Marcus mumbles a greeting after the introductions, courteous but not particularly warm--for Mordecai, though, Marcus holds his gaze a bit and nods in respect.
Well mayor, don't let the doll's looks fool you--that thing was much tougher than it looked, no mere toy. It was a weapon, strong and deliberate. And I doubt that's the end of things--the doll didn't create itself. Be best to find a connection between the Pegasons and Phibes--why were they targeted? As for us helpin'--I'm no mason, I'm a lumberman by trade. I might could see how to shore up your defenses if you have any extra wood handy. Mordecai, you mind showin' me around?
[dice=Bluff to send secret message to Mordecai--"I have important info to tell you"] 1d20 - 1 [/dice]
Tull, how did you get strawberries to grow this time of year? Never could get any to grow, myself, but my daughter sure does love them...
The Mayor looks irked, "I'm not taking this lightly, Master Braun. I'm wondering how we defend against a doll that moves like the wind, had the skill to kill half a dozen people, and was in position to kill a bunch more."
"Mordecai, you mind showin' me around?"
Mordecai takes a second before he nods, "Sure. I'll show you what we were thinkin' of for defenses. Probably won't stop those little demons but maybe we'll see them comin'." He follows Marcus out of the Tull compound.
"Tull, how did you get strawberries to grow this time of year?"
Hugh (Tull) shrugs, "There's no better soil anywhere and we've got some skilled farmers here."
Lyrica listens politely, and tries not to offend anyone as she feels she could easily do. Finally, she speaks up. "Does anybody know where the doll came from? I mean, did it look at all familiar? Has anyone seen such a thing before?"
Lyrica receives a series of negative responses, either head shakes or words to that effect from everyone present. The Tull woman's eyes follow Marcus and Mordecai as they leave even as she points out, "I looked at what remains of that creature - fine china and colorful silks. I doubt more than a couple of us have any bits of silk at all. That's a costly fabric in any community. Bone china is also hard to come by on the farm. I don't recall seeing anyone with silk in those garish colors. Most everything bought from outside is brought in by our farmers returning from the markets. So, unless they bought it and transported it into town themselves, there would be a record of it at the surveyor's office and word would have gotten around." She thinks for a moment, "We have had wandering merchants come through... but not in many months and they tend to carry more practical items."
"So, unless they bought it and transported it into town themselves, there would be a record of it at the surveyor's office and word would have gotten around."
"I never realized that such detailed records such as merchant transactions would be kept at the surveyor's office. That may be another possible lead to explore. However, even if somebody possessed the china or the silk to create such an item, there would need to be some powerful magic behind it to be able to get it to fight as it did."
Lyrica joins Marcus as Mordecai shows him around.
Hugh (Tull) shrugs, "There's no better soil anywhere and we've got some skilled farmers here."
Mordecai, we looked through the town's crop yields and--well, you must know somethin' ain't right! 'Bout fifteen years ago some folk started getting big crop yields--but it's not luck or skill. It's too...precise. Every year and a half a new family gets 'lucky'. I figured I'd tell you, see if you know anything about this, because some of these names are prominent townsfolk. The mayor, Fletcher, Tull, Waveharp...and Phibes and Pegason too. Seems obvious to me who's going to be targeted next. What did these people do to get bountiful harvests? Did they make a deal with something unnatural? They use some sort of spell?
Marcus speaks quietly but fervently, hoping the farmer will provide some insight.
Mordecai gets a hard, bloody, look but his steps never falter, "Mister, you ain't never been a tenant-farmer, that's clear. We barely got time to get our noses out of the dirt - ain't no time to spec'late on the doins of the town's high and mighty. We're busy keeping food on the table. But the only 'luck' a farmer knows for true is weather that causes your crops to grow well or a touch of late frost to kill locusts. So I don't think much of you saying that I know something about spells or deals - which I don't. What I do know is corn don't grow in winter. So, I guess maybe you shouldn't have broke that doll before it could finish off Waveharp, if he was one that brought this disaster on us. Huh'n."
He continues walking and thinking for a time, "There's always the odd grumble spread among those of us who work hard every damn day of every damn year... sometimes it's sour grapes, sometimes not. More'n once, folks been spotted with low lanterns in the far fields, here or there around the village, late at night, always around the time the crops are rotated. Some say they seen these shadows luggin' something heavy through the fields. Some farmers got all sorts of strange rituals trying to help their crops. I just figured it was maybe one of those. But with what your sayin', and the bodies droppin'... well maybe it is somethin' more than superstition."
Jak watches the group watch the departure of Marcus, Mordecai, and Lyrica, keeping his smile up. He makes a placating face, looking between Marcus and the mayor, ”He didn’t mean anything, mayor. He’s just worried, same as you all. And he’s more a man of action than words, if you take my meaning.”
Jak pauses for a second, taking stock of his read on the different people present. Play the players, he thinks, not the cards.
”Master Fletcher,” he says, rounding very casually on the man, ”I actually came to chat with you. We just swung by your house looking for you; got to meet your wife. It’s urgent that we chat… alone, if you don’t mind.” He briefly looks at the rest of the group with an apologetic shrug, but tries to keep Fletcher’s attention on himself.
The gruff bearish man raises an eyebrow at the mention of his wife. He casts a questioning glance at the Mayor before he agrees, "A'right."
He walks off a short distance with Jak and gets right to the point. "What's a matter?"
Jak walks with the bigger man, trying to decide on an angle. When Fletcher stops, Jak keeps walking, waving the man to keep up and not really leaving much room for argument.
”Well there’s a lot that’s the matter, Master Fletcher. Your wife seems concerned about you… for what it’s worth” At this point, Jak does take a moment to look back at the group they’ve left behind, ”You’re a part of an inner circle of sorts here in Albridge. From what I can tell, you and that group—minus Mordecai—own the majority of the fields in and around town. Well, if you include Philmore and the poor Pegasons, that is." He pauses briefly to make sure the man catches the association. "According to the town’s records, that didn’t all used to be the case. Also, according to the towns records.. or, more accurately the field maps around town… I think you're in danger.” He meets the man’s eyes, ”We’re here to help, so please think hard. Is there anything you can tell us about the fields, that inner circle, or the deaths that could help us stop all this. I think this morning showed that a fence and a prayer aren’t going to help much.”
"Of course she is worried about me - she's my wife after all." Fletcher listens to the rest of Jak's message with obvious concern - whether at his conclusions or the information that Jak has ferreted out - is hard to tell. "You think that creature was sent after us land-owners? Maybe we should fortify the defenses around our homes then, and you can ambush them... But I really can't think of anything that would help you keep us alive."
One other thing, your mention of prayer, innocent as it was, shook him.
Jak looks at the man flatly. ”We should play poker sometime, Master Fletcher. Cause you’re a rotten liar.” He steps toward the man that towers over him. ”Let’s set aside the fact that people round here are counting on you. That there are men, women, and children who are looking for your leadership for their well-being.” He shrugs, ”Hells, let’s set aside the fact that there’s a woman sitting on a porch just a minute’s walk away depending on you. What do you think is going to happen here… to you? You’re in over your head. You all are. And you have no clue what to do about it.”
He watches the older man’s eyes, Jak’s own face set in grim sincerity, ”I mean it when I said we came to help. I don’t know what your inner circle has gotten you all in, but you gotta change the game. Whether you want to be or not, each of you has gone all in with a losing hand, and i’m not talking about gold… but blood. Your blood, if what we saw in the record’s office is anything. Master Fletcher… please… what is going on in this town?”
Fletcher squares off with the smaller man and looks like he's about to find out how many pieces he can break Jak into, then he backs off a step - anger replaced with a haunted sort of grimness. "Never had time for games, Mister. And if you think the people of this town are looking to me for leadership, then you don't know this town." He casts glances at Davril and Glinnora. "They lead here..." He gives Jak a smile, "You got some brass balls there, son, I'll give ya that. Yeah, we're in deep - but so are you. The minute you started helping us. I can't tell ya what's going on - couldn't explain it all to you even if I wanted to. I don't know the rules to the game or the players. But the one thing I do know is my wife is safe as long as I ain't around her. Jannys should never have gone home or that family would be alive right now. That's the truth. And the other truth is knowing the truth ain't gonna help you."
He glances at the sky, weighing the weather. "Spring's coming. You're wasting your time looking for a killer in town. He ain't here. If you wanna know what you're huntin' that's huntin' us, try the Witch. We went to her first, after all. We should have left it there. Damn me for a fool for not leaving it alone."
The bearish farmer turns and heads for the gate, throwing his final words back at Jak, "You're right, Mister. The games gotta change or ya gotta walk away from the table. This deck has been stacked for 13 years. That's all there is to it. Good advice, damn good advice." Fruhand Fletcher continues out the gate, heading towards his house and fields.
Jak tries to process it all, then takes the few running steps to catch up to Fletcher, "You're leaving? Will it follow you? How do you know you'll be safe?" Jak grasps at straws, "There's different kinds of leaders, ya know... harder ones for harder times. Everyone may need you. This could get worse, but it could also get better! Sometimes you gotta hold on and play the flop! We just gotta do it together."
Jak follows Fletcher through the gate and up the road. He smiles at Jak's belated optimism and shakes his head in answer to one or more of Jak's questions, "You're a good man, son. If your Pa and Ma are still in this world, you tell'em I said that. The only safety I'm buying is for the sweet girl on that porch." Fruhand looks to his young wife, still on the far side of the road. There is longing and shame in his look. He gives her a hopeful wave, receives a confused one in return, and adjusts his course. He bypasses the house and heads straight toward the fields. He notes that Jak is still dogging his steps. "It won't need to follow me because I'm gonna to it. I'm playing the only cards I got. Maybe it'll buy you all some time... but I wouldn't count on it. Don't waste your time with Davril or Glinnora, they'll talk you in circles. The Witch probably knows what you're dealing with... Gods knows I don't." He stops briefly, "You ought to head back now. This a two-hand game and you don't want a seat at this table." He leaves Jak in his wake and walks along the road out of town, in no hurry. Less than a quarter-mile away, he turns and waves at Jak. Then he pulls a well-used farming sickle from his belt and tears his own throat out with a single expert motion, a slash to sever crops. His blood sprays across a few sheafs of ripe corn. Fruhand's body drops - unconscious in seconds and dead before Jak can reach him.
"More'n once, folks been spotted with low lanterns in the far fields, here or there around the village, late at night, always around the time the crops are rotated. Some say they seen these shadows luggin' something heavy through the fields. Some farmers got all sorts of strange rituals trying to help their crops."
"Mordecai, Sir, how long has it been since people have seen these shadows luggin something heavy through the fields? Have you seen it yourself? And the lanterns, could you make out who or what was carrying them?"
Mordecai gives her a gauging look. "I couldn't say how long it's been since anyone saw the lights in the fields. I've heard the tales a few times over the years. I've maybe seen the lights once, but I can't swear to it. With the night fogs and distances, coulda been a trick of the eye. As I recall, it seemed the people were carrying the lanterns and if anyone recognized a body, they never said who it was."
All Jak has time to do is yell, ”FLETCHER! NO!” at the top of his lungs.
He sprints the quarter-mile to the man’s body, flopping down onto his knees and sliding the last few feet, his blood sings with his mother’s healing touch as he reaches down to the man.
Even as the healing power sinks into the man, Jak yells back towards the group at the Tull’s house, ’HEEELP! SOMEONE GET THE PRIEST! LYRICA! AERIK! HELP!”
The druid has been silently witnessing the meeting between Jak and the town elders. When Jak takes Fletcher aside, Aerik remains with the others as they continue to discuss the best course for the town. He pays little attention when Jak and the farmer leave. Only when he hears Jak's call for aid, do he and the locals in the Tull compound spring into motion, fearing the worst.
Galt is summoned as quick as he can and young Rynn is left in the care of several young women from the village.
Within a few minutes, half a dozen townfolk are gathered around the body of Fruhand Fletcher. A stunned silence sits on the group. Galt quickly confirms what is apparent to all and covers the gore of the cooling corpse with his cassock. He can only shake his head at Fletcher's actions. He leaves the farmers to build a makeshift stretcher and pulls Jak and the others aside.
"Did he say anything to any of you that would explain this?"
Jak tries to wipe the blood off his hands as he lets himself be pulled away.. ”Oh, he said a helluva lot.” Jak looks around to see who all is present, specifically seeking out Davril and Glinnora.
Jak pulls the mayor and Mrs. Tull aside a bit, giving them some privacy from the gathered townsfolk. Jak’s voice is low, but grim and hard as he looks between the two and the priest, ”He confirmed that something is going on here, and that you all are in on it. He confirmed that whatever this is has been going on for 13 years… the same year as the first lucky bump in your local crops. He said that we’re wasting our time looking for the killer in town and—to use his words— ‘he ain’t there’. And he said he was gonna make the only play he had left to protect his wife… then he walked off and slit his own damned throat. Right there. Plain as day.”
Jak watches the two, trying to will the answers out of them. ”He also said I shouldn’t waste my time with you two… that you’d try to talk me in circles. But I’ll say the same to you that I did to him. This town depends on you idiots for guidance… for safety and livelihood. But here’s thing, you’re the ones with your heads on the block. You clearly don’t have a solution to your problem, and walls and watches aren’t likely to work against whatever comes to hunt you next. Didn’t stop that damned doll. You gotta change the game… now. We came to help. Let us help. You need to tell us what’s going on. And why is it important that spring is coming?”
The first, and only, person to visibly react is Father Galt. He steps back at Jak's words, as if struck. He looks between Jak, Glinnora, and Davril. "What's going on here?"
Jak's insults draw cold, hostile stares from the old woman and the Mayor - who clearly don't tolerate such impertinence. And they erode any confidence the two might have in Jak's assurance that the team is trying to help.
Glinnora silences the priest with a scathing look. Her answer is all but a hiss, "Fletcher was an ignorant fool. And you're no better if you think it's only our necks on the block. You finished off that doll. You thwarted it. Do you think that interference comes without a price?" She gives Jak a cruel smile, "You've tied your fate to us - like it or not. So call yourself an idiot as well."
The Mayor stays on point, "Fighting among ourselves does no good. Stop it." His comment is directed at both Glinnora and Jak. "If you haven't figured it already, I'll spell it out. We fell on hard times... so some of us made a deal to save the village. We were promised 13 years of prosperity for... well... the obvious. It wasn't the prosperity we expected. We couldn't all benefit at one time. The deal was a trick. The doll was sent to collect but we shouldn't have to pay when we didn't get what we were promised, right?" He watches Jak's reaction, hoping to see agreement. "Now that his collector has been beat, we think we're in a position to re-negotiate a bit. He only gave us part of what was promised and he's collected Philmore, Jannys, and now Fruhand. Partial payment for partial service. We could call it even." He concludes.
"Did you hear that shriek? I think that's Jak calling me. Let's go see what's the matter."
Lyrica runs back to Jack and the fallen, Mr. Fletcher.
"By the light of the Dawnflower, is he dead? He seemed fine just moments ago. Jak, did you see what happened?"
Lyrica attempts to stabilize him.
Dearest Sarenrae, you have given me hands, let me use them to heal this man!
By the time Lyrica, Marcus, and Mordecai make it all the way up the road, the blood from Fruhand's cassock-draped corpse is already soaking into the ground. Even at a glance Lyrica realises it is far too late to do anything for the farmer save perform a eulogy.
Jak makes a dismissive face at Glinnora’s point about the Drear folk’s necks also being on the line. Whether through his inborn lack of caution, the indestructibility of youth, or a lack of intelligence , it doesn’t seem to phase him in the least. His attention quickly switches to the mayor’s words.
”So let me get this straight. You don’t understand the details of the deal you made, but you think you’ve been duped, so your big plan is to bet the safety of everyone here on the hope that you can barter a better deal?” He pauses, shaking his head, ”Well, damn,” he quips, oozing sarcasm, ”you have it all figured out.”
”Who did you make the deal with? Is there a contract? And just so the slow ones among us can understand what we’re dealign with, what was the ’obvious’ payment for this prosperity? And according to this deal, what exactly happens when the person collecting finishes killing the people who made the deal?” Watching a man slit his own throat with a farming implement seems to have set Jak on edge, to say the least.
Galt, with a mixture of disbelief and mounting anger, spells it out.
"They made a deal with a devil, Jak. The price isn't their lives, it's their souls... collectable at death, if not before. Fruhand decided to honor his debt in the only way he could."
The priest rounds on the Mayor, "Davril, did you learn nothing from church? Devils honor the letter of their deal and they delight in turning the unspecified terms against their debtors. You may not think you received a fair deal, but I'm certain the devil does."
The Mayor, revealing more of his shocking naivete about his opponent says, "Of course there was a contract. He's got it. He called himself Master Black. He looked like a pudgy merchant. There is still room for negotiation here and he's collected more souls than he was owed... with Jannys' family. That should be enough to satisfy him. We just need you to keep him from getting to us until we can haggle a bit."
Jak just shakes his head, "Did he leave a way to contact him? I mean, without the contract, how in the world are you supposed to know who to deal with him?"
"We're thinking that breaking his doll will draw his attention. He gave us a rhyme to call to him. We already tried, nothing happened. Now, maybe he'll come."
"Why don't we call him and ambush him? I'd much rather be the predator than the prey. I don't much like sitting around waitin' to see who will be the next to be attacked..."
"We're thinking that breaking his doll will draw his attention. He gave us a rhyme to call to him. We already tried, nothing happened. Now, maybe he'll come."
"So how many of you have met this Master Black in person? I don't want you speak it right now, but perhaps you could show us this rhyme that is suppose to call him. I am surprised any of you would be willing to put your eternal soul at risk for a temporary benefit. I mean no offense, but life is too short as it is. I suspect the afterlife is much longer!"
"Why don't we call him and ambush him? I'd much rather be the predator than the prey. I don't much like sitting around waitin' to see who will be the next to be attacked..."
The Mayor says, "We already tried. He hasn't come yet."
"So how many of you have met this Master Black in person?"
"Philmore , Glinnora , Jannys , Fruhand , Yenamro , and me."
Marcus runs toward the sound of Jak's voice with the others, watching the exchange with anger in his eyes. When the details of the bargain struck are made plain, he speaks up in disgust.
I understand what it means to take care of your family, and we've all seen hard times, but six souls for 13 years of prosperity? You are damn fools, and worse if you think this devil is going to negotiate on a deal already signed.
The Mayor says, "We already tried. He hasn't come yet."
Yes, but in his mind he already owns your souls--maybe he thinks he doesn't have anything to gain by answering your summons, and maybe more of his creatures are already on the way. But if one of us tries to call him, make him think he has more souls to gain, he might have more cause to show up.
The Mayor hands over a yellowed piece of folded parchment, his tone cold. "If you think you are so clever that you can get the better of Master Black.... be my guest."
"Why don't we call him and ambush him? I'd much rather be the predator than the prey. I don't much like sitting around waitin' to see who will be the next to be attacked..."
Jak answers distractedly, still seething at the whole situation but clearly trying to bring himself under control... he can't help but shoot a black look at the mayor's flippant remark to Aerik's suggestion. ”It may come to a fight either way. And if it’s necessary, it’d be nice to do it on our terms… as much as we can. Any of the details of any of this… the doll, the deal, the crops, the fake name and description… help us figure out who or what we’re dealing with?”
”So where is Miss Yenamro? She’s the only deal-maker I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting.”
As he waits for the answer, he unfolds the paper, curious about the rhyme.
The Tull woman responds, "Yenamro is a he. You met him, in a way. He was the last man the doll attacked, the one who nearly laughed himself to death. He's recovering at his own home - hard by his fields."
Jak views the rhyme, scribbled in blood. It is a doggerel, childish thing:
A deal, blood-sealed, a bargain struck
Fate awaits without a turn of luck
Angels of grace have turned their backs
For evil's embrace we call Master Black.
"Tell me, folks, is there any copy of the deal itself? Was it a signed document or was it agreed upon with just words? I want to know exactly what it said."
"If not, anyone with a good memory? As much of the original wording as possible is what's important here."
"Of course there was a contract. He's got it. He called himself Master Black. He looked like a pudgy merchant. There is still room for negotiation here and he's collected more souls than he was owed... with Jannys' family. That should be enough to satisfy him. We just need you to keep him from getting to us until we can haggle a bit."
Noting the interest the other farmers are starting to show in the conversation, Galt steps in. He looks to everyone not in the conversation, "Men, let's take brother Fruhand to the church for the proper rites and to comfort his wife. Leave these folks to discuss strategy."
The priest has his hands full getting Mordecai to follow. Having listened to the tail end of the conversation, the tenant-farmer glares murderously at the town elders... but in the end, he follows the priest.
When they are alone, the Mayor recounts the agreement, "We were promised 13 years of abundant crops and prosperity for our six families at the price of our souls. After the 13 years, nature would again rule our fields and we'd be responsible for their continuing success." He concludes, "What we didn't know is we couldn't all benefit from the blessing at the same time."
Jak reads the rhyme a few times before muttering a few strange words, viewing the document and words with arcanely-enhanced sight. Then he hands it to the others in the group to read.
His face contorts in a frown as he thinks back, trying to pierce the haze of time between now and their last visit to the Teeth. He begins shaking his head, ”Long upon a twisted course, Albridge town in evil steeps,” He looks at the different Drear folk before looking over at the mayor and Albridge’s religious leader, ”The greater good must be sewn or a bitter harvest shall be reaped.”
His face is grim as he continues, ”That’s what brought us here. Some kind of prophecy we ran across. I’m no scholar, philosopher, or prophet, but one interpretation of that immediately jumps out to me. Unless there’s a loophole in that contract that you don’t have a copy of with the devil you don’t have know way of getting leverage on …” he shrugs helplessly as he looks at the mayor and Mrs. Tull, ”… I think we’re seeing what that bitter harvest looks like. Jannys’s family and anyone who’s died because they were near any of you deal-makers.”
Jak looks over at Aerik, ”And as for ambushing a devil… why do we think we can even try that? The stories I’ve heard are of devils who kill men willy nilly. And the evidence that I’ve seen of this one is that he can make a gods-forsaken doll that is nearly impossible for us to kill. If that’s the toy… how hard do we think the maker is to kill?”
"The 'greater good' portion of the prophecy seems to hint that we should kill the remaining victims before the devil's next agent kills others by happenstance. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that. If this devil can be killed, I'd rather put an end to him so no one else makes deals with him in the future. I don't claim to know much about devils or the like, but maybe our weapons from the fountain will work?"