"Clear it out? How?" Dargys is brave by nature, but that was insane.
Erik once again feels out of his element dealing with fancy folk. He just takes some of the refreshments and sits with a reflective look on his face.
"Klaus, you had the book last. Did you put it in your pack or leave it on the table?" Alistair asks the wizard. "As to clearing it out, I think we need different tools. Perhaps we could bring this to the town council and get them to provide some magical resources or a couple barrels of holy water."
Running a hand through his hair, Antero’s eyes narrow on Dargys; “That is for you to figure out! You gave you word to finish the task… but what should I expect from a pit fighter…” Straightening his shirt he turns from Dargys; “When I hire someone for a task, it is unto completion. You will see to it that this is finished.” You can easily tell that the anger in his tone is pushed more by fear of what is below than Antero being a successful merchant that doesn’t accept failure.
He lets out a chuckle to Alistair’s comment; “Barrels? Why don’t you head on over to the Lawgiver’s Hall and see what Vuokko has available. I doubt you’ll find “barrels” of Holy Water.”
The merchant picks up a slice of meat and cheese.
Dargys bristles at that and stands up and for a moment and gets in Antero's way, "I don't care how rich you are, you don't LIE and tell me I swore an Oath or promised when I did not. I am asking EARNESTLY if anyone has ideas on how to beat those things, and if you just don't know, SAY SO..." His eyes smolder, "And I put my body on the line when I choose. Your gold is yours, true, and I'll try to earn it, but you do not own me, OR my allies!" He towers over the merchant
Then he takes a breath to calm himself, "You have no idea. FINE. We'll learn what we can on the history and how to best it. There was a vision. I will try to remember details. Maybe there was a clue in there."
Rasmus thanks the youth and gratefully sinks down into a chair.
”I don’t rightly know what was down there, but I think I have an inklin’ as to what it might be. I hope to Kalron’s Grindstone that I’m wrong. All ye need know is that spirits were bound down there, by a wizard practicin’ necromancy I would bet, and they attacked us when we disturbed their rest.”
He turns to the others and continues, in a sotto voice,
”We need help, lads, and there’s no mistakin’ that. Klaus, can ye talk to yer masters at the wizardin’ school and see if they’ll help us, maybe lend ye a scroll or two? Deshe, can ye talk to the deacon, see if they’ll find some way to exorcise this place or somethin’ such?”
He thinks for a moment, and begins fidgeting with his sword. Eventually he looks down at it and begins muttering to himself and thinking.
”Ancestral steel, me Grandfather’s sword, and yet it still cannot touch those beyond the veil.”
On the best of days, Grandfather’s Study radiated a sort of dread, but at night, it whispered things into the mind that burrowed into the soul and writhed like a feasting worm. Rasmus hesitated a minute longer, and then steeled himself and creaked open the door. He was expecting something grand, something impressive, or grandiose in some way. What he saw was disappointing. It was a small room, and if the hallway outside was dusty, this was choked with dust to the extreme. Inside, there was simply a table with implements, gleaming in the scarce moonlight, their purpose sometimes mysterious, and sometimes grimly evident, a cloth-covered metal chair in the center of the room, and a large banner over a case. Two portraits hung near the banner, one with a regally imperious-looking man in garnet red robes, his salt grey beard tapered to a sharp point, and the other with a beautiful looking woman wearing clothes from a fashion decades old. The names on both were weathered and faded, but one could barely make out the letters “—nd-ll -in—d” and “Y—t- Wi—l-” The chair held something in it, a large shape or mass, but Rasmus did not have the courage to lift the white shroud and gaze at it. He did move towards the case, his eyes straying to the sharp, scarlet symbol on the banner. It seemed to writhe under his gaze, and he quickly looked away to open the elegant glass case. Inside was a beautiful, elegant sword, set with a green emerald in its pommel, and a carved scabbard, stained with some strange substance. Next to it sat a yellowed tome, with a cracked leather cover proudly bearing the title “The Records of Crandall Winbald.” Rasmus opened it, carefully turning its wafer-thin pages, and read a small bit, that of which shocked him.
“11th of _____, Trial 42, Aetherial Passage Attemped Through the Veil of Moil, Use of Modified Rite of Ashvar. Symbol drawn at midday, 4 liters needed. Source expired after 2, seek new source tomorrow. Sprinkling of ground silver and teeth, coated with quicksilver applied to cardinal points seems to mollify the Rite—”
A slight current of air brushed his neck, interrupting his reading. Rasmus flinched and turned, but the door was still open, a rat was scurrying along the floor and quickly disappearing up into the shrouded shape on the chair, squeaking madly. Rasmus shivered, but gratefully, as it was nothing more supernatural than a rat. He turned back to the weathered tome and continued reading, his brow furrowed and his eyes widening as he read on.
“—black onyx needed. Imitation attempted, but unadvised. No other stone or gem works, though emerald invoked a slight presence, nothing powerful. I need to find a source of black onyx. The family treasury has grudgingly produced half a palmswidth of the gem, but more is needed. I’m on to the last few pieces in my possession. I’ll attempt the rite tomorrow, and review my chants for now.”
As Rasmus continued to read on in horrified fascination, a faint creak from the door jerked him around again, but the door stood open just the same as before, if perhaps slightly moved towards the doorframe, as if to close. “Old place, settling,” Rasmus muttered to himself, and he turned and continued his reading.
“12th of _____, Trial 43, Continuation of Aetherial Passage through Veil of Moil, Use of Modified Rite of Ashvar. New source obtained last night through the help of Grigori. Reminder: Take gravekeeper off shift tonight at common graveyard between evening and midnight. Grigori demands another payment for his services. All these bribes to remove the gravekeepers are getting expensive. But, results cannot be argued with. This source put up a minimum of resistance after Grigori’s venom did its work, and it was held motionless as I prepared the circle again. Epiphany: Apply 4 quarts as instructed in the Rite, but additionally add the calcified silver mixture. Double strength is possibly attainable. I shall begin the chants around evening, and culmination should occur around midnight. Yvette, you have passed beyond the veil, but you are not out of reach yet!”
Rasmus shut the book quickly and took a sharp intake of breath…and even more quickly held his next, for there was a slight sound on the edge of hearing, as if it were coming from through the door and down the hall. A scraping sound, accompanied by rhythmic clacking, as if from sharp boots hitting the floor repeatedly. Rasmus picked up the sword and, on second thought, shoved the book into his bundle as well, and crept over to the door and peered around the frame. In the hallway, silhouetted by the dimming moonlight, was a hunched figure in an elegant uniform, somewhat weathered, and covered mainly by a cape. A large, broad-brimmed black hat sat upon its head, pulled low. The scraping sound was explained by a bundle about the size of a long roll of cloth, but considerably wider and, though the white sheet obscured the fine details of its features, a hideously humanoid appearance. Rasmus slightly sucked in another breath in surprise, and the thing turned suddenly, focusing a pair of gleaming red eyes on Rasmus.
At that moment, a cloud drifted over the moon, and the hall was left in pitch blackness. The eyes continued to glare at Rasmus for a moment through the darkness, and then winked out. Rasmus backed into his grandfather’s study and almost tripped over the shrouded form in the chair. He could have sword it twitched, but he had little time for that. A skittering sound began to echo through the wing, and Rasmus began to spin frantically, looking every which way for the thing he saw, a gleam of red eyes, or something to alert him to a sinister presence. As he looked, something brushed his face, and he reached his hand up, feeling a soft, silky material in his hands. He looked up directly into the red eyes of the thing, and felt cold, clammy hands encircle his neck. He lashed out with the sword, but the thing swatted it away easily. A low, gutteral growl began in the thing’s throat as it pulled him upwards.
Rasmus struggled, and the book dropped from its place in his bundle and fell on the floor with a heavy thud. Suddenly, Rasmus was released, falling unceremoniously on the floor, and the thing began making keening noises in its throat and crawling away hurriedly, at least to judge by the noises Rasmus heard. The cloud that covered the moon lazily drifted away, returning the wing to a dim light. Rasmus grabbed the book, put it back in his bundle, and peered around the corner again. The thing was gone, along with its horrible cargo, and Rasmus breathed a sigh of relief. He ran through the hall, though it seemed to be longer than when he first traveled its length, to the door back to the central keep. As his hand hovered over the latch, a faint noise, like a slow chuckle, played on the edge of his hearing. He ignored it and threw open the door, making his way towards the stables afterwards, where he saddled up a horse and rode out into the marshes, the shame for his family weighing heavily on his shoulders. He shivered in the chilly air and rode faster.
Rasmus comes back to the present, and sighs,
”Yer right Alistair, we need to bring this to the city officials, though we should be cautious. Not all those we talk to will have an altruistic outlook on this.”
Running a hand through his hair, Antero’s eyes narrow on Dargys; “That is for you to figure out! You gave you word to finish the task… but what should I expect from a pit fighter…” Straightening his shirt he turns from Dargys; “When I hire someone for a task, it is unto completion. You will see to it that this is finished.” You can easily tell that the anger in his tone is pushed more by fear of what is below than Antero being a successful merchant that doesn’t accept failure.
Suddenly, Klaus stands with a finger in the air and other hand on his chest. "'I am seeking skilled workers to remove the seal and explore what is beyond. Once the task is completed, workers will be handsomely rewarded.'"
He blinks and looks at Rasmus who is likely still holding onto the envelope with the quest missive.
"Did I get that right? Pretty sure that's a direct quote."
He directs the finger towards Antero. "Kind sir, your spooky haunted basement filled with horrible magic has been explored. Aside from one impassable staircase full of rubble, we explored every passage visible. Stand and deliver unless your promises are not what you claim.
"Klaus, you had the book last. Did you put it in your pack or leave it on the table?" Alistair asks the wizard.
"I've got it here, and since it was under this man's property, it and its magic seal belong to him."
Klaus produces the book from his backpack and places it on a nearby coffee table.
Dargys shoots Klaus a grateful look.
"Well, I'm not done yet. Sir, please have your servants bar entry into the basement for now. We'll get this sorted out. We'll round up the needed resources for this venture and reconvene here. We just needed to know what we were dealing with first. Come on fellas, let's run down some leads." Alistair says getting to his feet.
Belfer reaches for a glass of wine, his hand visibly shaking. He stops just short of picking it up before moving both hands to the glass to steady the normally casual movement. He retreats to the wall, leaning back against it, staring into the crimson liquid.
"Well, I'm not done yet. Sir, please have your servants bar entry into the basement for now. We'll get this sorted out. We'll round up the needed resources for this venture and reconvene here. We just needed to know what we were dealing with first. Come on fellas, let's run down some leads." Alistair says getting to his feet.
"That seems reasonable. We can get a good night's rest, calm ourselves down, and then gather what we might need in the morning," Belfer adds, more to convince himself than anything.
Startled by Dargys action and tone, Antero rounds the table to separate himself from the fighter. He uses the hospitality of filling any glasses with wine that needs it, but he keeps is eye on Dargys.
Hearing everyone’s response of what is down there, Antero nods as Rasmus suggest seeking out help from arcane and divine powers. “If what you say is truly down there.” looking at everyone’s demeanor and emotional state; “I will give you an advance on what was promised as payment.” looking at the 8 of you around the table. “I will give you 400 gp now, and the rest when this is taken care of.”
Stepping away from the tome that Klaus places on the table; “And as long as everything is clear, you can keep everything that you find.” looking from the group to the tome; “I’ll be right back”
Coming back after a few minutes away, he places a purse on the table; “I hope that platinum will be okay.”
He notices the merchant scurry back, and the eyeball he's getting from the man Not so much as an apology. I guess rich men pay in coin, but not manners. Still, fear as much as bluster maybe influencing the ass. And he's not alone in that. I had the shivers too. He takes a gentling breath.
"As Klaus has said, we went down, and we explored, and we returned and reported. And what we reported was horrific, no doubt. You must be terrified by the news and with good reason. I tell you, it was terrifying for us too. More than once, the unnaturalness of it all seeped into our very souls. It's enough to make anyone be not at their best, to be fair to the both of us. Alistair and Rasmus are right, we need to learn more, check other sources. We'll do that. Then , better prepared we'll go back in... or at least I plan to, always did. If I might suggest, if you are of a particular faith, you might want to purchase yourself a holy symbol. Maybe it won't help, but it surely cannot hurt."
A look at the coin, "As for the payment, I'll take no more than the hundred I was offered at the start, and then I'll get the rest of my share when I do more than exploring and get back. There appears to be some disagreement between us about giving your solemn word, and a job being very different. The latter can be negotiated or renegotiated. The former is never given lightly, or shouldn't be. I'll wait till I'm done with the job before taking more than the 100 for myself or items found so there's no further confusion. If I go in and die on the mission, I'll ask any further coin I was going to get to go to my family."
Dargys hopes this clears up further misunderstanding and on decent terms.
"Thank you, sir," Alistair says picking up the bag and heading for the door. "Gentlemen, let's leave our host to tidy up as we go find Sethiel some accommodations and ourselves some proper weaponry for such arcane or divine enemies." Outside he pauses and looks in the bag. "It looks like its a full half. We can leave Sethiel's with him when we get him to a healer. Everyone else, here's your share." He hands out 5 platinum to each. "We may need to spend a little to better prepare. I was thinking we all might travel as a group to corroborate the others story as we visit the priests and the wizard's guild. Your thoughts?"
Antero agrees with Alistair; “Yes, I will make sure that all of the doors are locked between here and the entry to the cellar below.” mutters a prayer; “I pray the gods will keep at bay what is down there until your return.” Pointing to the tome Klaus placed on the table; “Will you be taking that?”
Antero will stay wide of Dargys, but he will usher the eight of you out of his manor.
As you exit his house you make note of the time of day. It is late afternoon. You aren’t sure how, but this day has slipped away.
With Belfer’s mention of a night’s rest to calm yourselves down, you might think that visiting the Lawgiver’s Hall.
Deshe nods as he takes his coins. "I'll take Sethiel to Lawgiver's Hall, and if you're headed to the priests yourself, you can find me there." Deshe looks around the others to make sure they all heard, and then begins to head to the Lawgiver's Hall.
The party finds themselves on one of the most southern roads of Dulwich, Foundation’s Way, just outside of Antero Kalervo’s home.
Though the journey isn’t long, It does take all of Deshe’s strength to help Sethiel to The Lawgiver’s Hall. The road you take eventually turns into Purho Street just beyond Dulwich Keep. Named after the first priest for the Temple of Conn, you see small shrines to Purho and small stalls selling religious objects and symbols.
The Temple of Conn is one of the first structures built in Dulwich. This tall stone cathedral is under renovation and expansion. You see the bell towner supported with scaffolding as they are replacing the old bell with what looks to be a silver bell. You also see many of the windows reinforced as artist and taking care as they are installing new elaborate stained glass.
You aren’t sure where it came from, but there must have been a very generous donor in the congregation for these upgrades to happen. Some might think money could be best spent elsewhere, while others sees the craftsman being paid for their skills like they never have before.
Workers are all over the place trying to get as much work completed before sundown. As you walk into the Lawgiver’s Hall, you see many of the pews are covered with large cloth blankets collecting dust and debris from the work. A few of the shrines of the lesser gods are covered, while the major ones that more people would visit are exposed but protected by wooden shelters.
Acolytes are moving about at their temple work.
"Are there any Clerics of Dalren about? Our friend Sethiel's in a bad way after a run in with some nasty haunts." Deshe calls out, attempting to be heard over the din of construction.
Alistair waits to see if anyone responds. If they do not, he will approach someone, "Grab a priest of Dalren, if one is not available then snag any priest with authority here. We have a person who was possessed not two hours ago, a haunted basement, and a bunch of armed men whose nerves are on edge. Help me out here?"
Erik follows those who are headed to take Sethiel to a healer. He finds a place to tie up Shep outside. If his mother heard that he'd rode his wolf into a temple, he would never hear the end of it, assuming he ever heard anything again, what with the boxing his ears would undoubtedly receive. He gingerly makes his way inside, looking around with his eyes wide open. He had never had a reason to visit Lawgiver's Hall before, and the sight almost takes his breath away. This is right pretty. Seems like a waste to spend this much on a fancy building, though, when you could worship anywhere, even out in the field like the Mother intended.
Dargys notes that he's being given the silent treatment despite his efforts to have things on decent terms.
And he too goes to help drop Sethiel off with the others. He is concerned for the poor elf who was an ally to them.
As the group of you burst into the Lawgiver’s Hall shouting for help from a cleric, you draw the attention of a tall muscular woman who sports a breastplate that has the symbol of Conn on the chest (two hands clasped in a handshake). She has a long flowing cloak draped from her shoulders and a light mace at her side.
Her eyes dart between Deshe and Alistair with words of haunts and haunted basement. “Deshe, what have you been up to?” She approaches and puts an arm around Sethiel and grabs his belt as she drapes his arm over her shoulder. She partly lifts him as they continue down the long seating hall of the cathedral. Shouting to one of the acolytes, “Clear the way to one of the private guest rooms, then find priestess Vuokko.”
The woman in front of you is Maja Vartia, she oversees the cathedral guard. The fact that she is here would let you know that priestess Vuokko Laiten and priest Mikael Tuntia are here. Vuokko is the lead.
Erik’s eyes continue to stay wide as he sees the highly figured hand carved statues that adorn the shrines along the walls. The gold trim work that accents the paintings of the wall is more gold than he could think about spending in his lifetime, or the generations that come after him.
Dargys’ mind is on Antero’s lack of manors, but then he notices among the acolytes and workers over a dozen men and woman patrolling the inside of the cathedral. His mind catches that he might have seen a couple outside also. They have similar garb as the woman aiding Sethiel, just less ornate. Temple guard, and with what Dargys knows of the city they are probably needed with the value of everything within.
Being led down a side hallway that leads to rooms, the woman sits Sethiel on the edge of the bed. The room is not small, but it won’t allow everyone to be in at the same time. “Haunts?” she looks over Sethiel’s current state and steps out of the way as Vuokko Laiten, the high priestess of Conn enters the room.
All of you would know that less than a year ago the beloved and respected high priest Taisro Rintala died unexpectedly. Vuokko Laiten was appointed unexpectedly becoming the new high priestess and the first one so young. Only in her twenties.
The young priestess helps Sethiel to lay down and she begins examining him, starting with the basic vitals and moving on from there. As she is doing this; “I was told about haunts and haunted basements. What exactly has happened here?” as she continues to examine the cleric of Darlen.
Rasmus carefully observes the bustling activity in the Lawgiver's Hall, his sharp eyes catching the intricate details of the room, from the finely carved statues to the opulent gold trimmings. As Vuokko Laiten examines Sethiel, Rasmus maintains a calm demeanor, blending into the background while keeping his senses alert.
His thoughts race as he pieces together the troubling clues. The temple's recent renovations, funded by a mysterious benefactor, and the possible resurgence of the cult of Braal can't be mere coincidences. He needs to approach this delicately.
When Vuokko asks about the haunts, Rasmus steps forward, his voice gruff yet steady.
"High Priestess, we encountered somethin' unusual in the basement. There were... disturbances that seemed beyond the ordinary. I believe it warrants a closer look."
He glances around the room, noting the presence of the temple guards. He must tread carefully.
"If I may,"
he continues,
"it might be wise to investigate the source of these disturbances further. With yer permission, I can assist in securing the area and making sure there are no lingerin' threats."
Rasmus turns to his companions, making brief eye contact with each of them.
"Deshe, Alistair, Erik, Dargys—maybe ye can help gather information from the townsfolk. Any clues about unusual activities or suspicious individuals could be invaluable."
Returning his attention to Vuokko, he adds,
"High Priestess, yer guidance and support would be crucial in this endeavor. We want to ensure the safety of the temple and its congregation."
He subtly indicates the opulent decorations and recent changes in the temple.
"It's clear that significant resources have been invested here. Understandin' the motivations behind such generosity might shed light on the disturbances we've encountered."
To Erik when the halfling shows such awe at the decorations, "Impressive isn't it. If we're lucky we can find a ruin like this that hasn't been swept clean already and strip that puppy down. Inactive of course, or at least dedicated to one of those evil deities."
"I can ask around but I don't think this is a new threat. There was a lot of old stuff down there. There were two things we didn't check out before we left, a sealed door and and blocked tunnel. I think both need to be breached." Alistair adds to the conversation. He'll wait for any response from the cleric and then go see if he can learn anything about newcomers to town or particularly the area.
"Danger and daring- Kalron's call, but whatever fell sorcery we faced preyed on the mind with visions of horror and fear. It left all of shaken, Sethiel worst of all. He needs a safe place to recover before we go back to cleanse whatever evil still lurks there." Deshe trusts that Rasmus is handling the details, and so mostly speaks in the broad strokes.
"Speaking of Cleansing, whatever tools you may have that could help in that endeavor would be greatly appreciated." Alistair says with his most charming smile.
Casting Light on a pebble, Priestess Vuokko test Sethiel’s pupil response to the light. “Yes, I would agree something unusual happened that would leave Sethiel like this. I would prefer to keep him here at least a day for observation. Things that prey on the mind can sometimes linger and I would not want him to go home and have another… episode.”
The priestess turns to the tall woman; “Go find brother Kaden, tell him he has a new study. He will need to bring his restraints.” turning back to the group; “I can’t say either way, but I want to be sure something hasn’t left that basement attached to Sethiel.” Looking at Sethiel, he is very lethargic. Thinking back to the moments following the spirit gripping his mind you remember that he hasn’t really be all there since then. It could appear to be exhaustion from what happened to him, but could it be more…
“Please follow me, your friend needs to rest and I’d like us to go somewhere more discreet.” Priestess Vuokko leaves this room and heads down the hall back to the sanctuary where work is being done; “You are correct, we have had some very generous donations that have led us to be able to do these upgrades. Plus, I don’t think Taisro was interested in having the disturbance of the workers or dust.” She continues to lead you down a corridor to a secluded chapel. Significantly smaller than the sanctuary, but a room that would seat around 100 people.
“Please sit,” the priestess says motioning to the front row in the chapel. She takes a breath and takes all of you in. “I don’t know where you found this basement, but if it is within the walls of Dulwich I do find it a personal responsibility to aid when it comes to spiritual matters.” she looks to Rasmus. “The temple does have supplies that could be used in aiding your endeavor, for a donation of course.”
“I am currently investigating my own unusual situation here in the city limits, so my man power resources are tied up in that. But I will aid where I can. If you’d allow me, I would like to examine each of you. Granting you a blessing of Conn.”
Priestess Vuokko waits and sees who will allow her to examine them, or if there are any questions asked.
"Of course. Myself, I could attempt blessing some holy water come my prayers the next morn, but they would not be of avail today, and expensive in terms of silver. And if applied incorrectly would do little. I think perhaps spells to ward fear would be prudent?"
Rasmus smiles and nods at Deshe,
"Aye, that would be a help, to be sure, lad. In particular, can ye call on the power of Kalron to say some benedictions over us, and maybe have Kalron's Gaunlet guide us? We're dealin' with the unholy; ain't nothin' better to fight them with than a good prayer."
Rasmus strolls to the supplies quartermaster and observes his stock.
A crooked smile comes to Erik's face as Alastair suggests ransacking an abandoned temple, but he does not respond audibly.
When the priestess offers to examine the group, Erik looks at her with a suspicious look on his face. "Ah, ma'am, what kind of examination are we talkin' about? Oh, and, uh, since I don't think anybody's told you, the basement we found was at Mr. Kalervo's place."
"Examine away ma'am." Alistair says and waits his turn.
Dargys’ mind is on Antero’s lack of manners, but then he notices among the acolytes and workers over a dozen men and woman patrolling the inside of the cathedral. His mind catches that he might have seen a couple outside also. They have similar garb as the woman aiding Sethiel, just less ornate. Temple guard, and with what Dargys knows of the city they are probably needed with the value of everything within.
Good security. He observes.
"Deshe, Alistair, Erik, Dargys—maybe ye can help gather information from the townsfolk. Any clues about unusual activities or suspicious individuals could be invaluable."
Dargys has his doubts that he'll be much good at gathering information from Townsfolk but will give it a try after this.
“I am currently investigating my own unusual situation here in the city limits, so my man power resources are tied up in that. But I will aid where I can. If you’d allow me, I would like to examine each of you. Granting you a blessing of Conn.”
"I'd be honored," He says with a lowered head, and waits his turn.
Priestess Vuokko gives a sympathetic smile to Erik; “I know you have been through a lot. I understand more than you know. You have nothing to fear with me. I want to ease some of your fears so that you can complete what you have started in Mr Kalervo’s basement.”
She looks to the group of you; “We don’t need whatever is happening in that basement to spread. Those houses are connected through their basement network, so it must be cleared quickly.”
Holding her hands out; “Come my son.” She takes Alistair’s head in her hands and brushes his closed eyes with her thumbs while saying a blessing.
You feel a cool sensation wash over you coming from her thumbs. Washes over your head down your back and through your feet. You feel a calming come over you, your no longer have that on edge feeling, but you also realize how tired you are because your nerves were constantly on edge.
You see a few things that you’d expect like Cure Light Wounds, Holy Water, and Silver Weapon Blanch. But a few other things that stand out is four vials of what the acolyte called Holier Water, they are twice as effective as normal holy water . You also see a beautiful two-handed heavy mace that made of silver and looks to be superbly forged, and picking it up it is well balanced. .
Klaus follows everyone to the temple to make sure Sethiel is delivered safely. Once everything seems well in hand, Klaus sighs and stands up.
"I guess I'd better go make a report of my own...though I'd really rather just forget what happened and what we all saw."
The mage gives a small wave and departs to find his mentor.
Erik nods at the priestess. "Yes, ma'am, go ahead, I reckon. Is it urgent enough that we need to go back in today?"
"Thank you, priestess," Alistair and rises, stretching after he does so. "Man, I feel like I could sleep for a week." Then he gets directions if needed to find Rasmus. Looking the stuff over he asks, "There is something in there that is messing with our minds but we can't get at it, just the things it creates. Is there anything you have that would make it solid or nearly solid so we could attack the source? Or, would holy water applied to the right location work?" he asks, thinking of that strange obelisk beneath the trapdoor.
As the group gets Sethiel to the Lawgiver’s Hall and they are led away to a private chamber, Klaus makes his away to see Saini Alanen. After his ten-year apprenticeship, he was directed to continue his studies under Saini, Dulwich’s renowned sage.
Leaving the Lawgiver’s Hall and sets his way West towards Saini Alanen’s home . The roads aren’t busy this time of day and you’re able to make your way there quickly.
You know that Saini receives money from the town by making her large library available to the public. Her stone-towered, three-story house is divided into sections. The first floor is the public library. There is no telling who you’ll find there throughout the day, though there are usual suspects. The second floor is reserved for those who are renting rooms for long-term study. The final floor is reserved for Saini herself. No one is allowed up there, not even those studying under her watch.
Walking into the library, you see a familiar face. Young Taavi Vesivalo. He comes to library daily to “read” up on a wide range of topics, but anyone can tell that he is a boy in love. When Saini isn’t around he is extremely talkative but quickly becomes mute as his nerves take over when she is present.
As Taavi sees you a smile splits his face and he rushes up to you; “Klaus! Klaus! How did it go? Did you find a secret hide out for the Shadow Spiders , or a cave where the gnolls are tunneling their way into the city? Did you fight off cave trolls and take back their treasure?” the boy is very hyper jumping around and even rolled up a large parchment paper to be a sword.
Following the blessing bestowed to Alistair, Dargys and Erik receive their blessing. Cupping each of your heads in her hands one at a time, she brushes your closed eyes while saying a blessing.
You feel a cool sensation wash over you coming from her thumbs. It washes over your head down your back and through your fet. You feel a calming come over you, you no longer have that on edge feeling, but you also realize how tired you are because your nerves were constantly on edge.
Alistair knows exactly where to go. There is a small storage room at the front of the temple, Rasmus is there looking over the supplies. The acolyte present thinks over Alistair’s question; “I don’t believe Holy Water would make things like ghost solid. I have read research that does say you can pour the water over them and it would hurt the ghost like a weapon.” when she says weapon she has a look of, oh yeah come over her face; “I did just remember that you could use an oil blessed by one of the Paladins, making it able to hit things that are not solid.”
"My thanks, to you, and Conn," He rises after this blessing, "Please say a prayer for my family, if you would to protect them from threats holy and petty alike."
And, unless there is something else, he plans to head towards his home. He was told to ask the Townsfolk for what they might know. Well, his grandmother is... to put it kindly, a bit off, but she knows old tales and stories. Maybe there is something she knows about unusual activities, or old incidents similar to the one they met.
As things are dealt with and blessings shared, Deshe frowns. He can't help but think there's something he's forgetting. "I think there was some religious matter I was asked about down there, but it was beyond my knowledge. I'm afraid in all that has happened, I've forgotten. Does anyone remember what it was?"
Rasmus moves quietly through the dimly lit halls of the Temple of Conn, his heavy boots echoing softly against the stone floor. The scent of incense lingers in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of sacred artifacts. He approaches the armory, where rows of meticulously organized holy items glisten under the flickering torchlight.
His keen eyes scan the shelves, lingering on a variety of blessed weapons, shimmering vials, and carefully wrapped relics. He reaches for a small vial of holy water, feeling its cool, smooth surface in his roughened hand. The liquid inside glows faintly, promising divine protection. Gently, he slips the vial into his pouch.
Next, his attention shifts to the silver weapon blanches. Their metallic sheen catches the light, reflecting a promise of enhanced efficacy against the foul undead. He selects three of them, each weighty with the potential to turn the tide in their favor. The blanches are carefully placed alongside the vial in his pouch, ensuring they are secure.
Satisfied with his choices, Rasmus turns and walks towards the temple priests. Rasmus reaches into his coin purse, extracting several gold coins.
"Fer the supplies,"
he says in a gruff but respectful tone, placing the coins into the priest's outstretched hand.
Rasmus steps back, the weight of the holy items comforting against his side. He then turns to his companions, his expression serious but calm.
"These should help us deal with whatever dark forces we encounter,"
he says, holding up the vial and blanches for them to see.
He pauses, considering their next move.
"If it's not urgent to head back into the cellar, I suggest we get some rest and prepare ourselves better fer what's to come. We’ll need all our strength fer this."
The group begins to disband and head off in their own direction to see what they can find out, but also get a nights rest to help prepare for what they might face when they come back. Sethiel is staying at the Lawgiver’s Hall to be observed. Klaus headed off to his mentor Saini Alanen, the village sage. Dargys heads home. Rasmus purchase supplies
As Dargys arrives home, he finds Nanny Telena going about her regular routine in the late afternoon. His younger siblings are going about their regular chores or running around playing or fighting over a toy. Gyra is nowhere in sight, she must be getting ready for the dinner rush at the Dancing Bear. The normalcy of these scene is quickly ruined as the not-so-distant memory of what he faced in the basement just this morning. Nanny Telena sees that you have arrived; “Oh good you’re here. Help me with those potatoes. Cut them up into cubes.” She goes back to the broth she is working on.
He washes his hands, and says, "Fine, but I can't stay long, Nanna. I was going to ask you something about things you noticed, odd situations or people strange people. Particularly around..." He names the area. She can be a bit of a flake but she knows old stories, and the gossip chain. Even as he starts to help with the potatoes while she talks
Alistair heads to the tavern for a drink. Then after he feels more settled he will head home and hit the sack. While at the bar he asks about trying to deduce if anything odd has been happening in town.
Rasmus nods to the others, determination in his eyes, and strides towards the imposing temple doors. He pauses, still walking backwards, and outstretches his arms, his voice carrying a mix of camaraderie and resolve.
"Well, I'm off, lads. I'll be back here at the temple tomorrow. Take care of yerselves. Keep a weather eye..."
Turning on his heel, Rasmus continues his march, stepping into the bustling, cobbled streets. He takes a deep breath, the familiar aroma of the city—a mix of fresh bread, distant sea brine, and the smoky tang of hearth fires—filling his lungs.
You need a drink, don't you, lad?
Startled, Rasmus spins on the spot, searching for the source of the voice, but finds nothing. The streets around him remain unchanged, a blur of moving figures and clattering hooves. Shaking his head, he grips his temple, a grimace crossing his face.
"I do need a drink, don't I..."
he mutters to himself, the echo of the mysterious voice lingering in his mind. With a determined nod, he sets off in search of solace, navigating the winding streets with purpose.
He sets off among the vendors and crowds, weaving through the bustling market until he reaches the shadowed confines of Hope's Alley. The narrow, labyrinthine corridors twist and turn, flanked by buildings whose walls seem to lean and leer ominously overhead. The faint light from flickering lanterns casts eerie shadows on the cobblestones, creating an atmosphere thick with unease. His footfalls echo in the darkness, a rhythmic beat that guides him deeper into the heart of the alley.
Before long, he stands before the squat door of "The Wobblin' Goblin," a seedy tavern known only to the most disreputable and desperate souls. The door itself is weathered and crooked, its hinges rusted and creaking in protest with every push. He takes a deep breath, savoring the cool, fresh air outside, knowing it will be the last clean breath he takes for a while.
Upon entering, he is greeted by a cacophony of drunken laughter, slurred conversations, and the pungent odor of sweat and stale alcohol. The tavern is dimly lit, with only a few sputtering candles and grimy oil lamps providing a feeble glow. The air is thick with smoke, creating a haze that mingles with the shadows.
The interior is cramped and cluttered, with rickety wooden tables and mismatched chairs scattered haphazardly across the floor. The walls are adorned with peeling paint and crude drawings, their once-bright colors now faded and smeared by countless hands. Patrons of all shapes and sizes, many of whom bear the scars and rough edges of hard lives, crowd the space. Some sit slumped over their drinks, while others lie unconscious on the floor, their mugs of a foul concoction that could barely be called "ale" spilling onto the sticky planks beneath them.
Behind the bar, a surly barkeep with a permanently sour expression serves the questionable drinks, his movements quick and efficient despite the chaos around him. The bar itself is a battered relic, its surface marred by countless knife marks and the stains of unidentifiable substances.
In the far corner, a group of rough-looking gamblers hunch over a game of dice, their eyes darting suspiciously as they place their bets. Nearby, a shadowy figure plays a mournful tune on a battered lute, the haunting melody somehow cutting through the din.
Despite the grime and the danger, there is an undeniable allure to The Wobblin' Goblin—a sense of refuge for those who have nowhere else to go. It is a place where secrets are shared, deals are made, and the desperate find solace, if only for a fleeting moment. As he settles into his favorite corner, the familiar chaos of the tavern envelops him, and he knows that here, amidst the squalor and the shadows, he can think.
Rasmus heads to the bar, nodding to the surly barkeep.
"The usual,"
he says gruffly, leaning against the battered wooden counter. The barkeep, a man with a permanent scowl etched onto his face, wordlessly pours a mug of spiced cider and slides it over. The cider appears to have been pummeled out of the apple with the barkeep's meaty fists, and the spices in it might be only salt and grime. He takes a long drink, grimacing at the bitter taste but welcoming the familiar burn. The "cider" may be foul, but it does the job. He sits alone, the other patrons learned to leave him be years ago.
Finishing his drink, Rasmus leaves a few coins on the counter and heads back into the night. He weaves through the maze of Hope's Alley, the sounds of the tavern fading behind him. The cold air hits him like a slap, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere inside.
As he makes his way through the dark labyrinthine corridors, Rasmus feels the weight of the city's secrets pressing down on him. The familiar paths through the cobbled streets lead him to the edge of the woods, where the trees stand like silent sentinels.
With a deep breath, he steps into the forest, the rustling leaves and distant hoots of owls creating a natural symphony. The path to his cave is winding and treacherous, but Rasmus navigates it with ease, his familiarity with the terrain guiding him unerringly.
Arriving at his secluded cave, he feels a sense of relief. He builds a pyramid of firewood in the center of the cave and lights it. The flickering light from the small blaze casts shadows on the rough stone walls, creating a cozy atmosphere. Rasmus settles down, the crackling fire providing warmth and comfort. Here, in the solitude of his sanctuary, he finds the peace he craves. The city's noise and chaos are far behind him, replaced by the calming sounds of the forest and the steady rhythm of his own thoughts, synced to the beating of his tired heart.
Beat
Rasmus thinks in the light of the fire, reliving the day's events as he drapes a warm pelt over his chilled form.
Beat
Later into the night, the fire had died, but Rasmus lay in the darkness, turning fitfully. Eventually, he closes his eyes, settling into the deep abyss of sleep.
Rasmus was lying in his luxuriant bed in the Winbald Manor when he opened his eyes. Still half-asleep, he ran his hands over the soft, velvety material and pushed himself upright. He was in his chambers, he knew. The frigid, drafty flagstones were covered by a magnificent black bear’s pelt, and shelves upon shelves of curious trinkets and books of natural lore sagged next to a roaring fireplace, its charring logs filling the room with a delightful scent of applewood.
He ran his hands through his hair and raised himself unsteadily from the warm, plush covers, slipping his feet into small buckskin moccasins at the edge of the rug. A knock at the door jolted him into a vigil, and he heard a familiar brittle voice in a deep, rich tone from the other side of the shriveled and gnarled oak door.
“Lord Rasmus, I have your washbasin and some food to break your fast.”
Rasmus shambled to the door and undid the latches, pulling it open to reveal Poldrick, the antediluvian manservant of the estate. Even when Rasmus was a child, Poldrick had always been throughout the manor, seemingly always where he was required. No one could ever quite remember Poldrick as a young, or even middle-aged, man. He seemed to exist in the inevitable hollow space in the time continuum for decrepit manservants of noble houses that seemed to age just as everyone else, but yet draw breath on and on as the generations rolled past. The court wizard Aric had always commented that Poldrick must be a mage of remarkable potency to be able to transport himself from one side of the house to another without the use of a bier. Yet, somehow, the crackled old bones of the man always appeared to serve him well, as he could move with great haste from one end of the manor to another when called upon.
Poldrick now tottered into the chamber on his impliable and stiff legs, placing a granite bowl filled to the brim with steaming water on the table, followed by the silver tray from which it had come. On the tray sat a delightful assortment of fruits, vegetables, and succulent meat, steaming and emitting a scent of gooseberries and cinnamon. From somewhere in the unfathomable recesses of his waistcoat, he produced a dusty bottle of spiced cider, pouring a liberal portion of the bottle into a shining goblet encrusted with designs of leaves and acorns.
Rasmus fell on the fare with the ravenous appetite of a man starved and relieved from the hassles of life. Poldrick watched impassively while Rasmus finished, and then turned his perpetually red-rimmed, piercing blue eyes to Rasmus again.
“Once it is convenient, my lord, your mother wishes to see you, as does your father.”
Rasmus nodded and thanked the elderly servant, who picked up the tray, leaving the washbasin, and shuffled out the door, closing it behind him with a click. Rasmus dipped his hands into the gentle heat of the water and splashed some on his face. As he did so, he noticed his reflection in the cloudy liquid. His hair was back to its sandy chestnut tint, as it was before the incident in the Mire. The lines too were vanished from his features, and he appeared as a man half his age again. He flashed his old, charming grin and dressed hurriedly in his wonderfully cobalt blue surcoat, trimmed in silver thread and stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, pulling his boots on as he went.
Though torches were burning cheerily in the hall, and a long crimson rug covered the center of the flagstoned path, the air had a chill that was unexplainable, and a shadow that accented everything it touched. Rasmus advanced uneasily down the hall, reaching the spiraled staircase that traveled down to the main branch of the west wing, and from thence to the Lord’s Hall. He descended the stairs, his boots thumping hollowly on the age-weathered stone and sending up slight drifts of soot. Before much time had passed, he had reached the bottom of the stairwell, and could glimpse the archway to the west wing. As he rounded the corner, he felt a strange, enigmatic compulsion to turn his head to glance down the extensive corridor. When he did so, he caught sight of motion in the darkness behind him. None of the torches in the rest of the west wing were lit, save for those leading to the Lord’s Hall, and suddenly Rasmus felt a pressing urge to escape the tenebrous confines of the murky passageway he was in. A faint rhythmic noise on the edge of hearing thrust him from his numbness, and he hastened down the hallway to the door to the Lord’s Hall, fumbling with the latch and slipping through the door. He was all too sure that the noise had sounded like the tapping of a claw on the flagstones.
A slight breeze touched the back of his neck and he spun, expecting to find himself in the vaulted chamber of the Lord’s Hall. Instead, he found himself in the garden, surrounded by hedges and flowering bulbs in a myriad of colors ranging from carmine red to indigo to amber gold. They released a sweet, sickly scent as Rasmus spun around and found himself gazing at a path through the bushes instead of a door, as he expected. Farther along the path, he could faintly see a shape sitting on one of the stone benches beneath a cherry tree, a bubbling brook meandering through the clearing as though on a quest. The figure was singing to itself quietly, and Rasmus found that he recognized the voice as his mother’s. He hurried down the path, and came upon his mother, Lady Eveline turning the pages in a dusty old volume, its cracked black leather cover visible, but the name hidden. Upon his entrance, she stopped singing and smiled sweetly at him.
“Ah, Rasmus. Come, sit with me.”
Rasmus found himself obeying, despite his dubiety, and sitting upon the cool stone of the bench. It was carved to look like three men holding up a slab of stone, with carvings upon the edge that showed faces upon faces of hundreds of people, all with the same nose, chin, and basic facial resemblances. He sat down heavily, turning to his mother, and asking,
“What is it, mother? Poldrick said ye wanted to see me, as did father.”
At the mention of his father, Lady Eveline’s affectionate smile faded, and faint lines creased her brow. She sighed,
“Sometimes I wish your father would just leave the manor and the estate. I feel that it is not substantial enough for his self-importance, and he is harming it, don’t you see?”
A leaf drifted down from the canopy above and landed in Rasmus’ eyes. His mother brushed it away, laughing once more. She eagerly held the book she was reading up for inspection.
“See Rasmus? I’m taking an interest in your pastimes!”
Rasmus tried to read the yellowed and ancient pages, but they contained nothing but anomalous characters in some esoteric and incomprehensible script. Something about the symbols seemed to kindle a small, sputtering flame in his recollection, but he found himself unable to completely confine the thought. His mother watched him owlishly, nervous concern playing on her features.
“This is what you like, is it not, Rasmus? I found it in the manor and just knew you had to see it!”
Rasmus hesitated for a moment, and then nodded, handing the book back to Lady Eveline. She grasped it hungrily and began reading through it again. A brief noise, like a shout echoed through the garden, slightly recognizable as a calling of Rasmus’ name. Lady Eveline’s excitement faded instantly, and her eyes grew stoic and determined. She pushed Rasmus up from the seat and pointed towards a path opening in the hedges, leading to another door, flanked by flickering torches. She stated, in a monotone voice, devoid of all pleasure and mirth,
“Your father is calling you, go and see him directly.”
Rasmus found himself treading along the path towards the door warily. A faint noise, like a sob, bloomed behind him, but when he whirled around, ready to comfort his mother, she was gone, hidden by hedges and briars. Rasmus uncertainly turned and crept towards the door, which swung open at his proximity. Inside there was only darkness, void of all light, even the illumination from the garden. Rasmus halted at the threshold, mounting the courage to enter the forbidding chamber. A soft voice from inside drew him in,
“Son, come in please.”
Rasmus took a hesitant step inside the chamber, and the door flung itself closed, vanishing into the inky blackness behind him. He stood, unmoving, in the gloom for a moment before a candle flared in the shadows and he saw his father sitting at an ornate, polished redwood table. The candle sat in the center of the table, and his father sat on the opposite end from Rasmus, poring over a small, antique-looking volume. He glanced up and smiled at Rasmus.
“For Kalron’s sake, lad, sit down. I’ve got a gift for you. Don’t you know it’s been sixteen years since we’ve all been settled here together? Oh, I know the manor’s been passed down, inherited, but it’s been sixteen since we’ve really been settled.”
Rasmus still hesitated, and his father’s grin diminished a minute portion. He spoke again, somewhat more forcefully,
“Sit down, lad!”
Rasmus uncertainly plodded towards the ornate chair on the opposite side of the table from his father and sat down. His father’s grin returned at its previous vigor and he pulled a small golden bell from a pocket of his overcoat, chiming it and calling out,
“Poldrick! Fetch Rasmus’ present, would you?”
He replaced the bell in his pocket and smiled at Rasmus.
“I think you’ll like this gift. I don’t understand it much myself, but it certainly seems like something you’d want.”
He shrugged and continued,
“Anyways, I heard you talking to your mother. Pleasant enough woman, but it grows tiresome to share this manor with her sometimes, lad. She never talks to me you know, never capitulates to my requests at all.”
As he spoke, Rasmus’ father poured two goblets full of a strange amber liquid that flowed like syrup and sparkled in the candlelight. Rasmus watched him replace the ornate gilded flask the liquid came from beneath the table and slide one of the goblets over to Rasmus.
“This is a brew of my own design, lad. It’s rather potent, but I want to know your opinion.”
When Rasmus brought the goblet to his lips, his father raised a hand,
“Not just yet. Wait until Poldrick brings your gift, they go together, you know. Just give me a moment, I’ll get some more light.”
Rasmus nodded and placed the goblet back on the table. His father stood up from the table and disappeared into the gloom, returning a minute later with an ornate bronze lantern. He lit it with the flame from the candle, and Rasmus gained a steady look at his father for the first time since entering the chamber.
His father was dressed in his usual attire, a crimson tunic with elegant black boots and cuffs. His overcoat, however, was not the azure blue that Rasmus had known, but a deep maroon, bordered with inky black stria. His dark chestnut hair was combed back into a sweeping slicked back style, and his teeth shone white and clear beneath his sharp, lupine features and sky blue eyes. His father sat again, holding up the tome he had been reading from.
“Interesting things, in this book. Spirits and secrets and other such intriguing subjects, all with a group of heroes trying to do their very best, Kalron save them. You know,”
He leaned forward conspiratorially,
“If you have any goals or pressing desires, you should follow them, Rasmus. Do what is proper, but do what you must to maintain our family honor and hereditament. I’m invariably with you, don’t forget.”
A brief shuffling noise from behind Rasmus alerted him to the approach of Poldrick. His father grinned when he saw what Poldrick brought,
“Ah, your gift! Wonderful! You might want to take a sip of that dram now, lad.”
Rasmus took a taste of the saccharine liquid, and felt an excruciating fire course through his veins. Everywhere the poison passed, he felt his body go numb and unfeeling. He slumped to the side, his head lolling senselessly on the back of the chair. His father beamed, chuckled, and declared,
“It’s for the pain, you know…”
Poldrick placed something clammy on the side of Rasmus’ temple, and to his horror, it began to crawl towards his ear. Lord Thaddeus laughed and snuffed out the light, leaving Rasmus in the dark motionless as the creature began to slither into his ear.
Rasmus awakes in a freezing sweat, clamping a hand to his ear. The strange sensation is gone, but the lingering thoughts still wait in his mind. He whispers into the cold dawn air,
"Not again..."
He sighs, and dresses and washes. After, he makes his way to the Temple of Conn to await the others.
Deshe stays at the lawgiver's hall for much of what remains of the day. He feels sure there was something he should remember. It prickles and nettles at the back of his mind, and to no end frustrates him.
Some symbol perhaps? Lore or secrets? Surely there was some hint he had missed while down there. He tries to research and find what he had lost or forgotten.
He asks around and researches for anything that could be what he's looking for.
Rasmus sets the meeting place and time, tomorrow morning at the temple before setting off. His evening runs its course at The Wobblin’ Goblin and though the nights rest was welcomed, the sudden jolt awake was not. Gathering his belongings, and checking his ear from time to time, Rasmus puts a hand in his pocket.
There is a piece of paper within. Pulling it free, it is gently folded into the shape of a crane in flight.
There is writing within the paper. The script is ornate and delicate. The ink has been dried using gold dust. You do not know the language of the writing.
Nanna Telena continues cooking but gives Dargys a glance over her shoulder. “You be careful over there. There’s that Crooked House that will eventually collapse and the gods be with anyone trapped in the rubble.” she sips the broth; “Just right!” tapping the ladle to get the last drops off; “Odd situations or strange people?” shaking her head; “What are you getting caught up in? There’s always rumors about, but who is to believe what?” shaking her head; “I was in the market and ran into a group of old maids going on about the new priestess, the money of the repairs, and that she must have been bought off to support the mayor…” waving the ladle as if she was swatting the idea away; “pretty young thing won’t stand a chance if they keep going on.”
Getting some bowls; “That’s enough of this business, get the table ready and I’ll finish this up.” If Dargys brings up Founders Way or Antero Kalervo Nanna just shushes at it. Not in a covering something up kind of way, but just that she has had enough of that kind of talk and it won’t be happening in her kitchen.
Deshe spends his time studying trying to remember any of the symbols; he is able to jot down a crewd version of the symbol he saw on the banner. As he produces this image it turns out to be the symbol of Orcus. The demon lord of the undead and those who have made the vile choice to practice necromancy.
The night goes on as expected at a tavern. Music by the trio that was here the night before, drunks drinking and gambling. When trying his hand at dice there is discussion of a plague wreaking havoc in Ashford, but also talk of Valentin’s lost treasure in the “Shadowed Keep.” It’s hard to get straight answers as this table of dicers is drinking heavily. Because of this Alistair not only wins enough to pay for dinner and his drinks, but walks away with a little extra gold in his pocket.
After the night gives little info but a good return, he heads home to crash for the evening. He enters the house silently and slinks off to his bed.
Rasmus wakes with a start, the morning chill seeping into his bones despite the warmth of his bedroll. He sits up slowly, his eyes adjusting to the dim light of dawn. As he gathers his belongings, his hand brushes against something unfamiliar in his pocket. With a curious frown, he pulls out a delicate paper crane, its craftsmanship intricate and precise.
"Hmm, what's this?"
he murmurs, his voice soft yet resonant with the wisdom of years. His weathered fingers unfold the crane with a surprising gentleness, revealing an ornate script dusted with gold. The writing is elegant, almost regal, but entirely foreign to him.
Rasmus studies the script, his eyes reflecting both curiosity and determination.
"This is somethin' special, no doubt,"
he muses, recalling his noble past and the many mysteries he'd unraveled. The old ranger in him senses a significant clue, one that can't be ignored.
Despite his usual wariness of arcane mages and their "flauntin' of nature," he knows they're his best hope for deciphering this message. With a thoughtful nod, he pockets the note, resolving to seek their help.
"Time to visit those sorcerers,"
he decides with a hint of a smile.
"Sometimes, even old dogs must learn new tricks."
He waits awhile for the others at the Temple of Conn to tell them where he's going, and then he goes to visit the mages.
"Should probably check in on the others, Dargys and the like..."
Before setting off to visit the mages, Rasmus decides to pay a visit to Dargys' family. He makes his way to their modest home, the coziness of the surroundings bringing a sense of calm. Nanna Telena is bustling about the kitchen, the smell of a hearty broth wafting through the air.
After sharing a meal, listening to Nanna Telena's gossip, and bidding farewell to Dargys’ family, Rasmus feels a renewed sense of determination. The warmth of the family interaction bolsters his resolve. He sets off towards the mages’ enclave with a thoughtful nod. Sometimes, even an old dog must learn new tricks.