Hearing what councilman Muricar has to say, in addition to her allies' words, Faun cedes the reluctant acceptance.
"I concur with Miss Talanova. If the people agree, I shall stay."
"Given the heroism you have demonstrated, not just fighting the orcs but also aiding in the recovery, there is no doubt in my mind that you will have the support of the people of Ravengro," Muricar insists, reaching to clasp Valeska's hands in a show of assurance.
"If you need further proof of the need for new leadership, simply look to Harrowstone as it sits and crumbles. Look to the Bleakwall and Tower Valballus in the west, now harboring the threats they were meant to protect against. Talk to any of the folks who've fled from the southern moors and cannot return home because no one will help them."
Valeska returns the handshake with sincere gratitude.
An honor, to be of service.
Turning to the others, No matter the outcome, unless you were planning on leaving soon and no matter the outcome... seems we have some work cut out for us. She pauses, thinking.
It may help morale and security if we start close and work or way further out. Just thinking out loud. Let's go check on the meal and children.
"Harrowstone. Do you want to rebuild it? I thought it's purpose is that of a memorial?"
Kain shakes his head with a sigh.
Very well, if that is what you wish, I will lend my aid, at least for a time. But tell me, what exactly do you foresee us doing? Are we to replace council members? Are we to be equal or above them? Or, will we be answering to you and the other council members?
At Shontar's question, Kain looks to him.
I doubt the town has the resources to dedicate to rebuilding it, however, if the town ever gains those resources, I believe it may well be a good fort to which the town can flee to should the need ever arise.
"Harrowstone proper sits to the south, overlooking the town," Muricar points to the stout ruins brooding atop a broad hill beyond the southern fields and pastures. Perhaps it is a trick of the sunlight filtering through the clouds, but the grass carpeting the hill seems to be a far less vibrant green than the rest of the land surrounding Ravengro.
"There are still locals who think it bad luck simply to look upon the old prison, much less visit it. When they or visitors wish to honor the wholesome souls who perished in the fire, they pay their respects at the memorial statue."
Muricar's arm slowly swings, his pointer finger moving from south to southwest. Even from afar, you can make out the general features of the tall, mossy statue that stands atop the river's side.
"It may have been a grim business, but when the prison still operated, the town prospered. The rest of Ustalav paid well to keep their worst monsters sealed away, and our residents made a decent living by keeping the prison provisioned. Even if it never serves as a prison again, something should be made of those ruins. The people need to move on and accept that horrors no longer lurk within those old walls.
"As for your role, I envisioned you serving in conjunction with the council. Each body would shoulder different sets of responsibilities. However," he pauses, clearly broaching upon a more sensitive aspect of the matters at hand, "Many of the locals whom I represent would like to see you replace not the town council but the Palatinate Council, at least in regards to Ravengro and its surrounding land.
"They desire a return to the old ways, the traditions that unified the old Kingdom of Ustalav, allowed the land to endure the reign of the undead, and saw the principality eventually emerge from darkness. They look for a new noble lord or lady to guide and protect them."
Valeska seems accepting, and cautiously optimistic. With all due respect, let us not get ahead of ourselves. That is a tall order and rather intoxicating if truth be told.
Let's see how we can help, first. Harrowstone then? We should prepare.
But, I should check on our Orc guest. I assume he's been well tended to and fed. We need to change his mind, perspective.
Following the old man's shaky finger, Faun looks on at the seemingly tainted grass around the old prison.
"Ah. The haunted prison."
If you haven't known Faunlara very long, it's still incredibly difficult to tell whether she's being sarcastic, honest, critical or neutral. However, those that grew up with her would tell you, you always know when she loves something or is happy, because for all her subtleties, she can't hide a smile; she rarely stifles a laugh.
But right now, she wasn't smiling.
"I have no idea how to handle the Harrowstone ruins. I guess you need lots of materials and labor? Maybe both can be imported? I do come from a merchant family, but our business is in different goods and regions. Maybe we should spread the word throughout Ustalav that the prison could be reopened if sufficient funding can be found. Those cities that need to lock away the monsters, as you said, might give us some form of credit?" Shontar was more thinking out loud than making suggestions.
Perhaps, better to repurpose it... I would think the structure would be a good starting point for a fort? Headquarters for a new defensive force. Barracks, stables.
Perhaps instead of prisoners, they send me and horses to be trained or recover.
What say you, Arden Kain?
Once we clear the site of any lingering dangers... We can recruit a hybrid workforce militia. People tend to take more pride in what they've had a hand in building.
Perhaps we could start recruiting now, and spread the word to neighboring settlements - that there is work for food, lodging and pay available in Ravengro.
I am happy to help with the local recruiting efforts, if Shontar and Chao will join me. Our good knight can start prepping the current force we have.
Faun and Sibeesha, would you mind scouting the area around Harrowstone? We will not be too far, should you encounter anything suspicious.
"I must first find Ornmeil'lon, and spend some time in meditation. First thing in the morning, I shall examine the land surrounding the prison. Sibe, does this agree with you?"
When you investigate closer, you discover many signs of scorching on the hillside. In addition to broad, oblong shapes, there are smaller tracks burned into the grass. Whiffs of brimstone still haunt the air. Ornmeil'lon shudders like a tree caught in a strong wind, clearly unnerved by whatever lingers near or within the ruined, fortress-like prison.
Councilman Muricar cautions that the superstitious locals, slow to even warm up to local heroes, will require adroit convincing to work on such an "accursed" place. Of course, he admits with a shrug that it is not impossible.
"The vagrants from the southern moors may be your best lead," he says, briefly letting his eyes wander to Faun and Valeska's legs. "They possess nothing but time, lacking work and regular roofs over their heads. Can't say that I'd rightly trust them. Keep an eye on your purse, and don't pay them a copper until the work is done."
"Anyone wants to come pay them a visit?"
Sure thing. We'll sweet talk them...
"You'll find most of them squatting around the old Hephenus place, not far from the memorial statue," Muricar explains.
"I've also seen them loitering around the lovely Miss Straelock's home. Truly an earthy beauty, I suspect she has a soft heart for those hard-luck cases. She probably feeds them like stray animals, and in turn they probably linger by her door waiting for scraps."
He gives you clear directions to locate these two sites.
"Chao, get the horses!"
Kain nods
The old prison may well be a good place to create a small fort, it would need to have underground passages however that people can escape from should the worst arise.
Not all men take well to physical labor, and not all men take pride in a job well done, however, most will at least put forth some effort in order to keep up social status. And obviously some my be hidden gems. It is.. worth a shot. Discipline and purpose does tend to have wondrous effects on the downtrodden. Especially if there are adequate incentives.
Whether on cantering horseback or on foot, you stroll south down the town's main road. Beyond the well-kept cottages that line the cobbled road, you espy the "old Hephenus place." It is a tottering, ramshackle building whose roof bows inward and its walls seem on the verge of buckling.
A quartet - two men, a boy, and a woman - sit around an overturned box, playing a game of cards. Another woman kneels on the ground beside a young girl, overseeing as the child scratches in the dirt with a stick.
Upon your approach, all six stop what they're doing and look up in your direction. Most wear plain expressions of anxiety, worried about what your arrival portends. One of the men grimaces instead, and his hand nervously slides down to something in his boot.
Whether on cantering horseback or on foot, you stroll south down the town's main road. Beyond the well-kept cottages that line the cobbled road, you espy the "old Hephenus place." It is a tottering, ramshackle building whose roof bows inward and its walls seem on the verge of buckling.
A quartet - two men, a boy, and a woman - sit around an overturned box, playing a game of cards. Another woman kneels on the ground beside a young girl, overseeing as the child scratches in the dirt with a stick.
Upon your approach, all six stop what they're doing and look up in your direction. Most wear plain expressions of anxiety, worried about what your arrival portends. One of the men grimaces instead, and his hand nervously slides down to something in his boot.
Faun would probably have investigated further into the ruins of the prison, rather than gone to "recruit vagrants", if that's okay.
As for Harrowstone itself, the stark, sagging roof of its central structure is visible through a large gap in the surrounding wall. A partially overgrown track leads from the southern edge of town, winding around the base of the hill and then back up along its southern slope to the prison itself. A sagging wood and metal gate set between a pair of stone guard towers once barred entrance into Harrowstone, but the gates now hang negligently open, creaking softly in what wind touches the ruined bars.
The old prison's grounds are contained within a crumbling stone wall, the eastern portion of which has fallen away into a huge sinkhole, within which a murky pool has formed. A small brick manor house sits in the yard, overshadowed by the prison and overgrown with thick sheets of gray-green ivy. The roof sags ominously, and the front door hangs askew. As best as you can tell, this smaller outbuilding was likely once the warden's house.
Good day! My name is Valeska and these are my friends, Shontar and Chao.
She waves off the man reaching for his boot knife. Weapons will not be nessacary. But, able bodies and a will to thrive will be.
Maybe we can help each other... Valeska lets the suggestion, the idea hang in the air.
Turning her attention to the children, he smile grown wider. This is my special friend, Sasha... he's like a big... cat. He's very well behaved and loves to play.
Sasha sits, then lays down peacefully as Valeska reaches to scratch under his chin and his forehead. He seems quite pleased.
The sight of Sasha elicits a wide, excited smile from the girl scribbling in the dirt, but her nearby mother wraps arms around her and reflexively holds her close for protection. The other vagabonds react like the frightened woman, but their anxiety diminishes with Valeska's reassurance - although it does not disappear entirely just yet.
"Did them council folks ask you to make us leave?" one of the card-playing men asks in a gravelly voice, wiping his broad, flat nose with his forearm. "We ain't going nowhere 'cause we ain't got nowhere to go."
The other two adults playing cards nod in agreement, while the boy at their improvised table continues to stare mutely at Sasha. The scratches in the dirt at the feet of the mother and daughter, when viewed closer, are roughly drawn Taldane letters, suggesting a simple spelling lesson.
Shontar steps forward, angry about the lack of manners "Nice meeting you, too. We're not sending you away! We, eh,..." Shontar interrupts the conversation. But he takes a step back again.
"You explain." He says to Valeska.
There is an opportunity, if you choose to seize it.
Become accepted as part of the town citizenry, take on work and help rebuild after the Orc raid and remake. You would be eligible for a fare wage and send your children to school.
But, you will need to accept the laws and guidelines of Ravengro and the realm it is part of.
Valeska looks to each individual, when speaking on something that may interest them, trying to gauge reactions.
This is a chance, only if you are strong enough to shrug off the hardship and stigma of the past. It's a chance to help shape the future for yourselves and your children.
And, well... pet Sasha! She looks to the children, smiling wide.
"We never had any problem obeying the law," the card-playing woman protests. "We used to work this land, same as them, but they look at us like we're thieves or degenerates - just because we got hit with a spot of bad luck."
Valeska's offer resonates strongly with these displaced Ustalavic folk. Being outsiders themselves means they are less wary of you as newcomers, even if only slightly. Her oratory even overcomes their apprehension of accepting charity from strangers.
"Never been afraid of work. When my old mule broke its leg, I pulled the plow myself," the other, balding man at the card table boasts. "'Course, we don't care about no school. My boy here just needs to know how to swing a hoe and pull a bow, and he'll be all right. Ain't that right, Cole?"
He tousles the hair of the card-playing boy seated beside him.
By the same token, he offers a dismissive glance towards the woman kneeling in the dirt with her daughter.
Valeska nods slowly, absorbing their thoughts.
I hear you and respect your words. That's why we are here, with you... right now.
There is opportunity, what you make of it is in your hands. Perhaps schooling isn't a priority. But, she can teach, earn money and the children can learn. It keeps the young, out of your hair and less of a distraction.
You will be able to afford, that the children do not work. She looks over to the dilapidated structures about.
Maybe we can start here, when the prison has been cleared... we can move on. If there are any that are good for the militia, there is work there too. Tell everyone.
We will be back again, soon... after, we finalize with the council. If there are requests, please let us know, now or send someone.
Bowing, she starts to turn... Sasha, is still waiting for pets and scratches.
Kain looks over the lot as Valeska speaks. He notes the apparent familiarity with a bow.
As she finishes he speaks with a deep booming voice so that everyone can easily hear him.
We also are looking for volunteers to form a more stable, supplied, and trained militia as a precaution should orcs or other undesirables seek to take from this town again. I will not lie, it will be long work, but after an initial... boot camp of sorts, there will be... branches that folk can enter based on talents. Of course food will be supplied, and there will be pay and hopefully free lodging for members of the militia. If any of you want to fight for what is yours, or to defend what you love please speak with me.
Shontar shuddered under the authoritarian tone of Kain's speech. Then he nodded as if in agreement.
"Yes! What he said. We're here for you."
Valeska and Kain's differing approaches to appeal to these displaced Ustalavic folk proves quite effective, with each half responding well to one or the other. Sure enough, you have a handful of workers ready to serve. They even promise to put in a good word with some of the other people displaced from the southern moors, currently being put to work by Councilwoman Straelock on the other side of the creek with reconstruction.
With Faunlara still scouting the ruins of Harrowstone, perhaps it is time to rendezvous with her and discuss the state of the old prison.
Valeska thanks those listening.
Shall we go see how the others are fairing?
Faunlara and her treant companion enter through the front gate and head clockwise, keeping to the wall inside the perimeter. When She gets to the stairs leading up to towers atop the wall, she instructs Ornmeil'lon to keep his eyes peeled as he continues around the perimeter.
She begins investigating the turrets.
Your footsteps, and especially those of Orn, crunch upon the crisp, yellow-green grass as you approach the stairs. Your sapling companion is too large to navigate the steep, narrow stairs that hug the moss-shrouded walls and climb to the parapet.
Shontar, while having done nothing, is obviously pleased with himself and the outcome of their visit.
"Yes, let's see the prison. Surely it can't be that bad."
A partially overgrown track leads from the southern edge of town, winding around the base of the hill and then back up along its southern slope to the abandoned prison. A sagging wood and metal gate set between a pair of stone guard towers once barred entrance into Harrowstone, but the gates now hang negligently open, creaking softly in what wind touches the ruined bars.
Here, at the old gates, Sibe greets the party and reports what she and Faun have discovered thus far. Although the grass, wildflowers, and other plants upon the hill appear to be recovering, there are a number of scorchmarks burned into the greenery. In some places, these even appear to form tracks. In the yard, Faun spotted someone retreat into the southeastern watchtower along the walls.
The old prison's grounds are contained within a crumbling stone wall, the eastern portion of which has fallen away into a huge sinkhole, within which a murky pool has formed. A small brick manor house sits in the yard, overshadowed by the prison and overgrown with thick sheets of gray-green ivy. The roof sags ominously, and the front door hangs askew. As best as you can tell, this smaller outbuilding was likely once the warden's house.
Hmm... bit of a mess we've got here. How does one fill a sink hole? Valeska asks rhetorically, for the most part.
What is your guys' strategic assessment? I'm guessing we work perimeter inward, suppose there is not much of a choice, logistically speaking.
She looks around, stroking Sasha's nape. Which way did Faun go?
"I'm sure we can work around that sink hole. Build a new wall outside and maybe clean the pool to make it a lake of sorts."
Shontar dismounts and knees on the grass, touching it with his fingers. Very sure of himself, claiming he can read any tracks, Shontar states "The tracks say, she went inside."
Chao just stands there, looking uncertain at his master. He wonders how the elf figured that out.
Faun slowly and carefully ascends the steps along the outer wall, no weapons drawn, but ready to turn her fists into hard wood the moment danger becomes apparent. In a defensive stance, so as not to leave her front completely vulnerable, she pushes the curtain aside with one hand.
"Hello?" she says softly. "Don't be frightened. I'm not here to hurt you."
Shontar's attention is immediately drawn to the trail of small, foot-print sized scorchmarks left in the scrub grass that carpets the prison grounds. They lead from the collapsed section of wall beside the sinkhole, march towards the prison itself, then seem to circumambulate the stout, stone edifice - including a brief detour inside the prison.
The two-story stone building looms in the center of the prison grounds. Ivy and moss cling tenaciously to the walls, while above the wooden shingles of the roof are often missing entirely, exposing the wooden rafters of the upper structure to the sky. Here and there, leering stone gargoyles perch on the eaves, once functioning as drainspouts and decorations but now seeming almost to serve a more ominous role of sentinels. Many of these stone decorations have crumbled away and lie in ruined piles on the soggy ground below. Windows in the building’s facade are narrow and blocked by grills of rusty iron bars. Stone columns support a slumping wooden balcony over the building’s wooden front doors, both of which hang askew and reveal dark glimpses of chambers within.
At the foot of a set of stairs, winding up the inner face of the curtain wall, you see Faun's treant companion standing guard.
You find a woman cowering within. Her skin is ghostly pale, a sharp contrast to her jet black hair. A pair of eyes like citrines stare at you in fear as she crouches within her shelter. She remains mute, apparently using all her concentration to simply control her shivering.
Upon seeing the poor woman, Faunlara thinks of what tactic she may try to put her at ease. Without approaching any further, she slowly crouches, almost copying the woman's position. She slides down, her back against the cold stone wall, until she sits on the floor. She pulls her knees up towards herself, wresting her chin on top, her arms wrapped around her shins. Rather than look at her, Faun keeps her eyes looking towards... nothing at all really. She keeps the woman in her peripheral, but doesn't attempt to lock eyes, yet.
Faunlara waits near a full minute in silence, hoping the ragged woman might calm down, be less afraid. If the woman doesn't speak in this time, Faun will open her lips ever so slightly, drawing in the tiniest of breaths to convey that she is about to speak, then says, in a voice barely above a whisper,
"Faunlara. That's my name. Friends call me Faun; I hope you will, too."
"My name is Lenora," she breathes in a hoarse whisper. "Are you from Ravengro? Did Edgrin send you?"
She slowly rises to her feet, her fear turning to curiosity.
Valeska looks around. She didn't go into the water, let's check the structures, as you suggest, Shontar.
Faun remains seated, even as Lenora stands.
"It is an honor to meet you, Lenora. And, no, I'm not from Ravengro; only arrived a couple of days ago. And in that time, I do not believe I met anyone named Edgrin. Could you?-" She stretches out her hand, as if asking Lenora to help her stand up. Once Faun is standing too, she continues, "May I ask why you are here? Not to pry, but... is this where you, live?"
The old warden's home is a small brick manor house overgrown with thick sheets of gray-green ivy. The roof sags ominously, and the front door
hangs askew. Even from the doorstep, the pungent smell of mildew hangs heavily upon the air. Peering inside reveals that what was left behind by looters has been ravaged by time and the elements.
This was once a wide hall flanked by a pair of waiting rooms, but the foyer to Harrowstone now lies in ruins. With little left to hold up the ceiling, the wooden beams above sag dramatically. The wall to the north contains a large pair of oaken doors that hang open. The walls of the foyer beyond, besides each being set with doors, are stained with streaks of the same gray mold that carpets much of the floor.
Back out in the broad courtyard, the treant sapling Ornmeil'lon waves his broad arms to draw your attention back to the stairs leading up the curtain wall.
"Sorry," she mumbles in reflex, although what she has to be sorry for remains unclear.
"Yes, I live here," she replies, craning her slender neck to scan the walls and broken ceiling of the tower as though rediscovering its condition. "I'm not welcome in town. They call me 'tainted' and accuse me of being some kind of hag or witch."
She nervously turns her yellow eyes to her own arms, the late filtering down from above revealing the pallid complexion of her skin.
"we better stay out of this one. It looks quite unstable"
Shontar looks inside the main building is his woories do not fade...
This is going to be one of the things we agree upon, Shontar... but, we can memorialize it, later. Valeska flashes a smile.
For now, we have a young tree-being waving to us. Let's go see what it wants.
There is a string of words one wouldn't have thought should be strung together. She begins moving towards the treant, Sasha maintaining the pace just ahead of her.
Crossing the courtyard, rife with sawgrass and weeds growing from the loose soil, you approach Ornmeil'lon as he stands at the foot of the narrow stairs climbing the outer wall. He points his willowy arm up at the parapet, directing your attention to the lookout tower atop the wall. A canvas curtain hangs limp in the windless air, covering the open door to the tower.
Ornmeil'lon's meaning is clear: Faunlara is up there in the tower.
Kain will spend most of his time exploring the outer perimeter of the prison, and looking over the terrain to determine just how defensible it and the immediate area are.
Chao looks up the tower and wonders if this is dangerous to climb up there. He tries to judge the tree's facial expressions and gestures. Is he worried about his companion?