Radag is well on his way to the laughing demon.
Brogol offers the councilman a deep bow. "Thank you, councilman. Aye'm happy ta know tha such a place exists. If you'll excuse me..."
After asking directions to The Unfurling Scroll, Brogol turns on his heel, wraps his cloak around himself and sets off into the wind, ready to get his learning on.
"Very kind" beams Aduard, looking to see who is taking advantage of the invitation.
Dashil raises an eyebrow at the councilman's comments, but - remembering Aduard's (unvoiced) plea that they need friends - stays polite. "I'm not concerned about finding him; I rather think he wants to find us. I've seen him watch us at least twice now, I'm going to find out what he wants."
Taking another sip from her flask of whisky, she nods - barely - to the assembled company before going her own way.
As she treads the varied paths of Ravengro in search of her quarry, her thoughts are as bleak as the grey sky overhead.
Dammit, Professor, what have you got me into? Thirty days in Ustalav?! You knew I swore never to come back ... And you knew that your death was the only thing that would draw me here. And now I find mystery piled on mystery.
Dmitri nods, following after Dashil. "I ain't much good with scholarly stuff. I'll stick with you," he tells the woman. "An' I'm sorry 'bout before. I ain't got nothin' against Radag, he jus' rubs me th' wrong way is all. But what we're doin' here is more important."
Dashil snorts. "He rubs everyone the wrong way. Just means you're alive. Don't apologise. Give as good as you get and you'll be fine, priest of the Lucky Drunk."
Tossing her head, she looks around, wondering which way to go. Story of my life...
The Unfurling Scroll is a small building in the main square of Ravengro. A wooden sign hangs above the door depicting a cartoonish wizard aghast as an endless scroll piles at his feet. Outside of the building, a group of five little Varisian girls clothed in shawls and dresses are playing a skipping rope game at the side of the road. Each of the girls takes turns jumping in the rope while singing two lines of a rather disturbing song, then skips out of the rope to let the next girl take up the next two lines. The way in which the girls switch from skipping to passing the ends of the rope to each other to keep the whole thing going is strikingly well timed and well choreographed — and the verse itself is rather disturbing. The five repeating verses are as follows:
"Put her body on the bed.
Take a knife and lop her head.
Watch the blood come out the pipe.
Feeds the stirge, so nice and ripe.
Drops of red so sparkly bright.
Splatters spell her name just right.
With a hammer killed his wife.
Now he wants to claim your life.
Tricksy father tells a lie.
Listen close or you will die."
Brogol stops, and listening to the song, smiles and takes his formula book and pen from his pack. Charming. As the kids sing, the apprentice writes the verse in his book, and after it is clear that the verse is repeating, he puts his book away and kneels at the level of the girls, watching with admiration their precision.
Coughing lightly, politely, Brogol turns his head so that the hood of his cloak falls low over his face, one blood-red eye peaking just out from under the hood. "Urm. Excuse me, children. Yer all very good at skipping rope - meybe tha best Aye ever seen. Yer song is very scary too an' Aye've never heard it before. Who is tha man wha killed his wife? Wha lie does he tell?"
--------
As the young half-human enters The Unfurling Scroll, Brogol pauses a minute to get his bearings, letting his eyes adjust to the light. Seeking out the nearest clerk, librarian, or person of authority and reaching for his coin, Brogol asks, "How do Aye go about doing some research here?"
Dmitri eyes the trail warily, his hand gripping his weapon tight as it rests against his shoulder. "Ya think the ol' man left these?" he asks Dashil.
Dashil raises an eyebrow. "Who else? Let's chase this down." The sense of being watched is getting to her, but she dismisses it. Ustalav.
Dmitri shrugs, gesturing for the woman to lead the way. "Ol' an' creepy as he is, he might still get visitors or somethin' out here... but I s'pose that'd pretty much take us to th' same place."
Ah, yes, Councilman Muricar, thank you for your hospitality. Aside from yourself and Ms. Lorrimor, we have seen very little of it here in Ravenscar.
Motioning towards Aduard: I'm sure my friend here filled you in on our situation. It seems we will be in the area for some time, at the late Professor's request, until Ms. Lorrimor's affairs are settled. To pass the time, some of us have reviewed some of the Professor's most recent notes. It seems he had concerns about something amiss up at the old prison. He never explained what, exactly. Being students of history, Aduard and I are endeavoring to learn more of the place. Is there anything you could tell us, or any sources you could point us to? We would be very grateful. And if you think there is anything we can do to help with your sheep issue, please let us know.
Dashil weighs Dmitri's comments, assessing them on their merit. "True, it could be a visitor - but barefoot? Colour me curious." Smiling faintly at her play on words, the Inquisitor follows the trail.
"Of course, as an author I am all too aware of how popular a book published on this Prison and the surrounding area would be. How many scholars would want to know what Mystery finally killed Petros Lorrimor?"
"Someone is going to write that book, if only for the money. I would like to make sure that when it happens it is a true and scholarly work."
"I shudder to think how easily some trite murder mystery impugning the Professor's character and implicating local citizens in some criminal activity or dark cult could be written, and how well it would sell."
"As real authors, it is our duty to see the Professor's legacy is protected."
Turning to Wakati
"The Councillor is a published author and somewhat of a local expert on cryptids and legends. He's a citizen and celebrity of the area. He'll actually be here long enough to see the book published properly. It seems to me that he, even more than ourselves, is well placed to write the book."
Turning back to the Councillor
"What do you say, Muricar? You know far more about this area than us. Will you take lead author on the book?"
"Now... a history of the prison, that could be worth writing about. And, of course, my lead in the publication would be a given. Some of the locals think its haunted. I know that at the time of the burning, there were a number of particularly vicious criminals being interred at Harrowstone. More than usual, in fact. Unfortunately, information on them is difficult to find."
The tracks leads south for two miles before encountering an unusual campsite. Perched on the edge of a deep ravine and nestled amid a grove of cedars, a rude lean-to shelter is roughly constructed, with clapboard and scrap wood nailed or lashed together with rusty nails, tattered ropes, and woven branches and vines. Its far end hangs out over the ravine, propped on tree stumps. Rain barrels catch water from an improvised gutter on one side of the shack.
A pair of ropes links the back of the shack to a tall cedar across the ravine, where a ramshackle treehouse can be dimly seen amidst the higher branches, though the lower branches have all been hacked off. There are no signs of life.
Dmitri eyes the hut uncomfortably. "That don't seem safe at all," he says to Dashil, tapping his weapon on his shoulder. "Think we should jus' knock on th' door an' say 'Hello'?"
Brogol stays kneeling at the girls' height, and tilts his head up, just enough that a sharp-toothed smile is visible. No, little one, Aye'm no monster. Aye'm a monster hunter. Aye just look this way ta scare tha monsters away from little ones like yerselves. Tha monsters see me coming and the run, run, run as fast as their legs an' tentacles can take 'em. In fact, Aye'm hunting a monster right now. An' its yer lucky day - Aye need junior monster hunters. Have yerselves seen anything strange around town these last few months?"
Reaching into his belt pouch, Brogol takes five silver and, with a flourish, holds the coins out in his large green hands for the girls to take. "Here's yer first payment, junior monster hunters. Now, as junior hunters, yer not ta try an' fight nothing, understand? But if yerselves see something weird, come find me a' tha' Lorrimor's house an' let me know about it, OK?"
Gathering his cloak around him, Brogol heads inside to do some research.
"Excellent! Rest assured that if I can be of any assistance in acquiring the information I will. As a councillor, and therefore trustworthy, you'll have access to the town's records. The Temple might have something. I believe you mentioned some scroll place? Anywhere else you think might be worth investigating?"
Radag takes a seat, half facing the two in the corner and half facing the clear liquor on the bar. "How'd you know him?"
Dashil narrows her eyes. "It does look unsavoury, doesn't it? Still, we've come this far... I'm going to risk the approach. Keep an eye out, if anyone points anything out of a window don't keep it to yourself, OK?"
Moving forward, she hopes that Dmitri is indeed watching for trouble.
Dmitri plants himself in a good position to observe the hut, holding his longspear with both hands. "Gotcha," he says as starts to keep watch.
To be honest, the whole "adventurer's lifestyle" is rather new for myself. I get the impression that is not the case for some of our companions.
We had thought to dig into the history of the prison somewhat, since that seemed to concern the Professor greatly before his demise. However, we've been stonewalled to this point. Not wholly surprising, seeing as how we are strangers here. But it does make our task more difficult. I have a feeling that some of the others will eventually want to go up there, to examine the scene. Aduard and I are of the school that anything we can learn about the place beforehand can only benefit our efforts. Any suggestions about sources of information would be greatly appreciated.
Wakati pauses to take a sip of tea, cocking his head as if listening to a far away sound.
"Certainly a proper expedition is a requirement for this sort of research, but just stomping around with no idea what is what is anathema!"
As Dashil approaches the shack, she notices that the ground slightly sags in front of door. More than likely, it is some sort of pit trap.
Inside, Brogol finds a middle-aged man with chalk-stained sleeves hunched over a book. "May I help you?" he asks, looking up from his desk.
"To old friends." Radag grabs the glass and raises it reach Zokars. Just before drinking it he breathes the smell of the liquid into his nose out of habitual caution, and then quaffs it down.
"So tell me Zokar, word travels fast, even faster through here, have heard of or seen a cloaked man with a raven as a pet? Because this story is already: piqued my interest, which is something I rarely find sincr my the championing the Frogmen."
Dashil has no particular reason to be stealthy, although she is glad that her keen senses have spotted the potential trap. She does her best to warn Dmitri of its existence by signing.
Continuing forward, she does her best to stay alert.
Well, a visit to the prison is premature at this point, in my opinion. There is something odd going on, and the more we know of its history, the better prepared we will be to deal with it. We very much appreciate your offer to accompany us to the records office. Shall we set a time for that?
Aduard nods in approval.
"Perhaps we can convince the Sheriff that we can be trusted to behave carefully and responsibly. Do you have any suggestions to that extent Councilman? If we could help solve this case of yours would that endear us to the Sheriff, or leave him feeling threatened?"
"As for the town records, let's meet at this time tomorrow at the hall."
Unfortunately, the only way through the door without triggering the trap is to climb along the front of the shack. There are still no signs of life coming from within the shack or treehouse.
"A cloaked man with a raven? Hmm... The only person with a pet raven is little Lereia, although I haven't seen it in a while. I can't say I've seen a cloaked man with one though. What did he look like?"
Another girl, quiet up to this point, disagrees. "Lereia, she's real. My uncle saw her last week. She had flowers!"
Lereia rolls her eyes. "No, she's not real. It's STUPID."
His research takes several hours of feverish reading, but Brogol finds several interesting tidbits on the history of Harrowstone. First of all, at the time Harrowstone burned, five particularly notorious criminals had recently arrived at the prison, although their names are not mentioned.
Secondly, while the commonly held belief is that the tragic fire began accidentally after the riot began, in fact the prisoners had already seized control of the dungeon and had been in command of the lower level for several hours before the fire. Warden Hawkran triggered a deadfall to seal the rioting prisoners in the lower level, but in so doing trapped himself and nearly two dozen guards. The prisoners were in the process of escaping when the panicked guards accidentally started the fire in a desperate attempt to end the riot.
Thirdly, and most bizarrely, is that the Lorrimor manor once belonged to the Hawkren family, a line that ended with the deaths of Lyvar and Vesorianna during the Harrowstone Prison Fire.
"An excellent idea!"
"Now, on another dark note... About these three skinned sheep, have you any more details we could try to follow up on?"
Making sure that Dmitri isn't too far behind her and (most importantly) that she can see him, Dashil continues her approach of the shack, climbing carefully round the pit trap.
Remaining kneeling at the girl's height, Brogol takes his hood back and looks at the young Varisan girl, fixing her with a red-eyed and serious stare. "Lereira, Aye can tell yer not being honest wit' me. These aren't times ta lie - yer could be in real danger. Tell me what yer know about this 'ghost girl' an' tell me everything. Ghosts can eat yer soul from the inside out, whiles they're pretending to be yer friend, an' yer won't even know it, until yers damned to the hells for eternity. Yer best come clean so Aye can help yer!"
Yes, I realize it has been some time since the incident occurred, but any detail you may remember should help. Anything out of the ordinary happen around that time period, either before or after? Aside from the actual harm to the sheep, that is.
"The man was dressed in dark robes and skulked the Restlands like a graveyard tunnel spider, when we spied him, he retreated behind a distant tombstone with great reflex. I would have had a word with whomever it was, but carrying a good man to his final resting place demands priority; many are only allowed one chance to be judged by The Lady of Graves and I was not going to make my friend be late."
"Later that night it was his raven that came to tell us the spider had already had us in his web with a wrapping at her window." Radag impersonates the wrapping sound on the bar with the base of his shot glass. "I discovered the raven as it retreated to its master. That's also when I would see the cloaked man again dwelling just off the edge of the woods. It was the lightning from the storm that betrayed the anonymity of his presence in the shadows."
"This time the others and I struck out into the storm to face the cloaked man ourselves, but the man had long since retreated to whatever hole he came from."
Dim light filters through the patchy ceiling, revealing a rough oven built of river stones and mortar and an improvised smoker. Several barrels hold jerky of indeterminate origin, and the floor is scattered with rusty tools and numerous stained and worn sacks of burlap and canvas, as well as a hammer, hatchet, shovel, and a set of artisan’s tools. At the back of the shack is a large shuttered window with a bench beneath it, allowing egress to the rope bridge.
One of the other girls calls after her, but she doesn't come back. "Sorry, mister monster hunter. Lereia's been weird since Eronel left." another adds.
"Are you okay in there?" Dmitri calls after Dashil, worried at the rickety hut. "You want me to stay put here, or follow?"
Brogol sighs, watching the girl run away. That one shouldn't play with forces she can't understand.
Turning to the other girl, Brogol smiles his most disarming smile, which is still too toothy to not be off-putting. "Who's Eronel, little one?"
"On other important matters, Councilman... Do you have a local tailor? I'm almost completely bereft of decent clothes!"
Dashil looks around, warily surveying the room and the rope bridge. "Looks fine" she calls back to Dmitri. "Not sure about crossing that bridge, though... Come in and keep an eye on the other side while I cross, I might be a bit occupied."
Waiting for Dmitri to join her, she then takes a deep breath, mutters a quick prayer to her Goddess, and steps onto the bridge.
Dmitri follows the woman inside, uncertainty clear on his face. "I hope we don't regret this..." he mumbles to himself.
"Old Antrellus, the resident nut eh? You are not the first to mention his name. Tell me more about his missing sandwiches; what does he do to win the label of local nut?"
A voice shouts down from the door. "GO AWAY! LEAVE US ALONE!"
Dashil takes a deep breath. She really doesn't want to do this, but she wants even less to be shot.
She trails off. She doesn't know what she needs. Going before the Dawnflower is an uncomfortable experience these days. She doesn't do it very often.
But, for whatever reason, Sarenrae hears her. A nimbus of pure light falls on her, despite the grey day and the lack of sun; it surrounds her and its purity hurts. It never used to do that.
Gritting her teeth, aware that the light makes her a wonderful target, Dashil keeps moving, her eyes on the crossbow. Reloading those things is a hard task, he won't get that many shots.
Looking back, she glances at Dmitri "Want to try reasoning with him? Strikes me you're more of a people person than I am." This is doubtless true - there are hermits with better social skills than Dashil.
"The fact you feel that need suggests that I will have little luck here. I think I will have to take the same route." Aduard shrugs in resignation
"You are an excellent host, Councilman, but if you will excuse me, I will take my leave. The sooner I get started, the sooner my factor in Caliphas can send me some new trousers."