"The King in Yellow is as your deity, Dashil?" Radag chuckles "No wonder this man is full of worry. Avatars are not normally as capable as the gods."
The man blinks at Dashil. "M-my involvement?" He trails off and his eyes go vacant. Right before Dashil thinks to broach the subject again, he snaps back into focus. "They took my wife! Plied me like a fool with gifts and convinced me to bring her to a meeting. They called something that night. A multi-legged beast from out of a nightmare. I can still see it. Its mouth was like a lamprey's and its back was covered in blisters each containing a pulsing brain. It put worms in my wife and took her away. It tried to put worms in me too, but I have this."
He gestures to a ragged doll tied to his belt. Made of filthy sackcloth and stuffed with who knows what, the moppet lacked any noticeable features save the requisite head and limbs that betrayed its humanoid shape.
"My Marisol made it for our child. But now as long as I have it, they can't find me, and the worms can't get out. Do you understand?"
He clutches the doll tightly, muttering. "Strange is the night where black stars rise, And strange moons circle through the skies."
Dashil gazes at the moppet, her eyes taking on a slightly unearthly quality - not glowing exactly, but definitely staring at something not visible under normal light.
She is unsure what to do with the old man. By his own admission he has consorted with the powers of darkness and is probably some sort of accessory to the murder/abduction of his wife; but she doesn't know what value to give to his story.
Her gaze shifts, both in its direction and its intensity, as she looks straight at him, trying to pierce (by sheer force of will) both his madness and any lies that he might have told.
Dmitri frowns. "I don't know much 'bout this kind o' stuff, but I don't like th' sound of any of it."
He seems to believe what he's saying, although whether or not any of it actually occurred is difficult to tell.
"Welcome back. Did your day turn up anything interesting?"
"Alright, I have heard enough. Crazy Eyes here is a wanted man in town, but after hearing all this... pity. That's the feeling." Radag takes a moment to take in the sights considers giving the confiscated weapons back.
Dashil nods. She isn't sure what more to ask, but it seems clear that this man knows nothing of the Professor's death, or is involved in anything more than a weird cult. She shrugs. Ustalav.
"Shall we go, then?"
Dmitri nods. "Should we jus' leave him? We did rough him up a bit," the cleric scratches the back of his head and has the decency to look embarrassed about how they'd treated Antrellus. "Are ya okay? Do ya want us t' help ya back to town?" he asks the man in question.
Changing the subject, Brogol pulls his hood back to get a better look at the lady. "Lots a things, m'lady. But yer look exhausted. Everything OK?"
Dmitri frowns once more. "In that case, will ya be okay if we leave ya here?"
"Then continue to hide from your nightmares while the rest of us leave you here." Radag says with derision as, he makes, his way out and to return to,the manor.
We started today attempting to access the records at the Pharasman church, and then at town hall. We didn't have much luck, as it seems the locals are not keen on outsiders. However, as we were leaving town hall, a constable stopped in looking for the sheriff. The memorial to the prison guards had been vandalized overnight. Some of the evidence pointed towards a man named Gibs, although I'm not completely convinced it was him. Afterwards, Mr. Bookman and myself visited with Councilman Gharen. We have an appointment with him tomorrow, to try again to gain access to the town hall files. I'm convinced there is useful information in there that will help us when we investigate the prison itself. As for the others, I'm not sure where they wandered off to. A tavern, perhaps?
"Irefist mentioned a tavern" confirms Audard.
"Stockl here had some success as well." he starts, but then hesitates to continue, remembering Brogol's reticence.
Brogol nods to Aduard to continue. Bookman had a way with words that fascinated the apprentice, and a refinement that was at once archaic, authoritative, and reminiscent of Brogol's disappeared mentor. The young man had much to learn from Bookman, he was sure...
Dashil looks at the old man. "A spy? Who do you refer to?"
Once she has the answer, she nods at Radag's comments and returns to the manor, thinking on what - if anything - they have learned. She is inclined to regard the entire day as a complete waste of time.
"Apparently the warden and his wife lived on this very plot! I'm a little unsure as to whether the house has been rebuilt since then, but I had wondered if you have kept any old records? I know your father was a bit of a packrat when it came to old documents."
"A waste of time that was, although Im suddenly reminded that I was curious why he was even at the Professor's funeral..." Radag wonders aloud on the return trip back. "Although fishing for reason in the sea of madness that is that man's mind will bear only tragedy and regrets. Come let's find the others once we return and begin planning our return to the Restlands this evening. Make sure you bring your holy magic with you, I am certain angry spirits we will make by prying our trade there. Hopefully tomorrow we will be studied enough to venture forth to the prison.
She turns to Wakati. "What makes you think that sour old man is innocent? You saw him at my father's funeral. I wouldn't put it past him to stir up trouble."
"..." Dashil's expression is the perfect image of a facepalm.
"OK, I think we're done here. The Dawnflower disapproves of running people through just for wasting my time, and despite myself, I still follow her. But sometimes, I really, really wish I didn't."
Glaring at Antrellus as only a Celestial embodiment of Law can, she stalks off after the others, muttering under her breath.
Brogol clears his throat, a little nervously. "M'Lady, when yer say that yer having trouble sleeping, are yer having nightmares? Aye had a dream tha' Aye was tha former resident o' this house last night. It was probably nothing, but something strange may be going on here."
Dashil catches the last bit of the conversation, striding through the door purposefully, as she usually does. Her entrance is marred slightly by the mud on her leggings - and there appears to be a hole in the top of her right boot, as though something sharp pierced her foot.
"Who's having trouble sleeping - oh!" Dashil is momentarily distracted by the sight of Kendra; something about the figure-hugging trousers with the loose linen shirt. Nice...
Momentarily flustered, she runs a hand through her blue hair (she's aware it's messy) and mentally gives herself a kick. "Smells good - the soup, I mean. Right. Anyway, hope you had a more productive day than we did. Antrellus is a hard man to find, and pointless to talk to. Babbled about the King in Yellow and killing a raven. Decided to let him live, but I could be talked into reversing that choice if anyone feels strongly about it. Oh, and I didn't manage to lose Radag, so apologies to anyone with a sense of smell. Actually, I'd kill for a bath - is there any hot water available, please, Kendra?"
This is an unusually long speech from Dashil, but it has been an eventful day. She's pretty sure she covered the important points.
Kendra givess Dashil a warm smile. "I'll put some on right now. Cornelius will fill the tub for you."
"And Dmitiri?"
At the mention of the Raven, Aduard gives a meaningful look to Brogol.
Dmitri sighs, plopping into one of the Lorrimor's chairs. "Jus' somethin' t' eat and some ale would be lovely. I'd give me left leg for a drink, right about now." The disciple of the Drunken Hero seems worn out after his and Dashil's little adventure.
Wrapping his large hands around his everpresent mug of tea, Brogol continues addressing the Lady Lorrimor. "Yes, it is odd, but Aye wasn't living here. Aye was living in tha place that used ta be here - tha warden's house. Aye was waiting for tha warden ta get home, nervous an' looking out tha window."
-------------
Brogol nods to Aduard. Once the Lady is out of earshot, Brogol, turns to Dashil. "There's a girl Aye met today, has a pet raven went missing a couple a weeks back. Perhaps he killed her raven?"
The blue-haired woman nods her thanks. "Any chance that Cornelius could also fix this?" She holds up her boot, inspecting it critically; it is clear that the hole goes right the way through. "Spike trap - one of the 'perks' of my job," she explains, to head off any questions. The irony is heavy in her voice.
She looks at Brogol. "Managed to get the children to talk to you? Good going - they see a lot that adults miss. What did you find out?"
"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."
After dinner, a rustic soup of vegetables and chicken, is finished and cleaned up, Kendra sits down at the dining room table. "So what is your plan for tonight? To inspect the Restlands for that false crypt my father wrote of? Somebody mentioned a ghost girl at the fountain. Either way, I'll be here, looking for the deed to the manor."
Aduard sighs
"The Graveyard, I think. I can't say that I like the idea, but we need to see this crypt."
"I assume it goes without saying that we must not be seen there? Any chance of convincing the church to share their records is lost if they even suspect us of grave robbing. Worse, given the accusations heaped on Petros, we endanger Kendra's standing in the town."
Brogol grunts. "Aye have seen plenty a graveyards. Pretty easy ta get in an' not be noticed. But Aye agree, it would do tha Lady no good ta her reputation. Aye'll take some gold ta bribe any watchmen just in case."
"Hmmmm" Aduard seems disturbed "Good to hear you've some experience. Bribed watchmen do sometimes find their consciences troubling them if and when undead become an issue. Frankly, the aftermath of an undead attack is the last time we want to be accused of desecration of a cemetery. Bribing to let us past, but in such a way to avoid later changes of heart is critical."
"I'd suggest disguises, but I fear we're too distinctive in this little town. Difficult to disguise this many people by magic. Memory modification is too unreliable. Disposing of the guard is something I'd prefer not to do."
"Perhaps if we had a reason to be there? Chasing a pet, perhaps?" he muses
Dmitri scratches his chin and shrugs. "I dunno," he admits, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow as he struggles to come up with some kind of plan.
Dashil shakes her head. "I don't think bribery will work - the cemetery is sacred to Pharasma and any guard would have a bad conscience. News would get out. A small group of stealthy people would work better. Say Brogol and Radag? The rest of us could check out the ghost by the fountain. Or have an early night."
She yawns.
"Perhaps if we had a reason to be there? Chasing a pet, perhaps?" he muses
Brogol shrugs. "We say wer looking for Leieria's raven then."
"A small group of stealthy people would work better. Say Brogol and Radag?"
"Or that."
I'm not sure how much help I would be in the graveyard. I don't have much experience in sneaking around. Ghosts, on the other hand, are something I do have experience with. In many different forms.
He pauses to pick at his front teeth with his finger.
Yes, I think I would like to visit the fountain this evening. This whole area is very troubled, and if we can bring even a little peace to it, I would like to try.
Aduard looks dubiously at Radag
"I... suppose I can agree. Remember that we cannot afford suspicion, enemies or casualties. I'd volunteer, but of course you're right Ms Dashil, stealth is hardly my forte."
Turning to Brogl he continues
"Should you encounter anything dangerous, don't be afraid to withdraw. The forces we face are capable of anything."
He nods decisively
"In which case, I'd be delighted to investigate this spectral young lady. I'm not too interested in turning in early," he explains "I'm more of a night person."
Dashil snorts at Aduard's remarks about being more of a night person. "Doesn't surprise me." She hasn't forgotten her earlier suspicions, but hasn't had time to interrogate him, much to her annoyance. There's something not right about him, she just knows it - but she hasn't a clue what. She glares at Aduard, just on principle.
"OK. Let's get moving." This place is definitely getting to her, making her jumpy; too many memories.
Dmitri seems to snap back to attention as he realizes that everyone has finished discussing while he was rubbing brain cells together. "Oh... yeah, okay. Let's do that."
Night...day...not a lot of difference to me. But yes, a stroll down by the fountain sounds like a good idea.
Wakati follows the others out the door.
"Certainly. I normally fortify myself after dinner, but I'm happy to go walking first."
"With your leave, Miss Lorrimor?" he asks, exiting when said permission is granted.
Although Brogol and Radag had visited the Restlands only yesterday, the dark of night created an unfamiliar landscape. Everything looks different than it did before, as if the daytime trees and gravestones had gone to bed and sent slightly more ominous versions of themselves to take their places.
The crypt mentioned in the professor’s journal is located in the northeast corner of the Restlands, near the junction of the paths known as the Eversleep and the Black Path. The crypt itself is a freestanding granite mausoleum, the roof of which is decorated with a pair of leering gargoyle statues. A single stone door with a rusty-looking lock sits in the mausoleum’s south facade.
The Murmuring Fountain, as it is called by the locals, is located in a small, overgrown garden in front of the Harrowstone Memorial. The offending 'V' from earlier is washed away from the plaque and the statue's marble almost seems to glow in the moonlight.
The garden’s hedgerows of white roses have become wild and half-merged with the surrounding undergrowth from lack of tending, but lend a fey beauty to the memorial park, and it is popular for romantic rendezvous with a hint of danger. The pale gravel of the footpath is half-overgrown with grass, weeds, and wildflowers, while fountain and memorial alike show marks of weathering to accompany a patina of dirt and clinging moss.
The fountain itself is in two parts, a lower cruciform basin with four pools surrounding a central pillar. The 4-foot high pillar supports an upper basin 8 feet across and ringed by four stone gargoyles which sit at each of the ordinal directions and support the basin’s fluted lip, where water spills between the gargoyles into the lower basins toward a central drain and thence into the nearby river. Water burbles a few feet in the air from the upper bowl, from which clean water can be drawn for drinking while the lower basins can be used for bathing or washing. The fountain is in disrepair, with several of the gargoyles having suffered large chips and broken stonework, though the basins are intact.
It is easy to understand why the locals of Ravengro call this the Murmuring Fountain. A strange noise, not unlike a whisper, gurgles from the spout, intermittent with the water. An overactive imagination could take the sussurant sound and believe it to be the voice of a lost loved one or a hated rival from beyond the grave. It lends the entire area a sinister feel, which likely explains why the place feels so overgrown.
Aduard is uncharacteristically quiet as they walk towards the fountain. A small globe of witch-fire glows in the palm of his hand, pointed down to illuminate the ground.
He walks counter-clockwise around the fountain three times. The first time he walks through the very outskirts of the little garden, beating his way through wildflowers. The second time he walks around the fountain itself, eyes down at the path. The third time he walks tightly and slowly around the fountain, carefully playing his witch-light over the cracked and chipped stone. Finally he attaches his light behind one of the gargoyles, its shadow stretching out monstrously in the flickering red-tinted light.
He moves into the shadow near the fountain, staring out. He crouches on his heels with his dark coat spilling around his feet, almost like some perching gargoyle himself. Motionless and quiet he waits.
He does not wait long before his head snaps to the side and he comes smoothly to his feet, staring at something approaching.
"Hello. Those are very pretty flowers." he calls.