|
Some small towns grow up around a university, their shops and other offerings catering to a scholastic clientele. Others boast famous festivals or specialized industries that draw skilled artisans and craftsmen. But in the sad case of Ravengro, the town’s claim to fame is a prison. And not just any prison, for Ravengro supported one of Ustalav’s most notorious jails—Harrowstone. Twice a year, a prison convoy rounded up the worst of the worst from smaller, less secure jails across the principality and transferred them to Harrowstone, often to await death by hanging, but always to live out the rest of their lives as prisoners.
|
|
Each of you have received a notice of Professor Lorrimar's death and have been asked to attend his funeral. You are also apparently mentioned in his will and are required for the reading of it after the funeral. You all make your individual ways to Ravengro and stay at the local inn. Lorrimar's daughter, Kendra, has been unavailable until the morning of the funeral when you are supposed to meet with her for the ceremony at the cemetary.
The morning of the funeral is rather dismal with heavy overcast and the threat of rain. You see a small group at the entrance to the cemetary. The group consists of four men, a woman, and a boy. They stand next to an ornate coffin.
Shol'A'saul stands in the corner of the cemetary area trying not to draw attention to herself. While her face may look calm, her thoughts are anything but.
What am I doing here? Why did the Professor feel such a need to call on his debt? Why could be not have left me be? This place matches the feelings of my heart.
She watches the group of mourners standing at the coffin, presumably the Professors' kin but cannot bring herself to talk to them.
Ad'ifaah stands back a little and pulls her cloak tightly around herself, shivering slightly. Why am I here? I travelled with the good Professor for a period, but do not deserve anything from him. And what am I doing in this frigid land, why did I ever leave sunny warm Qadira?
Ad'ifaah once again scans the group seeing several who appear to be employees and family, and several who appear just as out of place as her.
Abe has washes himself and brushes his hair in the morning before the funeral, falling in long tresses from his head. He dresses in the finest outfit he owns (which is still worn and faded) and makes his way to the cemetery. He stands next to the group at the coffin (assuming it is the Professor inside it) an begins to silently pray.
Shol'a Saul looks about her, tears glistening in her eyes. She had not known the Professor long but still his death did affect her, as it did all elves. She looks across at the others who do not seem to know the family of the Professor. It takes a few moments before she summons the courage to approach them.
She walks over to where the Qadiran priestess and the halfling are offering their respects and softly asks, "Did you also know the Professor?"
Turning to the young elf. Yes, if briefly. I was camping along the Andoran coast waiting out a vicious storm. When I awoke in the morning, the storm had passed - but when I walked out to the shore, I saw a ship had crashed during the night. All the sailors had perished, but I found one man struggling ashore. I helped him and it was the good Professor. After rescuing him, I travelled with him back to his home in Ustalav before heading west to Varisia.
And yourself?
Ricven wakes up early to bathe, shave his head and polish his armor and weapons until they gleam. He's never guarded a body on its way to the next life before, so he intends to show his respects the best way he can.
The half-elf walks up to the funeral party, spine ramrod straight, and nods his head to those around the coffin. Then he kneels beside the box and briefly recites a portion of the Gorumskagat, a poem coming softly off his lips in the rain.
"The coward believes he will live forever
If he holds back in the battle,
But in old age he shall have no peace
Though spears have spared his limbs."
The half-elf stops his poem there and says, "Rest well, Professor."
Then he stands up and walks over to the others who also seem out of place here, just like him.
"Wellmet, I am Ricven Hartwar. The Professor saved my life and the lives of those in my caravan thanks to his knowledge and assistance. It is a sad day to see the end of a tactician who knew his foes so well."
Turning to the young elf. Yes, if briefly. I was camping along the Andoran coast waiting out a vicious storm. When I awoke in the morning, the storm had passed - but when I walked out to the shore, I saw a ship had crashed during the night. All the sailors had perished, but I found one man struggling ashore. I helped him and it was the good Professor. After rescuing him, I travelled with him back to his home in Ustalav before heading west to Varisia.
And yourself?
Shol'a Saul l replies, "I...he helped me a very long time ago with one of my patients, and he always said he would cvall in his debt to me on some future date. It seems that day is today."
She also nods politely to the half-elf, although he can tell she is rather shy and has trouble meeting his gaze directly.
Fully intending to leave Ravengro after the funeral, Aerys packed his meager belongings before beginning his trek to the cemetery. A damp breeze rifled unenthusiastically through his blonde hair as he walked, as chill and lifeless as the rest of the surroundings. Twice the wind seemed to carry a soft, sibilant whisper, making him stop and turn suddenly. A small, furry form poked its head from Aerys' backpack, sniffing the air cautiously. Sensing his master's unease, Nyx clawed his way up to Aerys' shoulder, chittering softly.
"Perhaps you're right, Nyx."Aerys whispered to the obviously nervous creature. "If more people walked around carrying a ferret, the world might be a happier place."
As the grey bulk of the cemetery gate looms out of the fog, Aerys finds his mood brightening somewhat at the sight of the strangers at the gate. Unlike so many of the locals he has so far met, at least these folk show some life, he thought to himself.
Approaching the others, Aerys gives a smile and nod of greeting. "I am Aerys Trajyon." He grimaces at his familiar's outraged squeaks. "And, of course, my companion, Nyx. It is nice to at last be greeted with something other than scowls or furtive glances. If only it were under less sorrowful circumstances."
Aerys listens with interest as the others relate their stories of the professor. "I too only knew him in passing. I helped him in a misunderstanding with a pair of locals. I feel academia is perhaps not as appreciated as it might be in these parts. Nevertheless, I found Professor Lorrimar to be a good man, and wise."
"I wouldn't say I knew him well," Abe tells the group "but from what I knew of him he seemed a good man. As good a friend as I have had in these parts."
Making his way past the cemetery gates, Corey walks onto the grounds with his hands in his trouser pockets and his head down. It isn't until he is nearly to the site that he notices that there are other people already gathered around. Halting for a moment as he scans the crowd to see no one he recognize.
Letting out a soft sigh, the elf continues to make his way to the group until he is standing amongst the strangers. Inside his mostly empty backpack there is a slight stir only observable to someone looking closely. Seeing the others introduce themselves, Corey tries to search for the right words to say. "Are you all here for.. the Professor..?"
Realizing the foolishness of the question, Corey tries to continue with an introduction. "My name is Corey. Corey Magoon. The professor, he.." Corey pauses, thinking about his relationship with Lorrimar. ".. I owe nearly everything I have to that man."
At this point, the weasel, clearly interested in the sounds of another animal nearby, pokes his head out of the elf's backpack to display his brown face to the people gathered at the funeral.
"Including Paeter." Corey says, shrugging his shoulders to indicate the contents of his backpack.
Aerys smiles openly as he notes the newcomer's companion. "Greetings, Corey. And, of course, Paeter." His own ferret gazes over the rest of the group, letting out a soft chitter that somehow sounds judgemental. Aerys whispers "Yes, Nyx. I'm sure they all feel nearly naked without a ferret. But I doubt they'll be rushing into town to purchase one soon." Turning back to the elf, he asks, "Did you perhaps have a closer relationship with the professor than the rest of us would appear to have had?"
|
|
The woman turns to you as you each arrive. She is young and slim and would be attractive except for her red, puffy eyes.
Thank you for coming. I am Kendra, Professor Lorrimar's daughter. We are preparing to make our way to the gravesite in the Restlands. Father Grimburrow is awaiting us there as the priests of Pharasma are not allowed to accompany the procession.
She turns and indicates the people with her.
Let me introduce you to these folks. This is Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, Councilman Gharen Muricar, tavernkeeper Zokar Elkarid and his son Pevrin, and Jominda Fallenbridge our local apothecary owner.
Each of them nod an acknowledgement as she indicates them.
If you would be so kind as to act as pallbearers, I would be most appreciative.
A solitary figure dressed in black leather walks gracefully up the street towards the cemetery. As the slender figure reaches the gate, it removes the hood of its dark cloak to reveal the fine features of a Drow woman. Her skin is dark blue, and her snow-white hair is bound back. A long, curved scabbard is strapped to her back. She opens the cemetery gate and slips inside, walking over to the coffin with an unchanging expression. Kneeling down beside it on the sodden ground, she lays a fine-fingered blue hand on the coffin and whispers. What fate is this...? Why have you summoned me, Professor...?
She rises and approaches the rest of the group. She stands silently, watching the others intensely and listening. As she is introduced to the councilmen and the others, she nods respectfully. She does not offer to carry the coffin. Instead, with four quick motions, she produces four glowing spheres of light that hover around the coffin, above the heads of the pallbearers.
Cast Dancing Lights
Aerys' heart drops at the sight of the woman's tears. He approaches and bows his head. "I offer you my condolences, Lady Lorrimar. I only wish I could do more. I would be honored to act as pallbearer."
Abe steps up,
"I would also be honored to be a pallbearer." Abe says, as the irony of a 4-foot pallbearer escapes him.
Stepping forward: I would be honored to serve as your father's pallbearer.
From the distance, the gathered group see the odd sight of a balding, overweight man in simple robes hurrying through the muddy streets, a glaive wildly bobbing about in the air over his shoulder. As he gets closer, you see his features are ruddy, his nose slightly enlarged, and a smell of sour wine wafts from him.
"Issh thissh the Lorrimer funeral party?" he asks, slurring his words slightly, his eyes slightly unfocused. "Brother Venedictosh, at your sshervicsh."
Up close, you can see a birthmark on his forehead in the shape of a beautiful bird. Abe would (presumably) recognize it as the holy symbol of his own goddess, and others with an appropriate check and GM permission.
Shol'a'saul stares in barely concealed surprise at the appearance of her races' noted mortal enemy. Still, she did not appear hostile and also lent credence to the claim the Professor traveled extensively.
As the call for a pallbearer is issues, she timidly offers "I would be honored to bear his body as well."
As Venedictos announces himself, her nose wrinkles at the smell of his libations. Must he disgrace this event with his actions?
Aeleanor leaves the glowing orbs hovering about the coffin and approaches the elf. She stands next to her, still looking at the coffin, and speaks softly.
Are you Drow, sister? It is a long time since I have seen one of my own kin...
Shol'a'Saul looks up as the drow lady approaches. On her question, she looks confused for a moment and then realizaton hits her. As she extends her hand to the drow, she can see there is a purplish tint to the elfs skin, but it is not as deep hued as a true drow's skin would be. It also has an unusual silvery tint to it, something the drow has not seen before.
"Uhhh...no...I am not of your race, although I have been mistaken as one of your kin before. This is a mark of...what I am." She offers a small smile, trying to reassure herself more than Aeleanor. "I am Shol'a'Saul."
By Gorum, just how much did the professor travel? the half-elf thinks as he sees the drow stalk closer and the drunken human stagger up.
"Let's give him a good sendoff, eh?" Ricven says to Kendra and the other mourners as he prepares to march in with the rest.
Ah, I see. Aeleanor says, looking at the elf with subtle sadness, and intrigue.
I am Aeleanor. She says, taking the elf's hand in greeting. What, if I may ask...are you then?
Shol'a'Saul thinks for a moment on how to answer the question. Truth be told she was not quite sure what she was. "It is...difficult to explain and now is not the time for it, I believe. Suffice it to say, my name tells what I am...the Cursed One."
She glances about her at the dreary landscape as she walks alongside the pallbearers. "It seems I would fit in well in this land."
Turning back to the elf, he asks, "Did you perhaps have a closer relationship with the professor than the rest of us would appear to have had?"
Corey looks around, his uneasiness starting to fade once Aerys begins to speak to him. "Well, I do not know how well the rest of you knew Professor Lorrimar, but he helped me a great deal when I was younger." Wringing his hands slightly, Corey continues. "He is the reason I was able to learn the arcane arts. I had not seen him in some time now - I have been quite busy in my studies and as you know he traveled a great deal.."
Corey stops when Lady Lorrimarr approaches out of respect, nodding silently when she introduces the others. He remains quiet once the drunken man appears and the peculiar drow begins speaking.
Looking at the group of people who would have trouble picking up their dinner forks, I turn to Ricven - Any chance you could give us a hand, we could use one more strong arm here.
"I can help," Venedictos says, walking unsteadily to stand at the other corner. He passes his glaive to Shol'a'saul. "Thanksh."
"I can help," Venedictos says, walking unsteadily to stand at the other corner. He passes his glaive to Shol'a'saul. "Thanksh."
"I can help," Venedictos says, walking unsteadily to stand at the other corner. He passes his glaive to Shol'a'saul. "Thanksh."
|
|
Abernathus, Ad'ifaah, Shol'a'saul, and Venedictos lift Prof. Lorrimar's coffin. Kendra then leads the entire procession through the gates to the Restlands, Ravengro's cemetery. The procession follows the Dreamwake, a well kept gravel path that winds through the cemetery. as you round a bend, just before the intersection with the Eversleep, A group of villagers turns the corner facing you.
The villagers look surly and immediately confront the group. A tall, older man steps forward and says,“That’s far enough. We been talking, and we don’t want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You can take him upriver and bury him there if you want, but he ain’t goin’ in the ground here!”
Aeleanor steps in front of the coffin and approaches the speaker with quick steps. Drawing herself up to her full height, she meets his gaze with her pale white eyes. The orbs of light that have followed the coffin now gather around Aeleanor and hover behind her, as if waiting to strike.
Who are you to decide this? Tell me why you dare disturb our procession!
Intimidate:
|
|
The man who spoke takes an involuntary step back as Aeleanor confronts him. He nervously glances back as if to reassure himself of the other villagers' presences. Appearing to rally himself, he responds,"See! Look at the people that come to his funeral! Do you need any further proof?"
Kendra is swift to respond, her sadness swiftly transforming into
anger. “What are you talking about?” she cries out. “I arranged it with Father Grimburrow. He’s waiting for us! The grave’s already been...”
The man harshly interupts her, “You don’t get it, woman. We won’t have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin. I suggest you move out while you still can. Folks are pretty upset about this right now.”
One last fight, eh, Professor? the fighter thinks.
Riven steps between the councilmen in the funeral party and the disrespectful mob.
"This decision has already been made, gentlemen. But if you wish to press the argument, two of your councilmen are right behind me."
Ricven makes it clear the stepping past him won't be an easy task.
Listening and watching the others and realizing that things are starting to get out of hand:
Gentlemen, we wish you no harm and do not want this time of mourning to end in bloodshed, there is enough of that in this land without civilized folk coming to blows. We are here to attend a funeral of the good Professor, unless you have proof other than vague rumors that the Professor was necromancer, then please step aside. In addition, I would think that you would prefer that he be buried here in the Restlands where the good priests of Pharasma can keep watch over his body. The Pharasmian priests are best equipped to make sure that evil does not take over the Professor's body as might occur in a more remote resting place.
Diplomacy:
Aerys likewise steps up. "I can only concur. Surely you gentelmen are far too intelligent to be swept up by baseless rumors. And just as surely, you would never bring still more pain to a greiving family on nothing more than furtive whispers..."
"Necromancer? What's this?" Abe says, angry about the villager's accusations and refusal to let the Professor be buried.
"Let's put the coffin down, I'll deal with this rabble." he tells the other pallbearers.
"Necromancer? What's this?" Abe says, angry about the villager's accusations and refusal to let the Professor be buried.
"Let's put the coffin down, I'll deal with this rabble." he tells the other pallbearers.
Perform-sing:
Venedictos likewise puts his corner down, opens his mouth, and begins to sing a low, sweet, flowing chant, evoking images of piety and beautiful sunsets. He sneaks a guidance spell into his singing. As he steps forward, some of the drunkenness fades.
Diplomacy:
"All I can do is add to what these good people have said. I must say that the hospitality of Ravengro is somewhat lacking towards outsiders, but I would have expected better towards a man who devoted his life to your families' protection and safety."
Shol'a'Saul is happy for the brief respite, as the Professor's coffin was quite heavy. As she see the situation unfold, she thinks to herself It certainly is possible he was familiar with the necromantic arts but that would not make him a true necromancer.
She elects to wait to see if this will escalate to violence before she acts.
Ricven glances back at the other townsfolk who were waiting by the gate to make sure they aren't getting ready to profane or damage the professor's coffin out of fear of their fellow countrymen.
|
|
Ad'ifaah's plea, along with the help of Aerys and Venedictos, appears to mollify the majority of the townsflok. They begin to disperse, but sullenly and with venomous looks directed at the strangers and Kendra. The older man that spoke disappears into the crowd as soon as he sees his support melting away.
Kendra is still furious and Councilman Hearthmount is extremely apologetic.
This is an outrage!he excalims.I am most sorry, Kendra, and to you also (he looks at your group). I swear after the funeral the sherrif will be notified. That was Gibs leading them and he will be punished.
Shol'a'saul watches the crowd disperse silently. She then glances at the coffin carrying the Professor's body. I wonder if maybe the crowd is correct, was he a necromancer?
She turns to Kendra as she picks up the end of the coffin, ready to proceed. "Miss Kendra, was your father not trusted by the other townsfolk?"
Aerys realizes that he had been holding his breath during much of the confrontation. He lets it go slowly, willing himself to relax.
"Any self-respecting mob would have taken the time to get torches and pitchforks. These were obviously rank amateurs." he mutters dryly.
Abe is relieved to see the dispute resolved peacefully.
"Why do the townsfolk believe the professor was a necromancer?" Abe asks Councilman Hearthmount.