"The hall? An excellent suggestion, and I thank you. I can see why the secrecy is important given the information entrusted to the church. Still, perhaps an ordained member of the church could look a few small, harmless, facts up for us? I'm sure we could recompense that clergyman for his valuable time."
Aduard fingers his belt pouch as he talks
...
Radag crosses his arms, the idea of getting stuck here flipping through books does not sound appealing. When the priest flatly rejects them he chuckles and turns halfway toward the door, with arms still crossed, to prepare himself to leave.
Brogol stays behind the others, but raises his large green hand to his chest, as if to make a pledge. "If yer'll let us in, Aye'll give the church a donation o' 100 gold in one month's time. An' Aye'll buy yer holy text here an' now, an' promise ta have a long conversation wit you about it then. Consider me a potential member o' yer flock."
"Look these brains need a crack at your scratch and the rich one is willing to tithe. Cut em a break yeah? Lady Graves judges everyone in death, not by their ordainment and I'm an undead hunter so the Lady is real into my line of work. You'd be doin yourself a favor." Radag somehow manages to help the situation, although how it happened...
Dashil looks scornful "Tchah - why are we even bothering with this? You know Pharasma's contribution to creation is the butt-crack, right - to make it more comfortable for her followers to sit on the fence!" She looks contemptuously at the priest. "At least my goddess lets me get my hands dirty on occasion. Come on. Let's go and do something useful."
Dmitri looks as Dashil sideways, a heavy frown on his face. "Were ya sick th' day they were teachin' th' good li'l Sarenraen boys an' girls 'bout forgiveness an' temp'rance?" he chides.
"She was probably bored to tears and death when we discussed coming here in the first place."
Aduard approaches the cleric as the rest of the group leaves
"My apologies, I can assure you she doesn't speak for me. I understand how many faithful Pharasmins have led inquisitions and campaigns against necromancers trying to raise a dark legion."
"I cut myself on some old rusty metal. Not very glamorous, I know. The metal was filthy though, and I'm worried about disease. I'm probably fine, but I was hoping that Pharasma's clergy might be able to confirm that I'm not infected with something."
Radag heads outside to discuss what to do now.
Town halls archive perhaps, or the Restlands.
After hearing the priest's explanation, and his companions' attempts to 'assist', Wakati nods his head solemnly.
Understood. Like I mentioned earlier, we are staying with Kendra Lorrimor for some time. If you change your mind, I would appreciate a quick note. May the Lady judge you fairly.
Stepping out into the street, his gaze wanders over his companions.
I suggest we head to Town Hall, and review the records there. Given the reception we received here, I doubt the Church would take kindly to our poking around in the Restlands. I think it would cause less trouble if we were to wait until there were fewer witnesses out. Besides, we don't really know yet what the Professor was so interested in. It is hard to determine the right tool for the job if we don't yet know what the job is.
"Aye, tha town hall it is." Bundling his cloak around himself, Brogol waits for someone to lead the way. Surely the town hall is nearby.
Dmitri nods. "Hopefully, they'll let us actually read their records. I kinda get th' feelin' they might not, though. This place ain't been particularly welcomin'."
Radag will lead the way to the town hall, in spite of actually knowing where he is going.
One of these large buildings in the town center circle should be it. Hopes that's it there...
He pokes and prods around the cut, asking for your reaction to his probing. Despite this, all you feel is middle irritation from the wound being agitated. Once finished, he releases you.
"You should be more careful around such objects. Luckily for you, I don't think there will be an infection. There is a risk of tetanus. Come back if you begin experiencing a tightness in the jaw."
The town hall lies in the center of town, in the ring of buildings you first encountered on your explorations. In classic small-town style, the people of Ravengro use this all-purpose facility for virtually everything, including council meetings, wedding receptions, and, when it rains, even the annual cook-off. Inside, a number of pews face a raised stage, upon which sit two tables and four chairs.
The room is occupied by a pair of men. You recognize one as Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, who read the Professor's will the night before. The other is an older man, but much thinner than Hearthmount. Despite his age, his clothing is remarkably in style for Ravengro, and his eyes betray a hint of youthful manner.
Hearthmount stiffens when you enter. "Yes? The council meetings do not occur until the next Oathday."
Wakati steps forward to address the councilman.
Greetings Councilman Hearthmount. You may recall we met yesterday at the reading of Professor Lorrimor's will. As you know, we've been asked to stay in town for a short time in order to help Kendra deal with any business that remains as a result of the Professor's passing. We've agreed to stay, and now find ourselves with some time on our hands.
I myself am somewhat of an historian, and have a deep interest in the nation of Ustalav and its past. There are many landmarks and sites of historical interest in this area. I was hoping that you would allow my associates and I the minor indulgence of reviewing some of the records kept here at town hall. In particular, I have heard stories of the prison on the hill, and am fascinated with its founding and eventual demise. Would it be possible for us to review some of these records? I assure you we will leave everything as we found it, when we are through.
Aduard thanks the cleric extensively and sincerely, then hurries after his companions.
His eye is drawn to the other man, the one actually wearing fashionable clothing.
Expecting Wakati to once more be rebuffed he approaches the well-dressed older man, nodding politely to the Councillor as he passes.
"Good Morning, sir. I am Aduard Bookman. Who might I have the pleasure of addressing?"
Dashil follows the others in silence, reflecting on Dmitri's rebuke. The best she could manage by way of retort was a muttered "You try being a paladin, see how much sweetness and light you have left 60 years later;" but her heart wasn't really in it. There must have been a time when she had that same idealism; she tries to remember. Fails.
Lurking in the background while Wakati talks to the councilman, she tries to read his mood and that of his companion; but her own introspection has clearly stirred up too much distracting emotional turmoil.
Radag drops himself into a pew and leans back propping his arms up and across a great deal of the back of the seat. He waits to hear the answer the Councilman Heartman gives before propping his feet up to stake out more space on the back of the next row of pews.
Councilman Hearthmount shakes his head doggedly at Wakati's request. "Absolutely not. The town hall records are for use of the council only. They are not free to be perused by a group of layabouts that have been in Ravengro for less than twenty-four hours. If you must sate your curiosity, go to The Unfurling Scroll. I'm sure Alendru will have something for you to read."
He gazes at Radag propping his feet up on the back of the pew. "Get your feet off of the furniture! This is not some tavern that you may idly lounge in."
The other man smiles and holds out his hand. "I'm Councilman Gharen Muricar. I'm afraid Vashian has the right of it. The town records contain all manner of sensitive information that I'm sure the citizens of fair Ravengro would not appreciate being given away so readily."
"I can see that, Councilman Muricar." Aduard shakes hands with the Councilman.
"I am afraid my baggage was lost when my Carriage went over a mountain on the journey from my house in Caliphas. I am reduced to a single change of clothes - something I find intolerable. I could not help noticing the fine cut of your clothes, and I was rather hoping I might impose upon you to name your tailor."
"I am sure that it is solely due to my desperate circumstances that Councilman Hearthmount has mistaken me for a layabout rather than a successful author of independent means. I shall have to keep it from my staff, whom I sure would be as mortified as I!"
"You mean many citizens... Not all the citizens, because Kendra is a citizen is she not?" Radag plainly states with a half sigh. "You know just as well, that we are here helping Lady Kendra. Refusing us on such reason is to deny her." Radag pulls his feet down and stands up and heads out.
"You can find me at the laughing devil. Come get me when the sun sets."
Before Radag can leave, another man enters the town hall. Easily marked as a sheriff deputy of Ravengro by his uniform and badge, he holds a battered helmet under one arm. His look is grim.
"Beggin' your pardon, councilmen. Sheriff Caeller sent me to inform you that sumthin' queer has happened at the ol' monument. He begs your presence immediately." He then seems to notice the presence of the party and nods curtly.
Dashil smiles sweetly at the newcomer "Oh, don't mind us, we were just leaving - whatever has come up, I'm sure your intrepid councilmen have the skill at arms and investigative minds to deal with it."
Dashil's scornful look at Hearthmount's vast bulk and fine clothing is matched by the contempt in her tone of voice. "Come, fellow layabouts, nothing for us here..."
Dmitri sighs heavily, shuffling out of the building without saying a word. 'I don' know which is worse, that they ain't welcomin' at all or that these folk intend t' start somethin' wit' them at e'ry turn,' the Cleric thinks to himself.
Brogol follows the others outside, making sure to look away from the sheriff as they pass, so that the apprentice's cloak blocks the sheriff's view of Brogol's face. Once outside, Brogol turns to the others. "Aye wager tha sheriff wouldn't a said anything if he noticed us before he opened his trap. Somethings going on at the monument an' Aye aim to see what it is. Its a public place, so they'll just have ta deal..."
That said, the half-human wraps his cloak around himself and sets down the road towards the monument.
"The same monument that was built to commemorate the same prison we're so keen on learning about wasn't it? Lover-boy 's right, they'll have ta deal." Radag falls in behind Brogol on the way to investigate.
Yes, well, that's unfortunate. Thank you for your time.
Hearing the deputy request the Councilman's attendance, Wakati cocks his head and ponders the situation. Upon hearing Brogol's thoughts, he says: Yes, this is highly curious. We should go see if we can be of assistance. As much assistance as a group of layabouts can be, that is.
"Councilman Muricar? May I walk with you?"
He then continues more quietly
"I my apologies for my colleagues words. We were all of us quite busy people, but when an old friend called us one last time we dropped everything to come. Being accused of laziness seems an injustice."
When you arrive, a small crowd has gathered around the memorial, held back by a trio of over-matched deputies. One man, dressed in a leather greatcoat with a wide-brimmed hat, inspects the scene at the base of the statue.
Over the names of the dead, a large letter "V" has been written in the unmistakable brownish-red of dried blood. More blood has been splattered about the statue. The man in the greatcoat stoops to the ground and picks up what appears to be the body of a headless rat.
Adventurers? Irefist!
"Oh I see. Quite understandable then. Hopefully you do not include me in that description!"
"I am an author. Aduard Bookman. Quite well regarded in some places, I understand, though of course books are too expensive to enjoy much in the way of common popularity."
"All manner of things, in fact. Sadly my scholarly works languish while my fictions have gone on to great success. You sound as if you may be a Bibliophile, sir - or are you also an Author?"
I'm guessing this was not just a bunch of bored kids. This seems like a very deliberate act, both in selecting the site of the vandalism, and the method. And it is yet another arrow pointing us towards Harrowstone.
Wakati watches the local law examine the scene. He will wait until there is a good opportunity, and then will approach the statue in order to read the names on the base of the memorial.
In remembrance of all victims of the Harrowstone Fire
Lyvar Hawkren
Vesorianna Hawkren
Zander Bednarek
Russ Brecht
Wernher Brockett
Loreno Carter
Nikhil Chandler
Elmo Chorster
Stanleigh Cocchi
Torsten Cronshaw
Kenneth Droverson
Payton Dziejman
Cyrill Fiedlerson
Harmen Fletcher
Leopold Fletcher
Malleville Hottle
Vincenz Kaplow
Braden Loyalar
Demetrius Maher
Wiley Ravera
Kristofer Rodenberg
Vidi Schwarz
Klopas Sethuraman
Rawlings Tarmikos
Hardmod Trannyth
Gardiner Urthadar
Barden Whittaker
Despite herself, Dashil is intrigued by the sign in blood; almost unconsciously her training exerts itself. Scarcely aware of the fact, she scans the crowd: who looks guilty, who is in charge, who looks out of place?
She examines the blood and (carefully, without touching) the rat's corpse, to see how long ago this was done; she will also assist Radag with looking for tracks, although with the crowd around she isn't hopeful.
Radag approaches the local, Right mess and a dishonor that vandal has made. Radag Irefist, pleased to meet you. Radag takes the mans hand to shake it and pats him on the shoulder with his other. You mind if I have a look at the scene here, I picked up a few tracker tricks of the trade with the Rine Ranger's a while back. You've nothing to lose and it's free of charge.
"Truly? I know some of the publishers in Ustalav, might I ask as to the titles and publishers?"
Brogol pushes himself through the gathering crowd, crouching next to Dashil. Dropping to a knee, the apprentice takes a look at the rat's corpse, trying to figure out the method of its demise - was its head cut clean off, or bitten? Is the blood rat's blood, or is there too much here for it to have come from the rodent?
Next, Brogol scans the monument's names, hoping that he's read of some of them in the doctor's old Ustalevan history books, or perhaps a genealogical tome that made up an evening of reading, paying attention for famous or infamous names, hereditary lineages still around today, and the like. Taking out his formula book and quill, the half-human takes care to inscribe each name from the memorial into his book.
Dmitri growls low in the back of his throat, truly disgusted with what has happened here. "There ain't no forgivin' folk who'd do somethin' like this t' a monument," he states, a dull fire in his eyes. He proceeds to assist in checking the area.
The only expression you find in the gathered crowd is a mixture of shock, curiosity, and horror.
None of the names stick out to you, besides Warden Hawkren and his wife.
Setting to task Radag begins sweeping the area, "Ah, see this here? Human, most likely male; likes to grip the earth with his bare toes as he walks. And yes, he was barefoot." Radag traces the path of the tracks by pointing them out to the others.
"The man meandered all the way around the monument before heading north, along the river. May be easy to follow along the muddy banks if any of you are interested in the detour."
Brogol comes around the other side of Radag, opposite Sheriff Caeller. "Nothing strange about tha names on tha memorial, 'cept tha presence of tha Warden's wife, of course." An' that her name was Vesorianna. Wit' a "V". Aye'll detour wit' yer."
As they walk, Brogol does his best to point out the tracks when Radag loses them, being surprisingly helpful, considering he's never tracked anyone before.
Wakati follows along after Radag and Brogol. He appears deep in thought, though he mutters to himself and picks at his teeth. It's as if he's trying to work out a tricky bit of arithmetic in his head.
Aduard reaches in vain for memories of the books, or the publisher. He can almost feel it... but these memories are out of reach, probably due to his recent reincarnation.
"Good for you! So many seem happy to let history simply pass by, as if the past were simply an endless stream of 'todays'."
Shaking his head slightly he continues
"In the old days we knew the importance of history, because we lived in the aftermath of great empires and terrible tyrants." hurriedly explaining "Ustalav, that is."
"I would love to see the books, if you might consider inviting an itinerant author for tea. I would invite you to my residence, but I am imposing on poor Ms Lorrimor, and my staff are still recovering from the trip."
It's been a while since we had some mood music. :)
Sheriff Caeller groans. "This is Gib Hephenus's property." Hephenus was the ringleader of the disgruntled farmers that tried to stop Professor Lorrimor's funeral.
Dmitri runs a hand through his beard, trying to put two and two together. "Think he might be th' one that did that?" he asks.
Radag stands up from his hunched posture to stretch, there's obviously some feeling of accomplishment in his smug smile. "It may be a safe bet, but I couldnt venture a guess as to what killing a rat and smearing its internals on a statue has to do with anything."
"Well Sheriff, that's your man. What's going to happen to him?"
Aduard peers at the pole
"So, you said you penned..."
The corpses of a three sheep belonging to Councilman Gharen Muricar were discovered over the last few months by ranch hands the following mornings. The sheep’s bodies were left on the farm, mostly intact except the skin was peeled off and removed sometime during each night. Attempts to find what was causing these slayings have turned up no luck. – Benjar Caellar (This news is over a month old)
"Good gods, it's your sheep that someone has been skinning? That's hideous! Do you think it is some local deviant, or do you have some sort of local gibbersnitch that does this sort of thing?"