The cheese covered something was a revelation. Brogol cooked the meals at the Doctor's manse - and they were little more than sustenance; the boy had never had any formal training, and the Doctor hardly cared anyway. A warm cup of tea and a cup of soup was more likely than not just to be left to grow cold, while the Doctor read, or stewed in his thoughts, or was gripped by the unrelenting grasp of meloncholia.
Brogol used the bread to sop up the cheese sauce, and then grabbed a handful of fried mushrooms from the serving platter, not bothering to use utensils. Wonderful as the meal was, it did little to assuage the headache pounding away at the back of the boy's head, or slake what seemed to be a ravenous hunger that had accompanied Brogol since he'd woken.
Looking to Kendra, a bit of nervousness crept into the boy's demeanor; he ran his hand absently over his clook-hood, pulling it tightly over his head. Another adult to worry about.
His attention was brought back to the matter at hand. "Records. Good idea." Brogol loved anything resembling a library, and if they had to go to Harrowstone, the records office was surely the best place to be.
The apprentice monster hunter stuffed the mushrooms into his mouth and chewed contentedly, even while he reached for more.
After breakfast is finished, Cornelius begins to bring dishes to the basin for washing.
Kendra stands and adjusts her belt, allowing her rapier to sit more naturally on her hip. "Thank you for that, Aduard. One should never walk into a tomb on an empty stomach." She looks to the rest of the party, seated around the table. "Are you ready to leave?"
"No. I need at least half an hour preparation. Based on what Irefist says, I'll concentrate on spells that can hurt incorporeals, or protect myself." he looked over to the younger wizard "I do hope you are not thinking of coming with us, Miss Lorrimor."
Aduard looks at Dashil, then up, then at the door, then back.
Aduard seems to be trying to convey some sort of message to Dashil. Hard to say what, but he seems to be trying to convince her to argue with him.
Wait one moment before we go, where are you going Kendra? Radag doesn't concern himself with Bookmans head gestures or their meaning as he stands from his place at the table.
Brogol straightens up, fidgeting with his cloak as he does so. "Aye'll help you wit yer preparations, Master Bookman. To tha study, then?"
Kendra crosses her arms and frowns. "I'm going with you, of course. And I do not intend to debate about it."
Radag instinctively looks to Dashil with disbelief and a look to see if she will argue the issue or if he is going to have to be the one that has to break the news to Kendra. He stands up quickly with an obvious hesitation. Although, within fractions of a second it is obvious that instead of putting up a fight, he starts to shrug in favor of expediency on the matter.
Aduard moves to go, then stops at Kendra's words. "I understand your desire to finish your father's last work. His last request to us was to protect you." He looks the woman up and down. "Unless I misjudge you, you've no experience with delving such dangerous areas. A single misstep could be your last. We all but lost Irefist yesterday. Any of us could fail to..." he breaks off as he notices Brogol still fidgeting.
"I need to prepare. You have half an hour to convince Mr Irefist you'll follow orders and keep yourself safe. If you can convince him you're not in danger, I'll accept it."
Aduard stalks off to prepare.
Radag raises a brow at Aduard, and mutters to himself with room for doubt in his tone, What? I don't recall that.
There was, however, one question that arose as the wizard broke down his intricate manipulation. "But why? Ms. Lorrimor's no Irefist. She's calm an' measured. She o' course wants ta be safe. Why wouldn't she follow orders?"
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The older man clasped his hands behind his back, closed his eyes and recited. "There is a maxim; developed by the scholars Dunning and Kruger. It takes knowledge to know what you don't know. Put simply, those with little experience often think they know better than an expert. A true expert, a true scholar, is all too aware of what they don't know."
Aduard opened his eyes and looked at Stockl.
"Stockl. I admit I know little of your background, but I feel I have an insight into your personality from these last few days. A mind such as yours is rare. Intelligence is all too often a springboard for ego. Do not assume others share your ability to listen to reason when all is chaos." He ran fingers over his chin, as if stroking a beard. "You've a top-notch mind, Stockl. With time, and discipline, you could master any of the scholarly pursuits, including alchemy and wizardry. But it is your ability to understand your weaknesses - without simultaneously being crippled by that understanding - that means you might survive long enough to do so."
Aduard smiled, grimly "Additionally, while Miss Lorrimor may look calm, I believe this to be a mask - she obviously feels strongly enough to push herself into this expedition. A rash move - so what other rash moves might she make?"
He shrugged, his body language relaxing. "Perhaps I misjudge miss Lorrimor. I see a lot of Petros in her. I would rather not have my judgements confirmed."
---
The trip back to Harrowstone is without incident, although Dashil turns back, claiming she forgot something at the Lorrimor Manor. The aasimar insists that you need not wait for her, she'll meet you inside the prison.
You travel quickly to the Warden's office, a spacious room smelling of mildew and rotting wood. A safe in a narrow alcove to the northwest sits open and faded documents are spread across the top of a desk. Thick dust coats the areas of the room left untouched from your last visit here.
Aduard looked wryly at Dashil as she returned. Her excuse seemed thin, but the woman wasn't a coward. Doubtless she intended to do something she feared the others might disapprove of. 'Or', he reflected sourly 'she is avoiding going through those papers again.'
He fought down the urge to use his wards as soon as they entered the grounds. The paperwork could take hours, and he'd no intention of letting his opponent have another night.
The warden's office was as he remembered. "All right. We've none of us a desire to be here all day. Irefist, can you keep a watch. We've been through these before, and now we know the names we're looking for. Let's see where our friend from last night went."
Blushing, the apprentice monster hunter coughed politely. "Aye'll keep an eye on Ms. Lorrimor, Master Bookman. Wer keep her safe."
Grunting, Brogol settles into a chair and pulls a pile of paper from the desk. His head tipped down, the cloakhood hangs over the paperwork as the boy hunches and does what was instructed, going through papers, line by line, looking for familiar names and locations.
As Dashil insists they go on while she returns to the manor, presses on, it's not like anything in that office was going to give anyone any problems.
When asked to stand and watch, Radag silently slides into the stool that he sat upon last time he was here and tries to busy himself with upkeep for his gear.
The Nevermore is located on the bottom floor of the prison.
While you are waiting, you hear a noise come from the hallway. It sounds like the scuffling of feet.
Radag rises from his seat slowly drawing one of his throwing axes and motioning to the other he hears something; a slight smile at the opportunity to hurt something. Then Radag moves to investigate, his axe readied.
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Esta shuts the doors of the large prison behind her, stopping to listen for any hints of where the group of strangers she was looking for could be. She still didn’t know why she’d been summoned by a man she’d only met once, and she certainly had no idea what a group of strangers had to do with any of it, but the letter had made it sound important, so here she was. Uncomfortable and alone in an abandoned prison searching for a group of people she didn’t know.
As she stands still in the entrance of the building, she could hear some very faint noises coming from the hallway to her left. It seemed like as good a place as any to start. Oolong trots along ahead of her, sniffing at the floor as Esta follows behind, peeking into each room she passes. As she reaches the end of the hallway, she hears a slight rustling in the last room on the left.
She pauses, eyeing the entryway warily before approaching, slowly pushing the door the rest of the way open…
...and coming face to face with a large, scowling man with an axe.
Esta yelps and stumbles backwards, holding her quarterstaff in front of herself defensively as Oolong growls threateningly at her side. Her eyes dart between the man with the axe and the small group she could now see behind him in the room.
“Are you… are you th’ group I’m lookin’ for?” she inquires cautiously. “Th’ ones who know Professor Lorrimer?”
Aduard stands smoothly. "Please enter slowly. We are indeed that group. Sadly this place is a haven of haunts, and a graveyard of trust. One of us died here a few days ago. Our caution is, I hope, excusable in light of those facts."
What's your business with us? Radag asks bluntly, the axe still in his one hand and his other twitching to draw his greatsword, You here on behalf of the towns nobles that want us kicked out, the sheriff that wants to keep an eye on us, or are you a cultist here to whisper your last words?
Brogol mumbles as he sifts through the papers. Mouthing the words as he reads, the boy puts useless information aside, one by one, into a small, tidy, and growing stack. Sighing, the half-human is about to give up when a requisition line catches his eye. Shackles-Nevermore. (3)
Nevermore. Nevermore. With a start, the raven that Brogol saw, all those days ago, tap-tap-tapping on the manor's window, comes unbidden to mind.
Flipping through the pages, the boy scans quickly as he goes, and it appears again and again. Nevermore-cleaning detail. Nevermore-bedding. And then - on the last page in his stack, in a tightly-scrawled cursive: Nevermore. New admission. Feramin, Hein.
"Tha Splatterman! Feramin. He wer in a cell block called Nevermore when tha fire broke out. Only one there-"
And then, the scuffling of feet, and in the doorway, a woman, covered in a black cloak and with brilliant green eyes, and asking - for them?
Standing and instinctively moving in front of the Bookman, the boy's hand goes to his axe. The adults would do the talking, Brogol would do the watching.
Esta gives the tall, well-spoken man a confused look before her eyes dart back to the still-glowering one in front of her, cocking her head to the side. “Uh… none’a those?” Keeping her eyes on him and his axe, she pulls the summons from the professor’s estate out of her bag, slowly reaching out to offer it to him.
“Look, I don’t want no trouble, okay? I was asked to come here, an’ so here I am,” she explains as she waits for him to read the letter. It didn't seem as though anyone was going to attack her, so she straightens herself and gives the anxious fox at her side a nudge, shaking her head reassuringly as he glances up at her. She looks the group over, lingering momentarily on the figure in front of the tall man, before continuing. “Th’ people in town told me t’ find you here, so… can anyone tell me wha’s goin’ on?”
Radag laughs, almost a chortle, If you didn't want any trouble you certainly came to the wrong place, Radag eyes the woman and her companion up and down before taking the offered letter to glance at it before passing it to Kendra or any of the other's that wish to take it; the axe finding its way back to the leather sheathe on his belt. This place is as the man says, haunted and dangerous. I'm Radag, pleasure to meet you Esta, even if only for the short time we have together."
[ooc]Assuming Esta's name was in that letter[ooc]
"Bookman." Aduard introduces himself, still somewhat suspicious of the newcomer, but willing to extend trust. "I'm afraid none of us can use our full names here. Our quarry delights in a debased naming magic. You have, it appears, arrived just in time for the denoument. Young Stockl here has just deduced his final resting place."
Still confused, Esta nods sharply at the introductions and motions towards her companion. "An' this is Oolong. But can someone please tell me wha's happenin'? Why're you here? Whose final restin' place? Wha' does any'a this have t' do with me?"
Stupid, she thinks to herself. Walkin' inta this with no explanation first.
Kendra, who had been helping Brogol sift through documents stands up, taking the letter from Radag. She reads it and looks at Esta. "This appears official."
She pauses, takes a deep breath, before continuing. "If you are who you say you are, and you did know my father professionally, we could use your help. A cult murdered my father and trapped a spirit haunting this old prison. Unfortunately, the spirit belonged to the warden and it was the only thing holding back the ghosts of all the dead prisoners, a few of which were extremely dangerous murderers. We're here to banish the spirits."
She looks to Radag, Brogol, and Aduard. "Does that about sum it up?"
Bookman nods to Kendra "May I see it?"
"That is the crux of it. I'm happy to explain in more depth, if you like.". He coughs a little as if embarrassed "Crucially, though, yesterday evening this 'Splatterman' possessed my maid and damn near had her kill herself. We resolved to put him down forthwith. That is our purpose here. Stockl has just managed to deduce where he might be secreted, and the next ten minutes are likely to be very bloody indeed."
As Esta listens to the woman and the tall man— Bookman, he had called himself— speak, her eyes go wide in surprise. Of all the possibilities she'd considered on her way to Ravengro, this had not been one of them. Not even close.
When they finish speaking, she looks back and forth between them before giggling nervously. "Yer... yer kiddin', yeah?" The serious look on everyone's face said otherwise, though.
She runs a hand through her hair as she tries to take everything in. "Okay... so... you need me t' help. Fine. But... I was called 'ere for this? Why? I barely knew the professor. I only helped 'im once, an' that was awhile ago."
She looks pointedly at the woman. "An' I am who I say I am," she finishes defensively.
I don't think we needed help. Soon as Dashil gets back we'll be more than ready to do this without putting anymore of the collateral at risk. Radag says pointedly and crossing his arms. Although, if the professor sent for you, you can't be half bad at whatever it is you and your pet do.
"I am good at wha' I do," Esta says firmly, crossing her arms in return. She raises an eyebrow and smirks. "An’ from th' sound of it, you need all th' help you can get."
After a brief stare-down, she sighs and lowers her arms. "Look, I'm not here to get in th' way or mess up whatever yer doin’. If I hadn' been late to the funeral, I'm thinkin' I woulda been here with you lot th' whole time. If things're as bad as you all keep sayin' they are, then you're gonna need someone who can help an' heal. An' tha's me."
She looks at Radag knowingly, and nods her chin towards Bookman. "Yer friend back there did jus' say tha’ you lost or almost lost some folks. If you really don' want me here, I'll go, but I am willin' to help."
She pauses for a moment. "An' Oolong's not a pet, really. He's my familiar."
Aduard raised an eyebrow. "A dangerous word in such a provincial area." he cautioned.
Familiar is a fancy word for pet isn't it? Radag smirks but doesn't pause long enough to let on that it was anything but rhetorical. You want to help us, yeah? You're welcome to put in as long as you stop confusing wanting to help with us needing help. We'd be done here already if it weren't for all the book readers and their research here. Radag jacks a thumb over his shoulder to jokingly point at Bookman and Brogol. With two working eyes, you're already doing better than the last chap. The breathing puts you well above the chap before that. If those two could keep up, I'm sure you wont have much trouble. Turning to regard everyone Radag silently waits for the discussion to conclude. While he stands there Radag dabs at the grooved scar at his lips to wick any spit that might have started to escape.
Brogol let his hand go from his axe-hilt, and stepping forward, looked at his feet as he gave the woman a quick nod. "Aye'm Brogol Stockl, wer tha apprentice o' tha good Doctor Beuaturne, late o' Caliphas. He wer a friend o' tha professor's."
The truth was, as fearsome as the Irefist was, and charming in his own braggadocios way, and as brilliant as the Bookman was, neither was particularly good with the social niceties. And of course neither was Brogol. If only Ms. Masozi were here! She'd at least know what to say, but also how to say it!
"Wer need a healer. One dead an one blinded already." the boy mumbled, clearly uncomfortable.
Esta gives orc— no... half-orc?— a small, appreciative smile before returning her focus to Radag and Bookman.
"I jus' want t' help," she says simply. "An' I'm sorry if I... overstepped. I jus'... it was a long walk 'ere." That wasn't the best excuse for her behavior, but it would have to do. She clasps her hands behind her back and waits.
It was in their hands, now. She'd made her case for herself, though perhaps not as elegantly as she could have. Whether they wanted her to stay or not was up to them.
Oddly, she found herself hoping they would keep her around. The past handful of years had been spent traveling and healing the sick and dying. While fulfilling in its own way, it didn't make for the best company.
Kendra steps forward and offers her hand to Esta. "Well I'm not about to turn down help, especially against this Splatter Man. He's not the only spirit down there either."
She turns to the rest of the party. "Shall we find this Nevermore then?"
Esta eyes Kendra and her outstretched hand before slowly offering her own. "Thank you."
As everyone readies themselves for the Nevermore, she moves through the room slowly, looking around with interest until she finds herself next to the tall man. Bookman. She clears her throat as she looks up at him. "You said you could tell me more abou' wha's goin' on?"
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"At the moment, we're heading to Nevermore, a jail cell or something, so we can right the wrong that is this Splatterman, a murder ghost. He's not the one that killed the professor, but he is out of check since the Whisper Cult, that did kill the professor, came here and removed the warden's spirit. Add on that Splatterman can possess the townspeople and make them kill themselves as he tried with Aduard's servant girl."
Radag's eyes suddenly widen with a moment of realization, "And probably made that guy that was arrested smear animal blood all over town. Make a note Esta, if we live through this we need to free that man from jail when we get back. That's everything. Now... let's get going. This prison puts my nerves on end."
"Succinct, but essentially accurate. He know we're coming for him. He uses names. He's somehow interfering with my ability to cast arcane spells thanks to" Aduard holds up a battered spellbook "this. Give me a moment to raise my wards, and we can go."
Aduard chants for about half a minute, an irritated expression growing on his face as he does so.
Cast Mage Armour
Cast False Life
Brogol smiles, pleased, as Kendra invites the woman - Estra - into their circle. Pulling his satchel to his chest, the boy opens the pouch and peers in, eventually withdrawing a few regents and delicately combining them in a small pitcher placed onto the office desk. Slowly, he fills the bottom of two small flasks, each with a different liquid, and then filters the mixture from the pitcher through a funnel.
Looking to the others, the apprentice monster-hunter drops the stoppered flasks into his satchel, and nods.
"Ready, then."
The basement of Harrowstone is much as you left it. You hurry to the central dungeon chamber, where the remains of your battle against skeletons still lie, and follow the brass nameplate hanging from the ceiling towards "The Nevermore" to the south.
Unfortunately, an iron portcullis blocks entry to the cellblock itself. Beyond, you see a partially-ruined room lined with iron-barred doors, most of which hang askew. Partially burnt wooden support timbers still function to the north, while to the south they’ve collapsed and caused cell walls to crumble as well. Rivulets of water drip down the southwestern wall to create a shallow pool in this ruined portion of the room, with overflow filling an oubliette hole in the middle of the room nearly to the rim.
Looks like he isn't here... so we'll be finding another way then right? Radag says scratching the back of his head after considering the blocked path. Those bars look a little harder to bend than the ones upstairs.
Esta is glad to be out of the stuffy records room, and more than ready to prove her worth. She trails slightly behind the group with Oolong as they descend into the prison's basement, partially because they were the ones who knew their way around the bulding, and partially because she didn't want to get into the way. She hadn't expected the people she'd been looking for to be so... skilled. Knowledgeable. At least, that's how they appeared to her.
Walking through the basement, Esta is lost in thought until they reach the central chamber. She stops abruptly when she sees the skeletal remains strewn about the floor, and a sense of uneasiness quickly sets in. Nervously, she flicks her hand, casting Mage Armor on herself. If the group’s apprehension was soon validated by whatever was down here… well, better safe than sorry.
As they reach the portcullis, she glances through the bars and at their surroundings as she listens to Radag speak. “Maybe there’s a lever or somethin’ somewhere,” she offers, feeling somewhat unhelpful. She moves to the door next to her, searching for traps before pulling on the handle.
Whatever this room once was, it is now ruined, charred by the fire that collapsed the prison. All that remains is the winch mechanism that controls the portcullis leading to the Nevermore, although it too was damages by flames.
Esta steps back into the hallway. "There's a lever in 'ere tha' looks like it'll get us through," she says, motioning into the room behind her. "It's broken, though. It'll 'ave t' be fixed first. Or replaced."
She walks back towards the large central room. "Th' last time you all were 'ere, did you go through th' other areas out there?" She looks back at the group. "Maybe we can find parts or... somethin'."
"Damn the luck." Aduard growled. "For two days I've kept a spell of repair on hand. I traded it out for more wards not two hours ago." Composing himself the wizard turned to Esta "A nice find, and well reasoned."
Brogol kneels and removes a small magnifying loop from his satchel. Peering into the mechanism, the boy grunts. "Hnnng. No, not tha whole area. Is possible there's parts somewer. Maybe a storage closet or something."
Removing some lubricant from his crafting kit, the boy dabs a little onto a cloth strip and coats the mechanism, looking for where the damage lies.
"This is where we got to yesterday, is it not? If we are so close now, then little surprise he followed us home." Aduard nervously fingered a Haunt Siphon as he waited for Brogol to finish his work.
The apprehension of her new companions had Esta on edge. If people as seemingly capable as these were nervous...
Taking a deep breath, she heads towards the northernmost hallway, carefully making her way through the skeletal remains as Oolong sniffs at the bones alongside her. Something about them made her even more jittery.
She tentatively steps into the hallway, eyes darting around the corridor in search of doorways or anything else of interest
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