"Books are dead things," Mireza remarks to Iozef, as if their conversation hadn't been interrupted by the arrival of the corpse. "When they were alive, they were trees. Coins and armor and weapons are dead things, too," she hands the emerald studded dagger to Valiard. "Dug out of their graves beneath the earth and pressed into service to men, no less than the Middenstone Baron's workers. What do you suppose they did with them? Found a way to wrest command of them and put them to work for the Mayor, just like we're taking this dead husk's possessions for ourselves?" She tucks the wand away among her scarves.
As he carefully attempts to make out the letter, he listens to the witch with interest. Coming to the conclusion she knows very little of the proper ways of Carrion Hill, "No, Madam Mireza, that is not our common practice. That was but the actions of a madman. The Temple would most assuredly obtain the bodies of the deceased, and follow protocol of giving them the proper burial they deserve." He explains matter-of-factly. "The Mayor would do no such thing, I can assure you."
"But that book might be a window into someone else's thoughts, Mireza, someone long since passed to the Boneyard and the Lady's justice. And that's worth studying."
The inquisitor nods slightly at Iozef's comment. "Even if the Mayor would do such a thing, the priests of Pharasma would not permit it. I can assure you that for all their difficulties with me, they were not so heterodox as that."
Valiard listens to the interplay between Mireza and Izoef as Mireza hands the dagger to him. With a casual ease of long practice, the dagger seems to vanish from his hands to be secreted somewhere on his person.
"Thank the gods that they did dispose of the zombies too. It isn't proper for things to be up and moving around after they died. There is a natural order to things, and the undead are not a part of it."
Never took you for a Pharasmite Valiard, Grigor said.
The inquisitor nods slightly at Iozef's comment. "Even if the Mayor would do such a thing, the priests of Pharasma would not permit it. I can assure you that for all their difficulties with me, they were not so heterodox as that."
"Well, Mr. Thetra, if nothing else, that is at least something we can agree on," he nods in appreciation.
Iozef takes his attention off the letter once again, moving it over to the herbalist and then to Grigor. "Well, oddly enough, I would have to share Mr. Vachkov's sentiment's toward you on such a matter, Mr. Tessar. Nevertheless, I find your thoughts on the issue agreeable. Well put." He then returns to his work on the letter.
"There are all kinds of things in this world that aren't 'natural,'" Mireza shrugs. "I don't see that it makes much difference if a person is killed and eaten by a pack of wolves or a pack of ghouls."
Momentarily taking his eyes off the letter and glancing over Mireza, "Yes, Madam Mireza, there is..." he starts but then realizes he's wasting his breath. "Never mind," he finishes, rolling his eyes at her complete lack of understanding and returns to his work on opening the letter as carefully as he can.
Windle is not so easily dissuaded. "The Lady's inexorable justice awaits us all, it's true, but the only reason your hypothetical pack of ghouls exists in the first place is because Someone chose to defy Her."
Too religious a discussion for me, says Grigor but he makes a small superstitious spiral over his heart none the less.
...will be delighted to have you again... Margrave Graydon has sponsored your sojourn with us...
Somewhat disappointed, "I fear I can only make out very little of the letter. But I did manage a name from within. Margrave Graydon."
Windle is not so easily dissuaded. "The Lady's inexorable justice awaits us all, it's true, but the only reason your hypothetical pack of ghouls exists in the first place is because Someone chose to defy Her."
"So it's good to destroy all the ghouls but bad to destroy all the wolves?" she asks a little skeptically. "What about hags? Are they natural or unnatural?"
Instantly taking his mind off the letter, Iozef doesn't hesitate to respond. "Yes. It is not only good but necessary. Now, as far as hags, are they former living, yet, now dead who walk?"
"I don't think so," Mireza replies thoughtfully. "But they do eat people, like wolves and ghouls do. Only I think they cook them first. Does that make a difference?"
"If they do not belong to the land of the living dead, then I see no reason why they must be removed absolutely. Although, by committing such heinous acts--as you mentioned--I would not fault those that choose to hunt them down and eliminate them. You see, Madam Mireza, unnatural and evil--and yes, Madam Mireza, I do consider 'cooking' another evil--are not necessarily the same thing."
"Is it the cooking that's evil and not the eating then?"
Toward the end of the civil war between Barstoi and Ardeal, Graydon broke with Neska and openly denounced him as a tyrant. Forced to flee his home county, Graydon sought amnesty in Lozeri and soon became a strong voice in Palatine politics. Back in Barstoi, Neska convicted Graydon of treason, revoked his title, and placed a sizable bounty on his head.
They say that since rule of the land came to Count Aericnein Neska, hope has no home in Barstoi.
Rubbing his eyes in frustration, "Madam Mireza, I..." he stops, looking to Windle. "Your turn, Mr. Thetra. Or any of you who wish to travel down this dead end road," he says candidly as he turns his attention back to the letter.
"Ah yes, I do recall such a man. Cilas Graydon, is his name. A retired military man; served under one by the name of Count Aericnein Neska. Graydon is well-known throughout for how ruthless and brutal he was during war time. Because of it, the citizens of Ardeal and Barstoi despise him."
"Near the civil war's end between Ardeal and Barstoi, Graydon broke from Neska, declared him tyrant, which then Graydon had no choice but to flee. Flee to the town of Lozeri, where his voice in all things political is quite strong. As you would expect, Neska had Graydon convicted of treason, revoked his title, and placed a bounty upon his head. A large sum if I recall correctly. And with Neska in charge, Barstoi is a town in which hope is but a memory, if anything."
"So, from what I gather, on one hand we have a retired military leader who, at the cost of winning, would resort to any means regardless. And on the other, we have a Count who has eliminated all hope within an entire town. Which would agree with Graydon's claim of tyranny." Looking at the burned corpse, "My question is: What was the importance of this man to Cilas Graydon? And who is, 'us'? And what does this 'sojourn' entail?" He asks out loud, mostly to himself as he ponders each question.
Realizing it's futile to ponder such with so little of the letter legible, "No matter. Let us continue on. I'll solve nothing remaining here." Iozef then pulls out his wand and takes care of the remaining wounds left unhealed on them all.
Once that is taken care of, "Alright, time to move." Iozef then makes his way back onto the wagon.
Valiard shrugs at Izoef's sudden decisiveness.
"Works for me. We are going to need to find some running water anyways if we are going to wash these clothes. And getting some distance from here might not be a bad idea.", he says as he climbs back up into the wagon.
"All about Count Graydon's royal carriage!" he announces with a grin.
The wagon stumbles down the trail. All along, you feel nervous and often peer through the dark forest, wondering if spidery eyes stare back...
After about an hour, the trail descends more steeply and, around a bend, crosses a small stream. Night is upon you as you finish setting up camp and settle for a meal.
The forest comes alive with noise as the sun sets and darkness creeps around your fire.
"I shall acquire my rest first. Fortunately, I need but an hour or two. After that, I shall retain watch the rest of the night. Any who wish to join me on watch, can feel free to do so."
"I will take the first watch. That will give me time to take care of the horse and wagon." Valiard says, busying himself with setting up the camp.
Before packing up, Windle tries to get Iozef's attention. "Frater Kolnikov, would you care to say a few words for the deceased while we inter him?"
"I also only require two hours of sleep, so Frater Kolnikov and I can take everything after first watch."
Iozef nods. "Very well. But I fear I am not one for words, Mr. Thetra, I mostly deal with the record keeping. Nevertheless, I shall say... something." Holding his holy symbol, "Pharasma, our Lady of Graves, this one has taken one last journey to you for his final reward that only you can gift. I knew him not but I pray it shall be one of peace and comfort." Iozef then draws Pharasma's holy symbol in the air, over the man. "May you rest in peace," he concludes.
The man is in the ground, not far from the tower.
Valiard takes first watch and he wakes the pharasmins.
Windle quietly rouses Grigor. "Wolves, and close by."
Grigor, dreaming of booze perhaps, reluctantly wales up, but stirs faster when he computes the threat.
You stay silent for a moment, then turn quickly as leaves rustle behind you. It last a few minutes, but the forest never played her hand.
The rest of the night goes quieter and, come morning, you can make your way down the trail.
While Grigor and Valiard do the hard work of packing up the camp and tending to the horses, Mireza lies in the wagon watching her spider spin a morning web.
After Grigor had done his chores around the camp, he prepared himself for the coming day. Grigor was sure to have his silvered shortshorts ready, one slung over both shoulders.
He knew it probably made him look like a manic, with his other swords hanging over each hip but that also was a plus of sorts. On a younger less experienced man, it would make them look like a pussy who thought the more weapons the better but with his hard stare and craggy face it would likely have an intimidating effect.
As the threat fades, Iozef straightens his vest and brushes off his sleeves. "Very good," he simply says as he returns to his watch.
As the morning comes and they prepare to leave, Iozef gathers up his things and is ready to move.
You hop up and down along the rough path cutting through the Shudderwood. As you reach a straight stretch of the trail, you see ahead the pale corpse of a naked man hangs from a large yellow pine, bound to the trunk with rough cords. His mouth is stuffed with large, pale purple flowers, and his wrists and ankles are swollen and dark with bruises marking where his bindings cut into his skin. A large hunting knife embedded deep in his heart seems the most likely cause of his death...
"Hold, Mr. Tessar!" Iozef calls out. As the wagon comes to a stop, Iozef gets out and just sighs at the grisly scene. "It would appear, the farther we go, the more deceased we happen to find. Would one of you gentlemen please cut him down? Thank you," he says while his attention is fixed upon the purple flowers. Reaching up, he removes them and examines them closer.
Grigor gives the area the once over first before moving any closer to the body.
Perception
Windle nocks an arrow and keeps his distance from the body, watching the surroundings and occasionally looking up. "There are parts of Ustalav where it is unwise to travel alone, and this would appear to be one of them."
Valiard sighs and brings the wagon to a stop.
"Well that is either a warning or a trap." Valiard says, motioning to the dead body. Then he pauses and stares at the corpse for a second before continuing.
"I personally don't like the fact that he has flowers coming out of his mouth. If they are fresh, it means that he was just killed...or whatever flowers the plant belongs to...it feeds on corpses."
"Grigor should definitely check it out, perhaps offer the corpse some gold?", he finishes, a wide grin on his face.
"All flowers feed on death," Mireza replies idly. "They bloom in profusion on battlefields and graveyards." She eyes the bruising where the corpse is bound and the knife wound to gauge how long the man has been dead.
No one get close to that body!, Grigor snaps authoritatively.
He squats down in the leaf litter and uncovers some trap wire.
He frowns speculatively, looking up at the body and then down the length of the wire...
He then rises and follows the wire, periodically uncovering the wire as he goes deeper into the forest.