"A reminder of old times best left forgotten. I prefer not to dwell upon it. Let us be on our way, wherever that may be."
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Adimov follows Lorrent outside once the conversation seems to have reached it's conclusion. "Well, don't I feel the fool. Now that I'm done sticking my foot in my mouth, where do we venture to next?"
"Yes, I was… caught off guard. I feel terribly foolish about the whole matter. My humblest apologies for disturbing your deputy's sleep, constable."
"Neither I nor my companions are typical of Ustalav. Nor, would it seem, are you." "Perhaps we should introduce ourselves. This is Inquisitor Lorrent, of the Church of Phrasma. Our foreign voiced friend is Xaeken, a traveler from far-off Tian Xia. And I am Adimov, a... problem solver, for matters such as these." Adimov gestures to his two companions, and bows low after introducing himself.
"I can't speak for my new-found comrades," Adimov grins, "but as a matter of fact, yes. Of course I usually tend to be right, but let's not allow that to damped your jest." "You seem neither overly surprised nor concerned about restless spirits." There is a question in his tone.
"I clicked the latch. The door opened. It wasn't locked. When I saw no one was about I called and received no answer. I knocked at the back door, and opened it just enough to see the blood. Then I went to get help." "If I may be so bold. We've heard from reputable sources that there is ill-magic about. It's said that there are ghosts about as well, particularly around the old prison north of town. This is exactly the sort of thing one sees in a haunting."
"I was the one who opened the door, and spied the blood." says Adimov, stepping fully into the room. "I'll swear on whatever holy books you'd care to offer that the story is just as the man told it. The door was neither locked nor barred, and you'll find that nothing is missing from the shop. But if you want to blame someone for the ruckus, then I'm your man."
Finding nothing upstairs, Adimov returns to the shop below, pausing in the open doorway as he hears the conversation between Lorrent and the shop owner.
"Empty!" Adimov looks around for any signs of when the room was last occupied, or anything that might explain where the owner has gone.
"I... there was a huge pool of blood on this very spot. T'was practically a river flowing down the steps. I swear it was so." He begins to bound up the stairs. "We must find the shop keep."
Adimov curses under his breath, as he chokes back the bile that rises in his throat. He swings the door closed again, and takes a moment to compose himself. He turns and exits the building as quickly as he can, standing confused in the morning light for a moment. Spying the jail just next door, he strides purposefully in that direction. He bursts through the door, face as white as a sheet, obviously surprised to see Lorrent and Xaekin already here. "Where is the constable?" he says in a commanding voice. "There's blood everywhere in the backroom of the apothecary shop next door, I think there's been a murder!"
Adimov raps on the back door. "Anyone about?" If no response is forthcoming, he will try the door to see if it's locked.
Bereft on anyone to speak with, Adimov gently pokes around the shop, looking for a side door or perhaps a back room where the owner might be found.
"Hello?" calls Adimov. "The shop door was open. Is anyone about?"
"I'll not keep you from your lessons." Adimov bows genteelly and steps out, shutting the door behind him. Not seeing Lorrent or Xaeken on the street, he heads to his next destination, the Apothecary shop.
"I gave up my name some years ago. Those with reason to know me call me Adimov." "Unfortunately I'm no arcanist, or I suspect I'd quickly become your best customer. Though if events develop as they often do for me, I may yet find myself in the market for your wares. Rumor has it that there are ghosts in this area, particularly around the old prison north of town."
Adimov strides up to the door and taps lightly twice, before letting himself inside. "Pardon me," he says, "I took this for a shop, but it looks more a classroom. I hope I am not intruding." "I'm new in town, and unfortunately I feel I may have made a poor introduction of myself yesterday. I'm hoping to change that today." He extends his hand to robed man.
As the trio marches their way to the northern bridge Adimov says little, mulling over in his head the encounter with the preist. With such ignorant and self-serving clergy, is it any wonder that darkness has been allowed to fester in the heart of this town? It is burns in Adimov's heart that he must go behind the Father's back, but this is why he has sworn himself to this path. He must protect the innocent, even if it means bending the rules. When the reach the town square he looks about at the signs outside the buildings, and at the townspeople attending to their early morning business. "The Laughing Demon, The Silk Purse... ill names. Perhaps we should each explore on our own for a bit, lest we startle these people. I don't think they're accustomed to strangers tarrying in their midst overly long," he says. "I think I'll have a look at the Unfurled Scroll, and then perhaps the Apothecary. If anyone tries to kill you, just yell."
"Suits me well enough. Lead the way."
"Nightfall will likely be the best time. Let us go and see what this town has to offer."
Adimov narrows his eyes at the blustering priest, but takes the que from Lorrent. He turns on his heel and storms out.
"The things we seek are tools to ward off evil spirits, hidden in a false crypt by your predecessors, likely because they knew what pigheaded fools were likely to take their places. I'm surprised they even trust you with sharp objects." Adimov bangs his fist on the table for effect, and sticks a finger right in the old preist's face. "If you have an iota of sense, you'll let us into that crypt. Otherwise, the blood of every person in this town will be on your hands."
"Evil, when left to fester, will flourish in even the tiniest niche," says Adimov, glowering at the priest. "I've seen things you wouldn't believe, Father. Acts too unspeakable to even describe in this holy place. If Lorrimor was right, a great darkness is coming—one that will consume this town in blood, and death. We aim to stop that from happening, and we need your help."
"I could have a look, but I bet the other doors are locked as fast as that. Xaeken, you check the right side, I'll have a look down the left." Adimov walks as far as the corner of the building, and looks to see if there's another door visible, then strolls back to where Lorrent is waiting.
"I find that the faithful often prefer to sit safely behind thick stone walls when trouble rears its head," says Adimov. "Present company not included, obviously," he adds, nodding at Lorrent. "So how long do we wait out in the cold?"
"I suppose we should have a look around this crypt, then."
"To the question of who we might suspect, I do not think we can answer that question without speaking to the townsfolk. And after our encounter in the graveyard we are probably not well liked." Adimov looks out the kitchen windows at the omnipresent rain that had been falling steadily since before dawn. "Evening services will be soon, I imagine. And I think I could do with a walk about the town to stretch my legs, after spending all this time pouring over books. I might even exchange a pleasantry or two with some of the locals." "Perhaps we can each attend to one task or another this evening, and if all goes well we might pay a visit to Harrowstone itself tomorrow, in the light of day."
Adimov adds that Lorrimor apparently fell face first when he died, and Harrowstone is "supposedly" haunted. It may be that this is the Whispering Way's base of operations, or a site of importance to them.
"And I'll see if I can find anything in Ravengro's history that might shed light on the current situation."
"I will not sit idly by why such evil lurks so near. But I appreciate that bold action will only alert these monsters that we suspect them, and rally the townsfolk against us. I will be patient, for now." "In the meantime, the tea is growing cold. Let us slate our appetites, and then perhaps we might busy ourselves with a perusal of your library."
"This definitely explains the ire of that rabble. Were I to see any one of these books alone I would mark its owner for a practitioner of blackest evil. That the professor was not corrupted by these tomes is surely proof that he was a saint among men." "Unfortunately the same cannot be said for most men. Obviously The Way had some hand in the professor's end, and unopposed will unleash some greater evil upon the world. I think I will need to pay a visit to Harrowstone myself, and soon."
"I mislike the sound of these entries," says Adimov, grimly.
"I feel I may have heard the Whispering Way spoken of in hushed tones before, though I can't say I know anything more about them than the name. But Lorrimor names them necromancers, and more, and that I cannot ignore." He reaches into the chest and picks out some of the other tomes. "What else is in this box that Lorrimor so feared might fall into the wrong hands?"
Adimov looks visibly disturbed for a fleeting moment by the revelation of the Tengu, and for a split second his eyes dart to a knife which sits eagerly on the nearby counter. But the moment passes. An unusual creature, but he's obviously friendly and was an acquaintance of the professor, he thinks to himself. "I've not seen your type before, Xaeken, but if Lorrimor called you a friend then I shall do the same." "I'll do the honors, Miss Kendra." Adimov extends his hand and takes the key from Kendra. [b]"I suppose you should all stand back," he says, completely deadpan but followed with a wry grin. He sticks the key in the chest and twists.
Adimov does not worship any particular god, but does pay respect to the gods as a pantheon, and recognizes the good that they bring to the world. As a paladin he is not a member of any order or group, believing that such things would only be a distraction from his path. Rather he follows a personal code which compels him to wander the world, seeking out evil to combat in places where others might not go. The code itself is general paladin stuff: Protect the innocent, punish the wicked, help the helpless, strike down corruption, and destroy the undead wherever they are found.
Adimov looks to his two new compatriots. "Food preparation is not among my skills, but I believe my tea brewing to be above par. Let us make our way to the kitchen and see what can be done. If we're lucky, the Professor might even have left us some cream in the ice cellar." He marches ahead towards the kitchen. He rummages through drawers and cabinets, assembling a tea service from among the odds and ends that litter the cluttered kitchen, and stoking the stove to boil some water.
"Obviously he's eager to quit this place, so let him go," says Adimov. "Miss Kendra, it would be my duty and honor to remain in Ravengro for the time being, in accordance with your father's wishes. Perhaps in that time we might be able to resolve whatever lingering business might have been left behind. "For right now, however, I think perhaps some food and hot drinks might do us all a world of good, and then we can speak amongst ourselves."
"Aye. I'd be interested to know what caused that uproar at the lichyard. If it's the Professor's wish that we remain here for a month, we should know what we're dealing with."
After the priest sits, Adimov stands. "I can't say I knew the professor well. We met only once, though it was quite the adventure. But in that short time he proved himself to contain more nobility than any noble I've met. He was a good, honest man who sought the truth above all else. I would say 'the world is a dimmer place for his absence,' but we all know that is not the case. Everywhere he went, Lorrimor lit a fire in the hearts of those he met. It burns in me, as I am sure it burns within all of you." "The light from those fires will, in time, far outshine that one beacon. That is the legacy of Professor Lorrimor, and the sacred duty which each of us is called to. To shine the light of truth upon the world, and call out for others to do the same." Adimov turns to the grave, "Goodbye, Lorrimor. You were the best of us."
"Let's. Before any more pointless distractions inflict themselves upon us," says Adimov, holstering his pistol. He returns to the waiting coffin, and prepares to hoist it back up.
Adimov looks grimly at the man on the ground, and begins to reload his pistol, careful to keep the steady rain from his powder. "I assume that will be the end of this sad pageant?" he says to the crowd at large, gun still firmly in hand.
Adimov steps forward, his boots crunching in the mud, until he is even with where Kendra stands. He draws his pistol slowly, leveling the weapon at the crowd in front of him. "I'll harm no peaceful man. But anyone who steps forward will prove his ill intention, and I'll not hold back. You can still choose to stand aside," he says. "I'd step back, miss."
"You would threaten violence against servants of the gods, on holy ground, while laying the dead to rest? I thought that the men of Restov were good, honest folk. You dishonor yourselves and your people by your actions," says Adimov, bluntly. "Step aside, and I swear that whatever ill may have been done, I'll set it right. But this man deserves be to buried in peace."
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