The councilor twists his mouth into a tight smile. "You must do as you see fit, of course." He steps aside and gestures toward the stairs up to the main floor of the house.
Marikel nods politely and leads the half-orc out.
"I'll see you safely away."
"Charming fellow," Gorewillow remarks pleasantly as the group exits the Sawyer home. "I can certainly see why you'd go out of your way for him."
Marikel sneers.
"If I was going out of my way for him, you'd be dead. However, his daughter is another story. Though your actions just prove every vile thing he's told her of your kind."
"Whereas the good councilor's actions redound to the credit of unadulterated humans everywhere," Gorewillow replies amiably. "It's funny how we pick and choose who is a proxy for their ancestry, isn't it? You'll forgive me if I can't take all the furor over whether it's the human or the orc blood that causes the problems too seriously; I'm not a native of Belkzen, and it's all a bit arcane to me." He gives a polite nod to the guard as the group passes through the Upper Gate; seeing the well-dressed half-orc in the company of the priest and his party, the Patrol member doesn't give him a second glance.
Marikel pays the Patrol member no mind.
"The good councilor's actions indeed. While he hates those that aren't like him, he still hasn't kidnapped or murdered them. Don't think you're better than him because you don't care who you hurt."
Gorewillow shrugs. "In a perfect world, no one gets hurt at all. I'm not a warmonger by choice, I assure you. Do you now how much simpler my job would be if Uskroth had been laid to rest in virtually any other hill in Belkzen? Pure archaeology!"
Marikel narrows his eyes.
"We all make choices. You may accept your lies, but I won't."
The group passes the burned trees in the Inner Quarter and the well-trodden ground where the party repelled the orc raiders from the Inner Gate. Oblivious to the destruction around it, the Hopespring continues to plash into its pool as it undoubtedly has since before Uskroth and his Twisted Hearts made a last stand on Bloodmarch Hill.
"Well," Gorewillow says, touching the brim of his hat politely, "I've done business with many a man who has disagreed with me. I don't take it personally. I will see you in a few days to complete our transaction. Only," he emphasizes, drawing a circle in the air to indicate the present company, "you."
Marikel merely nods and watches Gorewillow depart with a steely gaze.
Gorewillow nods a farewell to the guard at the main gate, which is under active repair, then salutes the group with a jaunty wave over his shoulder as he tramps down the road away from town.
"What an inhumane piece of scum." Though only those beside Marikel hear him.
Marikel looks round for the others.
"Mahath, we need to find out everything we can about this stone as quickly as possible. What can you do?"
"Dorn, how much can your bird carry? Can she bring in the stone from a safe distance? Or follow him without being seen?"
"Alicia, are you able to find out anything about Gorewillow? Movements about town? Contacts? Could he have been the half-orc you saw with Sawyer on the night of the Hopeknife Ceremony?"
Nodding, "That is the absolute truth. I wanted ta punch him in the face too." <pauses> "With me hammer." <pauses for a moment again> "About four or five times." <pauses for a longer moment> "Yeah that's it. I'm thinkin' that'd be enough ta kill 'im," he surmises, shrugging.
"Now as far as what Skyreaver can carry, well, he's still young but I'd say he can carry around 150 lbs or so. But that's tops. Forty/fifty pounds or less I think he could manage without much difficulty. And due ta his size, I'm thinkin' there's not much of a chance he could follow without bein' seen. Plus, the blasted half-orc scum has already seen Reaver. But I like where yer goin' with that. Ya know, me and Reaver got this weird connection ta where I can actually see what he sees. It takes a bit o' concentration and he can't be more'n mile or so but it can be done." Shrugging, "If need be, maybe we could utilize somethin' like that."
"There is a spell... Agrit may know it... that greatly increases how much someone can carry."
"He could have been--I didn't see him very clearly," Ali says. "As for finding out more about him, give me a day or two and I can see what I can dig up."
"We will not be conducting a betrayal," Marikel directs his gaze at Alicia. "However, we will be taking all precautions against their betrayal. And once Zola is safe back home, Iomedae may grant us the chance to hunt this scum down and bring them to justice."
"Once again, I thank you all for all that you've done. You've given much and deserve more than my inadequate praise. But let's find out all we can on this stone, its history, and those that would harm the innocents of Trunau for it. Please keep me updated. We'll meet again soon."
Marikel nods to the others and heads back to the Church.
He nods in agreement with Alicia. "I will see what I can learn as well."
Mahath will head back to Agrit's, hoping to find her and catch her up on what has transpired. He'll also pick her brain for advice on what they might be facing.
Watching the others leave, "Well, I guess that leaves you an' me, friend," he says to Skyreaver who simply blinks a couple of times before snagging a worm off the ground he just managed to catch sight of. Shaking his head, "Is that all ya ever think about? Food?" he asks, sighing. "Ah well, let's go. I'm gonna get me somethin' ta eat. I'm famished," he says, making his way toward the inn.
Tyari frowns when Marikel asks about undead beetles and what can cause them. "Spontaneous reanimation in the absence of an active necromancer is very rare. I believe we have a book on necromancy in the mission library. Why don't you take a look at it?"
The magical field of necromancy is one of the eight schools of magic recognized on Golarion. It is sometimes referred to variously as the dark arts or death magic. It deals with the manipulation of the essential life force which infuses all living things. Its darker aspect is the creation and control of undead creatures. Wizards who specialize in necromantic magic are known as necromancers.
You roll your eyes and page ahead a few chapters.
Some of the most well-known necromancers the world has ever known were undead creatures themselves, such as the archmage Geb, and the dreaded lich known as the Whispering Tyrant. The goddess Urgathoa is the patron deity of many necromancers, although some also worship the lesser-known demon lord Orcus. Although they can be found throughout the world, the arcane schools of the Garundi nation of Geb specialize in the teaching of necromancy. One of the most notable is the Ebon Mausoleum in the capital, Mechitar.
Doesn't seem relevant in Belkzen. You page ahead again.
During the reign of the runelords of ancient Thassilon, necromancy was associated with the sin of gluttony, and was therefore the specialty of the ruler of the realm of Gastash.
Not sure where that was. Anywhere near here? Could be something to look into.
A number of (apparently) naturally occurring materials have necromantic properties.You are finally interested and read the following chapter closely.
Black blood is a chillingly cold black liquid found only in the vault of Orv after which it is named, the Land of Black Blood. It seeps from a dozen locations, forming foul streams that flow into the dark lake known as the Caltherium.
For some reason, aberrations and undead are immune to the cold produced by black blood.
The blood has strange magical properties. If removed from its source, it can be used as unholy water. If drunk, it enhances any necromantic magic subsequently cast – although drinking it in the first place might prove fatal. The blood remains potent for only an hour after being removed, but many of those interested in its properties are likely to have magical means of preserving it.
Exposure to black blood – either through living near concentrations of black blood in Orv, or through deliberate (and cruel) experiments – has the potential to mutate most types of living creature. These abominations gain increased physical prowess and self-confidence, but suffer reduced intelligence. They may also be afflicted by numerous mutations.
Such creatures gain the ability to survive in water (and other liquids) as easily as on land, find their chilling physical attacks deal additional damage due to the cold, and they can also exhale a freezing cone of black blood that can fatally freeze those caught within it. Perhaps fortunately for other creatures, the black-blood slowly kills all but the toughest of hosts.
Intriguing, but doesn't really seem to fit the situation in Uskroth's Tomb.
Lazurite is a magical ore that can generally only be found in the Darklands realm of Sekamina. It is said to either be the body of a dead god, or a decayed radioactive mineral which no longer exists in its original form.
In its natural state, lazurite appears as a thin, black crust within the white rock known as marrowstone. It gives off a strange necromantic radiation, and any corpses left within a few paces may spontaneously rise as ghouls or ghasts—
Now this sounds promising.
Even though most natural deposits of lazurite is found in Sekamina, a large strain of it is known to exist in the haunted dwarven Zolurket Mines in Katapesh's Barrier Wall mountains.
Lazurite can be used to craft necromantic magical items or traps. Devotees of the Whispering Way have been known to construct items made of lazurite to help their followers achieve undeath.
"Interesting. Hmm, maybe Dorn has heard of those rocks before. I'll get him to take a look at this."
There are only two places Skreed Gorewillow is likely to have stayed in Trunau: the Howling Hound and the Ramblehouse. With Marikel volunteering to question Othdan Meriman, Alicia steels herself to go back to visit Cham Larringfass.
The halfling greets Alicia with an unsurprising hostility, but when the girl explains she is investigating the saboteurs planted inside the town, Cham relents. Poring over the registers of the inn, between them they make a list of the supposed half-orc prospectors using false names. Cham insists up and down that none of them match the description of Skreed Gorewillow, though she admits that all of them wore surprisingly clean and expensive-looking clothes for their seemingly humble origins. Pressing her further, Alicia leads her to remember that they all wore broad-brimmed hats.
"I don't know why you're making a point of accusing my clientele," Cham objects. "None of these people, from Freley to Jass to Klozov, were even in town during the Twisted Nail attack. It's a matter of record that all of the saboteurs were 'guests' at that filthy flophouse of Meriman's. I suppose Sawyer's protecting him because he's human. Any trouble in town, blame it on the dwarves or the half-orcs or the halfings! I should've known them holier-than-thou busybodies from Lastwall would make common cause with him!"
The only other obvious connection Gorewillow might have in Trunau would be via his profession. He claims to be an agent acquiring objects for collectors; Lessie Crumkin might have done business with him.
Mahath confides in Agrit. "Uskroth? I've heard the name. Hill giant chieftain a few centuries ago. They say he led an army of giants and orcs against the crusaders in Lastwall. A surface affair; nothing the dwarves got involved in."
She is able to identify some of the complicated auras tangled around the hammer "My brother'd give his right ball for this hammer," she grins. "Hits accurate and hits hard, and it'll resize itself to its wielder. If I'm not wrong, there's a transmutation effect, too: looks like you can access a heightened enlarge person once a day." She squints at the auras. "There may be more. A hammer like this has a story to it. If I were you, I'd look into it. Find someone who knows about Uskroth. Maybe the priests from Lastwall; maybe Lessie Crumkin. I'll tell you something, though: if you go to Lessie, don't let her know you actually have anything related to Uskroth. That woman has a collecting bug that'd put a dragon to shame; she'll never be satisfied until she owns it." She winks.
Marikel locates the man the half-orcs mockingly called Brother Hound cleaning his flophouse. The doors and windows all stand open to help dissipate the acrid smell of the smoke that burned the trees, and it looks like some of the man's former tenants vandalized the interior of the Howling Hound before emerging to attack the besieged citizens.
Othdan Meriman is visibly uneasy at the Iomedaean priest's approach. He is loath to meet the other man's gaze, entirely apart from his misaligned eye. "Skreed Gorewillow?" he repeats. "No, no, there was never anyone of that name in my house ... to the best of my knowledge, at any rate," he concludes sadly. "Clearly, my tenants have deceived me about many things."
Given a description of the half-orc, he continues to shake his head. "No, but ... wait. Never in the house, but I did once see Katrerza speaking with a well-dressed traveler. Few enough respectable-looking people did address him," he remarks with a severe glance, "so I took notice of it. No, I've no idea what they spoke of."
He sighs. "To know what Katrezra really was ... well, it breaks my heart. If there was ever a tale of woe to pluck at a man's heartstrings, his was it. Do you know he was enslaved at the Brimstone Haruspex? That's what caused his physical deformities; I suppose it could have influenced his spiritual and moral deformities as well. But he came across as such a gentle soul! So humble and so thankful to have escaped the oracles of the Rough Beast!"
Agrit squints at the black chunk of igneous rock. "Well, it's magic," she admits, "but no one crafted this. The necromancy seems innate ... natural. Yes, put it back in the haversack; that's a thing best stored in a dimension well away from anyone you care about." She considers a moment. "You might ask the druid Silvermane about it ... if you can get him to acknowledge your existence in the first place. I'm no particular friend of the elf, but they say he can tell you anything there is to tell about natural things, if he'll talk at all."
"Thsnk you, Agrit." He tucks the stone back in the [i]haversack, along with the hammer.
"I will try to keep you informed as much as I can. I appreciate your advise and insighta."
After he leaves Agrit, Mahath will seek out Dorn. "Master Dorn, would you and Skyreaver join me for a respite?" Assuming Dorn agrees, he'll walk with him to Hopespring.
"To know what Katrezra really was ... well, it breaks my heart. If there was ever a tale of woe to pluck at a man's heartstrings, his was it. Do you know he was enslaved at the Brimstone Haruspex? That's what caused his physical deformities; I suppose it could have influenced his spiritual and moral deformities as well. But he came across as such a gentle soul! So humble and so thankful to have escaped the oracles of the Rough Beast!"
Marikel nods sternly.
"You don't deserve to have been betrayed for your kindness. But in times such as these, we must all be vigilant. Thanks for your assistance. If you recall anything else, you know where to find me."
Nodding, "Sure, lad. Well, I will anyway. Reaver pretty much does his own thing most of the time. So, what is it ya be wantin'? Find anythin' interestin' about that rock?"
Omast Frum seems a likely source of information about the local orc tribes and their history. "Twisted Nail?" he shouts to Marikel over the hubbub in the newly-reopened Killin' Ground. "Even the orcs think they're savages, and that's saying something. Cannibals! It's why the other tribes shun them. They'll all eat their own kind in a pinch, but for the Twisted Nail, it's by choice! They don't join the aurochs hunt or any of the other festivities of the Flood Truce because the rest of the orcs don't trust 'em not to stab in the back and skewer them over the cooking fire. No one allies with the Twisted Nail, except maybe some ogres and ogrekin."
"I'll tell you what bothers me," he goes on, "is where did the damned Twisted Nail get siege weapons? There's no way they built those things up in their caves in the Mindspins. Hells, where did they get the idea to come down and march on Trunau in the first place? Planning's not their style. If they stumble across something, sure, they'll howl and hunt it down and kill it, but assembling weapons and cave giants and marching down out of the mountains, that takes leadership. And how about all those half-orcs planted in Trunau? Saboteurs mean forethought and cunning, two things the Twisted Nail have never cared for."
Biting her tongue rather than responding in kind to Cham, Alicia gets what she can out of the woman and heads out to track down Lessie Crumkin.
"What is it?" Lessie Crumkin asks Alicia bluntly when she has talked her way past the butler. "Found more valuable antiques 'just lying around' the battlefield?"
"Not exactly," Alicia says. "I was hoping you might be able to tell me more about Skreed Gorehollow. He's acquired a few antiques for you in the past, hasn't he?"
Lessie fixes Alicia with a sharp gaze. "I assume you mean Gorewillow? I don't know why you'd think I've done business with him, but I have heard of him. A university man out of Lepidstadt; that's in Ustalav," she explains.
As Mahath and his new dwarven friend walk towards Hope Spring, he gazes up at the circling Skyreaver.
"He's magnificent. And that's what I'm counting on."
Mahath leans in a little towards Dorn somewhat conspiratorially. "Agrit suggested that Silvermane might know something about the item we found below, but he is notoriously reclusive. My hope is that Skyreaver, amazing avian that he is, might bring him to us where we can broach the subject."
When they arrive, Mahath finds a place to sit with Dorn. "Can you ask 'Reaver to circle some, and then join us?"
With a curious look about him, the dwarf eventually shrugs. "Sure, no prob!" The dwarf then turns and calls to the bird, giving him said direction in dwarven. "Okay, lad, he'll be here in a moment. But I've got ta ask, why the circlin'? Seems a bit... odd," he eventually decides on, shrugging due to the lack of a better term.
The pair settle near the pool of the Hopespring while the roc circles overhead. After a while, the dwarf calls the bird down to join them. The trio sit, idly watching a crew of workmen making repairs to the damaged palisade while listening to the quiet plash of the water. They wait long enough that Mahath's gambit seems to have failed; then the wizard becomes suddenly aware of the reclusive elf standing in the shadow of the Inner Gate, his steady gaze on Skyreaver.
Mahath notes the elf in the distance, and nudges Dorn. "Why don't you call them over?" he says, nodding at Skyreaver and Silvermane.
Squinting in an attempt to see what he's seeing, "Boy, lad, you've got a good eye. I never saw that one in the shadow. He does seem a bit interested in Reaver, doesn't he? Okay then, I'll call 'im. I don't know 'im but I'll call 'im." Dorn then rises up from where he's sitting and gives the elf a big wave.
Mahath forces a smile, hoping that the abrupt invitation coming from the ranger might be more acceptable than a polite one from the mage.
The elf stares at the dwarf for a long moment. At first, Mahath thinks he might simply turn and walk away, but eventually he approaches the pair.
After a long pause, Mahath speaks. "I'm glad you joined us. He's magnificent, isn't he?" he says, nodding at the roc.
He waits a moment longer than says "The town is being attacked again. But this time is different. It could all be lost." He reaches into his pack and pulls out the black stone. He stretches his hand towards the elf, letting him get a good look at it. "We will oppose it, but we need to know more."
The elf frowns at the rock, holds his hand over it a moment; then his eyes widen. His finger jabs at the stone, then he opens his fingers, moving his hands apart as he fixes Mahath with an inquisitive stare.
Dorn's eyes go wide as he looks to the rock. "LOOK OUT, LAD!!! IT'S GONNA BLOW!!!" he yells and immediately dives to the side covering his head.
Skyreaver's attention is caught by Dorn's antics. He manages to blink a couple of times before picking at something he's noticed on the ground.
When Dorn reacts, Mahath quickly tucks it back into his pack.
"This stone has been below our town all of these years. Down in the mines. it was in the helmet of a giant, which was arranged in some sort of funeral display..."
He pulls out his father's journal and his scrivener's kit. He sketches where it was found. When he shows it to the elf, he keeps the quill in his hand in what can be interpreted as an offer to use it.
Peeking out from under his hands, Dorn notices the wizard continuing his talk with the elf. Quickly popping up from the ground - and somewhat slightly embarrassed - he dusts himself off. Looking around, "Nothing to see here, folks," he says to no one or possibly anyone that's listening.
While shaking it off as nothing, the dwarf still keeps himself at a distance from Mahath.
Silvermane takes the quill and paper and begins a quick sketch: a dot, a few converging lines, a flock of chevrons. Both Mahath and Dorn can eventually recognize it as a rough map of the Hold of Belkzen; the dot represents Trunau's location. When he has done, he sets the nib of the quill at a place toward the top of the page, a few hundred miles north of Truanu in the Kodor Mountains, and gazes steadily at Mahath.
Dorn looks to Mahath and shrugs. "Any idea what he's pointin' at, lad? Because I sure haven't a clue."
Mahath furrows his brow. "No, I don't." He looks to Silvermane. "We should go there? How will we know when we've found the right place?"
Shrugging, "Maybe there's someone in this town that might know. Might as well ask around. Problem is, I don't know where ta even begin," he says, shrugging again.
Mahath furrows his brow. "No, I don't." He looks to Silvermane. "We should go there? How will we know when we've found the right place?"
The elf shakes his head. He points to Mahath's pack, then to the place on the map in the Kodor Mountains; then he lifts his finger and arcs it slowly through the air until it lands on the dot marking Trunau, finishing by pointing again to the pack.
Mahath lowers his head in thought. He looks to Dorn and says "I think this other place is where the stone came from. And I think we need to take it back there. Either to restore it to where it belongs, or to destroy it safely." He watches the elf's face for a glimmer of confirmation.
He stows the writing kit, but not the journal with the map in it.
"Thank you, master Silvermane. We will do what we can to end this threat to Trunau and its environs."
Mahath doesn't seem to be in a hurry to leave. He lingers, letting Silvermane spend some more time with 'Reaver.