"We are not reponsible for their appearance, Sheriff." Garin hefts his equipment under one arm, clearly fatigued with carrying it around but continues to speak. He ignores the henchmen jab diplomatically. "In fact, we killed the stirges when they attacked. As for the location of their corpses, I do not know as they were cleared out earlier. You'll have to ask them." He tilts his head towards a few of the townsfolk.
"No wonder you don't have many visitors to this place, Sheriff. We have been attacked more in a couple days here, than anywhere I have ever seen."
"You are knowledgeable man, Sheriff, does anyone around here keep pet stirges? I would like to speak with such a person. They are dangerous beasts to keep as pets."
It appears that you have a copy cat around. Stirges and a piper!
"I'm not sure what they're talking about, Sheriff, but I think I ken to what Vachordi is saying," Awnara explains, looking up to the Sheriff, her voice small and quiet. "These giant insects came to the table we were at, ignoring everyone else here at the inn. One of them even came after me, and I've only been in Ravengro for less than a day! I don't know why they would want to harm us - our only crime seems to have been knowing the good Professor."
The sheriff is at first angry: You expect me to believe that you were innocently asking questions about Harrowstone, and now we've coincidentally got a copy cat of one of the most infamous murderers on our hands?
Vachordi's intercession seems to cool him off a bit. Stirges are dime a dozen in the wilds around here. I don't know of anyone who's successfully tamed the birds. The piper was long before my time, and these creatures usually are too afraid to enter civilized areas. Mostly they pester outlying farms and travelers who look weak.
The sheriff gives the party a pass, takes the bodies of the stirges out of the inn, and leaves with the classic "keep an eye on you" trope.
"Whatever is going on here has to be related to Harrowstone. The longer we wait before exploring the prison means more of these strange things are going to happen to us, I'm afraid. I think we need to check it out ASAP."
I agree. We should gather any supplies we need and move out. I think I will get some blunt arrows and some more holy water.
"Well, I think it's settled then; we get our supplies and then onto Harrowstone." Taking one last swig of ale, Edrik begins gathering his belongings and heads out to prepare the coach.
"Holy water sounds like a sensible precaution. If nothing else, we can always wash the evil birds with it." Gilda agreed dryly.
She sets off for the temple.
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"Don't forget the Professor's kitty we found in the crypt. There was some holy water in there, but we do probably need more, if its available."
Garin sighs. "I'll just follow you, then. As much as I hate it, solving this looks like the only way I'll be able to get some sort of peace." The cavalier turns to look at Miss Kendra. "Will you be alright on your own? I don't want to leave you unprotected."[/b]
Assuming detect magic is involved, these fragile glass containers radiate necromancy. Something about their design indicates that they might be capable of storing necromantic energy: the stuff ghosts are made of. Once captured, they might be useful as a lobbed weapon- assuming one would want to release the dark energy stored within.
Assuming you return to the manor to gather resources for the next day.
Let me know what your character does for the evening and we'll incorporate it.
Knowledge checks if you're searching the library.
A thundering boom shakes the front door, and is quickly followed by a series of frantic raps. Kendra opens the door to find Sheriff Caeller and his two layabout deputies. The sheriff is red faced. It's happened again, ma'am. I'm going to need to see your guests, and account for their whereabouts last night. Get them dressed and ready to go to town. PLEASE The last word is strained, passing from polite into an annoyed command.
Shel continued to search the library over, looking for any new information that would line up with what the group had learned in the last few days.
Know. Local
Gilda dresses quickly. She hurries to the front door.
You stumble upon the professor's research regarding the Whispering Way:
1) The Whispering Way is a sinister
organization of necromancers that has been active in the
Inner Sea region for thousands of years.
2) Agents of the Whispering Way often
seek alliances with undead creatures, or are themselves
undead. The Whispering Way’s most notorious member
was Tar-Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant, although the
society itself has existed much longer than even that
mighty necromancer.
3) The Whispering Way itself is a series of
philosophies that can only be transferred via whispers—
the philosophies are never written or spoken of loudly,
making the exact goals and nature of the secretive
philosophy difficult for outsiders to learn much about.
If your character speaks Varasian, roll an intelligence check (d20+ int)
The attack on the stirges, and more info on the Piper of Illmarsh nags in the back of your head, until you remember where you heard it-
The Varasian girls who were playing in the street earlier were singing a song that included the lyrics "Feeds the stirge, so nice and ripe.
Drops of red so sparkly bright."
If you accompany the Sheriff, he takes you directly to the Harrowstone Memorial, which has been vandalized for a second time. This time, the V has been repainted, with an E next to it. A great deal more blood was employed, and it is sloshed around the ground carelessly.
You find a clear blood trail leading away.
Shel reveals to everyone what she discovered in the journals about the Whispering Way and anything else before the group heads off with the Sheriff.
When nobody is looking, Awnara takes a moment to examine the auras on the bottles they found in the tomb.
"Oh, now I recognize them!", Awnara says, clapping her hands together excitedly. "A spirit talker once tried to sell them in my village. From what I remember, they can be used to store ghostly essences. If the ghosts of Harrowstone really are restless, then maybe we can capture them in these!"
The enxt day, Awnara's eyes go wide when the Sheriff mentions the defacement of the Harrowstone Memorial. "Sheriff, you must believe me when I say I had nothing to do with this! And, to the best of my knowledge, none of these folk did either. I haven't left here since we got back here last night."
When they get to the Memorial, she is clearly concerned by the crimson that stains the stone and the ground.
She stays close to Edrik, concern on her face, but also confusion. "Who would keep doing such a thing?", she wondered aloud.
The girls playing in the streets were singing a song about the Piper...maybe we should try to find them.
Amateurs. The trail of blood is obvious! Vachordi points it out.
"I don't speak Varisian, so I had no idea. I wonder if the children would tell us where they got the words to their song. Course, a bunch of armed outsiders should take care being seen talking to them in this town."
When Varchodi points out the blood trail, Shel follows it to see where it leads.
Vachordi- are you pointing out the trail to the sheriff?
Do you want to follow it?
You ask the Sheriff about the nursery rhyme the kids were singing. It's been around as long as I've been here. It's something kids sing. A bit morbid, but not dangerous. I think the words are:
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.
Yes Vachordi blurted that out. Probably wiser not to...but he is on a quest for wisdom!
Garin nods to Shel. "I see. This is sounding more and more dangerous by the second."
When they arrive at the memorial, Garin stays a bit behind, looking at the blood from a distance. "Hmm."
Listening to the Sheriff say the nursery rhyme, the dissonance even more chilling coming out of a grown man's voice, Garin says, "If that's a bit morbid, I'm not certain I want to know what classifies as morbid here."
Awnara shrugs her shoulders at Garin's response. "That's nothing. How'd the rhyme go when I was a girl?" She closes her eyes as she recalls one of the rhymes she and the other village children came up with to skip rope, back in those innocent days of yourh. As she recites, she actually begins pantomiming jumping rope to the macabre doggerel.
"Dead men, dead men, swinging in a tree,
How many dead men do you see?
Tongue turned blue and face gone grey,
Watch them as they twist and sway.
"The first one killed the butcher man,
Cooked him in a frying pan.
Served him to his hungry guests
And gave them seconds on request.
"The next one with his smile and sweets
Stole poor children off the streets
To men who dressed unsavory
He sold them into slavery.
"Dead men, dead men, swinging in a tree,
How many dead men do you see?
Six feet long and six men wide,
Around their necks a noose is tied."
She finishes, and opens her eyes to see everyone staring at her. "Um, that doesn't help much, does it?", she says sheepishly. "Maybe we should see where this trail of blood goes? If you are alright with that, Mister Sheriff, sir?"
The trail leads into the woods- a closer look at the blood drops shows a path toward the memorial full of large drops and splashes a blood. A second trail of smaller droplets leads away from the memorial.
A mile away from the river, the bloodier trail ends with the corpse of a slaughtered pig. The animal appears to have had its neck slashed open and bled in order to give the 'paint' for the desecration. The rest of the flesh is marred with long slashes.
Sheriff Caeller examines the kill, prodding sliced layers of skin with his dagger. Asmodeus's beard. This is from the Cahloon farm. What is the beast doing out here?
The blood trail drips continues a few miles through the woods, following an old footpath until it reaches a small unkempt shack.
Caeller stops at the clearing around it. Damn. Gibs Hephenus. What has that old drunk been up to?
He moves to the door.
Shel follows the Sheriff to the doorstep of the shack.
"Mind if we tag along, Sheriff? Judging from what we've seen, this guy might be dangerous." The halfling pulls her small dagger, in case there is more trouble looming.
I too recomend caution.
Vachordi strings his bow.
Awnara has been creeping along behind most of the larger folk, her knife out and clutched in two tiny hands. She's not overly affected by the dead hog, but a look of concern washes over her eyes. "Those cuts are just unneccessary. Slitting the pig's throat would have been sufficient, but harming it like this? That's the mark of a blackened soul."
As the group approaches the ramshackle hut, she keeps an eye out for trouble - the woods were never kind in Ustalav.
Gilda walks behind the Sheriff as well, keeping a wary eye for out for evil and badness and such.
The sheriff strides up to the cabin and puts his heavy boot to the door.
Gibs! GET YOUR DRUNK ASS OUT HERE!
A few minutes pass with the sheriff hammering at the door. The sound of crashing precedes the door opening to a dirty, beleaguered Gibs- the bully who nearly came to blows with your group in the cemetery.
The old man has a grizzled 3 day beard and red, bloodshot eyes. His bedclothes are ripped and dirty. What do you want? he slurs. His eyes widen at the sight of the party. What are these devils doing here at my door?
He is angry, but not attacking.
Garin takes in the sight of Gibbs and wonders what happened to him. Remembering the Father's words and knowing well what kind of atrocities war might have plagued him with, the cavalier holds his tongue, giving the man the benefit of the doubt regardless of his current condition.
"Are you alright?" he finally asks, inquiring after the man's condition despite his lingering distaste.
Gilda looks around, taking it all in.
Perception
Awnara jumps a bit as the Sheriff yells, slinking away from the fore of the group.
The drunk man continues to plead ignorance.
You note that he's dirty, as if he hasn't bathed in days. It also appears that he hasn't slept. His bedclothes are torn and a little bloody, yet his hands are clean.
The shack interior shows empty bottles of booze. You are able to follow the blood trail over to a small woodshed, where you find a rusty war razor caked with blood, and an empty waterskin also covered with dried blood.
What? My old razor- what's it doing out there? This is some damn set up! Gibs protests.
Sense Motive
"Um, sir?", Awnara says shakily. "I don't know quite what's going on, but I think someone might be framing both you and us. From what these big folk tell me, there was a quarrel a few days back when they were carrying the Professor's body to the graveyard. If they're wanting to frame you for this blasphemy, then maybe they're trying to shift the suspicion on the new folks in town while they get away with the things they're doing. That's not right, not right at all. So, um, is there someone who would want to do this? Anyone who would feel wronged by you in some manner?"
Garin stays quiet, feeling a bit put-off at being ignored.
[spoiler = sense motive > 15] He seems to mean what he says. And he's drunk. [/spoiler]
The sheriff turns to Garin He's fine. He's always like this- three sheets to the wind. He's a bit rough around the edges, but besides a few bar fights and getting a little handsy with some local wait staff, he's never committed any serious crimes.
Caeller says to the drunk Gibs You'll have to come in. It's best that we handle this at the jail. Maybe give you some time to sober up, and see if you remember anything.
Gibs yells, with spittle dripping from his mouth No one puts me in a damn cage! and takes a swing at the sheriff.
Lets everyone relax! Vachordi booms.
Gilda watches and waits.