The stoic Kendra breaks into tears when she describes her father's death. He died ... ruins... they're called Harrowstop or Harrowstown. I don't really remember, the sheriff told me father had died and the rest of the details slipped away. He would know. Benjen Caeller. She gathers herself. You might find him downtown at the jail. The carriage in the stables is yours if you need it. Please bring it back in one piece.
"If the rest of you would agree, I think it would be prudent to talk to the Sherrif, find out what he knows, then continue to the site, and take a look around. That might serve our interests better after we see what he knows."
Garin attempts to comfort Kendra, giving her his handkerchief. "Please, don't strain yourself, Miss."
He turns his attention to Shel. "I'm fine with your plan."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"That seems prudent. It's always best to test the seam before committing to opening a full shaft."
With the full party, Gilda sets off to see the sheriff, the wonderful sheriff of....
Jakira puts a hand on the grieving woman's shoulder and gives a gentle pat, but she finds there is nothing she can say. The loss is fresh and raw for them all, and must be more so for the man's daughter.
"We will all miss him," she says softly, and then turns, walking out slowly, nodding agreement to Shel's plan.
Vachordi sings a soothing song of his tribe in memory of the fallen.
I am with you all. Let us speak to this Sherrif and perhaps we should investigate this Harrow place.
"Is there anything that needs to be done around here before we go talk to the Sheriff," Shel asks looking around at Kendra.
Kendra: Perhaps we should open father's chest? I have known many of his research topics, particularly the study of how to protect against the undead, so I will not be shocked by its contents.
Edrik nods Kendra's offer to use the carriage, and responds appreciatively "Aye m'lady, I'll bring it home in one."
Turning on his heel and heading towards the door, Edrik addresses the entire group as he departs "I'm going to go prep the carriage to head into town. I'll meet you out front shortly when it's ready to go."
Shel nods at the Professor's daughter. "Where is the chest? Let's take a quick gander and see what exactly the Professor wants us to safeguard, then e can get on our way."
"Hold on," Garin calls out to Edrik, following behind him. "I need to get my horse as well."
Vachordi remains more or less silent and vigilant as he awaits Garin and Edrik to return. He finishes stringing his bow and tries his best to observe everything.
Gilda waits patiently for the guys to get ready.
'It's the woman's lot in life, to wait for men. she thinks to herself.
"A quick look at the contents of the chest will not delay us long," Jakira says. "And if we can gain some insight into what your father's purpose was, it seems worth taking a few minutes."
The ride to town is comfortable and short. Ravengro is a small hamlet, laid out with the major buildings radiating from a circular town square like a hub. Beyond the circle of buildings are some outlying farms. It is easy to find the jailhouse between the apothecary and the general store. Out front, a tall wooden pole is plastered with flyers.
A group of 5 girls, dressed in brightly colored shawls are skipping rope in the square, signing in Varisian. The melody repeats itself with each verse, and the girls switch who is twirling and who is jumping before starting over.
Put her body on the bed.
Take a knife and lop her head.
Watch the blood come out the pipe.
Feeds the stirge, so nice and ripe.
Drops of red so sparkly bright.
Splatters spell her name just right.
With a hammer killed his wife.
Now he wants to claim your life.
Tricksy father tells a lie.
Listen close or you will die.
Shel hops out of the carriage and heads in the direction of the jail. "Hopefully the sheriff is on the job today," she musters as she looks around at the group of buildings.
The lock clicks open, and you see a small glimmer of blue light escape before it fades. The chest swings open almost on it's own accord. Inside are 4 books: one a newer leather bound tome, the other three much older and well preserved. On of the leather is a note scrawled in red ink "Read me first;" it takes no effort to discern that this is Petros's journal and not one of the more sinister books. The other three each have a note tucked into it's cover:
1. A rich purple tome with a brass scarab embossed upon the cover. The scarab is etched with a single eye in it's center. The edges are steel, and the book is closed with a steel lock with a tiny triangular keyhole. The note slips out and instructs you to deliver it Embreth Daramid, a judge at the Lepidstadt courthouse, and that you should do so discretely (even listing a home address so that you can approach privately).
The other three books each contain identical notes. They are to be delivered to Montagnie Crowl, a professor of antiquities at Lepidstadt University
2. "On verified madness" a black book filled with drawings of strange creatures and astrological signs
3. "Serving your hunger" an unholy book for the church of Urgathoa, the goddess of undeath. Lorrimor's notes are scribbled throughout the margins.
4. "The umbral leaves" the unholy book of Zon-Kuthon, the god of pain. The book is plainly bound and written in common.
While most of the journal is a bland tale of daily research, there are some entries that have been circled in the same red ink as the note. They are presented here:
Ten Years Ago:
The Whispering Way is more than just a cabal of necromancers. I see that now. Undeath is their fountain of youth. Uncovering their motivation does not place me at ease as I thought it might. Their desire to be eternal simply makes them more dangerous.
Two Months Ago:
It is as I had feared. The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be?
One Month Ago:
Whatever the Way seeks, I am now convinced their goal is connected to Harrowstone. In retrospect, I suppose it all makes sense—the stories they tell about the ruins in town are certainly chilling enough. It may be time to investigate the ruins, but with everyone in town already being so worked up about them, I’d rather not let the others know about my curiosity—there’s plenty of folks hereabouts who already think I’m a demonologist or a witch or something. Ignorant fools.
Twenty Days Ago:
It is confirmed. The Way seems quite interested in something—no, strike that—someone who was held in Harrowstone. But who, specifically, is the Way after? I need a list of everyone who died the night of the fire. Everyone. The Temple of Pharasma must have such a list.
Eighteen Days Ago:
I see now just how ill prepared I was when I last set out for the Harrowstone. I am lucky to have returned at all. The ghosts, if indeed they were ghosts (for I did not find it prudent to investigate further) prevented me from transcribing the strange symbols I found etched along the foundation—hopefully on my next visit I will be more prepared. Thankfully, the necessary tools to defend against spirits are already here in Ravengro. I know that the church of Pharasma used to
store them in a false crypt in the Restlands at the intersection between Eversleep and the Black Path. I am not certain if the current clergy even know of what their predecessors have hidden down below. If my luck holds, I should be able to slip in and out with a few borrowed items.
Seventeen Days Ago (by your calculations, right before the Professor died):
Tomorrow evening I return to the prison. It is imperative the Way does not finish. My caution has already cost me too much time. I am not sure what will happen if I am too late, but if my theory is right, the entire town could be at risk. I don’t have time to update my will, so I’ll leave this in the chest where it’ll be sure to be found, should the worst come to pass.
Religion check, and that is a comfort.
Gilda, as stated previously will keep the chest securely locked.
If people want to look at it, it will only be in her company.
As she climbs out of the carriage, Jakira thinks of her friend's words, kept alive on the pages of the book.
"We should try to discover what this whispering way is, and if they are in some way connected to the Professor's death. Yet with all the suspicion in town, we should try to be as discrete as possible."
She looks at the flyers on the post for a moment before turning to go into the sheriff's.
Garin dismounts his horse, patting it on the flank and telling it to stay. He looks around with an uninterested manner and then heads to the jailhouse.
"There is so much information in this journal, that it is hard to process. The Whispering Way is obviously a group that is searching for a way to become undead. Yucky. And they are looking for something here, which is probably at that Harrowstone place but, the Professor seems to be telling us, we need to go search for some items in the graveyard, before we head out to the place. After we talk to the Sheriff, I say we go looking for this crypt inthe Restlands."
"Maybe the graveyard is something better attempted at night," Jakira says. "I do not think we should be seen opening crypts in their cemetery after this morning's adventure."
She walks into the Sheriff's office.
Gilda thinks to herself It would also look unbelievably suspicious to anyone who happened upon us. Humans get incredibly weird about night time. Then again she is human, so maybe she has the right of it.
She gives a visible shrug and heads in after the sorcerer.
Listening intently to Gilda's reading of the journal as he pilots the carriage, Edrik's expression grows grim. The Professor was on the heels of something here, something foul.
Before entering the Sheriff's office, Edrik consults with everyone "I'm leery to disturb the resting of the dead, but I think the professor was onto something."
I had a bet that you'd be here within the next three days, poking into the death of the Professor. The tall Sheriff props his feet up on his desk, his leather duster falling back revealing a black silk shirt. Two of his deputies count down the last hour of a long boring day playing cards at a nearby desk. The professor's body was found north of town during one of my patrols. The ruins of Harrowstone are forbidden; there are many warnings. I don't know what he was doing, snooping around there, but it couldn't have been anything good. That place is cursed, and it looks like Lorrimor was on the receiving end. One of the gargoyles from the roof fell and crushed his head. If only he'd magicked up some sort of protection from falling rocks... Anyway, before you ask. I won't be allowing you to trespass on town property on some fools errand. Sheriff Caeler leans back and lights a match for his hand-rolled cigarette.
"You won that bet then," Garin says, folding his arms. "I wasn't aware the ruins was town property."
Aye, boy. I take it, y'all don't know Harrowstone, or its story? the Sheriff intones his willingness to tell the tell.
The winds are often fickle, but it appears that they were in your favor. I hope you won a large sum. There is wisdom in knowing the history of a place. Please share it.
"I'm new here," Garin says, leaning forward in interest. "I don't know much about Ravengro and even less about the ruins."
"I would love to know their history. It may prove to be important."
"I'm not from around here. The Professor was my friend, though. I'd love to know more about his home and his town."
It is no fool's errand, so you should have no problem with our trespassing, Jakira thinks to herself, smiling at the tall sheriff. "Please," she says. "Tell us, if you would. It sounds fascinating."
Aye, but it's been such a long day of work, I'm afraid my throat is so dry it can't handle such a long tale? What do you say boys, time to knock off for a beer?
The sheriff and two deputies find a large table in the corner, and minutes later are halfway through their first round.
Harrowstone. The town wouldn't exist without it. See, Harrowstone was meant to be the jail for the whole province. All of the most dangerous, devious, deadly, and demented criminals were shipped here to rot away in it's unescapable depths. There was no greater wretched hive of scum and villainy. Well, mostly they spent a few months before dangling on the end of a rope, or ending up a foot shorter at the hands of the headsman. The town was built to give the prison guards a place to live, to supply them with food and provisions, and whatnot. He takes a swig of beer. The story is too grim without another round to loosen our tongues. He finishes his beer.
Vachordi slaps down a gold piece and listens intently.
Intrigued, Edrik calls to the barmaid "Another round for the Sheriff and his men," pausing to pull up a chair, Edrik calls back "and one for the rest of us, thanks."
Looking to the Sheriff, Edrik takes a swig of ale and then smiles shrewdly "Alright lads, can't stop there..."
"I have enough coin in my pocket to keep the lot of us drinking all night, Sheriff, if you are willing to keep regaling us with stories about the town and the professor."
Diplomacy
Jakira gives the barman a nod to keep the drinks coming, and then turns her eyes expectantly to the sheriff.
"By all means, let us drink and talk," she says. "We are lucky to have found someone so knowledgeable."
A few rounds later.
Alright, only one more round- I'm on duty tonight and need to be sharp headed. the Sheriff drains another mug.
I'll tell you your tale. But I'll make it quick, lest we draw the attention of evil powers. he makes a sign to ward off an evil eye.
Harrowstone lasted a little over half a century, staining it's cells with the blood of horrible criminals. Most of the town knows that the place burnt to a hollow husk in 4661, which killed the guards and the Warden. What most who know won't speak of, is that the fire was caused by a riot among the prisoners. Most of the guards died before the fire, but the warden and a few brave souls held the lower levels until the prison went up in flames. In the end, 23 guards, and the Warden died. You can see the memorial to Warden Hawkran and his guards down by the river. We patrol the area, keeping out curious townsfolk from hurting themselves in the ruin. Most of us are sure that the site is haunted.
Your professor was poking through the ashes, and if you asked my opinion- the building killed him.
It was not wise to poke around in a haunted building, but less so to leave a dangerous building unchecked.
As Vachordi speaks he spills his ale across the table making a huge mess, killing the effect of his words.
Garin draws back from the mess Vachordi makes, attempting to avoid any ale getting on his clothes. His chair makes a loud racket as it's pushed back.
"Perhaps it's not wise to leave you unchecked," the noble says, inspecting his shirt for any stains.
Oh relax.
Vachordi hums a few notes and snaps his fingers and Garin's shirt is clean
The Sheriff buries a dagger in the table in front of the bard more deftly than you'd believe a man who has drunk as much as he has could.
I reckon you might think twice about any sort of craft around here, particularly without warning. We have ordinances against wanton spellcasting, and because we're friends, I'll tell you that the trials are not kind on those accused. Understood? the dagger quivers in the stained wood of the table a moment longer, before the sheriff retrieves it.
Jakira wonders at the significance of the story, but her thoughts are disrupted, first by the spilled ale and then by the dagger jammed in the table.
"We are fortunate to have your friendship then, Sheriff," she said awkwardly. "I assure you, he meant no harm. We will do our best to prevent him from making any further mistakes of that kind."
What was that about Harrowstone. A riot? Dead guards? Haunted? Was that what the professor was investigating?
is this how you treat those who buy you drinks?
Vachordi rises and leaves the table
"I am about my God's work and I will only do as I am commanded in her service. That being said, have you thought about having the former buildings' stone work checked? Is it completely leveled or are some walls still standing? Of a certainty there are probably some dangerous holes as well. A few days quick spadework and it could be made a great deal safer.Just knock the walls down, fill in any holes and the area would be less tempting to thrill seekers and safer for the unwary."
Watching tempers flare all around, Edrik grimaces and massages his forehead with his right hand as though he had a headache. With a pronounced sigh that hints at hsome irritation, Edrik addresses the Sheriff "My apologies Sheriff, we're new to the area and are unaccustomed to local law. That said, my kin at home don't take kindly to wanton spellcraft either, so I understand your concerns. Rest assured, we'll be more careful."
With a look to everyone that suggests maybe we should go, Edrik slowly gets up from the table and takes one last swig of his ale.
"Thank-you for the hospitality Sheriff. You might know where I can find the local temple of Pharasma? I should probably make an appearance there shortly."