book. However, no actual damage occurs to the spell book.
The rest of the night passes uneventfully. Kendra had asked the group to take a day off and attend the harvest festival with her. However, after hearing about the encounters at the prison, she changes her mind. "It sounds like you've made some progress in clearing out the troubled spirits of the place. I would hate to disrupt your momentum. Go finish what you've started, and I will keep the kettle on the fire for you."
There is a nervous energy in the air as the group passes through town the next morning. People are bustling about, setting up tables and stringing decorations for the harvest festival. The mood changes as the group approaches the prison again. A sense of anger and resolve descends upon the group as you approach the gate.
"Definitely important, then." Aduard identifies when the book proves protected from pyromaniacs. "I believe your flute analogy is apt, Master Stockl."
"Oh, don't count us out yet. If today is anything like the last two days we'll have exhausted our resources and be back before lunchtime!"
To the others he continues "I suggest we clear the area upstairs, confirm the ground floor is clear, map the two top floors and take measurements so we can create a makeshift lift for the basement."
"A lift?" Radag scoffs, "Rope and good climbing form are all you need. We can get real fancy-like with multiple ropes if you're concerned about running away. Though I I agree on the approach for the day otherwise. "
Brogol grins his lopsided grin, obviously pleased with the Bookman's praise. "Thank yer, Master Bookman. Aye think finishing tha upstairs is a fine idea."
Dashil nods, absently. She's clearly concerned about other matters. "As well to clear up here so nothing drops on us as we climb back up."
"Let's get back over and up then, before things get stranger around here." Radag tilts his head at the crowds gathering for the festival.
Radag's eyes fall on the crowd and linger a moment. "I wonder if they are going to have any competitions at this festival. Shaking his head of the though Radag moves to leave.
"I'd like something, Irefist, that can be used to get an unconscious person back up. Pulleys aren't so hard, and I'm we'll have time to buy supplies before we go down."
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Radag chuckles, "You don't look so heavy, I could carry you up. But I'm not going to fight you on this. I might like to poke around and find something for myself before we get back to risking our lives. Maybe something that lets my blade touch the undead."
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"Oh, you could carry me, Irefist. I'm sure. I was more worried about carrying you."
Dashil shakes her head wearily as their undead-hunting quest turns into a shopping expedition. Still, Aduard is probably right. Better to be prepared.
Leaving him and Radag to quibble over exactly what is required, she wanders casually over to talk with Kendra. "Looks like we aren't going immediately." Like she couldn't have worked that out for herself. She coughs. "Soooo...what do you do for fun around here?" The words in this backwater village of the damned in the middle of nowhere of this Goddess-forsaken country are left unspoken.
"Right, gods help us all if you have to do any physical work, Aduard. Look, let's meet back here in about an hour." Radag says waving his way away.
Radag heads to spend coin on obtaining ghost salt, something the Professor had taught him existed, and maybe those fresh flowers if he sees any before returning to meet with the group and head back to the prison.
Though should he find those fresh flowers he sneaks his way into the back of the manor to vase them in his room for later before presenting himself as ready to go.
The general store, which has a curiously fine set of full plate armor on display behind the counter, has all the rope and tackle you could want.
As you are leaving her shop, you pass by a farmer who has a nice display of sunflowers for sale. A few coppers gets you a nice sized bouquet.
--------------
Each time you come back to the prison, it seems to grow just a little more angry. The shadows seem a bit more solid, and the sense of foreboding becomes more palpable.
The group manages to make its way back to the second floor, and enters the final cell you have not yet explored. Although this cell is rather spacious, it contains no concessions to comfort. A skeletal body dressed in the rotting remains of a prisoner's robe lies slumped against the eastern wall, wrapped in numerous chains on which are affixed numerous weights emblazoned with several different holy symbols. A dusty book lies on a nightstand next to the cot, both of which are covered in cobwebs.
Aduard wards himself as they cross the threshold.
"Chains marked with holy symbols. Interesting. I wonder if they required holy chains to keep him - or her - imprisoned."
Idly he heads over to the book on the nightstand, brushing off cobwebs with flicks of his white handkerchief. "Everyone ready?" he asks, just before he touches it.
Radag folds his arms in front of his chest. "Of course, let's get on with it already. You're going to hate books by the end of this."
Brogol pauses at the entrance to the prison. The prison, if possible seemed even more hateful and rage-filled than yesterday. "Tha Doctor said often tha' places can have a personality. Nothin' good happened here. Be careful, sirs an missus."
Clutching his handaxe, the boy made his way inside.
----------
As Aduard went to idly brush the cobwebs off the book, Brogol's hand shot out and vice-like, grabbed the Bookman's wrist. "Careful, Aye said! Er, sorry, Master Bookman. Wer know these tomes have great power."
Crouching, the apprentice monster hunter drew a vial from his pouch, and adding some saffron and a pinch of ash, slowly covered the regents with a dash of electricalized water. Quaffing the concoction, the boy slowly made his way around the scene, trying to suss out any clues that presented itself.
"Can anyone detect magical auras?"
"What good are auras going to do us? We know the bloody prison is tainted to all hells. I can feel it in my bones."
It has been a long, long, while (decades) since Dashil ever saw herself as a hero. Some of the things she's done, it would be more appropriate to call her a villain. She doesn't share this with Kendra.
Shaking her head to dismiss those thoughts, she puts a hand briefly on the young woman's arm. "I miss your father too - he kept me sane. I know avenging him won't bring him back, but it'll make me feel better." She hesitates, unsure of what to say next. "Well, guess I'll see you later. Enjoy the festival - don't get into trouble." She wonders why she said that.
Dashil's eye is drawn to the chain of holy symbols tangled around the skeleton; almost without thinking she picks out the Dawnflower's icon. "I wonder who he was, to be treated like that."
A thought strikes her, and she draws out from her pack the tangled mass of holy symbols that the group found in the room downstairs. Walking over to the corpse, she carefully checks its aura, before taking up the chain and seeing whether any of the symbols match.
"Good thought, Stockl." Aduard murmured a few words and gave a casual toss of his hand. A moment later he squinted - uselessly - at the sudden onset of garish colours ever brought on by the simple detection spell he used.
Brogol snorted and quickly covered his mouth. "Auras are information, Master Irefist. Best yer sensitive bones remain human bones, an not, say frog bones or jellyfish bones, yes?"
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Radag's brow scrunches up with hostility toward Brigol, "Are you threatening me with jelly bones? You be careful or your ghost might get stuck here."
Based on the research you did earlier, you believe this is the corpse of Sefick Corvin, aka Father Charlatan. Of the five notorious prisoners, only Father Charlatan was not technically a murderer, yet his crimes were so blasphemous that several churches demanded he be punished to the full extent of Ustalavic law. Although he claimed to be an ordained priest of any number of faiths, Father Corvin was in fact a traveling con artist who used faith as a mask and a means to bilk the faithful out of money in payment for false miracles or cures. He became known as Father Charlatan after his scheme was exposed and his Sczarni accomplices murdered a half-dozen city guards in an attempt to make good the group’s escape.
Detect magic reveals nothing. Brogol is able to identify the holy symbols of Sarenrae, Pharasma, Cayden Caileen, and a dozen others, on both the prisoner's chains and the tangle that Dashil is holding. None of it appears to have any magical or evil aura. The book appears to be completely mundane.
Convinced there's something she's missed, Dashil whirls around fast, trying to see whatever is behind her.
"I'm not sensing anything arcane." announces Aduard with a hint of superiority, starting as Dashil whirls around. "What! What?"
Radag peeks over his shoulder with a glance.
Dashil narrows her eyes, uncertainly . "I saw... something." She realises how lame that sounds and shakes her head, blue tresses flying, as if to clear it. "About - there." She points.
Aduard peers intently at the spot Dashil indicates.
"I... See. Did you manage to observe anything that might indicate its nature?"
Brogol looks around the cell again, this time concentrating on the area that Dashil pointed. "Perhaps those tangled holy symbols allowed yer ta see it?"
Approaching the body, Brogol stoops to look at it again. "Perhaps wer should unchain it?"
"I don't see a reason to delay here. Do what you all must. I'm ready to leave from here."
"Then I intend to look at this book before we do aught else."
No matter how quick Dashil spins, she just can't quite catch a solid look at the aura she is picking up.
Adurad reaches for the book. As soon as he lays his hand on top of it, the whole thing crumbles to dust. There is nothing useful to recover from the dust pile.
Searching the room reveals nothing else of interest.
A slightly awkward pause. "Save some of the fun for when we get back..."
Dashil narrows her eyes. "There's something here, but it's evading me for the moment. Come on. Let's move out."
She keeps an eye open in case the thing (whatever it is) tries to follow.
"Really? I wonder if it is related to Mr Chains here. I..." He hums to himself for a second "I have a hypothesis. Could someone test to see if that knot of holy symbols we found is as invulnerable as the flute and the book?"
Brogol draws his axe, and taking aim at the junction of a couple of the chain's links, begins hacking at it, again and again...
Dashil - reluctantly - hands over the tangled knot of holy symbols to Aduard. "Let's see what happens."
Blushing a dark green as Dashil produces her collection of holy symbols, Brogol raises his axe and proceeds to hack at them, concentrating perhaps a little too much on the task at hand, obviously avoiding eye contact.
"Maybe you should share the idea before you start trying to destroy them." Radag sighs. "I would like to have known what you intended to accomplish by wasting more time here."
"Both the flute and the book were all but invulnerable. Further, they seemed somehow tied to the spirits in question. If the symbols also prove similarly resistant, it seems likely they are somehow tied to the spirit of Corvin."
"Given the sealed chains, it seems like Corvin's body is here. We then would seem to have both the lock and the key, and it would be worth trying to work out how they might connect."
"I suspect everything in that room was cursed and just as the flute helped us defeat the battle with the stirge I am willing to bet using the other items to be of similar use." Radag nods and awaits Brogols results to test the object.
Dashil shakes her head, wearily. "This whole place is cursed. I'd say burn it down, but... they already tried that and it didn't take." She shrugs. "Send for the big damn heroes, if you know any."
Ever since her talk with Kendra earlier that morning, Dashil has been pensive. Her remark about heroes saving the day was intended to be flippant, but it's stuck with her. Certainly no one else has exactly volunteered to do the job of walking into a haunted prison to deal with the restless dead; for all her (many, many) flaws, she is here when she could have chosen just to run. Maybe heroic is as heroic does...
She snorts, dismissing the thought. Romantic crap like that will get you killed. Stay focused.
"All the heroes I know died." Aduard comments flippantly, adding "usually heroically."
"All the heroes I know died." Aduard comments flippantly, adding "usually heroically."
Dashil raises an eyebrow. "Killed them yourself, did you?" It's partly a (morbid) joke, but partly not: the blue-haired inquisitor is still not entirely sure of Aduard's loyalties; for all that he appears to be on their side - for the time being.