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"Thank you Sanduro," Wallace says, giving the man a grateful nod as the healing stops the bleeding and dramatically eases his pain. That's what we need more of in the world. Healers. Practical magic is truly a wondrous thing.
"For what it's worth, Lady Mayor, I can corroborate Silvia. From the bits of memory I can piece back together, when the darkness exploded, we had front-row seats," he adds. He turns back to the others. "If we're ready, I think we should sweep the house. Father Black might still be lurking around and, better yet, there may be more answers inside." Direction is what we need. Now isn't the time to dwell on our sorrows, Roslar's Coffer needs us steady. We'll have time for our own feelings soon enough.
"I'm glad to hear it," the Lady Mayor says with a worried glance up at the castle. "Octavius wasn't as...aggressive...when we spoke, but he wasn't entirely himself either. He recognized that we had suffered an attack, but seems determined to protect the town. It was him who rallied the townsfolk to attack the winged skeleton-thing. Then he retreated up there, says he needs to plan a counterattack against the monsters." Grive wrings her hands in worry.
"But the rest of the town council--indeed, most of the town!--doesn't seem to accept or realize they're dead. We need to convince them somehow, especially the children!" Grive looks miserable now. "I've never been good with children at the best of times, but now--oh gods, what if I traumatized them further? What I say the wrong thing and, and ruin their afterlife?" She looks like she wants to cry.
Sanduro watches in frustration as the worst of Silvia’s wounds start to close and then... stop. “These potions must have been left in the tomb so long that they’ve gone bad,” he mutters to himself.
“If we had more time, I would ask you to rest and let me try bandaging you up, but maybe you should just take one of the stronger elixirs,” he says to the gunslinger. “We don’t know what we’re going to have to deal with next.”
"But the rest of the town council--indeed, most of the town!--doesn't seem to accept or realize they're dead. We need to convince them somehow, especially the children!" Grive looks miserable now. "I've never been good with children at the best of times, but now--oh gods, what if I traumatized them further? What I say the wrong thing and, and ruin their afterlife?" She looks like she wants to cry.
Sanduro looks stricken at the Mayor’s distress. “Ma’am, please, don’t worry about that. I know I was just a visitor in your town and I know your people liked you, but I really don’t think that there is anything you could have possibly said that would ruin anyone’s entire afterlife! I mean,” he gestures at the Spire in the distance, “deciding what kind of afterlife we all have, isn't that Her job? No disrespect intended, but I just don’t think you’ve got that much power over your people, not by comparison.”
Ketra tries to put a reassuring hand on the mayor's shoulder, but finds (to her discomfort) that she has to settle for words "We'll work it out, somehow. And Sanduro's right. I don't think we can do anything here that'll ruin people's afterlives. Just... um." Ketra is entirely out of her depth with this whole spiritual, metaphysical situation. Sanduro at least had his trust in Pharasma's judgement. "In any case, we'll talk to Black, make sure he understands. He was really level headed when he was alive, so hopefully that stayed the same."
"Stay here and we'll get him."
Assuming the rest of the group is healed up enough, she leads the way up to the section of the keep where she last saw Octavius.
With Ketra in the lead you head into the main keep and up the stairs, through rooms that loom large in your memories of recent events. Even without the twisted corpses and hideous thrumming pulse of that unknown magic, there seems to be a pall over Cofferkeep that carries through even this flawed re-creation of the building.
You emerge onto the battlements to a strange sight: several racks of semi-solid weapons--perhaps the whole armory's worth--have been dragged up here and arrayed in haphazard rows. Even stranger, a table has been added and is covered in documents. Maps, supply lists, other papers are weighed down by various knick-knacks from around the fort, with lines of string and chess figures scattered about.
The table displays an order of battle, depicting Roslar's Coffer inside a loop of grey thread. Several small items scattered throughout the map act as markers for attackers or defenders, but at a glance you're not able to tell what each marker is supposed to correlate to.
Octavius Black, looking every bit as solid as the last time you saw him, is standing with his back to you as he gazes through a spyglass at the rolling banks of fog. As you reach the top of the stairs he collapses the spyglass with a metallic snap.
"Good, you're here," is all he offers by way of acknowledgement as he turns back to the table. Picking up a few more chess pieces he sets them at Cofferkeep on the map. "Tell Rosalind to hold off on her ranting, I've got a plan, and now that you're here we've got the manpower to carry it out!"
Sanduro gazes at the detritus strewn everywhere, with no apparent rhyme or reason to it, and looks around to his comrades helplessly.
"A... plan, sir?"
Looking at the battle map, Ketra gets a bad feeling about how this interaction is going to go. She echoes Sanduro "What plan? Also, uh, if you don't mind me asking - and this is going to be a bit weird - but does anyone out in town look strange to you?"
"Strange? Like most of 'em being ghosts?" Octavius snorts and shakes his head. "It's not ideal, that's certain, but I served in the Worldwound in the last crusade--you work with the troops you've got, not the ones you wish you had. I won't sugarcoat it though, this," the grizzled veteran points up at the leering skull-faced moon, finally dragging his gaze up from the table to look at you all. His face and neck drip that same quicksilver sweat, and he's breathing hard. "This is probably even worse than the Worldwount. Groetus has come, the End of All Things has begun...but by iron and blood, we'll do our part to stem the tide."
Black gestures at the map before him. "They've got us surrounded with that damnable fog, no doubt hiding their movements. We drove that skeletal-vulture thing and its familiar...they haven't come at us since. They'll regret giving us the extra time! We'll need an earthworks along this line to block the main streets. These houses are too far off from the town heart, we'll rig traps and then abandon them. Wish the damn pencil-pushers in Vigil had given us resources for a wall, but too late now..." Octavius' voice grows steadily lower until this muttering unintelligibly, occasionally nudging pieces around on the map. After a minute or two of this he stops, his gaze snapping back up.
"Where's the Captain?"
This is not the 'real' Octavius, any more than the Rosalind in the courtyard was truly her. Knowing that alter egos are a fragment of the original creature's personality, you suspect this being is a mix of delusion and denial made manifest. None of you know exactly what happened to kill off the town, and for an adherent of Gorum it may be especially painful to come to terms with that. This "Octavius" is building an elaborate final battle for itself to die in, based mostly on wishful thinking.
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"Oh... I see," Sanduro says sadly. "You're, um, a lot like her, aren't you? Some part of you is left behind. The soldier, I guess, and since what happened to the people under your care was so terrible, you’ve gone back to something you understand.” He nods, and Zsofia steps closer to the alter ego, putting herself between the remnant of Father Black and the druid.
“Nobody’s coming, though. Nobody will attack the town. The psychopomps you drove off -- they’re just sad. They feel sorry for you, for everyone here. They can help you move to your next,” once again, he points to the Spire in the distance, “your next step, if you’ll let them. But if you’re not ready, we’ll leave you to your plans.”
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With Sanduro handling the situation as well as anyone, Wallace keeps watch on Father Black. Where are the real Captain and Father? If this is a piece of them like they say, are there more pieces we have to defeat for them to finally be able to move on? Hopefully we can resolve this one peacefully, we're off to a promising start.
Feelings of despair and hope war within Silvia, prompted by the sight of another friend's echo. If they're not really here, maybe they didn't actually die? Is there some exaggerated copy of each of us roaming the Boneyard?
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"Leave me to my...? Lad--Sanduro, right? You can't give up hope--death has come for us, but we can make our last stand one worthy of Our Lord in Iron. You're a wise young man--when we come to our ends it'll be time to move on to whatever is next. But I'm not finished just yet!" Octavius places a fatherly hand on Sanduro's shoulder. "As for psycho-whatever, take it from an old soldier who was in Kenebres: when you see a skeletal vulture-man with a scythe...that's a demon all right. One of Urgathoa's, no doubt. Which reminds me, we should string up some nets over the alleyways to stave off flying foes. Won't do much against teleportation, but you can't have everything..." the alter-ego starts marking on the map again, pulled back into his fantasy of a final stand for Roslar's Coffer.
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"The appearance of the psychopomps is unfortunate, I grant you, Father Black, but look around. The town and people are insubstantial. The Boneyard is all around us, shrouded in the mists of the underworld. And the moon--have you looked at the moon--is the clincher. We are in the realm of the dead, for sure," the young halfling says passionately, gesturing to the proof as he speaks.
"But that doesn't mean we are helpless! We must figure out what happened to our town to cause its mass destruction, and who was behind it." Looking pleadingly at Octavius, he concludes, "And the saddest duty of all remains. We need a leader who can help our dead friends and family come to terms with the next phase of their existence and move on. Can you be that leader for us, Father Black?"
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Ketra's somewhat taken aback by the frank analysis Black offers, and as soon as Sanduro offers his conclusions, she realizes he must be on the right track.
After Garret speaks, she adds "And hey now, if you know everyone's dead, then don't you want to help them move on to their right place to rest? For you, that's probably in Gorum's uh, halls?" She wonders for a moment if that sounds right "I'm sure the lord in iron would give an afterlife all about honorable battles. You'd be able to prove yourself there, and not hold everyone else back in the process. Sound good, right?"
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All those Gorumites can think of is the next war. Excellent fighters, down to a man, but how can Lastwall move on as a country if we only have a mind for war? That makes us no better than the Orcs we fight! We have to show a different side, one filled with justice and honor as well! Gerald was always going on and on about how we have to liberate our lands from the Orc menace, but what of his plans for once they're gone? NOTHING!
"All this conflict is a fool's errand Father Black!" Wallace blurts out before he manages to shut himself up and head out with a hand over his face. Underscores my need for lessons with Garret. Damn it! How could I let my own biases keep me from helping in such a delicate moment? I'll never be good enough, Father must have seen this in me all along. Explains why I was never called to take a Paladin's Oath as much as anything else.
Outside, he sits on a questionably substantial bench and worries at a cross stylized as a sword.
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"Octavius," Silvia says, her voice gentle, "death isn't an enemy you can maneuver or build fortifications against. You died on your feet, weapon in hand; you have surely made Gorum proud. But Wallace is right, this is a fool's errand, and while you stare at these maps, the town falls into chaos and despair. Unless we can convince them to move on, we may lose everyone a second time."
Octavius places his hands flat on the table, head bowed. He stands that way for a long time, unmoving, even as gleaming tears drip onto the map of Roslar's Coffer.
"I was an old man who'd survived all the battles Gorum'd thrown at me," he says finally, voice husky with emotion. "I was getting on into my twilight, drilling soldiers but never taking taking the battle to the foe anymore. I was an old blade, just rusting away. And now," he wipes some of the silvery sweat and stares at it, glistening on his fingertips. "...now I'm not even that anymore."
With a sudden burst of violence Octavius grips the table and flips it, scattering the papers and sending various markers clattering across the floor. He stands there staring down at the mess, taking deep breaths and slowly unclenching his fists. "You right, you're all right. I died in battle--a mage is a foe as deadly as any, and a spell's as good a weapon to kill you as any sword--I did my best to make the Lord in Iron proud. And now it's time to serve these folk one last time...some battles are fought in the mind, and I'll help you make sure they win it, if you'll have me."
Relieved, Ketra goes over and puts a hand around Black's shoulders "We'd love to have you Octavius. I'm glad, well, really, I'd be grateful to have your help. Its been hard seeing all the people I've known struggling with... well, with not being able to accept whats happened. And you've got your way with words. So..." She trails off, but somehow feels a little reassured that not everyone will be twisted like Rosalind was.
"Lets go talk with the Mayor - work out how we're going to do this."
"Before we leave the building," pipes up Garret, "might there be any clues here to the source of the magical explosion? We should at least search the room from which it originated."
Garret moves towards the room he remembers them opening right before the explosion and searches it, assuming he can get a few others to join him for safety.
...and he goes to the wrong room entirely.
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Silvia releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding and nearly rushes forward to wrap him up in a hug. She instead only takes a couple faltering steps forward, reminding herself that this isn't really him. Nearly paralyzed by the emotional turmoil raging in her mind, she seizes on Garret's suggestion.
"Yes, good idea!" she exclaims. "The whole town's become an echo of itself, maybe there's something similar for whatever destroyed it." She leaves with Garret to investigate, though she grabs his collar and yanks him along when he turns the wrong way.
Ketra looks in the direction of the rest of the town "We've got people to help. But... I guess maybe this might be our only chance to see what was behind the explosion. Maybe find some sign of that psycho and his pouch."
She joins Silvia and Garret.
Sanduro lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and loosens his white-knuckled grip on his bow.
That was close.
As the group files back into the fort from the balcony, the duskwalker lags behind, staring into the distance at Pharasma’s Spire.
“Why are we here?” he murmurs. “Why send Ketra and me back to the living world, just to bring us back? Why...”
He cuts off as a slap to the back of his head snaps his jaw shut.
Zsofia steps in front of him. “Enough moping, boyo. You need to focus on what’s important: getting us back to the real world so we can figure out who needs to suffer my vengeful ectoplasmic wrath. So let’s catch up with the others before this fortress dissolves into vapor and you fall to your death, OK?”
Sanduro glares at the phantom. “Fine, I’m going. We need to talk about your attitude, though.”
He hurries to catch up with the others. “Hey, Ketra, Silvia, I can help look around.”
You descend the stairs back to the armory with more than a bit of apprehension, pushing open the door to the room where Roslar's Coffer was murdered.
The table and weapon racks are missing, having been dragged to the roof by Octavius' alter ego, but otherwise the room appears as close to normal as anything here does. "Is this where it happened?" Octavius asks from behind you, trying to peer past the group into the room. "What did it look like?"
Ketra steps to the side to give Octavius a clearer look. "Its not here..." She crosses her arms "There was this satchel. On the table. It gave off this horrible feeling, but when we went to go take a closer look at it, well."
"It went and let out a flash. Or maybe something else let out the flash? Its hard to remember exactly what might've done it." She turns to Octavius "Octavius, you didn't see any satchels here when you started grabbing things for your, uh, war room?"
"Its strange how intact everything is. Maybe whoever does this whole strange Boneyard diorama thing recreated the town from earlier than right before the explosion... or whatever it was." The mystical, magical effects here are clearly leaving Ketra frustrated by her confusion.
Silvia nods in agreement with Ketra's description, but looks frustrated at the lack of clues. Sighing, she turns back toward the door. "Let's go tell the mayor. Kids next?"
Before they move along, Sanduro casts detect magic and looks around the room, just in case there is something real here that might be of use.
Descending into the courtyard, you find Mayor Grive waiting anxiously, though she looks relieved to see you with Octavius in tow.
"Oh, you're here!" Mayor Grive smooths her dress and clears her throat, composing herself. "Master Black," she begins, her intonation precise and clearly rehearsed. "You and I never saw eye to eye, but I hope you can agree that for the good of our town we must put aside our petty differences and help our friends and neighbors to--"
"Oh enough with the speeches already!" Octavius cuts her off. "Apology accepted, alright? Lets go knock some sense into those fools, and if that doesn't work mayhaps talking will, aye?" The alter-ego marches determinedly out the gate toward the town square.
"I wasn't going to apologize," Mayor Grive sniffs, but sets off after him. "Master Black, I daresay you are headed in the wrong direction!"
"Balderdash, I know for a fact that Arbella is holding court with half the town listening to her and that ranting madman."
"I don't disagree, but Councilor Tharmethion and her--ah, great-great-grandfather or whatever he is, they will keep for the moment." Mayor Grive insists. "The children are all at the Ribbon Tree, and their impressionable young minds can't be left to chance! We should go there first!" Octavius draws a deep breath, ready to argue.
Silvia nods emphatically in agreement with Wallace, but freezes when Mayor Grive's words sink in. "Her great-great-grandfather?"
"Agreed, Wallace. Let's go speak with the children. Perhaps I will see Laesi again," Garret replies, with a mixture of hope and sadness.
"Oh enough with the speeches already!" Octavius cuts her off. "Apology accepted, alright? Lets go knock some sense into those fools, and if that doesn't work mayhaps talking will, aye?" The alter-ego marches determinedly out the gate toward the town square.
"Knock sense into them first, try talking later? Boyo, I'm starting to like this guy." Zsofia speaks loudly enough for everyone - including Black and the Mayor - to hear her. "But like my mother always said, you have to eat your vegetables before you get dessert. So let's get the depressing conversation with the kids over with, then have fun knocking heads, OK?"
Sanduro stares at the phantom in surprise. "Zsofia, you remember your mother?"
She looks at him in irritated confusion. "What? No, I don't remember anything. You know that. Why would you even ask? Gods, like we haven't had that conversation a hundred times already!" She stalks ahead of the group, kicking a rock as she walks.
Sanduro sighs, then turns to the others and says, "I agree with Wallace and the rest of you. Let's talk to the children first. Then we can knock heads -- I mean, talk with the adults. Including someone's great-great-grandfather? Isn't that unusual, to have a living ancestor that far back? I mean, not living, not now, but before."
"It's very unusual, but especially so for Roslar's Coffer. People were lucky to have parents after the Twisted Nail raid, let alone grandparents, let alone great-grandparents."
Ketra grins at Silvia's comment "I'm getting a feeling that we better get used to it. This is the Boneyard after all." She nods as the others offer their takes "Yeah, kids first for sure. They might even be easier to talk around to it."
"Octavius, I think the Mayor's right. Unless you think we need to split up?"
"Her great-great-grandfather?"
"Oh yes, he came riding in on a horse made of mist not long after those dreadful skeleton-monsters left. He announced he was Councilor Tharmethion's ancestor returned to deliver a message from beyond the grave." Mayor Grive's voice takes on an irritated edge. "His timing is terrible if he's legitimate--which I do not think he is!"
Octavius heaves a sigh when it's clear he's outvoted. He tosses his hands in the air in exasperation but subsides with only a little grumbling as the group heads to the find the town's children.
The Ribbon Tree is a tall gnarled oak tree that died when the Twisted Nail burned much of the original town and surrounding fields. When it was rebuilt, the local children took to challenging one another to climb up into its branches and tie off long brightly-colored ribbons. After some concern about injuries, the town's adults largely acquiesced and the tree became a symbol of the town's defiance and resilience.
You step out onto a small field dominated by the tree--the site of many wild games of tug-or-war or tag--and find nearly a score of children thronged around the tree, chasing one another or chattering loudly. Stranger still, the long-dead Ribbon Tree is now a riot of flowering blooms, green vines wrapping its branches and decorated with hundreds of flowers--white, sky blue, and violet morning glories decorate the tree, seeming more real and solid than anything you've yet seen in Roslar's Coffer.
Perched in the branches of the Ribbon Tree is a large black crow with white wingtips, curiously watching the children play. Unlike Umble, this appears to be a living bird--though twice the size of a housecat--and there's a glint of intelligence in its eyes as it raises its gaze to regard your group.
No ordinary crow, that bird is a sentient magical being known as a witchcrow. While sometimes cruel and even murderous, just as often they are regarded as wise messengers and fortune-tellers. They are canny and possessed of long memories and magical abilities.
"Garry!" a high, delighted voice squeals, as Laesi brakes off from her game of tag and runs over to give the slight halfling a hug, nearly knocking him off his feet. "I was worried when you and your friends didn't show up, there was a big flash of light and then everybody was really confused and we couldn't find some people but you're here now and that's great!" She beams at all of you, but then an anxious look overcomes her expression. "Did you find my dad?"
"Oh yes, he came riding in on a horse made of mist not long after those dreadful skeleton-monsters left. He announced he was Councilor Tharmethion's ancestor returned to deliver a message from beyond the grave." Mayor Grive's voice takes on an irritated edge. "His timing is terrible if he's legitimate--which I do not think he is!"
For a moment, Sanduro considers changing his vote to suggest investigating the alleged ancestor, but he is distracted by the sight of children playing and surprise at the resurrected Ribbon Tree. His eyes narrow when he notices the oversized crow.
Sanduro is used to being able to identify almost any animal he encounters, but he has never seen a crow like this one before. Given the circumstances, he looks to the other spellcaster in the group. "Garret," he calls, trying to keep his alarm out of his voice. "Sorry to interrupt, but take a look up in the tree - any ideas about that big bird that's up there? It was, um, keeping an eye on the children when we got here. Now it's watching us." The duskwalker points to the crow (so the entire group can see).
Gazing into the tree, Garret looks for the bird in question, saying, ”It is wonderful to see you, Laesi, but I haven’t seen your father since the explosion. I am hopeful he is here somewhere nearby. I will tell him you are looking for him if I see him.”
Seeing the crow, Garret thinks critically if this might be a mage’s familiar or some such animal companion.
“Ah, a Witchcrow,” says Garret, ”I wonder what message it has for us?”
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