"Ajir, I believe I saw you take the key! I was thinking that, once we have refreshed ourselves, I should like to examine the chest’s contents so I can assess the effort and time investment that will be needed to go through them.”
"Is that wise? From his statement I thought that he would have desired our ignorance in the contents of the chest, as they are dangerous. I would be especially wary of opening these dangerous tomes in the confines of the household he has asked us to protect, as well as maintaining Lady Kendra's innocence for its contents."
”That is your interpretation. I have mine. In addition, I have some experience with dangerous and fragile texts and would like to know for sure what exactly we are dealing with so I can take the proper precautions. That he thought to bring me here suggests that he would want me to do what I do best. We shall just have to honor his secrecy by not sharing what we have learned of the chest’s contents with anyone outside the people currently in this house.” Should Ajir prove intractable, she does have her tools with her, as always, and could simply check out the chest privately after everyone else is asleep.
"The Professor was a brilliant man. You might be right, that he brought the right people in. There are more than the two of us though.
What do the rest of you think?"
He laughs, "I suspect with this group of academics, I will most likely always lose... but perhaps we should put these kinds of strongly-opposed views to vote while we are accompanied?"
Sebastien's smile turns somewhat sad. "I'm hardly an academic and I hate to disagree when you clearly just want to respect the Professor's wishes as you understand them, but I've always found it best to have an understanding of the dangers you face."
Gesturing to Kendra, his smile regains its warmth, and he continues, " However, we are guests here and I think the choice belongs to Kendra. I will abide by whatever our host thinks is best."
Elsbeth sighs. "Well, I suppose it's settled. Perhaps it will be good for you to stretch yourself thus, my boy. Kendra, thank you for your hospitality and care. I will stay at the inn tonight and depart on the morrow."
She takes Marinus in her arms and frets over him for a few minutes. Normally, this would elicit embarrassment from a boy his age. His expression shows only patience.
. . . . .
"I'd like to examine the books as well, if you don't mind. The books couldn't be any more disturbing than the memories swimming around my head. And perhaps I may add some insight. But first, yes. A bath would be nice." He lugs his bag up the stairs, claiming the smaller bed in the remaining room.
Milo does a good impression of someone huffing and puffing for a few moments at Millicent's answer to his objections. As when she had first commented on his speech patterns, it seems he's unclear whether he should feel offended, flustered, or, in this case, backhand-complimented. In the end he simply nods in a stiff and uncertain way, jamming his hands into his coat's pockets.
"Well my m-mother surely wouldn't care for me to use that language in the presence of ladies regardless."
With Marinus, Milo rakes his hand through his hair and looks somewhat askance. "...I don't mean to be, to be overly harsh with you. Nor am I de... defending that-- awful man at the bar. I've simply.... p-patched up too many people hurt in fights to ever enjoy it. Even men like that, they often have-- f-families, children... I can understand the d-desire to teach a bu-bully a lesson, but-- well. Never mind. I promise I will, will try not to scold you. After all, I'm not your... your father."
He ducks his head to the professor's daughter, giving her forearm a brief squeeze.
"Your graciousness matches your, your father's," he murmurs. "But my mother will skin me alive if I don't stay with her. I will be here each day, however, to fulfill the, the request."
As the others claim rooms, Milo remains by himself at the table, rubbing his hands slowly together and staring at nothing in particular...
With the topics of the books in play, Milo's brow creases in some consternation. He listens to the arguments on both sides, arms crossed over his chest, chin sunk down to it.
After he's heard everyone else's take, he nods slowly.
"With respect, Mr. Jiro, I agree with, with Madame Archivist Jones and the others. I don't see anything in the Professor's words that would forbid us from opening the chest. If we're to transport it hundreds of miles across country-- and I know that journey, it is bloody m-miserable--" A ghost of a smile crosses Milo's face before it becomes serious again, "--and likely to be raining every d-day of it, too-- ah, anyway. Anyway, I think we should know what we're take... taking.
"That said, if we can.... can open it somewhere outside the house, I think that might be... good. The professor did, did say he doesn't wish Miss Lorrimor bur...dened by them. If some... danger is present, let us not, not do so under Miss Lorrimor's own roof? Or, as Mr. Sebastien says, we might ask her... her feelings on it. It is her house, now."
The lad clamps his hands together."Milo. Is it okay if I call you that? You don't need to worry. I... I'll be better at controlling my... Moods. I mean, I'm trying to be better. Maybe you can help me learn."
It's clear Marinus is frustrated — probably with himself.
"If you please, I could examine the chest's psychic energies. See if it has dangerous magicks bound into it." Marinus looks to Kendra. "It's in the attic? May I go up there?"
"Er-- of course, Milo is fine. I... can understand it must be difficult. Well. No, perhaps I, can't." Milo shakes his head at himself. "Could you... please tell me a little of what it is like for you? You mentioned... past memories?"
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Marinus ponders for a moment. "Do you know the feeling you get when you're having a really vivid, disturbing dream? Where you half realize during the dream that it's something that should never, ever occur, but still kind of believe it's happening?" He waits for a heartbeat, assuming that Milo has experienced the very thing.
"Well, it's kind of like that, except I know it probably did happen to me, in a different time and body."
He mulls it over some more. "Or maybe there are small things that really set you off, making you do things like throw a bowl across the room when it's not really that bad. And if you think about it, it occurs to you that your anger was really about something that happened a long time ago."
Again, he pauses briefly to make sure the somewhat... slower thinker is keeping up. "It's kind of like that, except a long time ago is a different lifetime, and some of the memories are fragments at best."
His hands gesture for a bit as he's talking, until he realizes what they're doing and clasps them again.
Don't tell him about the memory of seeing your headless body across the room. Or all the men you remember schtupping. Boy your age isn't not supposed to know about those things. And don't ever tell him about killing the spawn of Yog-Sothoth. Let the poor man sleep soundly for a few more nights, at least.
Ajir listens to the exchange between the Milovic and Marinus. He doesn't chime in, he doesn't understand, but he does listen. Perhaps he can process it later.
"Kendra, what say you?"
"Tears are hardly a sign of weakness Lady Kendra. They are a sign of strength in the bonds we share, that we are capable of giving love and trust."
"Kind words, Mr. Jiro. Thank you for saying so."
He also takes a moment to inspect the workspace. Not much of a craftsman himself, but perhaps there's something in the area that would be a better cord or strap than his pilfered bootlace.
The Lorrimor Place enjoys several creature comforts, though a single bathroom for the entire house seems ill-conceived, given the number of bedrooms. The workshop appears to be well thought out, as there are masterwork quality artisan tools, a tellurion of Golarion alongside an orrery of the greater solar system, a merchant's scale, a telescope, and a masterwork alchemist's lab.
Kendra leans in the doorway, as Ajir looks about. "I also have surgeon's tools downstairs, in the kitchen. If there's something lacking, do not hesitate to tell me, and I'll do my best about town to procure it."
"Thank you for your hospitality, Kendra. I'll do my best to be helpful while I'm here. Once we've had a moment to get freshened up don't hesitate to let me know if there's anything you need a hand with."
"I only ask that you do the same, master Lupescu. I must admit, I've never met someone of your kind, and I would learn more from you. If I say something that might offend, please accept my apologies now." Kendra gives Sebastien a slightly longer look about the eyes, almost as if she is daring herself to do so.
"Thank you, my dear. I will happily take the red room. I do value my privacy highly. I would like to echo Sebastien’s sentiments. You generosity in hosting us is beyond reproach and I look forward to completing the work Petros has laid out for us so that you may move on.”
Millicent's voice brings Kendra's eyes around. "Aye, there is the matter at hand. Shall I move on? Or perhaps I should dig in. I need to gather my thoughts, about Ravengro, and what it offers, now that Tată has departed." Kendra breathes. "I'm glad you all responded, that you might take up the work."
Kendra spoke more slowly on the word 'all', implying that certainly all of you present responded to the Professor's call.
"Your graciousness matches your, your father's, but my mother will skin me alive if I don't stay with her. I will be here each day, however, to fulfill the, the request."
"No doubt. Please send my warm regards to Mrs. Draznoi. Her rhubarb pie was a pleasant surprise. I didn't regret a morsel."
"However, we are guests here and I think the choice belongs to Kendra. I will abide by whatever our host thinks is best."
"Or, as Mr. Sebastien says, we might ask her... her feelings on it. It is her house, now."
"Kendra, what say you?"
Kendra sees the swirl of thought pull towards the Chest of Tomes, and she smiles genuinely at the concern. "Tată wouldn't have brought the Chest into our home, had he thought it dangerous to my person. Locked, well, that's just common sense. He kept it upstairs, and I hardly gave it a thought, until now."
"It's in the attic? May I go up there?"
"Of course, master Marinus. There is no attic to trouble you, only the third floor, and the Library at the top of the stairs."
Kendra sees the interest in some of the eyes, less so in others'. "Well, I think I will do some cooking. If I can pull it off, we'll have a pot of crayfish bisque to ease our late night stomachs. Please make yourselves at home."
With her intentions laid out, Ms. Lorrimor heads back down to the first floor, and busies herself about the pantry and the kitchen, leaving the Lorrimor Place largely at your disposal.
Fresh towels are laid out for those interested in the bath, and all that's required to access the Chest of Tomes is the key, and a brief trip upstairs to the Library, which is itself a nice amenity for your month's long stay.
How do you (all) proceed to spend the remaining first full day in Ravengro?
"I'll be sure to pass on your words to my mother," Milo says to Kendra with a duck of his head and a half-smile.
After Kendra excuses herself to the bisque, he looks to the others. "Well, the lady has no obje... objections. Were it done, best... quickly? And by daylight?"
He glances towards the stairs, then back to Marinus, continuing their conversation in quiet murmured tones. "That's... fascinating. My field is more the body, not the, the mind, or the soul. Did the professor have any.... uh, theories, on... what should cause your... situation? Your memories? I can't say I would have the... the, the first idea on where to-- start, with learning how to... m-manage something like that." Milo smiles wanly, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"But it's a b-burden indeed, and for one so young. I'm sorry."
"Well, the lady has no obje... objections. Were it done, best... quickly? And by daylight?"
"Daylight it is; I'll reserve my bath until after perusing these tomes. I hope there's enough in the trunk to give a lively discussion for our small band while we enjoy some bisque." Ajir licks his lips. He pulls the bootlace from around his neck, "Who would like to do the honors?"
I wonder who else...
Marinus gives a smile and a little bow of thanks to Kendra before making for the stairs. He comes up short as Milo continues their conversation.
"Ah, well. He believed what I do — I possess a soul that is powerfully psychic, which has been around for... A very long time. I began to have memories when I was very small, but my brain and body weren't sufficiently developed for me to make sense of them. My memory of events is still fragmented, but some things have returned unbidden."
His hands wiggle, as if to remind him. "What most disturbed the Professor is my nervous tic here. It seems there are parts of my mind that are... Dissociated. Mainly they seem to enjoy wiggling my fingers about without permission. There have been moments when they've exerted psychic abilities."
Like the bowl! But don't tell him that. He'll think you're going to murder him in his sleep, poor sap. Might, come to think of it, if he gets handsy.
He moves toward the stairs while talking, trying to pull Milo along with his words. He assumes, no doubt correctly, that Millicent will snatch the key out of the monk's hands.
Emm does not pick up on the nuance in Kendra's words, as the question of staying or leaving draws her attentions. "That is a complex question, one that I would not rush, especially when in the throes of mourning. I would be happy to give my experience and advice on the matter over this month."
Emm has already dried and cleaned herself with her cantrip by this point, so--while it may sound pleasant--a bath is unnecessary. She has usually found such activities as onerous distractions from work of substance, particularly when she could achieve the same effect in a few seconds of spellcasting.
Perhaps Marinus is minor precognitive, as Emm does in fact snatch the key, albeit with a nod of regard to not be entirely rude. "Shall we?" She takes no apparent interest in Marinus's condition at the moment, as she is already well aware of it from their previous interactions. She does note any substantial differences in how he describes his condition from when she first heard him attest to it.
"I would be happy to answer any questions you might have, Kendra." Sebastien answers cheerfully.
Sebastien's smile wavers for a moment as he notes Kendra's omission. "Of course. How could any one of us ever let the Professor down after the kindness he showed us."
After Kendra takes her leave Sebastien trails afterthe others as they make their way upstairs to examine the contents of the chest.
Daylight kindly regards you through its own mourning veil of constant rain, as you take your leave of the new house owner. The steps are solid wood construction, nary a squeak to indicate your passage.
Arriving at the landing of the Third Floor, the rainfall sounds no louder than it did against the side of the house, suggesting a well-constructed roof above your heads. Reentering the Library, you find the Chest of Tomes where it was when Kendra showed you about the Place.
Millicent spare no time inserting the iron key into the front of the Chest, made of oak and iron. It yields to the gesture, an audible click declaring itself unlocked and pliable for examination. The oiled hinges suggest that the Chest is a relatively new Professor purchase.
The contents begin to greet your collective eyes, as the librarian pulls them from the Chest.
The First Book is a Red Leather Bound Journal, with a slip of paper tucked under its strap. The words 'Read me now!' are prominent above the strap. This book is the youngest of the five contained therein.
Three of the Tomes have a piece of light green paper tucked under their front covers, indicating that they are to be delivered to Montagnie Crowl, a Professor of Antiquities at Lepidstadt University.
One of three Tomes bound for Crowl is a jet black book embossed with a pentagram, its title is On Verified Madness.
This Tome is a treatise on aberrations and other entities found on Golarion that possess remote ties to the Dark Tapestry, the name given to the dark places between the stars in the night sky.
The second of the three is a slightly mildewed, brown leather bound book, titled Serving Your Hunger.
This text is a copy of one of several unholy books sacred to the goddess Urgathoa, the Pallid Princess, Lady Despair, the Varisian goddess of physical excess, disease, and the undead.
The Tome to complete the trio destined for Antiquities is also brown leather, embossed with foliage, titled The Umbral Leaves.
This lexicon is a translation into Common of the unholy book of Zon-Kuthon, The Dark Prince, The Midnight Lord, possessor of one of the most twisted and evil minds in the Great Beyond.
The Last of the Tomes has a piece of light purple paper tucked under its front cover, indicating that it is to be delivered personally to Judge Embreth Daramid, at the Lepidstadt Courthouse. The rich purple cover contains a brass scarab set with a single eye in its center. There is no title on the outside front, or binding. The book’s cover is rimmed in polished steel and clasped with a small but intricate lock, the keyhole of which appears to be for a key with a strange, triangular shaft.
"Books of Urgathoa and Zon Kuthon? Dark indeed." He almost spits as he sees the title of Serving Your Hunger.
The young-ish monk says a small prayer for the Professor's soul, in hopes that it found its way through Pharasma's domain without interruption from this wealth of dark knowledge.
As Marinus examines the books, he reals from the insights that flood his mind.
"I'm sure he only had these so he could oppose them better." His hands massage his temples, seeming to pinpoint specific spots. "Let me see if there's magic about." His eyes go hazy as he scans the books and room.
He then holds each book in turn, reading the psychic residue on each.
You detect the presence of psychically significant items in your vicinity. Such items are those that might have significant psychic imprints or histories that can be read by the psychometry occult skill unlock (see page 196), or items under the effects of the charge object or implant false reading spells. Items within range that contain significant psychic energy spark a recognition in your mind’s eye, but no other information is imparted. This spell doesn’t automatically detect magic items or strongly aligned items, though such items often have storied histories and might have had previous owners who possessed psychic abilities.
Emm leaves the more salacious tomes to her new comrades. She instead goes right for the "read me now!" book.
Each of the books is imprinted, some more than others. The Umbral Leaves leaves you wary of its Strong psychic energy, while Serving Your Hunger and On Verified Madness only impress you Faintly. Perhaps a copy of a copy..?
The untitled book is also charged with a Strong aura, though it doesn't alarm you like The Umbral Leaves does.
Lastly, the 'Read Me Now!' journal has a Moderate psychic energy as your hands move over its leather cover.
Your eyes pass over the writing of the first page, and you easily recognize the handwriting of the Professor. You begin to read through a couple of sentences, and you start to realize that this is a diary of sorts, though it will take some time to read through and distill the Professor's intentions for the imperative.
Marinus squints in something like pain. "This one, The Umbral Leaves. It has been in the hands of... Grim owners. It is an original by the hand that penned it. These other two," he says, gesturing at Serving Your Hunger and On Verified Madness, "Are copies. The untitled one has some history of import, but does not seem malign. Nor the journal."
He peaks over Millicent's shoulder as she begins perusing.
Peering over the other's shoulders as they open the trunk Sebastien recoils in disgust when Serving Your Hunger is revealed. "That is a truly vile tome. Though I suppose it could contain useful information for combating the undead."
”This journal was marked to be read first, so I think we should oblige Petros’s wishes. There may be some code that he has left behind, or his notes on a half-finished puzzle he was piecing together. It may allow us to make sense of the other tomes more easily and quickly. It will take an hour or two to peruse thoroughly. I would like to take the first read. If any of you do not trust me with it, I can do so in your full presence. I am a quick reader, so I shan’t keep you overlong.”
Emm keeps to herself any suspicions that this journal may lead to even more dramatic revelations. That answer will come out soon enough. Her heartbeat quickens at the anticipation of finding out what secrets her old friend had been keeping. She does not think for a moment that she might find any scandalous secret evil or hidden hypocritical loathings of her.
Millicent walks her talk, and cuts to the chase, perusing the Professor's Journal with a professional bibliophile's passion or dispassion, as one pleases. Marinus hovers over Millicent's shoulder, reading apace with the turner of pages. By the end of the hour, by the last light of the day, the Journal is quietly closed, and those present in the Library are free to discuss its contents.
The majority of the entries are relatively bland, accounting for day-to-day activities in a small town, establishing that the Journal's age is roughly ten years old. He quite literally accounts for market purchases, of eggs, of milk, of meats, of vegetables, slowly painting a numerical picture of those farmers who bilk, and those who are beneficent. Later entries go silent on the bilkers of course, and praise on paper the farmers who look after their own. He only writes on Gibs Hephenus once, and it's the closest the Professor comes to putting an expletive to paper.
In other notations, Petros muses over matchmaking among the townfolk, though it's likely he never brought such thoughts out in the open. The Journal keeps his ideas fresh, but also keeps them to himself. Would Jorfa the blacksmith deign to become stepmother to Pevrin, new wife to Zokar? Does Jominda Fallenbridge acknowledge Benjan Caeller's interest in being more than her Sheriff? Petros seems amused that a learned woman such as herself would fail to understand the constant callings as obligatory assessments of her shop's security.
Then there is the Professor's doting notes regarding Kendra. He secretly grieves for muting his daughter's love life, having located in Ravengro, and narrowed her options to its townsfolk. He quietly hopes for romance to bloom, either with Sarianna Vai, owner of the Outward Inn, or possibly Luramin Taigh, though he seems to have a bias against moneylenders.
Within the first minutes of the hour, Millicent and Marinus look at each other, at the first Journal entry which is circled in red chalk. Once again, another red circle, then another. Eventually, the bookworms count
Ten Years Ago:
The Whispering Way is more than just a cabal of necromancers. I see that now. Undeath is their fountain of youth. Uncovering their motivation does not place me at ease as I thought it might. Their desire to be eternal simply makes them more dangerous.
Two Months Ago:
It is as I had feared. The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be?
One Month Ago:
Whatever the Way seeks, I am now convinced their goal is connected to Harrowstone. In retrospect, I suppose it all makes sense—the stories they tell about the ruins in town are certainly chilling enough. It may be time to investigate the ruins, but with everyone in town already being so worked up about them, I’d rather not let the others know about my curiosity—there’s plenty of folks hereabouts who already think I’m a demonologist or a witch or something. Ignorant fools.
Twenty Days Ago:
It is confirmed. The Way seems quite interested in something—no, strike that—someone who was held in Harrowstone. But who, specifically, is the Way after? I need a list of everyone who died the night of the fire. Everyone. The Temple of Pharasma must have such a list. Note to self, speak with Father Grimburrow, in private.
Eighteen Days Ago:
I see now just how ill prepared I was when I last set out for the Harrowstone. I am lucky to have returned at all. The ghosts prevented me from transcribing the strange symbols I found etched along the foundation. Hopefully on my next visit I will be more prepared. Thankfully, the necessary tools to defend against spirits are already here in Ravengro. I will need to convince the Father, however. Kendra's kolachkes might be enough to sway the stony man.
Seventeen Days Ago:
Tomorrow evening I return to the prison. It is imperative the Way does not finish. My caution has already cost me too much time. I am not sure what will happen if I am too late, but if my theory is right, the entire town could be at risk. I don’t have time to update my will, so I’ll leave this in the chest where it’ll be sure to be found, should the worst come to pass...
Thunder rumbles ominously in the distance, but the sound of the rain has diminished greatly. The windows still trickle with rivulets, but the roof and walls are no longer buffeted as strongly as they were an hour ago.
Marinus reels again as he considers the Whispering Way and Harrowstone.
Emm closes the journal, leaving her hand on the cover while she thinks. Another layer peeled away. Whatever the specifics of his work, it almost certainly killed him and--even more concerningly--is almost certainly still a threat. In most other contexts, she would have instinctively kept this information to herself, but Petros had sought to gather a group together for a reason, and she would trust his judgment, even if she would balk at such presumptions on her from most anyone else. Further, anything that would claim his life would need an arraying of forces against it. She finally stands.
"I need everyone to gather together. We will need to discuss the severity of this information and how to proceed."
She moves to the door to go collect the others.
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Sebastien tries to read along with the others over Millicent's other shoulder for a while but quickly tries of reading about the day to day minutia.
"Geez. The Professor sure did write about his groceries a lot." he says as he plops into a chair and waits for the others to finish.
Sebastien sits up straight in his chair as Millicent calls for their attention. "What is it? What did you find?"
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Ajir waits a few minutes and then leaves the readers in peace. He heads downstairs to the bath.
Stripped down, he spends a few minutes with the basin to wash his clothes. His voice hums in a deep rhythic pattern as he washes the mud and grime from the edges of his clothes. When accomplished, he sets them across a chair in front of the fireplace to dry.
Then he draws the water pail and a cloth, exfoliating what he can before dipping into the water.
He spends a couple more minutes getting the water in the bath to temperature, perhaps a little too hot as to be comfortable longer. Still humming, he slips inside before breaking tune and letting out a satisfactory sigh. Using the heat of the water to help he rubs at his shoulder and arms that helped carry the prolonged burden of the coffin. His thumb pulls and stretches the taught lines that threaten to explode from his skin.
Once satisfactorily relaxed, he drives his legs above the water to fall further inside. Eyes closed, he thinks back to the start of the procesession, and the thunder that took him backwards in time. He dwells on it for minutes, exploring the fear and its cause. He quickly notes the similarities of situation and accepts his reaction, hoping in the future to draw upon the lesson of today.
He lets out a bubble, felt drawn upwards from his nose, but unseen from his eyes. He imagines it drifting to the surface, and then it continuing on, rising above the surface of the tub and continuing on through the ceiling, the roof, the sky, and whatever lay beyond. Then another bubble allows another thought to escape, Percy had surprised him with the chair. A warning that even with all his practice, that sometimes luck is not in his favor.
Another bubble trickles upwards. That a town could be so isolated and some of its members lacked a foundation of trust for each other surprises Ajir. I wonder what Sifu Hime would think of this community. No doubt his old master would try to improve the conditions of the townsfolk by improving the problematic townsfolk themselves.
He knew the Professor was interested in people, and that was a particular skill that Ajir did learn for all his lack of studying the texts. Perhaps in his month here he can pay homage to both his saviors.
A final bubble rises from his nose, no longer carrying outward a thought. A moment longer and Ajir rises from the water, done.
Once dried and clothed, he'll spend some time with Kendra in the kitchen. While not a cook himself, he has no interest in the tomes above and can use the time to get to know their hostess better.
When the time comes, Ajir allows himself to be pulled away from the tasks at hand and review the others findings.
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Despite his title of doctor-- and his willingness to point it out to others-- Milo's heart is not that of an academic. Nor his mind, if truth be told. His grades at university had never been above 'acceptable,' and while he had diligently studied, hour on hour, the knowledge seemed a slippery thing, diagrams of muscles and nerves all too easy to forget once he looked away. It wasn't in books that he had found his sense of how to heal: it had been from his mother, from watching her set a bone, wrap a sprained ankle, mix a poultice to bring down swelling. The right combination of gentle kindness and firm instruction. The compassion-- to sit up all night with a sick child, to patiently rinse out cloths and apply them fresh again to bring down a fever, to wipe a patient's body clean of their own filth, because it needed doing... Things written in no textbook in Lepidstadt.
So he felt no particular draw, to the books, other than his stated desire to know for their own safety what lay inside.
When Marinus announces what he can sense from the books, Milo looks on him with some wonder. "You can tell all that? Because of your... your... 'psychic soul,' the memories? That is incredible. You have unusual gifts indeed."
When Millicent delves into the first tome, and Marinus sets to reading over her shoulder, Milo has less stamina for it even than Sebastien. "I'll just be downstairs," he murmurs, and closes the door softly behind him to leave the scholars to it.
He can make tea, he supposes.
He busies himself with that, exchanging small talk with Kendra and explaining that he'd thought the stalwart researchers above might care for tea, and while the kettle builds to a slow whistle he finds himself staring morosely out at the grey rain-shrouded landscape. It's miserable weather. It usually is, in Ustalav.
What in the name of all the gods am I doing here he thinks to himself.
Go where the battle is, boyo.
There isn't to BE a battle, he rejoins angrily. This isn't a war, it's just-- an errand, a debt.
The accursed voice doesn't answer. Milo shakes his head and reaches for the kettle.
Ajir joins them in a bit, freshly cleaned it looks like. Milo wishes he'd thought of that; he still has mud on his trouser legs.
"Mr. Jiro," he says, only slightly awkwardly, and then is content to let the more talkative warrior and their hostess do the chatting.
***
When he gets to the third floor, it's with a tray in his hands, and a pot of steaming fragrant tea, and several cups. Ajir's right behind him.
"Anything learned as yet?" he asks. "I brought tea... the bisque will likely be ready soon."
The monk waves off the formality. "Ajir is fine Doctor. I thought you'd be upstairs?"
"Lady Kendra, I noticed a small plot of greens out front. Do you grow them yourself?" Ajir has some experience working a small farm and compares notes, mostly as an avenue of conversation. Perhaps as a project for the month if she asks for aid tending it while she sees to newer tasks among the household.
"Oh. No. I'm honestly not much of a reader," Milo admits, rubbing at the back of his neck. "And there's only so much space to peer over Madame Jones's shoulder, at any rate, Mr.... ... Ajir."
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Emm closes the door and pauses to listen for any strange noises that might indicate an unwelcome listener.
After a moment, she takes a spot up in front of the assembled group.
”Thank you all for gathering at my request. Leaving Kendra out of this matter for the time being sits poorly with me, but I do not wish to further upset her before it is necessary.” She holds up the journal. ”The contents of this journal reveal the truth of what happened to Petros. He took the liberty of circling certain recent entries regarding a certain mysterious group, one whose name I will refrain from speaking out loud at this time. The content of the entries, the dates, and the other books found with the journal point to this being foul play of a most vile sort. In short, Professor Petros Lorrimor was murdered.”
She pauses a moment to let that revelation sink in. As she does, she hands the journal to those who have not read it yet, the page open to the last entries.
”Furthermore, as you all can see, Petros was attempting to stop some sort of tragedy from befalling the town during his bout with this clandestine organization. As his death suggests that he has failed, whatever doom he feared remains to be dealt with. I can assure you that Petros would not exaggerate in his own journal about the gravity of this situation. He would be certain. Therefore, no less than this entire town and all its people are in mortal peril. Judging by the trail he has left, he hoped that we would pick up where he left off.”
She pauses again to let peoples’ thoughts catch up to the situation. She can feel her chest heating up with anxious anticipation.
”I wanted everyone here so that we could all know the stakes of our situation. The grave severity of what Petros would ask of us. Anyone that wants to walk away now, this is your chance. I, for my part, cannot abide the existence of such evil as he died fighting, nor could I forgive myself for denying such a request to him when I have—“ She cuts herself off, as she should be careful speaking about the help he provided against the Anaphexia. ”I know we all owe Petros. I can think of no better way to repay him than to finish his last work. The work that killed him.”
Emm feels a burning joy as she thinks of finding Petros’s murderer(s) and showing them the justice of fire. It has been too long since that rush of righteous exultation she felt when her dear departed supervisor burned in his office. Rage, righteous or not, scares her as much as it excites her, so she tries to push down the feeling. She doesn’t know the details yet, after all.
Sebastien gratefully accepts a cup of tea from Milo as he and Ajir rejoin them in the library. 'Thank you, Doctor."
Blowing gently over the cup to cool it a bit Sebastien sinks into his chair sipping contentedly.
As Millicent recounts the contents of the journal he squirms agitatedly in the chair as his anger slowly comes to a boil. By the time she's finished, he can no longer contain his frustration. "Damn right we'll finish his work! We have to. We said we'd see to Kendra's safety before we left and it's clear that no one is safe while these necromancers remain on the loose! Besides they need to answer for the Professor's death if nothing else."
Setting the tea aside Sebastien stands and takes the offered journal from Millicent and reads over the circled entries. "If we're going to stop this cabal we can't be worrying about additional threats. These spirits he mentions encountering at Harrowstone could be extremely dangerous if we don't prepare ourselves properly. Auntie has sent me to help the senior Inquisitors put a few restless spirits back in their graves and preparation is super important."
Holding the journal out for someone else to take he continues, "We need to retrace the Professor's steps and see if we can't get the list of inmates and the tools the Professor mentioned from Father Grimburrow."
The Whispering Way is a sinister organization of necromancers that has been active in the Inner Sea region for thousands of years. Agents of the Whispering Way often seek alliances with undead creatures, or are themselves undead. The Whispering Way’s most notorious member was Tar-Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant, although the society itself has existed much longer than even that mighty necromancer.
Harrowstone is a ruined prison— partially destroyed by a fire in 4661, the building has stood vacant ever since. The locals suspect that it’s haunted, and don’t enjoy speaking of the place. It was built in 4594. Ravengro was founded at the same time as a place where guards and their families could live and that would produce food and other supplies used by the prison. The fire that killed all of the prisoners and most of the guards destroyed a large portion of the prison’s underground eastern wing, but left most of the stone structure above relatively intact.
The prison’s warden perished in the fire, along with his wife, although no one knows why she was in the prison when the fire occurred. A statue commemorating the warden and the guards who lost their lives was built in the months after the tragedy—that statue still stands on the riverbank just outside of town. Most of the hardened criminals sent to Harrowstone spent only a few months imprisoned, for it was here that most of Ustalav’s executions during that era were carried out. The fire that caused the tragedy was, in fact, a blessing in disguise, for the prisoners had rioted and gained control of the prison’s dungeons immediately prior to the conflagration. It was only through the self-sacrifice of Warden Hawkran and 23 of his guards that the prisoners were prevented from escaping—the guards gave their lives to save the town of Ravengro.
At the time Harrowstone burned, five particularly notorious criminals had recently arrived at the prison. While the commonly held belief is that the tragic fire began accidentally after the riot began, in fact the prisoners had already seized control of the dungeon and had been in command of the lower level for several hours before the fire. Warden Hawkran triggered a deadfall to seal the rioting prisoners in the lower level, but in so doing trapped himself and nearly two dozen guards. The prisoners were in the process of escaping when the panicked guards accidentally started the fire in a desperate attempt to end the riot.
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Marinus observes as Millicent asserts leadership and Sebastien blusters. He massages his forehead before a rather sober, calm voice escapes his lips.
"Yes, the Whi—" Here his voice softens, but he continues defiantly. The Whispering Way is known to me, especially their most famous member. I guess most of us here know of Tar-Baphon. Don't look at me like that, Emm. You're not my mother, and I don't believe in giving evil power by keeping its names silent."
He pauses, a bit taken aback at the thoughts spilling out of his mouth. Words form on his fingers.
That's the spirit! You know a thing or two about this.
"They are necromancers, and some are themselves undead. Worth fearing. Worth smiting." He goes to the window, looking out towards Harrowstone. "The prison is known to me. I... think I've been there. Before it burned, while it housed those that Ustalav sentenced to die. After. Warden Hawken was a brave man. He saved this town when fire threatened to unleash murders onto the town. Five were especially notorious..."
He frowns, old grief shading young eyes. "Some thought the fire set the stage for escape. It isn't true. The prisoners were already escaping. They had taken control of the basement. The guards set the fire, hoping to stop them. Hawkran collapsed a deadfall, trapping himself and his guards below. I... believe I grieved. He was a principled man."
His talkative hands wipe at tears welling up in his eyes. "Petros didn't tell me he was exploring. I would have warned him away. But he must have had good reason. Yes, we should go."
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Emm rolls her eyes at the “giving evil power” comment. Pure ideology nonsense. She nevertheless waits for him to finish his explanation. ”Thank you for the information, Marinus. But dear boy, perhaps that sentiment in regards to speaking names aloud might make sense in a world that didn’t have magic that allows one to, say, listen in when your name is spoken. I was trying to take the bare minimum of precaution against drawing the attention of evil powers right when I was saying how much I’d like to burn them to the ground. I think that alerting evil of the location and intents of its enemies is ‘giving evil power’ more than practicing basic operational security.”
Marinus demonstrates the flexibility of his eye muscles, returning Emm's roll. He just lets his hands cut the air in response.
This body may be young, but the spirit within has lived an unknowable number of life times, child.
After a moment, he breaths in and exhales his verbal response. "If you're listening now, Tar-Baphon, I pray you'll have your servants fetch us some trifle. I've a sweet tooth."
Ajir listens as the story unfolds. As the journal comes circle to him, he stands and looks for pen and paper. He listens to the conversation at hand while copying just the circled phrases onto a loose sheet. He skips over the parts uncircled.
"The Ghosts of Harrowstone?" he mumbles when he copies the journal of eighteen days past.
His eye glance across the last entry. "If he didn't have time to update his will before his last entry, how did we come to be upon it? He expected trouble within a month of his passing, but when was his will written in relation to these entries?"
His brow furls slightly, "If I had had my way, we would not have read these notes. Was the month of passing time here meant to keep us in place; to defend this town and his daughter when his fears came to fruition?"
Finished, he blows upon the paper's ink to dry, folds it and places it into a belt pouch.
"I know we all owe Petros. I can think of no better way to repay him than to finish his last work. The work that killed him."
"You believe he was murdered by this cabal?"
"I had asked for a way to pass three debts. Two I discovered. The third shall be stopping this clandestine organization." He pauses, clearly unfamiliar with the word. "Bringing his murderers to justice I do purely of selfish desire."
"Perhaps we should take a moment to collect ourselves over calming dinner before storming off to this Father Grimburrow in mid-evening?"
"This cabal has had several weeks to go about their work unhindered since the Professor died. I feel time is of the essence. I suggest heading to the cathedral now. Once we've spoken to Father Grimburrow we can return to eat dinner before making any other decisions or preparations that might be necessary."
Blood sprays across the spiral. Figures in robes hold knives dripping with blood, as his brothers' own cassocks twist around their corpses.
Marinus shudders. "I shall need a night's sleep before we do anything risky, but a visit to the father would be fine. I suppose that means no bath, then."
His eyes lose focus and brow furrows. Like Millicent before him, the last bits of mud and rain fall from him. The filth swirls into a dustbin as the smell of cinnamon, cocoa, and black pepper fill the air around him.
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Milo looks floored by the revelation that Petros did not die of natural causes. His olive skin pales and he grabs the back of a chair nearby.
Now what did you say, bucko, about there not being a battle.....?
He can make no scathing rejoinder. He stands in silence, vaguely green about the gills, hands tightly gripping the back of the chair. Through it all, that inner murmur only grows more excited.
Hear that, lads? Bonelickers to kill. Stab 'em all. Burn what's left. Scorch the earth, this is war! Fight or die!
Milo swallows, shutting his eyes against unwelcome images, the voices of the others rising and falling around him. He feels as if he might be sick.
This is not my business. My business is healing. Bandaging a cartsman when the horses' hooves go astray, delivering a baby, mixing a poultice for a wracking cough.... what do I know of necromancers? Of dead things, and FIGHTING them? I don't want this. I don't want any of this!
Pox take you, coward, will you be then forsworn like your wretch of a father? jeers the sharp voice. Honor your debts! Your oaths! Be a man, not a cringing maiden!
Why is it 'men' must be willing to kill to be considered such!? And none of the 'maidens' I know are terribly cringing, you horrible--
It is pointless to argue with the voice, and he knows it, though the temptation rises too strong all the same sometimes. Milo scrubs at his face with both hands, and then picks up his forgotten cup to knock the tea back as though it were a harder beverage.
Sebastien is swearing fiery oaths and determination. The librarian and the youth are discussing something about names, and power, and.... casually speaking of opposing the forces of Tar-Baphon as if that were a thing that had any basis in sanity. The quiet Ajir is asking probing questions. Milo very much wants to just turn on his heel and leave the room.
All that his will asked us to do was to escort the damned books! he wants to protest, though even in his own ears it sounds like a miserable whine.
Don't be a ruddy COWARD.
What he says aloud is, "I... I am no warrior. I have neither the training nor the inclination f... for it. But if I may... be of... assistance... as a physician, or in... any other way... I, I... I do owe it to Petros."
He pauses, staring at the floor. "...do any of you know... how t-to... don... armor?"
Ajir glances at the young doctor. "Sorry Doctor, afraid I would be more burden than aid with your protective gear. Though I must say, a doctor in armor is a good idea, keep the medic from harms way."
His eyes glance over at the now clean young man in the room. "Effective. Though I hope you don't try to speed through all of life's menial labors with tricks and spells. Sometimes a thing needs doing just to be done, and lessons are learned in the time taken to do them."
He smiles, "And the warmth of a bath is a wonderful thing on a gloomy day."
Sebastien nods in agreement with Marinus. "Sure. We want to take care of this as soon as possible but rushing in before we're ready won't do anybody any good and might get us killed. A chat with the priest is a good first step though. You seem pretty familiar with the prison's history Marinus. Do you know how close Harrowstone is to the village? Can you lead the way once we've finished our preparations?"
Overhearing Milo and Ajir's conversation as he speaks to Marinus Sebastien turns briefly to address the Doctor. "I can show you how to don a suit of armor Doctor. Ravengro seems pretty small though. I don't know if the local smith will have anything worthwhile for sale."
Milo looks somewhat disappointed at Ajir's assertion that it's beyond him, but nods with resignation-- only to glance over to Sebastien. "Oh-- oh yes? Well-- if, if you would be so, so kind, Mr. Sebastien. I-- there is a -- it's sort of a family heirloom, but, I mean, I have it. Already. And if we're... we're to go into somewhere dangerous, then, yes, it would be good if I.... I live long enough to... be useful, as a healer."
Marinus considers for a moment, giggles a little. "Yes, I know the way."
He gives Ajir another friendly laugh. "If Sebastien here weren't in such a hurry, I'd soak for hours. But it won't do to visit a temple smelling like a wet pup."
With his mother gone, much of Marinus' boyish demeanor is gone. Although many adolescent boys bluster and play at being men, his current mien does not seem to be a pretense. His occasional fits and frequent digital tics are not a sign of youth, but of a much burdened mind.
If anything, it's possible the lad feigns a son's deference. Perhaps to reassure the latest of many mothers. Perhaps because he is only marginally grown in a world where youth lack full liberty.
Sebastien's smile returns for a moment. "Don't you worry Doc. We'll do everything we can to make sure you make it back in one piece."
After reassuring the Doctor Sebastien turns back to Marinus. "Good one less thing we need to worry about. And you're not wrong about cleaning up before visiting the cathedral. I was planning to bathe this evening once you'd all had a chance but... I don't suppose you can do that trick again in the interest of making a good impression?" he asks gesturing at the dustbin.
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Emm flicks her hand over Basti. ”Already done.” She tosses a smile over her shoulder at Ajir, glancing over her glasses. ”Any lessons to be learned from such menial tasks I would have already learned long ago.” She would have lost her job and been turned out onto the street if she hadn’t been able to keep herself clean with magic during that unpleasant period of homelessness and poverty. The lesson was that there are no lessons in drudgery and the menial. They don’t carry any greater meaning or enlightenment and she would not wish them upon anyone. She keeps those thoughts to herself, though. Some other time.
Oh? The doctor shall be wearing armor now? How droll. Hopefully, it will give him a trace more confidence. She must admit, the earnestness is rather endearing. Years and years ago, in another life, she was not that different. Basti might be a good influence on the good doctor, at least in matters of confidence, so she’s glad to see Basti stepping in.
And as for Marinus...she has never been able to get a complete read on him, part of why she directed him towards Petros to be entirely truthful. How much is him and how much is whatever is inside him? Are they separate at all? She has never been able to grasp the concept of a mind separate from a body. Obviously, it happens, but it makes as much sense to her as a rectangle without corners or an invisible light. She really will need to make sure she finishes studying sign language so she can understand better.
Her stance on the body/mind dualism issue has confused a number of people who presumed that her gender issue was somehow similar, trying to reduce her to “woman trapped in a man’s body” or some other such nonsense. Her body is hers, and thus a woman’s body, and she wouldn’t trade it. She didn’t make changes and adjustments to her body because she was solving some existential paradox she needed to correct. She did it for the same reason she got her tattoos: she wanted to. It’s as simple as that. Why would it need to be anything else?
He grins at Emm, "Little doubt that you need little repetition to learn anything. Still missing out on a relaxing time for yourself. Everyone should enjoy their creature comforts, otherwise we'd just be dour all the time."
Emm picks up the bait, but she takes it in good humor. ”I have my ways of enjoying myself. Playing gadfly is one of them. I am afraid that I have been over-relying on it since I quit smoking. Nothing quite calms the nerves like a cigarette, but some harmless verbal fencing comes closest. Well, and a nice shag.” She shrugs and sighs. ”But that is off the table thanks to no suitable prospects, so maybe I should start smoking again, lest I grow even more insufferable in my boredom.” Her exes always said she was nicer when she was smoking. Aside from the obvious effects on her nerves and the surly attitude that comes from withdrawal, she always liked having a little fire burning with her at all times. It was comforting. She had stopped after Agnes left, both in the way that people often try changing themselves to cope with a tragedy and as a way of punishing herself for letting her go.
Goodness...that’s right. With Agnes in Lepidstadt, and her going to Lepidstadt for Petros at the end of the month...ye gods. How would she even explain herself, though? “I won’t move to Lepidstadt with you but I will hike across the country to Lepidstadt for completely unrelated reasons?” But not checking in would be even worse. What if Agnes is already seeing someone else? What if she isn’t?
She shakes herself out of her obsessive thoughts. That is a problem for future Emm, who may not even be alive in a month. She does come to one conclusion though: she definitely needs to start smoking again.