"And so our tale begins."
"I wish I could tell you that it began in happier times--when the thought of one's mortality was not foremost in a man's mind. Perhaps, in another time, it would begin amid revelry and intoxication, and its protagonists bound together by bonds of friendship forged of steely resolve."
"But, it was not to be. Instead, our would-be heroes have come together on the most somber of occasions: a funeral in a lonely, Ustalavic hamlet. A final, sorrowful remembrance of a man they once knew, as a friend, confidant, or employer."
---------------------------
Sunday, 5th of Lamashan, 4709 AR
The early morning sun does little to soothe the harsh Lamashan chill as the funeral procession gathers at the entrance to the Restlands of Ravengro. There are few people in attendance: mostly the town's councilors and the dearly departed professor's daughter. The black mourner's garb that everyone is dressed in keeps the cold at bay, however slightly.
A large, masterfully-carved casket of fine rosewood sits upon the entrance to the Dreamwake, one of the paths that winds its way through the graveyard. No images are carved into the casket's sides or lid: it appears that the professor cared little for such extravagances. The professor's daughter, Kendra, leans over the casket and stares forlornly at it, her hands neatly folded, but trembling.
Making their way up the dusty, windswept road is a band of four people, each of them markedly outlandish in bearing, if not dress. A young woman with a thrush perched on her shoulder, another older woman walking with a quiet, prideful stride, and two men, both with the countenances of beasts. One is dressed in patchwork, earth-stained hides and with a face that many would call monstrous--bald, with a fanged mouth and a corpselike pallor. The other man strides forward, standing tall and strong with the tusks and greenish skin of an orc.
The councilors wrinkle their noses as they see the new arrivals, with some of the more skittish ones shying away from the two men as they step forward. Only Kendra walks up to greet them. "Thank you all for arriving here--I hoped we would meet under more pleasant circumstances."
Imperia strides down the road. Her black coat with blood red accents flares out around her legs as she moves. Her black hair has wisps flying around her face. She looks dusty and disheveled from traveling by coach. Imperia had hoped to have a chance to clean up before attending the funeral. Alas that isn’t to be. I’ll just have to make the best of it. At least I wore mostly black for traveling. I won’t look too out of place. She attempts to smooth her hair back into it’s chignon without much luck. She looks slightly uncomfortable at not being completely presentable when meeting Kendra and the town council.
As she walks toward the procession, she glances at the other three mourners walking along beside her. She nods in recognition at Khardan. ”Good morning to you Kaseem, wasn’t it? No that’s not right. Let me think. Khardan that’s it. ”No it’s Khardan. That’s correct isn’t it? I’m sorry we meet again in such circumstances.”
She hasn't seen the other two people before. She quickly introduces herself. She speaks quietly, partially out of deference for the somber moment, and partially because it's her normal tone of voice, ”I’m Imperia Albus, Librarian at the University of Lepidstadt.”
When she reaches Kendra, she takes her hand, and pats it. ”I’m sorry for your loss. Your father and I worked well together over the last few years. His research was fascinating. Thank you for letting me know of his passing, and giving me a chance to pay my respects.” She steps aside to let the others greet Kendra.
Jayla closed her eyes for a moment to feel the early morning sunlight flicker across her cool skin. Her dark woollen cloak was wrapped around her, the hood covering her darker, unbound hair. Lirin had moved from the sanctuary of the hood and settled on her shoulder as they drew nearer to the mourners. The little bird shook her speckled feathers upon the sudden touch of the cold. A light layer of dust had settled upon the hem of the Changeling's long grey skirt, but there was nothing to be done about it now.
"It seems we have not arrived too late", the Changeling said softly to the bird or to the three walking alongside her. Jayla's mismatched eyes turned and set on the Half-Orc and she gave a quiet smile for at least she had a friendly companion to see through this day. Lirin's flute-clear ee-oh-lay song was caught on the breeze and carried as a pretty keen in memory of her teacher and then stilled.
The other woman walking up the road began to speak and gave her name. Jayla paused in her step as the name and the woman's profession was familiar to her. "Mistress Albus, it is good to meet you at last, even under such a sorrowful circumstance. My name is Jayla Janviel and we share a small, long distance acquaintance. I was one of the late Professor's most devoted students." The Changeling inclined her head respectfully to the woman before turning to the two males. "Khardan and are I known to the other. Alas you, sir, I have not met," looking to the bald, fanged, death-marked male near her friend. Both Imperia and the unfamiliar man could readily mark the different shades of her eyes: the girl's left eye is a light silver-grey and her right eye an amber-gold. "I am Jayla Janviel, lately from the River Kingdoms, and this is my bonny companion, Lirin," gesturing to the perched thrush freely studying the three with dark, unblinking eyes.
As the group began moving along the road again and a woman walked forward to greet them, Imperia's words led to the swift discovery that this was Kendra Lorrimor, the daughter who had written to her. "Mistress Lorrimor, you have my deepest condolences. Your father was a great man, indeed. I am Jayla and thank you for writing to me." The Changeling gave a conciliatory smile and then looked beyond the Professor's daughter to the few mourners congregated around the casket and quietly added for their benefit, "Our apologies for causing this interruption. We, too, have humbly come to pay our respects."
Khardan approaches the procession with a slow, mournful stride, his head bare and his spear held aloft like a badge of office. Dressed in his best attire, an armored coat of soft black leather covered by a black surcoat bearing the purple and gold gauntlet-and-briars symbol of his patron.
Unable to protect the Professor at last, his old bodyguard is in a philosophical mood that turns wistful at the sight of the Professor's casket.
"Hello, Mistress Imperia," he says in his deep bass rumble. "May the Bulwark guard and protect you." Then, after a moment, "He was my mentor and friend, too."
As the others approached, Khardan's sad smile was obscured by his huge canine teeth. "Hello, Jayla," he said, patting her familiarly on the back. "I am glad to see you."
"And you, my Lord Bramwell," he said, spying the nobleman over Jayla's shoulder.
Khardan steps up to Kendra almost with the reluctance of a dying man going to the gallows. He bows stiffly. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect him one last time, Mistress Kendra," he says.
Lord Bramwell accompanies the other three visitors. The timing of their arrival might give others the impression that Bramwell is with them, but as chance has it, the nosferatu dhampir ignores their identities. He remains purposedly oblivious to it, but as they introduce each other on the way to the graveyard, politeness dictates that he must partake in the social rite. When Jayla turns to speak directly to him, Bramwell looks a bit startled. He observes the thrush on her shoulder and, wary of scaring the bird away, takes a few steps back, hunching over. "Ah, yes, yes," he sibilates, "Jayla, the Professor's pupil. Yes. I know who you are. Sharp in the head. I am Lord Gideon Bramwell, last of his name," the nobleman says, giving a slight bow.
He glances at Imperia and Khardan, squinting his eyes; though his stare lingers over Khardan, he does not seem to recognize the half-orc. "You were friends with the Professor, too. Yes, yes. I see."
Walking behind the group, Bramwell seems to sink even deeper into his clothes, cringing as he walks past the councilors, his body language like that of a cornered wild animal. He relaxes when he reaches Kendra, and a disturbing smile forms on his lips, creating deep wrinkles all over his palid face.
"Ah! Little Kendra! Not so little anymore, are you. No. You will not remember me, Lord Bramwell, but we have met before. You visited my home when you were just a baby. Yes, yes. The Professor wanted me to meet you—your mother was not happy," he explains with a disturbing chuckle. His expression abruptly becomes somber. "But no reason to smile now. A great loss. A very great loss..." A single, crimson tear flows from his right eye. Bramwell bows to Kendra and steps away.
”I’m sorry for your loss. Your father and I worked well together over the last few years. His research was fascinating. Thank you for letting me know of his passing, and giving me a chance to pay my respects.”
Kendra pats her hand in return. "Yes, he spoke fondly of you. The idea of channeling psychic energy was very intriguing to him."
"Mistress Lorrimor, you have my deepest condolences. Your father was a great man, indeed. I am Jayla and thank you for writing to me."
"Miss Jayla?" Kendra nods at the young lady. "Yes, he spoke highly of you--your dissertation on the nature of Faith was of particular interest to him. He considered submitting it for review at the University of Lepidstadt."
"Our apologies for causing this interruption. We, too, have humbly come to pay our respects."
The mourners' faces seem to settle for a moment, if only because of Jayla's respectful tone.
"I'm sorry I couldn't protect him one last time, Mistress Kendra."
The young woman's face creases with sorrow. She doesn't say anything, but she does take Khardan's hand and bow her head in understanding.
"Ah! Little Kendra! Not so little anymore, are you. No. You will not remember me, Lord Bramwell, but we have met before. You visited my home when you were just a baby. Yes, yes. The Professor wanted me to meet you—your mother was not happy."
Kendra nervously chuckles. Some of the other mourners shudder and make holy gestures over their hearts. "I imagine so--she was always a superstitious sort."
"But no reason to smile now. A great loss. A very great loss..."
Kendra sniffs. Any trace of mirth that may have been on her face vanishes. "...yes."
"Now... Father Grimburrow is waiting for us at his gravesite." She almost chokes on the last word. "Would you... would you be so kind as to be his pallbearers, please?" She indicates the handles on the sides of the casket--they're decorated with plain black ribbons.
Bramwell's eyes widen upon hearing Kendra's request. He looks around and sees the mourners staring at him, a mix of fear and disgust in their eyes. "Oh." He looks at Kendra pleadingly, and almost attempts a refusal, afraid of being in the center of attention. Yet, he does not say a word. Instead, the dhampir purses his lips and turns around to grab one of the handles, looking down to avoid meeting anyone's gaze.
Khardan expected this, and had wondered about what he might do with his nine-foot longspear. There was simply no way to carry the huge weapon and a casket at the same time. He laid the weapon aside at the gates to the Restlands and moved to shoulder the burden when all were ready.
He also knew he'd have to hold the casket well below his shoulder to allow the others to carry it comfortably. It seemed fitting that he should accompany the Professor one last time.
Imperia nods slightly, "Of course, I would be honored." She reaches for a ribbon on the opposite side of Lord Bramwell.
"Miss Jayla?" Kendra nods at the young lady. "Yes, he spoke highly of you--your dissertation on the nature of Faith was of particular interest to him. He considered submitting it for review at the University of Lepidstadt."
Jayla had been unaware of the late Professor's plan to submit her work and she was happy, sad and humbled all at once. "He was very good like that, wasn't he..." and the Changeling's voice caught a little so she stopped talking and gave Kendra a wistful smile.
Upon revelation the four of them would be the pallbearers, Jayla wondered how her slight stature would work among the others who were much taller than she, but she moved to the remaining place and gripped the handle wound in black ribbon and would try to do her best. She whispered to the thrush on her shoulder, "Lirin, go and wait inside my hood, pretty one. I do not want you to be crushed if I drop my side of the box." And the small bird did as instructed and moved inside her mistress' hood. Khardan was standing opposite Jayla and so she whispered across to him, "I'm sorry for my shortness, Khardan. I'm not entirely weak, but I'm not very strong either. But I won't let down the late Professor or the rest of you."
Lifting the casket proves to be easier than expected for the lifting-challenged pallbearers--between Khardan's strength on one side and Lord Bramwell's efforts on another, it's easy enough for the others to hold the casket steady.
"My thanks, all of you. Now..." Kendra swallows and turns to the Restlands. "...shall we?"
She begins to lead the funeral procession along the winding, dusty path of the Dreamwake, her steps even and heavy with grief. Behind her is the late professor's casket, being carefully borne in the grips of the pallbearers, and behind them are the rest of the procession. A quick glance at them shows them to be quite concerned with proper decorum--though some of their eyes keep wandering over to the half-orc and the dhampir bearing the casket before snapping back to the road ahead. Dry, dead leaves blow across the path, tumbling end over end.
The procession is quiet and uneventful... until they reach a curve in the Dreamwake.
Crowded on the path ahead is a group of a dozen local men, eying the procession (and the casket especially) with barely-concealed contempt. Their leader, an elderly, but wiry man with a pair of grey muttonchops, steps forward and holds his hand up.
"That'll be far enough, you lot. We've been having a chat, and we've decided that Lorrimor's not gonna be buried here. Take him up the river and bury him there, if you care to, but he's not resting here!" He growls, glaring at the casket.
Kendra's march abruptly stops, her face turning from grief-stricken to enraged.
"It's alright, Jayla," says Khardan. "Together. For the Professor."
---------------
When confronted by the mob, Khardan resists the urge to growl menacingly or lay his free hand on his warhammer. Every bloody time I put down the spear, he thinks.
"Now there's no need for that," he says in his most reasonable voice. "Professor Lorrimar was a good and decent member of this community. You should be proud to have him buried here."
[Dice=Aid Another Diplomacy, bonus to whoever our "face" is]1d20+2[/dice]
Imperia says, "Gentlemen, the Professor was a well respected scholar and held in high regard in many places all over the world. He should be buried in his family plot. You should be honored to have such a noteworthy person buried here. Please step aside so we can continue."
Her tone of voice is the same she would use to tell a bunch of giggling students to be quiet and settle down in the library.
Lord Bramwell halts and stares hatefully at the men blocking their passage. Wihtout any patience for this kind of behavior, he waves his free hand in the air and mutters an incantation, looking intently at the elderly man leading the band. "Go home, and take your friends with you. Lorrimor will be buried here, yes? Good."
Crowded on the path ahead is a group of a dozen local men, eyeing the procession (and the casket especially) with barely-concealed contempt. Their leader, an elderly, but wiry man with a pair of grey muttonchops, steps forward and holds his hand up.
"That'll be far enough, you lot. We've been having a chat, and we've decided that Lorrimor's not gonna be buried here. Take him up the river and bury him there, if you care to, but he's not resting here!" He growls, glaring at the casket.
As her companions speak to the dozen men and their leader, Jayla places a conciliatory smile upon her face and addresses them from her place, "Sirs, if you would be so kind, let us bury our dead in peace as all deserve when they are finally laid to rest. We all seek to be interred in hallowed ground at the end of our days, do we not, so let us through and permit this scholarly man entrance unto his final resting place. Such good men as yourselves would not want to inflict any further grief upon his dutiful, mourning daughter."
The old man's expression darkens when Lord Gideon snaps at him, but he doesn't seem inclined to move.
It's only when Jayla, Imperia & Khardan speak up that the roughs around him start having second thoughts. Their expressions soften, and their eyes dart between Kendra's face and Petros' casket before they start to drift away from the path.
"...Gibs, you oughta be ashamed of yourself." One of them almost spits at the old man as he walks away. The old man looks at his departing gathering, and he silently glares at the procession before stalking off to join them.
Kendra turns to the pallbearers, the anger on her face lingering as she watches the old man, Gibs, leave. "Thank you again, really. The nerve of some people..."
She smoothes her mourner's garb and starts walking along the Dreamwake again. The rest of the procession looks quietly impressed at the party's aplomb handling of the situation.
"Well that was rude. I hope he learned a lesson about grief and respect." Imperia says as she continues with the group following Kendra to the cemetery.
Jayla watched the old, disgruntled man, Gibs, walk away, and she wondered why he held such animosity toward the late Professor. She turned to focus on Kendra, the woman's anger still showing, "There will always be people who do not understand the way of things...At least the other protesters could be talked down with common sense," and adjusting the weight of the casket on her side, the Changeling continued on with the others, toward the cemetery.
Bramwell complains under his breath. "Ah, yes, yes. Common folk are hateful, I know it. I've seen it. Ought to be taught a lesson."
The procession comes to the end of the Dreamwake and turns onto the Eversleep, another path running along the northern edge of the Restlands. The gravestones lining the path are a bit more ornately carved than the others lining the Dreamwake: most of them bear images of fallen trees, angels, and the occasional lamb. The stones with lambs carved upon them tend to be smaller than the rest.
When the procession arrives at the professor's gravesite, the presiding priest greets them. A bald, very wrinkled old man with a patchy white goatee beckons the pallbearers into position, and directs them to carefully lower the casket into the freshly dug grave. Kendra and the other mourners watch from the sides, with some holding their hands over their hearts and others clutching their clothes to themselves as another Lamashan wind blows past them.
The priest holds his symbol of Pharasma in one hand and keeps his holy text open with the other. His black vestments billow as the breeze catches them, and he clears his throat. "There comes a time when all men and women are called to Pharasma's court--when the Lady of Graves takes her due: be they young or old, strong or weak. When such a day comes, they leave behind many things: loved ones who cherished them, deeds to be remembered for... a legacy, to be built upon."
The priest turns to look at Petros Lorrimor's gravestone. Upon it is a simple inscription, carved into the stone:
Here lies Petros Lorrimor.
Sapientia Gratis.
Above the inscription is a carved image of a lit lamp.
"When such a day comes, those who mourn their passing must not lose themselves in grief over their passing, but take comfort in that he lived for so long, and touched the lives of many others." He looks meaningfully at the assembled pallbearers. "Lady of the Graves & Mother of Souls, please accept this man into your court, and may your judgment of him not be found wanting. May Petros Lorrimor continue to bear the light of knowledge into the hereafter, and may his teachings never be forgotten."
"Amen."
The priest bows his head as the mourners reply "Amen."
He turns to Kendra and nods at her. "Miss Lorrimor, would you like to say a few words?"
Kendra sniffs and nods. "I... I would."
She steps next to the grave and looks down at the casket. "Father meant a great deal to me, even though Life seemed to conspire to keep him from seeing me. He was the one who taught me much of the wonders of magic, and how it can be used to help others. I chose to study the arts of divination because of his influence--to pursue knowledge as he did."
"He was many things: a teacher, a father, a mentor, an explorer. I will..." She sniffs and swallows, her voice beginning to break and the corners of her eyes turning watery. "...I will miss him dearly."
She steps back from the grave and looks at the gathered pallbearers.
"The Professor was a good man," says Khardan in a deep voice made rough by emotion. "He saw things and people for who they were, not what they were."
"He was greedy for knowledge, but not to keep it for himself. He wanted it to share with anyone who would listen. In serving him, I served everyone he taught, everyone he touched. He showed me that sometimes, ideas are as important to protect as people."
He fidgets a few moments. "That's all I've got to say." Khardan steps back, waiting to hear what the others will say.
Imperia steps forward. She pulls a few sheets of parchment from her bag. Dropping them on the casket as some would a rose she says,"Petros was a great researcher. What he learned will be shared by many in the coming years. It will continue to grow as his research is added to by his students.
His time of travel and learning while keeping him away from home was also a time of giving back in teaching and lecturing. As time goes on those he instructed will continue to add what they learn to what he taught them. They will teach others in that way he will live on."
She nods feeling good about what she said, and steps back into the group of mourners.
Jayla watched as Khardan and then Imperia moved next to speak after Kendra. The Changeling's eyes strayed to the bald and very old priest and then to the other mourners standing to the sides of the grave.
Jayla listened to her footsteps upon the ground until she was standing before the mourners. Lirin remained inside her hood.
In a reverent voice, not too loud or soft, Jayla added her own tribute,"Professor Lorrimor was not selfish with knowledge. He travelled both near and far opening the minds of any who would listen and broadening their outlook. He was my teacher, my counsellor, a man who knew the worth of knowledge and a curious mind. I was most fortunate to be a beneficiary of his teachings. I will miss him, but will always remember him most fondly. May he be at peace." And with her final word, she inclined her head and moved back to stand beside the others.
Lord Bramwell keeps his head down, listening to the testimonies about Lorrimor. Given the circumstance, and the continuous demonstration of affection towards the deceased, he feels compelled to speak, though he would prefer not to. Despite initially thinking he has nothing to say, as soon as words start flowing out, Bramwell finds out that this is untrue.
Bramwell waits for a moment of silence to step in and share his thoughts in a low, squeaky voice. "The professor was not a fearful man, no, no, because he was very, very clever, and knowledge trumps fear. It brings people together, whereas ignorance sets them apart and against each other. So, thanks to the Professor, our world... my life... was a little better while he was here." Bramwell looks over his shoulders, in the direction in which Gibs and the other troublemakers went, and then snarls. "It's already starting to deteriorate, however."
He then looks at Jayla, Imperia, and Khardan. "You speak of the Professor and his work, yes. I know, hard to separate. Work was his mission. But his self, I remember like this: kind, curious, full of wonder and excitement, brave, and funny." He looks at Kendra. "A good laugh, the silly man was", he chuckles his disturbing chuckle. "From a young student to an old scholar, he visited me, and we spoke of many subjects. The one that fascinated me the most was his life, and his love, and his family." He looks at Kendra again. "I know there were troubles there. There always are. But I hope he was as happy as I always thought he was." Bramwell sulks, staring at the ground once again. "Not everyone can have that."
Ending with that gloomy note, Bramwell retreats back.
The words spoken by the pallbearers seem to resonate with the other mourners present. Hearing them pour out their hearts reminiscing about the departed Professor's connection to all of them visibly makes their hearts soften a bit.
The priest clears his throat and nods. He quietly beckons the two nearby gravediggers to start filling in the professor's grave.
Kendra approaches the mourners and thanks them for attending before turning to the four of you. "Would you four like to come home with me? I'll put on some tea and the like to drink while we wait for Father's will to be read." Her voice wavers some more.
Jayla watched as the gravediggers started shovelling dirt into the open grave. Upon Kendra's approach, Jayla tentatively reached out to the grieving woman, and gently laid her hand atop her arm for a moment, "I thank you for the invitation and accept. Let us be away and allow these men to finish their labour. Mistress Kendra, would you be so kind as to lead the way," Jayla instructed gently and politely, not wanting to cause Kendra any further distress for there had already been enough disturbances this day.
As they walked, Jayla could feel Lirin moving beneath her hood, but not come out again. Jayla's mismatched eyes moved about the path/surrounds, keeping an eye for other disgruntled townsfolk and alike who might try to waylay them anew.
Imperia nods in agreement when Jayla suggests we leave the gravediggers to their work, and follow Kendra home. She politely nods to the other mourners in farewell, and falls in line behind Kendra as she leads the way to her home.
"Is it normal for the will to be read so quickly?" Imeria asks as they walk along. She looks around keeping an eye out for anything unsual as the group walks. "I am very surprised to be remembered in the Professor's will. Ours was not a particularly personal relationship."
After his uncharacteristically lengthy speech, Khardan is feeling all talked out. He grunts assent to Kendra's invitation, returns the gate and retrieves his longspear, then falls in behind the group, assuming a guard position without really thinking about it.
The big half-orc may be naturally quiet, but his thoughts are numerous. I'm glad I came. It was good to say good-bye to the Professor. And I got to see Jayla. She's almost grown now. I'll be she marries by next year. I hope it's a good match and not some fat farmer. She's too special to be...trapped like that. She's too thin. I don't think she's eating much. I should get her to eat.
Miss Kendra called it 'tea', but I wonder if there'll be food. I'm famished. I like sandwiches.
Bramwell thanks Kendra for the invitation and accompanies the group.
"Is it normal for the will to be read so quickly?"
"It depends on how long it takes Councilor Hearthmount to arrive at the estate." Kendra sighs, pulling the hem of her dress up a bit to keep it from dragging in the dirt. "I understand that he has some other matters to take care of today..."
Other than that, there doesn't appear to be anything or anyone that's in the mood to interfere with your walk.
-------------------------
Ravengro Ambience
The cold Lamashan winds dog the group's footsteps as they set off down the winding, serpentine path to the small hamlet on the horizon. Though the sun shines high in the sky, it seems to do little more than throw the icy breezes into even sharper relief. The skies overhead are becoming choked with somber, grey clouds.
The town of Ravengro is quite small in size, with the dark, placid waters of the Hearthwind River lazily flowing through the centre of town. Two weather-worn wooden bridges connect the two halves of the town together. A few stately manor homes lie on the river's western edge, along with a towering, grey-bricked cathedral of Pharasma. The eastern half of the river is where the town square resides, with several buildings & businesses surrounding a stark, freshly-painted white gazebo.
The Lorrimor home is to the south of the town square: it's a modest, two-story home made of maple timbers with a brown-shingled roof. A set of wooden steps lead up to a front porch with a carved, oaken door. Kendra opens the door for the group and ushers them inside.
"Whew... I'm glad to be out of that breeze." Kendra shivers a bit as she walks further into the home, directing the party to the comfortably-sized sitting room. A pair of sofas and a couch surround a small, well-carved coffee table, with an empty hearth sitting before the cluster of furniture. "Now, I'm going to put some tea on--would anyone like something to eat?"
Khardan's stomach growls loudly. "I would," he says, almost growling himself.
Jayla had stared at the crow before moving on with her companions. She was glad for the woollen cloak with its hood for it helped keep some of the chill at bay.
When she and the others were shown into the sitting room, Jayla gently pushed her hood back and Lirin came out from behind her long hair and once again perched on her mistress' shoulder, but the little bird's eyes strayed to Lord Bramwell more times than not.
At Kendra's question regarding food, Jayla smiled and politely replied, "I would most certainly, Mistress Kendra." They had just arrived in Ravengro and Jayla was a little hungry. The Changeling drew closer to Khardan and whispered, "It may be naught, but I noted a crow perched on a headstone watching us intently as we left the cemetery."
After sharing her observation with Khardan, Jayla looked to Kendra Lorrimor, "Would you like me to get some firewood and start a fire?" pointing to the empty hearth.
Kendra nods and disappears into the kitchen.
About ten minutes pass before she emerges from the kitchen, carrying a tray with a teapot and some sandwiches on it. Some teacups are neatly arranged on the tray.
"Please, help yourselves." She says as she sets the tray down on the coffee table.
"Would you like me to get some firewood and start a fire?"
"That would be nice, I think." Kendra nods and points down the hallway past the stairs up. "The wood room is the second door on the left."
"Very kind of you, Miss Kendra," Bramwell says, taking a teacup and grabbing a sandwich. He handles the frugal meal paying a lot of mind to proper etiquette, indeed moving like a nobleman. Once the food and beverage reach his mouth, however, maintaining decorum becomes a bit harder, due to his large, sharp teeth that barely fit into his mouth. Bramwell inevitably slurps the hot infusion, and bits and pieces of the sandwich make an appearance through his teeth every now and then while he chews.
When Jayla volunteers to light the fire, Bramwell shakes his head and looks at Khardan. "Young man, shouldn't you fetch the firewood? I think so, yes. A small, delicate girl like her, and a strong man like you. It is only fitting, I say." Despite the reprimand, Bramwell makes no sign of volunteering himself to perform the task; instead, he remains seated, as if reigning from his armchair.
Having spoken his mind, he stares intently at the bird perched on Jayla's shoulder. "It is nervous, I know. I have that effect on animals. And on men, for that matter. But we can try and be civil, yes?"
He makes a chirping noise that sounds like a hoarse raven rather than a songbird. The disquieting vocalization seems to unsettle the thrush further. Bramwell looks down in disappointment, shaking his head. "Ah, well."
Imperia leans forward indicating the tea service, "May I pour?" she asks the group?
Assuming she gets affirmative answers, she asks each person if they would like lemon, milk or sugar in their tea. She carefully pours the tea in to the teacups. She serves Kendra first, Lord Bramwell next, then Jayla and Khardan leaving herself for last. Once she finishes she takes a seat sipping her tea.
Jayla heeded the direction of where to find the chopped wood and was about to turn and leave when the grimly pale Lord Bramwell suggested Khardan go fetch the wood instead. She smiled politely at the man, "Khardan can give me a hand with it, if he'd like," and she moved to collect the empty wood pail from beside the hearth. "As to Lirin, she may grow accustomed to you in time, Lord Bramwell," attempting to reassure the disappointed man. She wondered why animals did not take well to him ... but refrained from asking him directly at present; instead trying to silently figure him out.
Taking steps toward the hallway, Imperia asked to pour the tea, and Jayla nodded, "Yes, thank you. I take mine with lemon and honey. And one of those lovely sandwiches, please. I will be back soon with the firewood." Jayla looked to Khardan to see if he was coming along to help. Either way, she began to wander down the hall, eyes gazing about, moving toward the second door on the left. Lirin was silent as she walked, perhaps listening or watching in the unfamiliar house as well.
Khardan gives Lord Bramwell a noncommittal grunt, but rises when Jayla leaves and accompanies her out. Outside, he ignores the firewood and observes the tombstones where Jayla had indicated the crow watching. Seeing nothing, he eventually shrugged and went to gather a large armload of cut wood. While still outside, he tries to talk to Jayla.
"The Professor's friends are...strange," he says, his voice rumbling low like a big cat's. "But mostly harmless, I judge."
Jayla looked upon the Half-Orc, arms laden with firewood, and, then looked down at the empty pail in her hands she'd brought for the purpose of housing/carrying the wood.
"Put the logs in the wood pail, Khardan. I think they'd be easier to carry in the pail," placing it down by his feet. Lirin sat on Jayla's shoulder and tilted her head to the side as she watched the tall, tusked, green man collecting the wood. "I like to be warm", the pretty thrush spoke in a soft, melodic voice as she fluffed up her speckled feathers. Jayla gave the thrush a loving scratch upon her feathered head.
"The Professor's friends are...strange," he says, his voice rumbling low like a big cat's. "But mostly harmless, I judge."
At Khardan's pronouncement, Jayla nodded and smiled, speaking her words quietly, "Some would call me strange for my appearance. But aye, Lord Bramwell is the strangest by far and Lirin does not like him much but he tried to make friends with her at least. Some people are just not good with animals."
"He's a Dhampir, is he not? Professor Lorrimor used to tell me stories of the progeny of vampires and humans, but I had never met one until today." After a moment's pause, the Changeling continued, "Strange morning so far, Khardan. Seeing some of the townsfolk finding issue with burying the Professor in the cemetery - I never imagined that coming here. What are they so afraid of...?"
She sighed softly. "Least you are here - a familiar face among strangers. It makes me feel better, Khardan." Jayla gave a small, sincere smile. She meant the words -- it was good that Khardan was with her and she with him.
Bramwell accepts a refill of the teacup when Imperia approaches with the kettle. He keeps looking at her as she walks around the room, and waits for the librarian to sit down and have her tea before speaking. "So you are a librarian, yes? Many, many books in my home, you would like it. A huge library, I tell you. Lorrimor said there were good books in there." He turns his face and fixes his stare on the window, his eyes gazing into the distance. "All my father's. Me, I'm not one for reading much, no." He lets that information hang, unsure of what use it might have.
"If the Professor said there were good books, I'm sure they were excellent. I enjoy libraries of all kinds. The information contained can be very useful. I take it you didn't find much use for the information he collected?"
Imperia sips at her tea.
"He's a Dhampir, is he not?"
"Is he?" says Khardan, who's never really thought about it.
"Professor Lorrimor used to tell me stories of the progeny of vampires and humans, but I had never met one until today." After a moment's pause, the Changeling continued, "Strange morning so far, Khardan. Seeing some of the townsfolk finding issue with burying the Professor in the cemetery - I never imagined that coming here. What are they so afraid of...?"
"People fear what they don't understand." says Khardan, who knows the sentiment well from his own past.
She sighed softly. "Least you are here - a familiar face among strangers. It makes me feel better, Khardan." Jayla gave a small, sincere smile. She meant the words -- it was good that Khardan was with her and she with him.
She has grown up since I last saw her, he thinks. She is a woman now. Little Jayla. Life is strange. It never occurs to him that he is actually younger than Jayla. Half-orcs grow up faster and he still thinks of her as his little sister.
"And what a face it is," he says with a rough chuckle. "It doesn't usually make anyone feel better."
"And what a face it is," he says with a rough chuckle. "It doesn't usually make anyone feel better."
Jayla looked at the Half-Orc. He seemed critical of his face/form or perhaps conditioned to be so by ignorant people. "Lucky then, that I'm not just anyone," she gave him a little wink. "And you need to stop doing that, you know, putting yourself down like that. There are enough senseless people in this world to do it for you. You've a good heart and common sense, Khardan. More than most people can admit to." She smiled and added, "Let us return to the others. And get that fire started posthaste. I'm hungry and a little cold." Turning, she waited until Khradan picked up the pail now full of wood and returned through the door and down the hall to the others in the sitting room.
"Sorry if we took too long", she simply apologised and then gestured for Khardan to put/arrange the wood in the hearth. She took the flint and steel from her bag and handed it to the Half-Orc to use to start the fire with. Once the fire was going in the hearth, Jayla retrieved her flint and steel and placed it back in her bag and then sat down and picked up her cup and brought it to her lips - taking in the lemony scent before sipping. Putting down her cup, Jayla genteelly picked up one of the small sandwiches from the plate and tearing a little piece, lifted it to Lirin so the thrush could nibble on the bread before taking a small bite of the sandwich herself.
Bramwell turns his attention from the landscape to Imperia. "Hmm? No, not much. My father read about farming, engineering, history, geography. Where dit it get him? A plummet to the ground. Hmph." He absentimindedly scratches the side of the armchair with his sharp fingernails. "Not everyone can put knowledge to good use, like Lorrimor did. But we still need it, no? We do. Me, I prefer practical experience over books. That way, you never forget. It takes a lifetime to learn like that, but I have lots of time, yes. Lots of it."
Kendra proves to be quite appreciative of Jayla & Khardan getting the hearth going with a merry blaze. The chill of the outdoors lifts considerably, and a soft, orange glow fills the room.
"Oh, praise be to Pharasma." The young lady scoots closer to the hearth and holds her hands before it.
"Me, I prefer practical experience over books. That way, you never forget. It takes a lifetime to learn like that, but I have lots of time, yes. Lots of it."
"Such as building fires, yes?" She says with a slight chuckle. Her face brightens a bit, but that could easily just be from the fire's glow.