Gratefully letting someone take the travois he has been dragging, from his shoulders Brandark stretches.
I know my uncle will be worried, but I want some time to myself before I got to see him.
He then brings his gear to his former room after an hour.
Hello the forge, I have returned.
He then stands there expectantly and waits to see what his uncle says.
As the various members point out Miron's condition, Father Prasst pauses. He looks at his physically strongest acolyte (Conrad) being dragged away by two of his worried family members and sighs. "Captain Wisslo, maybe you should call for some more of your guards to help us while I take a look at Miron."
Gregor Wisslo shrugs but nods and jogs--almost still within sight--to the Town Watch headquarters. He returns with a pair of broad-shouldered young men--Guardsmen Golfond Kir and Taig Narrin, who take over a pair of travois each. Between the three guards and the Mayor (who has been convinced to help carry the body he last recognizes into the Temple), all four of the dead are taken in. Dimira thanks everyone and takes Roldare off to his home so that she can take care of her brother. Brandark makes his way to his uncle's forge. And Father Prasst encourages Roya to come with him and Miron.
Two acolytes are prepared at the front of the Temple to receive the dead, along with the closest friends and family of the dead sitting in the pews. The Temple is the only stone building in town, humble though it still is. Decorations are minimal here: a few pairs of stag horns, bows, and arrows sparsely surround the walls. The acolytes quietly welcome those who enter the Temple, making a ritualistic Erastilian symbol (both hands upraised, drawing one slowly down towards the wrist). Father Prasst encourages Roya and Miron to follow him to his room at the back of the Temple.
Rantal Prasst's room is well-organized, though the desk currently has several books open and scrolls unfurled. Rantal leads Miron over to a small bed and encourages him to lie down. "I'll make some tea. Olmira just brought me a new blend. Roya, if he has a fever, please get him a cool washcloth."
As the water begins to boil, the priest sits near Miron and begins looking him over. The priest has a good bedside manner, interweaving questions checking on symptoms with simple instructions embedded with acquisition of medical consent at each next step. He also asks Roya and Miron about what happened in the Crypt, letting them lead that conversation.
Almost imperceptibly, Rantal turns the interview and check-up into a lesson, asking Roya what she is noticing about Miron's symptoms. It doesn't take an empath to figure out that Rantal has definitely diagnosed Miron's malady, but he remains a mentor through and through. "Given what you've told me, what do you think is going on, Roya?"
"And how would you treat it?" the priest continues after prompting Roya through the diagnosis.
Roya knows that there are some spices, maybe like the ones Olmira Treesong has, that could be helpful. But they would probably take too long, given how sick Miron already is. But some antiplagues, if there are any in town, would be very helpful. Maybe Holgast, the wizard, would have some of those in his tower. That would help Miron a lot.
Braggar Ironhame's shop is near the southern edge of town. As Brandark enters, he watches as his uncle lays a hand on the bellows near the forge. The room glows brighter for a brief moment. With his other hand, he sips from a glass of whiskey.
"Hello the forge, I have returned."
There is a long, quiet moment after Brandark greets the forge. His uncle raises his brow and turns around. "Ye greet the damn forge and not yer own kin? Gods be damned, boyo, ye really are like yer da'."
Wordlessly, he moves over to a table opposite the forge, grabs a glass and pours some whiskey into it. He walks it over to his nephew, forcing the glass into Brandark's hand. He returns to the bellows and pumps it once more. "You can tell me or not, what ye need as ye need," he says, sipping and gritting his teeth.
I greeted the forge, as I did not know where in the building you were. What I do need, and am asking for is a bed and food for a couple o days Uncle.
He takes a seat, and looks at his uncle as he takes a sip, which elicits a cough.
Smooth. .
He then continues to sip as he explains everything that happened.
I will also need some feedstock, and Use of the forge for a few days.
"You'll have all four," Braggar responds, pumping the bellows once more. "I'm near done for the day."
Brandark's uncle has a grim, sour look on his face as he reaches a pair of long metal tongs into the forge and withdraws a glowing beam of iron, already mostly hammered into shape. This he carries over to the anvil, picking up a hammer and letting sparks fly.
As the glow dissipates, Braggar lifts the metal up into the air and examines it before sticking it back into the forge once more. He turns to his nephew now that the clang of steel has dissipated. "What will you make?"
Aye, my thanks. I be looking at making 2 Items. Handaxe's both, One with a backwards facing spike, that I intend to make out of cold iron. And one with the flat back with regular steel. Unless you intend to stand by, and let me do the work again.
Brandark listens to his nephew's declaration and nods. "Cousin Walren should be here from Skelt in a couple days on his way from there to Tamran. We can buy some cold iron off of him, assuming he's got some in his shipment."
The process of removing the steel-in-process from the forge and hammering it down repeats, and then Braggar picks he conversation back up once more. "I can help if ye want, lad. Make sure ye don't ruin the materials."
Aye, the help is welcome, and use of the feedstock is as well.
As Brandark takes the time to start heating the metal for the axe head, he starts going into what they found at the tomb, and the difficulties due not having the right style weapon for the job at hand.
Braggar Ironhame nods quietly as his nephew tells the tale. "Yet you persisted. That's good, lad."
Brandark can tell that his uncle means it. The tension is still there, and the only warmth in the room comes from the forge, but it's clear that the older dwarf was worried.
Aye, we persisted, and we also brought home those whom died so they could be properly buried.
He then continues to flatten the metal, heating and hammering, until he cannot work on it anymore.
On the road Joras tries a quick review, "That things went bad is going to get around town and I don't want to lie anyway, but the details of the mercenaries, and what there employer wanted should be downplay to any but the town elders. And I have no clear Idea what role the guy in Razmiran priest garb, played. False flag? Leader? Just another mercenary? Leave it to the council to hash it out I guess. If Raznirans are involved,.." Joras will tell everyone what he thinks he knows about Razmirans and ghosts.
On the return to the town, Joras sees mom and dad come to get him but surprisingly Grandpa and Grandma Renges returned early from their current caravan. Memories of his short, safe travels with them as he tended the horses, flood his mind. He ignored the others as he runs to their embrace. After a time of fuss, Kofeza turns her glare on Captain Wizzlo and says, "Where were you Town Protector? This is your fault! Why I never..." the tirade continues much to Joras' embarrassment again, remembering all too well, that at the last trip to the Crypt, Joras was suppose to go but, in training he broke his arm and Mom blamed the Captain.
As his family drags him home Joras barely follows his own advice, his inclination to tell a story overcoming his fear of too much detail may cause more panic than action. He tells the tale, but leaves both the worst of the danger to not leave his family overwrought and the Razmirain connection out more from the lack of a good story about it than any real motive of concealment. Later when questioned by his mentors or the town leaders he will be more forthcoming.
|
The first person Conrad sees when he crosses the threshold of his family's home is his father. Sitting at the wooden table where the Mendelsons have had their meals for as long as the young man can remember, Eitan is resting his chin on his fists, a worried expression on his face. As soon as he spots his eldest son, he jumps to his feet.
"D-Dad! Aren't you at w-work?"
A light slap on his back- coming from Zora. "Why would he be at work, silly? We all knew you might be coming back today."
"Leave your brother alone," their mother snaps at Zora. "He's been through a lot."
Conrad can almost sense his sister rolling her eyes before the two women disappear in the kitchen. His father walks up to him, and gives him a shaky handshake, not letting go for quite a while. His eyes are wet, and Conrad realizes he's never seen him so emotional before. The last time may have been when his mother lost her baby, a couple of years before Darren was born. "I'm glad you came back," he says softly, before pulling his son into an embrace.
He knew he should have been happy -but to his great shame, Conrad mostly feels confused. His family never showed him such effusion before -and they certainly did not cry easily. Everything's feeling a bit off. He reciprocates the hug rather hesitantly, before his father clears his throat and steps away. "You must be hungry," he says kindly -if
a bit abashedly. "I believe your sister has picked out something special for you."
The rest of the heartfelt reunion goes by in a blur. The conversation between Conrad and his father is quickly interrupted by Darren, Isaac and Lillia barging into the room, barely taking the time to greet their older brother before they shower him with questions about his adventures, the monsters he's killed, and the damsel in distress he's saved. Eitan does his best to shush them, before Farrad's cries force him to leave the room, leaving Conrad struggling to calm the children down before his mother finally puts her foot down. Her authority is one even Darren dares not to contest too vocally, and the dreadful trio finally retreats, dejected. While his meal is cooking, Conrad can perform his ablutions, remove his armor and change into some clean clothes for the first time in days.
When lunch is served, the smallest children are shooed out of the room so Eitan and Fiona can freely interrogate their son about what he's been through -all in a low voice, aware that Conrad's siblings are in all likelihood eavesdropping. Close in age to Conrad, Zora is permitted to stay, but most of her attempts at snarking are met with a glare and a scolding from her parents. Conrad tells the story as best as he can -succinctly, and omitting most of the stuff that would get his family really worried or upset, only alluding evasively to the theft of the amulets. He tries his best to ignore all the small interruptions, the sighs, the shakings of the heads, the snarks coming from Zora, the insistence on Erastil protecting him and the not-so-veiled allusions to the danger he got himself into by following his 'crazy ideas' instead of simply returning to Kassen to ask the militia for help. At least they only compare him to Perri once or twice, though that's mostly because Zora is given a stern look and cut off each time she attempts to emphasize his bravery.
After Conrad's done eating, he's sent off to take a nap, and almost manages to snooze for ten minutes before Darren and Lillia jump on his bed, seeing the perfect opportunity to pick up their questions where they left off. Even quiet and bespectacled Isaac, easily the best-behaved of the Mendelsons siblings, stands in the doorway, apparently curious to hear what stories he might have to tell.
By the time he manages to get rid of the children, all sleepiness has waned off, and Conrad finds he actually can't quite get the events of the Crypt out of his head, after re-living them so many times. It doesn't matter if he never spoke word of the exploding zombies, the putrid smell of their rotten flesh or of Roldare's dried up urine, the feeling of Asar's longsword cutting through his flesh like butter. He still finds himself haunted by these images.
He pretends to his parents to have some urgent matter to deal with Father Prasst -one of Kassen's boon, that he forgot to bring him- to leave the house under their rather skeptical gaze. He heads straight for the Temple and its small shrine dedicated to Shelyn, in front of which he stands, in deep contemplation, and at last alone with his thoughts.
Gregor Wisslo looks steel-faced as he patiently listens to Kofeza's aggravation. "Yes, ma'am," he says placatingly, waiting so that he can get back to doing things he had any measure of control over. As the town's primary lawman, he was probably used to being on the receiving end of peoples' complaints, justified or not.
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Roya is surprised when Zoya suddenly gives her kisses on her cheeks, but gladly accepts them.
She is looking around for her Father, but he seems to be nowhere to be found - she is quickly informed that the moment Perri arrived and the Mayor informed the families of the victims - and those of the youth that had been sent south - her father immediately set out south, hoping to meet the group of youth on the path - clearly, they missed him, having taken a slightly different route because of the Travois...
Since Perri told them they'd be shortly behind, she fully expected her father to return to Kassen by Nightfall - unfortunate that they could not have their reunion now, but that allowed her to see to her duties until his return.
Helping with the corpses, writing a report, and seeing to Miron.
She helps with the tasks at hand, and is glad to be near Father Prasst again. He had been to a war - he did not like to talk about it, but it was known. He faced such horrors before coming to Kassen. Which just made him all the more impressive. When he asks her, Roya is proud to know the answers, and puffs out her chest(not that there is much to puff out to begin with), and speaks in as firm a voice as she can manage: "It's Zombie Rot, from the Plague Zombies we faced in the lower level. Whatever their ichor touches, and they all but explode during their demise, is potentially exposed to this disease. Hard to deal with, because the person can not recover until the disease has run it's course.", Roya answers, then continues: "I was trying to clean the wound and keep the infection from spreading, and tried to control the fever. I know there's some spices that could possibly help, but I could not name them - we never really had money for more than salt. There's also magic that could undo a disease, but that power is far beyond what Erastil sees fit to grant me. I was thinking on this during the way here, you know. And I'd go run to see if Mister Holgast has some anti-plagues in stock, maybe. But I alone can't afford it. We did get a Platinum Coin each, and may have found some more, but I'll need to check with Joras and Conrad - I think they kept a tally. Maybe if I pool what I got with Mirons share, I could afford it."
She was not certain about the price, but it was costly, no doubt. She wonders if her answer had her mentors approval, and shifts her gaze from Miron to Prasst. She almost lost herself in his eyes, but managed to regain her composure before it became too obvious.
It's been a long, long couple days.
"Just so," Father Prasst praises. "I'm sure you did the best you could, Roya. And now? Well, I have two such scrolls here in the Temple that you're welcome to. If Holgast insists on charging you, that's...his business." Prasst had clearly wanted to say something else, but he catches himself before he says anything ill of another member of the community.
The priest sighs and nods slowly as he sips his tea. He walks over to the shelf and hands a scroll tube to Roya. "Miron," he says, "Do you want to stay here or head back to the Belodor farm?"
"Is...is that...?", Roya takes the scroll tube and opens it, taking a look. "I...I could never afford...how do you? It's....I...", she stumbles for something to say.
The cost of the scroll was more than she had ever seen, more than her family ever possessed - her father, as a lumberjack, earned about 2 silvers a day. Or one gold coin a week. Even if he kept all of that and never spent a single copper on food, clothes or other things, it would take more than 5 years to save enough for the scroll.
Roya grows pale before she speaks up again, her voice again that of a child: "I...I have nothing to pay with..."
Not only that...she knew there was a chance to waste a scroll, that the spell was not guaranteed to help, if the gods did not see fit to aid...
Then she remembered the treasures Ekat had spoken off...the ones sealed by the amulets. Surely, if they had retrieved wealth enough to build a town, it would be acceptable to retrieve enough to pay for her friends survival.
She felt determination return to her:"I...will find a way! I promise!"
Acting swiftly, before her new-found bravery had a chance to waver, she holds the scroll, and puts her hand on Mirons wound, then starts the magical incantation.
She feels divine energy surge into Miron, then swiftly asks:"How...how do you feel?", quickly realizing it was a stupid question...even if she succeeded, he would need time to recover...she instead looks at Father Prasst again, sheepishly realizing that in her sudden burst of youthful activism, she had forgotten to ask permission...he had said she was welcome to the scrolls, but not having means to pay for them might complicate things...
"I know you will," says Father Prasst, warmth and pride swelling in his chest to see his student performing so well. After a moment, he chuckles. "We're Erastilians, Roya, not Abadarans. Money is a consideration, not the consideration. When you have an opportunity to replace the Temple's stock, I'm sure that you will."
The how of affording is not something that the priest seems keen to entertain, almost as though it's an afterthought hardly with considering.
"I'll go check on the others," he says, leaving Roya with Miron. In the sanctuary, he sees Conrad deep in prayer, but joins the guards and acolytes in a side alcove where the bodies are being cleaned in preparation for final respects. The bittersweet smells of oil and incense fill the air. Death was never welcome in a small town where each loss was felt strongly, but it bonded the survivors together.
Brandark taking a break from the forge comes by the temple.
Father, is there a place other than the forge where I might be able to take some time and reflect on what happened.
He takes a breath
I have discussed this at length with my Uncle, but I would like to talk to someone else to see if I did right.
As Brandark darkens the Temple's doors, he sees Father Rantal Prasst standing over one of the bodies--Gerol, by the look of it--with a basin of water and a sponge. A spool of thread and needle is at hand as well during the ritual cleansing, presumably ready to sew up the most egregious of stab wounds before the man's family are brought to see him. Rantal gently scrubs the dead man's fac with a sponge as he looks up at Brandark. "Of course. Roya and Miron are in my office, but we have this alcove." The priest holds up the needle and begins sewing up a deep gouge on Gerol's chest. "It's not exactly private, necessarily, but it's up to you whether you'd rather wait. Or talk to someone else."
Privacy is not exactly upon my mind right now. I just need to talk it out to help settle my mind.
He pulls up a bench against the wall, while they work, and lays out his actions that he followed during their recent excursion.
At the end, He gathers a breath.
Did I do right, or did we not go fast enough to fully help those others that died.
I mean, did they die, because we needed to rest, or were they dead already??
Brandark entreats father Prasst, wondering what if anything they might have done to help the others.
Miron gratefully submits to the ministrations of Father Prasst and Roya.
"I'll stay here if I can" he answers the priest. "My folks are busy with the harvest, and I think I'll be safer here if..." he trails off worriedly. "But please tell them that I'm here." he adds.
--
At the subject of payment comes up, he adds "I have my share from what we have, we can use that."
--
"Thank you" he tells Roya as the magic suffuses through him. [b]"I think it will help."
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"It was my doing.", Roya responds, "I will find a way to deal with it. I did not even ask you, so I can't...I won't let you take that part of that debt upon you.", Roya is still riding the high of the magic she channeled, despite the fact she possibly put herself in debt for years to come.
"Still, we should look to your wound, in case it did not help. I'll clean it and will make you a herbal tincture."
Roya continues to work - then goes outside, to help with the bodies.
In other circumstances, she would have tried to avoid the task...or be shocked at their state - but she had seen a tomb filled with death, and they had brought their lost with them. It felt...different.
After about an hour or so, the temples main door opens, and Royas father stands in the frame. He seems tired, it is clear he was moving and searching for the group of youngsters, not resting since he departed.
As Roya looks up, she quickly puts away whatever she was working with, and races towards him.
He takes a few steps towards her, and she jumps up, wrapping her arms and legs around the burly man. Tears stream down his face:"I...should never have let you go. I am so sorry....I am sorry Roya..."
The girl does not stop hugging as she replies:"Then the others would be dead, too. Erastil saved us. I am sure he meant for me to go with them."
The man hugs her tight, nearly pressing the air from his daughter, and answers:"I am so glad to have you back...I was so afraid. Let's go home....tell me all...I'm never letting you leave again..."
The two made their way to she one-room shack they lived in, talking until Roya eventually falls asleep next to her father, in his bed.
Despite his earlier claim, he realises that he will have to let his little angel go once more, and lays awake most of the night, simply watching her as she sleeps, until eventually, with more tears in his eyes, sleep takes him, as well, shortly before the sun rises once more.
Rantal Prasst listens to Brandark's tale as his needle goes in and out of skin, making smaller wounds so that Gerol's friends and family will be able to look at him once more before he is committed to the earth and not think too deeply about the pain of his final moments. He sighs and calls Brandark over, pointing out several aspects of the shades of decay. These he pairs with known timing estimates. At the end he looks the dwarf gently in the eyes. "This man has been dead five or six days. Before you got to the Crypt. Before you even left Kassen, I'd bet."
As the gash is sewn shut, Prasst dips a small brush in a vial of powder and starts brushing at the wound. "You did everything you could," he concludes.
---
The moon hangs in the sky above Kassen, waning gibbous. Reunions tearful had typified the preceding hours. Now as a new week begins, the hope or dread of what happens next rises as well. Sleep in their own beds seems perhaps little consolation for those lost, but perhaps the town would be able to celebrate the 174th anniversary of Ekat Kassen's death as they usually did come Wealday.
While Miron is feeling miraculously better in the Temple, Conrad Mendelson wakes up feeling terrible.
Early in the morning, Brandark, Conrad, Joras, Miron, and Roya 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 Renetta Iggins) sit arrayed at the far end of a large wooden table.
The only folks among Kassen's nascent heroes who have had direct dealings with Colbin Vetnar are those like Conrad who have done guild-sanctioned woodcutting work, but all of them 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, with Perri on her other side, near his mentor, Sir Dramott. 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, and he does not look up.
Then there is Arnama Lastrid, Brandark's mentor: 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 of Nirmathas--emblazoned with the symbol of Nirmathas. Arnama is a ranger well-known throughout town as a veteran of the wars with Molthune
The last person in the room is Holgast, the town's old wizard who is rarely seen outside of his tower. He is wearing a set of powder-blue robes covered in chalk dust and 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.
(Miron knows that his mentor, Moltus Vardigan, had also been invited to attend this meeting, but he is nowhere to be found.)
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 junior councilmember: Vark Denethal. "Thank you all for agreeing to meet on such short notice. Today, just short of 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."
Thank you Father, that is a comfort to know, and I am glad that we were able to bring them home.
Brandark looks around, and then pours himself a coffee.
When they comment on telling them what happened, he looks around then stands proudly as he sets his coffee cup down.
[b]In our own words, you say. I cannot remember to much of our trip inside the tomb, but I can recall somewhat the trip to the tomb.
Well, we left town, following the path given to us by the map, where we first ran into a batch of orcs.
These were swiftly dispatched, which was when we found out that they were not real, but figments.
We then continued, until we found a body by the lake on the map. We found some items upon him, but the most telling was that he was killed by wolves.
When we set up camp that night, we were beset by the small pack of wolves which we drove off.
He takes another sip.
We then proceeded to the tomb on the second day, where a couple of us suffered minor injuries that required some care in preventing them from getting worse.
At the entrance, we ran into the bodies of 4 horses and mules which were killed by various means.
We then entered the tomb in the search for the light, but we were beset by the walking dead. The rest of the time, kind of blurs for me, until the time it came for us to return.
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At farmhouse
Dramatis personae
Jorah Iggins father Uhlam brownish - red hair short and squat
Renetta Iggins mother Mihrinis - black and white hair sharp featured thin.
Jent Iggins older brother copy of dad
Joras Iggis our lovable PC Russet hair short height Generic mix in looks
Maretta Iggins Younger sister Mix of white and blond mostly looks blond. Inch taller than Joras.
Trafar Renges grandfather - father of Renatta caravaneer
Jostria Renges grandmother - mother of Renatta caravaneer
His parents and grandparents fuss in a quiet way as they make their way home at the nearby farmhouse. A burst of noise occurs as he enters, cries from his brother Jent and sister Maretta. After a bit Jent reverts to his stoic way, just saying, "Glad you made it brother." Maretta, of course, goes for the snark, "Never do what you're told, Joras! You are not suppposed to be an adventurer!" Once again glares from her parents and grandparents, cause her to wilt for a bit, but not for long as she presses Joras for details. His answers, noting the bravery and contributions of the other members of the party and not pushing his own much. As night falls exhaustion overcomes all from all the deep feelings. Joras fall into a fitful sleep but wakes in the wee hours before the morning.
Joras slips out very quietly and goes toward town. He is sure that there is a careful watch being done by the rangers but easily slips past the town guard, any gates not yet full shut in this peaceful village. As he comes up on the now silent Seven Silvers, a hand drops on his shoulder, a jaw lined up on his ear so the whisper of a whisper is heard more by bone than by air. "Not good boy.", the voice of his Uncle Jimes washes over him. "Could have cut your throat twice by now." Impossible as it seems Joras is then wrapped in a bear hug by his Uncle. "Glad you made it back, I do hope you weren't brave though let the bigges do the hard work." Joras, using the same method, whispers back, "Yeah, well their may have been one or two brave things but nothing compared to the others." He give a very brief recounting, mostly about what little he knows about the invaders of the tomb. "They wanted something. The ghost of Kassen, assuming that was truly him, thinks it was the location of a place of dark and dangerous power. If so, there is great risk to everybody, everywhere." Jimes seems a bit unconvinced, "Sounds like a far fetched thing, Kassen, place, person, or ghost, is not that interesting. But I guess I can look into it." Joras says, "I'd like to know whatever you learn Uncle, be well, I have one more person to meet tonight"
Joras slithers around to the window for Jocyn, quietly opening it with well-oiled slickness but letting the copper coin drop with a distinct clink. Jocyn shorts the quietly says, "I knew you would come about, it's too dark for harrowing tales, so just tell me how well a taught you." Swiftly, Joras tells of what he did well, what he learned, and what he failed at. He tell a bit about what he knows and surmises about the greedy people that caused this. He finishes with, "I can't be sure of what the true goals of the tomb raiders were, but If the warning of Kassen is true then there is much trouble ahead. If you can think of anything more, let me know, Maestro." As nautical twilight fades, Joras swiftly, but quietly returns to his bed.
At the council meeting
Dramatis personae
The council
Mayor Uptal
Father Prasst
Captain Wisslo
Guildmaster Vetnar
Renetta Iggins
The other invitees
Perri Perun
Dimira
Sir Dramott
Arnama Lastrid
Holgast
The PC's
Brandark
Conrad
Joras
Miron
Roya
Joras recounts the story in quick and somewhat barebones way. Describing the trip there he, subtly tries to emphasize the way in which the approach took place made them somewhat suspicious it was all a prank on them. The shock at the scene at the entrance to the tomb is made vivid, but he downplays the rest of the horror not wanting to relive it for anyone. He praises, Perri's good advice, oft not followed, Conrad front line stance in the face of many wounds. He follows with notice Brandarks quiet patience and his many contributions, getting there and back finding our way, and his constant support. He notes that Miron took many risks and unpleasant tasks such as the pool dive on himself. "Still without the gods favor, embodied in Roya's strong faith in Erastil, we could not have prevailed. Thanks to Erastil and Shelyn we won through." He gives the impression that his contributions are limited to his supportive music and a few minor magic tricks and he completely leaves out the embarrassing use of the prestidigitation spell to clean everyone up.
He then tries to convey that the danger is not passed some of the raiders seems to have made it out with more ill intent but that is exactly how that involves the town is unclear.
Anything about the council that he should know about he will use to shade his report accordingly.
As Brandark begins to tell about the trip there, the old wizard Holgast clears his throat and leans in. In an aged voice, but with a gleam of mischief in his eyes, he grins. "Yes, the figmentous orcs--I'd like to hear more about th--"
"Not now, Holgast," Mayor Uptal says. "With all due respect."
Holgast lifts his hands up and shrugs. "Fine, fine. But I just want to know how my illusions hold up in my old age, you know. I was quite proud of that."
As the details pile up about encountering the walking dead at the entrance to the crypt, guildmaster Vetnar interrupts. "And yet you persisted, 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 young heroes to continue if they have any additional details. Renetta nods at her son, as though encouraging him to speak more highly of himself.
Looking at her companions, Roya pipes up following Dimira, with an initially thin voice that grows more confident as she speaks:"We...We went there to become adults. To prove that we are ready to contribute our part to Kassen, to take responsibility. There may have been more seasoned residents at home...but we decided not to turn tail and run just because of the gruesome scene outside...it could have been another illusion, another test - the orcs felt so lifelike, Master Holgast. So we went inside, and got attacked by skeletons right away, which we managed to lay to rest. Then we felt we had to investigate, at least try to learn what had happened, and found Roldare shortly after. We knew there could have been other survivors. Thats when we knew that we HAD to push through...to see if anybody else was still alive. It is true that we had some close calls, but we managed, by supporting each other. Had even one of us not been there, I fear we might not have been successful. But we went there together, and we returned...with a message from Kassen, survivors, and the Everflame."
She quickly realizes that nobody in the room, right now, really cared about the Lantern...but it was a big deal to her, and they did say to tell things in their own words, so all the same she felt justified pointing it out. Somewhere, somehow, she finds the willpower to address the Mayor directly: "Did you already send someone to keep him company? To tell him stories about the history of our town after he died and play some music? I am afraid of what will become of him if he can't go back to rest and spends hour after hour pondering in the dark."
Miron wakes feeling slightly better. The cold still lurks within him, but it at least now was the one he was used to, instead of feeling the unnatural chill of the zombie disease.
Gathering up his items from the sick beds, he heads over to the meeting. Bundled up in his coat, he looks around for old man Vardigan, but can't see him. A bit disappointing, but not too surprising - the man wasn't the most reliable. "I'll have to find him later." he thinks, reflecting on the growth of his magic during the time at the tomb "I need to talk to someone about my magic."
As for the main focus of the meeting, Miron is content to let Joras and Roya do most of the talking, only interjecting to add detail about anything magical they found.
Master Holgast seems eminently pleased at Roya's compliment, leaning into Perri to begin whispering in his ear, whether the young man shows any interest in the technicalities of magic or not.
The old wizard also seems particularly appreciative of Miron's interjections about the magic found throughout the Crypt. To the Mayor's chagrin, Holgast seems eager to interrogate the group--especially poor Miron--about those usual, expected, intended parts of the trial. Mayor Uptal gently redirects him at each turn, with the reminder that the goal of this meeting is to understand the unexpected things. To reason out what had happened and why so that decisions could be made about what to do next, especially if there was still any threat to the town.
Roya's details cause a flurry of whispers to rise up across the table. Perhaps Perri had focused his initial report simply on the need to meet the group outside of Kassen to retrieve the bodies. Regardless, this message from Kassen seems to be news.
"I'm sorry, Roya," Captain Wisslo says, "Can you please explain that? A message from Kassen--do you mean Ekat Kassen, the Founder?"
Mayor Uptal also looks surprised.
Brandark nods, but leaves the rest of the talking to those more suited.
Joras also nods but interjects, "After the undead was defeated, apparently the spirit of Ekat Kassen was able to manifest and talk with us. He could only guess as to how." At the looks of the council, he notes that it was Roya that was asked, not him, so he does a slight bow and gestures for the blessed one to speak. Joras sotto voce "I think they like you better, sorry Roya."
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Conrad grits his teeth when his eyes meet Colbin's. Everyone knew the man was a crook, yet no amount of complaining from his employees ever led to the Mayor kicking him out, or at least giving him a dressing-down. It was a wonder how he did it.
Conrad's parents could afford no better trade than woodcutting, and so they endured Colbin's greediness in bitter silence. But the Shelynite had always found it hard to hide his disgust of his man, even for his parents's sake, and he can't help but glare at Vetnar when the man looks him up and down.
Besides nodding along as his newfound comrades-in-arms summarize what happened at the Crypt, Conrad doesn't contribute much to the conversation, but shifts uncomfortably in his chair and stare at his own feet a lot. He does get a little rosy-cheeked when Joras compliments his bravery, but doesn't dare looking up, and nods more vigorously when the bard gives thanks to Shelyn for keeping the group alive.
The animosity between Conrad and Colbin is almost palpable everytime their eyes happen to meet, and Conrad is visibly making an effort to avoid looking in his direction -though he does steal a glance at Father Prasst quite often, as if unsure of how to speak to him.
"It was about some things he discovered before founding the town." Miron adds. "The thieves took some amulets from him and Asar. Asar used to be his adventuring companion, he said. He also said there was an elf called Iramine who had another of the amulets, and we should try to find her if she's still alive."
Sir Dramott, paladin of Lastwall, growls at the mention of thieves. "Graverobbers. There's no surer way to rouse the anger of the dead than to steal from them."
The news that Asar and Ekat had once adventured together does not surprise most people around the council's table. It seems like the sort of information generally known by the leaders but not usually brought up in polite conversation. The town's founder being killed by a former friend might be a sore topic, even nearly two centuries later. The name Iramine seems relatively unfamiliar, though. There is a brief exchange around by the elders about whether any of them are familiar with her or her reputation, and they come up with a scant shrug.
Mayor Uptal urges for more information. "Was there any clue about where these thieves might have come from? Identifying marks or tattoos?"
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At the mention of the Cult of Razmir, Father Prasst's eyes widen, his brow furrows, and he sucks in a tense breath. The Mayor notices and turns to him. "What is it, Rantal?"
Father 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. So far in the meeting, he has been fairly quiet, only responding when asked a direct question. But now he sighs out his built-up tension.
"I know the Razmirans," he says quietly, his voice dripping with contempt. "From when I was a soldier in Tamran." 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. And you can't just mint more coins. Our army struggles with basic resources...we're scrappy, but--"
"Rantal," the Mayor urges.
The priest bites his tongue and closes his eyes, but nods. "Razmirans follow Razmir: the living god who has set up his own country across Lake Encarthan." Murmurs are exchanged between people across the room. "Like a lot of faiths, they do a lot of evangelism. 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. They were even able to help us hire some mercenaries to fight against Molthune. It got safer to travel even for normal folk because they didn't have to worry as much about the privateers Molthune hires to harass our trade ships. They were gaining influence with the city guard and the government. But...there were some uncomfortable things, too."
"First, they talked about Razmir being a jealous god. 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 those masks: they wear them all of the time. 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."
"Razmir has temples all around Lake Encarthan, so there's no way to know for sure whether the thieves came from Tamran, but..." Prasst catches the eyes of the young heroes who had retrieved the Everfame. "Everyone I knew who joined the Church of Razmir was about your age."
Arnama Lastrid's eyes widen and she looks over at her apprentice. "You're not seriously suggesting that--" She cuts herself off, frowning. "Tamran is right on the border, Rantal," she chides. "We're still at war. And never mind the soldiers. There's spies. Opportunists. You said it yourself: privateers. And they're just ch--"
Captain Wisslo interrupts the ranger. "They're adults. Ms. Tani said so herself."
Arnama looks up at Brandark once again, a grim look on her face. Colbin Vetnar stops scribbling. "Are they now?" he says. "Adults? I thought you were smarter than that, Gregor."
Joras' mother Renetta speaks up. "Why don't we let them have a say in all that, Colbin?" She glances over at her son. "They have their own hearts and minds, after all."
The Council turns their attention to the young men and woman who had retrieved the Everflame. "Well?" prompts Mayor Uptal.
Well, I think that we who were charged by Asar to find her, should be the ones to travel and recover the amulets
Brandark pauses
But this will have to be a group effort, Conrad, Joras, Miron, Roya, do you agree?
He then steps back to see what the others say.
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Conrad stares down at the mask, turning it over thoughtfully in his hands. He knows full well how his parents would react if he decided to leave again. He had already risked his life once -they would be reluctant to let him go. There would be cries -his mother, especially. But he had always seen the amazement in their eyes as he shared some of the treasures he had found in the Crypt with them, and he had had time to think. They rather desperately needed the money.
He'd heard talk between his parents about how well Isaac performed in school when not distracted by the other students, and how reluctant they were to send him to the city in spite of Father Prasst's insistence when they didn't even have enough savings to buy him books. And what of the two youngest -what if they had to be sent to the city too? And that wasn't even taking into consideration Zora's frustration with serving her family hand and foot. She'd been talking about getting her own house for months -and there was only so much the Mendelsons could do to delay the inevitable. Everyone tried to convince her that she was too young to marry, but she was headstrong -and, Conrad suspected, she had already spent quite some time thinking about her future and knew exactly what she wanted, which certainly did not help matters. He could understand his sister all too well; they shared the same sense of purpose. Once they had found what they wanted in life, there was no deviating them from their path. They had the stubbornness of bulls.
What would he do in Kassen, if he stayed? He could never bear Colbin's manipulativeness and stayed a woodcutter. He could never be patient enough to make a living as a craftsman. He'd never have it in him to be a preacher or a travelling artist, roaming the world and singing Shelyn's praises to all that would listen. His only value was in his fists, and that would amount to nothing if he did not leave his parents' home.
There was something he didn't like about the mask, he thought to himself. It was too barren -too joyless. It reflected nothing. He'd seen masks on the rare occasions when festivities would come to Kassen's Hold -some in the shape of gods, or men, or women, or animals, to frighten or delight. The piece of smooth metal he held in his hands offered no face to the world -it simply concealed. It was unnerving. How Prasst could ever have thought of it as reassuring was beyond him.
"W-What would we have to d-do?" Conrad asks absent-mindedly.
"After we defeated Asar, and made sure Dimira was ok, I lit the Everflame. And when we did, Ekat Kassen himself manifested in the tomb. None other than our founder. His rest was disturbed as well, but he did not submit to anger as Asar did. Not yet, anyway.", her voice is full of reference when speaking about Ekat, and she turns to Father Prasst, "I know he should long have passed on, and received Pharasmas judgement, but something drew him back here. He told us about the Amulets they were buried with having been used to seal something sinister. There is a third, with the Elf Friend they journeyed with. So there may still be time to do something. I was afraid that if he was stuck alone in the tomb, waiting with no option to influence things, he might eventually break, as well, and...turn. So I asked him what we could do for him, and he mentioned he'd like to learn what happened to his town, his descendents - and maybe some music. We must send someone to the tomb...to make sure there is no evil left, and to keep Ekat company.", she sums up what he told them. She felt there was no immediate need to mention any riches - Ekat had not wanted others to go there, so omitting that part seemed...reasonable.
The youngest member of the group puts on a pouty look that runs contrary to what she says next, angrily addressing Colbin:"We ARE adults. We EARNED it. We returned with the Everflame, you can't take that from us on a whim." She looks back at Father Prasst, her voice and expression softening:"You are suggesting that we go to one of the temples and pretend to join the Razmirans, are you not? See if we can learn more that way, wearing the masks and seeing what we can find out?"
She retrieves her own holy Symbol of Erastil, letting her hands idle turn it back and forth: "I would never renounce Erastil, not after all the help he provided to us in the tomb. He is not a distant god at all, I know he was with us. But if you think it is wise, I will follow your counsel. I trust you with my life...and beyond."
There is just a tad bit too much admiration for Father Prasst in her voice, and she blushes violently when she realizes herself, quickly falling silent to let others weigh in.
Miron, sits for a while in thought as the others speak, rubbing his hands together for warmth. The journey to the crypt had been harrowing at times, and the disease he'd picked up was troubling. But it had been a bit exciting and being able to use his magic for something important was gratifying.
Contemplating the life he'd have if he just stayed in Kassen working on his parents farm, he finds that increasingly unappealing.
"I would like to go." he announces.
Conrad, pretending to join them, that is something I think we need to do.
That is not asking you to actually join them, nor is it asking that you convert to their mode of thought.
I think we need to, in order to further us looking for the amulets
Besides, I don't like it any more than you do.
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Aye Conrad, and there is the rub. I also don't know anything about them. Mayor, do you know if there is any books in town about them??
"If they're looking for new people, then we may not need to know much." Miron suggests. "We could just ask to join up and find out things that way."
"Thats why I was thinking - we can just pick up on their talking points...that we liked the charity they were doing, heard so much good, that their god is close to the people, we felt lost in our lives and want something more fulfilling than the life of our parents, it's their job to tell us what we are supposed to know. We just have to make a good enough impression that they don't question us."
She looks over at Conrad: "And keep any other holy symbols safely hidden away...we don't need to convince them we are Razmirans, just that we want to become Razmirans."
Conrad Mendelson
