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It's a cold day in Ravengro, and the clouds hanging above the town look heavy, as if it might rain any moment. And the weather fits the situation, as you have all gathered at the relatively backwater town in Ustalav for a somber occasion: the untimely death and subsequent funeral of your dear friend, Professor Petros Lorrimor.
His daughter, Kendra, sent letters to you as soon as he passed, inviting you to the funeral and mentioning that each of you were mysteriously included in his will, to be read after the funeral by his barrister.
It is now that you find yourself on the way to the funeral with Kendra at your side. She seemed genuinely surprised that you actually showed up, as apparently no one else has decided the professor was important enough to them for them to show up.
A crack of thunder splits the sky overhead, and Kendra startles before regaining her composure and speaking.
"Thank you all for coming, shall we go to where the priest waits with the...coffin?" her voice cracks in pain before she finishes the last word.
"Indeed, dear." Pace says, offering his arm to steady the young lady.
"Just keep putting one foot in front of the other. You'll find the strength you need in the moment." he adds, trying to sound reassuring.
Professor Lorrimor--dead? It had been a surprise to young Petyr Kindler, and he had penned a letter straightaway with condolences to his daughter Kendra. Petros had been getting on in years, but was certainly not old enough to die. Kendra's letter hadn't mentioned a specific cause of death, and Petyr had enough couth not to ask the question directly, but he felt disconcerted by the news. Petyr had spoken with a few others whom he knew had been close with the Professor. Pace Greenhour and Andrei Markescu had received letters as well: that was expected. Several others at the University had received letters as well, though far fewer seemed as concerned about the news. This was a renowned man of knowledge! Why not raise a drink in his honor?
Petyr called on his family's resources immediately to secure travel arrangements, and invited all interested parties to come with him. Pace and Andrei had taken him up on the offer, and off they rode to Ravengro.
Upon arrival, poor Kendra seems appropriately distraught. Petyr lets Pace do the comforting. He was better at that--had the right demeanor and all. But Petyr puts on his serious face, furrowing his brow and walking along under the threatening sky.
"We're here with you," he says. He means it, of course, both literally and figuratively, but isn't sure what else to say at the moment that would not come across as inappropriate or disingenuous. After all, Petyr had known Petros, not really his daughter. They had more met in passing. So what else was there to say?
Although they hadn't known each other especially well, Andrei had fond memories of the time he spent learning from Professor Lorrimor and was earnestly saddened to receive notification of the educator's death. He jumped at the opportunity to join his friends from the order, Petyr and Pace, in journeying to Ravengro for the funeral, and along the way he consoled himself in his customary manner: by an abundance of strong wine.
When they arrived, he cleaned himself up, and slept of his drink, before meeting with the late professor's daughter. Even clean and sober, though, he found himself struggling to find the appropriate words to share with the seemingly shaken daughter. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Lorrimor," he offers somewhat awkwardly, "I'm sorry it had to be in these circumstances. Your father was a great man and I know he'll be missed by more people than it might seem right now."
He realizes too late that pointing out the poor attendance was likely a mistake and falls even quieter. When she asks if they're ready to proceed into the funeral he silently gives a little nod and follows her.
The kind words of the trio do seem to put her somewhat at ease, with even Andrei's mistake seemingly not being caught in the emotional manner in which she found herself in.
A few minutes of her gathering herself and her belongings pass, and then she nods to the noticably small group consisting of only her and the trio. She picks up her umbrella and opens the door to the storm currently pouring down onto the town of Ravengro.
"Let's go then, shall we?" Kendra says, her voice shaking as she steps out into the rain and makes her way down the road to where the priest is waiting, his robes almost soaked.
"Welcome, friends of the professor. Unfortunately the pallbearers I had scheduled didn't want to handle this particular casket, so I am afraid I will have to ask you three to help me carry him to the grave. I understand how unusual this is, but no one else has offered to help." he says, his head facing downwards.
"Didn't want to--" Petyr says, looking perplexed. "Is it the rain, or--?" Or is it the man? Either would prove to be disappointing.
"Of course," he says. "It would be an honor."
Petyr looks at Kendra and steps in a bit closer to the priest. Almost conspiratorially, he whispers.
"Might I ask why we find ourselves in such light company?"
Sensing Petyr's desire to keep his conversation from the young Miss Lorrimar, Andrei steps closer to her and talks loudly enough to mask his friend's words. "Don't worry, Miss," he assures her, "We'll be honored to carry the professor's coffin, and I'm very strong. I'll grab the back end of it and Petyr and Pace we'll take the front and we'll bring it down to its resting place, no problem. All of us really appreciated the time we got spend with your father, and we're glad we could be here to honor him one more time."
Once Petyr is done with his private conversation, Andrei gives the grieving woman a nod then heads to the foot of the coffin just as her said he would.
The priest looks down and away from Petyr's questions, as if avoiding having to give an answer.
But then he decides to answer regardless of any feelings he has.
"Unfortunately, no, it's not the rain. They don't want to be associated with one such as the professor, what with his dealings into his studies."
Kendra gasps at the suggestion behind his words, her voice apparently caught for a second before she speaks again at seeing the three men offer to take the place of the pallbearers.
"T-thank you so much...I don't know why they would think such things, let alone refuse to help. Regardless, let's be on our way, shall we? I want to get this over with."
Petyr frowns. "His studies?" He looks at the others. The Professor had studied many things, and Petyr couldn't immediately think of any of his topics of research that would be offensive to the layperson. Did the people of Ravengro know something that he didn't? Or were they more suspicious and conspiracy theory oriented in a backwater such as this?
No need to insult the people here or think ill of them. You've barely met any. A few duty-deserters need not color your entire perception of the town.
Regardless, Petyr takes his station at the front right of the coffin, blinking away the rain and readying a count to three with the others.
Andrei's shoulders visibly slump when the priest answers loudly enough for the grieving daughter to hear, despite his efforts to drown out the exchange. He's surprised at the priest's response and ponders it silently as he walks over to the coffin.
I wonder if he means the professor's study of the undead... you'd think they'd understand, or at least that some of them would understand, that his studies helped us know how to fight them better... it helped me for sure... maybe they're just ignorant of what he was doing... or maybe I am... I hope you didn't get yourself into studying something you shouldn't have, Professor...
Once his two friends are in position, he lifts his end of the coffin and nods his readiness to the priest.
The priest helps the three of you carry the professor's coffin towards the graveyard outside of town, and several minutes pass in silence as you make your way along the Dreamwake, a gravel path that leads to and through the cemetary.
As you reach the halfway point, rounding a corner onto a smaller path named the Eversleep, you all see that the way ahead is blocked by a group of a dozen surly locals. Standing at the head of the apparent mob is an elderly but wirey man, an old timer.
That man speaks first, before the priest can say anything.
"That’s far enough. We been talking, and we don’t want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You can take him upriver and bury him there if you want, but he ain’t goin’ in the ground here!"
Kendra is swift to respond, her sadness quickly transforming into anger. "What are you talking about?" she cries out. "I arranged it with Father Grimburrow. He’s waiting for us! The grave’s already
been..."
“You don’t get it, woman. We won’t have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin. I suggest you move out while you still can. Folks are pretty upset about this right now.” the elder interrupts, his voice harsh.
"Men of Ravengro, I hear you. I know that you fear for the safety and sanctity of your community. I am Pace Greenhour, servant of light and good. I am willing to speak to these concerns, for I knew Petros Lorrimor well. But when our talk is done, we will inter the professor, because that is what is lawful, and respectful, and right." Pace replies.
Nodding to the ground at the others, the trio set the casket down.
"Now, tell me your names, and state your case."
Once they've set the casket down, Andrei moves to shield Kendra from the crowd, just in case any of them become aggressive. While Pace talks, he looks the crowd over, checking for weapons and any sign that someone might be about to do something dumb.
Petyr furrows his brown at the disrespect brewing in front of them. Calling Professor Lorrimor a necromancer was distasteful at best. Petyr had studied arcane theory and understood that necromancy was a useful term that had unfortunately gained a (frankly well-deserved) negative colloquial connotation. Necromancy conjured images of craven men and women raising bones to unlife or stitching together the sinew of the dead into a shambling corpse. But the etymological derivation of the term was more like death divination. But not all necromancy involved reanimation, and some necromancers used their talents to put the undead to rest rather than to animate them.
But now was not the time for that lecture, least not with rubes who seemed more interested in stopping a proper burial than learning anything. Petyr scans the group for weapons as well, knowing that his rapier was obviously visible.
"You all are mistaken," Petyr says confidently. "Professor Lorrimor has assisted with my research at the University of Lepidstadt. We have been studying alchemical means to disrupt the creation of undead. I assure you he is no necromancer. Please stand aside and allow those who actually knew this man pay our respects."
The crowd, more like a mob, doesn't really seem all that interested in hearing what the trio has to say, their words unconvincing and falling on deaf ears.
Half of the group of dozen stand back, unsure of their actions, but the other six including the elderly man press forward, brandishing all sorts of improvised weapons they grabbed on the way here. Rakes, hoes, sickles, pitchforks, and the like make up their arsenal.
The elderly leader speaks up once more.
"This is your last warning, take that necromancer out of our graveyard and bury him somewhere else out in the countryside." His voice is calm, but menacing in tone.
"We mean to bury the professor in a legal and righteous manner, in this cemetery. If you mean to break the law, and do us violence, get on with it. But know this, my companions are capable men, and if you prove that you deserve no mercy, they will show you none." Pace says as he draws his rapier.
Petyr arches one brow at the continued threats.
"I do think you are all making a grave error. We proceed with legal authority while you threaten brigandry. Lay down your arms and disperse," Petyr draws his own rapier, "Or we will defend ourselves and force you to lay them down."
"Priest," Andrei says calmly as he joins his companions in setting down the coffin on the cleanest spot available nearby, "please go let the watchmen know that a misguided mob is about to get themselves hurt."
As he draws his kukri, he looks to the mob and warns, "We are servants of Pharasma, the goddess who oversees graveyards and sorts the souls of the departed. We're here to serve her by delivering these remains to their peaceful rest, but if you want us to add shepherding your souls to the Boneyard to our duties, we will oblige you."
The crowd doesn't show any sign of stopping, improvised weapons being raised in anger and preparation.
"Certainly, it is regrettable that you lot respect neither the law, nor the dead. If you are willing to die over this foolishness, I will respect your wish." Pace says with stern sadness.
He raises his blade, but makes no move forward.
Hearing his friends offering no quarter, Petyr sighs. He glances over at Kendra, trying to offer a comforting smile. "I regret that this solemn day is to be marred so. Please forgive us, Miss Lorrimor."
Petyr enters a defensive dueling stance. Anyone who has been to (or knows much about) Lepidstadt recognizes the scar on his left cheek as a mark of his belonging in a dueling fraternity at the University. Anyone with even more knowledge knows that such a member is not someone to be trifled with lightly.
Petyr springs forward as the rake or pitchfork arcs towards him, using the rapier more like a whip as he smacks it hard against the man's stomach, hoping to knock him out from the sheer pain. He would feel that in the morning and have a nasty bruise to come away with.
Not having the battle sense to understand the defensive actions the party has taken, the 6 thugs charge the three men defending the professor's coffin. It's obvious in the ways they hold and swing their weapons that not only are they not skilled in combat, but they're also not trying to grieviously injure any of you either.
All of the thugs' attacks wildly miss their targets, however, and the first wave accomplishes absolutely nothing.
Petyr parries two telegraphed attacks, swinging his blade at one of the offending citizens. "Cease your foolishness," he says, hissing the esses between his teeth as he takes a swift step back and launches forward again to strike the second person trying to attack him.
Depending on how the person moves in response, they might either be whipped by the blunt edge or nicked in a non-vital area. Either way, it would hurt but not kill. Looking at the way they swing their weapons, Petyr assesses them as almost completely untrained, if not fully. It almost felt deeply unfair how nigh untouchable he was by these men. He only hoped that Pace and Andrei would pull their punches as well.
Andrei sighs at the revelation of how wildly mismatched the fight is. "Please don't make us kill you," he says with clear annoyance. "Your priest has no objections to this interment, so you have no authority to stop it, and we're willing to wait for your sheriff to arrive and talk things over with him."
"But, if any of you misguided, superstitious rubes actually hit me I will not hesitate to use this knife for real."
The group of newcomers was prepared to defend against the relatively harmless onslaught of farmers and blacksmiths, as three quick strikes reduce their number of fighters in half before the fight can even really begin.
The rabble quickly dissipates after those three men fall unconscious in the mud, with Kendra rushing over quickly thereafter.
"I'm so sorry that you had to do that. Thank you so much for defending my father in his hour of true need. I don't know why they hold the beliefs they do against him, he was not a dishonest man, and certainly not a necromancer."
Another figure walks out from ahead of you, further down the pathway towards the burial place. He introduces himself as an attending councilor from Ravengro, and profusely appologizes about the crowd of "local farmhands, all of low character".
Petyr sheathes his unblooded rapier in a swift, elegant motion, and bows his head graciously at Kendra, and then the Ravengro councilor who joins them.
Having an assurance from an authority figure that these men were considered to be of "low character" gives Petyr a moment of pause as he reassesses the populace of the town. "Every town has its share of ruffians. Even Lepidstadt has its--" Petyr searches for the right word. The distinction between Town and Gown comes to mind immediately, along with the general disdain for "townies" by those sitting high atop the ivory tower (although in this case, the towers at Lepidstadt were more charcoal than ivory). But such a metaphor might be lost on this man. "--superstitious sorts. Thank you for joining us."
Petyr looks at the fallen forms in the mud. "I tried to only render them unconscious rather than grievously injure them, but they may still need some medical care. Ideally, we would like to continue to bury our friend." He looks over at Kendra, and adds, "And father. May we continue on, or do we need to attend to--" he gestures again at the farmhands, "--this?"
Andrei continues to frown as the remainder of the men take off. While Petyr talks with the visiting councilor, he wipes the blood from his blade and checks the man at his feet.
Against his better judgement Pace only watches the men flee.
More important things to be seen to right now. He thinks.
"Superstitious or not, Men with no respect for the law will eventually find themselves duly judged." he says, wiping the blood from his blade and returning the weapon to its place.
Petyr looks at the blood, and his eyes widen. He runs over to where Pace has a fallen farmhand at his feet, and drops down to his knees.
He curses, and looks up at the paladin. "Eventually, but does that have to be today?"
"It does not, and on a day such as this, I suppose some mercy is warranted." Pace says, returning his attention to the proceedings.
"Let's be about our business before their newfound wisdom is spent."
"From the looks of it, they will be fine" the priest says after taking a cursory look over the group. A few of the leftover crowd ends up dragging their unconscious members away as they retreat, and the matter seems to be settled for now.
Kendra speaks up, and you can hear the anger she feels under her voice as she attempts to remain calm.
"I can't be bothered to care too much for their wellbeing, frankly. Can we please get my father taken care of before more of them show up?"
The presiding official and the priest both agree, however, that the unfortunate task at hand should be concluded and move to head towards the final resting place of your dear friend the professor. They obviously expect you to pick up his casket again and move with them, but it shouldn't be an issue to get a move on now.
Satisfied, Petyr stands up. No, he has no interest in helping these people. But he also didn't want to have a death on his hands. Defense was different than murder.
He moves over to the casket and readies to pick up his end.
Andrei grabs his end of the casket and, as soon as Pace is ready to go, picks it up and hurries after the officiant. "Well, this could have gone smoother," he mutters quietly to his friends.
Pace take one last look around to be sure no other threats are present before sheathing his weapon and lifting the casket again. The trio then follow the priest.
"Well, at least no one else died," Petyr responds. "Though I doubt we'd be invited to their funerals, they would likely have more atten..."
Petyr stops short, but not short enough. Big mouth, mine.
With the thugs dealt with and the professor back where he's supposed to be, the funeral proceeding can continue up to the plot that Kendra purchased for her father. No further complications prevent the lowering of his coffin into the open grave by the gravediggers. Father Grimburrow gives a short sermon, then invites Kendra to say a few words about her father. She fights back tears and briefly recounts a few of her father’s more courageous or selfless moments, thanking everyone once again for coming.
"I-if any of his...friends wanted to say something about their stories and experiences with him, feel free to step forward and share them." Kendra says, her voice almost choking up.
Pace Begins speaking in a way that suggests he has been waiting some time to speak his mind.
"Professor Petros Lorrimor was a man generous in all things. Not satisfied to merely teach, he created an atmosphere that embodied learning and growing. He taught me to see the value in both good and bad times and to to waste neither. Those who knew him, knew his heart. His legacy and gifts will bless this community for generations, whether they recognize it or not." Pace closes his eyes for a moment and then concludes, "Your labor is ended, may the Lady of Graves guide you home."
As Kendra relates stories, many of which Petyr had not heard, he begins to think of how he might craft them into written tales. The Life and Times of Professor Petros Lorrirmorr might not be the best title, but titles didn't have to come first. Get a sense of the themes first, and the title would come naturally. Still, he begins rehearsing some of her turns of phrase in his head, eager to get out of the rain and begin writing.
After Pace speaks, Petyr steps forward.
"Thank you, Pace. That was wonderful." Petyr clears his throat and pulls out a piece of paper. As the first drops of rain begin to make the ink run, the man looks sheepish and folds it back into his pocket. Extemporaneous would be fine. He doubted that the others would want to hear a play-by-play retelling of an academic debate anyway, and Petyr had little else in the way of stories to offer.
"Professor Lorrimor was brilliant, and saw potential in others that they often did not see themselves. I have not always been a very good student. He inspired me to seek connections between topics that I thought were uninteresting. I doubt that I would be so close to completing my dissertation were it not for his guidance. Our world has lost a great man in him, but I'm sure that he is already leading debates in the Boneyard."
Andrei shifts uncomfortably as the second of his two friends finishes speaking. He hesitates long enough for the delay to feel awkward before finally clearing his throat and saying, "I'm, uh, not usually one for public speeches, but the Professor was a good man. The Lady of Graves called me to destroy undead things, and he taught me how to do that better. His lessons will go with me every time I go into battle against those monstrosities. May Pharasma guide him to the next world safely."
He gives an awkward little nod to the professor's daughter as he concludes, then he takes a step back and falls silent.
Petyr notes with a glint of mischievous amusement that all three of their number had explicitly referenced Pharasma or the Boneyard in their fond recollections. Had the brutes from town only listened to reason, they would have realized that no true necromancer would have inspired so deep a devotion to the Lady of Graves in three younger men.
Or, well, Petyr was still not necessarily a true believer the way Andrei and Pace were: not as vitriolically anti-undead, nor deeply devout. But he could quote from The Bones Land in a Spiral at length, and that was usually more than sufficient for the layperson. Still, the idea that Petros had been a necromancer was laughable. It was spit on his legacy.
He takes a cautious step towards Kendra. "Do you have any final words or remembrances? Or shall we depart?"
Kendra shakes her head no, and the funeral proceeds, with the professor being lowered into his plot and the gravediggers start their slow work of covering the casket with dirt. The priests say a few local rites of protection over the grave, and soon enough it is done.
Kendra takes a second to say her goodbyes to the priests, a few words of awkward pleasentries are echanged, and then she turns back to the three of you.
"Well now that that unfortunate business is over, would you all mind accompanying me to our...my house for dinner and rest tonight? The solicitor, Vashian, should be at my house within the hour to read my father's last will and testament. I know this might seem somewhat forward and a bit unusual, but it's what he would have wanted."
"Ah, yes, the will. Yes, of course, we can escort you. Perhaps we can have a drink while we wait."
Petyr smiles appreciatively. He wasn't hungry yet, but he was sure that he could work up an appetite.
While they walk, Petyr thinks to get to know Kendra a bit better. Petros probably would have liked that. But what sort of small talk? Well--magic seemed reasonable enough.
"Kendra," he begins. "Did you study magic with your father? And if so, have you chosen a school?"
Andrei nods appreciatively at Kendra's invitation, then follows along quietly as Petyr speaks with her.
"I did and do actually study the arcane arts. But not in the way my father did. I am more suited to the art of diviniation and its applications in the real world than the study of necromancy my father was involved with. He always was fascinated with those sorts of things, but I assure you he was no necromancer."
Kendra says as they walk, her voice calming as you sense her opening up in a way to the group of newcomers in her life.
"I will admit, a drink does sound nice. We...I have extra rooms and beds, you are more than welcome to spend the night in safety after the will is read."
"Divination!" Petyr exclaims, his eyes glimmering as he thinks back to a few of the lectures (that he had paid attention to). "Now that's a challenging school, full of remarkable theories of action. I have personally focused more on transmutation. Determining formulae to change matter from one form to another makes a good deal more concrete sense to me. But alas." If it seems like Kendra won't mind, Petyr launches forward into a brief passion play of extended arcane theory, drawn partially from prevailing theories taught at the University, and partially from his own intuitive extensions.
"There are some who would classify magic to stitch wounds together in the arts of necromancy rather than conjuration--as per the Azlanti tradition. Now, the schools are arbitrary distinctions for the most part, not based entirely on clear divisions. After all, many effects that are usually classified as divination very likely alter facets of the user's physiology to enhance their senses, or tap into ley lines to connect a person with esoteric knowledge. Why, I'm sure your father told you, but the etymological origin of necromancy is essentially death divination, which is a cleaner way of understanding much of what your father worked on."
Petyr prattles on like this for a while, pausing now and then to invite comment from Kendra. He would invite comment from Andrei or Pace, but he gets the impression that they are probably bored of his arcane theorizing. But an arcanist! Even if she was not yet as knowledgeable as her father, she had plenty of time to grow. And what correspondence they could hold!
Pace and Andrei are probably used to this kind of cocksure nonsense from Petyr. Some of what he is saying would probably get a rise out of certain factions of academic fuddy duddies who would demand proof, experiments, and citations. Which, of course, Petyr lacked for the most part. But he spoke with (mostly) unearned confidence, a trait that could either be construed as irritating or endearing, depending on your perspective.
Pace remains at the graveside until he is sure that the rabble will not return, or if they did, access to the grave would be logistically difficult. But catches up with the other quickly.
He listens and enjoys any offered drink, actively encouraging Kendra to share memories of her father. When talk of staying the night is offered, Pace accepts, knowing it would be good to be close in case of further trouble.
“A drink sounds good,” Andrei agrees as he follows the others, his hand still close to the hilt of his blade.