Petyr winces as he removes his blade from the zombie's eye socket and wipes it against the wet grass to remove the gore. As he sheathes it, he reaches to the bandolier across his chest and pulls off a vial of red liquid. "Not for long," he responds as he he uncorks the bottle and downs it all in one go. "Though I'm going to have to work on being ambidextrous if that happens again."
The purpling bruise that had begun to form on his shoulder disappears as the swelling injury is resolved.
"I suppose he had reason to be afraid, but I thought priests were more prepared for this sort of thing."
Park glances in the direction of the 'guide'. "Hopefully he'll be safe...."
Seeing Petyr quickly down the potion he shrugs. "I asked because I do have a little magic, including the curing spells of a cleric. Not as good as one, but, next time maybe save the potion for when we don't have spells."
"Ah," Petyr says as he wipes a little dribble from the corner of his mouth. "I brewed that myself this morning. It has a half-life, so it wouldn't be good tomorrow." He stows the empty vial with its companion in his bandolier and stretches, cracking his neck. "But if we get into more trouble today, I'll take you up on your non-clerical healing."
The corpses appear to have been dead for quite a while, not the recently dead. Tracking their path to the crypt reveals a handful of graves freshly exited from, with no other actual signs of any creator to be found.
The guide is now clear out of sight, but you can find your way back to town easily enough. As you enter the edge of Ravengro, the town instantly seems more...empty than normal? Within a couple of minutes, Kendra approaches you with a worried look on her face.
"You haven't heard then, I assume? Since that priest came back running from whatever you were doing out in the outskirts, the city council has called for a meeting in town hall."
Sensing your confusion, Kendra continues speaking quickly. Almost panicked, it seems.
"Everyone knows about the zombies now, and another letter appeared on the memorial alongside the V. A cow was found slaughtered nearby, and a bloody E joined the V. Everyone in the town is heading to the town hall now, we should make our way there."
Park considers the letters. 'VE'? He shakes his head and starts the walk. "Town hall? OK"
"So it was as I feared," Petyr says following the short investigation, cracking his shoulder as he swings his arm through the air. "I had hoped that this was merely a false crypt with no one interred."
And yet there were no signs of a necromancer. Could these bodies have been reanimated absent necromantic intention? Surely the Professor would not have done something so crude. And if the Whispering Way had not done it, then...
Maybe there was raw negative energy spilling into this place. Would Pharasma permit such an imbalance to occur on the Material Plane? Or rather, had she chosen Andrei, Park, and Petyr as her mortal agents to address the darkness? The gods worked in mysterious ways, after all, or such was the common wisdom. Personally, Petyr thought that that was mostly a proverb to keep people from questioning why there was so much suffering in the world and so little direct intervention from the supremely powerful beings of the Outer Spheres. But that was the sort of talk that might get him labeled a heretic if he said it aloud in a Pharasmin Temple, so he kept his mouth shut.
He absentmindedly makes a lazy sign of the Spiral in front of his chest at the revelation and then leads the way back to town. There, Kendra's invitation is worrisome. The acolyte had shown no restraint, no political calculation, in blaring the news. Did he want everyone to panic? There were surely ways to keep the populace informed without terrifying them! (Petyr was not the man for that job, though. Let the City Council take care of such business.)
As Petyr follows Kendra to the Town Hall, he thinks through his theories. He'd need to get a string board if this kept on developing. Maybe Professor Lorrimor had one in his old office...
Still, the appearance of an E following the V focuses his thinking a bit. There was no Taldan numeral E that he knew of, so the V most likely didn't represent a five. And as it was not an A, it certainly suggested than neither Councilman Vashian Hearthmount nor Father Vauran Grimburrow were directly implicated in the troubles. And while it was not a guarantee of anything since he didn't know the names of all of the present and former residents of the town, his mind continues to circle back to one name that was sticking out:
Versorianna Hawkran. The wife of the Warden of Harrowstone Prison when it was destroyed in the fire.
It was increasingly looking like they would need to go to the prison soon. At least they had useful tools now. But that would come after this meeting.
"Thank you, Kendra," Petyr says out front of the Town Hall. "Let's hope we can get some answers."
Andrei scowls at the thought of a bunch of panicky villagers congregating to make hasty decisions. "We should hurry," he remarks, "the longer that meeting goes on for the more likely it is that some fiery idiot will convince a bunch of people to do something foolish."
As they move towards the meeting, he adds, "I'll keep my eyes out for anyone acting suspicious, but its best if one of you does the talking for us."
gods know, my tactless approach to truth telling is as likely to turn the crowd against us as to calm them down...
The town hall is crowded to near full, with voices yelling so loud you can hear them even before Kendra pushes the front doors open. Beckoning you to follow her, she enters the hall and sees the panicked crowd. The four council members are standing on the stage, trying to reinstate order.
Finally, upon seeing you open the door, Sheriff Caeller bangs his sheathed sword against the wall. The crowd quiets as he moves to the front of the hall, and begins to speak.
"Look, folks, I know everyone is afraid. The council members have been looking into the strange going-ons around town."
One of the council members who you recognize as Councilman Vashian, the one who read the professor's will earlier, moves to the podium and speaks out. "Like the sherriff said, everyone needs to calm down. Maybe our new friends here have some ideas about what to do? I've heard that they've been very busy in town, I'm sure they have something for us to go off of?"
With that, every eye in the room turns to look towards the group, expectantly.
As hundreds of eyes turn to stare at him, Petyr pauses. He had read books on elocution gifted to him by Aunt Ailson and his father Styrian Kindler. But a lot of it hadn't taken when he was younger.
He had often been told, throughout his life, that he lacked a certain personal magnetism. It's not that he was unattractive, necessarily, but that he had all the force of a wet noodle. He might have interesting things to say and would even demonstrate useful insights from time to time. He didn't lack for opinions and was often deeply argumentative. But he droned. It was hard to tell if or when he was sarcastic. He was difficult to read and was surprised at how often people thought he was being condescending.
The way that other people behaved didn't come naturally to Petyr. His communication was, to him, merely efficient. He found no need to say anything other than exactly what needed to be said--the frills of filler, facial expression, gesture, and more took away from the purity of rhetoric. And he saw no need to care about the same from others, especially when they so often contracted their meaning with all that other fluff.
Professor Lorrimor had understood that in him and adjusted his communication accordingly. He didn't mince words with Petyr as a young student. He was precise and measured, avoiding those prosodic tonal shifts that would alter the meaning of his words. Behind the scenes, the Professor had spoken with one of his colleagues about young Petyr, and the other man had developed a theory that there was a part of his brain that was just different from that of other people. He wondered if Petyr might be able to learn these behaviors through careful study, and perhaps mapping of the functions to other parts of his psyche, or if he was simply incapable of gaining the skills.
Through his participation in the university's speech team (at first as much more of a burden than an asset), they eventually found the answer to their little case study. Now given a problem to solve, and a deeper insight into cross-disciplinary research methods, Petyr sought to understand that which he had long dismissed as unnecessary. Books on the subject mostly focused on the rhetorical aspects, but little on the frills in between. And when they did discuss prosody and gesture, Petyr's attempts to use them felt forced and bizarre. After many false starts, Petyr found alternate sets of features that made sense to him. It was still a constant mental effort to remember these things. There was so much to control to be perceived as natural when producing that appropriate rhetoric. But he could do it.
Petyr sets his expression in that just-so way indicating appropriate levels of concern--slight fluctuations allowing for variance on either side of too little and too much so that those observing him could choose where they preferred to be by observing him in that perceptual moment. (Let those wanting their worst fears confirmed be comforted, those craving firm leadership find it, and those desiring to be assuaged catch a glimpse of calm.) He chooses his words carefully and adds those edges of timing between the right words, the rise and fall at appropriate moments, to draw the crowd in and encourage trust.
"People of Ravengro. We have met many of you so far, but not all. We are friends of Kendra Lorrimor and have been invited to stay with her here for a month. Our group is originally from Lepidstadt, about five days north of here. My name is Petyr Kindler, and I am an alchemist studying methods to prevent the raising of the dead. With me is Andrei Markescu, a devout Pharasmin and one of the fiercest hunters of the undead I have yet to meet. And then we have a young man, Park Song, a talented musician who has only been able to develop his art because of the financial support of the late Professor Lorrimor, may he rest in Pharasma's grace."
Petyr makes a sign of the spiral and pauses while--he anticipates--a few grumbles might burble from the crowd. "I know some of you may hear that name, and you have heard of the rumors of zombies. You may be rushing to associate the two, and perhaps us along with them, but I ask you to consider what I have shared so far. The Professor considered the three of us enough to share in his Last Will and Testament. Far from being a necromancer, we three know of the Late Professor as a lover of life and a student of the living. Because of his records, we have reason to believe that someone from outside of town is interested in the events at Harrowstone Prison. We also believe that this unknown person killed the Professor and lurks still nearby perpetrating their dark schemes."
Maintaining the sense of drama, Petyr continues. "I am sorry to say that the reports of zombies are true. We have found them twice now, out in the Restlands, and put them back to rest, and will do so with any further that we find here. Following the Professor's notes, we uncovered valuable supplies hidden by Pharasmins many generations ago to prepare for just such a situation. Your forefathers were wise people."
And now for the piece de resistance. Bring the crowd with him. The timing, the gravity, and the tone all supporting the inevitable conclusion. "Which brings us to the monument. We awoke the other day to hear that Sheriff Caeller and deputies had discovered that the monument had been defaced with a V. And as we were walking here from our productive sojourn to the Restlands, were informed that an E has joined the V. I believe that all of these events are related. In reviewing the records of those who died in the Harrowstone fire, we found a name that begins with the letters V-E: the wife of the late Warden Hawkran: Versorianna."
Petyr pivots from being the bearer of bad news to one who can offer hope. "That is why we are prepared to go to Harrowstone to investigate what is going on and--if the Lady of Graves sees so fit--stop this from getting worse. As a stranger to most of you, I will offer no false hope. You do not know me enough to trust in my word. But I would ask for Sheriff Caeller, Councilman Hearthmount, and Father Grimburrow to attest that the information I have just provided to all of you has been similarly told to them when we knew it or suspected it."
Petyr's primary concern in sharing all of this was that the Whispering Way agent might be here, listening, and aware that someone was closing in on them. But Petyr had no sense of the identity of the suspect: merely a half-baked idea of their motivation. Either way--let the truth be widely known. If their enemy was smart, these small revelations would be insufficient to stop their plan. And if they were foolish, then this might provoke them into making an error.
They would be prepared for either.
Andrei stands behind Petyr, nodding his agreement when it seems appropriate, and scanning the crowd for any signs of that someone present might have ulterior motives, or be upset that part of their plans had been revealed.
Park stands with Petyr, doing his best to not look totally amazed at the speaking. He hadn't known the man could be so eloquent. As far as he could think there was nothing else to be said. There was the question of who was defacing the monument? But that isn't something to address in front of this crowd.
Thinking of the crowd he focuses on the reactions of the listeners. There usually were only a few that mattered. They'd be behind enough people to be obscured, but they'd be vocal. Nit-Pik the details and try to rile the crowd. If they could spot them quick enough hopefully they'd be able to get/keep the crowd on their side.
The crowd listens intently as Petyr speaks, unnaturally quiet for such a large crowd. A few murmurs at the mention of the professor, but nothing unnerves the people gathered here as much as when he confirms the zombie rumors. The crowd is obviously listening, and appears
Andrei and Park notice that while most of the crowd is agitated and nervous, one particular member of the concerned public is noticably acting weirder than the rest of them. Gibs Hephenus, the man responsible for rousing the angry mob on your arrival into Harrowstone. Gibs has a blank look on his face, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he stands slowly from the bench he was sitting on. His hands appear to be fumbling with something on his belt, struggling under his cloak.
Before he can do or say anything, however, five loud pops echo through the town hall followed by an eerie loud wail of wind where there shouldn't be any. What light the lamps on the wall provided to the small room suddenly disappears as the lamps explode and fall to the ground, showering flames all across the walls and floors around where they land. Within seconds the room is ablaze, the panicked screams of terrified townpeiple filling the air.
Gibs cries out in anger as the fire starts, and he finally manages to pull out what appears to be an oversized barber's razor. This is obviously a weapon, however, as he swings it open into a short-sword sized blade with murderous intent.
Park sees the dangers and Calls out in his most commanding voice,
Staying in place he starts a chant to enhance his own and his friends combat abilities.
Petyr is feeling good about his speech and the camaraderie that he and his allies might be developing with the people of this town when something goes wrong. As fire begins spreading, he catches a glimpse of Gibs pulling out a weapon.
Was Gibs still playing troublemaker? Was a man like that behind all this? And what was he planning on doing with that razor blade?
Petyr moves deeper into the room as Park demonstrates his own facility with crowds. "Yes, calm as you can!" he reiterates, drawing his blade as he moves and using it to motion people to the back. "Into the center and out through the back doors. Avoid the sides!"
As Petyr moves forward, he tries to meet Gibs' gaze. Don't even think about trying to attack anyone.
Direct the Crowd: By making a Diplomacy check or an Intimidate check (full-round action), a PC can direct the panicked crowd to the exit, allowing the villagers to move 6 squares per round toward the exit.
Save the Townsfolk: As long as she is an adjacent square, a PC can save a townsperson from a fire square by picking the victim up as a standard action. A single PC can only carry (or drag) one townsperson at a time, but once the PC does so, that townsperson automatically stabilizes and is not in danger of dying from the fire unless the PC carrying him falls unconscious or unless the townsperson is dropped in or left in a burning square.
Andrei's sense motive reveals that he is not charmed or dominated as a specific spell effect, but he is certainly not acting under his own will. Something is forcing him to act the way he is.
"You two save the people from the fire," Andrei says, "I'll keep this guy busy until you're ready to fight."
With that, he draws his own blade as he strides toward the possibly possessed man. "This is going to hurt," he warns, "but I promise we're going to try to stop you from bleeding out afterwards, and see if we can't get to the bottom of what's compelling you to do this." Then he slashes at him.
The crowd takes Park's words well, and start to make their way towards the door. The mood seems to be somewhat calm, until Gibs cries out in anger and charges towards Petyr, war razor held high.
The razor strikes true, slicing into Petyr's skin deeply. Thankfully it avoids any major internal organs or veins, and Petyr is able to slap the dangerous weapon out of Gibs' hands and it clatters across the floor underneath a bench.
The fire spreads a little farther, several more feet around each fire spot lighting ablaze. As the fire spreads, another loud sound drowns out the panic of the crowd. The four main windows of the town hall all explode in a flurry of glass shards as a flaming skull bursts through each one, creating several loud crashes. The flying skulls scream loudly, terrifying the townspeople again and driving fear into the crowd.
Petyr cries out in pain as Gibs carves his razor across his chest but grits his teeth and leans in instead of backing away, delivering two fast maneuvers: a slap on the man's hand to loosen his grip, and then a moulinet to transfer more of Gibs' striking energy away. With a forceful flick, he sends the weapon flying away. He looks over to see Andrei join him and nods. Park was doing a great job with crowd direction.
...until more chaos took root.
Petyr grits his teeth and shakes his head. There were more dangers, but if Gibs was determined from the beginning to engage in violence, compelled or not, then he needed to be taken down. And with that blow--gods, he was no slouch for an old man! Let the Sheriff deal with the fallout later.
"Sheriff: we're going to need water! And I have a suspect for the recent crimes!"
Petyr stabs out at the disarmed man, but winces as his wound and overextends. He tries to make it seem intentional. "We don't want to hurt you. Stand down, help us get everyone to safety, and we'll try to understand."
Andrei looks around and scowls at the situation unfolding. "Dammit it all to the hells..." he huffs. "Petyr, can you manage him alone? Someone needs to slow these fires down so Park has time to get people out of here!"
With that he rushes to grab the nearest tapestry and then tries to smother the closest fire with it.
Gibs takes the removal of his weapon rather harshly, seeming to be unnerved or shaken by it. He cries out, almost in fear, and falls to his knees before crawling under a bench.
Two of the flaming skulls fly towards the stage, before spitting out smaller balls of fire out of their jaws towards the four council members stuck up there. Both of them strike their targets, and the two council members cry out in pain.
The other two shoot bolts of fire at Andrei and Park.
The rest of the crowd manages to make their way out of the town hall, leacing the party, the sheriff, and Kendra in the building to fight the skulls and the fire. The sheriff, to his credit, rushes to the edge of the stage, sword in hand.
Kendra cries out in anger at her friends being hurt, both new and old, and casts a pair of purple glowing bolts towards one of the skulls on the stage. The missiles smash into the skull, and it explodes in a shriek of unnatural anger.
Andrei scowls at the skull that spit flames at him. Abandoning the fire he'd tried to extinguish, he moves next to the offending skull and hacks at it with his cold-iron kukri.
Petyr stabs out against Gibs, but his heart just isn't in it as he sees the man cowering. Instead, as he watches the skulls spit flames!, he tries to recall what these particular undead are and what--if any--special defenses they might have. Gibs might be dangerous, but there were more dangerous enemies of a direct threat to the Council right now!
He rushes towards the skull closest to the council members, attacking recklessly.
He glances over at Sheriff Caeller and smirks. Hopefully this would help him to see that they were trustworthy--if everyone survived!
Gibs cries out in fear and anger as Petyr catches him with the edge of his rapier. He almost faints from the pain, but manages to stay awake barely, still hiding under the bench.
Petyr and Andrei manage to smash the second and third skulls, leaving them nothing but leftover puffs of green smoke before they quickly fade. Kendra aims her hands at the fourth and final skull, and laughs in victory as it too explodes from her missiles.
With the skulls and Gibs defeated, the weird energy filling the town hall subsides and the townspeople can finally make their way back in to put out the fires. They are able to prevent most of the damage that could've been done to the building, and no one beyond the councilwoman that was struck by the ray of fire was hurt. Shanda Faravan, the councilwoman in question, is rushed out to receive medical care for her serious burn wounds.
Before you can leave or even look around that much, sheriff Caeller approaches the group in the aftermath of the fire and the attack.
"I was just talking to the council, and we think that we need to talk to the four of you, separately. Yes, even Ms. Kendra."
Andrei is actively trying to ran after the councilwoman to offer her healing when the sheriff stops him. "I could heal her..." he begins to protest before realizing that the misguided rube meant to interrogate them about what he'd allowed to happen under his nose.
Straightening out his outfit, with some clear resentment, he quickly heals his own burns before sheathing his blade and answering, "very well, where would you like us?"
As the skulls are defeated, Petyr launches into action to bat down the fires, stripping his cloak off and beating it against the flames. Although his cloak is essentially ruined beyond repair in the effort and many of his other clothes are scorched (or tattered and bloodstained from where Gibs had struck him), he seems to have weathered the remainder of the firefighting with little to show other than some soot marks and few if any burns. Hopefully it's easy enough for onlookers to pass off his relative health as good preparation and skill rather than anything innately supernatural, but there's little time to care what other people might think.
Petyr doesn't share the exact same concern as Andrei about an oncoming interrogation, quite satisfied as he was that between his speech, his swordplay, and his firefighting that he had demonstrated himself as beyond reproach. "Of course," he says. "We're here to help." He winces slightly and holds a hand to his chest. He had really liked this shirt...
The sheriff motions to the front stage, where the councilmembers are waiting. "When I said separately, I meant away from the rest of the town, just in case you misunderstood me. The councilmembers have an offer for you."
When the group makes it to the stage in the town hall, the fires are mostly put out and the people who need help are getting it. The three remaining councilmembers are standing around the podium awaiting you.
Councilman Vashian greets you when he sees you, obviously happy to see you.
"Welcome! Thank you for your help in saving the town hall, it would have been a great loss for the town. Am I to understand that you have somewhat of an explanation for all the excitement that the town has been experiencing lately?"
Entirely unsure how to explain all that they knew (and still didn't know) to the town's councilmembers, Andrei furrows his brow, scratches his beard, and turns to Petyr or Park to do the talking.
Feeling a good measure better after Andrei's timely spell (but feeling no less torn apart), Petyr attends to the town hall stage. At Councilman Vashian's question, Petyr nods. "It's essentially as I said to the rest of the town, save for a final detail." He pauses. If one of the councilmembers had taken in with the Whispering Way, then it was likely too late for Ravengro anyway. He inclines his head once more to Councilman Vashian "After you read the Professor's Will, granting us access to the Professor's notes, we read about what he was doing when he was killed. He believed that that a nefarious cult of necromancers known as the Whispering Way has taken an interest in someone who was held in Harrowstone. As you might suspect from their name, they were once allied with the ancient lich-king, Tar-Baphon, and seek to engineer his release."
Petyr takes a breath after that. "I believe that the Way discovered that the Professor was onto them and had him killed. One or more of their agents may yet be in town, investigating Harrowstone. We won't know more for certain until we visit the old prison grounds."
The councilman listens to your explanation, nods, and accepts it easily enough.
"We've had minor dealings with the Way before, but nothing as big as the events going on now." he says, waving a hand around at the devastated town hall.
"So, you'll be heading up to Harrowstone, then? I don't think anyone has been up there in years, besides the professor of course. If you're sure that is what needs to be done, I won't stop you. I wish I could offer some more help, but I think the church has already given you all that they can spare."
"If you can stop whatever is causing these issues and get to the bottom of things, I do have the power to authorize some repayment. It won't be much, but I'll scrounge some stuff together for you."
"If you're right and nobody has been at Harrowstone, then our investigation there should be quick. But if the Way has been messing with things there, we'll need to figure out what they did and put things back to rest."
Petyr nods. "The Church has been quite helpful already, and we aim to repay that aid." A bit of equivalent exchange, if one wanted to look at it that way. "We've had a busy day, so I wouldn't mind resting and recouping so that we're fresh for Harrowstone on the morrow. My preference will be to make forays up to the prison during the day and to return to town for the evening. Depending on what we discover, we may need to continue to do research on the prison back here in town."
The scholar pauses and furrows his brow. "What of Gibs--something seemed to come over him when the fires started. He attacked us and we were forced to disarm him. What will become of him? It may be prudent to interrogate him."
"Does anyone have a floor plan of the prison? If we knew where things were back when it was operating it might help. Prison offices, keys to cells and such would be good to know of."
Petyr arches an eyebrow. A floor plan would be useful, and he'd never say no to keys, but he could pick any locks that they found easily enough. Not that Park would know that yet. And not that Petyr would divulge it in front of the Council. Most people frowned on that sort of thing.
"Gibs has been sent to the town jail for safe keeping until we can get around to questioning him properly. Don't worry, he isn't going anywhere, seems as if he passed out once we got him in the cell."
"The town hall should have a floor plan for the prison, I can take a look at it before you three head up to Harrowstone tomorrow morning. I'll find it and get it to you for your trip. Any keys that may exist are still in the prison, most likely in the offices of the wardens."
Presuming you have no more questions and head back to Kendra's house, she has a wonderful meal of grilled chicken and potatoes cooking when you get back. You can smell the chicken grilling as soon as you open the door and she greets you warmly as you return.
"What a horrifying turn of events. Here, I'll have dinner ready soon enough." she says, motioning towards the table and chairs she has set out already.
Petyr thanks the Council and walks along back to the Lorrimor estate with the others. "Before a couple of hours ago, we had only demonstrated ourselves clever and brave. But the bit at the Town Hall seems to have furthered our reputation a good bit. How's it feel to be a burgeoning local celebrity, Park?"
The chicken and potatoes smell divine. Petyr had focused so much energy and attention on staying steady during the meeting and subsequent melee and interrogation that he had almost forgotten all of the physical exertion of the afternoon. He was positively starving.
"Need any help in the kitchen?" he asks, half-expecting her to say no. Still, he makes his way to a sink to wash up regardless and motions for Andrei and Park to make themselves clean if not useful as well.
Andrei remains quiet while meeting with the council. On their way back towards the Professor's place he offers, "That was a good thought, Park, asking about a map. Especially since they think there is one. If its still there we should be able to use to head straight to the wardens offices to check for keys, and if its not we'll have good reason to believe that someone with access to the records in the Town Hall is involved with what's going on. Either way, we learn something of value; well done."
When they arrive back at their temporary home, he inhales the lovely smell deeply and smiles softly. He follows Petyr into the kitchen and joins in washing up. "I didn't realize how hungry I was until I smelled that chicken," he tells Kendra warmly, "it smells incredible."
Park makes a snorting sound at Petyr's comment. "Celebrity? So I'll get another nick-name like 'machete-boy'? If we can get the specter of fear off of these folk it might be worth it. But I'll gladly let you take the bows. I'll even play a little jig so you can dance for them!"
"If they've lost any floor plans I wouldn't immediately believe deception. It's been years and I doubt anyone even thought about it. Fires make buildings dangerous and nobody in this town seems interested in finding out how bad the structure is. We could walk through the front door and fall through the floor to the bottom level!" He follows to wash up before the meal. "I'll enjoy this meal tonight even more knowing that tomorrow we face unknown dangers. And it smells excellent!"
Thinking about the next day he considers the floor collapsing thought again. "Anybody have rope? Just in case the fire ruined stairs and we have to climb down, or back up. I don't have any. Any other thoughts on equipment that we might need?"
Petyr smiles. "Correction: you'll get another nickname instead of machete-boy." He chuckles and leans a little towards Kendra as he towels off his hands. "Did we tell you that story yet, by the way?" He elbows Park. "He'll probably tell the story better, but he'll also be an unreliable narrator."
Park's recommendation causes him to start and he hurries over to his pack by the front door. He is frowning as he comes back. "I swore I had packed some rope, but that's a no from me." He thinks a bit and rattles off a list of potentially useful supplies--none of which he has. "There are many tools that we could benefit from. A crowbar, a hand drill, a saw, a hammer, some pitons...but whether the town has any for sale is another question."
Kendra laughs cheerily at Petyr's offer of help, and graciously accepts him assuming the role of dish-cleaner for the night.
"I have not heard the story, no. Feel free to enlighten me over dinner, it's ready." she says, bringing the meal to the table for everyone to enjoy.
"I think my father had some basic exploratory supplies. You'll have to head to the town's blacksmith for any weapons you might need, but you can check his shed out back for any of that other stuff. I'm not sure if all or even any of that will be there, but it's worth a shot, no?"
"It's always worth a shot," Petyr confirms. He leaves it to one of the others to offer a prayer if they so choose. He was never good at making those without feeling disingenuous. "I'll interject if I need to," he says, prompting Park to go on. "But I'll provide some context."
"I know you've surely spent some time at the University in Lepidstadt. But I don't know if you ever had a chance to engage with any of the dueling fraternities. And why would you? Your father certainly didn't, and there are plenty of scholars who consider the practices of the fraternities practically barbaric. And yet for those of us who recognize the arts of physicality as being on the same plane as those of intellect, nothing could be further from the truth. Swordsmanship is just as noble a pursuit as chemistry or wizardry, full of the sorts of things that might elucidate a person's mind to the fundamental truths of the universe. There is geometry, psychology, and physics throughout the practice. And so those of us at the University who seek to hone our minds and bodies, using one to inform the other, join a dueling fraternity. Or at least I did. I knew some idiots in the fraternities as well, but that's another story."
Petyr laughs at his private recollection and then continues on as he cuts into the meal. "Every year the freshers--the first-year students, that is--gather at Fifthstones Hill, a bit south of Lepidstadt proper. And they duel until they receive a cut on their cheek. Like this one." Petyr points to a scar on his left cheek--not a ragged cut, but the sort that, in its placement and coloration enhances his physical appearance (according to most people). "Dueling, of course, usually doesn't result in scars unless you're fighting without proper dueling equipment. So to make things interesting, the upperclassmen take away your helmet and make sure that your foil has a sharpened point. So it's not about winning or losing according to formal fencing rules. It's about keeping your wits about you, especially through the fatigue of multiple combats. You're bound to make a mistake. Obviously we're not trying to kill each other. A scar on the cheek is a sign that you came dangerously close to getting skewered through the eye, but had the good sense to dodge before meeting your god. We always stopped before it got to that point. But the key was--how good were you? Me? I went through eight bouts in a row before a senior stepped in and gave me this cut." He points once more, grinning from ear to ear. "But some people," he sticks his thumb out at Park, "Decide to go about things their own way. Never mind tradition. Never mind the rules."
Park gives a smirk rather than a grin at Petyr's suggestion. But he was a Bard.... He reaches up and touches his scar. "Well, I wasn't taught with the fancy foil, but with my somewhat more practical tool.... The temple guard weren't interested in teaching anyone to wield a skewer! I did have to dull the blade 'and' as Petyr says, sharpen a point on it. While it's a practical tool it isn't a match for the speed of a rapier. My first opponent thought I was being funny even trying. I broke his blade and then touched his cheek. My second opponent was much more serious. We were both sweating pretty hard and I thought he had me. But, I think the sweat had his grip a bit slippery. The grip on my machete is sharkskin. Doesn't get slippery even when coated with blood.... We both got marked almost simultaneously. There was some debate over which of us got marked first, but the tally was pretty evenly divided by who was friends with who. That earned me the nickname, mostly by his friends at first. But it stuck."
He glances at Petyr. "As to 'the rules'. They apparently never considered anyone dueling with a machete before. The recorded rules banned any large sword that required two hands to effectively wield, bastard swords, aldori dueling blades, long swords.... actually a pretty extensive list. But, it took me 'joining' with my machete to get them to update and rule out anyone doing that again. I told them they should just make the rule simple and only allow rapiers if that was their intent!"
Kendra nearly giggles as the story is told, bursting out into actual laughter at the end of it.
"What an endearing story! I can see why they call you machete man, now. Did they ever make the fights rapier-only?"