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This is where all the death happens
Unlike the hot and harsh weather of Numeria, Ustalav is cold. It is the end of the first month of fall, and already temperatures are slightly below freezing. A trace of cold water drips from the grey clouds above, following a slight breeze that nips at the end of your nose.
Yet inside the Lorrimor manor, the waft of hot porridge sneaks upstairs and slides under your door to waken you. When you enter the dining room, the house chef calls out from the kitchen. "Good mornin! Got some porridge ready to go for ya here in the kitchen."
No one else seems to be up at this time.
Varka, with sleep-mussed hair (but sharp eyes), walks through the dining room and follows the voice into the kitchen. She pauses a moment, just past the doorway, and takes in the sight of a vast room filled with delicious smells and interesting sights. An uneasy feeling passes through her then, like at any moment someone is going to tell her to get out. Like she still doesn't belong here and is a trespasser.
However, logic and hunger (though mostly hunger) win out and she slinks her way further into the kitchen, towards the delicious smells and the chef who makes them.
"And good morning to you-" She realises she doesn't have a name and flounders a bit, "-Ah. Morning."
Standing before Varka is a short and rotund man with red hair. He has a large nose and a series of freckles just below his brown eyes. "Aha! I see we have not made introductions." With an overcompensating bow that nearly topples him, the large man says "Known throughout all of Ustalav as the greatest chef alive, I am Lord Professor Chef Olaf, but pretty ladies such as yourself may call me Olaf. At your service, of course." At the end of his introduction he offers you a handshake.
Varka, not used to such a friendly and boisterous man, was taken aback. She paused and gave him a once over, but there didn't seem to be any threat. The friendliness seemed to be genuine, so she stuck out her hand to shake his.
"Varka, of Torch," she said, bewilderment slightly colouring her tone. "If you were the one to make that feast last night, then I truly do believe your skill. It is nice to meet you."
Olaf does shake your hand, but quickly sneaks a bowl of porridge into it instead. Smiling from ear to ear, he says "The pleasure if mine, miss Varka. Now eat up! If you want seconds or something else, please let me know. I'll make whatever you like... provided I have the ingredients."
From the staircase descends a sleepy Kendra who yawns and stretches as she clumsily searches for the source of the wandering porridge scent. Her hair has gone from neat and proper to a tangled mess.
"Mmernin Olf, Vorka." She mutters.
Varka grins back. She, despite herself, is charmed. She nods her thanks to Olaf and turns to go sit in the dining room. The porridge is quite warm in her hand and she is eager to try it out.
She turns around and almost runs straight into Kendra going the other way. She stops and, already in a good mood, smiles at her and says, "And a good morning to you, Kendra! Did you sleep well?"
Olaf hands Kendra a heaping bowl of porridge, while Kendra mutters something. Perhaps it was meant for Olaf, or for you. Neither of you can really tell.
"She's not a morning person, you see. Not until she has her coffee. Have you ever had coffee, Miss Varka? It is a bitter drink made in the south. When people drink it, they wake up almost immediately. Here, watch this."
He takes a moment to prepare the drink. It is a black liquid, with cream and sugar served on the side. One wiff of it, and sleep Kendra's eyes already open up. Her nose starts sniffing the air, and she gingerly, but greedily reaches out to hold the cup of coffee. Upon just a few sips, her whole body just relaxes. Her eyes open up, and within them shows the semblance of sentience.
"Good morning, Varka. It was a rough night, but I'm well. You seem rather chipper today. Do you have any plans for the day?"
"No, I have never tried that before, Olaf." Varka watches with curiosity as he makes the hot drink. It is not something native to her city and therefore only people who can afford to import it, get to drink it. The smell of the coffee mingles with the other delicious smells of the kitchen and she tentatively decides that it smells good.
Her curiosity, however, slowly turns to amusement as she watches Kendra perk up. It was like she revived from the dead. "I am glad to see you are doing better, Kendra, even with such a bad night," Varka says with a soft grin. She shugs and continues, "I suppose I just like waking up early. It makes the day longer and I can get more things done. Though, specifically today, I did not have any plans past breakfast. Was there something you were hoping to do?"
Kendra leads Varka to the dinning room so they can eat together. "Not exactly. I didn't think my father would trap you all here for the month. But I was thinking perhaps I could show you around? You don't have to be cooped up in the house all month, although to be honest that's kind of what I do."
Olaf comes back in a few minutes with a small cup of coffee for Varka, just to taste. It comes with a side of sugar and cream.
At this time, Dyansa walks in through the front door. She wipes her brow and sighs before walking in.
"Morning to ya, Varka, Kendra. Are the other two still in bed at this time?" Dyansa says as she sits down next to them.
"I don't think I would like being in a house that long," admitted Varka to Kendra. "Even if it's as nice as this one. I think I would like to look around."
Varka gave a small smile at Olaf and sipped at the coffee. And then instantly making a face. It might have smelled really good, but it was a little too rich for Varka's taste. Perhaps the cream would ofset the strong flavour? She poured the cream in and tried it again. Ah. Much better. She could definitely get used to coffee.
"Morning, Dyansa. And I'm not sure. I haven't seen them yet." Varka shrugged.
Dyansa takes a seat alongside Varka. She is radiating heat and is sweating profusely, and yet, she has nothing but smiles on her face. "I've only been in a few settlements for short periods of time. It is a very different mindset. By this time the harvest would be nearly done, and if we were moving that day, well we would have already started walking. Here it is cold, and the people like to stay in their beds longer."
She accepts some porridge and begins wolfing it down.
RECAP:
Oathday, the 29th of Rova, 4708AR (Absolom Reckoning)
- You spent the day exploring the town and met Zokar of the Laughing Demon tavern. Lyle has a potential job there. Click on 'Ravengro Locations' for a quick update of what you've discovered.
- You encountered a monument in the town square dedicated to the guards who sacrificed themselves in the ruined Harrowstone prison. It had been vandalized by someone who wrote a V written in blood. Kendra was able to determine that the blood did not likely come from a humanoid creature, but likely a monster or animal.
- You went through the different tomes that Prof Lorrimor left you to deliver. See below for details.
Fireday, the 30th of Rova, 4708AR
- You agreed to run with Dyansa tomorrow morning.
- After discovering that there may be a cashe of undead-hunting equipment in a false crypt, you went to the church of Pharasma to consult one of the Grimburrows. Although he initially agreed to check out the crypt by sending two acolytes with you, he never actually got around to it. Whether this was intentional or old age is unknown. After asking him about the Whispering Way, the wise man suggested to Varka and the rest to refrain from delving too far into Lorrimor's work. He said that it was a dangerous path that would lead to a very unpleasant life.
You have just exited the temple of Pharasma. It is quite chilly, being below freezing temperatures. It is around mid day. Where would you like to go now?
1. A rich purple tome that contains a brass scarab set with a single eye in its center. Rimmed with polished steel, the tome is clasped with a small but intricate lock. The key designed for this lock looks like it would have a triangular shape to it.
2. On Verified Madness. This black leather book is a bestiary of various aberrations that supposedly live in the Dark Tapestry, which is the name given for the dark places between stars.
3. Serving Your Hunger. Confiscated by Bryn.
4. The Umbral Leaves. Also confiscated by Bryn.
5. Lorrimor's Journal. See below.
Circled entries in the Professor's journal
Ten Years Ago:The Whispering Way is more than just a cabal of necromancers. I see that now. Undeath is their fountain of youth. Uncovering their motivation does not place me at ease as I thought it might. Their desire to be eternal simply makes them more dangerous.
Two Months Ago:It is as I had feared. The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be?
One Month Ago:Whatever the Way seeks, I am now convinced their goal is connected to Harrowstone. In retrospect, I suppose it all makes sense—the stories they tell about the ruins in town are certainly chilling enough. It may be time to investigate the ruins, but with everyone in town already being so worked up about them, I’d rather not let the others know about my curiosity—there’s plenty of folks hereabouts who already think I’m a demonologist or a witch or something. Ignorant fools.
Twenty Days Ago:It is confirmed. The Way seems quite interested in something—no, strike that—someone who was held in Harrowstone. But who, specifically, is the Way after? I need a list of everyone who died the night of the fire. Everyone. The Temple of Pharasma must have such a list.
Eighteen Days Ago:I see now just how ill prepared I was when I last set out for the Harrowstone. I am lucky to have returned at all. The ghosts, if indeed they were ghosts (for I did not find it prudent to investigate further) prevented me from transcribing the strange symbols I found etched along the foundation—hopefully on my next visit I will be more prepared. Thankfully, the necessary tools to defend against spirits are already here in Ravengro. I know that the church of Pharasma used to store them in a false crypt in the Restlands at the intersection between Eversleep and the Black Path. I am not certain if the current clergy even know of what their predecessors have hidden down below. If my luck holds, I should be able to slip in and out with a few borrowed items.
Seventeen Days Ago: Tomorrow evening I return to the prison. It is imperative the Way does not finish. My caution has already cost me too much time. I am not sure what will happen if I am too late, but if my theory is right, the entire town could be at risk. I don’t have time to update my will, so I’ll leave this in the chest where it’ll be sure to be found, should the worst come to pass.
Varka tapped a finger on her chin. "That was...not as successful as I thought it would be."
She shivered as the cold air hit her, biting at her cheeks and fingertips. A thoughtful expression crossed her face and she turned to Dyansa.
"Didn't you want to visit the dwarven smithy? I think now might be the time to do it. After all, they have lived here for a long while. They might know some things."
The pounding of metal on metal echoes throughout the town square. The smithy itself has no sign on it, likely because the hammering and furnace smoke is proof enough. Inside is a great big workshop where young human apprentices are hard at work on the forge and smelter. An older dwarf woman seems to be guiding them and barks out various orders. On two of the walls hang a large collection of tools, weapons, and armor, several of which look to be works of art.
Dyansa simply states "Amazing."
Dressed in dirty brown clothes with a weathered leather apron, the female dwarf stands with authority as she watches her apprentices work. She has short brown hair with the sides shaved, and the back sports a long, tight braid adorned with iron rings. Her brown eyes slowly shift towards the front door, and she gazes upon the group for a swift moment.
Walking into the smithy, a strange feeling started to wash over her. She's never really felt it before, and wasn't sure how to describe it, but it was like a feeling of...nostalgia. Sure, the smithy here was smaller, but a smithy was a smithy, wherever you went. The sights, the sounds, the smells...all viscerally throwing her back to the ones in Torch. The sense of familiar came upon her, vast and sudden, stealing her breath and leaving a tight feeling in her throat.
She was so very far from home.
Dyansa's voice brought her back to the present and she glanced up at the taller woman's face. "Yeah, it is." And if her voice sounded slightly choked, she could blame it on the smoke.
Varka, however, was not one to dwell in her feelings. She decided the best course of action was to move forward. She glanced around the smithy again and it didn't take long to find the dwarven women again. She was right in the center of the action.
She was on the older side of things, though age is hard to tell on a dwarf. Despite her stature, it was easy to see who was in charge, for she wore authority like a fine cloak. Her brown hair and brown eyes were lighter than Varka's own, and their eyes briefly met before the dwarven lady was swept back into the thick of things. She wielded commands easily; this was clearly her dominion.
So, like subjects coming for wisdom at the feet of a Queen, Varka led the others further in. Mustering up politeness from somewhere in the depths of her, Varka raised her voice to be heard over the noise, "Hello! I was wondering if we could have a moment of your time?"
The Dwarf woman steps forward while patting the back of one of the apprentices. Though the noise is still plenty loud, she barks out in a gruff, but relatively friendly manner. "Oi!" She raises a hand in greeting. "New comers, eh? Name's Jorfa. Whatcha need?"