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The one-time street rat had felt consummately out of place throughout the entire affair, but as he pushes back from the table, his gauntlets clang together from their loop on his belt, and his chair catches on plush carpet and nearly tips over, he feel particularly conspicuous. His green skin at least does well to hide a flush.
Aye, I'm in the right occupation.
The lord of his church may be the patron of wealth and aristocracy, but no measure of holy devotion had yet been able to make Slachagok forget the feel of Westcrown's gutter stones against his check, or a Wiscrani house-guard's boot atop his back.
The evening's experience had only fortified the warrior's confidence that he best served the Master of the First Vault militarily. Slachagok's skills, he recognized, are far better suited to enforcing order in the face of chaos. He left it to others to actually enjoy the more elevated social arts whose perpetuation he was sworn to defend.
Still, I might do better to keep up appearances, he rues. Fingering the leather cord around his neck from which hangs the carved wooden Key-of-the-City, he resolves to save some of this mission's bounty towards commissioning a holy symbol of some finer material.
"The hour o' dawn'll suit me fine," Slach nods to Mrachni, moving towards the door.
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"And me, as well." agrees Alafair, taking the arm of her former companion as they exit the finery of the hall and stroll back to town together, along with the others.
"Do you suppose we need any special gear to go in this drowned school? Do you think there will be swimming or diving? What about corpses not fully at rest?"
She will tick off items in her journal if the rest of the party has any suggestions for gearing up.
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As Alfair and the lady exchange "pleasantries" Rogar stays back, silent:"Aaaaaand, here we go. Normally I would enjoy a catfight as the next man... but somehow I think this is not the proper time and place for such sparring... Let's hope this doesn't bite us in the back later on..."
As the lady explains the situation Rogar nods but voices no thoughts openly:"An unfortunate fate indeed... but if she thinks her girl to possibly be still alive she's delusional. Even if she somehow survived the collapse, starvation and thirst would have dealt with the poor child soon enough, and that would have been a truly terrible death. Better if she died in a moment, without suffering I say"
And when the group takes his leave he's quick to agree with the others:"I think we heard all there was to be heard. Milady we'll do whatever's necessary to ease your pain. Again, we are very sympathetic about your loss and we are confident we'll be able to give you back your Junia's remains for proper burial. Trust in us, the Society rarely fails its friends, and the same can be said for Taldor's friends"
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The next day in the wan morning sun the group meet and make their way to The Precipice District and Beldin's Bluff.
Beldin's Bluff is a rotting ghost town at the edge of a hungry sea. Throughout the derelict landscape, seagulls perched on splintered timbers reflect your passage in their glassy black eyes. Overhead, dark clouds move ashore with the promise of a storm.
Approaching The Drownyard itself you see a fence of black iron pikes surrounding a block wide yard. Dead tree branches reach out from the fence like the arms of emaciated prisoners desperate to escape. A man is on the inside cutting the trees down. Some of the dismembered branches remain, stuck in place by knotty elbows swollen around the iron.
The man, middle aged with thinning hair matted and sweaty, looks up from his sawing and stares at you suspiciously as you approach, remaining silent. Behind him partially collapsed buildings and three whitewashed towers lean in a lake filled yard. You can see the gate off slightly to your right.
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Mrachni's brows, furrowed in concentration, relax slightly as he nods slowly at the strange man. Reaching into his pouch, he produces the key he accepted from the Venture-Captain the day before, watching the man with an understanding gaze. He moves slowly, deliberately toward the gate and prepares to insert the key into the old lock.
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As Mrachni inserts the key and opens the gate the man's whole attitude abruptly shifts, his dour demeanour replaced by a friendly smile as he approaches.
"Oh, good morning, you are here with permission, do excuse my prior behaviour we have so many visitors who come just to satisfy their morbid curiosities. I hope you can forgive me," he says, in what are very clearly the honeyed tones of an aristocrat despite his attire. Dropping his gloves he extends a hand all of the party who will accept it in turn shaking vigorously while beaming.
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Your service to the memories of cherished loved ones is humbling. While I hate to stir painful memories I would value your tale as well as anything you can share as to current conditions and dangers of the site. Lady Dacilane was kind enough to host us last night in a meal to honour her daughters passing.
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"I don't wish to seem insensitive but we need to find the necropolis situated right below this place. Is there any chance for you to know about it? Any passages or cracks in the floor leading to a sort of crypt or the like? And perhaps... did you ever hear about a salamander shaped ring? Any help you could provide might be invaluable, good sir!" Rogar seems pretty eager to get into action.
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"Memories? No, no my daughter Cassiel attends this school - you should see how she's grown, those beautiful long braids. Deris Marchilen by the way - my name that is. As for a necropolis I don't know anything about that. Mrs Heracks was down there the longest though. Perhaps she can help. Come on, I'll introduce you. She's in Headmaster Kiwu's old office now."
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"Attends? As in... right here, right now??? Weren't all the children dead? Wasn't the school closed down?"
Rogar puzzled look follows the man calling himsself Deris Marchillen almost giving voice to his doubts. Yet, at the last moment the young fighter thinks better of it.
"Very well mr Marchillen, we would be grateful if you could introduce us to Mrs Heracks, then" says Rogar instead, trying to disguise doubt out of his tone
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Deris Marlinchen leads the party through the ruins of the Tri-Towers yard. They wind their way around past pools of inky black water, and grey, shattered buildings. Powerful fragrances precede one roofless hall where a thin path meanders through an abundance of flower arrangements in full bloom.
Deris heads into a doorway just off this path. Entering you see ten students dressed in checkered uniforms sit stiffly at wooden desks, staring straight ahead. No one moves. At the front of the class, a conservatively dressed woman leans against the wall.
"Here we are! Mrs Heracks, these fine people are asking about a necroplois, I told them you would be just the person to tell them about such a thing, could we prevail upon your time?"
The teacher turns and moves towards Marlinchen with slow jerky movements, he mouth opening and closing in silent pantomime of speech while her eyes stare into nothingness.
"Wonderful she says she can lead us to this necropolis! I knew you could render assistance Mrs Heracks, an exceptional teacher and a dear friend - I trust you know that. Oh, yes, she has done such a fine job of carrying things on these many years, and under such trying circumstances. You are a Saitn Madam say I!"
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Marchilen gives Yarg a puzzled look, "What's an illusion? I would lead you, but I don't know they way. Oh, oh, I see," he steps towards the Inquisitor turning away from Mrs Heracks and whispering, "she's a fine woman, but perhaps a little old for you? Perhaps I could put in a good word for you, but these things take time and discretion, Mrs Heracks is a woman of high morale character."
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Rogar turns from the nobleman and the parody of life he's adressing as Mrs Heracks to his companions several times, not quite sure of the reason why they chose to allow the charade to go on.
"What now? The man is clearly deranged! These are ghosts or illusions of whatever else a cursed place like this could conjure! And yet we want to follow him? Well, I've got no choice but to keep up with the plan, whatever it might be... but I've got my eyes on you now, mr cuckoo!"
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"Oh, Headmaster Kiwu, passed away after the great quake. It was a real tragedy, I saved many digging through the rubble, but I could not save them all - some called me a hero!" Deris Marchilen replies, his eyes haunted for a moment before his cheer returns.
Mrs Heracks "leads" the group through the Drownyard, her movement like that of a badly operated slow motion marionette, winding their way past more rubble until the reach a large black waist deep pool with the occasional bubble rising up from its centre.
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Rogar stares at the man with disbelief and asks with a pretty tired tone:You mean the entrance lays beneath the SEVERED HUMAN ARM inside a creepy pool in the middle of an half ruined school??? And what would your Mrs Heracks have us do? Shake the hand to open the passage?"
Rogar seems to have had enough of the situation.
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Marchilen gives Rogar a concerned look, "Its not a magic arm - that would be silly. Hmmm, hold on," he looks to Mrs Heracks, "its not a magic arm is it? No of course not. Oh, I see the entrance is under the arm. There you go a perfectly simple explanation! Don't feel bad, we all get odd ideas from time to time."
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Alafair raises her eyebrow at the whole situation. The man is obviously deranged in some way, but she cannot tell if he his sad or has evil intent.
When they arrive at the pool, she casts Detect Magic over the arm and pool area just to be on the safe side.
Alafair thinks it best to challenge the man's delusions before embarking into a strange pool. To the other as an aside, sotto voce: "Clearly he is disturbed. We should see if he is a threat by pushing him a bit. Agree?"
Then turning to the man, her sweetest smile in place, Alafair says: "Mr Marchilen, how is it that Mrs Heracks and her students survived the destruction here? I thought all the children were killed in the earthquake. Are you sure they are quite real?"
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Rogar answers Yarg's question shrugging:"Not me. I want to be sure the pool has no nasty surprises waiting before entering it... and I suggest you do the same"
And then Rogar nods to Alfair's suggestion, whispering:"He probably lost his mind due to grief, but following a madman in a forsaken ruin populated by the unquiet dead doesn't seem very wise to me... so challange him as you please, milady!"
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Hearing the pain in the man's voice, realizing his sanity was probably shattered by the loss he suffered the young fighter takes pity on Marchilen and tries to indulge him in order to get him to leave:"Yes, you were a hero, no doubt. But we are professionals. We were sent by the Pathfinder Society in order to check for something in thr ruins beneath the school. Now that you... and Mrs Heracks" adds Rogar with an half second of pause "Now that you brought us here we don't need your help anymore. You are free to go back and check the school yard... I'm sure there's an awful lot of people wishing to scuttle in since no one is guarding the school... you know how some people are... right?"
"And now... let's cross fingers..."