The Carrion Crown GM Espíritu (Inactive)

Game Master Riuk

:
- 1st level
-i am planning to do the whole campaign ^_^
-20 pt buy. Max: 18, min: 8, after racial mods.
-a must read for players is Players Guide
- Races that fit the theme - maybe I’d let a tiefling or something slide with the understanding that Ustalav is an insular and superstitious place. “Outsiders” are not well received at all. Being “different” will have a major impact on the game for you.
- Any classes including Psionics , machinesmith and Path of war
- 1 trait from CC Player’s Guide required. 1 additional trait is also allowed. drawback for one more. Have you character traits be in your background or personality.

- Everyone starts with 150gp

-=think of this as 1800 Victorian London and make your character work well with the setting, as in most people can’t do magic or believe in it. So they will be afraid if the see it, this dose not mean you can’t play a wizard and such just know other people would not know/ believe you do magic and if they see it you’ll be thought of as evil since its so rare…more of a steampunk/hellboy/chathulu type of world feel but that part of the world is hidden from most of the humans lol

-as that with your characters, think as in how you would react to someone waking up to you in full armor and holding weapons. Outside a city its save for a city is thought to be safe and only guards should have need for weapons.

=I need potential players to use this I wont look at you character sheet until it is, but feel free to add spoilers were ever you feel you might need it. character template

=I will favor character submissions that fit the setting and theme.

=the AP has that you know Doctor Petros Algernon Lorrimor please have him in your back round,or his daughter if your like.

-If you can manage it, I'd like for you to weave in some potential plot hooks. I'll work with them, but please be general rather than specific, so that I can more easily adapt your input to the plot. a secret that only the Professor and his daughter might know your choice as to who or both. since its the back round that will manly determine if you get selected for this game, that will be looked at more closely.

-The character should fit within the theme of action horror. We're shooting for a mix of medieval and Gothic horror

-i will be taking 4-6 players

:
-can post at least once a day

-someone who can role-play a character that will and can be afraid when the stumble onto something wrong as in; if a corpse falls on them it won’t be
ok I look to see if it has anything I can use on it
”I loot the body”
I wold prefer someone who will play the role as one would wen a dead body falls on them freaked out and afraid

-I want players to be passionate about there character, I feel that way you will want to stick around for the whole campaign.

=and lastly but just as important I would like players that can add to the atmosphere of the game and drive the story forward. I understand some times all you can say is I move and attack but, try to make with more visual as in how do you do so. Like the way you swing your sword and such.

-I will be making some changes to this game to fit what I feel is right for the moment like number a monsters and the like

-Recruitment will be open for two weeks or after I get 15 good submissions I will post when I do then soon after that ill will chose players.

:
My dear friend,
It has been a while since we have last written, my pen has gone dusty from disuse, please forgive me. However, some unusual occurrences have been going on in Ustalav. I want to investigate these matters closely. Worry not for although I am not the vibrant young man I once was, curiosity has taken over. I promise I will try to write as soon as something interesting turns up. I daresay, something promising should catch my attention.
I hope that everything is well on your end,
Cordially,
Prof. Petros Lorrimor
P.S. Ravengro seems a bit unsettling but fear shall heighten my senses. -P.P.L.

:
Dear________
It is with a heavy pen and a curious mind that I have found your name in my father's old journals. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that my elderly father had once been a thrill-seeking adventurer. Sadly, I found in the early morning hours, that my father is no longer with us and has passed on. He looked so peaceful that I feel that this new found discovery compromises the man I thought I knew. It was in his will that you act as a pall-bearer for my father's casket. We are all stricken by the death of a dear father and I am still surprised with my own discovery. I hope that you are well and the service will be in three weeks. I hope you will be able to attend as my father must have seen you as someone important enough to be invited to the funeral.
Sincerely,
Kendra Lorrimor

:
You arrive in Ustalav on a dark and stormy evening. It is three weeks of hard travel that has taken a toll on you but finally you arrive at your fated destination. You need a good meal and perhaps some ale before partaking in a sorrowful event. As you walk to the Inn, a ominous occurrence happens, a bright, white streak crosses the night sky and has stuck a tree behind you. You can almost hear a faint whisper in your ear, warning you to leave while it is still possible.
However, with little common sense, you ignore it.
The townspeople look out of their houses, peeking with mingled curiosity and fear at you. You try to ignore them. A large, black dog runs past you, running to shelter but as the lightening strikes again, you see something disconcerting-it appears the beast as a human arm in its jaws. No, that is impossible, you think and you keep going.
You make your way around a small hill along the road you have been traveling on when finally you see a shabby, dismal building. It may have been a large and proud home in its past, boasting of opulence and comfort but now in the chilling rain and long history of suffering in Ustalav, those are the bygone days. However, a contrasting sign swings softly from a post. As much as the Inn is depressing, the sign is colorful and new. It is a shining beacon in what is otherwise a dreary night. The signs announces the name of the Willows Inn .
You look closer at the old place, there is smoke coming from the chimney-perhaps a warm hearth and you are lucky...a roasted leg of lamb? The promise of warmth and food lures you in like an enticing creature beckoning those with sweet promises. Besides, the storm is getting too treacherous to travel any more. Ravengro should be a few hours away. You still have time. You absentmindedly touch the pocket that holds the two letters that brought you hear. For a moment, despite the good luck you are having, you feel the sharp twinge of sadness at the passing of a good friend.
Once your enter, a middle-aged woman walks up to you with a welcoming smile. She’s a pretty woman with very kind eyes, though the lines on her face betray a life of toil and hardship. She sizes you up momentarily and then pulls you through the threshold.

“Welcome!. Come in. We must get you warm. You’re hungry, I’ll wager. Should still be plenty of room at the table. This rain… must have been hard on that road no? You could never get me out into this no no, not on this kind of night.... Will you have the roast goat or the lamb stew? And we have an assortment of spirits to lift your mood on this cold night. What please you? It’s four silver for the room and three more covers supper and breakfast. So what will it be?”

The common room is not so large as you’d have guessed from sizing up the exterior of the home, but that makes it seem far warmer. There is a large with a sizable fire and a rack for you to hang your rain soaked traveling coat so it can dry. In front of the hearth is a very large, heavy-looking red oak table surrounded by matching chairs. Several of the chairs are already filled with fellow guests at different stages of their meals. Conversations pause as they look over to you.

Distantly related to the famous Count Caromarc, Antor and his siblings grew up the children of well-to-do but far from wealthy professors at the University of Lepidstadt. Antor's father is a professor of philosophy and an inveterate political in-fighter on campus and his mother is a professor of mathematics with a particular interest in the harmony of the spheres- perhaps related and perhaps not, all of their mother's children learned to play at least one instrument.

As did all his siblings, Antor grew up with strong underpinnings in both philosophy and theoretical mathematics, along with history, the classics, natural history, and social philosophy. He was primed to become an astronomer from a young age, not just due to his mother's influence but also from a strong desire just to know what was out there, beyond the reach of his telescope or in the blackness between the stars.

He traces his interest in medicine to the time his brother came back from Lastwall. Antor's eldest brother had not attended their parents' university but instead enrolled in Lastwall's War College when Antor was 11 or 12. While he learned a great deal at the College, his single year on the Wall taught him that he wasn't cut out for combat. He came home with an un-healable limp, scars that put to shame any of the famous Lepidstadt dueling scars, and a desire to put his hard-won engineering knowledge to use somewhere far behind the lines.

Learning there were some things magic could not heal, Antor turned with all the certainty of youth from the wonders of the universe to the mysteries of the human body, sure he could make a name for himself as a man who could heal that which magic could not. That was years and several courses of study ago. From medicine, Antor's focus changed to chemistry and then alchemy, slipping from science to the borders of mysticism.

It was at the University of Lepidstadt that he met Professor Lorrimor. The professor taught a small discussion group on the intersection of arcana and natural science, where Antor was a star pupil. Having grown up in a house where debate was encouraged and where professors were friends of the family, he was not afraid to speak up or challenge the professor's assertions. Antor's first ever publication credit came as a co-researcher with the professor on a paper in the Lepidstadt Journal of Natural Sciences.

Professor Lorrimor encouraged Antor to indulge his natural curiosity and introduced him to some of the darker sides of natural philosophy. It was during his time studying with the professor that Antor performed his first exploratory autopsy and was allowed to read his first book from the restricted section of the University's great library. Even after Professor Lorrimor left the university, Antor kept in contact with the man through letters.

Antor has been working as a student ever since, becoming a graduate researcher after receiving his final honours as an undergraduate. He is a research assistant to a professor of alchemy and natural science, Professor Sylvia Markham, who also happened to be a friend of Professor Lorrimor's.

Antor stamps his boots and takes off his wet cloak to hang on the pegs near the door. He had been shut up in the carriage for days, but after a few minutes in the freezing rain and walking through the dismal and disquieting town he was almost ready to get back in and go back to Lepidstadt.

But he was a polite young man, and he nods amiably at the innkeeper once his disheveled coat and damp hair is back in place. "Thank you, madam. Ah, the lamb stew, if you would." Antor manages not to make a face at the idea of goat. They certainly were in the back end of nowhere if an innkeeper was offering goat to her clientele. "And mulled wine, I think? Just the thing for a chilly, rainy night."

He takes out the requested seven silver coins and holds them out to the woman. As she bustles away to get his food and drink, he walks over to the lone table, managing not to smirk at the tiny inn's poor outfitting. Back in Lepidstadt, he'd been in taverns with common rooms as big as this entire building. But one must make accommodations for being so far from civilization.

Antor is a slim young man of average height, his hair cut short and his mutton chops long in the current Lepidstadt fasion and with spectacles perched on his nose. His clothes are also in the current fashion, his coat a high collared one with a wide lapel and his cravat arranged just so. His boots would need a good shine after the muck out on the street, but his clothes were in reasonably good repair for such a long journey. He pulls back a chair- it is heavier than it looks, and it scrapes along the floor as he does- and sits with a companionable nod to the others at the table. "A good night to be under a solid roof," he says.

Jeane Ipswich, Female Human Witch(Hedge Witch) 1
NG Medium Humanoid (Human)
Init +4; Senses Perception +1
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DEFENSE
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AC 13, touch 10, flat-footed 10 (+0 armor, +2 dex, +0 shield,+1 NA,+0 Magic)
hp 7 {+1d6,+1Con}
Fort +1, {+0Base,+1Con}
Ref +2, {+0Base,+2Dex}
Will +3,{+2Base,+1Wis}
CMD 11
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OFFENSE
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Speed 30 ft.
CMB -1;
Base Atk +0;
Melee-1{+0Base,-1Str}
Ranged+2{+0Base,+2Dex}

--Melee-1
Dagger, -1 at (1d4-1)
--Ranged+2
Darts(Syringe for Flavor), +2 at (1d4-1)
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STATISTICS
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Str 8, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 18, Wis 13, Cha 12

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Traits
Chance Savior. The professor’s travel brought him all over the world even to places of sickness and plague. Afflicted with some ailment, travelling Hedge Witch Jeane Ipswich remedied him, and brought him back to health. While he swore that she would be remembered for it, Jeane never thought she would hear from him again. +2 Init
Perfectionist’s Brew, magic. At an early age, Jeane began experimenting with brewing at an early age. Now a staple to her role as a healer, Jeane’s free time usually goes towards brewing potent elixirs. You gain a +2 trait bonus on all Craft(alchemy) checks and on Spellcraft checks made to brew potions.
Avid Reader, social. Throughout her youth, Jeane spent an abnormal amount of time at libraries in in studies. There she read everything. Old tomes, encyclopedias, novellas, political treatises. Books on magic always interested her most, and she still checks the libraries of hamlets and thorpes for new finds or first editions. Can always take a 10 on Knowledge (Arcana).

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Drawbacks
Naive. Always looking for the best in others, Jeane is sometimes prone tricks of craft individuals. [i]You take a –2 penalty to AC against attacks with improvised weapons and a –2 penalty to CMD against dirty trickcombat maneuvers.
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Race Traits
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Bonus Feat, Extra Hex (Fortune).
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Feats
1: Extra Hex. (Cackle)
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Skills (2 points; 1 class, 4 INT)
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Acrobatics*(Dex)____+0{+0rank,+2Dex}
Appraise(Int)____+4{+0rank,+4Int}
Bluff(Cha)____+1{+0rank,+1Cha}
Climb*(Str)____+-1{+0rank,+-1Str}
Craft (Int)____+10{+1rank,+4Int++3class, +2 trait}
Diplomacy(Cha)____+1{+0rank,+1Cha}
Disable Device____+2{+0rank,+2Dex}
Disguise (Cha)____+1{+0rank,+1Cha}
Escape Artist*(Dex)____+2{+0rank,+2Dex}
Fly*(Dex)____+2{+0rank,+2Dex}
Handle Animal (Wis)____+1{+0rank,+1Wis]
Heal(Wis)____+5{+1rank,+1Wis+3 class}
Intimidate(Cha)____+5{+1rank,+1Cha+3Class}
Knowledge (Arcana)(Int)____+8{+1rank,+4Int, +3Class}
Knowledge (Dungeoneering)(Int)____+4{+0rank,+4Int}
Knowledge (Engineering)(Int)____+4{+0rank,+4Int}
Knowledge (Geography)(Int)____+4{+0rank,+4Int}
Knowledge (History)(Int)____+4{+0rank,+4Int}
Knowledge (Local)(Int)____+4{+0rank,+4Int}
Knowledge (Nature)(Int)____+8{+1rank,+4Int, +3Class)
Knowledge (Nobility)(Int)____+4{+0rank,+4Int}
Knowledge (Planes) (Int)____+4{+0rank,+4Int}
Knowledge (Religion) (Int)____+4{+0rank,+4Int}
Linguistics(Int)____+8{+1rank,+4Int, +3class}
Perception(Wis)____+1{+0rank,+1Wis}
Perform(Cha)____+1{+0rank,+1Cha}
Profession(Wis)____+1{+0rank,+1Wis}
Ride*(Dex)____+1{+0rank,+2Dex}
Sense Motive(Wis)____+1{+0rank,+1Wis}
Sleight of Hand*(Dex)____+2{+0rank,+2Dex}
Spellcraft(Int)____+10{+1rank,+4Int+3Class+2trait}
Stealth* (Dex)____+2{+0rank,+2Dex}
Survival(Wis)____+1{+0rank,+1Wis}
Swim*(Str)____+1{+0rank,+-1Str}
Use Magic Device(Cha)____+1{+0rank,+1Cha}

ACP -0

*ACP applies to these skills
Non-Standard Skill Bonuses
Can take a 10 on Know. Arcana, always.

Languages Common, Aklo, Necril, Orc, Varisian, Sylvan

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SPECIAL/CLASS ABILITIES
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Familiar, Ioun Wyrd. +1 AC. If it has any special stone in it, Jeane gets the bonus if within 30 feet.
Hexes. Healing, Fortune, Cackle.

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Spells on a Typical Day
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0th (at will)
Stabilize, Read Magic, Daze, Detect Magic

1st (0/day)
Sleep, Mage Armor

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GEAR/POSSESSIONS
Witches’ Kit 21 lbs.
Dagger. 1 lbs.
8 Darts. 4 lbs.
Potion of Mage Armor (CL1, selfmade)
Potion of Cure Light Wounds (CL1, selfmade)
Potion of Remove Sickness (CL1, selfmade)
Umbrella
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Carrying Capacity

Light 0-26 lb. Medium 27-53 lb. Heavy 54-80 lb.
Current Load Carried 29 lb.

Money 50 GP 0 SP 0 CP

Born in Ustalav, Jeane Ipswich is a travelling witch. A nomad of thorpes and hamlets, Jeane wanders the countryside looking to heal those afflicted with ailments, illnesses, diseases or poisons. Her intentions are always good, at times juxtaposed with her strange magics. She worships Desna as her patron deity, though sees her Patron of Healing as a more intimate power.

Born in Illmarsh, Jeane quickly grew accustomed to the strange. Old books throughout the town fueled her as a child, leading to a fascination with magic and natural healing. At 12, she was selected by the town’s Witch to become his apprentice. While early disasters with poisons would almost cost her life, she developed a knack at them in time. At sixteen she began her travels across Ustalav, largely as a potion seller. She would later drop this trade, instead trading her talents as a Hedge witch for living expenses from village to village.

At 19, Jeane had the fortune to meet Professor Petros Lorrimor. He was afflicted with a disease that threatened his life. Before the nastier effects of the disease began to show, Jeane was able to cure the old man, who promised her this deed would not go unpaid. They chatted about various natural healing remedies, and though she wished to talk to him for much longer, he had places to go, and bid her farewell.

Jeane, now 23, is known throughout hundreds of small communities across Ustalav. Her travels however have largely left her unchanged as when she was a child. She is naive, always assuming the best of people, even in a country like Ustalav. She has a weakness for children, always promising to assist them however she can. When a young boy gives her two letter when restocking her supplies, she is stricken with grief, both at the man for remembering her, and his later death. She goes to the funeral, intent on paying her respects to the wise man.

Jeane isn’t exceptionally beautiful, but possesses charms (no pun intended). Her hair is straight, and flows slightly below her shoulders. She is thin, bordering on appearing malnourished, but stands almost six feet tall. Her skin is a ghostly white. Her eyes are large, hazel, and are usually painted with small dabbles of eyeliner. Her lips are a dark violet, almost as though stained. She dresses scholarly though in unusual bright colors. White and gold.

While 23, Jeane is somewhat childish at times. When her knowledge or abilities are challenged, she gets angry, sometimes combatative. Her motivations are to improve the livelihood and health of the people of her country, specifically the peasants, farmers and workers who cannot afford treatment. She is good, but oftentimes wants recognition or reward for her good actions.

Follow-up Jeane opens the door to the building, a white flash in the sky above her as she does so. The snap of lightning shakes the building, roaring, crying out to the night. It lingers, covering the sound of her closing the door behind her. "It is just lovely out, no?

She closes her umbrella, a gaudy white thing, shaking it, water dripping to the floor. She raises her head, looking around the room at the other guests at the inn as the lady begins to solicit her.

Jeane is almost opposite of the world outside. Her skin pale, her clothes are stainless, not touched by the mud or rain outside. Her outfit hangs on her, draping down like a white and gold waterfall. It has an almost holy aura to it, like the outfit of a tacky nun. It is almost too bright, almost unsightly. She looks down at those around her, not out of disrespect, but her height puts her above those dining in the common room.

Jeane turns her attention back to the innkeeper. "A night and meals, love. Carry on with the conversations." She places her umbrella by the coat rack, and makes way toward the heavy table. She sits down at the table, still half a head taller than most of the crowd. She takes off her backpack, dropping it to the floor. A bowl is placed in front of her, a roast of sorts.

From her bag she removes an iron pot, a stained-leather pouch, a couple vials and a couple stoppers. She begins to sort through the pouch, taking out powders and strange remnants of animals. She mixes them in her pot, adding some water from a vial. She takes one of the bags of powder, black like gunpowder. She takes it in her fingers, and moves it towards the meal, sprinkling it on the meal, then putting a dash in the pot. Some of the guests look at her funny. "It is pepper, I promise." She takes a bite of her meal, her potion begins to sizzle, smelling foul. "Mostly pepper. Worm ash too, if you would like some."

Jeane tends to her potion as she eats, and slowly the lines between what she is eating and what she is brewing ceases. Spoon used to stir potions later hold stew. Salts of all manners are placed in all receptacles, regardless if they are for dining or not. Bones peer out of her iron pot, bones that look like they were once part of the roast. "Perhaps this isn't the place, but is anyone with ailment or injury they need tended to? I am Jeane Ipswich, Hedge Witch of Illmarsh."

Aravis had been sitting at her table for some time before the man and the self-proclaimed witch had entered the establishment. She had a cup of tea with a hearty helping of both food items, the servings seeming too much for the lithe woman. She was taking her time with eating, savoring every bite. She wore a dark coat, fashioned to have a trench-coat quality with a hood, which was thrown back. Her hair was almost dry, frazzling from the rain. Her violet eyes, her most Varisian feature, had a haunted look about them.

When the man joined her at the table, she quickly took his face in before recognizing him as another one of Petros' many students.

"Indeed, a night for enjoying what comforts are available to you." She sipped her cold-by-now tea and sighed. "Forgive me if I pry, but were you by chance taught by Professor Petros Lorrimor in Caliphas? You resemble a fellow classmate of mine."

When the witch announced herself, Aravis shook her head. Foolish, doesn't she realize that that kind of thing is frowned upon this part of Ustalav?

Professor Lorrimor and I met only once before I decided to move to Ustalav. It was a lecture hall in Magnimar. The topic was the dangers of magic. And while he had a lot to say about all the schools, he had much more to say about necromancy, both from personal experience and his home country's own history. The Whispering Tyrant. A single powerful wizard that was able to build an army of undead and threaten an entire country. Many thought Necromancy was taboo, a perversion of life, a chaotic element. That doesn't mean it can't be useful.

I mean an evil wizard could bring down an entire city with it. But they could do the same with any school if they wanted. Blow it up with Evocation, summon some horrendous beast with Conjuration or even make them think its about to be destroyed by a meteor with Illusion. The undead are abominations but they are also a natural phenomenon and there are plenty of other abominations. By binding souls to a corpse you prevent its ascension to the afterlife. Does that matter in the grand scheme of things? Compared to the time I will be alive and the eternity they will spend in the afterlife, does it really matter? And what if it was an evil soul? The pain they will experience as an undead couldn't possibly compare to the torment that awaits them in hell. Might as well get some good use out of them.

I took Lorrimor's lecture to heart but in a way I don't think he expected. If a tyrant could bring down a city with undead, could I build one? Undead are completely obedient and never tire. They could do the work of one man in half the time, no, a third. And yet they were never used in such a way because of a few rather powerful cases of misuse. I think undead can be more than just tools of fear and destruction. I think, if used correctly, they could be used for something greater.

With this in mind I followed the good professor back to Ustalav and applied and the University of Lepidstadt. Ustalav may have had a bad experience with Necromancy and would be very unwelcoming of a practitioner, but it was also the best place to learn about it. If one looked hard enough one could find grimoires, journals, and notes about the subject all over the place. Lorrimor also proved to be a font of information on the subject as well. I think he realized my line of questions were more than just idle curiosity but he never said anything. All he did was reinforce the necessity for caution and control when dealing with powerful magic. And nothing reinforced that more than his untimely death.

The small man bent his head against the dreary evening, the incessant tapping of the rain his only companion on the dark road. Ahead he sees a town, not Ravengro, but within a stone's throw. He breathes a sigh of relief, closing his eyes for a moment as his weary legs continue slowly bringing him closer to shelter of some sort. His short reverie is instantly blown away by a bright flash on his periphery, followed by a deafening crack of thunder as a tree not far from him explodes in a veritable fireball. Of course, the rain quickly dampens it, leaving a smoking husk in its wake as Wiles turns back towards his destination, his trepidation growing.

His pace quickening as he grows ever more eager for shelter and safety, he catches movement out of the corner of his eyes. His sharp, green eyes snap over towards the possible threat, only to find a lone dog wandering the path, likely as soaked and miserable as Wiles is. He chuckles wryly, shaking his head, turning away before snapping his gaze back. What had been in the canine's mouth? His eyes narrow, but the normally curious young man shrugs it off, his gait increasing as he looks for the telltale sign of an Inn or Tavern as he huddles inside his coat.

A poor-looking structure in the background offers the telling smoke of an Inn, but Wiles looks at the place doubtfully, wondering if it might fall in on top of the inhabitants during a particularly rough wind. As a gust of wind threatens to blow off his hat, he realizes he can't really be choosy, so he approaches the place, noting the name of the establishment is The Willows Inn. His arrival is met by a cute, middle-aged woman who seems to dote on her customers.

He smiles weakly at the woman, following her inside to the cozy-looking room. He nods in agreement with her, "Aye, ma'am. Ya must have a bit of da mystic in ya, as ya've read my mind. Lamb stew would be great!" He presses a gold coin into her hand. "For dinner, a room, and breakfast tomorrow. Thank ya kindly." He takes off his dark coat, shaking the water off before setting it on the rack to join the others already in attendance. He runs a hand through his short, light brown hair, grimacing as he tries to re-part it with his fingers.

Doing as good a job as he can under the circumstances, he walks with grace to the table, seating himself next to a pretty woman with a hooded cloak, and a well-dressed man of the latest Ustalav fashions. Wiles himself wears dark navy denim pants, with a loose navy shirt, both soaked thoroughly from the rain. He hears the woman mention Professor Lorrimor, curiosity and sadness both seeping into him as he presses his hand to his breast pocket and the two damp letters residing there.

Antor looks a little more closely at Aravis. "I'm sorry, I'm terrible with faces. Was that Natural Philosophy, a Rational Analysis of Arcane Phenomena?" He holds out a hand to shake. "Antor Saren."

I was going to have him respond to the witch's routine but I think she's going to re-post.

"Aravis Lelaint," Aravis takes the proffered hand and shakes it once. "I do believe that was the one. I was also a student of the professor ... have you heard?"

She suddenly seems nervous, as if she wonders how much to share. Her hand goes instinctively to one of many pockets on her coat as her eyes dimmed.

Noticing the newcomer to their table, she offers a smile and nods. "Evening, sir. Looks like you got the worst of the rain. As I said, I'm Aravis Lelaint; may I have your name as well?"

The small man's dark green eyes crinkle as he smiles wearily at the woman seated next to him. "Aravis Lelaint. Any relation to the Caliphas Lelaints?" Without waiting for much of a response, he shakes his head, chuckling at himself. "Forgive me. How rude to not share my name first. Wiles Malloy!" He looks at the woman uncertainly...greetings with women was not something he was terrible familiar with. He finally settles on extending his hand to her for a shake.

"I heard ya mention the Professor. I am here for the funeral, as I guess ya are, as well. A good man, the Professor. Brilliant. He'll be missed round these parts." He shakes his head as he waits for his food and beverage, again patting the pocket with the letters.

"Aravis Lelaint," Aravis takes the proffered hand and shakes it once. "I do believe that was the one. I was also a student of the professor ... have you heard?"

She suddenly seems nervous, as if she wonders how much to share. Her hand goes instinctively to one of many pockets on her coat as her eyes dimmed.

Antor nods. "Unfortunately, yes." He gestures at the pocket Aravis had touched. "You have a letter as well, I take it?" Then another man sits down and Antor looks over at the newcomer along with Aravis.

"I heard ya mention the Professor. I am here for the funeral, as I guess ya are, as well. A good man, the Professor. Brilliant. He'll be missed round these parts." He shakes his head as he waits for his food and beverage, again patting the pocket with the letters.

Antor's eyebrow quirks up, a combination of amusement and interest. "Ah. Are you a resident of this fine hamlet, then, Mister Malloy?" He puts out his hand to shake. "Antor Saren, of Lepidstadt."