Roger lands a blow before seemingly being swallowed by the disgusting thing. Fortunately Emma is able to match this and her sword strike is sufficient to bring about the creature's demise. As Roger splutters his way to his feet, Hannelia moves over to the pirate, who is dripping with mould, compost and other foulness. "Hold still a minute," she says to him, doing her best not to gag at the unpleasant odour emanating from the mould, "let me fix that for you." So saying, she works a minor magic that conjures up an invisible cloth which moves slowly around Roger and wipes away all of the decomposing matter. While this is happening, she asks "Care to enlighten us about the worst offenders on this list - or am I going to regret asking?"
"Good as new," she smiles a couple of minutes later as the spell finishes its polish and Roger appears fully ship-shape once more. "I'm sure I don't look too clever myself right now but more than happy to give anyone else a magical wipe down if, I don't know, they feel like they just battled a cult and its giant bug leader."
"I wouldn't say no to it," Emma tells Hannelia, gingerly flicking bits of slime from her sword. "When we get back from this little excursion, I may take a week long bath regardless. And part of me wishes you hadn't asked Roger for the worst offenders, as he's liable to tell us." She hesitates a moment. "Not that I'm not curious, but still."
"I'll second the bath idea," Hannelia agrees. "I can't entirely remove the foulness which has permeated from this place but in the mean time let's give you back a little sparkle. And hopefully in time the village will be rid of it too, though I think there will be some scars that will take a good long while to heal." Once more she works through her cantrip and lets the magic give Emma a clean, polishing her armour and weapon back to somewhere approaching the shiny state the paladin habitually keeps them in.
"Perhaps," she says in response to her friend's fears of what exactly Roger was going to tell them. "But the gods know we've had little enough to laugh about these last few days and Roger's always good for making my heart feel a little lighter amid the gloom." She flashes the pirate a smile of appreciation.
With Emma cleaned up, Hannelia attends to herself with the magic. "What about you, Majara?" she asks.
"I've been covered in worse," Majara says brusquely. Then a little pause, and a shrug. "....but being cleaner would be more pleasant. Yes. Thank you."
"Though doing something about our collective injuries might be more pressing than our hygiene. Still - before you clean me up, let me retrieve my dagger and see if there's anything else of interest in the... muck. You might do a bit of checking for magic, too."
Majara looks all the filthier after her inspection of the slime's remains, but duly presents herself to be magically dry-cleaned.
"Now then. I believe we've seen everything on this property, unless we wish to stick our head in the outhouse. The mayor's house, on the other hand, probably has whatever objects of wealth exist in this community, hmn? And.... the fields, we didn't poke about too much in the fields. I'd like to take a breather but I want us to do it safely, and not get attacked by remnants of the village out for vengeance. Your... Shel is it? Would she know about how many people are left unaccounted for?"
Majra resheathes her dagger, gazing at a wall a moment in silence, before adding, "I think this town won't be paying taxes for years to come. We've rather decimated the local economy."
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"Aye, thank ye Hannah!" Roger gives a nod and smile as he's assisted with cleanup.
Roger strokes his beard for a moment. "Top five, well, one I can't give all the details, for speaking ill of the dead, but safe to say t'were the worst moonshine the seas have ever seen. Then there was that ship what it seemed like they used the bilge as the poop deck. And any river in Mwangi. Just straight up, every river in Mwangi. Rivers shouldn't be a more solid shade'a brown than a Chelaxian sewer. Which was another a the top ten contenders." That wasn't exactly five, but perhaps math wasn't a Pirate's strong suit, or three separate Mwangi rivers took three of the spots.
Roger offers in response to Majara's comment on economy. "Ah, who knows, maybe the Mayor's got a some buried treasure or something! He was willing to bribe us to stop investigating wasn't he? Doesn't take a lot of coin by our standards these days to make up for a bad harvest or too."
Hannelia waits for Majara to finish digging around in the filth before cleaning her up and heeds her advice to check for any sense of magic. Moving through her repertoire of spells that she always has at her fingertips, she works through the incantation to sense the presence of magic.
Once satisfied with the outcome Hannelia moves onto cleaning the gnome, a quicker task despite the new layer of grime she has just acquired on account her smaller stature.
"Thank you, Roger," she replies to the pirate's tally of the worst ever baths, an enlightening list that lived up to the billing. Turning to Majara, she says, "You raise a good point, we're all running well below our peak right now." As if on cue, she yawns and stretches her arms towards the heavens.
"Yes, we should go to the mayor's house - perhaps we should check outside if he or his brother had a set of keys. That'll save us from having to kick down a door that I suspect might be a bit more robust than the one here, not to mention draw a few more eyes." She sighs heavily. "In fact I suppose we ought to clean up outside a bit anyway. Gather and lay out the dead - they were all someone's family, after all." Hannelia ponders the question of the remaining villagers, honestly unsure. "I don't know. We could ask her but I don't know if she'd know either. My guess is that not everyone was in on it. A good number for sure, but far from everyone I think. Certainly when we were first attacked in the square there were some members of the cult but plenty of villagers who were hiding behind their doors. Which is probably what the rest of the village is doing again right now if they've got any sense. We should definitely be careful though."
She pulls out her wand, having not yet reattached it to the sheath strapped to her wrist. "But first, more healing." She goes around the party in turn, draining a little of its power but restoring each of their energy, a more than fair trade as far as Hannelia is concerned.
"Well, thank you Roger, Mwangi is now officially off the list of places I want to visit. Or at least, their rivers are," Emma says, shaking her head with a rueful smile. "Can't say coming back here is going to be high on my list of priorities..." she adds in an undertone.
Emma looks around the area as Hannelia talks, taking in the aftermath with fresh eyes and wincing a bit. The whole thing looked... bad. Gruesome, even. And it wasn't intentional on their parts - most of the past while had been spent focusing on staying alive. It wasn't as though they'd compelled the cult to attack them. Still, they'd had quite the effect on the small town, in a relatively short amount of time. Not the best of impressions for their second major outing as a team.
"Agreed on the keys. And perhaps we ought to be a bit more subtle. I think my impatience earlier almost got us into a tight spot," Emma admits. "My apologies for that. In regards to cleaning up, I don't disagree with that sentiment - if only because it's the right thing to do - but we should probably get the mayor's place out of the way first, lest there is something lying in wait for us there." Emma looks down at the light cast from her sword. "I wish Constantine was coherent at the moment, he was usually good about deciding what to do next."
She feels markedly better after the healing from Hannelia. "Thank you for the healing - that should help see us through the rest of this night, lest there be any further incident - though I hope that's not the case."
"Can't say coming back here is going to be high on my list of priorities..." she adds in an undertone.
"All the more reason to make sure we leave things as best we can," Hannelia replies. "Even if that's inevitably going to be quite a mess for a while," she sighs. "Hopefully in time the villagers will be able to get things back to a better place. People tend to be resilient and adaptable and at least they now have the chance to do so out from under the thumb of fear and oppression." Hannelia pulls at her hair. Her words are optimistic and she does believe them - has to believe them - but this has been a sharp lesson that even doing 'the right thing' sometimes has unfortunate consequences.
"Agreed on the keys. And perhaps we ought to be a bit more subtle. I think my impatience earlier almost got us into a tight spot," Emma admits. "My apologies for that. In regards to cleaning up, I don't disagree with that sentiment - if only because it's the right thing to do - but we should probably get the mayor's place out of the way first, lest there is something lying in wait for us there." Emma looks down at the light cast from her sword. "I wish Constantine was coherent at the moment, he was usually good about deciding what to do next."
"Well you know I'd rather leave things as neat as possible before moving on," Hannelia says wryly. "And I wasn't suggesting a major operation - secure anything useful - or dangerous - and lay out the bodies. But I could be persuaded otherwise if you think that will take too long. We will need to look for any keys regardless."
At the mention of Constantine, Hannelia puts an arm around her friend's shoulder. "Me too," she says quietly. "Let's hope that being away from here and being able to get him some proper help will allow him to find himself again." While there's no shortage of things going on, Constantine's situation is concerning her more than she'd care to admit. Although there was probably nothing she could have done, Hannelia still feels somehow responsible for her friend's condition and she is trying not to give herself a hard time over her failure to prevent it. She looks around at the others, the team bond that they have formed, and resolves only to hold them closer.
You wipe away the corpse of the ooze with a bit of cloth and magic, which eventually comes away clean. The smell lingers, but that's to be expected for as long as you're in the building.
Hannelia searches the rest of the building for magical auras, revealing that there are none remaining. You've done a thorough job of clearing the building apparently.
Before you execute on your plan to head over to the Mayor's house, there is the matter of corpses. If you count, there are 20 sickles, cultist robes and masks, discounting the mayor's own set. The mayor's original corpse has some valuables attached. The wicked spear has a simple enchantment. Other things on his person include several potions, one of which seems spent, blue whinnis poison coupled with an antitoxin, a silver symbol dedicated to Ghlaunder, and a set of keys, presumably to Andretti Kreigler's abode.
His "brother", or at least his remains, also maintains a pouch with two more potions. His own rusted sickle is also magical.
The carrion birds for which the town is named make their presence know with their cawing, alerting more of their number to loom on the edge of the barn, waiting for their macabre meals to be deserted.
Saul Lupescu faithfully stands guard over the bodies. He tries to maintain his pride in asking for help, "Send word to the older men to gather the bodies to bury. Others won't have the stomach."
Shel turns away and joins you and Elias in marching over to the Mayor's house.
______
The shutters of every house are drawn tight. The music of fiddles and laughter can no longer be heard as you meander through the village square. You feel eyes on you as before, and not just the ravens. Every villager seems to be frightened of you, who knows what the Mayor had told them. But in any case, if he did say something, he went to the Chenowitz place, and only you emerged with their own Shel Lupescu and that redheaded city slicker.
______
The ravens’ calls drone on ominously as you approach the manor. The keys are in your hands.
Finding nothing obviously remaining in the house, the group heads back outside to check the bodies for anything interesting. As well as numerous sets of cultists robes and masks, they turn up a number of potions and poisons. "Probably best for you to assess what we have here," Hannelia says to Majara. Once more looking for magical dweomers, she discovers that both the mayor's spear and the faithless stalker's sickle have discernible auras. Hoping that examining these weapons might make Constantine feel more like himself, she gently suggests, "Perhaps you'd like to take a look at these, Constantine? Only if you're feeling up to it though, don't do it if you can't right now," she adds quickly, not wanting to further burden his already troubled mind in case what he learns is unpleasant.
And among the carnage Hannelia finds what she was hoping for: a chunky iron ring with various keys attached hidden away in Mayor Kriegler's robes. "That will do nicely," she says to herself, pocketing the keys. She also finds a silver symbol that she assumes is the mark of Ghlaunder, whose influence seems to be primarily responsible for everything that has happened here. She finds that she doesn't really want to touch it, though chides herself for thinking that simply picking it up is going to exert any influence on her. Still, she doesn't want to leave it lying around so lifts it carefully by the chain, wraps it in a handkerchief and slips it into a small pocket of her backpack.
When they have finished their search, Hannelia waves in acknowledgement of Saul Lupescu's request. She asks Emma to gather up a set of robes and a mask to bring with them. "I can't imagine this is going to be easy to explain to the villagers," she says by way of explanation. "I don't know whether most people lived in ignorance of the dark forces hiding amongst them or in fear. Either way, a bit of physical evidence can't hurt."
* * * * *
There is neither sight nor sound of another soul as they make their way over to Kriegler Manor but nevertheless Hannelia feels like there are eyes on them. The incessant cawing of dozens of ravens does nothing to lift the eerie atmosphere. When they arrive she exhales deeply. Assuming that they are indeed being watched it's probably better to give an explanation and to share Saul's call for volunteers. "Here goes nothing," she mutters before calling out in a loud voice across the deserted village.
That ought to do it, she thinks. The truth, or at least a highly abridged version of events. And she chose to ignore Saul's specifics, believing that the villagers are more than capable of deciding between them who would be suitable to go to his aid. She gestures to Emma to lay down the symbolic robes and mask outside before fishing the keyring out of her pocket.
Although Hannelia doubts it contains any nasty surprises, care and caution are her watch words so she casts her cantrip to search the door for magic and examines it the conventional way too.
When she's satisfied she chooses a likely looking key and tries it in the lock, proceeding to work through them one at at a time until she has the correct one and the door swings open. For once she didn't need to use her lockpicking skills, which makes a nice change but somewhere inside she is conscious of the part of her that does enjoy the challenge of matching wits with the creators of mechanical devices.
Once inside she suggests, "Shall we split up into two groups and work our way around in opposite directions? I'll check for any more enchantments, the keys are here if you need them. I don't know exactly what we're looking for - anything that helps us understand what happened here mostly, I guess. Let's be careful but we should have plenty of time to be thorough."
"No, let's not split up, lest one of run afoul of an ambulatory hat rack what's got a taste for blood." Roger answers with a firm shake of the head.
”Fair point,” Hannelia concedes. ”We’re not in a rush and nor are we exactly at peak fitness right now either.”
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The door creaks open...
A large fireplace dominates this cozy and inviting room, warming simple but well-made couches and chairs. A small tabletop shrine contains a large candle, strips of dried flayleaf, and several heavily charred Desna effigies woven from the flayleaf strips.
The room to your right (J2) contains what looks like a parlor, richly appointed with velvet and elaborately carved legs of tables and chairs. A painting featuring a black-haired woman with moth-like wings spreading over her two druidic advisors in the background. The label at the base of the frame reads "Iola Kreigler, Founder"
The room to your left (J8) contains a bunk bed. A pungent odor assaults your nose when you enter. It somehow reminds you of "Leonard". The upper bunk has been made some time ago, it seems to have collected a thin layer of dust. The lower bunk however hides silk sheets stained and dried with brown fluid.
Heading deeper into the house on its right side (J4) will land you in the Dining Room. A large circular table and sturdy, hand-carved chairs dominate this room. A china cabinet along one wall contains a complete set of Sandpoint glassware worth 175 gp. After prodding a bit, you discover a secret compartment containing a magic wand.
Looking into the little door adjacent to the dining area, you'll find the pantry (J3). It's well stocked, containing a large bulk of jarred preserves, but cured stirges, baskets of dehydrated black mushrooms and smoked giant tick shanks hang from above. Sifting through the contents, you also find a small stash of useful medicines on a high shelf in the back. [ooc]4 vials antitoxin and two potions of neutralize poison
To the left of the dining room you find the kitchen (J5) on the other side of the manor's double sided fireplace. A large pot with a thick sludge of boiled vegetable matter and a single bowl and spoon are the only items to have seen recent use; the other pans and utensils carry a thin coating of dust. The most valuable items yielded in searching the kitchen cabinets are six bottles of Galdurian wine on a small rack. 15 gp each, therefore 90 gp.
Elias picks up one of the bottles and holds it out. ”I’d love to suggest a toast, but perhaps I’ll wait until after we leave this forsaken place.”
Another sitting room (J7) sits between the kitchen and the living room, dominated by a large bookcase. The upstairs balcony directly overlooks this space. Among the books on horticulture and outdated almanacs, there is a stack of papers bound between wooden slats. These papers are rubbings of various Thassilonian carvings, something a scholar would pay to own. [ooc]Worth 50 gp to a Thassilonian scholar
The door adjacent the kitchen requires trying the Mayor's keys. One of them works and inside you find a large bed, dresser, wardrobe, and washbasin. The quilt upon the bed elaborately depicts a story in several images. A black-haired woman, perhaps Iola Kreigler, sojourns through a swamp, nearly dying of disease before the "Dream Tender" sends two druidic advisors to save her. She brings the druids to the town and the three of them teach the villagers to cultivate the serrated-leafed flayleaf plant, and offering the fruits of their labor to a symbolic butterfly.
Beneath a creaky floorboard, you locate a hidden compartment containing what appears to be the Mayor's hidden stash. A large red chest, unlocked with one of the mayor's keys, contains what may be the towns funds. Elias's account seems to suggest this at least, as he recalls the mayor retrieving this chest before giving him the backtaxes (and later that evening ambushing him and presumably taking it back). The chest holds 720 gold pieces. It also contains an ancient leather journal that bears the inscription "The Kreigler Book" on its title page. Written in several different hands, this appears to be a truthful chronicle of the full story of Ravenmoor's fate, but would take days to pore through.
Additionally, the chest contains three potions and Elias's Elidirian signet ring, typical of government clerks and tax collectors.
Upstairs (J9) on the balcony level which overlooks the manor's lower floors, you find 6 roughly identical bedrooms. Elias suggests they were for guests, as that's where he stayed. He sticks his hand under the mattress and fishes out two pieces of paper. One of them being the order to collect the backtaxes from Elidir. Another is a crude map of the town, with several buildings circled. ”Well. It’s not likely I’ll be needing this now.” he laughs grimly, ”I was suspicious of some nefarious goings-on so I was keeping track of the buildings I thought were in concert with the conspiracy. Left it here to maintain some deniability, but it turned out they were already onto me.”
After scouring the house, you conclude you've discovered everything of value.
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After studying the book’s earliest accounts, you discover that a young Desnan Cleric named Iola Kreigler was the beginning of the Kreigler line. Ravenmoor in its earliest days as a Chellish settlement was ravaged by what seemed to be a supernatural blight. With the villagers close to starvation, the town’s founder, a Desnan priestess, quested into the Chitterwood to seek visions and divine aid.
But brave Iola fell ill during her quest, and in her fever-induced haze she followed visions not from the goddess, but from the ancient enemy.
Ghlaunder.
After falling victim to these dark visions, she came upon a strange commune of his followers deep in the Chitterwood, from whom she learned of a ritual that would ensure good harvests in return for giving the spawn of Ghlaunder a place to safely grow–her body, her descendants, her village.
Accompanied by two faceless stalkers disguised as human druid advisors, Iola returned to Ravenmoor a changed creature. But while her flock worried about her they could not dispute the miracles she worked, and the harvest that year and every year since had yielded enough bounty to keep the villagers well-provided and safe. Iola, now a priestess of Ghlaunder, recruited select members of the village to her inner circle of allies, forming a hidden cult within the populace who helped mask the truth from the others. As Ravenmoor grew increasingly isolated, the strange beliefs and traditions in town became more and more distorted, and the worship of Desna grew increasingly perverted into a mockery of her faith.
Iola’s hand in the book ends, and one of her own child’s begins by detailing her gory birth to one of the Gossamer King’s spawn. The child writes about themselves and their own siblings, knowing with pride and assurance that they too will end the same way as their mother.
The Kreigler line would continue in this way for decades, doubling as mayors and spiritual leaders. Now and then, a particularly astute villager would discover the cult’s existence and the whole truth, but they were always silenced before they could spread the word.
And so, over the generations, Ravenmoor has stagnated.
But by the time of Andretti’s writing, the Kreigler line faces an unprecedented peril. Through a series of schemes plotted as accidents, Andretti Kreigler removed all obstacles to his leadership over the cult. No one was wiser. However, he had not realized one fatal error.
He himself was sterile.
Without the ability to perpetuate his line, he knew that the Gossamer King’s own line would end as well. Visions granted by the Slumbering King have made it clear that should Kreigler allow this to happen, the town of Ravenmoor would not only suffer greatly, but his immortal soul would be denied its proper place in the Gossamer King’s court in the afterlife.
Andretti began furiously searching for a cure for his condition. In his research, he discovered fertility rituals centered around blood sacrifices to cure his sterility. Initially, the mayor intended to use his own followers as sacrifices, but he worried that doing so would test the limits of the non-cultists’ faith, and even worse, make them suspect that there was more to their beloved “Dream-Tender” than they were lead to believe.
The arrival of a tax collector named Elias Kyle then seemed like divine providence. The stars would align for the ritual by the eve of the Feastt. Unfortunately, Kyle struggled and slayed one of his old faceless stalker allies, and put up such a fight that they missed their window to sacrifice him. No matter, it would only be a matter of waiting till the next feast.
And besides, it would give Andretti time to lure more nonbelievers to the slaughter.
Kriegler manor proves to be a sizeable and well-appointed building, the furnishings seeming to be of a different quality to anything else Hannelia has seen in Ravenmoor. As a team the party works its way methodically around the building, finding plenty worthy of interest. Finely crafted artefacts, numerous potions and poultices, and a magical wand are all worthy treasures. Better still is a large chest of gold that looks to contain the taxes that Elias had been sent to collect and had set things into motion.
"How much of this is what you're owed?" she asks him, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I've no issue with taken the Mayor's personal effects - it seems he lived a somewhat different lifestyle to the rest of the village. But if there's spare gold beyond your taxes I'm less comfortable taking it. I think it probably belongs to the village - and the gods know they could probably use it right now."
Arguably more important than all of that is the handwritten journal titled 'The Kriegler Book'. Flicking through the pages of cramped writing and extensive entries she can see that unravelling it will take some time but is exactly the kind of project she enjoys. Again, she wonders if it might help Constantine to have something to focus too. Coupled with the visual clues - the portrait of Iola Kriegler and the beautifully embroidered quilt - she feels that they might at last really be able to understand Ravenmoor and its people.
"Five hundred crowns is what's owed the Steward's office." Elias replies. "I'm less inclined to be so gracious as you, but perhaps its a lesson I need learning."
”I probably wouldn’t be feeling as charitable if I were in your position either, to be fair,” Hannelia softly agrees, looking over at Elias’ poor battered body. ”We’d best make sure that you’re personally compensated out of this too. I just don’t think it’s right for the whole village to suffer from the awful decisions of its leaders.”
Majara is quieter than is her wont as they make a methodical progress through the mayor's home, her lips pursed with a number of concerns that she doesn't voice aloud. Constantine, his mind wandering. Elias, his hand gone no matter if his life has been saved. The village-- foul as the cult had been, she muses there must be something to the words of prosperity-- so what happens now to all these people...? Should all be damned as complicit? Hmnf.
Hannelia's spoken words seem to echo her own thoughts. Majara looks up from the bottles of wine she's tucking safely into the padded compartments of her pack, making a little face before exhaling.
"Arguably, by attacking Elidir's tax collector they earned themselves much more punishment than the mere forfeiture of gold," she points out cynically. Then she shrugs. "....but I agree that there has likely been enough punishment, of sorts. We left twenty dead here. A town this size? That will impact the harvest, certainly. Even if nothing else does. To say nothing of the impact on wives, husbands, children... those left behind.
"I don't defend the cult, but how many are like this Shel? Ignorant, innocent of anything but perhaps a bit much naivete? I am with Hannelia. Some remnant gold to help the community through what will likely be a cruel first few years seems.... affordable. Or the goods of Kriegler's prosperity, I suppose. Like this wine."
Majara clicks her tongue absently, then sighs. "And of course who would we leave that money with? I would wager that anyone in the town of any authority or respect-- the community leaders-- were all in that mass of maniacs we killed back at the farm. Tch."
A brief cynical smile crosses the gnome's face as she looks at Elias. "You are going to have an interesting report, aren't you, Elias?"
"Well, so 500 for starters for Elias, that makes sense." Roger strokes his beard, pondering the division of treasure.
"Now, I'm not certain how landlubbers do it, but we've a rule on the sea if you lose a limb on the job, you get a double share, so I reckon Elias gets a little extra. Dunno what the stewards pay ya to say what a double share is though."
"Er, wait, one last thing though, do we have any business looking after those places what you circled or did we kill 'em all in the big fight?"
Hannelia scratches her head at Majara's comment on who to leave the money with - it is a good point and she says as much. "Maybe we just split it out between everyone? It might only go so far divided like that but everyone gets a share that will help them out. And they will probably know best whether they need to use it for food, to buy new tools, fix their roof or whatever," she adds.
She also nods in agreement with Roger's suggestion about Elias getting a fair share. Hannelia has known for a while that this particular sea dog looks out for his crewmates but it's good to know that at least some other pirates do too.
At his last question she look expectantly at Elias to see whether they have unmasked all who he had suspected were involved in the conspiracy.
Elias shakes his head and chuckles, "I could live a whole lifetime of filing reports after this one Majara. I'll be fine."
"Er, wait, one last thing though, do we have any business looking after those places what you circled or did we kill 'em all in the big fight?"
The man mumbles, rubbing his missing hand's stump, "I can't be certain, I hadn't committed every face to the houses, but the sooner we're out of here the better. I'd wager we've cut off the snake's head and thwarted the danger at least. It seems like you've eliminated most if not all of the conspirators by my estimation.
Hannelia nods at Elias' response. She hadn't really expected him to be able to give a definitive answer given the challenges of identifying conspirators in the first place. Indeed, she was impressed that he'd manage to uncover so much.
"I think we must be coming close to finishing things up here. I've got two main questions. First, do we speak to the villagers? If so, what do we say?" She shifts uncomfortably. "What can we say?" No doubt stories are already circulating and people will have now seen the death and devastation. I don't want us to be no better than a band of goblins coming in, trashing the place and then leaving. But I don't know if speaking to them will only make things worse." She chews nervously on a loose strand of hair.
"And then - sort of related - time is getting on so where do we stay tonight? I don't think we're in a fit state to go anywhere and nor do I think it wise. Here feels like the most sensible place in that it's got sufficient space and beds," Hannelia gestures vaguely with an open arm around Kriegler manor. "But it probably doesn't look great for us to seem like we're lording it over the village, even if we're leaving tomorrow." She struggles to stifle a yawn, the day's activities catching up with her and she knows her body is not going to thank her on the morrow.
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"We have to tell them something," Majara says with a shrug. "A version of the truth, probably. 'Your mayor plotted to sacrifice people-- strangers, preferably, to keep your village thriving. But he, and the rest of the cult, weren't above sacrificing your own-- like Shel. Decide for yourselves if that's the sort of prosperity you want-- bought in the blood of innocents.' We won't be here to stop them trying to restart their cult, but they ought to at least know what it was."
Majara testingly wiggles an arm that had been trampled earlier by the mob-- magic has helped but phantom twinges remain. "I say we leave town immediately after that speech, though. I don't want to give any of them the time to summon up the bravery to try to claim vengeance for their dead family members. Yes, we could hole up here-- but I don't think I need to remind all of you what happens when a mob of townsfolk decides to attack the richest house in town, hmn? These fine walls will burn."
Saringallow's shadow is long, Majara supposes. She muses briefly on the dark irony of it, especially with Constantine in his current state; if she were more superstitious she might wonder if the current situation is some lingering echo of a familial curse.
"I don't like the idea of traveling now-- we are all tired, injured (or at least we were), and both Constantine and Elias need proper rest and physicker attention-- but I like even less sleeping in the town full of people we just deprived of a faith, a mayor, and twenty or so of their kin. It might be worth putting distance between us and the town before sunset.
"If we do sleep here-- we lock the doors, block the windows, and keep watch. And leave at first light."
"Well, so 500 for starters for Elias, that makes sense." Roger strokes his beard, pondering the division of treasure.
"Now, I'm not certain how landlubbers do it, but we've a rule on the sea if you lose a limb on the job, you get a double share, so I reckon Elias gets a little extra. Dunno what the stewards pay ya to say what a double share is though."
"I think that's only fair," Emma says, nodding to Elias. "You've been through quite the ordeal, after all. We came in late to this party, as it were."
"And then - sort of related - time is getting on so where do we stay tonight? I don't think we're in a fit state to go anywhere and nor do I think it wise. Here feels like the most sensible place in that it's got sufficient space and beds," Hannelia gestures vaguely with an open arm around Kriegler Manor. "But it probably doesn't look great for us to seem like we're lording it over the village, even if we're leaving tomorrow."
Emma sighs. "At this point, I think that opinions of us have likely been formed for good one way or another. Look at it from the perspective of the average villager - regardless of the outcome, our arrival here heralded a rather terrible outcome in which many died. While we did what we had to do to survive, they'll only know what happened from secondhand stories."
Emma glances around the manor. "Still," she admits. "I don't much fancy spending a night in here. Though I don't suppose we'd get a much better reception trying to go to the inn in the state we're in. And I am admittedly rather tired." Emma wrinkles her nose. "Though I think I'd rather put a blanket on the floor than spend a night in any of the beds in this place, to be honest."
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Majara's comments feel doom-laden but Hannelia can't deny that there's a truth to them and a potential worst-case scenario. The story of the Saringallow it would appear cannot escape them here, though there are also obvious differences between the group's role and the diabolic activities of the Sarini family. She can already pre-empt the gnome's reply though, hearing her in her head saying, "Yes but trying telling that to the baying mob."
Emma's points too are fair, but Hannelia is not ready to be so defeatist yet. "Not all second hand," she says. "Plenty of people will have seen masked figures and a giant spider attack us in the village square. And there will be a few who saw the mayor, the blightspawn and everything else. It might take a while for people to accept the evidence of their own eyes but there's the charred remains of a giant bug, the faceless stalker and the poor misshapen mongrelmen - plenty of evidence of stranger creatures among them."
She's on a bit of a roll now, trying to put across the more hopeful view. "And while undoubtedly many villagers will have lived in ignorance, I am sure some lived in fear. If Elias was able to pick up on things in a short period of time, I just don't believe that others wouldn't have noticed certain things were amiss. But if your choice is say nothing and keep your head down or find yourself mysteriously vanish the month after next it's not much of a choice." Hannelia looks over at her silent friend to reinforce her point. "It's not like Constantine came out of everything he went through growing up as a committed member of the Golden Erinyes,"
She pauses as another thought strikes her. More tentatively she continues, "I'm now wondering if I was maybe a bit unfair to Anya Lupescu. If your choice is join the cult or become its next sacrifice then again, there's probably only one easy answer. We may never know how many chose a different one," she adds quietly.
"Perhaps I'm being too naive here. I don't doubt that there were plenty of cult members with hearts just as black as the Krieglers. But pragmatically it's much easier to pin all the blame on them - after all, they're not able to defend themselves any more." Hannelia lips quirk up in a slight smile. "That helps us and it helps the villlagers have someone to focus their blame towards without having to look too closely at other more difficult questions. Politically it's easier for everyone if one or two people can take the fall for everyone." She looks around at the others. "We can even present them with the chest of coin - 'Look, they were robbing the hard-working folk of Ravenmoor blind' - which might help persuade them of our intentions. I tend to find that money has a positive effect there." She smiles slightly again.
"So I think we have some decent arguments at our disposal, and I think at least some in the audience who will be more receptive to it, even if not everyone will want to hear it." Hannelia balls her hands into fists. "And I need to try," she adds determinedly. Slightly surprised by her reaction, the realisation is dawning on her that this is important to her. It might be beyond her abilities to fix everything but she wants to help and do what she can.
She looks back to Majara and Emma. "I agree there's no great choice on where we spend the night. I think I would prefer to stay, even if it means additional precautions. A roof and a bed - one of the guest ones -," she clarifies, "would be of benefit to all of us, even if we might not be getting much sleep wherever we end up. I'm also willing to revise my opinion depending on how it goes speaking to the villagers."
Hannelia shifts uncomfortably, pulling at her hair and shaking her head as if to get rid of an ache. "It's probably selfish but I also want the time to talk to Shel properly. Maybe her father too. See if I can," somehow she mentally adds, "get to an agreement. Pragmatically again, it's also not going to do us any favours in terms of looks or of preventing pursuit if we appear to be running off with one of the village's daughters."
She is running on empty but Hannelia still feels she has a lot to do. She slumps back against the nearest wall, the animation from her speech fading. "Gods, this is all such a mess," she says quietly.
"Aye, messy business indeed, not nearly as cut and dried as we like. I think you're right about telling the townsfolk something, and I think unless the response is cheering hip hip hurrahs, we go ahead and follow Majara's ken and hightail it best we can, get on the outskirts at the very least."
Roger offers his own take. "Of course, with you being the one to come up with the idea, it's you what's got to give the speech, aye?" He smirks.
”I think universal acclaim is a bit ambitious for any audience,” Hannelia replies. ”But let’s see how it goes and take a measure of things.” She returns Roger’s look with a measured one of her own, internal fires blazing. ”You can count on that.”
First, however, she has other business to attend to. Hannelia starts going through her pack, checking things are where they should be - which of course they are - and putting the odd item in pockets or her belt pouch. She pulls out an apple, slightly shrivelled as it has seen better days but right now it feels to her tired body like the best thing in the world as she bites into it. ”If we might be moving on quickly then I’d better go and take care of my other business and see Shel. I don’t think I’m likely to run into trouble - I think most folk will still be staying inside - but you know where I’m going and I shouldn’t be gone for hours. I can still use my message spell at a reasonable distance and I’ve got a little something in case of emergency.” She pats her hip pocket. Hannelia slings her bow over her shoulder and double checks the dagger and wand strapped to her wrists. ”Wish me luck,” she says, a fleeting smile crossing her lips, as she opens the door. I think I’m going to need it.
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With at least some of the loose ends if not exactly tidied up then at least starting to be collected together, Hannelia turns her attention to a more personal matter. It’s late afternoon and as she suspected, not a soul seems to be out and about. She purposefully makes her short journey to the heart of the village and raps on the door of the general store.
”We’re closed,” shouts a voice from inside.
”I’m here to check in on Shel,” Hannelia calls back.
The reply comes as the sound of footsteps approaching the door and then it opens, Saul Lupescu’s head poking her head through the door. ”You’ve got some nerve,” he says angrily, raw grief evident in his voice. ”Ain’t you done enough? Shel’s had a horrible time today and she just needs leaving alone.” He looks, understandably, as if the job sorting the dead has taken its toll.
Anticipating such a reaction, Hannelia tries to take the sting out of the conversation. ”I know she has. I’m sorry for your loss and that Shel had to go through such an ordeal - which is why I wanted to see how she was.”
”And why do you care?” Saul hisses back. ”You come round here, sticking your nose in where it’s not wanted. And after you’ve broken everything it’s us normal folks who have to clear up the mess.” Clearly he’s had a rethink about his earlier words.
Nodding, Hannelia waits before once more saying, ”I know. That’s probably not unfair. And that’s why I’m here. To try and help set things right.”
”Well ain’t you just the shining angel?” sneers Saul. ”But like I said, it’s not wanted. What Shel needs now is time with her family - her remaining family,” he adds pointedly, ”and–” He cuts off abruptly and Hannelia can just hear the quiet hum of words as someone is now speaking to Saul from inside, though she can’t make them out. Without a word to Hannelia, he disappears fully back inside and closes the door so it’s open only a crack.
She can hear soft footsteps approach and can now make out, quietly but clearly, Shel’s voice saying, ”Please Poppa, I wanna to speak to her.”
Saul shoots back, ”No you don’t!”
”But Poppa!” comes the plaintive reply that is quickly cut off.
”But nothing, Shel. You don’t understand what’s been going on here and you don’t know what’s good for you.”
Shel’s voice rises in heat to match her father’s. ”And I suppose you do?”
”Yes! Too bloody right, my girl. We’ve only trying to do what’s best.”
”What’s best for you, maybe,” Shel retorts, her emotions high. ”What about what’s best for me?”
From the other side of the door the tension is palpable and Hannelia can almost feel the heat as she assumes the two Lupescus are glaring at each other. It’s probably only a few seconds but it feels a lot longer before - somewhat to her surprise - Saul Lupescu cracks. ”Fine! Make your own mistakes. Now get out of my sight!” He yanks the door back fully open, adding, ”Both of you!” as she realises that Hannelia has clearly heard the whole exchange.
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As Shel storms out, Hannelia starts walking at a fair pace to keep up with her. It was the outcome that she had hoped for, though she regrets that she’s caused an argument between father and daughter. Well, I don’t suppose it was ever going to be an easy conversation. She says nothing for the moment, unsure where Shel is leading them, if the girl even really has a destination in mind. She takes them over a bridge to a place Hannelia hasn’t been, past what she sees is a mill and as her furious footsteps slow, they come to a stop in a quiet field.
”I’m sorry Miss Hannelia,” Shel says, breaking the silence. As Hannelia decides not to respond immediately, the girl continues. ”Sometimes they seem to think I’m a child when I’m practically a woman grown and it makes me real mad.” She clenches her fists, letting the anger and frustration flow out of her.
Trying to work out what would be tactful to say, Hannelia begins gently, ”Just Hannelia is fine.” She exhales, before continuing, ”I’m sure it does. I also think that your parents have just been trying to protect you.”
”Protect me?” Shel looks incredulous. ”Bit late for that!” She laughs humourlessly. ”Caught and tied up! And I saw it all! That horrible bug thing…” She shudders uncontrollably. ”And… and Momma.”
”I know,” Hannelia agrees emolliently. ”It was horrible and you’ve been through a great deal today. Which is why I wanted to see how you were.” She fixes the girl with a careful eye, looking her up and down. In spite of a few cuts and bruises, and, less tangibly, something of a cloud hanging over her, the girl’s youthful beauty still shines through.
Looking at the scrapes she’s picked up, the rips in her dress, Shel replies, ”Yeah, I’m ok. I’ve had worse.” Perhaps she thinks that’s what Hannelia wants to hear but the woman simply raises an eyebrow quizzically at her. After a moment’s silence this prompts her into a more honest response. ”Every time I close my eyes I can see it, Miss Hannelia. I like coming out here at night when it’s quiet but right now I feel like I can still hear that buzzing.” Seeming to take her by surprise, tears start flowing down the girl’s cheeks. Hannelia takes a cautious step towards Shel, who sees this as an invitation and throws herself into the woman’s arms, fully sobbing now.
”I’m sorry,” Shel gulps after a minute.
” Nothing to be sorry for,” Hannelia reassures her. ”I’d be a lot more concerned if you did think everything was fine. Today is the kind of day that’s just about as bad as it can get.” She pauses a second before continuing, trying to find a good way to convey what she wants to say. ”You remember how I said that what happens in stories and what actually happens aren’t necessarily the same thing? This is the kind of thing I meant.”
”How do you stand it?” Shel asks. ”Doesn’t it get to you?”
”Of course it does,” Hannelia replies quietly. ”It’s a good check on your sanity and your health. If it gets to the point where I’ve become completely desensitised to it then maybe that’s time to stop.” She thinks for a minute before continuing - how does she cope with the adventuring life? It’s not something that she’s given a huge amount of thought to previously. ”I suppose it helps having friends and companions who have gone through the same things with you. That shared experience and being able to talk about it helps lessen the load.” She looks directly at the girl. ”It doesn’t mean the bad things aren’t still bad,” she adds softly.
Shel nods. ”That makes sense. That’s why I wanted to speak to you - to someone who understands.”
”And I suppose that I think the importance of what we’re doing - of doing the right thing - outweighs the potential risks and harms,” she concludes, feeling uncomfortably self-righteous with that last comment, though she supposes that it is to a reasonable degree why she does it. ”Plus this isn’t really my full-time job. I’m not doing this every day.”
Shel disengages herself, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her dress. Hannelia produces a neatly folded handkerchief from a pocket and passes it to her. Shel laughs, ”I think it’s a bit late for that,” but she blows her nose anyway. ”Really?” she asks. ”What do you do?”
”Well I mostly pass information on between different people. Finding out what they want to know that will help them with trade, with politics and history and so on.”
”And people pay money for that?” Shel asks, surprised.
Hannelia processes the thought - such a secluded keep-itself-to-itself community as Ravenmoor would likely have no use for something like that. ”They do,” she smiles. ”Though what I like best is the research element, normally in the town archives. It can be long work but it usually throws up something interesting.” She fixes the girl with a look. ”And what about you, Shel? What do you want to do?”
”Well I always thought I’d help Poppa and Mo-,” Shel comes to a halt, the newness of today’s events and the rawness of the wounds probably haven’t truly registered yet. ”Help in the shop,” she finishes haltingly. ”And,” she blushes, ”well, I’d always assumed I’ll get married so maybe I’d do something different after that.”
”A good plan. But is that what you want to do?” Hannelia asks gently.
Shel thinks for a minute before answering. ”Well I don’t rightly know, Miss Hannelia. I don’t know that I’ve ever really thought about it till, well, when I asked earlier if I could, you know… I’m sorry, don’t know what I was thinking,” she mumbles, before adding somewhat defiantly. ”What else could I even do?”
”I think you could probably do whatever you wanted to. You’ve got a lot of things going for you, Shel. And you don’t have to have an answer to everything right now. Most people don’t.” Hannelia pauses, tugging lightly at her ponytail before offering the proposal that she’s been turning over in her mind for a while. ”You could go anywhere. And yes, if you wanted, you could come back with me.”
Shel snorts out a laugh, ”Yeah, I don’t think Poppa’s going to agree to that. Letting me go to… sorry, I don’t even know where you’re from.”
”I live in a town called Saringallow. It’s a fairly small place compared to some, but a lot bigger than Ravenmoor.”
”Saringallow,” Shel repeats, ”yeah I think I heared of that. But what would I do?”
Hannelia smiles. ”Well you could run a shop and get married - if you wanted to. I guess it’s about having options. You didn’t know that my work was a job; there might be a lot more that you’ve never thought about. But maybe you’ll find something that you really want to do.”
”Yeah, maybe,” Shel replies slightly distractedly, her mind clearly expanded with new possibilities. She seems lost in thought. ”But it still ain’t going to happen.”
Hannelia nods slightly, ”I think first you need to think about whether it really is something you might like to do. It’s a big decision and would be a lot of change. But yes, you probably will need to speak to your dad.”
”They never listen to me,” Shel replies automatically, the classic line of adolescents everywhere, before changing tack slightly, asking, ”Did you argue with your parents?”
”My dad,” Hannelia gently corrects her, holding a hand up to cut off an unnecessary apology - there’s no reason the girl would know about her family situation. Shel mouths one anyway, her face seeming to register that this is now a bond the two women share. ”And yes, I did. I think that’s the way of things when you’re growing up and trying to work out who you are. But looking back I also think that my dad did just want to look after me and have my best interests at heart.” She keeps the focus on herself, not sure that she’s feeling charitable enough to extend the same feelings to the Lupescus. ”I guess it’s not an easy thing for anyone.”
”Would you speak to him for me, Miss Hannelia?”
Hannelia thinks before replying, working out a diplomatic reply. ”I don’t know how much that will help, but yes, if you’d like me to, I will. But you’ll need to speak to him too. And like I said, you need to think carefully about whether you really want to do this.”
”I’m not sure but I think I do. Thinking about it feels exciting but also a bit scary. Does that make sense?” she asks.
”It absolutely does,” Hannelia smiles.
Impulsively Shel throws her arms around Hannelia. ”Thank you,” she says with heartfelt feeling. Hannelia returns the embrace. She wonders if she’s doing the right thing. She genuinely likes Shel and can see a lot of potential in her, that she could carve out a good life for herself. But it would be a lot of change coming from such an insular community, as well as being away from her remaining family at such an emotional time. Equally, she can see that Shel might want to put some distance between herself and home while she comes to terms with her grief. Hannelia also worries about getting the girl’s hopes up as she doesn’t doubt it will be a difficult sell to her father. But, for Shel’s sake, she resolves to do the best she can.
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A while later, after Shel has gone back home, Hannelia finally decides to stop gazing up at the sky. It’s still too early for stars but she suspects that Ravenmoor might be blessed with an impressive view of the heavens. Regardless, it’s been a good backdrop while she mentally walks through the arguments and persuasions she plans to use in her nex conversation. She munches on a crust of bread to fend off a pang of hunger before returning to the manor. She helps herself to some more provender - the things that she’s comfortable with eating, at least - and reassures the others that she’s fine and the chat with Shel was positive. ”This one is going to be the hardest one yet though,” she says.
She assumes that the Lupescus will also have eaten by this point - after all, nobody wants to have serious discussions on an empty stomach - so when she’s good and ready she once more makes her way to the Lupescus’ trading post and raps on the door.
Shortly afterwards Saul Lupescu opens it, looking like he’s aged a decade over the course of the day. ”You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. But so are flies.” He shoots Hannelia a look that leaves little to the imagination in terms of how he feels about the woman. ”You’re out of luck though, she’s gone to bed.”
Ignoring the fact that the man looked at her much as he would look at something that he had trodden in, Hannelia says, ”Actually I wanted to speak to you, Mr Lupescu.”
”Did you indeed? Well I suppose it’s better to hear you out before I kick you out.” Muttering to himself, his rage from earlier replaced with something resembling weary resignation, he adds, ”I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.” He holds the door open in invitation, leading Hannelia through the shop, past a storeroom and a staircase and into a large sitting room. In one corner is a kitchen area dominated by a simple stove and sink. One very well-worn armchair sits off to one side and a large table - solid but having seen many summers - takes up a good proportion of the space. Saul Lupescu sits at one of the chairs around it and shoots her a look that suggests he’s none too pleased to be entertaining guests. As her host does not offer her a chair, Hannelia remains standing for a minute before seating herself on one of the other chairs after closing the door behind her.
As she does so, Hannelia’s keen ears pick up what sounded like some light scuffling beyond the door. She doesn’t turn her head but she would happily wager all of Elias’ tax collection that ‘gone to bed’ meant Shel had stormed off to her bedroom but that the girl is now outside the room and doing her best to surreptitiously listen in.
No offer of any refreshments is made and Saul jumps straight in. ”Well, what is it you’re wanting then?”
Trying to take the edge off the aggressive question, Hannelia replies, ”I wanted to talk about Shel. Check on how she is and what her plans might be going forward.”
”And why do you care?”
Hannelia holds out her palms in front of her. ”I like your daughter, Mr Lupescu. She’s kind, smart, she was helpful to me. You’ve raised a fine young woman,” she adds. ”And she’s been through a serious ordeal.”
Saul nods at the compliment. ”Well what plans would she be needing then? She got a good life here, she’s happy, find herself a man to marry.”
”And have you spoken to Shel about this?” Hannelia asks carefully, trying to avoid it coming across too critically. ”About what she might want?”
”Course that’s what she wants. I heared some fool-crazy big city ideas earlier but only because she got them from you.” He jabs an accusatory finger at Hannelia.
Acknowledging the probable truth of this, she replies cautiously, ”We talked, yes. But I think any ideas and dreams she might have were already there, even if she didn’t know how to access them. I helped her to articulate them. I don’t think I could convince her of something that she didn’t already have some idea of.” She pauses, taking Saul’s sceptical grunt as a cue to continue so she takes the plunge with the big question. ”I’d like to ask you if Shel would be able to accompany me back to Saringallow.”
Saul snorts out a laugh which Hannelia realises is rather similar to Shel’s own and clearly where she got it from, before stopping as he reads the woman’s face. ”You’re serious, ain’t you?”
Hannelia nods, carefully choosing her words. ”I am. I think it would be good for her - like I said, she’s been through a lot and a change of scenery could help. I believe she would like to come too.”
”What she needs is time with her family and without you folks coming in from outside and putting fancy ideas in her head. She don’t need anything she can’t get here. Everything was fine here afore you showed up.”
”Oh yes,” Hannelia shoots back, an edge of sarcasm in her voice, ”I can’t disagree that up until today’s great unmasking, things for the Lupescus seemed very good indeed.”
Rising to her bait, Saul growls, ”Are you threatening me?”
”No,” Hannelia begins in a clear, hard tone. ”But I’m going to tell you what I think. I think that what happened in Ravenmoor under Mayor Kriegler’s tenure was a horrible shock to everyone. His passing, along with the tragic death of all the villagers under his spell was unfortunate, Mrs Lupescu included. I think it would be in everyone’s best interests for things to remain that way, the old power structure broken and the past done and dusted with. Nobody would want to see this cult of the Dream Tender resurface. And nobody wants to see the past raked over - let sleeping goblins lie. Careless whispering and the casting of aspersions could have severe consequences for an individual’s reputation with their… neighbours.” She fixes him with a steely glare honed through years of challenging negotiations. ”I trust I’m making myself clear?”
After a few seconds Saul nods, defeated.
Perhaps he realises there’s truth in her words, perhaps he accepts that Hannelia has information that could be very damaging to him, perhaps it’s a combination of the two. In truth though, Hannelia is only really concerned with the outcome. ”Good.” She looks towards Saul and says more gently, ”I seem to recall your wife telling me that I didn’t understand what it was like to live in such conditions. Well, now’s the time for a fresh start.”
More thoughtful than he’s been to this point, Saul Lupescu says, ”You got a lot of clever words, girl. Reckon you’d make a good mayor.”
Slightly taken aback and wondering how serious he is being, Hannelia replies cautiously. ”I’m flattered. But I think what Ravenmoor needs at the moment is someone who understands it to help it recover.”
”Aye,” he agrees, ”probably you’re right. But we’re getting away from the point though,” Saul remarks, ”and the point is, she ain’t going nowhere. We’re her parents-” He stops, a pained expression on his face. ”I’m her father and I know what’s best for her.” he concludes.
”Doesn’t what Shel thinks deserve some consideration?” Hannelia asks.
Saul hesitates a couple of beats before replying. ”Do you have children, Miss…? he asks.
”Venator,” Hannelia supplies. ”And no, I don’t.”
”Well then,” retorts Saul, looking satisfied, as if that settles the argument.
Hannelia holds out her hands. ”I can’t argue with that. I don’t have that experience. But it’s not so many years ago since I was Shel’s age and I can remember what it was like.”
”What are you trying to say?” Saul responds, nettled. ”My Shel’s a good girl.”
Smiling slightly, Hannelia responds, ”Believe it or not, I was a good girl too. I was well-behaved, loved my Dad. Didn’t stop me arguing and sneaking out and doing damn stupid things to show how grown up I was.” The memory of a teenage girl breaking into Zuke’s house and helping herself to his spirits collection floats into her mind.
”She’s still–” begins Saul heatedly before stopping abruptly, his cheeks ruddy. Hannelia suspects that the sentence would have ended ‘my little girl’ but that the man stopped due to his embarrassment at saying as much in front of her.
To her surprise, Saul then responds by laughing with genuine humour. ”You got me there, I’ll give you that one.” He looks off somewhat mistily into the distance. ”Can’t believe I’d almost forgotten the first time Anya’s Da caught us sneaking about together.” He looks back to Hannelia. ”Battered me bloody, he did,” he adds for the woman’s benefit, rubbing the ghost of a bruise. Saul doesn’t look as if it’s a memory he recalls particularly fondly, but it’s equally plain on his face that he is missing his wife. ”She’s going to be eighteen next name day. Don’t rightly know how that happened,” he says, mostly to himself. ”Supposing she did go with you - and I’m not saying that she is -” he clarifies quickly after a speculative start, ”what would she even do?”
”There’s a lot of things she could do,” Hanelia hedges, ”she’s a bright girl and there’s plenty of opportunities. And I’ll look out for her, make sure she’s got enough food and somewhere to stay.”
”And if she weren’t able to work or something happened?” Saul asks.
”Then I’ll look after her and pay for her. I have the means so I’m quite capable of supporting her. And this isn’t something I’ve promised on a whim.” This last bit is not entirely true - she has only known Shel for twenty-four hours, after all, but as is her way, Hannelia has given the matter a good amount of thought in that time.
Saul voices what appears to be a nagging thought. ”What if I said no? Even if Shel wanted to go.”
Hannelia Inhales deeply. ”Well it’s not what I’d hope for,” she starts. ”But I’m not going to kidnap her, if that’s what you mean. Nor would I want to let her come if she just ran away without your say so. Ultimately it is your decision.”
The man looks at her, seeming to approve of this answer but not entirely convinced either.
”I don’t want to cause any problems between you and Shel,” Hannelia says. ”Family’s important.”
”We agree on that,” he says.
Satisfied that she has moved the conversation into a better place, Hannelia decides to bring it towards a close. ”I think I’m going to go now. Talk to Shel again, let her tell you how she feels, what she’s thinking. I do think she wants to come but it would be a big change for her and I don’t know if she truly appreciates that.” She rises from her chair. ”And it might not be forever,” she adds kindly. ”It might feel like the other side of the world but it’s not so far to visit and to send letters.”
Saul nods, fixing Hannelia with an inscrutable look. ”I hope you don’t mind me saying, Miss Venator but I’m still not exactly sure I like you. I do reckon I understand you a bit better now though.”
Refraining from the obvious reply of ‘The feeling’s mutual’, Hannelia decides the wisest thing is to simply ignore the comment. ”We’re leaving tomorrow, if not sooner. Talk to her,” she repeats. ”Spend some time as a family. Give Mrs Lupescu a proper send off - I think that would be good for both of you.”
Saul nods in agreement, finding that hard to argue with.
”You can find me if you need me but I won’t intrude on your time any more.” Tucking her chair in deliberately loudly, so as to make it clear to any eavesdroppers that the conversation was done, Hannelia gives it a few seconds before announcing, ”I’ll see myself out.”
Another conversation ticked off her mental list, Hannelia quickly and efficiently makes her way back to rejoin the others. She doesn’t have the luxury of dwelling on it and replaying it in head right now, there’s yet more to do, but her first impression is that the conversation could certainly have gone a lot worse.
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Without much in the way of detectable optimism, Majara duly wishes 'luck' to Hannelia as the other woman heads out the door...
It seems they're spending the night, which despite her objections, Majara is tired enough to not object again. At least the house is defensible; a camp on the open road is less so. So now the question becomes one of caring to their walking wounded.
While Hannelia has a heart to heart with various Lupescus, Majara deals with other logistics: ushering Elias into the manor's bathing chamber to wash the filth and grime of his imprisonment from him, and coaxing Constantine to sit in a chair at first.
While Kyle cleanses at least physical filth from his body, Majara takes advantage of the manor's actual kitchen, to be preferred over an open flame at the least. Alchemy and cooking are related disciplines. She'd hardly call herself a chef, but she can make something palatable, and after some musing decides soup is the way to go. She has no compunctions about raiding the manor's cupboards for ingredients, and sets to dicing and slicing while her mind wanders.
Spring onions - garlic cloves - hearty chunks of meaty mushroom - into a large pot with oil, to saute down and release their fragrance into the room... the chair that she led Constantine to is here in the kitchen, and she speaks to him, absently, not truly expecting a response, as she works.
"Good produce hereabouts, these onions are almost as big as my head. I wonder if the fields will stop yielding such bounty with the cult broken. Perhaps it's the last year the onions will look like this."
Digging through the kitchen produces some smoked ham. Majara slices off strips of it and tosses them into the hot oil, the sizzle briefly overwhelming her words.
"But the ends don't justify the means. Supposedly. That is what we are supposed to say, isn't it. Ethically. I'm a businessgnome, not a hero; I often do justify the means. I have lines I don't cross, certainly, but... I have, traditionally, felt that some losses were acceptable."
Salt, pepper, parsley... an opaque bottle is opened and sniffed-- ah, paprika, yes, that can go in-- a generous pinch of sweet basil...
"It comes out to sums, doesn't it. This life for the greater good, or greater survival, or what have you. One person dies so that everyone else might live. Unpleasant arithmetic but necessary. Calculated losses-- or at least calculated risks."
Her small hands stop fiddling with the spices while Majara stares off at nothing in particular for a dozen seconds, an unusual pensive look upon her face.
"I performed that math once upon a time and we... our group... Kyle and Zuke and I, and there were others-- well, my math was wrong. I thought the risk level was acceptable. Miscalculation. It went poorly. We lost-- mnn."
Majara clears her throat then hops down from the stool she is using in the human-sized kitchen to rummage for more ingredients in the stores. A trip into the cool root cellar turns up heavy cream, and cheese, and some of the tick meat common to the region. Majara shrugs and returns to the kitchen with these things in hand, where she saws off a bit of salted tick to taste it on its own before nodding and cutting it into chunks for the stew-- in goes the cream, the cheese...
"Hopefully your being in this state won't mean the end of your group. And hopefully you'll heal. This is a dangerous sort of life.
"...though I suppose I've missed it, in a way. Certainly more interesting problems to resolve than balancing the shop's accounts. Perhaps once back in Saringallow, I'll leave Gellion to manage things at the shop for a bit and... hrmf, well, we must get back to Saringallow first. I don't enjoy the thought of having to manage YOU the entire way back, but you'll need feeding, and washing, and so forth. It would be helpful if your head clears before someone must do those tasks for you, young man."
The last is said sternly, with Majara side-eyeing Constantine for a reaction that doesn't come. She sighs a little, and stirs the stew, and decides that it can bubble away on its own as she hunts some replacement clothes for Elias in the erstwhile mayor's wardrobe.
Everyone will be the better for some food in them. She's surprised Kyle's still on his feet, but she won't have him stand a watch tonight, certainly. The man needs rest, and Constantine as well.
Majara keeps busy, bustling around the house and thinking about preparations for travel on next-day. Keeping busy has always helped her.
If Roger or Emma seem to need tasks to do, she has no shortage of duties to assign them...
By the time Hannelia makes it back to the manor, she can already feel her temple starting to throb with a pulsing sensation pushing against the inside of her skull. Much of her work has been done - and, she thinks, done fairly well - but there is still plenty more to do. An audience with the folk of Ravenmoor is laden with potential risk and now her head is thumping on top of the complaints her body has been making for some time. She feels like a performer from a travelling troupe, with somebody throwing ever-increasing numbers of balls at her. Even as she just about manages to keep the ones she is already juggling aloft, it feels almost inevitable that sooner or later she will fumble one, possibly losing more in the process. I want to sleep for about a week, Hannelia thinks. But I can't yet. There's still just too much to do. Not to mention the fact they all need to be on their guard tonight so sleep is likely to be at a premium as it is.
She is greeted by a pleasant aroma as she re-enters, loudly announcing her presence so as not to cause any alarm. Following the fragrant smell leads her to kitchen where Majara has evidently been busy turning the Krieglers' produce into something hearty and nourishing. Hannelia ladles some of the delicious-looking broth into a bowl. "Thank you, Majara," she says earnestly, suddenly overcome with emotion at something as simple as a good home-cooked meal. "You don't know how much I appreciate this right now." She had been about to ask the gnome what was in it but having remembered that Majara's tastes when it came to some of Ravenmoor's more unusual delicacies were probably more adventurous than her own she decides against it. You know what, I don't care right now.
Despite her hunger, she doesn't wolf it down, more out of sheer exhaustion than any desire to savour it. Rich and warming, it really hits the spot. She makes a mental note to try and be less judgemental about different foodstuffs, not to mention to be grateful to have both sufficient food and choice, something that much of Isger struggled with within living memory during the lean years right after the Goblinblood Wars.
Unquestionably the food has had a positive effect but it can only go so far in restoring her vitality so she ask Majara if she has a salve or any remedies for a sore head. "I'm not sure I'm up to speaking to anybody else tonight," she admits. Hannelia isn't happy about it but has been forced to concede that she has probably reached her limit. "I'm sorry, I think it will have to wait until tomorrow," she says unhappily, frustrated by the limitations of her own body and mind in the same way she is frustrated by the fact she cannot just set everything right in the way she would like to.
Majara gives a nod at Hannelia's entrance to the kitchen and another nod at the sincere thanks for the soup. Having found a loaf of thick-crusted bread earlier, she wordlessly tears off a hunk of the dense loaf and sets it by where Hannelia is slowly working her way through the soup.
Beyond that Majara doesn't speak to interrupt Hannelia's needed meal-- she's discovered the cellar has some wines as well, and considers these more than fair forfeit to their group. She's dusting off the bottles when Hannelia speaks again.
A cure for a sore head..?
The gnome's lips twitch once before she deadpan proffers up one of the bottles of wine. "As good as any. Though it will only delay the ache until the morning. No, no, I'll see what I have."
Before doing that, though, she cocks her head at Hannelia's weary words, and studies her a moment before hefting herself up into a chair at the table where Hannelia's eating. Majara squints at Hannelia a moment before she uncorks the bottle of wine-- by scale, the bottle might as well be a jeroboam to her-- and pours herself a cup with a bit of effort.
"Who are you saying sorry to? Me? It's unneeded," Majara says with her typical genteel bedside manner. "You're not the only weary one. Do you typically apologize for not being able to survive nearly dying in a day without being weary at the end of it?"
She has a mouthful of the wine in a critical way, swirling the juice of the grape around in her mouth assessingly before swallowing. "And people are as trying as a battle. More so, to me. Did your words win willingness with the Lupescus?"
Another mouthful of wine, then Majara pronounces her judgment of the wine. "Hmn. This isn't bad. A bit tart and bitter, but not awful. Outcomes are often like that."
"Who are you saying sorry to? Me? It's unneeded," Majara says with her typical genteel bedside manner. "You're not the only weary one. Do you typically apologize for not being able to survive nearly dying in a day without being weary at the end of it?"
"Everyone," Hannelia mumbles. "I've not done as much as I would like to have." She sighs. "Probably you're right and I'm not being realistic. I just wish it were otherwise."
She has a mouthful of the wine in a critical way, swirling the juice of the grape around in her mouth assessingly before swallowing. "And people are as trying as a battle. More so, to me."
"That's true enough, and often less predictable. When I practice with my bow I can be pretty confident that each time the arrows will fly in the same way to the same place. Even with the best preparation people are a lot more unpredictable." She pushes her bowl aside and unties her hair, before tipping her head forward and regathering it.
"Did your words win willingness with the Lupescus?"
Hannelia considers for a minute before answering. "I think so. Shel is... she's young, Majara. Which makes me feel so old to say." A small smile plays across her lips. "But I like her, she's full of life and I think she genuinely does want to come back to Saringallow with us. I'm not sure she really grasps how different things might be elsewhere, but like I said, she's young and I think she'll adapt." She glances around towards where Constantine and Elias are sat and lowers her voice. "And right now I think she's another who will be glad to see the back of Ravenmoor. She's been through a lot that she needs to process and a bit of distance will probably be good for that."
"As for her father... well, he didn't physically throw me out, which is something. It wasn't an easy conversation but I think we managed to find some common ground and he might be amenable." She scratches her head. "I'm not sure. But it could have gone much worse. Truth be told, behind all the bluster and volatile emotions I think today has broken him a bit. All of his certainties have been overturned - the hierarchy here and his place in it, the loss of his wife, grappling with a daughter who, as she's very keen to point out, is not a child any more." Her hazel eyes meet the gnome's purple ones. "I actually feel sorry for him. Even if a lot of that came about due to his own actions and choices and now he's reaping the consequences. It's still a tough situation for anyone to be dealing with." Hannelia is silent for a moment, reflecting on her conflicting thoughts about the situation.
"So I don't know. I guess we'll find out tomorrrow. I'm hopeful and if nothing else Shel and Saul might be able to start to heal their relationship a bit. Actually listen rather than just talking at each other. Talking about things usually helps." She smiles. "Thank you again," she says, meaning the food but also much more the conversation. Talking about it has indeed helped and Hannelia's burden feels a little lighter from sharing.
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"Not all second hand," Hannelia says. "Plenty of people will have seen masked figures and a giant spider attack us in the village square. And there will be a few who saw the mayor, the blightspawn and everything else. It might take a while for people to accept the evidence of their own eyes but there's the charred remains of a giant bug, the faceless stalker and the poor misshapen mongrelmen - plenty of evidence of stranger creatures among them.
"And while undoubtedly many villagers will have lived in ignorance, I am sure some lived in fear. If Elias was able to pick up on things in a short period of time, I just don't believe that others wouldn't have noticed certain things were amiss. But if your choice is say nothing and keep your head down or find yourself mysteriously vanish the month after next it's not much of a choice. It's not like Constantine came out of everything he went through growing up as a committed member of the Golden Erinyes."
Emma's hand tightens on the hilt of her sword as Hannelia's words sink in. A pang of shame stings her, an unwanted echo of old voices and doubts. The road to Saringallow, her adopted home, beckons. It promises rest and the familiar comforts of the manor and inn. Yet, a deeper truth weighs on her heart. Isn't the paladin's path about more than slaying demons? Isn't it about easing burdens, great and small?
Hannelia's retreating form and Majara's steady work offer no answers. Lost in thought, Emma finds herself moving. She leaves the house, shedding her armor and any symbol of her order. Clad in simple clothes, she returns to the village.
There's a hesitancy in her first steps, the weight of yesterday's battle still clinging to her. Yet, with a resolute breath, she extends a hand. She holds a gate, mends fences splintered by fear, offers quiet words when welcomed and respectful silence when not. Some refuse her help, and she accepts this with a gentle nod. Others offer her meals, a gratitude that warms more than food. These hours blur, a mosaic of small gestures, fleeting smiles, and the lingering scent of woodsmoke and fear.
Emma spots a small figure struggling with a heavy basket of laundry near the edge of the village. The child, a young girl with tangled braids and a mud-streaked face, heaves the basket with visible effort. Without a second thought, Emma approaches.
"May I help with that?" she asks, her voice gentle.
The girl startles, eyes widening. She hesitates for a moment, then reluctantly nods, clutching the basket a little closer.
Together, they walk toward a humble cottage. The path winds past a half-tended garden, the remains of vegetables hinting at the disruptions caused by recent events.
"Mama's not been feeling well," the girl admits in a small voice. "Since... since we lost my papa..." Her gaze drops to her scuffed boots. "Before all of this. I know something bad happened, but not really what."
Emma hesitates. "Something bad did happen," she says finally. "But it's been handled. At least the fighting part." She looks down at the girl. "What's wrong with your mama?"
"She has a lot of bad days. Days where she doesn't wanna do nothing."
Emma offers a sympathetic smile. "Loss does strange things to a body," she says. "When my mama passed, it took me near a month to work up the strength to pick up my sword again."
The girl glances up in surprise, then a flicker of understanding crosses her face.
"Is that your sword?" the girl asks.
Emma sets down the load and unsheaths her sword, which sheds its soft golden light. "Not my original one. But yes."
"It's pretty."
Emma laughs. "Could use some polishing, but yeah, I agree."
They finish the walk in comfortable silence, and at the cottage door, the girl finally offers a shy smile.
"Thank you, kind lady," she murmurs before disappearing inside.
Emma nods at the door with a slight smile.
In the end, Emma feels good for having done what she can. There's still a lot of challenges ahead, and she hasn't stopped worrying about Constantine since he became unresponsive. But she knows it's important not to lose touch with the part of herself that simply wants to lend a hand where needed.
She sighs and begins heading back towards the party, ready to do whatever it is that comes next.
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The rest of the villagers watch warily from the windows or yards of their own homes. Fearful. Angry. Confused. But Emma and Hannelia's dogged kindness seems to change their mind a little. A little less hardness in their confused looks. Regardless of the facts of the matter, and whether they are accurately disseminated by trusted community members, more than a few will remain resentful. Only time will tell whether you are remembered fondly. If they survive the winter.
_________
You take the evening to rest in the old Manor. It has seen a lack of use in some of the ways a bachelor would, others suggest a maid's hand in keeping things presentable. Staying in the manor is the only option if you're concerned about camping out outside of town. The town is so small, there aren't any inns.
Every sound heard in the dead of night wakes you. The possibility of an angry mob finding its courage pulling the tension in your ears and minds. Your attempts to be genuinely compassionate seem to have had an effect. Or at maybe they just need more of a reason. Or more time.
Whatever the case may be, you wake early in the morning and set off on the path. Some few villagers waking early to walk livestock and pets and tend to other morning chores. Fewer still among them acknowledge you, wishing it had all been a horrible dream.
As you approach the crossing, you can see two figures wrapped in heavy cloaks, one slight and the other somewhat larger: Shel and Saul Lupescu. Standing a small distance apart from her father, Shel’s face seems to be warring between proud defiance and a nervousness that suggests she may be sick at any moment. Saul Lupescu’s expression is harder to read but conveys a mixture of pricked authority, grief at another loss, and, in spite of his own mixed feelings about it, more than a touch of pride in his daughter.
Shel waves mutely in greeting, perhaps fearing that she would be overcome with nausea if she opens her mouth. She nods as Hannelia asks if she is ready. Her father pulls her into a tight, somewhat self-conscious hug. The girl’s response is not exactly enthusiastic but neither does she pull away.
Releasing Shel, Saul turns to the other woman now standing before him. His cheeks are ruddy and he looks like he has a lot he would like to say but can’t find the right words. ”You take care a' Shel." he manages, the tone gruff. He directs a menacing glare at Hannelia ”Anything happens to her... you'll pay. I will find a way to make you.”
________
Heading down the road is not nearly as dangerous. You follow the river back to Saringallow, stopping in all the same places. Misarias, the city of gamblers for not very long, hiding Elias in robes. Someone notices his sword, but it ultimately flies beyond notice, Emma doesn't match Elias's description.
The journey is otherwise without incident and you return to Elidir with Elias intact. Or at least, as intact as he was when you found him. After settling in town and asking for directions you find the office of Jeminda Anikee in the offices of the exchequer in the shadow of Elidir's humble castle. Anikee's office is barely not in the basement, a small room near the basement stairs.
When you open the door, you find a middle aged mousy human woman with large round spectacles, roughly the same age as Elias. When the recognition and emotion cross her face, something cracks in what was probably a professional facade. She quietly buries her face in his chest, pulling her arms around his. After a moment of silent tears, she pulls away and tries to hold his hands. She feels his stump and instantly recoils. She looks like she's ready to slap him, but she resists. She whirls around angrily, and settles on Majara, jabbing a finger "How could you? How could you do this to him again!"
Kyle stands in front of the gnome, and puts his hand on Anikee’s, "Jeminda stop. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't. Trust me. Majara really pulled through. I'll tell you about it later, but I think for our sake, I think its time to put old grudges to rest. You were able to do it for me weren't you?"
He turns to Majara, "Thank you again. Both of you. All of you, really."
Jeminda nods, wiping her sleeve at her eyes, "Alright Eli… but what will you do?”
”I’ll find something. Anything less dangerous than tax-collecting, hah!” he says. He turns to Majara, then the rest of the group, ”Any of you all need a hand with anything?” which, of course, elicits a chuckle from his own mouth.
Jeminda shakes her head, ”No Elias! I… I just got you back. I’ve been holding this back for far too long…”
Elias asks, puzzled, ”What do you mean?”
Heat enters Jeminda’s voice, tempered by an apparent desire to keep her voice low and not heard outside the office, ”I love you, you dumb bastard. Since before Rose. Since before Elspeth. I’ve loved you ever since I met you. I wish I could say it differently, somehow. Better. More eloquent, but I can’t. It feels so foolish to be saying it like this after all these years. That I don’t have something prepared to say. I’ve done anything you asked, and I’d still do anything you need. Just… stay with me. Please.”
Stunned, Elias’ emotions also get the better of him, ”I’m sorry Jem. I should have known.” and he pulls her back into his embrace.
Jeminda holds him for a moment, then as if they both realize at the same moment that they are not the only ones in the room, they pull apart just as quickly, both clearing their throats in a quick battle of coughs.
Jeminda straightens her clothes as if to put them in front of the previous display of emotion. She clears her throat again and declares, ”As promised, one thousand gold pieces for the recovery of Mr. Elias Kyle. Thank you for your service to the Steward. It appears words of your deeds had reached my superiors before me. They’re happy to let you keep the five hundred from the back taxes as well as the promised payment. It is somewhat strange, but it's above my paygrade.”
_________
Later on at a bustling Inn called the White Stag, you meet a familiar face.
”Friends!” Sirio calls ”Friends of Saringalow.” The dark haired priest smiles slyly at the use of the name. It wasn’t anyone’s favorite it seemed.
He beams at all of you, but ducks his head in a conspiratorial gesture, whispering, "Listen, as I've been at court, I've managed to sway the nobility to our side. We are just as good as already having full claim to the manor. They are quite pleased with your performance. As is the Church. We're sending missionaries..."
He pauses for a moment, after having taken a double take at Constantine's listless eyes. "Constantine? Connie?" He snaps his fingers in front of him when he realizes something is wrong. He hisses accusatorially at the group, "What's wrong with him? What in the Nine Hells happened?" Anger and another emotion threatens to move his upper lip, but he tries not to let it show.
Majara has a certain jaded, long-suffering look on her face as Jeminda and Kyle reunite. Perhaps it's partly for the immediate blame from Jeminda-- but probably most of it is something in the vein of You two idiots wasted a lot of time regarding something I[/i] knew years ago...[/i]
She gives Elias a measured nod at his thanks, then steps forward. She half-raises her hand as if to shake Elias's, remembers that of course that would be impossible, and with a clearing of her throat turns the gesture into an awkward patting of Elias's... hip, sure.
"Ah. It looks like you'll be staying in Elidir. Government jobs usually offer a certain stability. Best of.... luck. Take your second chance. Enjoy your remaining years, both of you."
It's not the most sentimental of goodbyes. Sentiment is not Majara's strong suit. She merely starts a mental tallying of the profit from this venture, and wanders off in search of some paper to write on...
****
At the White Stag, Majara looks up from a glass of wine just about as big as her entire face (they'd had no smallfolk glasses available, apparently) at the hailing from Sirio.
"Ah. Hello. We--"
Further matters are interrupted by Sirio's reaction to Constantine. Majara has taken it on herself to take the damaged young man in hand on the way back to town (and in the process dosed him with six or seven combinations of herbs, chemicals, and drugs that she has hoped might bring him back to himself), and now takes it on herself to answer the question.
"Mental contact with a powerful eldritch outsider is the current theory. He began acting oddly after that, and after our last battle lapsed into full non-responsiveness, such as you see." It's a blunt explanation but Majara feels it conveys the important details. "A cleric may be able to do more for him than I can. Father Ruvarra assisted Gellion, I believe."
Majara uses both hands to drink from her wine glass, then lowers it and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "Something to discuss when we return to Saringallow. And there's another thing. I..."
A moment's uncharacteristic hesitation from the gnome, then she says, "Well. I found working with your group to be acceptable. If you need a hand to fill in until Mr. Fioritura is feeling better, I... would be willing, I suppose."
"Aye, Majara's the right of it best we can guess. He did that thing where he opens himself up to the spirit stuff, but there were some bad spirits about-" Roger had his hat off to speak to Sirio. He mayn't be fondest of Sirio in the crew, but even he understood the bond between brothers, blood or no.
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Short and to the point, thinks Hannelia at Saul’s remark. ”I will,” she promises. ”And I’m holding myself responsible too.”
She dips a hand into the pouch at her belt and pulls out a tiny duck egg blue feather. ”I think you should have this,” she says, placing her fine fingers into the man's larger, meatier hand to transfer possession of the token.
”If you ever need to contact Shel - or me - this will turn into a bird and carry a message to us, wherever we are,” she explains. ”You can only use it once so it's probably best to keep it for an emergency. It doesn’t allow a return message but it will get through and we’ll work out a way to get in touch as soon as possible, even if that means travelling all the way here.” She looks up to meet Saul’s gaze, checking he has understood.
Saul Lupescu nods and mutters a surprised ”Thank you.” The way his eyes light up suggests that the magical source of communication has removed just a small portion of his concern.
Hannelia gives Shel’s shoulder a squeeze to signal that it’s time to go, a little confidence boost that will help her take her first steps away from home. The protective part of Hannelia wants to put her arm around her but she feels that it’s important to let the girl walk independently.
* * * * *
Although uneventful, the return journey is a somewhat sombre affair. They may ultimately have been successful but it doesn’t exactly feel like a victory to Hannelia. Certainly it is not one without cost given the injuries suffered by both Elias and Constantine, but at least they all made it out alive.
If the walking was hard work, at least Hannelia can feel her strength building back up over a few days, even if life on the road has few comforts. She definitely felt it was better than the return boat journey as that mode of transport didn’t agree with her any better than it had on the way to Ravenmoor. With her stomach unsettled she spent a lot of time below, dividing her time between reading and translating the Kriegler book, speaking to Shel, and tending to Constantine.
It seemed to Hannelia that Shel alternated moods at the speed of one of her arrows, but she recognised that the girl was going through a huge amount: the trauma of being held captive and the battle with the blightspawn, the death of her mother, the fear of the unknown in what may await her in Saringallow. And yet balanced against all of this was her enthusiasm, her sometimes endless questions and her interest in any number of different topics. How she could swing so quickly from one to the other and back again Hannelia wasn’t sure, but she tried to show as much patience and empathy as she could, giving her space or attention as her mood demanded. When she mentioned to Majara how exhausting this could be the gnome had simply shrugged and told her that she was a teenager, having grown used to similar with Gellion.
Hannelia had hoped that working on the book may have engaged Constantine and in rare lucid moments it did, though these were few and far between, only temporarily pulling him out of his catatonic state. Still, over the course of the journey she was able to get through it all and finally have some answers to exactly what had been plaguing Ravenmoor, why, and for how long. With the final pieces in place she was able to explain things to the others and add a little more closure to the episode.
* * * * *
”Sirio!” Hannelia says, surprised but pleased to be reunited with their errant companion. Understandably Constantine’s condition is his primary focus and Majara’s reply is direct and to the point. ”Yes,” she says, ”It’s been awful. He’s…” She breaks off, unexpectedly overcome with emotion at her friend’s condition. ”Sorry,” she adds, colour flushing her cheeks. She lifts her wine glass and takes a healthy swig to try and hide her concern and embarrassment.
Recovering, Hannelia changes the subject. ”I’m sorry, where are my manners,” she says, addressing Shel. ”Shel, this is Sirio Regilianus, friend and companion.” Turning to the priest, she then introduces the girl. ”And Sirio, this is Shel Lupescu. There’s a tale to tell but apparently my mind isn’t in the right place to do so right now so I’ll leave it to the others to fill you in.” She wipes her brow with a handkerchief before taking another sip of wine, more measured this time as she tries to regain her composure.
”Oh, and it’s been a real boon having you along, Majara. While I can officially only speak for myself, I’m sure we would all love to have you accompany us in future. You’re part of the team now.” She smiles at the gnome. ”And if you can come up with a more satisfactory name for our little group then be my guest.” Hannelia catches Sirio’s eye as she says this last part.
--hang on. It is in fact doing an excellent job of taking away her anxiety and lingering brusises, she realizes with an abrupt blink sometime after midnight. She has a considerable tolerance for alcohol despite her small frame, so why is mere wine...
Ah! Yes! That's the aftertaste she's been detecting! Well, of course, why not-- they add it to their food, naturally they would put it into their local beverages as well!
Majara gazes out into space, recalling the sight of something she'd noticed earlier that day but which had been all but swallowed up in events since: a rather large field of an immensely profitable crop... flayleaf.
Does the village know what it has? Yes, yes, they cook with it-- and no doubt its presence in the food contributes at least on some level to much of the village not asking too many questions-- but do they know about its refined uses? And value?
She decides not, after a few minutes' thought. If any drying-and-smoking process exists in the village, it would surely have been near that field, in the alchemist's lab. It would need space and it would be obvious-- many drying racks, at the least-- so, no, Majara doubts that the villagers are using it as anything but a herb, ignorant as to the more dangerous and illicit uses the rest of the world has found for it.
Well, that's interesting.
She has another sip of the wine, rolling it around on her tongue now with a critical assessment of the flavor, just how strong is the flayleaf, anyway...
She considers the proportions of the field-- calculates the average number of harvestable leaves-- density of bushes-- total quantity-- and makes a little involuntary noise to herself in the quiet of the manor.
Well.
Right. Majara goes in search of paper and ink, her small feet moving quietly through the halls of the sleeping manor....
In the morning, when they encounter Saul and Shel Lupescu at the river crossing, Majara silently observes the girl taking leave of her father. Goodbyes are made, and then they are readying to cross... but Majara taps the burly Saul on his forearm and clears her throat.
"Can any who are left in the village read?" she asks brusquely.
He is torn from gazing after his daughter to blink down at her. "Eh? Aye, a few..."
"Right, well, give them this," the gnome pronounces, and pushes a small square of folded paper into his hand, the paper folded around something stiff and heavy. Whenever Saul gets around to inspecting the document, the heavy item is revealed to be ten golden sails, and the note reads thusly:
Your crop of flayleaf can be harvested, processed, and sold at considerable profit. Proceed thusly:
-Harvest somewhat later than you normally would, as the leaves are beginning to crinkle at the edges and darken
-Construct drying racks by means of cheesecloth or muslin stretched across a wooden frame, elevated off the ground, set in direct sunlight. Spread harvested leaves on the cloths and expose to sunlight until dry and brittle. Transport the racks inside at night or if chance of rain. Full drying will take at least a week.
-Grind the dried leaves finely, to the consistency of sand.
-Bottle this coarse powder in glass jars that can be sealed with wax and cork- it must be airtight. A small bottle of one ounce is a good size.
-This powder, when placed into pipe or incense burner, will release smoke that can be inhaled to produce hallucinations and induce sleep. In this form, it is a profitable, albeit addictive, drug. Healers, surgeons, and clerics also make a more noble use of it to relieve the pain of patients.
-In Misarias, one such bottle should fetch a price of at least two sails at any apothecary that isn't seeking to swindle you.
-The five gold enclosed is to obtain appropriate bottles or other supplies that may not be on hand.
-My estimates indicate the village could profit perhaps six hundred sails in this manner. Use this to maintain prosperity for all your survivors.
Saul looks bemused, but takes the paper with an awkward nod, and Majara says nothing further as she proceeds after the others.
***
By the third day out, when Hannelia's patience is being tried particularly by an increasingly restless Shel, Majara tugs Blue closer to the two women, and fishes out one of the last bottles from Kriegler's house. "Shel. Drink some of this."
Should Hannelia happen to arch a brow of enquiry about wine as a teenager-management-technique, Majara murmurs back, "She's probably lightly addicted to flayleaf. I imagine they all were. Aside from everything else, she is in withdrawal. The wine will give her enough to help her wean from it."
***
By the fifth day, Majara has an accurate sense of their profits, and relates the tallies to the group at dinner one night. When she gets to the pure coin, someone from the group asks about That much? Didn't we talk about leaving them some coin?
"I saw to it that their economy will manage," Majara says with a dismissive shrug, and leaves the matter there unless anyone asks more questions. She somehow doubts that either Elias or Emma might be entirely approving.
***
And by the time they meet Sirio in Elidir, Majara has sold off those items the group has agreed should be sold, and tallied out the profits exactingly. She divides them into five piles on the table of the White Stag, and looks at Constantine.
"This is rightly his share of coin," she says after a bit, indicating Constantine with a nod of her chin, "but he is not exactly able to spend it just now. Does it seem fair to all if we set some gold aside for his care, then disperse the rest among us evenly? Should he recover, the balance can be settled as necessary."
"And if you can come up with a more satisfactory name for our little group then be my guest.”
"Hmn." Majara settles back on her haunches on the stool she's perched on and tugs a lock of her blue hair. "The best names say something about what it is you do. Your group, as I understand it, seems to be in the habit of uncovering old sins and past secrets -- all very dramatic-sounding. A lantern aimed into dark places, to be more dramatic yet. Or an arrow that finds its target? Or a shovel that excavates a grave, as you all literally did in Saringallow, no? Hmn."
"As Saringallow's Shovels sounds terrible, you might make do with Saringallow's Seekers. Or the Isgeri Investigators. Or the Conerica Companions. Or the River Redeemers."
Majara pauses a beat, then says defensively, "I'm a gnome, alliteration is in my blood, alright?"
”Hmm,” muses Hannelia at Majara’s suggestions. ”Alliteration is more than fine with me. I think I prefer it flipped as ‘Seekers of Saringallow’ but I could work with that. Sirio previously pointed out we might run into legal issues with trading costers as the ‘Conerica Company’ or the ‘Conerica River Company’ - and that’s his jurisdiction. But the ‘Conerica Companions’ seems less likely to fall foul of that?” She looks over towards the Asmodean. ”I think I like it as the ‘Conerica Paths Companions’ a little better - feels a bit closer to home. Definitely something workable there though.”
"Well, we're making progress on the names. These ones at least aren't embarrassing."
"I'd say I like Majara's options a little better, the shorter a name, the more impressive it is when you remember it. Of's just a wasted word. Blackroot Pirates is just a way better name than Pirates of Blackroot, for example."
"Succinctness has strength," Majara agrees, and turns back to her wine for the rest of the meal.
After they are done eating, she leaves Constantine in the care of the others and slips out into Elidir's streets in order to visit the apothecary shops, libraries, and similar buildings of the capital city. There she will find spellcasters-- who use spellbooks-- and who are amenable to her copying a scroll from their tomes, for a small fee.
Elidir's students of magic make a decent bit of coin off Majara for the privilege of her being able to scan the pages of their spellbooks for a few minutes...
In the White Stag
The others briefly let Sirio down, and he sinks into a chair, gazing past Constantine. He loses a few moments before murmuring back, "Yes. A cleric. I... I will pray for him."
Hannelia introduces Shel, but Sirio just nods along drearily. "Ahh yes, good to meet you, yes..."
Sirio finds himself nearly as listless as Constantine while the others split coin and discuss new names. He might have had something annoying to say, but whatever it was doesn't make it past his lips.
A young man in Asmodean cloth comes through the doors of the inn trying to mute his excitement as he carries a piece of parchment. "Brother Sirio, the writ for the Saringallow Manor. Steward Hedvend grants his approval for the holding."
Sirio straightens himself out, realizing how distraught he must have looked. He nods approvingly at the boy and opens his hand to receive the writ, "Well done Scrent. We'll be headed back to Saringallow then." He gestures toward the rest of the party, "I presume you are as well. Shall we travel together?"
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The next morning dawns grey and chill. A light mist rises from the river, clinging to the roofs of the buildings along the harbourfront and giving the place a faintly haunted look. Somewhere behind the cloud cover a pale sun can be perceived in the sky, not yet strong enough to penetrate the murk. But at least it is there.
No doubt a bard would say that this is the perfect metaphor for the group right now: still in a bit of a fug grappling with the events in Ravenmoor. Despite the rest and healing on the journey to Elidir, it would probably be a stretch to say that you’re entirely fit and well. It only takes a glance to see that Constantine is not currently the same man he was before. And for all the wrongs that you may have righted, the damage caused by the cult of Ghlaunder, its tragedy and its reckoning, will be painful and take the village time to recover from. It is a hard lesson that not all stories have entirely happy endings or neatly tie up all the loose threads.
Still, for the first time in generations, the villagers are free from oppression and have the opportunity to forge new paths. For the Saingallow Seekers (if such you are now named), too, it is time to return home, ready to start afresh. Although the circumstances of the reunion with Sirio were bittersweet due to Constantine’s condition, his return to the group has given you all a lift. The priest’s fierce reaction to his old companion’s plight and the good news of the legal ownership of Saringallow Manor being secured serves as a welcome reminder of why you all make such a formidable team.
It is only a couple of days’ travel by riverboat from the Isgeri capital back to Saringallow but despite the volume of traffic, booking passage proves less easy than you had hoped. Many of the boats currently in the dock are not yet departing or simply do not have capacity for a group of your size. After a handful of negative responses, however, you finally strike it lucky and secure passage on the Mermaid’s Kilvanion.
Captain Erardo Rufinus of Logas is a broad-shouldered man of middling years with the unmistakable look of a sailor to him. Having deposited much of his cargo in Elidir he is more than happy to take on paying customers in its place. Hannelia leads Constantine to the barge early and is able to secure a cramped cabin that is clearly usually filled with goods and is scarcely big enough for the two of them. Still, at least that means Constantine can have a more restful journey and Hannelia hopes that her stomach also finds the passage more gentle than she has found much of the river travel.
The cheap price - Captain Rufinus seems only too happy to pack people in like the cargo he has just delivered - has attracted quite a crowd and you make up a good proportion of the two dozen or so people also boarding the Mermaid’s Klivanion. Once on deck you are able to take in the rest of your fellow travellers. Most have the look of Isgeri locals - labourers, merchants, artisans - but among them are a few more colourful characters.
Off to one side a pair of Chelaxian nobles are engaged in a heated discussion with the captain’s second-in-command about the sleeping quarters, which will be two large dorms, one male and one female, strung with hammocks for the single night you’ll be spending on board. Clearly used to haggling, the woman is brooking no nonsense and manages to get them to part with further coin in exchange for a hastily modified store cupboard that makes Hannelia and Constantine’s cabin look positively spacious. ”You can sleep in it if you like,” she shrugs, ”but good luck hanging anything up in there.”
Scanning the rest of the passengers, a red-headed dwarf dressed in a long patterned green tunic, belted at the waist into a dress somewhat akin to a jester’s motley, stands out among the crowd. Her expression is as awkward as her presence is incongruous and her appearance gives you the impression of a rather stocky dryad.
Leaning over the rail at the bow is a Varisian man, his garb and the glimpse of tattoos on his arms clearly marking him as a traveller. His black hair is pulled back into a ponytail and a silver walking staff also rests against the rail, mirroring its owner’s posture.
Perhaps most striking of all is a tall woman and her two attendants. Delicate features are framed by ringlets of tightly coiled dark hair, a beauty who would draw the eye in most situations. Yet at first glance her face is almost an afterthought, clad as she is in the dress of a Calistrian priest, an elaborate confection of leather and lace that leaves little to the imagination and doesn’t look like it would do much to keep out the cold of a spring morning.
At her appearance Scrent launches into a loud coughing fit and Shel blushes deeply, alternating between blatantly staring at the beautiful woman and studiously averting her gaze. ”Um,” she asks in a whisper, ”why is that lady wearing clothes that ain’t really clothes?”
Paying little attention to the hubbub, the Varisian man at the rail is staring into the morning mist and smiling. Apparently, he’s been doing it for some time as the mist is clinging in fine droplets to his face, goatee, and hair. He casually wipes the damp from his face, examining it on his fingers-tips which emerge from purposefully designed (but worn) fencing gloves.
”Um,” she asks in a whisper, ”why is that lady wearing clothes that ain’t really clothes?”
The coughing fit and intriguing question draw his attention. Black eyes turn to regard his fellow passengers. The sight of the Calistrian priestess increases his smile slightly. He turns to press his back against the rail revealing a rumpled purple sash beneath his belt. With the same attention he paid to the mist, he takes in the panorama of the ship’s passengers. To Shel’s naïve question – or perhaps it is a zen koan – he offers, ”That is precisely her point, young lady.”
The priestess was dressed to be looked over not overlooked… so Hawk feels no guilt as he runs an appreciative eye over her. If I had religious tutors like her, my life would be faith-based. She could definitely take me to church.
Primal reaction dispensed, Hawk’s innate reservations surface. People that pretty rarely needed personality or character to get along. He couldn’t be sure, of course, but it did cast a profound shadow over her beauty. That said, if they could do some business, he wouldn’t hesitate. But it was still a bit too early to hang out his shingle and drum up business.
Apparently Shel's voice had travelled further than she had intended and she blushes further at the interjection of the man leaning against the rail. "Begging your pardon, Mister," she says. "I ain't sure I understand. You're saying that she wants people to look at her and see her... her whole body?" She tails off, struggling to find the right words for exactly what the priestess is displaying.
The Varisian sidles over, belatedly remembering to grab his staff.
He leans against the rail near Shel, keeping the conversation a touch more private. ”Apologies for eavesdropping, my ears are sharp. And, yes, she wants to be seen but more importantly - desired. It’s a facet of her faith. Calistria is the goddess of lust.” Given the girl’s youth and seeming naivete, Hawk doesn’t go into the other likely aspects of the priestess’ holy duties about which he'd heard rumours. "First time in Elidir?"
Shel’s eyes widen - she hadn’t known there was such a goddess - but as she had been learning, there was a lot she hadn’t known. She had to admit that Hannelia had not been wrong about that, even if she had initially denied it.
”Yes,” she says, deciding to omit that it was her first time anywhere outside of Ravenmoor for fear of embarrassing herself further. But she is in a talkative mood and with a long journey ahead of them and nothing much else to do she is more than happy to engage the man in conversation. ”I’m Shel Lupescu,” she says, dipping into a curtsey. ”Nice to meet you, Mister. An’ these are my friends.” Shel leaves it to the others to make their own introductions, hesitant to speak for them. ”Are you headed to Saringallow too?” she asks, trying to make use of the bits of information that she does have at her disposal.