Raj slips into his soft boots as comes off the couch. His loose breeches and long shirt whisper as he moves, the closest thing he has to nightwear. He quickly throws on his burnoose and wraps the scarf around his neck as he listens to Theron's whispered advice.
Seeing the sense of it, Raj nods, and cat-foots out after the group, keeping to the shadows as best he can. When they arrive at the statue, he tries to remain inconspicuous, near the trees, as he watches the locals for any unusual behavior or dress.
And - curiosity getting the best of him - he casts surreptitious glances at Miss Kendra, Miss Rose, and Miss Flori...
What do well-heeled women wear to bed?
A snatch of an old poem runs through his head...
- A sweet disorder in the dress
kindles in clothes a wantonness
And - curiosity getting the best of him - he casts surreptitious glances at Miss Kendra, Miss Rose, and Miss Flori...
What do well-heeled women wear to bed?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alerted to the scene outside by the others, Rose quickly readies herself and follows the others outside. As she goes, she makes sure to grab her cloak, pulling it around her with the hood pulled down to help hide her face from the villagers.
Approaching the gathered villagers, she locates the source of their gathering. "What does it mean?" she whispers to Kendra, trying to not be heard by the villagers.
Lem laced his boots after rousing Raj. He cast a Light spell on his holy symbol and used its glow to hastily rummage through his bag. He grabbed a handful of crossbow bolts with one hand and grabbed his crossbow with the other hand, slinging it over a shoulder. He walked along apprehensively with the others, refreshing the light on his butterfly pendant every few minutes.
Was I wrong to try to wait until tomorrow to meet with Grimburrow? Am I too late?
Lem stood on his tiptoes and searches the faces of the crowd, looking for any of the Pharasman clergy.
Perception:
I applied the minus one because I wasn't sure if you were counting perception as mental or not.
What is the V written in - Perception1d20 + 5 - 1 ⇒ (16) + 5 - 1 = 20
What it might mean - Knowledge (arcana)1d20 + 6 - 1 ⇒ (19) + 6 - 1 = 24
Knowledge (history)1d20 + 6 - 1 ⇒ (7) + 6 - 1 = 12
Knowledge (planes)1d20 + 6 - 1 ⇒ (15) + 6 - 1 = 20
Knowledge (religion)1d20 + 6 - 1 ⇒ (9) + 6 - 1 = 14
Walter slips in close to take a closer look at the V now gracing the town's monument to Warden Hawkran's sacrifice. Whatever its composition, the red liquid has formed little pools and runnels amidst the embossed lettering on the plinth, giving the scene an all-too ghoulish look. Just as Walter is about to turn away, a momentary breeze caresses Walter's cheek, and he detects a metallic tang on the air--tasting it rather than smelling it--and he knows that the V on the statue has been applied with blood. No way to tell what sort, in the dark, or without examining it closer, but Walter retreats back to the crowd anyway, racking his brains for anything that might offer him some sort of explanation for the monument's desecration, but he comes up with nothing that fits this scenario.
Let's assume it's donned hastily for now. Same goes for anyone else who pulled on armour.
And - curiosity getting the best of him - he casts surreptitious glances at Miss Kendra, Miss Rose, and Miss Flori...
When Kendra comes downstairs--Rose having gone in to wake her--she is wearing a sleeveless lace-trimmed sheer chiffon nightdress that reaches to just past her knees. She holds a nightgown over one arm.
As everyone else gets ready, she shrugs her way into the nightgown and finds a pair of boots to wear. She sits down on the couch to lace them up and Raj can't help but notice the hem of her nightdress riding up to expose around a third of her thigh.
I took your first lesson to heart, Kendra says abruptly.
It takes Raj a moment to notice she is holding up the dagger he gave her earlier that night. You said everywhere, after all. She smiles as she places the dagger in an inside pocket of her nightgown.
1d20+8
1d20+4
Raj, I've made an assumption you're staying out of any light, and you're probably around 60 feet away from the gathering itself. Plus everyone is distracted, and tired.
For a brief moment, it looks to Raj like Sheriff Caeller is staring a hole right between Raj's eyes, but just as Raj is contemplating a retreat, the sheriff goes back to trying to control the crowd.
Raj's survey of the gathered Ravengrians shows him the following people of note in attendance:
- Besmer, the Pharasmin acolyte, wearing a pair of breeches and a nightshirt
- Zokar Elkarid, the owner of The Laughing Demon tavern, and his son Pevrin, both wearing a nightshirt and breeches
- Gibs, bare-legged in a threadbare nightshirt and nightcap
- An older woman, probably in her early fifties, wearing an upmarket nightgown that stands out from the rest
Approaching the gathered villagers, she locates the source of their gathering. "What does it mean?" she whispers to Kendra, trying to not be heard by the villagers.
Kendra shrugs. I'm not sure, she murmurs in return. But whatever it is, I'm sure it's not good. Benjan doesn't look happy.
Kendra is right. Benjan definitely looks like he's getting annoyed by the crowd.
Lem laced his boots after rousing Raj. He cast a Light spell on his holy symbol and used its glow to hastily rummage through his bag. He grabbed a handful of crossbow bolts with one hand and grabbed his crossbow with the other hand, slinging it over a shoulder. He walked along apprehensively with the others, refreshing the light on his butterfly pendant every few minutes.
Was I wrong to try to wait until tomorrow to meet with Grimburrow? Am I too late?
Lem stood on his tiptoes and searches the faces of the crowd, looking for any of the Pharasman clergy.
Perception: 1d20 + 4
I applied the minus one because I wasn't sure if you were counting perception as mental or not.
The number of people shying away from Lem's glowing holy symbol makes it fairly easy for him to scan the crowd, but the only member of the Church of Pharasma he can see is Besmer, the acolyte who took part in the funeral yesterday.
Walter retreated from the throng of onlookers, thinking hard. He looked around for someone to tell, and approached the group, bunched up in his traveler's coat. "It's a big V. Written in um... blood," he said in a whisper, trying not to let anyone else-- especially townsfolk-- hear. "I don't think it's an omen, but, um... I'm not sure why it's there. It might be a prank, maybe? I don't know."
He glanced around, and made sure to tell the same thing to everyone who may have wandered away from the main group...
Finding Rajuna -
... except for Rajuna, who Walter noticed was eerily missing from the group. He wondered what he might be doing, or if he had slept through-- no, he'd been awake in the house and had left with them. He looked around the outskirts of the group, trying to find him, but didn't, and gave up.
Walter sat a bit away from the townsfolk on a cold piece of ground, trying to listen in on the fringe conversations. No doubt, everyone else would be doing a fair bit of investigating themselves. Walter tried to keep a look out, but ended up half-dozing there on the ground, watching everyone else instead.
...Raj can't help but notice the hem of her nightdress riding up to expose around a third of her thigh.
"I took your first lesson to heart", Kendra says abruptly.
It takes Raj a moment to notice she is holding up the dagger he gave her earlier that night. "You said everywhere, after all." She smiles as she places the dagger in an inside pocket of her nightgown.
Raj's eyes snap up to her face and then to the dagger, grateful that she didn't seem to notice where his gaze was lingering. His relieved smile is genuine... just not motivated entirely by her being such a diligent student. "Glad to see it, Miss. You'll make a good bladeswoman. We'll try to make sure it's a skill you never need to use."
Awkwardness growing by the second in the presence of this half-dressed woman, he slides away to grab his burnoose and head for the door.
For a brief moment, it looks to Raj like Sheriff Caeller is staring a hole right between Raj's eyes, but just as Raj is contemplating a retreat, the sheriff goes back to trying to control the crowd.
The shadow-decked thief watches the sheriff's eyes seeking him in the darkness... Oh, hell! ...and then they slide away, completing Rajuna's second heart attack of the evening.
Maybe not just yet.
Flori will bring all her weapons. Can't be too careful.
Karrik stands with arms crossed on the edge of the group, he continues to adjust the armor he haphazardly tossed on while running out the door. Hatless, his tattoos are stark black shadows against his gray skin in the scant lighting. For the hundredth time he had an internal debate about bringing armor and blade, but with the way that crowd acted before the burial…
His black eyes run nervously over the crowd. This wasn't the first time he'd seen a village of Canterwallers gathering like this. Hells.. not the first time this week. Torches and impromptu weapons in hand, nervousness and fear hanging in the air. This could turn into a mob in a heartbeat, his eyes flick over to Flori, and guess who they'll turn on first.
He takes the few strides over to his fellow half-orc. His voice is no more friendly than it has been this whole time with the other half-orc, but his caution and concern are genuine as he whispers, "This concerns me, Miss Flori. If things get ugly here, I can be at your back."
Message delivered, Karrik moves back to the edge of the group again, finishing up his adjustments to his armor, then finishing by trying to pull his coat closed enough to conceal it from the crowd. While the scene was curious, Karrik was uncomfortable moving to inspect anything before the Sheriff addressed the situation. The wrong word from the wrong person and this situation could get bad… fast.
Walter gets a weary look from Theron as he walks back to the group. The inquisitor wasn't sure that it was a good idea to be looking at the statue without talking to the sheriff first, but he had a feeling that the man was probably too irritated by this occurrence for it to be a good time to talk to him anyway. "There's something more to this than just a prank, the townsfolk are talking it too seriously. I also don't like that this is happened to this specific statue..."
Theron cautiously tries to listen in on what the people of the crowd are saying to each-other to try and determine the mark's significance...
Perception:
Sense Motive:
.
Flori will bring all her weapons. Can't be too careful.
As Flori makes her way into the crowd, she can't help but notice as the locals either avert their gaze entirely, or stare too long. Some of them are staring at her face or her weapons, but the most disconcerting are the ones that stare at her body as though unable to comprehend the concept of an obviously female half-orc.
Humans have normal vision--they can see in the visible spectrum just like you or I can. (I admit I'm making an assumption you are human, but I reckon that's fairly safe.)
Animals with good low-light vision have a tapetum lucidum--usually a layer in their eye that reflects light back through the retina. It's long been my assumption that low-light vision uses this mechanism.
Some animals can see into the ultraviolet or infrared spectra. It's my assumption that darkvision is essentially the ability to see into the near infrared.
I knew I'd find a use for my science degree one day. ; )
So how does this affect the party? Well, a torch now only sheds normal light out to five feet, but dim light out to 40 feet. Taking Perception checks as the differentiator and assuming each PC is alone and holding a torch in an otherwise totally dark place, then Lem, Raj, Walter, Theron and Dragomir can make checks as normal within their square (let's say they lean in close to examine the something with the torch close by to help), and make Perception checks at -2 (for unfavourable conditions) out to 40 ft. After 40 ft. they may not make Perception checks based on sight at all.
Rose, with low-light vision, can make Perception checks as normal within 5 ft., and can make Perception checks at -2 out to 80 ft. Plus Rose's eyes will reflect light, like a cat's. : )
Karrik and Flori can make Perception checks as normal out to 60 ft., but cannot make Perception checks at all after that. Does that make sense?
Karrik stands with arms crossed on the edge of the group, he continues to adjust the armor he haphazardly tossed on while running out the door. Hatless, his tattoos are stark black shadows against his gray skin in the scant lighting. For the hundredth time he had an internal debate about bringing armor and blade, but with the way that crowd acted before the burial…
His black eyes run nervously over the crowd. This wasn't the first time he'd seen a village of Canterwallers gathering like this. Hells.. not the first time this week. Torches and impromptu weapons in hand, nervousness and fear hanging in the air. This could turn into a mob in a heartbeat, his eyes flick over to Flori, and guess who they'll turn on first.
I should probably note, in case anyone has the wrong impression, that the only people who are obviously armed here are the PCs and the sheriff and his deputies. The rest of the crowd are in some variation of nightwear and don't have obvious weapons save for the torches, which could be pressed into service as improvised weapons if the situation required.
He takes the few strides over to his fellow half-orc. His voice is no more friendly than it has been this whole time with the other half-orc, but his caution and concern are genuine as he whispers, "This concerns me, Miss Flori. If things get ugly here, I can be at your back."
Message delivered, Karrik moves back to the edge of the group again, finishing up his adjustments to his armor, then finishing by trying to pull his coat closed enough to conceal it from the crowd. While the scene was curious, Karrik was uncomfortable moving to inspect anything before the Sheriff addressed the situation. The wrong word from the wrong person and this situation could get bad… fast.
As Karrik moves back to the rear of the crowd, he is jostled by the occasional unnecessary elbow or shoulder. The locals really aren't fond of outsiders--which goes double for half-orcs. And although they are less openly abusive than the folks back in Tamrivena, that just makes for less certainty about their intentions.
Walter retreated from the throng of onlookers, thinking hard. He looked around for someone to tell, and approached the group, bunched up in his traveler's coat. "It's a big V. Written in um... blood," he said in a whisper, trying not to let anyone else-- especially townsfolk-- hear. "I don't think it's an omen, but, um... I'm not sure why it's there. It might be a prank, maybe? I don't know."
Walter gets a weary look from Theron as he walks back to the group. The inquisitor wasn't sure that it was a good idea to be looking at the statue without talking to the sheriff first, but he had a feeling that the man was probably too irritated by this occurrence for it to be a good time to talk to him anyway. "There's something more to this than just a prank, the townsfolk are talking it too seriously. I also don't like that this is happened to this specific statue..."
Theron cautiously tries to listen in on what the people of the crowd are saying to each-other to try and determine its significance...
Perception: 1d20+7-1
Sense Motive: 1d20+7-1
The crowd's mutterings run the gamut; Theron overhears all of the following in the three or so minutes since the group arrived.
- "Well, it's got to be some sort of prank, doesn't it? Kids are always down here late at night."
- "What do you think it is? Paint? Blood? Some kind of soup?"
- "This will not do. We'll have to convene the council. See to it, first thing tomorrow."
- "This is a bad omen. Pharasma has shown her displeasure!"
"Don't be silly. Pharasma has nothing to do with this."
"How can you say that? Pharasma sees all, knows all! We must redouble our efforts to be penitent in her eyes! Forgive my husband his transgressions! I will repent on his behalf!"
<muttered> "Pharasma, grant me the strength to endure that which I can't change..." - "I bet it's them outsiders that done this. Look, there's one over there, looking all smug. They're staying at the Lorrimor place. Think we sh--"
"Shhh! They'll hear us!"
"You two are starting to sound like that old bastard Gibs. Give it a rest, will you?" - "I bet that boy of Zokar's is responsible for this. He's always around somewhere."
"He is, in fact, right behind you."
"Oh! Zokar! I...didn't see you there."
"Evidently."
As for the mood/purpose of the crowd, it seems they're more or less just there for the show. Which is not to say things couldn't change, but there's no malice anywhere--except in the sheriff's body language as he exhorts the crowd to move on once more.
Please, the sheriff tries one more time, all of you, go home. There is nothing to be gained by standing around in the cold, staring at a letter that could mean anything. The longer you stay here, the longer it will take us to begin our investigations. And I don't know about you, but I would much prefer to catch whoever did this than spend my time being nursemaid to you lot!
The sheriff realises he's yelling, and has to pause and take a deep breath before continuing.
So I'll ask you one more time--please, just go home. When we have something to tell you, we will.
The crowd murmurs. Some of them disperse, but many remain--to the sheriff's chagrin.
Walter sat a bit away from the townsfolk on a cold piece of ground, trying to listen in on the fringe conversations. No doubt, everyone else would be doing a fair bit of investigating themselves. Walter tried to keep a look out, but ended up half-dozing there on the ground, watching everyone else instead.
As Walter watches the milling crowd, a small figure detaches from the group and comes to stand before him. It is Vesmera Avanaki. She looks cold.
Hello Walter, she says, and sits down next to him.
They pass a few moments in silence before Vesmera speaks again.
This is weird, isn't it? I guess you might not know, because you're new here, but lots of people our age come down here at night to...you know...
Even in the dimness of the flickering torchlight, Walter can see her face going red.
Anyway, do you know what's going on? I should probably get back soon; my parents weren't awake when I came down here, so they might be annoyed to find...
Vesmera stops talking for long enough that Walter begins to wonder if she's fallen asleep. Turning to look, he sees her staring at the statue. When Walter follows her gaze, he sees a small brown songbird with red flanks and brown splotches on a white chest and belly.
I wonder what it's doing out here this late? Vesmera says. A redwing would normally be asleep at this hour.
The bird continues to observe Walter and Vesmera for a while, and then flies off.
Walter retreated from the throng of onlookers, thinking hard. He approached the group, and bunched up in his traveler's coat. "It's a big V. Written in um... blood," he said in a whisper, trying not to let anyone else-- especially townsfolk-- hear. "I don't think it's an omen, but, um... I'm not sure why it's there. It might be a prank, maybe? I don't know."
He glanced around, looking for someone...
Running a hand down his face, pulling at his brow, Dragomir yawns then belches. Blinking several times owlishly he straightens and stretches.
Coherent thought, battling its way through a haze of ale fumes, has not made much progress leaving him confused and oblivious.
What'ya mean its writ in blood?
While not boomed out through the night air, it wasn't whispered either.
Around Dragomir, the mood quickly changes. He finds himself in an open space as people shrink away from him.
For a brief moment, it looks to Raj like Sheriff Caeller is staring a hole right between Raj's eyes, but just as Raj is contemplating a retreat, the sheriff goes back to trying to control the crowd.The shadow-decked thief watches the sheriff's eyes seeking him in the darkness... Oh, hell! ...and then they slide away, completing Rajuna's second heart attack of the evening.
Things down near the statue appear to be changing; even from this distance, Raj can see that the crowd is moving away from the massive shadow that must be Dragomir.
But clearly, Dragomir is in no danger. Raj can relax.
Exasperated, the sheriff directs his deputies to maintain order while he strides over to stand in front of Dragomir. He is clearly displeased--and is only a couple of inches shorter, although he does give up maybe forty pounds along with those inches.
And you are? Describing his manner as 'perfunctory' would be optimistic.
Look, Dragomir*, I still have close to thirty people here gawking-- he gives the remaining onlookers a withering glance --at this thing. I don't know what it is right now. If these people don't go home, we may never even get the chance to sort it out, because any evidence will be lost. So when I say 'please stop inciting the crowd', understand that I mean it with respect. I can see you're not an imbecile, so please, if you would be so kind, and if you want to make yourself useful, help me send these people home so I can get on with my job.
He waits for Dragomir's response, seemingly unafraid of the much larger man.
Raj has no knowledge of what we call Roman numerals. As far as he's concerned, V is a letter and isn't anything else.
Lem, holy symbol shining brightly, confidently walks in between Benjan and Dragomir. He extends one hand in greeting to the sheriff while lightly pushing Dragomir back a few steps and giving him a quick nod and glance that implies: "I got this."
Hello, Sheriff. Lem Longbarrow, humble servant of the Great Dreamer. He turns his eyes skyward and bows his head, raising his hands.
I think I can help you. It seems that you need these people out of here in a hurry, and, well, my voice carries. When one preaches without a roof, sometimes the wind and thunder are just as much in attendance as one's flock. If you would permit me to disperse them?
Assuming he complies, Lem addresses the gathering crowd, his booming voice echoing into the night:
Good people of Ravengro, let us return to our beds to talk about these things on the morrow. Most like it was a foolish childhood prank of no significance--why lose sleep over that? But if it is something more, a portent of some kind, we'd best disperse and leave the sheriff to his work. The sun rises and vanquishes all trace of the night--while the many starry eyes of the great Desna are upon us, all clues must be gathered quickly and without disruption, lest the dawn drive away the valuable information. If you would follow me, I will gladly light the path.
With that, he begins walking back to town without looking back to see how many people follow.
Diplomacy (assuming I don't sleep in my parade armor):
Theron calms down a bit after listening in on the conversations. So, they had just heard that someone put a mark on the statue and came to see? Maybe it was rare for anything interesting to happen in this town. Though, it was disturbing that some of the townsfolk thought that the 'outsiders' were responsible for this...
The inquisitor distances himself a bit from Dragomir after the townsfolk hear him, and nods in approval as he watches Lem handle the situation. I need to get a bit better at handling things like that without.. intimidation.
With any luck the crowd would gone shortly and the sheriff would be in a good enough mood to talk to momentarily. He begins looking about a bit to see if any of the townsfolk are acting suspiciously as they leave... after all, it was possible that one of them did this. At least, he hoped that this really was just a bad prank...
Perception:
Sense Motive:
Exasperated, the sheriff directs his deputies to maintain order while he strides over to stand in front of Dragomir. He is clearly displeased--and is only a couple of inches shorter, although he does give up maybe forty pounds along with those inches.
And you are? Describing his manner as 'perfunctory' would be optimistic.
"Dragomir"
He burped again but with enough presence of mind to turn his head rather than in the Sheriffs face.
Look, Dragomir*, I still have close to thirty people here gawking-- he gives the remaining onlookers a withering glance --at this thing. I don't know what it is right now. If these people don't go home, we may never even get the chance to sort it out, because any evidence will be lost. So when I say 'please stop inciting the crowd', understand that I mean it with respect. I can see you're not an imbecile, so please, if you would be so kind, and if you want to make yourself useful, help me send these people home so I can get on with my job.
He waits for Dragomir's response, seemingly unafraid of the much larger man.
Lem, holy symbol shining brightly, confidently walks in between Benjan and Dragomir. He extends one hand in greeting to the sheriff while lightly pushing Dragomir back a few steps and giving him a quick nod and glance that implies: "I got this."
Hello, Sheriff. Lem Longbarrow, humble servant of the Great Dreamer. He turns his eyes skyward and bows his head, raising his hands.
I think I can help you. It seems that you need these people out of here in a hurry, and, well, my voice carries. When one preaches without a roof, sometimes the wind and thunder are just as much in attendance as one's flock. If you would permit me to disperse them?
Assuming he complies, Lem addresses the gathering crowd, his booming voice echoing into the night:
Good people of Ravengro, let us return to our beds to talk about these things on the morrow. Most like it was a foolish childhood prank of no significance--why lose sleep over that? But if it is something more, a portent of some kind, we'd best disperse and leave the sheriff to his work. The sun rises and vanquishes all trace of the night--while the many starry eyes of the great Desna are upon us, all clues must be gathered quickly and without disruption, lest the dawn drive away the valuable information. If you would follow me, I will gladly light the path.
With that, he begins walking back to town without looking back to see how many people follow.
Sure enough Lem, Dragomir agreed. He turned to the Sheriff in a conciliatory manner. Didn't mean nothin' by it - just somethin' I heard in the crowd.
Dragomir blinked again a few times then slapped himself in the face and shook himself.
I COULD tell this lot to go home Sheriff, indicating the mob with a jerk of his head, but I come from a town like this one, an' you and I BOTH know I ain't gonna be thanked for it - tell ya what I will do though, is I'll head back and get the folks at the Lorrimor place to leave with me. Okay?, Anyway's the Little Padre said it best.... He looked a bit thoughtful, even if he used fancy words to make his point
He looked around the crowd for his fellow mourners, Kendra and down the road at Lem and his circle of light retreating towards the house and raised his voice just enough so that it carried without sounding like shouting.
Best head back people - a warm bed and a few hours sleep will do us more good than standin' round 'ere and watchin'... thats a lession I learned a long time ago. 'Sides these folk have to get up for chores in a bit and we ain't helpin' them get any sleep by bein' out here with them.
Circling his hand in a manner used by wagoneers that meant 'gather up', Dragomir moves through the crowd, past Flori and Karrik and back towards the house.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
As Walter watches the milling crowd, a small figure detaches from the group and comes to stand before him. It is Vesmera Avanaki. She looks cold.
Hello Walter, she says, and sits down next to him.
Walter rubs the sleepiness out of his eyes, and says "Um, hi." Walter sat there, aware of her, but still in a sleep-daze, his mind half blasting away trying to figure out what it could mean. It had to have something to do with everything going on-- there were no coincidences. Vesmera showing up threw his thoughts sideways like cable unraveling and he tried to pull it back together.
They pass a few moments in silence before Vesmera speaks again.
This is weird, isn't it? I guess you might not know, because you're new here, but lots of people our age come down here at night to...you know...
Even in the dimness of the flickering torchlight, Walter can see her face going red.
Walter's attention on the task at hand broke, and he glanced over to face her. He wanted to ask her to repeat herself, but he got the gist of it. "Oh," he said. "I see."
Anyway, do you know what's going on? I should probably get back soon; my parents weren't awake when I came down here, so they might be annoyed to find...
"Well, um," he tried to explain. "Someone put a big, uh, red mark on the statue, it's um, a big V, and it's drawn in um..." He paused-- in the dark, he couldn't see her eyes too well, and it seemed like she might have been asleep. A torch flickered and he saw where she was looking and looked too, at the bird. It looked like it was watching.
I wonder what it's doing out here this late? Vesmera says. A redwing would normally be asleep at this hour.
The bird continues to observe Walter and Vesmera for a while, and then flies off.
Walter had no idea, but he wished he had. There were a lot of books he'd never read, and, well, it would've been keen of him to know what kind of bird it was and why it was there. At least it would've made him look smart. Instead, he knew all about the selection process and famous individuals who had been chosen as the martyr of the Eternal Kiss celebration and it's oracular taboo, especially as related to the Church of Pharasma and the Age of Lost Omens. Walter summoned up all of his literary knowledge and said "Redwing? Well... it is red." Walter's face flushed and he felt stupid for saying something like that.
"Do... you know a lot about birds?" he asked. "And, um, if you're cold, you can take my jacket. I should be fine," he said, removing it and offering it to her. It was a big, frayed and long-sleeved thick thing, almost military, evoking imagery of a winter campaign. Marvo Bresrin had given it to him-- a memento of his uncle who had survived the civil war at Furcina. Walter considered whether or not Vesmera would steal it or ruin it, but he felt like impressing a girl for once.
He noticed Dragomir's conversation, his 'round-up' and wondered if he should follow. Walter waited to see what Vesmera would do, feeling as if he should stay with her. Dragomir wasn't his boss. "If you're gonna leave I can walk you home," he said, thinking of the blood and that it might be dangerous to be out alone.
Karrik continues to nervously wait from the edge of the crowd, doing his best not to stand out. Especially doing his best to hide his weapons and armor. How did I miss that they weren't armed?!
He pulls his coat tighter. The night air was chilling his armor against his bare chest. He couldn't help but look over at Kendra. If she had enemies, a dark night like this full of distractions would be a prime time to strike.
I think I can help you. It seems that you need these people out of here in a hurry, and, well, my voice carries. When one preaches without a roof, sometimes the wind and thunder are just as much in attendance as one's flock. If you would permit me to disperse them?
Sheriff Caeller nods curtly and Lem steps out in front of the crowd, his practised voice carrying in the quiet created by Dragomir's earlier comment, without seeming loud.
Good people of Ravengro, let us return to our beds to talk about these things on the morrow. Most like it was a foolish childhood prank of no significance--why lose sleep over that? But if it is something more, a portent of some kind, we'd best disperse and leave the sheriff to his work. The sun rises and vanquishes all trace of the night--while the many starry eyes of the great Desna are upon us, all clues must be gathered quickly and without disruption, lest the dawn drive away the valuable information. If you would follow me, I will gladly light the path.
With that, he begins walking back to town without looking back to see how many people follow.
Even before he makes his way back to town, Lem can see his words have had an effect on the townspeople. Many of them even look somewhat sheepish at being out of bed at 3am. Lem has quite the entourage as he heads back, including the sour-faced Gibs.
###
From his vantage point in amongst the copse of willows on the riverbank, Raj can see that Dragomir's comments have mollified the Sheriff. He watches the procession head past, while Karrik and Theron both pay close attention too as they follow along. The people file back to their homes as they go, with Dragomir and some of the others stopping at the Lorrimor house too. Gibs turns out to live in a rather dilapidated shack near the river.
###
Walter had no idea, but he wished he had. There were a lot of books he'd never read, and, well, it would've been keen of him to know what kind of bird it was and why it was there. At least it would've made him look smart. Instead, he knew all about the selection process and famous individuals who had been chosen as the martyr of the Eternal Kiss celebration and it's oracular taboo, especially as related to the Church of Pharasma and the Age of Lost Omens. Walter summoned up all of his literary knowledge and said "Redwing? Well... it is red." Walter's face flushed and he felt stupid for saying something like that.I wonder what it's doing out here this late? Vesmera says. A redwing would normally be asleep at this hour.
The bird continues to observe Walter and Vesmera for a while, and then flies off.
Vesmera's bright laughter floods Walter's mind. So it is, she says, turning to face him. Far from his fear of sounding stupid, it seems Walter's comment has kindled something in Vesmera. Walter can see the mirth in her eyes, each of the torches held by the townsfolk reflected as tiny pinpoints of light as she holds his gaze just a little longer than would normally be comfortable, before smiling and turning to stare at her boots. For just a moment, it had looked like she held the entire starry sky in her eyes.
"Do... you know a lot about birds?" he asked. "And, um, if you're cold, you can take my jacket. I should be fine," he said, removing it and offering it to her. It was a big, frayed and long-sleeved thick thing, almost military, evoking imagery of a winter campaign. Marvo Bresrin had given it to him-- a memento of his uncle who had survived the civil war at Furcina. Walter considered whether or not Vesmera would steal it or ruin it, but he felt like impressing a girl for once.
Vesmera stands up as Walter holds the jacket out, turning around to slide her arms in while Walter lifts the jacket over her shoulders. Yes, she says in response to Walter's question. I guess I do know a lot about birds--I've loved watching them ever since I was a little girl.
With the jacket properly on her shoulders, but still facing away from Walter, Vesmera holds her arms out and looks at the sleeves. Thank you, she says. This looks old. It must be precious to you. She turns around to face Walter again, but misjudges her position and almost knocks him over. Walter has to reach a hand out to catch her and they find themselves only inches apart.
Walter can feel the warmth of her breath on his chest as they find themselves in an accidental embrace. The seconds draw out as the world seems to go silent. Vesmera is just opening her mouth to say something when Dragomir's voice shatters the stillness of the night.
Best head back people - a warm bed and a few hours sleep will do us more good than standin' round 'ere and watchin'... thats a lession I learned a long time ago. 'Sides these folk have to get up for chores in a bit and we ain't helpin' them get any sleep by bein' out here with them.
Vesmera gives Walter a nervous, apologetic smile and steps back a pace, drawing Walter's too-big coat around her.
He noticed Dragomir's conversation, his 'round-up' and wondered if he should follow. Walter waited to see what Vesmera would do, feeling as if he should stay with her. Dragomir wasn't his boss.
I should really be getting home, Vesmera says.
"If you're gonna leave I can walk you home," he said, thinking of the blood and that it might be dangerous to be out alone.
Vesmera smiles, even as she shivers in the cold. I'd like that, she says. I'd like that a lot. They make their way slowly back to the square.
###
Kendra, Lem and the others are still in the town square when one of Sheriff Caeller's deputies hustles into the square and makes his way across to the jail. He takes out an enormous key unlocks the door, then heads inside.
Shortly, he reappears and locks the door, and then heads back toward the monument, a sunrod in his hand.
Looks like he's heading back to finish the investigation, Kendra says. Should we go back down? Or, if you wanted, now would be an opportune time to check out the crypt, while everyone is distracted.
A few moments pass while Lem looks at her incredulously.
What? Kendra adopts a mock-innocent expression. Did you think that nothing rubbed off from my father? She smiles.
Raj has no intention of following the herd when the action is here.
Sheep get herded and fleeced, wolves don't. Of course, incautious wolves get skinned...
The Varisian wraps the burnoose closer about himself and considers his hiding place:
- Distance and darkness are my cloak
- The investigation will likely range away from the statue
- It may lead them this way
- I could be out here for hours and it'll get light sooner or later
Erring on the side of caution, Rajuna waits until the sheriff and deputies are distracted - herding the last few stragglers away - before he silently climbs the tree obscuring any footprints he may have left at its base with a swipe of his boot. He slides amid the branches no more than 10' above the ground and hunkers down to hide, watch, listen... and pray he remains undiscovered.
Karrik's eyes snap back to Kendra, surprised at her suggestion, though he can't help but smile a bit. He'd come to make sure she remained safe, though it might take more than just me if this is her idea of a fun late evening... well, early morning.
He looks around in the evening, watching the receding light of the sun rod as the Sheriff headed back towards the statue. Great... the perfect time for Rajuna to be here, and he's nowhere to be seen.
He exchanges glances with Lem, "I'm not sure we have the correct personnel on-hand for that particular assignment. Master Lem, what do you think. If your desire was to try to obtain the items through more conventional means, then I'd suggest we head back to the house. If we handled things poorly, it would all but assure that you couldn't talk them out of the old man."
Lem thoughtfully considers Karrik's questions.
I'm pretty sure I can break through Iona's armor and get her to grant us access to the temple records about the Harrowstone prisoners. As far as getting permission to access the crypt, I don't know how Father Grimburrow will respond, but I will try to convey the urgency of the professor's message. Still, the letter implied that the church is unaware of the cache. Were we to try to break in and fail, assuming we all left in one piece, we could likely then ask Grimburrow for permission and attempt entry again.
It is a difficult fork in the road. Tonight's disturbing vandalism makes me want to hasten to the crypt, but we are ill-prepared for a journey tonight, both regarding our spells and our information of the defenses set in place by the Pharasmans. I would not dare make such a choice when so much hangs in the balance. But Lady Luck has brought us together, and she alone will guide us. Let us leave the decision to her.
The priest holds up a coin and points to each side, one being marked. Tonight...Tomorrow .
He then looks to the night sky, and flips the coin high in the air.
He stands over the coin, and looks at Karrik with conviction.
In this, my own thoughts are insignificant. Desna herself wills us to have patience--I will speak with Grimburrow tomorrow. It is unwise to go against Desna's wishes when so much is unknown about this crypt.
"Yeah," he confirmed, almost as an aside after they started walking. "It was my... foster dad's uncle's. He wore it during the war in Ardeal, way before I was born." Walter didn't want to go into the confusing tangle of his family situation, and was relieved when Vesmera just quietly listened. The coat on her was massive, the shoulders outstretching her own, the sleeves overtaking her hands and the bottom of it almost dragging through the grass. It gave her the appearance of a kid playing dress-up, and Walter smiled self-consciously when he thought that he probably looked the same in it.
It was a long walk back, through the fields on the outskirts of Ravengro, and a silent one. The muttering of the townspeople around him, quiet whispering and grumbling kept Walter from working up the courage to make small talk as he and Vesmera made their way back to the crossroads. The chill in the air at night was beginning to wear on him, but Walter tried not to show it.
When they passed the Lorrimor house, Walter turned to Vesmera and asked her to wait for just a minute. "Okay," she responded, and stepped out of the stream of people heading back to their beds. Walter hurried over to the front door of the estate, finding Dragomir ushering everyone else inside.
"I'm, uh, going to walk Vesmera home. I'll be back," he said, and quickly returned. His quick sidetrack had left them at the rear of the crowd, now, and they walked side by side in near-darkness. Walter wished he'd kept his torch-- who took it, after all, was kind of lost in the haze of sleep-- and, feeling protective, reached out to take Vesmera's hand.
Before he could, she lifted her arms and picked at the coat's collar, and he pretended like he was just putting his hands in his pockets. Walter caught her glancing over her shoulder back to the Lorrimor house and she asked him, quietly and carefully, "Was that your dad?" She compared the size of the coat to Dragomir, and was slightly incredulous.
Walter denied it quickly. "No, no. He's, uh... a friend. He'd just be worried if I disappeared somewhere." Walter suddenly wondered if he looked anything like Dragomir. "Why, do I... look like him?"
Vesmera shook her head. "No. Um... no."
Ravengro seemed empty, almost desolate when Walter walked Vesmera through the town square and past the gazebo. Even though people were going back inside their houses, only a few seemed to be turning on lights. The torchlight gave Walter the feel like they had just come across this place, empty and dark, like it wasn't supposed to be here. He heard the ping of a coin flip, and glanced over to see shadows-- some he could easily tell were Lem, Kendra and Karrik-- apparently engaged in a discussion.
The general store stood like a mausoleum in the dark, the tree to its left shivering in the scant wind. The empty windows looked like eyes, and the shadows cast on the porch reminded Walter of teeth. Maybe it was a combination of how tired he was, what he had seen, Vesmera being there or just the deep, oppressive feeling of fear that weighed on the town, but Walter could feel a voice crawl its way up out of the depth of his ear, like an insect, tickling the back of his skull with a wispy antennae. Walter. When he looked to find it, it wasn't there. He tried to clear the mechanism in his head, but the haze made focusing hard. Everyone is dying, Walter. There's so much mud. He hadn't realized they had all but stopped, and when Vesmera turned around, he was boring a hole into empty space with his eyes.
"Are you okay?" Vesmera asked him, trying to catch his gaze.
He gave her a false smile, snapped back to reality and nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry. Just, um... tired." Is there something wrong with you? "Haven't gotten any real sleep. Um... I'll see you tomorrow morning, then, okay? Right here at the gazebo?" Walter.
Vesmera smiled. Walter wished he could pay attention to it. "Yeah. Goodnight," and she walked up the steps to the general store. Walter returned the goodbye and walked away-- the moment he felt like she wasn't paying attention, he ran his hand hard against the side of his head, squinting, trying to focus on the uncomfortable pressure.
Walter approached the shadows of Kendra, Lem, and Karrik. He stood there, quietly, gave them all a small wave as a greeting, and kept focusing on keeping the voices out. It was only after a moment of standing there, wishing that Pharasma would make him a stone that he noticed that he'd left the coat with Vesmera. He wondered if she'd noticed, either, but when he turned back, the general store was as empty looking as it had been when they'd come up to it. He turned back to the group, feeling the pang of forgetfulness. She's going to rip it up and make it into bandages, like it should have been.
Walter ignored it. "So... what's going on?" he whispered, for the second time that night.
Walter hurried over to the front door of the estate, finding Dragomir waving and trying to usher everyone else inside.
"I'm, uh, going to walk Vesmera home. I'll be back," he said
.
Dragomir turned to look over, and though Walter never saw it, Dragomir's response was a big grin before he entered the house, and left the front door open.
He stirred up the hearth and put the kettle on. He was now aware that most of the Lorrimor people had chosen not to head to the house... Which was fine by him. He didn't need "stroking", and they weren't his crew.
He fetched his massive sword from his room and put himself close to the fire and watching the door. Watching for the rest of the mourners of Lorrimor to return, he started to hone the already sharp blade.
It's a copse of willows. The only flowers are purplish catkins. The fruit won't be in yet; they are small brown rounded pods that don't make good eating. The sap is used for beauty treatments (in our world salicylic acid is in pimple treatments) but otherwise the trees aren't cultivated for much. They are mostly in that spot to prevent erosion of the riverbank. : )
Hope that helps!
Karrik nods down at the halfling. "Wills of gods and the fickle nature of chance aside.."
Not to mention the seeming lack of difference between the two.
"… I think delaying until we are more appropriately prepared is wise." Karrik thinks back on his conversation with Rajuna, deciding not to let on the specifics. When he speaks again, his voice is low as his back eyes scan their surroundings for potential eavesdroppers, "And if our group is to make an attempt on the Pharasmin crypt, you cannot make any mention of anything touching on it to Grimburrow. Before or after we make the attempt. Are we certain the Pharasmins are unaware of the crypt?"
"… I think delaying until we are more appropriately prepared is wise." Karrik thinks back on his conversation with Rajuna, deciding not to let on the specifics. When he speaks again, his voice is low as his back eyes scan their surroundings for potential eavesdroppers, "And if our group is to make an attempt on the Pharasmin crypt, you cannot make any mention of anything touching on it to Grimburrow. Before or after we make the attempt. Are we certain the Pharasmins are unaware of the crypt?"
Theron hesitates a bit before stating his opinion, and looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear this conversation about the crypt. He had intended to see if he could help the sheriff with his investigation, but if this was a good chance for them to get the items they needed from the crypt...
"Personally, I would prefer if we do now while we have a chance, and without asking. I've had too many problems with those who are supposed to be in authority not understanding... necessity. They might just try to claim the equipment for themselves, and then make a mess if things."
Karrik switches his gaze over to the Iomaedan, "Have you ever run an operation like the one proposed?" He pauses to take in the man's accouterments. "Seems like one of your order would generally shy away from such acts. Plus, if we are to attempt such an endeavor, I wouldn't be surprised if certain individuals within our newly-formed group have skills and resources that would prove invaluable. If the Phrasmins are currently unaware of the crypt, and if we decide it is worth raiding, then I believe we need to have every advantage we can muster."
He gives a quick nod to the pint-sized priest, with a hint of a smile turning up the corner of his thick lips, "Plus, I think you might have a difficult time persuading Master Lem's coin that now is the time to strike."
Rose sits silently aside while the others discuss their options. "I'm not fond of keeping secrets like this, especially from the church of Pharasma, but Theron may be right to hide it. The Professor didn't include Father Grimburrow in our group, so we can't necessarily trust him yet." She keeps her voice hushed as she speaks.
Looks like he's heading back to finish the investigation, Kendra says. Should we go back down? Or, if you wanted, now would be an opportune time to check out the crypt, while everyone is distracted.
"I'm not sure we have the correct personnel on-hand for that particular assignment. Master Lem, what do you think. If your desire was to try to obtain the items through more conventional means, then I'd suggest we head back to the house. If we handled things poorly, it would all but assure that you couldn't talk them out of the old man."
Tonight's disturbing vandalism makes me want to hasten to the crypt, but we are ill-prepared for a journey tonight, both regarding our spells and our information of the defenses set in place by the Pharasmans. I would not dare make such a choice when so much hangs in the balance. But Lady Luck has brought us together, and she alone will guide us. Let us leave the decision to her.
The priest holds up a coin and points to each side, one being marked. Tonight...Tomorrow .
He then looks to the night sky, and flips the coin high in the air.
He stands over the coin, and looks at Karrik with conviction.
In this, my own thoughts are insignificant. Desna herself wills us to have patience--I will speak with Grimburrow tomorrow. It is unwise to go against Desna's wishes when so much is unknown about this crypt.
"I think delaying until we are more appropriately prepared is wise." Karrik thinks back on his conversation with Rajuna, deciding not to let on the specifics. When he speaks again, his voice is low as his back eyes scan their surroundings for potential eavesdroppers, "And if our group is to make an attempt on the Pharasmin crypt, you cannot make any mention of anything touching on it to Grimburrow. Before or after we make the attempt. Are we certain the Pharasmins are unaware of the crypt?"
My father's note did say they had no knowledge of it, but I am willing to concede that he may have been wrong in his assertion. He was not perfect, Kendra says.
"Personally, I would prefer if we do now while we have a chance, and without asking. I've had too many problems with those who are supposed to be in authority not understanding... necessity. They might just try to claim the equipment for themselves, and then make a mess if things."
For what it's worth, Kendra interjects, I've known Father Grimburrow for ten years; he's not quite so hidebound as his age might suggest, and has led more than a few reforms over his tenure here. He should be willing to listen to reason. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean he'll necessarily be willing to simply part with the items in the cache--but we'll never know if we don't ask.
We should also consider my father's actions; from his note, it sounded to me like he had already broken in, and he obviously didn't ask for permission. But the question remains about whether his reticence was due to a lack of trust for Father Grimburrow, or purely because word would eventually get out and he didn't want the townsfolk knowing he had 'plundered' a Pharasmin tomb. Theron, you were there earlier today--did you see anything that might indicate the crypt had already been opened?
"Plus, if we are to attempt such an endeavor, I wouldn't be surprised if certain individuals within our newly-formed group have skills and resources that would prove invaluable. If the Phrasmins are currently unaware of the crypt, and if we decide it is worth raiding, then I believe we need to have every advantage we can muster."
He gives a quick nod to the pint-sized priest, with a hint of a smile turning up the corner of his thick lips, "Plus, I think you might have a difficult time persuading Master Lem's coin that now is the time to strike."
Quite. Kendra smiles too.
"I'm not fond of keeping secrets like this, especially from the church of Pharasma, but Theron may be right to hide it. The Professor didn't include Father Grimburrow in our group, so we can't necessarily trust him yet."
So, Lem's coin notwithstanding, we have three options. First, we could gather our resources--by which I chiefly mean Rajuna--and try to break in tonight, or, possibly, wait until tomorrow night. Alternatively, we can go and ask Father Grimburrow for permission to open the crypt in the morning. The third option would be a middle way: we could go tonight--while everyone is distracted--but only to look, not touch. More information is always useful, and knowing whether or not my father broke in would perhaps give us more solid ground upon which to make our decision.
Their discussion is momentarily interrupted by Walter's return.
"So... what's going on?" he whispered, for the second time that night.
Well, says Kendra, Lem here has just petitioned Desna for divine aid and discovered that the best course of action will be to wait until the morning to ask Father Grimburrow about the cache in the Restlands. She gives Lem a smile to let him know she's just teasing him. The rest of us are debating the point.
She notices Walter is without his coat and grasps his hands, concern on her features. Walter, are you cold? It wouldn't do for you to fall ill. Come on, perhaps we should head back to the house.We can talk over all of this there.
Suiting action to words, Kendra heads off, and it's not long before you all reach the safety and warmth of the house--where Dragomir has already stirred up the fire.
Right, says Kendra. What now? Visit the crypt, visit the Sheriff, or just get some sleep?
Erring on the side of caution, Rajuna waits until the sheriff and deputies are distracted - herding the last few stragglers away - before he silently climbs the tree obscuring any footprints he may have left at its base with a swipe of his boot. He slides amid the branches no more than 10' above the ground and hunkers down to hide, watch, listen... and pray he remains undiscovered.
1d20+8
1d20+7
Raj has only been in the tree a few minutes when the dispatched deputy returns with a sunrod, presumably retrieved from somewhere in town. As he reaches the Sheriff, he hands the sunrod over, and Caeller strikes it on the cobbles. The flare of bright light forces Raj to close his dark-adapted eyes momentarily.
Raj watches the Sheriff and his men lean in close to the desecrated monument, the light from the sunrod giving them--and Raj--a much better view of the letter painted upon it. The red 'V' glistens in the harsh light, as Sheriff Caeller retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes up some of it. He folds the handkerchief carefully before putting it back into a pocket.
He and his men then carefully search the ground around the statue. They seem to be looking for a trail, but none appears to be apparent. At least, not to them.
Raj watches as they have a brief conference, although he can't hear what they're saying. Shortly thereafter, one of the deputies disappears, and then returns a few minutes later with a bucket and a brush of some sort. He heads down to the river and fills the bucket with water, which he then tosses over the monument. The other deputy scrubs at the bloodstain while Sheriff Caeller watches. It only takes a few more minutes and a dozen or so buckets of water for all traces of the vandalism to be removed.
Their work done--for now--the Sheriff and his men head back to town, leaving Raj alone in the darkness. From his vantage point, Raj watches the light from the sunrod and their torches all the way back past Kendra's house before he works out what to do next.
Lem smiles and raises a finger, responding to Kendra's remark:
To be fair, I only asked if we should access the crypt tonight or tomorrow. The manner of our entry is unknown to me.
Len will politely but strongly argue that we should leave any exploration of the crypt until tomorrow, but if he is overruled he will still accompany everyone.
Rajuna watches the sunrod disappear in the darkness and listens until the normal night sounds return. Before he lowers himself to the ground, he pulls a blade and cuts loose a dozen catkin stems. He drops to the ground and arranges them in a purplish bouquet and ties it with long grass. He also rubs at a spot on his ass where a twig had lodged itself 15 minutes before.
Maintain plausible deniability. If the sheriff catches me out, what do I say? Raj runs through the conversation in his head. "Hey now fella what are you doin' about?" Raj practices an embarrassed glance at the flowers and maintains his previous lies. "Well, sir, ya see, sir... I came to see the to-do and I was gonna head home but there's this pretty girl see? And I thought, well two birds n' one stone. I decided to fetch her some of these pretty flowers and that delayed me a bit. Are there any prettier flowers growin' around here? Somethin' to turn a lady's head, sir?"... yeah, that'll work if I sell it right.
Raj admires his pathetic bouquet, acting as proud as a dumb bumpkin would, and walks boldly back to the house - bumpkins don't sneak up the lane. Seeing the flicker of lantern lights, he strolls in and tosses the bouquet to Walter. Having watched the young man linger with that slender girl, Raj can only assume that romance may be brewing. "Thought you might find a use for these."
He looks at the group in serious conversation and raises an eyebrow, "What's up?"