Brogol stands quickly, looking for Lereia, and sighing as she's apparently vanished into the crowd. Squatting back down, the half-man takes another silver from his coin purse and folds it into the little girl's hand. "Good work, junior monster hunter. If yer see yer friend Lereia around, come fetch me a' tha' Lorrimors."
Standing again, and scanning the crowd one last time, Brogol heads in to do his research
Dmitri sighs, before trying to talk to the crossbow-wielding aggressor. "Hey there. We ain't here t' bother you or nothin'. We just want t' talk a li'l!"
"I had completely written him off until you mentioned that brand of gibberish. He sounds exactly like the person I would want to speak with. Cultists are my chief concern when it comes to recent murd- I mean accidentals around here." Radag stands from the bar as he tosses a few silver to pay for the drinks and the information.
"What's the best way to where he is staying now?"
The voice from the tree-house screams "No, no, NO! I don't believe you! You won't get me like you got her! Forgive me, my love, but they won't get me like they got you!"
With a twang, the crossbow looses a bolt, but it thuds into the shack behind Dashil. The crossbow is pulled back inside the tree-house and the door slams.
Dashil doesn't flinch as the crossbow bolt misses her; dodging traps and being shot at is just another Toilday. She's glad she spotted the tripwire, though - an axe to the shins could be nasty. Not to mention the collapse of the bridge.
Still wreathed in a pale nimbus of light (that complements the colour of her blue hair), she uses the reload time to advance across the bridge. She hopes to reach him before he can shoot again.
"Ya want me t' follow ya, lass?" Dmitri ventures, the bolt having pierced through the wall of the shack close to his position. He pokes at it with an armored glove before turning his attention back to his companion.
Wakati wishes the Councilman a good evening.
I'm not sure where Dmitri and Dashil wandered off to, and I am not that inclined to join Radag at the tavern. How about we attempt to assist Brogol with his search?
"Perhaps there is a bounty on the man in addition to having my interest then?"
Regardless of the answer Radag makes his way to the woods south of town to poke around until evening nears to see if he can pick up a trail or sign of the hermit. If he doesn't turn up anything he'll return to the manor to meet up with the others before heading to the graveyard.
Out of sight of the Councilman, Aduard slumps slightly.
"Yes. Yes, that is probably for the best. First I'd like to stop by the house first and straighten out my servants, 'lest I prove to have lied to the Councilman."
Dashil nods in answer to Dmitri's question. "Yes, back me up - but mind the tripwire."
Faced with a closed door, Dashil reacts on instinct and kicks it in, following in swiftly, hoping to avoid giving the man time to sight her or fire.
Strange... For a man that keeps to himself, he sure has a bit of company.
Radag follows the trail left behind by the most recent tracks using stealth if possible.
"Stockl! We were going to stop in here and then try to find you. Shall we head inside and chat?"
Brogol smiles as Aduard and Wakati approach, a genuine smile - not that the others can see, covered by the cowl of Brogol's purple cloak, in order to offer protection from the wind.
Inside, Brogol sets a pot of water to boil. Taking his formula book from his belt pouch, Brogol flips to the notes he took from earlier in the day.
"Aye met some girls, little Varisan children, an' they sung this rhyme:
'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.'
'Tis probably nothing, but Aye recorded it for posterity. Perhaps yer write a book about this when wer done.
One a tha girls was curious. Name of Lereria. Little Varisan girl, slender an' pale, wit black hair. Brave little girl whose in some trouble, Aye think. Her raven, Eronel, went missing a few weeks ago, an she's been acting 'wierd' according ta tha other girls. Didn't Radag have a run-in wit' a raven last night?
Also, there's a ghost girl at tha' memorial fountain, or so tha' girls said. One o' tha' girls' uncles saw tha' ghost girl last week wit' some flowers.
Inside tha' Unfurling Scroll, Aye found some interesting stuff as well. Tha day Harrowstone burned, five unnamed notorious criminals had recently arrived.
Little known, tha prisoners had already seized control o' tha dungeon an' had been in control o' tha' lower level for several hours before tha' fire. Tha' Warden Hawkren triggered a deadfall ta seal the prisoners in tha lower level, but trapped himself and two dozen guards in tha process. Tha guards accidentally started tha fire in a desperate attempt ta end tha riot, sealing their doom. Why tha Lady Hawkren was wit' them, Aye still dunno."
Brogol lowers his voice and looks around the manor, before whispering the last of his discoveries. "Also, remember tha dream Aye had? Woman, very worried, from right here on tha land tha this house stands, about her husband gettin' home? That were tha Hawkren's tha' lived on this land before tha manor was built, a family line tha ended wit tha deaths of Lyvar and Vesorianna a' tha Harrowstone fire. Wonder wha' happened ta that house?"
Aduard listens intently to the entire report.
"Good work, man!"
"That is a disturbing song. And it seems I owe you an apology - it seems that you do have some psychometric talents."
"We've been working on convincing the Councilman to write a book on Harrowstone. He has access to the Council library. We might be able to ask him to look into the history of the land."
Dmitri follows after Dashil, careful not to set off the trap she mentioned.
Raven? Ravens are loyal. Tend towards familiars and dark magic.
"Is it Lereria, with the raven? I think I'd like to here more about that, if you don't mind?"
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. In the distance, the ranger can make out what appears to be Dashil and Dmitri about to enter the treehouse. Their weapons are drawn.
Brogol shrugs. "Aye'm sorry if Aye wasn't clear. Tha raven, Eronal, was Lereria's, before it disappeared. She's been distraught since it happened. That's what Aye know. Tha girl was gone before I got tha rest o' tha story from her friends, an' they didn't know too much. Just kids, ya know?"
"You mentioned she'd been acting strangely, and that you suspected she might be in trouble. I've just admitted you seem to have some psychic talent, so I'm reluctant to discard your intuition!"
Dashil doesn't hesitate - she definitely does not want to give him time to reload. Running up the stairs, she hopes that they have finally cornered their quarry.
She entirely fails to spot that Radag has caught up with them; she never was any good at watching her back. Something that the Professor would doubtless have something to say about.
Brogol squirms a little uncomfortably under Aduard's interest, the young man not being used to the scrutiny.
"Aye did say that. Her friends say she's been acting strangely, an' Aye think she's perhaps trying ta find her raven by treating with tha beyond - probably wit' a Harrow deck or the like. Aye warned tha girl ta be careful, but perhaps she's already been corrupted. It is perhaps worth investigating tha girl some more."
"Or potentially the girl has been possessed, and the raven, sensing that, has fled." Aduard shrugged, then paused and pulled out his notebook "Excuse me a second, I need to write that idea down for my next book..."
After a moment he looks up "Well, at the least, this seems like an easy thing to discount. Of course, if we just turn up and start inquisiting her we'll likely to drive her to tears, which I cannot imagine will make us many friends. How do you suggest we proceed?"
The stairs end in a trapdoor that leads to the roof. When Dashil reaches the roof, she finds her quarry in the process of dropping a rope ladder. Whipping around, his wild eyes glare at you. This is the man you saw yesterday in the Restlands, observing the funeral from a distance.
In one hand is his crossbow. In the other is a wooden branch studded with nails.
[ooc]We're operating with a loose combat here. It took you a double move to reach the top of the treehouse. We'll wait for Dmitri can still act, then Atrellus, then Dashil again. Also, Dashil took 2 damage.
Radag approaches cautiously trying to see what Dashil and Dmitri are after before making his presence well known.
Dmitri hurries after Dashil, trying to maneuver in a way that doesn't pull the longspear out of his hands.
Wakati nods attentively as Brogol relates his tale.
A ghost girl by the fountain? The one down near the memorial? Interesting. I wonder if there's a connection with the recent desecration. Of course in a town like this, there could be a perfectly mundane explanation for the vision, blown out of proportion by ignorance and fear.
I've some experience with spirits. There is often a single driving force that keeps them tied to this world, whether a task left undone, or an emotion left unexpressed. Whatever it is, once the tie is discovered, it can be undone, and the spirit laid to rest.
I believe tonight we were going to investigate the graveyard for whatever the Professor left behind there. Tomorrow, Aduard and I are going to meet with the Councilman again, and he will accompany us to the town's hall of records. We should be able to find out at least a little more about the events at the prison. Tomorrow night might be a good time to investigate this ghost. Not only to determine if it is real, but to help lay it to rest, if it is real.
Looking around briefly, Wakati turns back to Brogol: You don't happen to know where our other associates wandered off to?
Approaching the cabin cautiously, Radag notices nothing out of the ordinary with the building.
Dmitri frowns as he takes a step back and tries to knock the old man's legs out from under him. "Just sit down an' we'll talk this over like reasonable folk!" he grits out.
Dmitri's longspear slides between the legs of the madman, but before the cleric can bring him down, the man steps out of the attempt and continues to press Dashil.
"I have had ENOUGH of this stupidity!" Dashil swears loudly as the nail pierces her foot, but the healing power of the Dawnflower closes the wound as quickly as it forms.
Reaching the top of the stairs, she evades the clumsy attack and throws herself at the old man, trying to bring him down so that Dmitri can step in and help her restrain him.
Dashil flies into the man, driving him into the roof. He moans piteously and begins to weep.
Radag continues with caution to approach, seeing as it looks like Dashil has things under control.
Dmitri assists Dashil in subduing the old man, taking care not to hurt him. "We jus' wanted t' ask ya a few questions! There's no need for all this," he says, sighing heavily.
Brogol nods along as Wakati talks of the plans of the next couple of days. "Yes, tonight tha graveyard, tomorrow the Town Hall an tha ghost. As fer tha others, yer guess is as good as mine. Tavern?"
With danger no longer close at hand, the light surrounding Dashil flickers and fades; she feels both relieved (its purity was somehow painful to experience) and disappointed.
Looking around, she spots Radag approaching. She calls across to him "Took your time. Tread carefully. Pit trap, tripwire at the bridge, spikes on the stairs."
She turns her attention back to the old man. "My colleague here is correct: we didn't come here to hurt you. We just want information. Why were you spying on us? What's with the raven? What are your papers downstairs? Don't make me hurt you."
The crazed man looks up at Dashil, eyes wide with terror. "I had... had to be sure you weren't one of THEM. They're after me. After me after all these years. They're everywhere."
Dmitri's breath slows as he calms down. "Who are 'they'?" he asks the old man, his brow furrowing.
"Well, let me set my people to useful tasks, and perhaps we can talk to Ms Lorrimor about town history. Now that we have something to go on - 'Hawkren', did you say - anyway, now we have that, and we know that they lived here, perhaps she can give us more information on the history of the house."
Dashil watches wearily, her eyes narrowed as she assesses their captive. She runs a hand through her blue hair, listening to the answers he gives. He looks pretty spent - old and tired. An outcast, terrified of those around him, paranoid... OK, OK, dammit - will you STOP doing that?! First that half-orc kid, now this guy. Her comments are directed skywards, and despite the fact that the sun is hidden by perpetual cloud she swears for a fraction of a second she can feel its warmth on her cheek.
Damn. And she tries so hard not to feel anything, these days.
Wandering over to the old man, she pulls the stopper off her flask and offers it to him. "See. Symbol of the Dawnflower. We're the good guys. Thirsty?"
Dashil cocks her head to one side. "The what, now? Explain. Please." The 'please' comes after a short, but noticeable, pause.
Dashil racks her brains to try and remember anything she might have heard about this 'King in Yellow'. She takes a sip from her flask, in hope that helps, and to stop this old man drinking all of her supply - she needs this stuff to get through the day.
Aduard walks to the door of the house, sniffing when he is not greeted.
"Nahodha, could you please set up a meeting with our hostess in the drawing room? I'll join you presently, however I just need to go and lecture my staff."
"Gods of light! What have you been doing?"
"Mrs Corinson. I expect that by now you have acquainted yourself with the kitchen. No? Then do so. Ensure all the pots and pans are clean. Draw fresh water. Boil 3 pots of water. You're cooking tonight, my dear."
"Drey! Thanks to your driving we're now without a carriage. No, that doesn't mean I'm rewarding you with a holiday! You've been demoted to porter, my lad. Listen carefully - go out there and buy three pounds of potatoes, 2 pounds of flour, a side of beef, eight onions, a pumpkin - a big one, a large jug of milk and twelve eggs. Should be able to do it all on two silver, so I'll give you three and hope you can bring back change. Keep your ear to the ground, and if you happen the make friends with the locals I'll be quite pleased."
"Mr Corinson. I've little use for a valet with only one change of clothing, so go with Drey and purchase a needle, a spool of thread and a few buttons. You'll be practicing your sewing and ironing tonight. Further, during the day you should be on hand to answer the door. See to it."
"Now, Ms Corinson. I realise I'm an old fashioned sort of man, but a lady of Ms Lorrimor's pedigree should not be unescorted in a house full of gentlemen. I expect you to offer your services as a companion and Lady's maid during our visit. Should she decline your offer, you should assist your mother in the kitchen."
"Well, congratulations..." Radag clapped slowly as he came up to the others. "Quite impressive take down, I doubt I could have done it much better myself. Did he have a raven by chance?" Radag makes sure to retrieve any weapons that might be straying near the man Dashil snatched her flask from; ill with worry that it might run out.
"Ravens - what?" Dashil is nonplussed. She sniffs. "Ale, this early in the afternoon? Hm."
Turning back to the not-quite-a-prisoner, she frowns, again. "What is your involvement with the Old Ones?"
As an aside, she quickly whispers an explanation to Dmitri and Radag: "'The King in Yellow' is the avatar of Hastur, one of the Great Old Ones: malevolent and ancient beings with godlike powers. Hastur's cult is associated with decadence, entropy, and nihilism. They seek a never-ending cycle of self-gratification, drawing the innocent in with promises of pleasure and wealth before marking them with the 'Yellow Sign', which supposedly will allow Hastur to manifest on the world."
Trying to reassure him, she adds "Don't be afraid - my Goddess is equal to that Yellow King." The unshakable conviction in her voice surprises even her. What's this, girl - faith, even after all these years?
She takes another sip, to dispel any unquiet thoughts.