Raj enters quietly, drops his kitbag, and kicks it under the sofa in the study. "I'll sleep here. Might free up a room for you, Zed."
Vala nods to Hazel with a sweet smile, "That would be fine with me, dear." As the other head back into Ravengro for their various errands, Pyth flits back to alight on Vala shoulder as the older woman begins cleaning up the cups and beverages the others left behind.
As Kendra tries to preoccupy herself with her studies, Vala moves through the house and prepares each of the guest rooms with linens, chatting with Pyth as she works.
Constantin aids Vala in tidying up the house before heading back to the Outward Inn for the evening.
"I don't remember meeting you when I was studying with the professor," he says to Vala by way of casual introduction. "When did you meet him and Kendra?"
The trio trudge through the persistent rain, keeping hoods down and coats wrapped tightly about them.
The events of the day run through their minds but they tries their best to push them aside and concentrate on the task at hand. Despite their differences in background, these are cautious men and and a month is a long time.
They walk south out of town and eventually comes to a fork where the road leads south west and south east. At the fork is a large pole standing about 8 feet high with several drenched sheets of parchment that cling wetly to it. Raj has a quick look and sees that it is a posting pole, with various snippets of news and messages attached to it. It appears there are also several people in town looking for help and they appear to post their requirements here.
People round here ain’t going to forget what you lot did to Tam, you know. The Sheriff got that one bastard in stir but you lot should be in there with him.
They spin to find Gibs standing behind them, about ten feet away. Up close you can see that the man has more of a look of a warrior about him than a farmer with his broad shoulders and flat belly although he does not appear armed. You would place Gibbs in his mid-forties although the rough stubble, darkly circled eyes and ruddy skin could make him appear older than he is. Noting the bleary eyes and dark veins that spiderweb in fine lines across his cheeks, it seems clear that Gibbs is a drinker.
Some time during the evening you hear the heavy metallic clang of the bolt sliding across on the external door to the cellblock.
Sheriff Caeller enters, carrying a tray of steaming soup and a small block of cheese.
He doesn't say anything to you but he nods and slides the tray under the bars of your cell. Over the course of the next few minutes the other prisoners are fed in the same way.
When can we get out of here, Sheriff? one of them calls.
Soon as I say so, Merv. is the curt reply as Caeller closes the door behind him.
Well that's convenient. It shouldn't be too hard to find work at the very least. He turns to see Gibs and frowns. You're going to get yourself in trouble soon if you keep this up. "We did nothing, only Galus did. We are no more responsible for his actions than you are. If anything we are less responsible than you are since you were the one that provoked him into attacking." He gives the man a long stare, letting that sink in. "Now Gibs, you have two options. The first is that you can continue to try to enact your own twisted sense of justice by taking matters into your own hands; we all know how that ended, with the death of Tam. The second option is that you can take any grievances to the Sheriff and let the law handle these problems. The only reason why you wouldn't go to the Sheriff is either because you think he is corrupt or because you know that you're wrong." He tilts his head. "So which is it, are you a liar or are you accusing the Sheriff of corruption?"
Kazamir reacts to the presence of Gibs as if he was expecting it - or at least tires to. He places his hands behind his back, looking carefully at the belligerent farmer, and addresses him in his best 'official' voice.
"One cannot help but wonder what it is that you hope to accomplish, Mister Gibs. Do you feel we should turn ourselves in? As my colleague has suggested, besides Galus, none of us are guilty of anything more than brawling. Like you and your friends. Which, one remembers, YOU instigated. Rather foolishly. There are reasons that civilized people do not start brawls, especially with well-armed and armored people.
You wish to remove the influence of necromancy? Then what could be more efficacious than burial rites conducted by an ordained priest of the Lady of Graves in consecrated ground?
You wish us to leave? Patience, and we will be gone. What you do here merely gives us reason to suspect something is going on.
So again, I must ask: What do you wish to accomplish? We are no threat to citizens of Ravengro that do not raise their hands against us."
Raj reads through all the posts on the pole, paying scant attention to Gibs. He's quite sure the other men can talk the surly drunk to a standstill. He growls, "We're looking for work, not trouble. Go home and sleep it off."
"Oh, sweetie, I've known Petros for decades, my whole adult life in fact! We met when I took an adjunct position at the University of Leipstadt. He was so animated back then, full of vim and vigor, a keen mind, and a heaping supply of youthful arrogance." She chuckles at this, the creases around her eyes deepening with her grin, "He was a respected colleague at first, but it wasn't long before he became a true friend. Hand me that throw there will you, please? Thank you, dear. He and I had lunch together once a week without fail, as a matter of fact. You weren't a student of his at the University, then? If you were, don't tell me my lectures on the Age of Enthronement were so boring as to leave no memory of me whatsoever!" She chuckles again and shoots Constantin a clever wink as she nods up to Pyth. "Pyth there was a gift from Petros, in fact, after my 25th year at the school. He said the raven suited me."
Pyth coughs lightly and amends in his all too learned accent,
Vala shoots the raven a look and shakes her head, waving one hand dismissively at the bird. "Oh, don't you listen to him. Tell me about how you and Petros met. Oh here, dear, I'll take that." Vala stacks the small cup she takes from Constantin's hand with the others of its kind on a shelf as she looks at the man expectantly.
As Vala and Constantin tidy away and chat about how they came to know Professor Lorrimor, Hazel takes one of the books from the chest and begins reading.
The book she picks up is called The Umbral Leaves. The pages are dry and send a shiver down her spine when she touches them. She has the grim suspicion that they may be made of humanoid kin. The book appears to be a common tongue translation of the holy text of Zun-Kuthon. It describes the beauty of pain, and numerous methods of torture suitable both for oneself and others.
Why Professor Lorrimor would borrow such a tome is beyond you.
Gibbs chews his lip for a moment, clearly taking a measure of the men.
Big words. Empty air. You furreners are all the same. The good folks 'round here all know 'bout the experiments that old crank and his stuck-up b*tch daughter was cookin' up in that house o' there's. and you lot, all thinkin' that yer better'n us. With your fancy words and big city ways. You'll all soon learn us good folks ain't afraid o' the likes o' you.
For the first time Kazamir notices the large skinning knife on the man's belt.
Suddenly there is a low growl from right beside Raj and the sound near makes him jump out of his skin. For the second time in as many minutes something creeps up behind him and he curses himself for it.
He looks down to see a large dog, easily standing to his thigh and perhaps made to look even bigger by its bedraggled grey hair that gathers in wet clumps about its thickly muscled shoulders and rear legs. It is low and poised, as if ready to leap but it isn't looking at the warrior, nor at Kazamir or even Zed with his unusual countenance.
It bares its big yellow teeth at Gibs and issues a warning bark like a crack of thunder.
Gibs smiles, but nervously now you sense.
Heh. Makes sense you dogs would stick together, strays and curs alike. I'm done with ya..!
He spits in the earth and turns into the darkening evening, muttering as he goes.
The dog continues to growl as it watches the man disappear into the rain but then, seemingly content with its work, looks up at the trio, its teeth no longer bared, its tongue lolling dumbly to one side and tail wagging lazily.
You can see that the dog has lost an eye at some point and half an ear has been chewed off too. One of his back legs looks slightly smaller than the other as if it had been broken at one time and never healed properly. Nevertheless, that big pink tongue licks at your fingers and the one working eye looks up at you expectantly.
Woof!
Liking the dog's sound judgment on who to hate and his impressive stealthiness, Raj crouches down to greet the dog, leathers creaking. "Damn, boy, you look more chewed up than me - and that's sayin' something." He feels in his bandolier and pulls out the last bit of stale jerky and travel-bread he's kept from the journey west. He offers it to the dog on his open palm, apologizing. "Sorry, boy, this is all I got for the moment. If you're interested, I'll take you back home and get you some real food when our business here is done."
I don't think I've ever met such a stupid and ignorant man. Zed thinks as the man starts rambling on again. He was about to respond when the big dog does it for them, scaring the man off. He smiles as the man turns tail and leaves. Since when is being called a dog an insult? Kind and loyal creatures. He gives a smile at the dog, slowly offering his hand to be smelt before reaching out to pet the creature. "Thank you friend. You wouldn't happen to be Petros's old dog, would you?" He asks, almost as if expecting an answer. For the first time since meeting him, they see Zed giving an honest and open smile as he scratched the dog behind his ear. "Well I see no reason why our new friend can't tag along if he wants. Maybe his nose will pick up on something."
Raj regards the dog from his crouched position. "Maybe he knows the spot where Doc died and will get us there." His eyes slide to where Gibs has vanished, mulling over the best way to nip that particular problem in the bud. "There's some interesting jobs on that pole."
"Foreigners?" Kazamir mutters to himself, shaking his very Ustalavan head slightly.
He takes a moment to look over the postings, musing at how he might contribute.
"Are we telling the good folk of Ravengro that we are staying around as a condition of the Professor's will?" he asks, as they examine their new four-legged friend.
"Shall we continue?"
"I don't see the need to mention it unless specifically inquired." Zed answers. "Yes, let's move on." As they continue, Zed checks behind them from time to time to make sure they're not being followed.
"Foreigners?" Kazamir mutters to himself, shaking his very Ustalavan head slightly.
"
"Oh, sweetie, I've known Petros for decades, my whole adult life in fact! We met when I took an adjunct position at the University of Leipstadt. He was so animated back then, full of vim and vigor, a keen mind, and a heaping supply of youthful arrogance." She chuckles at this, the creases around her eyes deepening with her grin, "He was a respected colleague at first, but it wasn't long before he became a true friend. Hand me that throw there will you, please? Thank you, dear. He and I had lunch together once a week without fail, as a matter of fact. You weren't a student of his at the University, then? If you were, don't tell me my lectures on the Age of Enthronement were so boring as to leave no memory of me whatsoever!" She chuckles again and shoots Constantin a clever wink as she nods up to Pyth. "Pyth there was a gift from Petros, in fact, after my 25th year at the school. He said the raven suited me."
Pyth coughs lightly and amends in his all too learned accent,Vala shoots the raven a look and shakes her head, waving one hand dismissively at the bird. "Oh, don't you listen to him. Tell me about how you and Petros met. Oh here, dear, I'll take that." Vala stacks the small cup she takes from Constantin's hand with the others of its kind on a shelf as she looks at the man expectantly.
"The Professor ran across me while he was on one of his 'sabbaticals' -- doing field work. One of his hired hands found me after I'd been savaged by ghouls. He helped me back to health, managed to break the filth fever. I spent a while working with him, learning and recuperating, and I met Kendra as well. I had to part ways for... family reasons, and we never managed to catch up. I was never one of his formal 'students', but I did learn a lot from him."
Constantin helps to gather up the leftover plates and cups from the recent gathering and takes them to the kitchen. He continues, saying, "Anyway, I owe Petros my life. Honestly I was surprised to be invited to his will-reading, but it makes more sense in context. He's been a pariah in this town for so long that he was looking for people outside this community, people he could trust, to look into these matters for him. It certainly seems like he's picked up a few errant and exceptional people over the years."
"Whatever's been going on, I mean to get to the bottom of it, to honor Petros' memory, to protect the people of this town the way he would have if he were still alive, and to insure that Kendra has the friends that she'll need to go on with her life."
Vala smiles warmly and nods, "I rather agree with you, young man." Her smile quickly fades to a slight frown as concern wrinkles her brow, "Like what you're saying, I'd decided to carry the torch for him as it were, after I'd heard the sad news. I'm afraid the others might be looking to stir up more trouble though. After this morning's terrible unpleasantness, I'd hoped we could all just accept what had happened to poor Petros and do our best to help poor Kendra get the estate in order and move on. He wasn't a young man, you know, but he always insisted on acting like one, bless his heart. I just pray a restful night's sleeps sees the others back to their senses come morning."
Vala smiles warmly and nods, "I rather agree with you, young man." Her smile quickly fades to a slight frown as concern wrinkles her brow, "Like what you're saying, I'd decided to carry the torch for him as it were, after I'd heard the sad news. I'm afraid the others might be looking to stir up more trouble though. After this morning's terrible unpleasantness, I'd hoped we could all just accept what had happened to poor Petros and do our best to help poor Kendra get the estate in order and move on. He wasn't a young man, you know, but he always insisted on acting like one, bless his heart. I just pray a restful night's sleeps sees the others back to their senses come morning."
"Some of Petros' other contacts seem to be men of action. There's definitely something wrong, something that Petros was investigating himself, but these are men who want answers, they want to solve the problem, and their usual way of doing so involves at least a little bit of force. So, in the absence of an obvious source of the troubles, they are leaning on a local troublemaker. The alternative would be to wind up just sitting on their hands waiting for some opportunity to find out what's been going on behind the scenes here, and for men of action that lacks palatability."
"It's going to be up to us to figure out what Petros found, so that we can direct a response that will be useful, instead of just more fistfights with nervous locals. Speaking of which, I was hoping to go meet more of the townspeople tomorrow, and perhaps see if there's a local tailor who's willing to make some new clothes for me. I was going to check some of the job postings as well."
In the meantime, I think we're thinking the same - perhaps best for us "furrners" not to walk alone."
Finally you make your way along the southern road toward the prison, Old River loping along happily sniffing here and there, disappearing into bushes only to reappear crashing through onto the path some way ahead. The gravel path is barely trodden these days. Even the bolder teenagers who dared eachother to run up to touch the doors haven't played their japes here in many years.
Harrowstone is located on a barren hill south of the town, the stark, sagging roof of its central structure visible trough a large gap in the surrounding wall. A partially overgrown track winds around the hill and then back up along the southern slope to the prison itself.
Dark clouds hang overhead like fat, black spiders in a web and as you top the slope and you spy the great old building itself, stark walls and broken windows like jagged teeth in a grinning skull's face. The whole building is stained black from soot, evidence of some enormous fire in it's murky past.
A sagging wood and metal gate set between a pair of stone towers once barred entrance to Harrowstone, but the gates now hang negligently open, creaking softly in what wind touches the ruined bars.
Old River barks once. He then gives a little whine and steps back a pace, barking once again.
Kendra finally emerges from her room in time for a late supper and finds the others still up and in discussion.
The others are out she asks? Filling the kettle for tea. She spies the copy of the Umbral Leaves and makes a distasteful face.
I always hated that one. It's the darkest things that men do that always fascinated and terrified my father in equal measure I think.
Constantin is still going through the professor's books and papers, looking for anything that might hint at what the professor was doing before his untimely end. "Yes," he says in response to Kendra, "most everyone's occupied talking to the townsfolk or investigating local goings-on. Vala and I have been trying to sort things out here. Don't worry though, I'll be out of your hair soon -- I'll come back tomorrow."
The scholar glances at Umbral Leaves and says, "I think your father tried to understand how people could be so terrible to each other. So he had to try to see the world through their eyes. But he wasn't that kind of man, so he could never live like those kinds of people did." Constantin gives a wan smile and adds, "Personally, as much as I may find such works revolting, I believe you can't ignore the evil in the world if you intend to grapple with it. Some folks want to turn a blind eye, but that just gives it places to hide."
Oh it must be. Kendra agrees. He never really spoke about it but I could see the way his work weighed on him sometimes. But then, the joy he had in study and fieldwork.. It was when he came alive.
He always wanted me to be prepared and taught me the rudiments of magic. Ive actually become quite proficient but I have to admit it is the study more than the practice that interests me.
Kazamir pats Old River gently a couple of times, glances at his companions, then steps up to the gates, taking his time to look around at eh surrounds and the ground to see who or what may have passed recently.
Success
The gate creaks eerily as Kazamir pushes it open. The ground is already becoming sodden and his boots squelch in the newly forming mud.
He unconsciously holds his breath as he crosses the threshold into the grounds themselves.
Suddenly his throat closes and he is almost crushed by an incredibly overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia. Just as suddenly the feeling passes but its effect lingers on as the investigator struggles to catch his breath.
From your position within the gate you can now see two high towers along the wall to the west.
The prison itself is a massive, imposing, grey building. A large balcony runs around the exterior of the upper floor and part of the east wall seems to have collapsed into a bleak lake.
A separate smaller building sits apart from the main complex.
Old River whines once more and then turns away from the gate, trotting back toward town with his hackles raised.
Raj watches Old River withdraw with a grim smile. Smart dog.
He turns his attention to the imposing prison. You were living in Ravengro a long time, Doc. Why were you exploring here now and is that what got you killed?
Despite his misgivings, the dark Varisian follows Kazamir through the ruined gate. His eyes cast about for entrances into any of the structures, threats, and hazards like walls that may collapse.
The entire place looks like it could collapse. The walls are crumbling in places and the balcony that runs the length of the facia sags alarmingly in it's centre.
A series of weather-beaten gargoyles line the rooftop and the separate building, like a small cottage leans at a skewed angle on it's foundations.
Piles of rubble lie here and there in the courtyard and it is easy to see how the Professor might have been killed by falling masonry around this decrepit old ruin.
Raj casts an appraising eye on the burned and dilapidated building then says to no one in particular, "What happened here? Was it abandoned then gutted by fire, or the other way around?" Raj moves away from the ruined gate and wall, half expecting the whole thing to fall over at any moment. He begins looking for fresher tracks - either from Doc or the people who recovered his body.
Despite his keen eyesight and meticulous searching, Raj finds nothing in the way of workable tracks. The area around the prison is thick with mud but in the weeks since the Professor died the area has turned into little more than a slop.
The most disturbed area is some distance east of the entrance to Harrowstone where the ground has been particularly churned up. Among this area are the barely distinguishable boot prints of several individuals all centred around a large chunk of grey masonry.
One side of this chunk of rock is splattered with blood; mostly faded, washed away with rain or otherwise muddled with filth. However, it is still clearly visible.
Raj moves cautiously over the muddy ground to the chunk of masonry and crouches down to examine it. He runs a finger inside a deep fissure in the stone then checks his stained finger carefully. "Blood, at a guess."
He scans the forbidding building, looking for lighter blotches that might indicate fresh wear patterns, trying to determine from where the stone may have fallen.
"Well spotted, Rajuna," Kazamir replies, still tring to get his racing heartbeat under control.
He will also look at the masonry and the wall, looking to see if it seems likely that the piece fell on its own...
"'Raj' works for me, if it's all the same to you." He hrmphs at the building, and backs up to get a better overall look at the structure. "I'm not seein' where this block came from. You'd think we'd see a fresh break or something."
The sun begins to creep slowly down over the horizon, bathing the prison in a grey watery light that does nothing for your sense of disquiet about the place.
"Oh, I don't know how fine a line it is in practice, dear. There's some significant distinction between being fascinated by an act and wanting to do it. Though, you are right that the former can lead the weak willed into the latter, I do admit. Still, Petros having these tomes might have also been an effort to keep them from the wrong hands." Vala shoots the chest of books a sideways glance and adds, "There's no telling what details and dark suggestions twisted minds might pen. By keeping these close, perhaps Petros was trying to ensure such black thoughts didn't propagate."
Zed grimly watches the dog run off. That bodes ill. He thinks as he crossed the threshold. He takes note of the blood and churned ground, then starts meticulously going over everything.
As he walks around the building Zed begins to notice something curious. The ivy and grass have been cleared along the edge where the foundation meets the ground, and along this edge a series of sinuous runes has been etched and then smeared with blood.
The runes go around the entire building’s foundation save for the northeast corner, where part of the building has flooded and the foundation has crumbled away.
These runes, while you cannot read them, seem to have been part of a larger ritual that involves both abjuration and necromantic magic.