Silvio passes by the body, thankful that Garen seemed to know what he was looking at. "So, are we chasing after an entire cult looking for this treasure? That's a lot to ask, even for the cause of letting Kassen's spirit return to its rest."
As the conversation turns to bodies, he asks another question. "Should we bring Bree's body home? I think she's the only one we found. Paak turned into a fiery undead that almost killed us, and I don't know what happened to Gerol and Vark."
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Median gathers up all of the things that they found that remain unclaimed and puts them into the bag of holding to take with them.
She tries on the magical bracers, although if someone else needs them, she willingly hands them over.
When Silvio asks about chasing them, she remains silent. She's just looking forward to getting back to town and her family, not on chasing after some cult looking for a treasure.
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"I'll take that spellbook, if none of you mind. It'll be good to add those spells to my list, and have a backup book." Sledge falls back into accumulate magical power mode as easily as most people breathe.
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"Honor is fine and good," replies Silvio to Garen, "but what about our loved ones at home? Haven't we lost enough?" As Silvio tastes true adventure, he's certainly thrilled by their daring rescue, but keenly feels the loss of so many townsfolk. Perhaps that was why Silvio never swore the paladin oaths, despite Sir Dramott's encouragement.
"Garen--you should take Asar's sword and armor, and Kassen's shield. I can't imagine anyone better to have them."
As the party finishes collecting their things, Silvio begins walking alongside Winter as they go to Roldare.
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"I am acutely focused on our loved ones. It's not honor that is foremost in my mind in this situation, Silvio, but a desire for justice for our fallen and the desecration of our lord's resting ground. Honor, however, does demand that I take on the request of our departed lord. Hopefully, Sir Dramott will be able to take charge of this expedition and we can continue under his tutelage as we trake these murderous grave robbers to their source."
"I thank you for the offer. I'll take the sword and shield for the trip back. I see no reason to change armor just now. Some magical items have been known to change size to match its user. Perhaps this armor will do the same. Maybe you could wear it warpriest?" Garen says and then turns his attention to Sledge, [b]"What of you Sledge, can you use a sword? Even if I kept Asar's blade that would leave this magnificent cold iron blade. Although it was meant for another I do not think anyone would deny it to you for your efforts and sacrifice in this current endeavor."
Sledge has heard rumors of a cult opening up a major headquarters in Tamran, the capital of Nirmathas, where he almost went when he was younger.
Given the Nirmathi coins and the flyer from the Ranger's Lament, it seems possible at least that perhaps trying to tie this tragedy up will only mean looking into one cult cell--the one in Tamran--rather than the whole of the nation of Razmiran. Hopefully.
Median tries on the magical bracers as she begins grabbing the mundane arms and armor . Sledge takes the spellbook, noticing with distaste that there was evidence that there were at one point some more powerful spells inscribed in the book, but that they have been ruined. And Garen shows a paladin's spirit by offering the found implements to his comrades rather than claiming them for himself.
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With the spoils of their battle in tow and a potential mission ahead of them, the group ascends back up the first floor. Getting back to Roldare's room is relatively simple with the pillar of a thousand arrows exhausted. Passing through the room, the pillar still whirls up and Dimira flinches. She looks at the state of the room with the countless broken arrows everywhere and comments. "I told them that this was too brutal, even with blunted arrows. We must have had a cruel architect at some point in our town's past. At least it was Colbin's arrows, so no great loss there."
Passing through to the chamber outside of the room where Roldare had holed up, Dimira looks at Median uncertainly and sighs. She knocks on the door. "Roldare...Roldie, it's me. It's Dimira."
There is a great clattering on the other side of the door as barrels and crates are moved aside. The door swings wildly open, and a still-crazed-looking Roldare blinks as he sees his sister. "Dimmy!" He bursts into laugher and hobbles out past the piled detritus. They embrace, and the laughter turns to tears.
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Median, carrying the lantern with the everflame, nods at Dimira as she goes to find her brother, and is happy that they were able to reunite them against the odds.
She once again prestidigitates Roldare clean, if allowed, and suggests they go back to the entrance to find Khuvaan. She also returns Roldare's bow, taking one they found as loot instead.
Once they are at the entrance she asks if everyone wants to spend the night here and start back in the morning, or if they want to start back now.
What do you guys think? I know it is early in the day, but I am sort of exhausted anyway. I vote rest, but totally understand if you guys want to get out of this place... I am feeling some of that too.
Dimira frowns. "If I can take a vote, I'd rather start back, or at least work on it. Can we try to figure out some way of moving our four fellow townsfolk back? I'm happy to help find things."
When Silvio realizes that Khuvaan had buried the dead, he feels a surprising sense of relief. It was easier to see the grave sites than to see the bodies. Especially Bree, because her body had been the most recognizable. "I want to get home now. My folks are gonna be worried sick."
He looks from the graves to the Everflame in Median's hand. "Do you think the Quest will continue after this? We're all supposed to keep it a big secret for the next group, but we can't keep this secret."
Dimira nods her head in general agreement. "The Council should hear about all of this. I'm sure the Mayor will want to call a meeting." Shrugging, she continues with her own thoughts for a moment. "Tradition is a hard thing to kill. I mean, it's been four years since the last group your age did this. Once it's all sorted out, it might be a while before an uninitiated group goes again." She smiles tentatively. "By then, this week's events might well be legendary."
A rat scurries across the floor and Roldare begins screaming. Dimira's attention becomes entirely focused on trying to calm him down while the group waits on Sledge's response. A distant voice that the group recognizes as Khuvaan's shouts from much deeper in the Crypt--a much shallower?--near the entrance. "ROLDARE? IT'S KHUVAAN, I'M COMING BACK TO CHECK ON YOU!"
"I say we start back. My vital organs have re-arranged enough today that the sooner I get an actual bed to sleep on, the happier I'll be."
Sledge takes the cold iron longswordfrom Garen. "Are you sure you're willing to give this up? I have some sword training, but focused more on hammers and flails." He rubs his bruised ribs. "Might be time to consider a weapon that doesn't bounce off things back at you."
As Roldare screams at the sight of the rat, Silvio quickly lodges a bullet and fires at the creature.
; .
The bullet is not as precise as he might have wanted, but the rat is dead anyway. "Nothing to worry about, Roldare--you're safe!" As Roldare continues screaming, it seems that Silvio's "solution" wasn't as effective as he had hoped.
Khuvaan walks into the passage where the rat is scurrying away just as Silvio's stone smashes it into the ground. He looks down with surprise before tracing the arc of the rock up to see the others. "Oh, good! I was starting to get worried and thinking of going back to Kassen for help." He sees the lantern in Median's hand and nods. "So you've done it, then. I'm sure you have stories--I look forward to hearing about them on the way back."
To Median's surprise, at some point during the preparations to leave the Crypt, she notices that the snake that had been nestling in her backpack has disappeared. Where it had gone off to is hard to say, unfortunately .
Fully reunited, the living party reopen the doors to the Crypt of the Everflame for the first time in nearly five days (save for Khuvaan's sojourns). They have retrieved the Everflame as they set out to do, but ultimately uncovered something dangerous that nearly took most of their lives. The sun shines brightly in the sky at they exit and pass by four freshly dug graves marked with the names of the dead. The hill that had been treacherous and muddy several days prior is now caked over and made itself much easier to traverse. With a good deal of effort, the seven living humanoids and loyal animal ascend Serpent Gorge and reverse their course back towards the Gray Lake that had been their first indication of trouble.
Along the way, Khuvaan tells the party what he has encountered in recent days. "While you all were moving through the lower floor, I kept an eye on the entrance. Last night I heard some howling and scratching at the door. I carefully opened it after the scratching died down and saw a pack of switchback jackals prowling around. I tried to chase them off, but they were more brazen than those I've usually encountered. Just being near them filled my mind with dread and they looked...off. It's the same feeling you get around undead, but they were definitely alive." The half-orc, half-elf looks troubled by this as he recalls his encounter. "Some had patches of fungus growing from them. Others looked like they were rotting. Whatever you all end up doing, I'm going to tell Arnama about this and ask her to help me investigate this blight."
Pushing ahead as the sun drifts below the horizon, the party eventually decides to break for camp, having made nearly half of the 40 miles back. They'd be in Kassen by the next evening, maybe even late afternoon if the road favored them, on Toilday the 10th of Neth.
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Garen takes off his armor before lying down to rest. "I really need to find a way to stay in armor when on the road. If our task is as threatening as what we faced in there it would do to not be found unarmored. Later as he ponders before the fire, "Do you guys think those jackals could be infected with the same thing that had mutated those frogs in the crypt?"
Just before Garen lays down or before the others do if he is on first watch, he says, "May the power of all that is good protect us this evening. Sleep well and rise renewed."
Walking back home, Silvio realizes that a great weight has come off his shoulders. The stress and anxiety of Kassen's tomb had been replaced by the knowledge that they had not only survived bug also had rescued Roldare and Damira. He had done what he could this time. And while it didn't save everyone, some good had come of his efforts. Watching brother and sister return together gives him a feeling of hope.
As they come to a good resting spot, Silvio responds to Garen. "Honestly, I don't imagine anything we're going to do from now on will be as threatening as what we faced in there."
Silvio then considers Garen's theory. "Those frogs were really weird--they were all sorts. But it's possible. I guess we better keep watch for those jackals tonight."
He looks to Median. "So, is it back to blacksmithing for you, then?"
And finally Sledge. "How does it feel to be the one who grappled with the fearsome bandit Asar?"
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When Median noticed the snake was gone, she was somewhat sad, knowing that it was a gift of the goddess.
She looked around for it, just to make sure it was safe.
If she finds it, she will see if it will come with her, but if not, she whispers a prayer of thanks to it.
If she doesn't find it, she just offers a silent prayer, thanking Sarenrae, and really all the three for their help and assistance in preserving their lives.
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Later, at camp, Median responds to Garen.
Could be. The Jackal story makes me think that a whole group should come out here and either shut this place down and seal it, or get enough people with the proper skills to cleanse it thoroughly. I personally prefer it being sealed, and maybe the bodies moved to a proper graveyard, but I know that the town has a particular attachment to that crypt, so guessing they will elect that option. Leaving it as is and sending teenagers to recover the flame is criminal though, and I'll say so to anyone who will listen. Something needs to change. That place is a sadistic deathtrap, whether it was originally designed that way or not. At the very least, that reflecting pool has to go, and the arrow trap is way too deadly. I still don't know how the undead got past that without being pummeled to death. Maybe Damira knew a way to turn it off?
Responding to Silvio, she says
Well, yes, it will be nice to get back to the forge, but really I just started doing that to get away from my father's endless tests of magic... and going through that, I wish I had studied more. I feel like, for instance, that I should be able to develop a fire spell that I can use as a cantrip so that I don't run out of fire, as I did too often in there. So, I am going to redouble my magical studies as well.
Looking throughout the crypt, Median has a hard time finding any evidence of tracks. Hard floors didn't really show much evidence unless you were well and truly trained in tracking, and even then it was challenging. She notices the faintest glimmer of what she thinks could be a furrow in the ground outside of the crypt, but it's hard too tell with the ground as disturbed as it has been in the last week--multiple buried bodies and well over a dozen sets of footprints moving about in a mixed morass of mud and. But the charred spot on her cheek feels warm as she offers her prayer of thanks.
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"Mutated frogs?" Khuvaan says with surprise. "Maybe whatever happened in the Crypt has gotten out into the wider Fangwood, then. Like some sort of curse, or blight. Not good."
Dimira looks hurt at Median's words about the Quest being criminal and gets quiet for the rest of the evening. Roldare is almost not-there, as he is in something of a fugue state, continuing to mutter to himself.
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"Mushrooms..." Sledge muses. "I've heard of fungal druids before, but I doubt they'd work willingly with undead forces." He ponders, then shrugs. "If that place taught me anything, it's how much I still need to learn about the world." Perhaps he's being overly humble in front of Damira. Perhaps he's actually been chastised. Who knows?
Turning towards Silvo, he loudly answers, "Just doing what any of us would do in the situation! Leaning in closer to Silvo, he says quietly, "I couldn't leave Damira behind. When I can't retreat, I'll try anything." Returning to a normal volume, he continues, "I seem to have something of a knack for that sort of thing. When I get back, I'll see if anyone can show me how to do it more efficiently. How does it feel to be the one who glued the dread bandit Asar to the ground?"
He stands, addressing everyone. "We were lucky to survive. And yet... there was something strangely addictive about it. I... I don't think I can stay in Kassen anymore. There's nothing there for me." He glances over at Damira, and backpedals slightly. "Not much left anyway. Having got a taste of real adventure real power I can't go back to a quiet life. Maybe when I'm older, and ready to settle down, I'll come back to Kassen. But I lived my entire life in a holding pattern in that town. I found out more about who I really am in a week fighting for our lives than years of peacetime." Sledge looks around the fire, meeting everyone's eyes, even Damira's. "Back home, I'm Sledge the loner. Sledge the problem child. I'll come back home, say goodbye to everyone, but I can't stay. Out here, I could be anyone. It may be dangerous. I might die. Maybe none of us will like who I turn out to be. But 'tis better to have lived and lost than to never have lived at all."
Sledge looks embarrassed at saying so much. He sits back down, and hunkers up.
Honor. Justice. Family. Friends. Regret. Hope. Adventure. Power.
There are any number of reasons why people do what they do.
As the seven young Kassenites with the scarcest knowledge of some plot underway in their home sit around a campfire and eat some rations, they discuss their plans. Some will stay in Kassen. Others are committed to leave. But all have been changed by their ordeal. Kassen's residents may want their town to remain sleepy on edge of the frontier, but whether they will be able to stay that way remains uncertain.
As the group settles down for the evening, setting out their usual watches and remaining vigilant, their sleep is untroubled. Home is not far.
But how will they defend it when the time comes?
A waning crescent moon rides high through the sky to illuminate the living and the dead of Golarion. Some sleep. Some plot. Some dream.
Garen dreams of riding a horse across a battlefield, his shining blade upraised and blinding hordes of enemies. Median dreams of rising to the sun itself on a pillar of roiling clouds. Silvio dreams of flying across deep waters barely illuminated by the moon until he sees a city stacked on wooden piers. And Sledge dreams himself on a throne of gold, unimaginable treasures piled around him, teeming with magical auras.
Morning comes, and Dimira pulls out some flour and makes a a batch of pancakes for the group, topped with some wild huckleberries that the group had stumbled across the night before.
Silvio and Sledge, however, seem to be feeling unwell this morning. Their skin looks somewhat sallow, they feel their muscles swelling, and their heads pound at the dawnlight and morning sounds. It is cold, but they are both shivering and sweating.
Although two of their number are feeling decidedly under the weather, the group packs their bags up and sets back for Kassen, set to be back home for the first time in almost a week to a week and a half, depending on the person. Roldare appears to be in better spirits today, though he still jumps at snapped twigs and jumping squirrels as though they rattled sabers at him from the trees. His reactions might almost be comical if the group wasn't bringing back news that four people were dead and the land around the town might be cursed.
After a somber and blessedly uneventful return journey, the party arrives back in Kassen to see the harvest celebration underway. It even looks as though the town had been anticipating the group's arrival as the space is complete with a woven Congratulations! banner painted with the names of the four chosen. It looks like even more people showed up this day than for the send-off. Upon seeing the first hints of the party's arrival at the south edge of town, Mayor Uptal climbs atop the three-story Greathall in the town's center, a mug of ale clutched in his fist. He holds his hand up to shield his vision from the glare of the late afternoon sun. Even at a distance of a couple hundred feet, the more perceptive members of the party can see his face twist in confusion as he sees a different number of people walking together than he expected. Still, there is little reason yet for him to suspect anything untoward, and he shouts for the band being led by the Seven Silvers' resident musician Jocyn Elmaran to make the music swell into something triumphant. Then he clambers down from his perch and moves out to greet the party.
Seeing the Mayor's awareness that the main guests of honor of the day had returned, the rest of the town gathered in the central town square all begin to take notice. There are smiles all around. As the party enters the main square, the band (with expert timing) brings their song to a grand finale and the Mayor holds up his hands for attention. In a booming voice, he addresses the crowd in a manner more ebullient than the manufactured somberness that characterized his farewell message. "Men and women of Kassen! The young heroes of Kassen have once again braved the winter winds of the Fangwood to protect us. They have followed in our founder's footsteps and retrieved the Everflame. Please: bring forward the flame that will keep us safe and warm all through the darkest nights!"
It is only now as he looks at the group and does not see Gerol, Vark, Paak, or Bree that his countenance changes uncertainly. He seems keen on continuing to keep the atmosphere as jovial as possible, but it's impossible to not recognize the wheels of worry beginning to turn in his head.
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Median feels amazing when she wakes up. A great dream sent by Sarenrae comforted her that she hadn't been abandoned when the snake left... it just wasn't needed to protect them anymore, and so had gone on to help someone else.
When she sees that Silvio and Sledge are sick though, she is somewhat sobered, wondering what is wrong.
She has no idea, but is convinced that it is some lingering effect from that accursed crypt.
When they get back to Kassen and the mayor goes through his little speech, Median is somewhat incensed, but tries to keep her anger in check. The whole town would know soon enough. She didn't need to make a scene.
She steps away from her comrades, bringing the lamp with the everflame up to the mayor. When she gets there she motions for him not to speak, yet, and says, quietly, to him only if possible...
"The crypt has been cursed. It was a deathtrap full of undead and mutant frogs and things, and we are all that is left. We brought back Damira and Roldare, but Roldare is a little mentally broken, and everyone else is dead. Silvio and Sledge need medical attention as soon as possible... they might have been infected by some of the undead we fought, or any number of other things. Go on with the charade if you must, but this is not a time to rejoice."
She leaves the everflame with him, or lights something with it if expected, and then returns to stand with her friends until the mockery of a ceremony was over.
Despite Median's best efforts to be discreet, the sorceress stepping up to the Mayor for a private word causes some people in the crowd to start calling out.
"What's going on?"
"What's wrong?"
"Where are the others?"
"Gerol? Where's--?!" "--Vark?!" "--Paak?!" "--Bree?!"
The Mayor's expression twists from concern to grief as the full weight of Median's words settle on him. For the first time that anyone can recall, the Mayor is at a loss for words. He hardly has time to stammer out a response when the whole of the gathered town seems to start talking at once. The people of Kassen may be simple folk, but they aren't stupid. It's quickly apparent even without the words being spoken that four people are dead. What should have been a merry welcome turns into a barrage of questions, tears, and--blessedly--hugs as family members and friends come rushing to embrace those returned.
The Mayor tries to reassert control over the situation (not good in an election season), insisting with a quavering voice that the returned may need to rest before they feel comfortable answering questions. But he looks carefully at Dimira, Garen, Khuvaan, Median, Roldare, Silvio, and Sledge. Quietly, he looks at the group and whispers, "But by Erastil's beard we should talk with the whole of the Council. Tomorrow morning."
A melancholy falls over the Harvest Festival. Family and friends greet the returned, while those closest to the four dead all withdraw, some to their homes and others to the Temple where Father Prasst begins holding an impromptu vigil. With as much food as is available, the townspeople eat and drink to cope rather than to celebrate. A mournful tune rises up in hymn from the Temple, Jocyn's voice rising above most but no one singing louder than Father Prasst. Even the half-orc Grimscar joins the vigil at the Temple, surely the first time that he has darkened the door of that building in years.
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As the mob closes in on Roldare, Sledge will step in front of him, glaring out at the crowd, seeming daring anyone to encroach on the man's personal space.
"Back jackals! Leave me and mine alone. You'll get your pound of flesh in due course, but until that time, leave the poor soul alone. He's seen enough suffering without him needing to see what I'll do if you don't give him space." Sledge will personally ensure that Roldare makes it back home unaccosted. The usual terrible coldness that characterizes Sledge was temporarily replaced with a far more terrible fire behind his eyes. After he manages to see Roldare to wherever he needs to be, his expression once again frosts over. Considering he just formally made an enemy of most of the town, he tries to make himself scarce. No one needs Sledge to grieve properly anyway.
Sledge slipped into Master Holgast's tower. He had spent nights here before, pouring over magical tomes, so it was as good a spot as any to hide out. He looks at the cupboard that held the Old Man's countless tomes of magic. How long ago it seemed since Gretchen had caught him perusing the enchantments.
The slight movement from behind him made him spin, half drawing his new sword as he did so. "Oh. It's you," he says, letting his sword fall back into his sheath. "I'm glad to see you made it back home safely. You may be glad to hear I've decided to leave Kassen. For the foreseeable future. I don't have any barbs to trade with you Gretchen. Not today."
"The prodigal returns, Master Holgast. You may be pleased to know that when push came to shove, I didn't run away from Asar. Left no one behind." He grins humorlessly. "Of course, you may be less pleased to learn that all of the mighty magics I learned from you paled in usefulness when compared to a joint-lock, but that's neither here nor there, is it?" He tilts his head, looking at the old man. "Thank you for the wand. It saved lives in there. Even if I did have to make sure the paladins were looking the other way while I messed about with blood magics."
Sledge does his best to sneak back into his old house, waiting for his father to be out. Then lifts the loose board under his bed to reveal a small statuette that he had been working on, as well as the crushed remnants of the failed attempts. The last coat of paint on it had long since dried, now all that was left was the finishing touches.
Slinking back out of the house, he completed the last steps. After weeks of work, it was complete, an idealized statuette of Damira as a woodcutter, as perfectly to 1/16th scale as he could manage. The painting wasn't quite as impressive, but he had done what he could, especially now that he no longer had any of Damira's fine detail brushes. Still, it'd have to do. He had to face this before he left, or he'd never forgive himself.
Getting Damira away from the crowds was not going to be an easy feat. It was something he regretted needing to do, the poor girl had suffered enough. Still, through magical tricks, and a bit of regular skullduggery, he managed to get a few moments with Damira alone. "Please hear me out," Sledge begins, "I was serious when I said I plan to leave town. So this needs to be said, before my brain kicks back in, and I find a way to reason-weasel my way out of saying it." He swallows, and takes a deep breath.
"You inspired me to make art. I mean real art. I used to make and sell miniatures to help with my families finances, but there was never any joy in it. Then on a spur of the moment whim, you offered to show me how to paint." He pauses again for a second. "Painting's useless. I thought to myself. It has no practical purpose. You can't get an advantage in the world by painting. Especially not the way you did it, keeping the paintings to yourself. How could that possibly impact anyone? And yet, you did it anyway. And shared it with me. That little thorn of an idea stuck with me. And so I tried painting; just for my own enjoyment, just to prove that it was a stupid idea." Sledge knows that in the future, he'll think back on this soliloquy and want to die. Still, he had to press on. "It was terrible. Nothing I did looked right. My hands wouldn't create what I could see in my minds eye. It was so frustrating that I had to try it again. And again. And again. It wasn't until the 4th try that I started to understand that it wasn't about being good at something, or even doing something to get power over others, but for the sake of improving your own art." Here comes the hard part. "I stole some of your brushes. Partially because I didn't have any of my own, but more because I wanted to be closer to you. There is an idealized version of you in my head Damira. I might have called it love, but I think that a better term would be infatuation. When things got difficult, when everyone hated me, when my father would call me the reason my mother died, I had an outlet. I could paint. And that was thanks to you. It may be unfair to put that on you, but I'm afraid that the heart is not a fair emotion. I wanted to create that perfect version of you in my head, to let my hands create the perfect image in my head. And you know what?" Sledge says, producing the statue. "It's still not good enough. Never will be."
"I had intended to work harder, get it closer. Maybe present it to you as part of some elaborate scheme, or ploy, to try and win your heart. Magic and subterfuge come naturally to me, beauty does not. It all seems... rather pointless now. I'm leaving soon Damira. But please, take this anyway. I don't want you to wait for me, or anything like that. That would be hopelessly unfair. But you ever feel hopeless, or powerless, or like your life has no meaning, like I often do, let this be a reminder that you inspired at least one person to change the course of their life. Perhaps one day when I return to Kassen, I can give you another one, that accurately depicts the you in my mind. But no matter how much I improve, I somehow doubt it." Sledge is obviously jumpy. His father always said that expressing emotion was unbecoming of him.
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Garen looks the two over in the morning but he is unable to identify their issue. With nothing to be done for it he helps break camp and get everyone on the road as quickly as possible.
In town, Garen tries to catch the mayor’s eye early on and shake his head no but he fails. When the cat is obviously out of the bag he tries to answer questions as best he can and let’s the mayor know he will be by in the morning.
When Sledge gets irate with the crowd, Garen tries to deescalate the situation. ”Calm down Sledge. They are just worried for those who have returned and in particular those who have not. Everyone please, Roldare has had a very difficult encounter and needs time to recover before answering a multitude of questions.” Alas, the situation is already out of hand by the time he speaks.
Finally, he says to the others, ”I’ll meet you at the mayor’s office in the morning.”
Garen then leaves the gathering to find his parents and younger siblings. After finding them and answering their questions for about an hour he then excuses himself to go speak with Sir Dramott about how they should proceed.
Silvio looks first and foremost to his family, knowing that they would have been worried about his fate. He hugs his mother and father, and his brothers and sisters. "We're okay," he insists to all, referring to himself and Winter. "I mean, I'm a little sick, but those of us who went on the quest are safe. But Bree, Paak, Gerol and Vark had went ahead to set up the crypt, and they were caught by surprise. Something very strange happened to the Crypt when some tomb robbers came, and I think bodies in the Crypt of the Everflame came back to life as vengeful skeletons. They caught the prep group by surprise."
After assuring his family that he's okay, he tries to go to the party, but Mom insists that he's looking ill and needs to come home and rest. He relents, and heads back home with Mom as the rest of his family returns with some food that had been meant for the celebration. Silvio takes a bit of time for some self-diagnosis of his illness.
. If he realizes he's infectious, he quarantines himself. If he thinks it's safe, he partakes with his family. He doesn't feel like sharing too many more details about his quest. Especially because he sensed that his parents did not want him going on any more adventures, even though Silvio felt like it might be important to do so. He does take out and show his younger siblings his shiny magic dagger for them to ogle.
As night comes and he clears out his travel bag, he realizes that the bottle of brandy Jimes had slipped into his bag was still there, and unused. Deciding he could use a drink, he lifts a private glass in honor of those they had lost.
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After the meltdown of the festival and arranging with Garen and the others to meet at the Mayor's office in the morning, Median finds her mother and Braggar, giving them each a hug and thanks for what they taught her that helped her stay alive. Then she gathers up her many siblings, makes sure they all load up on free food from the festival so that they will be well-fed through the night and into the morning, and then takes them home, where she gets them settled, giving them each one of the keys she found in the crypt, and finding some ribbon and string so they can wear them.
After things have calmed down and most of the kids are in bed, she goes into her father's study and tells him everything that happened, the entire blow-by-blow account.
She is happy that he isn't the tearful and weepy type, because right now she needs another mind to help her analyze, process, and decompress, which she realizes is one thing he has been helping her to learn all her life.
Thank you for the wands and the anytool. They came in handy and helped keep us alive, although I was mostly incompetent and would have definitely died without the others. I realized to my bones how weak I truly am. Please, teach me more and push me harder. I need to be as powerful as you have always wanted me to be, rather than what I have chosen to be thus far. I am too weak as I am. I know that now, and I ask your forgiveness for not seeing it sooner. I'll work as hard as it takes. I'll even give up the apprenticeship if needed.
One thing I do want to do is to be part of the group that goes back to that crypt. I personally want it destroyed, but if you think it can be cleansed instead, I still want to be there. I want to make sure no child of Kassen ever has to die there again.
The people of Kassen are disturbed by Sledge’s outburst as he adds another notch to his curdled reputation. Garen’s efforts do little to mollify their concerns, but enough seem to understand that they are willing to wait for answers. Hearing even more details from Silvio seems to comfort some but further frighten others, and the Mayor holds a hand up to Silvio. “Tomorrow, please.”
Still, Roldare and Dimira seem grateful for the help getting Roldare away from the crowds, though from Roldare it mostly comes in muttered vagaries as he putters from the town square to his house. As Sledge leaves, he catches his father’s eye and sees something there—wistfulness, perhaps?
After escorting Roldare home, Sledge finds Captain Gregor Wisslo watching over the forlorn “festivities” from the northeast corner nearest to the Town Watch Headquarters. He seems perplexed by Sledge’s forwardness. “Well hello to you, too, Mr. Potterson, and I’m glad to see you back safely.” He waves towards the townspeople still milling about. “While you may not be on duty, I am. Let’s talk after tomorrow’s meeting.”
From there, Sledge leaves to Master Holgast’s tower, which is unoccupied for a long time. Neither Gretchen nor Master Holgast are present, with Sledge having seen them both on the outskirts of the festival. The two return at the same time, and Gretchen seems perturbed with Sledge. “Sledge Potterson, what is wrong with you?” she says in bewilderment. “You take every expression of care that others deign to throw at you and twist it to viciousness.” She huffs. “Not that I’m better, but at least I recognize when others are worried.” She rolls her eyes and stomps up the steps of the Tower, leaving Sledge alone with his mentor.
“Asar,” Holgast repeats, looking confused. He takes a long drag from his pipe, filling the room with smoke. “What ever do you mean, Mr. Potterson? Asar has been dead and cold for nearly 200 years.” Clearly, no one in the town is aware of the details or what happened in the Crypt and may need some explanation. The wizard waits for his protege to explain, though he seems generally glad that his care package had been found useful.
---
Dimira seems resistant to leaving her brother’s side (having gotten well away from the crowds on her own, thank you very much). But she sits in the living room of her brother’s home, with Roldare sequestered in his room, the door just ajar so that she could hear if he was having a night terror or anything like that. She listens to Sledge’s monologue, her face an inscrutable mask until it’s revealed that Sledge had stolen her brushes. Her eyes widen in surprise and she looks like she is going to say something, but purses her lips and lets the young man finish. She takes the statue when it is produced, looking at it instead of Sledge for the final part of his monologue. She is quiet for a long time, turning the statue around, holding it up in the light. Eventually, she smiles.
“No one else has ever really seen me as an artist before. So I’m not much one to judge, but I think that you have a talent worth honing.” She looks up at him. “Wherever you go next, good luck to you. And keep practicing.”
---
Garen finds Sir Dramott in the Temple, where he is helping Rantal Prasst with the impromptu vigil for the dead. Hymns of mourning drift up and those closest to the dead cluster together, their faces stained with tears of sudden loss. When people begin to leave, the older paladin notices his younger protege and beckons him into one of the alcoves where their voices will not echo throughout the rest of the building.
“I’m glad to see that you and Silvio returned safely,” he says. “I trust that the Mayor will invite me to the meeting of the Council in the morning. Even if this isn’t Lastwall business, I need to represent the interests of our patrons and knowing what is happening here near the border remains important.” He sighs and puts a hand on Garen’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”
---
Moltus Vargidan listens calmly to Median’s tale, nodding along as she discusses the triumphs and travails. “Recognizing one’s own insufficiencies is an important part of growth, Median. Of course, I will push you. You will grow strong or die trying.”
He raises his eyebrows when Median suggests destroying the Crypt. “You know the people of Kassen will never accede to that. But you’re welcome to bring it up with the Mayor. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll at least offer me an invitation, but I trust you to represent the family’s interests in the meeting.”
"Vigil?" the elder paladin says, looking surprised. "Now why would we be traveling to Vigil?" Before Garen answers, Sir Dramott shakes his head. "I am stationed here by my superiors. Unless my oaths call me stronger to other locations, I must remain here."
==
"I'm more comfortable with viciousness," Sledge says as Gretchen leaves. "I don't know how to react to care."
"Dead and cold," Sledge agrees with Holgast, "But far more spry than any of us were expecting. Garen's new sword was pried from Asar's bony phalanges, after Asar himself drove it into my gut." He cocks his head to one side. "Has any onyx gone missing from your tower recently master? Do you monitor the trade of it in the region?"
==
"Thank you for your patience Damira. I hope you and Roldare can put this experience behind you." He turns to leave, but before he steps out the door, he turns back. "Would... would it be alright if I wrote back to you? Letters I mean. I thought I was ready to leave all of Kassen behind, but it seems I'm not quite as detached as I thought."
==
After his conversations, Sledge will try and get some rest in a corner of Holgast's tower. Tomorrow was going to be rather unpleasant, he was sure. Also, although he wasn't entirely certain, he suspected that he might be dying of some rather nasty disease. Certainly he didn't feel better yet.
Damira shrugs and accepts Sledge's offer to send letters. "That sounds nice, Sledge," she says.
---
Holgast needs curious at Sledge's explanation, though he asks to see the scar at the sight of the aforementioned driving of a sword into his gut. "Just to see how well the devil's blood operated, of course," he explains as he asks Sledge to lift his shirt.
"Oh, I find necromancy much too distasteful to keep any onyx on hand." Taking a puff from his pipe, the old wizard seems to consider regional trade. "I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, but Nirmathas is not the sort of country to track individual purchases so diligently, and I have better use of my time than scrying the countryside for behavior more likely up in Ustalav. Of course, you know, not all undead are created. Some rise spontaneously."
Holgast gets distracted at this point and hobbles a bit closer to his protege. "I have bene meaning to ask, by the way--what did you think of that illusion work back in the forest? I was rather proud of that and was looking forward to hearing your thoughts."
---
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Garen has a little housekeeping to take care of. He finds Khuvann and gives him the breastplate and cold iron longsword which were meant for him. Then he goes to the blacksmith (armor smith) and sells his previous suit of scale mail (25gp), assuming he has access he will sell the other weapons and armor that no one has claimed (3 chain shirts 75gp, lucerne hammer 7.5, great axe 10, heavy steel shield 10, longsword 7.5). After this he returns home and talks life with the family while he cleans Azar's armor, sword, and shield.
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Sledge will also forget himself, and happily discuss theory with Holgast. "It was rather impressive. What spells did you use? Were you there in person, or was it scrying? Was it major image? It's certainly a more powerful illusion than I can manage at the moment, considering it had audio and tactile elements." He remembers himself, "It did seem to make Median rather irritated however."
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As he rests, Silvio spends some time treating his own illness, hoping to feel better.
It takes a while before he realizes that Sledge was also not feeling well and is probably also suffering from zombie rot, and that he ought to get some treatment. Grabbing his healing kit, he hurries out in search of Sledge, arriving in the evening, as he knocks on the tower door. As Gretchen opens the door, Silvio speaks. "Please, take me to Sledge! He's suffering from zombie rot--we were both struck by zombies yesterday and are paying the price. I can help!"
Assuming he's allowed in, Silvio comes into Sledge's room without knocking. "Zombie rot! Remember when the zombies struck us in the crypt? That's why we're not feeling well. I can help!" And he begins to treat Sledge's illness, clearly overeager in wanting to protect Sledge's health.
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Median nodded to her father. Part of her still wanted to argue with him, but remembering her failures, she knew she had to do this. Power wasn't what her life had been about before, but if she was going to survive... if she was going to be able to protect her siblings, this was the only path. She just hadn't known how strong the evil out there in the world was before. She was the oldest; she would take this on so that her siblings wouldn't have to.
Holgast chuckles when Sledge says that Median was frustrated by the illusion. "Sorcerers rarely appreciate the intricacies of good illusion magic. Don't get me wrong, making something explode can be terrific fun, but convincing your opponent that a great wyrm is flying towards them to bring death! Ahhh...yes, it was a Major Image spell. Median's flames did make it much more interesting, and I had to adjust the spell on the fly. With increased complexity comes increased believability, but so many more variables to account for. For example..." The aged wizard begins discussing degrees of freedom and at one point conjures a chalkboard with which to scrawl mathematical formulae by way of demonstration. Sledge might not get away from this without a lecture, but it might also be the first time that Holgast has been so direct in his teaching...
Whether he wants to be saved or not, Silvio's interruption shatters Holgast's train of thought. "Zombie rot? How dreadful. Yes, yes, by all means, come in. You might learn something, too, Mr. Errico. Now, where was I?"
---
Khuvaan sheepishly accepts the implements that had been intended for him, grumbling something underneath his breath that Garen doesn't quite catch, but the half-orc seems grateful. After that, he goes to Braggar Ironhame's shop, perhaps surprised to hear a hammer banging within in spite of "festivities" ongoing in the center of town. The dwarf directs Garen to put the armor and weapons in the "scrap pile". "The town had a population of seven hundred and fifty souls this morning far as I knew," the dwarf says by way of explanation. "Now there are four fewer. It sounds like the town might be in need of defending, so my holiday is over. Come back tomorrow and I'll give you your coin."
---
The nascent heroes of Kassen sleep in their own beds (or wherever else they so choose) for the first time in a week and wake on the 174th anniversary of Ekat Kassen's death. Would there be a similar recollection for any of the newly-dead townsfolk one day?
Whatever poultices Silvio had prepared the day before itched and burned, but hopefully they would help the two infected with zombie rot to feel better ahead of the townhall meeting.
Today was originally scheduled to be the biggest day of the harvest festival. And although the town of Kassen still plans to hold revelries on this day, the spirit has been tamped down by recent events.
Garen, Median, Silvio, and Sledge each receive a note inviting them to attend a morning meeting of the Town Council. When they arrive in the Greathall, they are escorted to a well-furnished room on the third floor. There is coffee and fresh-baked bread waiting them with a spread of jams, butter, and honey. There are nearly a dozen other people already there waiting when they arrive. The five surviving members of the Council (Mayor Uptal, Father Prasst, Captain Wisslo, Guildmaster Vetnar, and Sledge's father) sit arrayed at the far end of a large wooden table.
Very few of you have had direct dealings with Colbin Vetnar as none of you are woodcutters, but you recognize him nonetheless. He is a slightly portly man in his fifties, whose chestnut hair is slicked back with enough grease to bake a dozen pies. His dark eyes survey the party as they enter.
The Council is joined by five more people. The first two you were just with these last couple of days: Dimira is seated next to Colbin Vetnar, and Khuvaan is next to his mentor, Arnama Lastrid. She is a red-haired woman in a mottled green and brown cloak--the sort of thing that seems most suited to stealth in the forests if Nirmaths--emblazoned with the symbol of Nirmathas. Arnama is a ranger well-known throughout town as a veteran of the wars with Molthune.
Sir Dramott, paladin of Lastwall, is dressed in his full plate armor, though his helm is removed allowing you to see the crop of short gray hair and grizzled beard that he sports. He is having an animated discussion with Father Prasst at the party's arrival but stops to look up and wave when Garen and Silvio enter the room.
The last person in the room is Holgast, the old wizard and Silvio's mentor, is wearing a set of powder-blue robes covered in chalk dust. He is puffing on a long pipe that fills the room with a sweet-smelling smoke; although most people don't seem to mind though Captain Wisslo coughs and looks displeased near the head of the table.
(Median knows that her father had been invited to attend this meeting, but that he declined, saying: "I'm far too busy to deal with politics; you go instead.")
As Garen, Median, Silvio, and Sledge enter the room, Mayor Uptal stands to greet them. "Please, take a seat."
He waits for the new arrivals to get whatever food and drink they so choose and sit down, and then addresses the whole of the room. The seats at the table are all filled save for one. The dead councilmember: Vark Denethal. "Thank you all for agreeing to meet on such short notice. Today, on the anniversary of our founder's death, we are once again faced with unspeakable tragedy. There is not a one in this room who is unaffected by recent events." The Mayor looks over to the empty chair before continuing. "What we aim to determine is, to the best of our knowledge, what happened, and then to decide what to do next."
There is a general bobbing of heads around the room, as Colbin Vetnar scribbles away at a piece of parchment with a quill of ink. When the guildmaster looks up, the Mayor continues. "So please, for those who were there at the Crypt: tell us in your own words what happened."
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"Not to put her on the spot, she has been through a lot, but I recommend Dimira start. She was with the team that went to set things up as we understand it. Then it would be best if one of the four of the original team discusses what they ran into. I can then close out the narrative with the task the mayor gave me and what I found when I arrived." Garen says.
.
In the morning, Silvio feels much better and feels confident he'll recover soon. He brings Winter to watch over the sheep but then returns to town--he could not decline a summons from the Council. He waves in distant greeting to both Father Prasst and Sir Dramott.
Having already shared what he thought were the important parts yesterday, and having learned his lesson from trying to talk with the ghost of Ekat Kassen, Silvio decides not to speak first. Let someone else try to explain all that had transpired.
That said, he tries to recall what he knew about the less-familiar members of the Council--Captain Wisslo, Guildmaster Vetnar, and Sledge's father.
"Dimira and Khuvaan have already provided their reports," Colbin Vetnar says, tapping his quill to some parchment already sprawled on the table. "We want to hear from you."
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Median explains what happened to them, talking them through the illusion before they got there, being attacked by wolves, finding bodies, some with strange gold coins, and every inch of the deadly crypt... skeletons, the pits, finding Roldare, fighting the fire ghost which almost killed Garen, the sadistic arrow trap that almost killed her, fighting the statue, the frogs and the disease-ridden collapse in that area, the skeletons in water, the deadly room that they avoided because it seemed to be cooking things, more dead bodies, the one room that still seemed to retain some blessing, the destroyed murals with the deadly fountain, bat swarms, the ghost of Asar and their conversation with the ghost of Kassen.
She leaves out Sledge attacking her. That guy had it hard enough, and she wasn't going to make it worse.
Obviously the crypt is a deathtrap, and should never be used for a foolish play-acting challenge again. There is enough real danger in the world without needing that kind of fakery. I think it should be condemned. Trying to repair it, especially the flooded parts and that fountain, isn't worth it just to restore some inane tradition where you try to make something intentionally deadly a little less deadly, and hope teenagers don't die while going through it. Why would anyone try making a place of memory into a deathtrap in the first place? It obviously didn't stop the grave robbers that caused the ghosts to be disturbed. I don't understand the sadistic game and whoever designed that crypt. We should retrieve the bodies of the villagers and put them to rest here, maybe in a graveyard just outside of town, and seal that place. Nothing good can come of continuing the foolish tradition.
There are a few interruptions during Median's telling of the events in the Crypt. Holgast gives Sledge a wink and a thumbs-up when Median mentions the illusory orcs, leaning over to Sir Dramott to begin saying something before the paladin shushes him. The Mayor thanks the group for saving his daughter from the wolves. And Colbin Vetnar pauses his scrawling to inquire: "Strange gold coins? Strange in what way?"
When Median begins discussing the Crypt and gets to the skeletons and the buchered horses, Colbin Vetnar interrupts again.
"And yet you persisted," he says, tapping his quill. "Rather than returning to town where more seasoned residents could have assisted."
Dimira shoots a fiery look at her employer, "If they had returned, my brother and I might be dead now."
Colbin harumphs, looking like he wants to say more, but the Mayor gestures for the sorceress to continue. As she begins describing the rest of the first floor, some people in the room look bored, and others confused. "Median," the Mayor says at one point during her retelling, fidgeting and looking uncomfortable. "Most of us in this room have been in the Crypt. If we grew up in this town, chances are that we did the same quest that you did when we were your age and faced the same challenges. What we're trying to figure out is what was different this year."
Moving ahead, Guildmaster Vetnar occasionally interrupts to ask for clarification on exactly how certain rooms were damaged. The "cooking things" comment draws some eyes towards Arnama Lastrid, whose natural expertise seems prized in the room. "From context, it sounds like azure fungus grew there," she says simply. "It builds up powerful electrical currents and releases them to the touch."
Asar rising and Ekat manifesting, however, earn some shocked looks from nearly everyone around the table, with some faces (the Mayor, the Guard Captain, and Holgast in particular) twinged with jealousy (at having spoken directly to the town's founder, not at fighting with the founder's enemy).
As Median relate what Ekat said, Khuvaan leans back and shakes his head, his jaw nearly going slack. His mentor, Arnama, notices this and asks him about it. He shakes his head uncertainly before opening up. "That name: Delaab. It's impossible to know for certain, but it sounds like an anagram of my father Baelad's name. It could just be a coincidence, but with his treason and spycraft I wouldn't be too shocked." There are a few murmurs around the table, but the question of Khuvaan's potential familial relation to one of the other companions of the town's founder is set aside for now as mere speculation.
At the conclusion of her story and her plea to condemn and close the Crypt, a few of the people sitting around the table even look angry (though certainly not all; Arnama Lastrid seems to be considering the proposition). Guard Captain Wisslo leans in, both elbows on the table. "Foolish tradition," he repeats, disgust pervading his tone. "If that is what you took from this, Ms. Vargidan, then..."
"Let her be, Gregor," Sledge's father chides. The Guard Captain stiffens but nods his head. Sledge's father continues. "We will take your critique under advisement."
With Median's retelling complete, Mayor Uptal folds his hands underneath his chin and looks thoughtful. "I'd like to hear more about the grave robbers," he says.
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”The mayor approached me after everyone had departed. He had not heard back from the team who went to set things up. I intended to arrive, meet with the townsfolk, and then ride back and report. Instead, I arrived just as the participants were entering the tomb with dead animals outside and no townsfolk to discuss anything with. We fought the skeletons when we first entered as Median described and identified two of the townsfolk. Why not leave you ask? Because we knew there were others of the original party still inside and we did not know if they were alive or dead. The grave robbers appeared to have come in order to take a pair of amulets from the crypts of Ekat and Azar. Apparently, Azar’s spirit did not rest well with this idea and animated his bones to deal with them. According to Ekat, the amulets are part a key split between his original adventuring group to keep hidden a treasure so massive it could be used to instill mass evil if it fell into the wrong hands. That is the problem before us now. These robbers are likely followers of the living god and we suspect hailing from Tamran. So, what are we going to do about it? I offer to go with whatever investigative body goes to Tamran.”
Sledge also begins to feel better. It's lucky that he knew someone as attentive as Silvo, otherwise he might never have thought to actually treat it.
"Ideally, we would have sent word back to town, as well as investigating ourselves. Had I a familiar, or Gretchen had caught up to us a day later, or someone seen it fit to remind Holgast to scry on our progress, perhaps you would have been forewarned." Sledge faces the woodcutter. "The resources were available to you, Sir."
"In addition," he adds, "Asar was nearly a match for Garen, Silvo, and myself, at the same time. Had it not been for the interference of Ekat, he most likely would have overpowered us all. However, he seemed muddled, as if his mind wasn't entirely there. Given more time, he may have chosen to leave the crypt, and go back to the site of his last battle, Kassen proper. Imagine good townsfolk, the damage that a fully cognizant Asar could inflict on our town."
He gives them a second to ponder this; the possibility of a highly trained combat skeleton sneaking into houses by night.
"I will not weigh in on if I think that Median is correct here. Certainly, both sides have a point. I will be leaving town tonight, and certainly wouldn't be, were it not for the events of the crypt. After all, one of the would be robbers was bitten by a large snake far from the crypt proper. That's worth investigating. And the idea of fabulous treasure does sound quite intriguing as well." Sledge begins to stand from the table.
"Is there further discussion to be had, or are we free to go?"
Silvio was glad that his line of work did not involve direct dealings with Colbin Vetnar. Herding sheep might not be the most profitable industry in Kassen, but it escaped the influence of the woodcutter's guild.
After the others tell their tale, Silvio largely remains quiet. But toward the end, he adds one thing that seemed important to him. "Like Sledge says, I'd probably be dead without the spirit of Ekat Kassen. I was unconscious and drooling when Asar stabbed me. With Kassen's blessing, I got back into the fight. I don't know how much this quest matters for the town. But when it comes to me, I owe Kassen a debt. I don't think his spirit will rest until we recover the lost amulets."
With the report ostensibly complete, all eyes turn briefly to the Mayor before the Council and the three invited advisors begin discussing matters. It's a surprisingly well-ordered process, with Colbin's quill scratching furiously at his parchment while the rest allow each other to speak without too much interruption. The conversation seems to focus on three major areas: the Crypt, the town's defense, and the thieves.
The Mayor asks Holgast if he would be willing to accompany Prasst and a few guardsman back to the Crypt to try to understand the nature of the disease and necromancy, and to try to contain it if they could. Repairs, strongly desired (perhaps to Median's chagrin), would be assessed after the more advanced magical analysis. Sir Dramott and Arnama Lastrid agree to coordinate increased patrols, and Colbin Vetnar (after some gentle urging from the elder Mr. Potterson) asks Captain Wisslo if he might be able to spare a few guards to either accompany the woodcutters on their work or help to train them in basic self-defense. Holgast and Prasst also agree to begin increasing the production of anti-plague measures.
After Khuvaan reveals that he buried the bodies of the fallen just outside of the Crypt, there is a vigorous debate about whether to re-inter them bodies in the Crypt (as was the town's long custom) or, as Median had suggested, to remand all of the bodies to a plot closer to the town proper. No one relishes the idea of digging up bodies already buried, but the discussion of corpses reanimating as zombies and skeletons has most of the Council nervous. It is ultimately decided that a cemetery will be begun near town in case there are further deaths in the coming months, and that the issue of re-interment will be tabled until a later date.
Finally, the conversation turns back to Tamran and the thieves associated with the living god. The mention of Tamran had caused a few murmurs of interest to susurrate around the room, with people asking around what "the living god" means. Father Rantal Prasst stiffens at the mention of "the living god", but no one else seems to notice at first. Sledge's father leads this conversation after Sledge's declaration that Sledge would be leaving this evening. "Son," he says, his voice strangely hollow, "Why are you determined to go to Tamran? Do you have any leads, any plans? Wisdom suggests that you need further information. There's no need for a diplomatic incident with the capital."
Captain Wisslo nods. "That's not an official 'no you can't,' of course, but it's a fair point. It doesn't sound like we know enough yet." Wisslo turns from Councilmember Potterson and looks at Garen, Median, Silvio, and Sledge. "Did you notice anything else about any of these tomb robbers? Tattoos, identifying marks, coinage? If we're going to assess the threat to our town, we should try to know who they were. For instance, who is this 'living god' you speak of?"
Arnama Lastrid speaks up, even as Rantal Prasst looks increasingly uncomfortable. "Aye; there are many folk that could be in Tamran. Soldiers. Spies. Opportunists. Depending on who we're dealing with," she pauses and looks at the younger people, "It might make better sense to approach this differently than kids running off. No offense."
Father Prasst, the youngest person in the room next to those returning from the Crypt, shoots back briefly. "Or kids running off might be perfect."
The room goes quiet and the Mayor finally addresses Rantal again. "What is it, Rantal?"
The priest sucks in a tense breath and looks at the others, then down at the table. Prasst generally acts much older than his 24 years, which is about the only reason that anyone else in town gives him any credence. He hadn't been born in Kassen and was much much younger than Father Dalaston, who had retired a couple of years ago, before Garen and Silvio had begun their training. So far in the meeting, he has been fairly quiet, only responding when asked a direct question...until that last outburst about kids running off being a good idea.
Father Prasst looks up again after a beat, sighing out the tension. "As most of you know, I trained in Tamran before this. And before I was a priest, I was a soldier." He locks eyes briefly with the only other person in the room who had actually fought against Moltune--Arnama Lastrid--before casting his eyes back down. "Our soldiers do what we can, but there's not much money to be had for training and equipment. I'm no Abadaran, but just minting more coins doesn't seem like it fixes the problem of lacking other basic resources. We're a scrappy people in Nirmathas, but..."
"Come out with it, Rantal," the Mayor urges.
The priest bites his tongue and gains more confidence, looking around the table as he speaks. "The living god: that's Razmir. You know, ruler of that country across Lake Encarthan?" More murmurs rumble across the room. "The Church of Razmir set up a Temple in Tamran right around the time that I was mustering out of the military. It was just a few people at first, but they started drawing converts faster than any other Cult I had seen. I'm a born-and-raised Erastilian, but I admired them. They did good charity, feeding the poor, healing the sick, protecting businesses from criminals, that sort of thing--and unlike the stuffy Abadaran bank they weren't trying to charge money for it. The local government liked them: they were bringing in foreign coin and solving problems that the city was too poor to manage itself. They would make good donations to the military as well, enough to feed and arm our soldiers and even hire some mercenaries to help fight Molthune. They were gaining influence with the city guard and the government. But some things about them made me nervous."
"First, they really denigrated other faiths. They'd openly mock Erastil if I walked by one of their street sermons wearing my holy symbol, calling him a distant god. Second, they seemed even more focused on accruing money than the Church of Abadar. It was like an obsession: they promised wealth and power to anyone who followed Razmir and learned his truths. And finally, they require anyone who joins to wear these masks at all times. I had a friend who joined before I left Tamran and...well, I never saw him again. I mean, I might have seen him in the streets, but I wouldn't have known it because they never show their faces."
Prasst focuses his attention on Garen, Median, Silvio, and Sledge. "Everyone I knew who joined the Church of Razmir was about your age," he says. "Our age." He looks again to Arnama and bows his head respectfully. "With all due respect, Ranger Lastrid, they'd be the perfect people to figure out what the Church of Razmir has to do with all this. Better than most of us, at least"
Sledge's father speaks up after Prasst with a suggestion towards his son. "I have a business associate: a dwarf from Skelt that runs a river barge along the Tourondel and around Lake Encarthan. The water route would almost certainly be faster than land. Safer too, I'd hope. If you're willing to wait a day or two to depart, that is."