A man and a woman dressed in somewhat pitted chainmail approach you in the stree. Citizens scatter quickly but only so far as to be able to watch from windows and doorways.
One of the men half draws his blade and simply says;
"Explain yourselves!"
Kazamir steps forward with a small, crisp bow.
"Good Morrow, sir and madam. My friends and I just arrived in Thrushmoor, not an hour ago. As this person was advising us as to lodging, he drew and attacked my colleague," he gestures to the blood evident on Hazel's clothing, "and, summoning allies, proceeded to attack us all. Obviously, we overcame them, and we set off at once to find the proper authorities to which to report the attack. We would be more than happy to show you the site of the attack, and fully co-operate with any investigation."
Zed stands stoically, body slumped over his shoulder, holding himself casually like he was transporting a sack of potatoes.
"It's entirely possible that he may have attacked others who were less prepared," chimes in Constantin. "If anyone else has gone missing recently, this might be related to for such cases."
Vala shifts her stance as the impromptu interrogation begins, her expression flat and uninterested as she crosses her arms. The loss of her reputation in Leipstadt had stung her more bitterly than she’d had time to process given Kendra’s murder, but the unmasked disdain from these people didn’t bother at all. As the group speaks with the guard, she shoots Pyth an arched eyebrow as the bird alights on the eave of a nearby roof. The knowledge that the only power these guards had over her and the others was whatever power they voluntarily granted to the them left her eerily calm.
"I see, I see." the man says, sheathing his blade.
"Come off the street, we don't want to upset people."
Once you are led back to a small guardhouse the man continues;
[b]"No, we've had no attacks or disappearances. Had those riders come through the other day and gave some folks a bit of a scare but nothing serious enough for us to get involved and certainly nothing like this. Did you know this man?"
"We did not, sir. Though he, too, mentioned the riders," Kaz replies, trying to probe without surrendering too much information of their own.
"Do you know him? Was he a resident?"
Vermundr follows in silence, watching passerbys for eyes lingering a little too long on the group's activities.
"He... he looks like Old Parsons.... but that ain't him. It's strange. If I were to pass him in the street then I'd probably doff my cap to him but here, up close, I can see it ain't him."
"I worry for Old Parsons now, you see anyone else there?" the young guardsman says, chewing his nails like a small boy.
"These Riders anything to do with you then? Changed horses at the livery the moment they rode in and then one of them rode off again down the coast toward Illmarsh. Never saw the other one leave. Maybe this was him or maybe he just went a different way."
”The only thing we came here for was to stop those riders from whatever dark business they've brought to your town. Does this Parsons gentleman work at the livery? If one stayed behind and it’s not this imposter, then we’d like to suss him or her out before they’ve a chance to work any more evil.”
Zed stands as a statue. He trusts the other to make better judgement calls in this delicate social situation.
Illmarsh is a small town in western versex county, down the lake coast from Thrushmoor. It is a little more than a fishing village and has no port large enough for the kind of boats required to cross the entirety of Lake Encarthan. If what the assassin said is true, the Rider is unlikely to have been able to gain passage from there
"Aye, Parsons worked at the Livery true enough."
"Well I know I didn't. Maybe you could ask around, we'll do the same after we try to find Parsons." the guardsman shrugs.
"In any case, thank you for the help with the body", Vermundr offers the guard as the party begins to break away from the Law. "Do you have any suggestions for rooms in town. After he tried to kill us, I'm inclined to ignore the venues he offered."
"If our rider is bound to Illmarsh, it would be unlikely he could take ship from there - it is not much of a port of call.
His head tilts to the side a moment. "We should be alert for Stirges, though - It was the home of the ill-fated Piper whose ghost we fought in Ravengro."
"I could use a good night's sleep," says Constantin agreeably. "We won't get there faster if we run ourselves into the ground with fatigue."
Vala huffs briefly but nods. "Well, we're not learning anything new here." She then offers a respectful nod to the two guardsmen, "Thank you both for your service and I wish you the best in your search for this Parsons gentleman, though I do fear the worst for him. If you hear more of these dark riders, please do call on us."
It appears that unfortunately the Maiden's Kiss is indeed the only inn in town. The group spends the best part of an hour looking for alternative lodgings but there appear to be none and, despite their better judgement, there is no option but to book rooms and remain wary.
A long, largely restless, night follows but the next day the group awakes having been unmolested.
Vala sequesters herself for a brief time in the evening as the group secures lodging. Pulling a small stool up beside a simple table in the corner of the room, she produces a small scroll of vellum, a quill and ink, and a fat, waxen candle. As the candle is lit, Pyth flits down beside and perches on the edge of the table beside the small light.
Vala then seems to lose herself as she and Pyth lock eyes. Occasionally, during the next handful of minutes, Vala huffs and grunts as Pyth fidgets, but the movements and sounds are brief and fleeting. Then, at one point as this strange behavior continues and the candle reaches a small hatch mark that divides the wax into equal sixths, Vala's voice is strong and firm.
"Answer me, Vrood! You've lost your power and can't resist. Answer me!" Pyth, in response, struggles and fidgets more forcefully than before, but after a moment relaxes and nods once.
Vala, still holding an unbroken stare with Pyth, nods as her hand starts scratching rapidly across the scroll.
Vala asks "If we were to cross the lake tomorrow, would we be in time to stop the Whispering Way from completing the trade they came here to make?"
Kaamir heads out as well.
Vala sequesters herself for a brief time in the evening as the group secures lodging. Pulling a small stool up beside a simple table in the corner of the room, she produces a small scroll of vellum, a quill and ink, and a fat, waxen candle. As the candle is lit, Pyth flits down beside and perches on the edge of the table beside the small light.
Vala then seems to lose herself as she and Pyth lock eyes. Occasionally, during the next handful of minutes, Vala huffs and grunts as Pyth fidgets, but the movements and sounds are brief and fleeting. Then, at one point as this strange behavior continues and the candle reaches a small hatch mark that divides the wax into equal sixths, Vala's voice is strong and firm.
"Answer me, Vrood! You've lost your power and can't resist. Answer me!" Pyth, in response, struggles and fidgets more forcefully than before, but after a moment relaxes and nods once.
Vala, still holding an unbroken stare with Pyth, nods as her hand starts scratching rapidly across the scroll.
[dice=Divination (1-90 = success)]1d100
divination** spoiler omitted **
Kaamir heads out as well.
[dice=diplo/gather]1d20+1d6+14
Kaamir heads out into the town and begins doing what he does best, gathering clues and information to piece together a mystery.
Suspecting that one of the riders headed toward Illmarsh, he begins his line of questioning around thet.
"Illmarsh?" the baker says. "Illmarsh is a little swamp town that lies down the coast from Thrushmoor. Its residents are strange folk, we tend to call them “musties” on account of the distinctive unpleasant odor Illmarshers carry about them. Some of them have a sickly colouration and some deformity from living so close to the swamp. Bad humors, you know? It's what they call the "Illmarsh look."
"Illmarsh is just a little fishing and logging town. It’s nothing much to speak of, and doesn’t even have a legitimate militia—just a local sheriff and a few half-trained deputies for handling the town drunk or the occasional vandal. The House of Undiomede used to rule the town, before that line died out. Now a mayor runs it, Greedle by name, appointed by the count to make sure the taxes come in on time."
"If this rider you're after went to Illmarsh though If that rider headed down to Illmarsh, it’s the end of the line for him unless he takes a boat or grows wings. Beyond Illmarsh is nothing but the swamps of the Soddentimbers and the Detstach River and there ain't no way to cross either without going about 100 miles around."
As the group gathers in the morning, Vala relates what she learned the night before. ”Well, whatever information you pried from that assassin, at least one bit of it was a lie. The story of his brethren heading south across the lake was meant to distract us. And, it seems, that assassin had a name: Clanartus. I’ll see if I can’t determine the names of those who were with him and pressed onward.”
As the others go out into the town to learn what they may, Vala returns to her room and the wide candle set atop the small desk. Like she'd done the night before, Vala strikes a flame to the wick and falls into a trace as she and Pyth work in unison to draw Vrood back for further questions.
"What were the names of Clanartus' fellows who rode on to Illmarsh, Vrood? Answer me. Your will and power are broken. You can try to resist, but you will yield to me." Her quill begins scratching across the sheet of parchment she'd used the night before, though her eyes remain locked with Pyth's throughout.
HP: 57/57
Negative Energy Resist 5
AC: 14 (10 T / 14 FF)
CMD: 16
F/R/W: +7/+4/+13 (+2 vs death effects, energy drain, negative energy, & necromancy)
Monstrous Insight used: 0/7
Healing Hex targets:
Current Wandering Spirit: Waves
Prepared spells
Orisons (4) | DC 15: dancing lights, disrupt undead, identify, read magic
Level 1 spells (4+2+1*) | DC 17: inflict light wounds [ ], know the enemy* [ ], magic missile [ ] [ ] [ ] [ ], produce flame (CL7) [ ]
Level 2 spells (4+1+1*) | DC 18: bull's strength [ ], spiritual weapon [ ] [ ] [ ], tongues* [ ]
Level 3 spells (3+1+1*) | DC 19: fly [ ], lightning bolt [ ] [ ], water breathing* [ ], spiritual weapon (toppling) [ ]
Level 4 spells (2+1+1*) | DC 20: ball lightning [ ], legend lore* [ ], greater magic weapon [ ], spiritual ally [ ]
Level 5 spells (1+1+1*) | DC 21: dispel evil [ ], lightning arc [ ], contact other plane* [ ]
Ongoing Effects
Water Sight: scry with 1-ft diameter pool of water
The voice hisses out of the walls and the floorboards and the very air itself. It brings with it a sibilant mocking.
"Hahahah.... witch. You yet persist? How long is it before you truly give in to the darkness? You continue contacting me and yet I sense you know the information I provide is scant. I was not so senior in the Order as you would like to believe. We are an Order of secrets and whispers. Even our own history is told in nothing more than breathless gasps."
"I wonder if you continue with your divination because you feel some connection to me? Is that it? Or do you wish to simply be close to the Lorrimor whelp, Kandora, through me?"
"Hahahah I never knew the name of one rider. The other is Gregorus."
Vala rolls her eyes as the spell ends and scratches Pyth atop the head lovingly. ”That fool. Since I can’t bring him back to kill him again the best I can settle for is to repeatedly remind him that I stuck him in the boneyard to begin with.” Pyth nods in understanding, but then offers gently,
Vala taps her index finger against her lips as she considers, then nods. ”A fine idea Pyth. But hopefully this is the last we’ll need of these magics for some time.” She then turns her attention to a small bowl filled with water and begins trying to seek out Gregorus.
Concentrate though she might, Vala cannot get a read on this rider. Everything is clouded and she cannot pierce the veil
"It sounds like Ilmarsh is our next stop", Vermundr suggests after hearing Kazamir's report. "If the rider left from there by ship it shouldn't hard to find out where he was headed."
Illmarsh is just a small fishing and logging town. It's nothing much to speak of, and doesn't even have a legitimate militia - just a local sheriff and a few half-trained deputies for handling the town drunk. The House of Undiomede used to rule the town before that line died out. Now a mayor runs it, Greedle by name.
If the rider headed to Illmarsh, that must have been his final destination. Beyond Illmarsh are the near-impassable swamps of the Soddentimbers and the deep and swift Detstach Rivers.
It is most notorious for the activities of the serial killer the Piper of Illmarsh - someone you have become quite acquainted with.
It is about 2 days ride away
The local constabulary help you acquire horses given the tate of the livery but the story more or less writes itself as rumours spread through town. Ghouls from the wilderness or perhaps the lake wandered into town looking for an easy meal but we're destroyed by passing adventurers. It was not a common occurrence, but you don't live in Ustalav without some knowledge of undead.
The party settles in to the inn that night after a meal of grilled sea bream and samphire washed down with dark ale, surprisingly pleasant fare.
The next morning they ride for Illmarsh.
The coast road along the lake is well kept for several miles but then, on the morning of the second day out of Thrushmoor it begins to fall to ruin. The cobbled stones are replaced by great swathes of mud and boggy swampland and to top off a miserable day the rain begins to lash down, blown off the lake by a strong wind that marks the beginning of a storm.
Sure enough, before long it is teeming down and your cloaks whip about you in the gusts.
Still several miles outside Illmarsh you see the lake being whipped up into something of a frenzy by the storm. The heavy clouds reduce light to a burning autumn dusk. A single stone quay extends out into the lake’s wind-tossed surf, forming a quiet landing for boats far from any signs of settlement.
"Look over yonder!" Kazamir shouts above the wind.
You follow his finger and notice a single masted trawler bobbing crazily on the surface of the lake as it desperately fights the whitecaps.
A lone figure scurries about among several large tarp-covered objects lashed to the deck. He is apparently attempting to manage both the sail and the tiller to right the vessel and bring it safely in to shore, but seems to be failing in the task.
The trawler appears in the midst of a crisis. Without aid, it will likely smash into the stone quay.
"This will not end well!" Kaz shouts over the wind as he begins to spur his horse toward the quay. He squints through the tempest to see what he can tell about the unfortunate sailor.
Kaz and Hazel can barely make out anything between the wind ripping at their hair and the wind driving in their faces.
Kaz can just make out the man on board the boat - he looks like quite an elderly human and is having a tough time trying to keep the boat in check. He also looks like he is failing. On deck is a large, lumpy shape of something covered in a wind-whipped tarpaulin.
He is about 150 feet from the quay and you anticipate he will be dashed against it in about a minute.
Vermundr watches grimly.
"I can try to get to him. Not sure how to help him when I get there though. I can grant the same power of flight as I have to one of you; who wants it?" Despite her uncertainty, Vala's feet lift off the ground and she looks ready to zip through the slashing rain and biting wind for the imperiled trawler.
The only reason I can think of to fly over is if you plan to try to save the boat from on board. Otherwise I should just pluck the guy off it with telekinesis.