Miss Rose? Are you unwell? If you need to sit down, you can come to our shop. It's just over there. She gestures to the other side of the square."Thank you for the offer, but I am fine." Rose breathes a sigh of relief inwardly, not having to dwell to deep upon her appearance.
Vesmera smiles. I'm glad. And thank you for saying my earrings are pretty.
"Ahh, I see, I wouldn't have thought such a song would be so old." He replied before making some calculations in his head. Did that mean the song had been around ever since Harrowstone had burnt down? That thought was more than a little disturbing.
Are you all visiting Miss Lorrimor?Theron nods as he answers, "We are. You see, we were friends of her father, Professor Lorrimor, so we're keeping her company for a while until thing settle down." He didn't mention the funeral itself since he assumed that it would be common knowledge in such a small town.
That's good, Vesmera says. It can't be easy for her, losing her dad like that. She chews her lip, probably coming face to face with the concept of mortality for the first time in her life.
She glances back at the skipping children, this time with a troubled look on her face.
The windowless room is dark, but Quess takes a wand from another pocket and proffers it to Lem. Here, she says, if you're a priest, you'll be able to use this. It always takes me a few tries to make it work.
Taking the wand, Lem sees that it is a wand of light*.
Cast it on the ceiling, Quess suggests.
** spoiler omitted **
Lem bristles slightly at the word "if", but doesn't interrupt Quess.
I won't begrudge you a bit of caution, or skepticism. But I would have thought that the word of a Pharasmin acolyte would hold more weight in Ravengro. Here, he says, handing the wand back to Quess.
Thank you, but I don't need the wand, only this. The priest holds his holy symbol in one hand, while pointing at the ceiling with the other.
Great Desna, bathe us in the light of your wisdom.
As the divine light blooms across the ceiling, Lem can see the room is stacked full of paintings, all carefully kept in racks. Many of them are covered in canvas.
As he turns around he can also see that Quess is blushing furiously.
I--um--I'm sorry, I didn't-- She swallows, takes a deep breath and tries again. I didn't mean that I doubted your capabilities or position. I'm sorry if you took it that way. It's just that while I've spent years examining enchanted items, and have worked out how to use some of them, I thought you would be more...efficient. I can only get this wand to work less than half the time. I just didn't want to keep you waiting is all.
She swallows again, trying to regain her poise.
Shall we? She gestures into the storeroom.
###
After Quess has given Lem a five-minute primer on handling the artwork, she tries to help him narrow down his search.
A young Varisian woman with a red brooch...do you know anything else? Like when it might have been painted? These pieces of art are ordered by the time we acquired them rather than the time they were painted, but that would at least give you a particular area to search in.
Still naked, he turns and faces the west, the direction that each day dies in and prays in wonder, first working through every remembered and half remembered rote prayer, sorting through childhood memories of worship until there is nothing left but silence in his heart and mind.
It's about fifteen minutes later when there is a tap at the door.
Dragomir? It's me, Flori. Father Grimburrow is here to see you. Can we come in?
Father Grimburrow enters the room, his beetled brows drawn down low over his eyes.
He moves to Dragomir's side and looks up at the much larger man. His gaze takes in Dragomir's sallowed skin and laboured movement.
Good grief, he says with a smile, you do need help.
As Raj comes into the house, chuckling, Kendra raises a questioning eyebrow, but waits to speak until Flori and Father Grimburrow have gone upstairs.
What were you two talking about? she asks Raj. You certainly seem to be getting on well.
All of a sudden Raj finds the Diviner's proximity more than a little distracting. He can't keep a smile off his scarred face as he shoves his hands in his pockets to prevent them from idly reaching for her. "Oh, you know... I was pokin' him like he was a hornet's nest and he compared me to a dung beetle. We're gettin' on thick as thieves. He'll be tryin' to marry me off to his spinster sister next." The smile falls off his face like it had been greased on and his tone intensifies. "He's a smart fella and twice as tough as a mithril nail. Dangerous too, I'm thinkin'. You ever get in over your head, Miss Lorrimor, you get your sweet... rear to him. Anyone in this town can handle real trouble - it's him."
Father Grimburrow enters the room, his beetled brows drawn down low over his eyes.
At his entry Dragomir looks thoroughly relieved, as if told he can stop a period of hard labour. At this point he is wrapped in a sheet but his simple wooden holy symbol is visible.
He moves to Dragomir's side and looks up at the much larger man. His gaze takes in Dragomir's sallowed skin and laboured movement.
Good grief, he says with a smile, you do need help.
I got hit by some flying bat things that suck blood like a mosquito if you can picture such a thing - I need someone to help with that and check that my wounds don't fester... but more importantly Father? I need to talk and I need your guidance.
Kendra smiles as Raj mentions the dung beetle comparison. Well, I didn't want to say anything, but now you mention it...
She listens intently as Raj's tone turns serious. My father often implied that there were things going on that I didn't know about. Some of them have become apparent in the last couple of days, but I wouldn't be surprised to find there was more to it still.
Kendra begins pacing slowly around the room, making minute adjustments to items on shelves, or picking up a book here and there to trace an embossed title on the cover with a finger--Goblinoid Tribes of Ustalav--an Ecology, Dweomer, Theory and Practice and The Kaer Maga Almanac, 3986 are all picked up and discarded in rapid succession.
As for Grimburrow, you're probably right--at least in terms of being able to handle himself. He must have seen a lot...but are you sure we can trust him? Or are you assuming that by that point, I won't have a choice? She shivers.
Kendra continues her pacing as she listens to Raj's reply, seemingly distracted, but her conscious mind is obviously very much still focused. She picks up another book--Ustalavic Nobility this time--and begins leafing through its pages.
Raj, do you have any idea what we've gotten ourselves into? I mean--whether I'm accompanying you into Harrowstone or not, I'm wrapped up in all this. And we still don't know why the Whispering Way was at Harrowstone in the first place. She closes the book with a snap, the set of her shoulders communicating her frustration. She puts a hand to her brow and massages her temples. I just hate this feeling of not being in control.
I got hit by some flying bat things that suck blood like a mosquito if you can picture such a thing - I need someone to help with that and check that my wounds don't fester... but more importantly Father? I need to talk and I need your guidance.
Yes, your friend Rajuna mentioned there were stirges involved. Let's see to your physical wounds first, and then tend to the other, hmm?
Father Grimburrow potters around Dragomir's room, asking Flori to help him move a few things around until he has cleared a space big enough for his purposes. Then he politely asks Flori to leave.
Let's see what wounds we have, then, hmm? Father Grimburrow asks Dragomir to sit cross-legged on the floor with the sheet around his waist, so that the old man can better reach Dragomir's chest and upper arms where several of the wounds are located. He looks over Dragomir's wounds carefully, and then puts a hands on the younger man's shoulder.
It doesn't seem like anything's particularly badly damaged. The blood drain is the worst of it. The priest fishes a small pouch from beneath his black robes, and tips a handful of white, glittery powder out onto his palm. Now, sit still--and please, try not to sneeze.
Father Grimburrow sprinkles the dust over Dragomir as he walks around the bigger man in a circle, and recites an incantation. Abide with us, goddess, for it is toward evening and our strength is all but spent. Abide with us in the evening of the day, in the evening of life, in the evening of the world. Abide with us in your wisdom and mercy, in holy word and deed, in your guidance and your blessing. Abide with us in the night of distress and fear, in the night of doubt and temptation, in the night of inescapable death, when these shall overtake us. Abide with us and all your faithful, goddess, in time and eternity.
The benediction complete, Grimburrow places a hand on Dragomir's forehead. The dust coating Dragomir's form makes him glitter in the muted light through the window.
Grimburrow withdraws a scroll from another pocket and takes a breath. Brace yourself, he says, and then he speaks a language Dragomir cannot understand.
A divine conduit opens up and Dragomir feels Pharasma's energy surging through his body and his soul. There is an odd duality to it, simultaneously uplifting and flaying him bare, as though his poor mortal frame is simply not built to cope with the magnitude of the power Grimburrow wields. The torrent of energy courses through his body and then is gone just as suddenly, and Dragomir is left panting and naked on the floor of his room, feeling whole once more, but somehow diminished as the experience ends.
Father Grimburrow slowly removes his hand from Dragomir's forehead.
Talk to me, Dragomir, Grimburrow says. Are you well?
Dragomir, you can thank Father Grimburrow for casting a spell that has removed all of your ability damage. Hooray for you! ; )
She listens intently as Raj's tone turns serious. My father often implied that there were things going on that I didn't know about. Some of them have become apparent in the last couple of days, but I wouldn't be surprised to find there was more to it still.
Kendra begins pacing slowly around the room, making minute adjustments to items on shelves, or picking up a book here and there to trace an embossed title on the cover with a finger--Goblinoid Tribes of Ustalav--an Ecology, Dweomer, Theory and Practice and The Kaer Maga Almanac, 3986 are all picked up and discarded in rapid succession.
Rajuna follows along silently, listening to the frustration underlying her concerns. He notes every book she lays a hand on and ponders why those particular volumes attracted her notice.
As for Grimburrow, you're probably right--at least in terms of being able to handle himself. He must have seen a lot...but are you sure we can trust him? Or are you assuming that by that point, I won't have a choice? She shivers.
Raj struggles with a response, halting in his tracks, trying to determine the right way to go. On one hand, he wants to be supportive and hopeful to chase away her fears and maybe coax a smile... and on the other - the professional side - he's inclined to paint the grim picture he keeps in his own head so that she doesn't get caught out if it all goes to Hell. And it could all go to Hell. Raj knew that better than many. One day you are mushroom hunting in the woods with your boyhood friends and the next - fangs glitter, blood sprays, and everything you ever loved is feeding the bellies of beasts. The thief blinks away the hazy memory and echoing screams to find his hand rubbing at his scar. He turns his mind back to Kendra's question. Whatever else could be said of Grimburrow, he wasn't playing around and Raj doubted that he'd have made his points - with magic and logic - so emphatically if the stakes weren't very high. So who speaks for Raj: Kendra's comforting ersatz Swain or the cold Shadow Warrior?
Rajuna weighs the measure and spirit of the woman. She didn't want to be sheltered or protected any longer... and who could blame her? Raj sighs and comes up close behind Kendra, keeping his answer intimate and away from any possible prying ears.
"I trust no one entirely. That's rule #1." His tone softens as he speaks into her ear. "Well... OK, there are a few people who are working their way up my list." His chuckle makes it clear Kendra is included. "I like Grimburrow and maybe he's good as gold. Maybe. But I have an issue with clerics and madmen. They both think they talk to the Gods but who can say for sure? Maybe they are hearing their own hearts talking. Maybe they are being misled. Maybe Pharasma's agenda ain't what's best for you or me? So, trust him but keep an eye on him."
Raj, do you have any idea what we've gotten ourselves into? I mean--whether I'm accompanying you into Harrowstone or not, I'm wrapped up in all this. And we still don't know why the Whispering Way was at Harrowstone in the first place. She closes the book with a snap, the set of her shoulders communicating her frustration. She puts a hand to her brow and massages her temples. I just hate this feeling of not being in control.
Raj's breaks protocol and the carefully crafted illusion of polite disinterest - out of compassion or desire or just plain weakness... he doesn't know. He lays a hand on the back of Kendra's neck and begins to work the tension from the muscles there... even as he slips a note into her dress with the other hand.
In contrast to the massage, his words are stark. "I don't know what we're caught in here. Looks to me like we've been dropped into the middle of a chess match. We're playing catch-up and we're gonna be doin' that for awhile. We've just scratched at the prison's surface. We've gotta head back there to piece together what they been doin'. I'm hopin' you can help us figure it out. We saw some strange stuff and maybe, as Doc's daughter, some of his genius rubbed off on you. We should talk it out at dinner. The one advantage we maybe have is that they aren't looking at us now that Doc is gone. Maybe they think the game is over. That'll give us the chance to catch up - if we are quiet about it." Having little further to add, Raj stops rubbing her neck and lays a hand on her shoulder, trying to muster up something supportive to say, "I... I'm sorry that you are feeling rudderless here. None of us are in any better shape."
Dragomir, you can thank Father Grimburrow for casting a spell that has removed all of your ability damage. Hooray for you! ; )
The windowless room is dark, but Quess takes a wand from another pocket and proffers it to Lem. Here, she says, if you're a priest, you'll be able to use this. It always takes me a few tries to make it work.
Taking the wand, Lem sees that it is a wand of light*.
Cast it on the ceiling, Quess suggests.
** spoiler omitted **
Lem bristles slightly at the word "if", but doesn't interrupt Quess.
I won't begrudge you a bit of caution, or skepticism. But I would have thought that the word of a Pharasmin acolyte would hold more weight in Ravengro. Here, he says, handing the wand back to Quess.
Thank you, but I don't need the wand, only this. The priest holds his holy symbol in one hand, while pointing at the ceiling with the other.
Great Desna, bathe us in the light of your wisdom.
As the divine light blooms across the ceiling, Lem can see the room is stacked full of paintings, all carefully kept in racks. Many of them are covered in canvas.
As he turns around he can also see that Quess is blushing furiously.
I--um--I'm sorry, I didn't-- She swallows, takes a deep breath and tries again. I didn't mean that I doubted your capabilities or position. I'm sorry if you took it that way. It's just that while I've spent years examining enchanted items, and have worked out how to use some of them, I thought you would be more...efficient. I can only get this wand to work less than half the time. I just didn't want to keep you waiting is all.
She swallows again, trying to regain her poise.
Shall we? She gestures into the storeroom.
###
After Quess has given Lem a five-minute primer on handling the artwork, she tries to help him narrow down his search.
A young Varisian woman with a red brooch...do you know anything else? Like when it might have been painted? These pieces of art are ordered by the...
No apology is necessary, or if there is, perhaps it should come from me. I confess that life on the road keeps me young at heart, and I think putting down roots here, even for a few days, might be making my body remind my spirit that I'm getting on in years. I will do my best to refrain from being an angry old man.
He smiles warmly, listens politely to the information, then says:
Something in the dream I had is drawing my thoughts to the great fire at Harrowstone. Shall we start at 50 years ago and work our way back?
Panting on the floor as if felled by a blow, Dragomir mouths a pray of thanks to the Lady of Graves, unable to vocalise for a minute after the experience.
Still laying there he closes his eyes.
Father - The Lady of Graves has spoke to me yesterday, and now today? She's appeared to me. I would say I'm mad but what I felt... , still laying down, he shakes his head.
I don' know what I ought t' be doin... I was raised in the faith but I sort of just let it drop once I left home... it was somethin' I honoured in memory, yeh know, on the holidays and such but... Now? Now I have Pharasma the Midwife appear to me... right in the midst of ghosts and evil spirits, when I am about to crap my pants and just run... She appeared to me. 'Vino', she says, 'Fi renăscut'.
Dragomir gulps thickly.
Then, somehow, in the middle of everything goin' around me? The fear that just was crushin' all the manhood outta me? Everything stops. She hugs me... and I'll never forget the words.
'Vino aici, copilul meu', Nu vă fie teamă. Sunteţi sub protecţia mea, şi nu voi lăsa să te rănesc'. He recites the words in wonder.
Then she tells me 'Acum, du-te mai departe, şi luptă în numele meu'.
I was in the bosom of The Lady, Father, - and its changed me - I still don't understand it.
His eyes snap open and he looks at Father Grimburrow pleadingly, his expression desperate as if he is hoping the Priest can make sense of it all.
Whats happenin'? She's told me fight in her name but I don't understan' why me and why now and jus' what she wants me to do. He stops and then somewhat panicked exclaims, I'm no saint!.
Walter seemed to lose track of what he was doing completely, staring away from the group and over Vesmera's shoulder for several seconds before moving again. He glanced to Vesmera and let his voice trail out "One second..." before briskly walking away, his gaze locked forward. He passed by everything on the way like he was focused entirely on some unknown object until he reached the posting pole and began to search it over, ducking and leaning and pacing around it as if struck by some strange inspiration.
Septimus, drawn by the commotion upstairs, pokes his head in the doorway of Dragomir's room, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Various substances better left unidentified are splattered across the front of a leather apron that he must have discovered crumpled up in some corner of the basement workroom - an odious melange of bright green, dull yellow, and crimson red.
"Dragomir, I trust all is well? I've made some most marvelous advances down-" Septimus stops short as he finally notices the presence of Grimburrow, . With the sense of caution befitting a man who has run afoul of Pharasma's more stentorian servants throughout Ustalav, Septimus purses his lips.
"Father. A pleasure to meet you." Septimus takes in the scene. "It seems that you are doing for Dragomir what I cannot through mere science - at least, not yet. You have my sincere gratitude, to be sure."
Kendra begins pacing slowly around the room...picking up a book here and there to trace an embossed title on the cover with a finger--Goblinoid Tribes of Ustalav--an Ecology, Dweomer, Theory and Practice and The Kaer Maga Almanac, 3986 are all picked up and discarded in rapid succession.Rajuna follows along silently, listening to the frustration underlying her concerns. He notes every book she lays a hand on and ponders why those particular volumes attracted her notice.
As far as you can tell, her selections appear random.
As for Grimburrow, you're probably right--at least in terms of being able to handle himself. He must have seen a lot...but are you sure we can trust him? Or are you assuming that by that point, I won't have a choice? She shivers.Raj struggles with a response, halting in his tracks, trying to determine the right way to go.
"I trust no one entirely. That's rule #1...I like Grimburrow and maybe he's good as gold. Maybe. But I have an issue with clerics and madmen. They both think they talk to the Gods but who can say for sure? Maybe they are hearing their own hearts talking. Maybe they are being misled. Maybe Pharasma's agenda ain't what's best for you or me? So, trust him but keep an eye on him."
Kendra nods at Raj's words, clearly taking them to heart.
Raj, do you have any idea what we've gotten ourselves into? ...we still don't know why the Whispering Way was at Harrowstone in the first place... I just hate this feeling of not being in control.Raj's breaks protocol and the carefully crafted illusion of polite disinterest - out of compassion or desire or just plain weakness... he doesn't know. He lays a hand on the back of Kendra's neck and begins to work the tension from the muscles there... even as he slips a note into her dress with the other hand.
If Kendra notices Raj slipping the note into her dress, she shows no sign of it. She does lean back into his massage though, and a low groan escapes her lips. She tosses the book aside, its contents forgotten.
"I don't know what we're caught in here. Looks to me like we've been dropped into the middle of a chess match. We're playing catch-up and we're gonna be doin' that for awhile. We've just scratched at the prison's surface. We've gotta head back there to piece together what they been doin'. I'm hopin' you can help us figure it out. We saw some strange stuff and maybe, as Doc's daughter, some of his genius rubbed off on you. We should talk it out at dinner. The one advantage we maybe have is that they aren't looking at us now that Doc is gone. Maybe they think the game is over. That'll give us the chance to catch up - if we are quiet about it." Having little further to add, Raj stops rubbing her neck and lays a hand on her shoulder, trying to muster up something supportive to say, "I... I'm sorry that you are feeling rudderless here. None of us are in any better shape."
Kendra opens her eyes as she turns around, a small smile on her lips.
Thank you Raj. For both the massage and the thoughtful words. You... She seems unable to finish the sentence, and just settles for another smile. Thank you. She leans over to give Raj a kiss on the cheek--just as she hears Septimus's footsteps echoing on the floorboards as he comes up from the basement. Kendra hurriedly takes a step back from Raj as her hands go to her hair, checking to see it's all still in place--but Septimus continues upstairs without coming in the lounge room. She hears the alchemist open Dragomir's door.
Kendra sighs with relief, then glances across at Raj, guilt on her face. Well, that was close. She places a hand softly on Raj's cheek. Another time, perhaps. And I would like that chat at dinner, very much.
No apology is necessary, or if there is, perhaps it should come from me. I confess that life on the road keeps me young at heart, and I think putting down roots here, even for a few days, might be making my body remind my spirit that I'm getting on in years. I will do my best to refrain from being an angry old man.
He smiles warmly, listens politely to the information, then says:
Something in the dream I had is drawing my thoughts to the great fire at Harrowstone. Shall we start at 50 years ago and work our way back?
Certainly. Quess takes a minute or two to show Lem where the appropriate stack begins--starting about forty years ago and working backwards--and then steps back.
There is a pause where they look at each other, and then Quess speaks in a rush. Master Longbarrow, while I don't doubt at all that you are indeed looking for a painting for a reason, I am not quite sure I understand how you can expect a painting from a shrine to Desna to have ended up here. Almost everything in this collection is a painting of someone who was born, lived, and died in Ravengro. How would a portrait have made it from here to your shrine and back again in such recent memory?
If you don't wish to answer, then that is your prerogative...but I admit I am rather confused as to how this could be the right place for you to look.
Lem, when you're ready, feel free to make a Knowledge (local) check to represent your search for the right painting.
Panting on the floor as if felled by a blow, Dragomir mouths a pray of thanks to the Lady of Graves, unable to vocalise for a minute after the experience.
Still laying there he closes his eyes.
Father - The Lady of Graves has spoke to me yesterday, and now today? She's appeared to me. I would say I'm mad but what I felt... , still laying down, he shakes his head.
I don' know what I ought t' be doin... I was raised in the faith but I sort of just let it drop once I left home... it was somethin' I honoured in memory, yeh know, on the holidays and such but... Now? Now I have Pharasma the Midwife appear to me... right in the midst of ghosts and evil spirits, when I am about to crap my pants and just run... She appeared to me. 'Vino', she says, 'Fi renăscut'.
Dragomir gulps thickly.
Then, somehow, in the middle of everything goin' around me? The fear that just was crushin' all the manhood outta me? Everything stops. She hugs me... and I'll never forget the words.
'Vino aici, copilul meu', Nu vă fie teamă. Sunteţi sub protecţia mea, şi nu voi lăsa să te rănesc'. He recites the words in wonder.
Then she tells me 'Acum, du-te mai departe, şi luptă în numele meu'.
I was in the bosom of The Lady, Father, - and its changed me - I still don't understand it.
His eyes snap open and he looks at Father Grimburrow pleadingly, his expression desperate as if he is hoping the Priest can make sense of it all.
Whats happenin'? She's told me fight in her name but I don't understan' why me and why now and jus' what she wants me to do. He stops and then somewhat panicked exclaims, I'm no saint!.
Father Grimburrow takes his time sitting down on the floor opposite Draogmir. It's obvious that his age makes it rather difficult, but he does it anyway.
I just finished saying to your friend downstairs that prophecy is an unpredictable creature at the best of times. This, he waves his bony arm, is certainly not the best of times. But for Pharasma to appear before you...
The old man casts his gaze skyward for a moment, perhaps thinking about his own experiences. I would counsel both caution and exultation, in equal measure. He looks Dragomir up and down for a moment. I hope you'll forgive me if I speak plainly, but you do not strike me as the kind of man who thinks overlong or deeply on most topics. Without having been witness to your revelations, I am not in a position to pass judgement on their authenticity.
He shakes his head. Look at me, rambling on about things like I'm teaching an acolyte. Let me be clear: it's sometimes hard to tell the difference between wishful thinking or visions brought about by blood loss, and true epiphany. It can also be difficult to detect deception.
I believe you experienced what you say you experienced. I am sure for you it was real. I am not sure that you have the ability to tell whether it was truly Pharasma who spoke to you, or someone else who claimed to be her--there are powerful creatures stalking the planes who would think nothing of impersonating a goddess. But it's important for you to understand that I tell you this not to belittle your experience, but so that you make your decisions with your eyes wide open.
And whether this was Pharasma speaking directly to you or not, the entity that contacted you seems to have your best interests at heart. Other than just being a cantankerous old man who is probably overly cautious, I see no obvious reason to doubt that it is Pharasma, or someone acting on her behalf, who you saw. I imagine if a yamaraj--one of the Boneyard's magistrates--showed itself before you, looking like a cross between a crow and a black dragon, you would probably think twice before accepting its counsel. So it would not be out of the question for an agent of Pharasma to show itself to you in her guise.
As for what you should do? Well, that depends. We all have free will. You must make your own decisions. But you say Pharasma told you to fight in her name? If you wish to do so, then I would be happy to help, in whatever way you need. You say your faith has lapsed--why not come to Vespers this evening? Spend some time amongst the trappings of the church, and perhaps you will feel more at ease with your decision, whatever it turns out to be.
The priest puts a hand on Dragomir's knee, poking out from under the sheet.
You have choices ahead of you, Dragomir. Choices that will not be easy. If you need guidance, I will be here, and so will the Lady.
After a brief knock, Dragomir's door suddenly bursts open and Septimus pokes his head into the room.
"Dragomir, I trust all is well? I've made some most marvelous advances down-" Septimus stops short as he finally notices the presence of Grimburrow, . With the sense of caution befitting a man who has run afoul of Pharasma's more stentorian servants throughout Ustalav, Septimus purses his lips.
"Father. A pleasure to meet you." Septimus takes in the scene. "It seems that you are doing for Dragomir what I cannot through mere science - at least, not yet. You have my sincere gratitude, to be sure."
Father Grimburrow's brows knit together over his eyes as he glares at the interloper. In my experience, gratitude is cheap, whether it is sincere or otherwise. Why don't you make yourself useful, young man, and help an old man up? Then, perhaps, you can tell me who you are and why common courtesy appears to have deserted you? He holds out a hand.
Walter seemed to lose track of what he was doing completely, staring away from the group and over Vesmera's shoulder for several seconds before moving again. He glanced to Vesmera and let his voice trail out "One second..." before briskly walking away, his gaze locked forward. He passed by everything on the way like he was focused entirely on some unknown object until he reached the posting pole and began to search it over, ducking and leaning and pacing around it as if struck by some strange inspiration.
Vesmera watches Walter head over to the posting pole with a quizzical look on her face. Walter? she calls out to him across the square. What are you looking for?
There doesn't appear to be anything of interest on the posting pole itself--but when you move around the back of the posting pole, you spot the redwing sitting on top of the gazebo. It seems to be looking back and forth between you and Vesmera.
No apology is necessary, or if there is, perhaps it should come from me. I confess that life on the road keeps me young at heart, and I think putting down roots here, even for a few days, might be making my body remind my spirit that I'm getting on in years. I will do my best to refrain from being an angry old man.
He smiles warmly, listens politely to the information, then says:
Something in the dream I had is drawing my thoughts to the great fire at Harrowstone. Shall we start at 50 years ago and work our way back?
Certainly. Quess takes a minute or two to show Lem where the appropriate stack begins--starting about forty years ago and working backwards--and then steps back.
There is a pause where they look at each other, and then Quess speaks in a rush. Master Longbarrow, while I don't doubt at all that you are indeed looking for a painting for a reason, I am not quite sure I understand how you can expect a painting from a shrine to Desna to have ended up here. Almost everything in this collection is a painting of someone who was born, lived, and died in Ravengro. How would a portrait have made it from here to your shrine and back again in such recent memory?
If you don't wish to answer, then that is your prerogative...but I admit I am rather confused as to how this could be the right place for you to look.
Lem nods and says quietly:
I...can't say anymore, but trust me, this is the right place. Thank you for your help.
Kendra sighs with relief, then glances across at Raj, guilt on her face. Well, that was close. She places a hand softly on Raj's cheek. Another time, perhaps. And I would like that chat at dinner, very much.
Mouth suddenly dry, Raj just nods and retrieves the book she tossed aside. Using it as a convenient excuse to pry his eyes from the mage, he glances at the title - The Kaer Maga Almanac. A ghost of a smile crosses his face, "Some light bedtime reading?" He hands her the book, using the exchange as an excuse to run a finger along the back of her hand. "Check your pockets. You never know when someone disreputable might plant something on you." Raj gives her a shy grin and retreats to the porch, suddenly embarrassed.
He sits heavily on the porch, leaning against a convenient post, wondering what the hell he was doing. What's the play, here?
Master Longbarrow, while I don't doubt at all that you are indeed looking for a painting for a reason, I am not quite sure I understand how you can expect a painting from a shrine to Desna to have ended up here. Almost everything in this collection is a painting of someone who was born, lived, and died in Ravengro. How would a portrait have made it from here to your shrine and back again in such recent memory?
If you don't wish to answer, then that is your prerogative...but I admit I am rather confused as to how this could be the right place for you to look.
Lem nods and says quietly:
I...can't say anymore, but trust me, this is the right place. Thank you for your help.
Quess inclines her head solemnly, then bids you good luck and leaves the room--although you can tell her curiosity is piqued.
After two hours of unwrapping paintings and carefully re-wrapping them, you come across a cabinet painting of a young woman who could reasonably be said to resemble the woman in your vision. The best evidence that it is the same person is the brooch she wears at her neck, a perfect copy of the one you recall.
There is no date, name, or signature on the work, but you're sure this is the woman you saw in your vision.
Kendra sighs with relief, then glances across at Raj, guilt on her face. Well, that was close. She places a hand softly on Raj's cheek. Another time, perhaps. And I would like that chat at dinner, very much.Mouth suddenly dry, Raj just nods and retrieves the book she tossed aside. Using it as a convenient excuse to pry his eyes from the mage, he glances at the title - The Kaer Maga Almanac. A ghost of a smile crosses his face, "Some light bedtime reading?" He hands her the book, using the exchange as an excuse to run a finger along the back of her hand.
A smile ghosts across Kendra's face. Not unless you want nightmares; Kaer Maga is not a pleasant place. She replaces the book on the shelf.
"Check your pockets. You never know when someone disreputable might plant something on you." Raj gives her a shy grin and retreats to the porch, suddenly embarrassed.
Kendra begins to check her pockets as Raj retreats to the porch, a confused look on her face--but she does raise a hand in farewell, with an accompanying smile.
Master Longbarrow, while I don't doubt at all that you are indeed looking for a painting for a reason, I am not quite sure I understand how you can expect a painting from a shrine to Desna to have ended up here. Almost everything in this collection is a painting of someone who was born, lived, and died in Ravengro. How would a portrait have made it from here to your shrine and back again in such recent memory?
If you don't wish to answer, then that is your prerogative...but I admit I am rather confused as to how this could be the right place for you to look.
Lem nods and says quietly:
I...can't say anymore, but trust me, this is the right place. Thank you for your help.
Quess inclines her head solemnly, then bids you good luck and leaves the room--although you can tell her curiosity is piqued.
After two hours of unwrapping paintings and carefully re-wrapping them, you come across a cabinet painting of a young woman who could reasonably be said to resemble the woman in your vision. The best evidence that it is the same person is the brooch she wears at her neck, a perfect copy of the one you recall.
There is no date, name, or signature on the work, but you're sure this is the woman you saw in your vision.
Lem picks up the painting very carefully, and slowly walks over to find Quess and present the painting to her.
This is her, I'm sure of it, but there is no indication of who this woman might have been. Can you please tell me more about this work?
There doesn't appear to be anything of interest on the posting pole itself--but when you move around the back of the posting pole, you spot the redwing sitting on top of the gazebo. It seems to be looking back and forth between you and Vesmera.Vesmera watches Walter head over to the posting pole with a quizzical look on her face. Walter? she calls out to him across the square. What are you looking for?
It stared at him. He stared at it. A bit of self-consciousness overtook him and he refrained from calling out that the bird had been watching him, and was still watching him.
"I thought I saw, um, something weird-- um, one second," he called back before turning to the gazebo and beginning to approach carefully, trying not to spook the strange bird. Was it the same bird? He wasn't quite sure.
Lem picks up the painting very carefully, and slowly walks over to find Quess and present the painting to her.
This is her, I'm sure of it, but there is no indication of who this woman might have been. Can you please tell me more about this work?
You find Quess in the shop room, minutely examining some of the items that you assume to be magical.
She replaces the necklace in her hands in the display case, closes and locks it, and then takes the painting, turning it over to see the back of the frame over which the canvas is stretched.
Here, she holds the painting out for Lem to see. There is a number written on the inside of the frame. Just let me look this up.
She hands the painting back to Lem and makes her way back down the hall. Come along if you like.
This time, she unlocks and opens a different door, this one obviously a study of some description, with windows. She moves over to a bookshelf, trailing a finger along the spines of various tomes before selecting one and placing it on a table. She flips a few pages.
Hmm...here...ah. There it-- She stops.
When she turns around to look back at Lem, waiting patiently with the painting in her hands, she appears troubled.
Here, she says. Look for yourself.
Number: 54687 - Size: 16" × 22" - Type: oil on canvas - Subject: portrait, Varisian(?) woman, seated, brushing hair--Hawkran's wife? - Artist: unknown - Year: ca. 4660 - Providence: retrieved from Hawkran residence after fire
I think you may be looking at the late Mrs. Hawkran, Quess suggests.
[The bird] stared at him. He stared at it. A bit of self-consciousness overtook him and he refrained from calling out that the bird had been watching him, and was still watching him.
"I thought I saw, um, something weird-- um, one second," he called back before turning to the gazebo and beginning to approach carefully, trying not to spook the strange bird. Was it the same bird? He wasn't quite sure.
The bird watches you approach, seemingly without fear. When you get close to the gazebo, it actually flies down to the railing and perches in front of you, allowing you to approach quite close. You have to step around a sleeping dog that is lying on the ground next to the gazebo, but you are able to walk right up to the railing so that you are only a foot or two away from the bird.
Then, the bird speaks, its voice pitched for Walter alone.
With that, the bird flies off over the rooftops.
Nearby, the dog wakes up as if startled, looks around, and then puts its head back down. Vesmera walks over to give the dog a pat; Walter can see that her younger sister and her friends have given up their skipping game and are filing back toward the store owned by Vesmera's parents.
Vesmera smiles as she bends down to scratch the dog under the chin. There there, back to sleep. It stretches and closes its eyes. Vesmera stands back up.
What was that about? she asks Walter. You say you saw something? Did it have something to do with the redwing?
The warden's wife? Lem looks puzzled and pauses, unsure of how to proceed. Then he says:
The fire in Harrowstone--Mrs. Hawkran was there. Do you know anything about her? Why was she in the prison during the riots? Please, if you know anything--it's important.
The fire in Harrowstone--Mrs. Hawkran was there. Do you know anything about her? Why was she in the prison during the riots? Please, if you know anything--it's important.
Riots? To be honest, even that's news to me. I always thought the prison burned by accident. But Luramin might know some more...
She replaces the ledger on the shelf and then leads Lem back out to another room in the building, where Luramin is busy filling in a ledger of his own.
Quess relays Lem's request.
Luramin strokes his beard as he thinks. Hmm. No, I'm sorry; I can't recall anything about why the warden's wife was at the prison--although Jorfa was around back then, so she may even remember. You know Jorfa? The dwarven smith, works at the Forge just across the way. I'd try there, if I were you.
You can see that Luramin, too, is now curious about why you are following this particular line of enquiry--but at this stage, he doesn't bring it up.
Yes, I think I will do that. Thank you very much, you have been very helpful.
Lem speaks in a strangely (for him) formal manner, unsure of how to make the situation less awkward. He shuffles uncomfortably to the door, embarrassed by being called out on his lie. He is sincerely grateful for the help but doesn't want to cause a panic in town by divulging information of the haunted prison, so he leaves.
I wish Raj were here to spin a yarn for curious citizens. Hopefully the dwarf is less nosy, he thinks hopefully as he walks to the forge.
Theron follows Vesmera to the spot Walter had been investigating, though he has no idea what the boy had been so interested in. "Is something wrong?" He asks as glances around.
Karrik stomps his way around a corner he could swear he rounded twice already. Thrice-cursed, ass-backward, brain-addled, good-for-nothing little town! How the hells did you get lost in Ravengro, idiot?! Karrik's mood is obviously dark as he stomps across a dirt side-road, finally spying someone he recognizes… Theron as he passes into and out of eye-line at the end of a short run between two little houses.
Karrik, mood obviously dark, jogs to catch up, "Theron! Hey, could you --" he cuts off as he sees the scene before him. Theron, Rose, Walter, and that local girl that always seems to turn up are all standing at a gazebo… apparently having a conversation about a dog, if evidence is to be believed.
Karrik catches up to Theron, "What's going on?" His blunt face darkens a bit more, "And where the hells is that damned magic shop?"
Karrik catches up to Theron, "What's going on?" His blunt face darkens a bit more, "And where the hells is that damned magic shop?"
Theron seemed a bit surprised by the anger in Karrik's voice, but answers the half-orc's questions in his usual direct and to the point manner. "Something caught Walter's attention over here and we were trying to figure out what it was. In any case, but I can show you where the shop is." He explained Karrik before turning to the rest of the group. "Assuming everything's alright, I'll give Karrik a hand and then meet the rest of you at the blacksmith."
Yes, I think I will do that. Thank you very much, you have been very helpful.
Lem speaks in a strangely (for him) formal manner, unsure of how to make the situation less awkward. He shuffles uncomfortably to the door, embarrassed by being called out on his lie. He is sincerely grateful for the help but doesn't want to cause a panic in town by divulging information of the haunted prison, so he leaves.
I wish Raj were here to spin a yarn for curious citizens. Hopefully the dwarf is less nosy, he thinks hopefully as he walks to the forge.
Walter looked... utterly dumbstruck. He watched the redwing leave with a look of total incredulity on his face. That wasn't what he had been expecting. When did birds talk? Was he going even more crazy?
Vesmera talking to the dog startled him out of his blank-faced mouth-agape trance and he let out a nervous laugh. "Oh, um, no, I thought it was, uh, hurt or something and I just had to get closer, um, I thought I saw something but I didn't." He looked panicked for a split second before returning to a forced casualness. He wondered if Vesmera would be offended if he... he felt that he'd taken a wrong step somewhere along the line of reasoning he was following. Vesmera'd cried to him before about being treated weird and like a child, and if he did the same thing, maybe he was turning into a self-righteous adult too early. He gathered his thoughts and prepared to tell her, but Theron's voice surprised him a second time. In all of the confusion he'd forgotten that he was there.
Walter shrugged animatedly as Theron approached. "Oh, no, nothing's wrong! Um, everything's fine." He smiled with a plain look of concern in his eyes.
Karrik's sudden arrival is just what he needed. He glowered and drew Theron's attention, and Walter capitalized on the distraction by leaning closer to Vesmera and whispering "I'll tell you later if you want to meet me? At the bridge," he said, giving her a sincere look. He would tell the others if it became relevant-- it seemed like, of late, he was gathering a cache of relevant topics to reveal when the time came.
Walter shrugged animatedly as Theron approached. "Oh, no, nothing's wrong! Um, everything's fine." He smiled with a plain look of concern in his eyes.
(Whispering to Vesmera) "I'll tell you later if you want to meet me? At the bridge,"
Theron gives Walter a perturbed glare, making it quite evident that he both knows that he knew he isn't being told something AND that he had overheard the whispered conversation. He opens his mouth as if to say something to Walter, but then stops himself. I suppose the boy has proven himself... he must have a reason for hiding whatever he found.
Panting on the floor as if felled by a blow, Dra We all have free will. You must make your own decisions. But you say Pharasma told you to fight in her name? If you wish to do so, then I would be happy to help, in whatever way you need. You say your faith has lapsed--why not come to Vespers this evening? Spend some time amongst the trappings of the church, and perhaps you will feel more at ease with your decision, whatever it turns out to be.Dragomir nods his assent.
I'll be there Father
The rest of the words fade into comforting babble until Septimus comes into the room.
He rises awkwardly and after securing his sheet, does his best to help Father Grimburrow.
Thanks Septimus. Appreciate it. Gimme a bit to get dressed an' stop draggin' m' feet and I'll meet you down stairs.
Karrik catches up to Theron, "What's going on?" His blunt face darkens a bit more, "And where the hells is that damned magic shop?"
Theron seemed a bit surprised by the anger in Karrik's voice, but answers him after thinking for a moment. "Something caught Walter's attention over here, but he says that 'everything is fine'. As for the magic shop... it might be best if I showed you where it is." He explained Karrik before turning to the rest of the group. "I'll give Karrik a hand and then meet the rest of you at the blacksmith. Don't get into any trouble without the rest of us." He looks at Walter as he says the last sentence before heading off with Karrik.
As Lem walks into the forge he is assailed by an almost palpable wave of heat. Inside, a handful of apprentices scurry back and forth. One stands idle next to the bellows while a dwarf--presumably this is Jorfa, the proprietor--swings her hammer rhythmically, beating a small sheet of steel into shape. She looks up as Lem enters.
Be right with you, she says, and goes back to hammering.
Lem takes a moment to look around: most of the items for sale in the forge are farming implements or other equipment--plough blades sit next to hoes and shovels--but at the rear is a smaller but still significant collection of weapons and armour, most of it metal with only a few pieces of leather. Somewhat incongruously, there is a selection of jewellery in a display case off to one side, as though it's an afterthought.
It's a minute or so before the dwarf woman picks up the piece she is working on, examines it critically, and then lays down her hammer before putting it back in the forge as the apprentice begins working the bellows.
The dwarf ambles over toward Lem and, seeing a strange halfling carrying a painting in a forge, is understandably somewhat perplexed.
Is there something I can help you with? she asks.
Jorfa is distinctly uneasy.
Walter looked... utterly dumbstruck. He watched the redwing leave with a look of total incredulity on his face. That wasn't what he had been expecting. When did birds talk? Was he going even more crazy?
...
Karrik's sudden arrival is just what [Walter] needed. [Karrik] glowered and drew Theron's attention, and Walter capitalized on the distraction by leaning closer to Vesmera and whispering "I'll tell you later if you want to meet me? At the bridge," he said, giving her a sincere look. He would tell the others if it became relevant-- it seemed like, of late, he was gathering a cache of relevant topics to reveal when the time came.
At Karrik's arrival, the dog gets up and wanders over to see what's going on. Vesmera ruffles its fur absently as it sits down next to her.
She whispers her own response to Walter's request.
All right. At four. Shop will be closed then.
A worried glance over Walter's shoulder makes it clear that, judging by Theron's expression, she thinks the inquisitor has heard the entire exchange.
See you soon, Walter, she says at more normal volume, before heading back to the shop after her sisters.
The dog follows her for several yards, and she has to shoo it back to the gazebo; her voice carries across the intervening distance. Go on, old timer, I'll bring you some food later... Finally, she makes it back to the shop, with one last wave to Walter as she heads inside.
The mopy-looking dog trails back to Walter, and sits at his feet. It looks up at the young man with hope.
Theron and Karrik traipse up to The Unfurling Scroll; Alendru is in the front room polishing an amulet. He blanches when Karrik walks in--and then even more when Theron comes in behind him.
Ah...gentlemen...w-w-welcome to The Unfurling Scroll. How can I be of assistance today?
His simpering smile makes it clear he does not intend to be any trouble today.