Nothing on the posting poles today looks to be of much interest: there's a paper advertising someone being in the market for new pitchforks and being open to price offers, another message in different handwriting seeking help for a part-time farm hand twice a week, and a crude message writen in a hastily scrawn message accusing a woman named Tanis Danrel of promiscuity. Sofia and Frejia find the exact same listings, nothing of interest there at all helping to illustrate any meaningful information.
Which leads you soon to to Kendra's home once more. Kendra has prepared tea, and insists you all gather in the living room to discuss matters comfortably, starting to dote on her new guests and be as good and proper a hostess as she can. "The last thing we need is for anybody to go without a moment of rest. There is much to do, much to do." She even takes coats and cloaks, doing her best to try and tend to you as best she can, never staying still.
With fresh cups of tea in front of you, as well as more jam and bread, you finally reconvene to discuss what you have discovered.
You've finished this library so now it's just a matter of waiting for the groups to converge back on the home right now. There's more research to do but you need to find and get access to those libraries first.
"I don't know what upset him, I'm sorry. Sometimes a word will set him off, and none of us acolytes know why. When I first began my studies, they took me aside and warned me to be careful with my words around him, because sometimes it would set him off and nobody has figured out why. I don't think it's anything you did or anything about the ruins in particular." He has an apologetic and mournful look on his face. "Most times I've seen it happen, it seems to be about looking into rumours around here, hauntings and matters of the like. Once, a young girl from a nearby village was brought by her parents, claiming she was possessed. He lockeed himself for a week in his room, refusing to come out except to give a letter of recommendation to an old colleague in Lepitstadt. I never did find out what happened to her." As you exit the temple, he returns to the ladder and his cleaning duties, his limp making it a slow and awkward climb up. "If I do hear anything, I will try to let you know, okay?"
"Can't say I remember much at all about her. Dressed like a traveler, dark skinned, and her accent was definitely foreign. Far foreign. That is about all I know. Sorry I can't be of more help ladies, and again, I am sorry for your loss." He gives a respectful bow of his head. "And if there is anything else you ladies need help with, don't hesitate to ask. I heard Gibbs caused some trouble for you, and if he does it again I'll give him a stern talking to."
Elisa and Christoph:
"He wanted to look at records about the prisoners. Burials, whose bodies were identified, those sorts of matters." Something in Christoph's explanation strikes a nerve, as the old man stiffens up quickly. "If you wish to investigate those blasted ruins yourself then you may feel free to, Voice, but we are simple priests here tending to a small community, not ghost hunters.I will not involve my congregation in such poppycock. Not again. One man has already died over that foolishness. If all you want is to go poking around the ruins, you may do so without our help. Aldous, escort our guests out. You may come to this temple to pray, as all are welcome to, but your 'business' is your own!"
Elisa measures the professor's demeanor, which seemed fairly relaxed and genuine until Christoph's remark, at which point something in that unnerves him greatly. He doesn't seem to be lying, but certainly bothered by something and not being entirely forthcoming about his feelings.
With an apologetic sigh, Aldous begins to lead you out of the temple, the limping boy waiting until Father Grimburrow has stormed off before sighing, "I'm sorry. I don't know why he gets like that sometimes. It would be best not to push, he is a very stubborn man."
Through hours of steady research, the pieces begin to emerge, perhaps with a little bit of luck from the right books coming up at the right times to begin to paint the picture, as you find all the relevant books and soon have as complete a sense of the Whispering Way as it seems the professor's books can allow.
The Whispering Way Research Results:
KP 9: The Whispering Way is a sinister organization of necromancers that has been active in the Inner Sea region for thousands of years.
KP 6: Agents of the Whispering Way often seek alliances with undead creatures, or are themselves undead. The Whispering Way’s most notorious member was Tar-Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant, although the society itself has existed much longer than even that mighty necromancer.
KP 3: The Whispering Way itself is a series of philosophies that can only be transferred via whispers—the philosophies are never written or spoken of loudly, making the exact goals and nature of the secretive philosophy difficult for outsiders to learn much about.
KP 0: Exact details on the society are difficult to discern, but chief among the Whispering Way’s goals are discovering formulae for creating liches and engineering the release of the Whispering Tyrant. Agents often travel to remote sites or areas plagued by notorious haunts or undead menaces to perform field research or even to capture unique monsters. Their symbol is a gagged skull, and those who learn too many of the Way’s secrets are often murdered, and their mouths mutilated to prevent their bodies from divulging secrets via speak with dead.
Christoph and Elisa:
"Give me a moment to think about this. It was almost a month ago, you understand." The old priest takes a moment to think, considering things and looking back over his shoulder for a moment to the young acolyte, muttering something to him about deputies before turning back toward you. "He was brought here by Sheriff Caeller and two of his deputies. And yes, he did come a few days before he was found. We do have records here, and I did let him spend an afternoon looking at them, but only thanks to a rather sizable donation he offered to make. I thought little of it at the time, just a macabre interest from an academic. If I would have known he intended to visit the ruins for some strange reason I would have forbidden it no matter the amount he offered."
"It seemed to be the case, yes. His head was crushed, which was what forced us to make it a closed casket. Absolute tragedy. For belongings..." He furrows his big, wrinkled brow a moment. "I cannot think of anything out of the ordinary. Just common possessions, some pocket change... It was given to his daughter, and I cannot think of anything out of the ordinary on his person."
Sofia and Freija:
"Oh, I see. You were friends of the professor." He doffs his hat and bows hs head as he shakes your hands. "You have my condolences. He was a good man. I did not know him too well personally, but he was hardly the witch some around here believed him to be.
"As far as his death, I was sent out to toward the old ruins by someone bringing a tip to me. I can't remember her face at all, I don't think she was local. Said she was passing through and wanted to look at the famous ruins, and found him lying there, head crushed under some stone. I brought a couple deputies, and we found him lying there. It was a horrible sight. The head of an old gargoyle statue had fallen off, must have been about thirty feet high, and it came down onto his head. Just an absolute horror. One of my deputies threw up, the poor boy. We never see anything so bad around here usually. We moved the stone as best we could and brought him to the church to be given last rites. Didn't look through his pockets at all; it was an accident, and the dead don't need that kind of disrespect." He offers a weary sigh. "It's not much help, I know that, but I believe your friend went quickly. It's tragic, but he wouldn't have felt anything."
"It is nice to meet you too. I could certainly take you to him! I am only in training, so I couldn't speak with authority about anything or know what Father Grimburrow would be willing to tell anyone. Please, come with me." Aldous invites you into the church with him, limping his way toward the door and, upon opening it, holding it for you. He does so by leaning his body weight up against the door, rather than holding it by the handle. He leads you to a hall by the altar and bids you to wait here, before retrieving Father Grimburrow, who in the darker conditions of the temple lit only by dour, gray-filtered daylight coming in through the windows, looks even dustier.
"I understand you have questions for me," the old man says as he walks forward, the acolyte limping on behind him. "I prepared the professor's body. There was not much that could be done for him with his face in the state it was. For closed casket ceremonies like that, I simply keep them under a gentle repose spell and keep them in a cold room in the basement, to ensure they are whole when they are put into the ground."
"Father always knew precisely where to put books. He wasn't loud about it, but sometimes I would finish with something, and he would come into the room, immediately see it was out of order, and begin switching things back into place. He surely had something, but I cannot for the life of me understand what." She shrugs, and as Mihaela draws nearer, she eases up on her posture a little bit. "I feel as fine as anyone could, I suppose. I appreciate the thought, but right now there isn't much that can be done for me. I've had a lot of days to mourn, but seeing him put in the ground brought a lot of that back again, and then the news in his letter... It is difficult to think that this is all happening." She places a hand on your shoulder and sighs. "The only help I feel I need right now is justice." But just as quickly as she puts on a strong face, she finds herself collapsing against the older woman, pulling her into a too-tight hug and shivering, everything about the way that she breathes and the tightness of her grasp to Mihaela that she is barely holding back the tears again.
The study is full of books, and given the sensitive nature of the topic it's more than likely he would have kept any books about the whispering way secret and in his office, as you begin to burn through the many tomes and hefty volumes awaiting you. Petros's cluttered personal library is not only disorganized but it is hefty, providing a myriad of options and red herrings that don't seem too easy to avoid. Still, there are many books that need only a quick skim or a push through to realize they wouldn't provide any help; it is matters of cults and secret societies that draw your eyes, and the two of you work together to work through books, theses, essays, and even some journals that the professor has from others in pursuit of the information you seen.
It is Arcana or Religion to delve into the matter; Mihaela has Arcana so let's go with that one so she can Aid Another.
1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7
So that's a no. Ellie, your roll to reduce the Knowledge Points is going to be a 1d8+Int, plus an additional 1 for how over the Complexity score you are.
Nah if you guys want to post your stuff plain it's fine; I'm more blocking things off with spoilers so that people can easily see when a section is meant for them, since a three-way-split party can run the risk of some wildly different response times depending on how everyone syncs up and if posts get a bit out of step, this helps keep everyone at least knowing at a glance what's their stuff to deal with. In a situation where the party is split, spoiler tags aren't meant to keep information away and you guys are free to read the other spoilers and see what's happening; it's only for when people are together and I'm singling people out with information that we need to worry about anything different.
F#&*, I could have sworn I had edited the page with all of that. But now they're in for real real and I've made sure they're actually on the page this time.
As you head out of the inn with your possessions, the sky cracks with another looming threat of the incoming storm. You take your leave and split off to your respective goals.
Elisa and Christoph:
The temple to Pharasma is the only religious structure in Ravengro, and it is also the most elaborate building by far. Its eastern side displays an intricate stained glass mural depicting a stern Pharasma casting judgment over some man neither of you recognize by depiction. It is very well kept, and even now one of the acolytes tends to it on the outside, cleaning off the outside and ensuring the temple remains pristine even in this otherwise very dirty and grimy farming town. The acolyte turns toward you as you approach, noticing the garb Christoph wears in particular and nodding as he steps down from the ladder. He wears his robes with his hood drawn up high, and the robes themselves look ill-fitting, too baggy and loose on him.
"Greetings," the acolyte says, sounding like a very young man, perhaps just a faint bit too young for service, nodding slowly as he makes his way toward you, and there is a noticeable limp in his gait. "You are the guests from the professor's funeral, I believe? I heard mention one of them was a Voice." He extends a hand toward both of you, Elisa first then Christoph, to shake. "My name is Aldous. Is there anything I can help you with? Father Grimburrow tasked me to wash off the walls, but it seems we have a storm coming our way and that will likely do much of the work for me."
Sofia and Freija:
Ravengro's jail might be the smallest a jailhouse could possibly be. Inside, there sits a couple desks, only one of which is occupied at the moment, while beyond him sit a few small cells, all of which are empty at the moment. The man sitting at the desk is a few days unshaven, with a weathered hat upon his head that unkempt black hair pokes out from, and a leather jacket that looks beaten and worn down from many years of reliable use and only maintenance when absolutely necessary. A badge pinned to his jacket reads "Sheriff".
He looks up at you from his paperwork, and quickly straightens his posture out a little bit. "Ladies," he says, nodding politely and rising up to meet you. "Hello, I am Sheriff Benjan Caeller. What can I help you with?" He circles around front from his table to come closer toward you.
Ellie and Mihaela:
"If you need any help, don't be afraid to ask," Kendra says, placing some tea down on her father's desk as she sets you up in the study. "I wish I knew where all the books you might need to look through are, but father insisted I start from the beginning, so I haven't looked into anything as complicated as this is. I doubt he would have wanted me to, given the circumstances."
Sarianna gives an understanding nod. "I see. Well, Kendra can certainly use the company, so I wish you well with that. Poor girl, losing her father so young. Don't worry about the bills though; it's on the house. You just remember me if you ever find yourselves in need of a drink, alright?" With a reassuring smile, she brushes your bills off.
Elisa, once upstairs:
You seem to be alone.
You guys are also here for a month, so don't feel the need to rush too quickly into everything in the span of a day or anything.
If asked, Sarianna will happily give you directions around town to the different locations you ask about. The campaign info has now been updated with more map locations.
Sarianna gives Elisa and Christoph their drinks, happily plying them with something to soothe them after the rough morning they must have had seeing an old friend to the ground. "They never touched the place again after what happened. Kids tell ghost stories about it, but few are ever brave enough to try and find out how true they might. They built a memorial by the river for it; nobody wanted to touch the ruins as they stood, afraid of what might happen if they did. I've heard some mutter about the idea that the prison is still holding in the spirits of the prisoners there, but that sounds like some fanciful nonsense to me. They put a statue up for the warden to overlook the river, and plates list the names of everyone who died. Any kids looking to play around dangerously and tell ghost stories will usually do it at the memorial instead.
"It's no trouble at all to me if you sort want to go chasing ghost stories, but after what you've just been through, I wouldn't worry too much about it. Get some rest, have a nice meal or two, and you can be on your way without having to worry about a quaint little town and its past anymore."
Elisa and Christoph:
She doesn't come off like she's hiding anything or personally invested in keeping secrets, but there does seem to be something else behind her desire to urge you to leave it alone.
My concern of having everyone hit up a bunch of locations while leaving you and Ellie to sit around waiting after your knowledge checks is definitely a concern on running the myriad of investigatory stuff we've got ahead of us, not sure how people want to handle it.
You sense that Sarianna is slightly off-put and concerned by the curious questions from outsiders turning abruptly to morbid tragedy, and not much more than that.
Sarianna quickly pulls a hanging pint glass down and fills it with mead behind the counter, putting it down in front of Freija before finding a more delicate glass to put some wine for Sofia into, placing it down before her much more delicately. "Already in town long enough to have caught my name?" she asks, something friendly in her voice as she shifted her pose a little bit, interested by where this is going. At least, until mention of Harrowstone, at which point her expression falters just a little bit. "I see," she says, her voice dropping lower. "I don't know why anyone would want to know about a tragedy like that. But certainly, dear.
"I know I'm up in my years, but I didn't retire here long enough ago to be here for Harrowstone. I've gleamed the story over the years, but Ravengro had a prison called Harrowstone. A big one, and if I remember correctly lots of nasty sorts from all over Ustalav. In 4661, so that would be around fifty years, give or take some months, there was a tragic fire. Burned the place out, and most of the guards perished too, cost a lot of people their loved ones that day. It's a sore spot for a lot of the folk old enough to remember it, and that ruin looming up over the hill has a lot of people pretty unhappy. I guess if you needed more, though... Hm. Alendru Ghoroven up the road might have something. He runs a school and magic shop called The Unfurling Scroll. He's told me a little about the prison before, he'd probably be your best chance at learning about it.
As you venture back out into town, the sky continues to rumble and and shudder, the clouds rolling in thicker and darker still, casting a palor over the already washed out and dull colours as you head up the main road north into the town square. The dour sky overhead and the threat of a storm don't seem to bother too many people, who you see off in the distance tending to fields behind their homes. Not as many people stare at you, perhaps if only because the novelty has begun to wear off, though you do see a couple people from the mob that tried to crash the funeral, who look somewhere between bitter and embarrassed as they move past you without a word.
At the Outward Inn, you find the innkeeper leaning over the edge of the counter. "I heard what happened with Gibs. I'm sorry you had to go through that," she sighs. "Can I get you lot a drink?"
Might not be a bad place to warn, if I haven't already in recruitment or anything, that as a DM I am one to take liberties here and there with the system to better suit my needs, maybe doubly so with horror stuff where in some cases Pathfinder actually kind of works against the spooky. So, there'll be deviations here and there from the norm, if it's anything that effects you in a meaningful way it'll be explained so that you're not actively getting f#&*ed over.
"You heard a what?" Kendra asks, looking around nervously. "I can't say I heard anything of the sort, nor did I see anything come down the hall." She furrows her brow a moment. "Strange. In the past few weeks, it's been said that odd happenings around town have bothered people. It's all been brushed off as nonsense by most. Before the funeral, I heard Jominda Fallenbridge talking about it with one of the councilmen--she runs the apothecary in town. Hearthmount seemed deeply unconvinced of her words, and most of the townsfolk consider it to just be peoples' nerves lighting up."
Kendra listens to Elisa's explanation, which is hardly easy for her to hear, but she accepts it for the sake of what's being said, nodding slowly in understanding. "I see. Well, given father's death, I can hardly blame you for wanting to look into things. Um. I believe Sherriff Caeller found him. Someone told him about it, I think? He was found near the ruins of the old prison, some stone had come lose and fell on his head." It's difficult for her to talk about and she looks every bit of it, but she remains steadfast. "His face certainly looked like it had been crushed, at least. Now I'm second-guessing even that. They didn't find much on him, though. Just some rope and a notebook; he'd take one along sometimes to examine things and take notes or runes down. I looked through it, and all it had in it was the word 'Harrowstone', nothing more. He hadn't even started taking notes when he died. Anything he took to fight spirits was definitely not on his person. Aside from the sherriff, I can't think of anyone right now. So many in this town never wanted to get to know my father anyway. Sarianna Vai may know someone who might know something--she runs the inn that you were going to be staying at and knows everyone in town--but I wouldn't know who to talk to personally for information about the prison."
Ellie:
The situation here does not entirely line up with it, but you're reminded of when you studied Haunts. Unquiet spirits that lack the freedom that a true ghost or wraith would have, Haunts follow more rote sorts of routines, often haunting a specific area and following specific routines or priorities. They are still a form of the undead, but they are more complicated in the means of dismantling them, where after being neutralized through positive energy, some steps specific to the haunt itself most be taken to meet conditions that will unravel the haunting and destroy it. It would, however, be possible for a Haunt to manifest once under certain conditions or as part of a broader and more intelligent Haunt spreading its effect over longer ranges in differing ways. Due to it being the power and games of a spectral undead, any such tricks being played by a malevolent Haunt from afar would not be detectable through means of seeking signs of psychic or arcane magic.
Alright, I'll keep that in mind where I think the game might snag a little on stuff. On that note for anyone who ever wants to ask "What Knowledge can I roll for this?" I'll do your rolls on that front too for speediness's sake if you have the right skill.
Kendra looks up at you looking confused, brow furrowing as she wipes some tears away. "I've been in here since I left you be," she says, voice quivering, but unaware of what's distracted you, she seems quick to want to move on from talk of her to something else. "But if you're out now, I take it you have an idea of where to go from here? Is there any help you need in that? I would be more than happy to help you find what you're looking for around the house, or around town."
Sofia does not detect any psychic disturbances or activity in the surrounding area, and as Mihaela rushes into the room, she seems it sitting rather undisturbed, save for the rattle of some branches against the windowsill from the wind starting to quicken and press against a tree outside. Everything sits eerily still, no creaking floorboards or rustling pages to indicate anything is moving at all. It's all just as it should be.
There doesn't seem to be anything out of place save for a painting by the door that sits more crooked than you remember it being when you walked in, and Freija does not pick up on any odd auras or feelings as she reaches out to feel with her magic. The door looks undisturbed and even as Elisa peers deeper into the house, it turns up little in the way of anything out of place. If something was here, it looks to be done now.
You find Kendra sitting in the living room, seated firmly on the couch and trying to wipe away her tears and compose herself. She looks up at you slowly, eyes puffy and red. "Is everything okay?" she asks, and her voice is far from composed or controlled, stuffy with the congestion that's come from all of her crying. Not the voice you heard at all.
Everyone. If there is character-specific experiences/information, it will be tidily kept under a spoiler, or if it's like top level security clearance info, in a PM.
As you open the door, you see no sign of Kendra in the somewhat long hallway that the office sits at the end of. Instead, you hear faint sobbing coming from the far other end of the house, possibly the living room, somewhere Kendra would have had no way to get to so quickly, but the voice is also distinctly Kendra's, and she was at the verge of tears when heading off with the letter.
As you discuss matters, a steady knock thuds against the door. "I'll put on some tea," Kendra's voice calls. Not urgent or imposing, simply an offer for tea. No creaking floorboards track her footsteps to or from the door as she takes her leave. Perhaps more urgent though, is the clapping of thunder outside the window, as midday approaches and the day grows even more dour, the sun choked out as it approaches its apex in the sky and ensuring the brightest part of the day is instead a choked out, pallid warning of the darkness to come. Whatever ill weather awaits you, the storm is drawing nearer.
Alright, I have put up a map of Ravengro in the campaign info, along with the locations you presently know. More will be added as you visit locations and meet the villagefolk. We've got thirty in-game days with this place and you'd better get ready for it, because the game doesn't really do too much with them but expanding the village is part of that whole "make more horror and f#%$ with things" bit I do love so much with APs. I've also added a section to note and expand on NPCs as needed, and to list out the current objectives that the party has at least talked about, just so it's all there and handy to keep on track. PBP is easy to refer back to with everything in post form, but it also works on a scale of time I know is more than a little prolonged, and even my weekly Kingmaker group appreciates having the chance to reference stuff so I figured I'd help keep things a bit organized and easy to call back to.
It's going to be kind of twofold; there is the professor's library which will have the info about the Whispering Way, but for local research there are other libraries, and while those checks will work as they are, you're also going to have to talk your way into getting the locals to like/trust you enough to let you even look into that information. But there are also things outside of research that can be arranged here; townsfolk who may know something, finding out how the professor was found and what happened there, things that aren't directly related to the knowledge rolls. Investigative elements. My only real worry about something like that is having half the party sitting cooped up in a room full of books for a week or two at a time after having made their rolls, while the other half of the party chases more active modes of investigation down.
As far a criminal element though, Ravengro has a population of a little over 300, and there isn't really a criminal element here to be able to talk to.
This is the kind of material you're not going to be able to call on personal knowledge from, one being a secret society and the other being an entire local matter to a city you're not from; hope you like the Research rules because you're going to have to go digging.
"The villagers take a long time to warm up," Kendra agrees, "But they are simply scared and perhaps a little ignorant. Around the time shortly before father's death, people began whispering here and there of intermittent oddities. Screams in the night, little flashes of uncertainty. When he was found dead peeking around ruins, the belief was that he was somehow to blame for it. Outsiders, especially ones on business for him, would be looked at strangely, but I assure you, given some time in the town they will come to understand you pose no danger. By the end of this month they may well be sad to see you go.[b]" It's a hopeful remark, one that maybe comes from a place of naivety, but she doesn't linger on it too quickly, rising up to her feet and taking the key from the table. [b]"Come with me, please. Father's office would be the best place to do this." On that note, she moves to lock the door before guiding you into the room and into the dusty old office, where books sit in an even grander state of disarray and hopelessness, with inkwells, worn down quills, and journals lying about everywhere. Sitting beside the desk is a modestly sized chest, and she moves to slowly open it with the key, looking almost halting and nervous for a moment as she undoes it, as if worried there is something bound to jump out at her.
Instead, she is greeted with a journal, looking much like all of the others sitting around the room but with many more scratches and marks of wear on its leather exterior. In particular, the phrase Read me now! is scratched tight into the leather, exposing the white beneath it with deep, intentional scratches. "Oh my," Kendra says, lifting it up and ignoring for a moment the other books in the chest as she holds it up. "One of father's journals. His will didn't mention anything about it, but clearly he wished for us to see it?" She begins to rifle through it in confusion, furrowing her brow and explaining, "Father kept many journals, meticulously organized by subject so that he had research notes where they were easiest to find, but this looks like one of his personal journals." The rapid turning of paces plays out, and as she does so, it becomes obvious that several entires have been circled with red ink in hasty, sloppy motions. She begins to read off the entries with slight confusion in her voice.
Petros's Circled Journal Entries:
One entry, from a little over ten years ago, reads:
The Whispering Way is more than just a cabal of necromancers. I see that now; undeath is their fountain of youth. Uncovering their motivation does not place me at ease as I thought it might. Their desire to be eternal simply makes them more dangerous. I hesitate to inquire any further, but also wonder if such hesitation would not qualify as destructive ignorance.
Several years of entries go on uncircled until this next one, dated two months ago:
It is as I had feared. The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be?
Then, from one month ago:
Whatever the Way seeks, I am now convinced their goal is connected to Harrowstone. In retrospect, I suppose it all makes sense; the stories they tell about the ruins in town are certainly chilling enough. It may be time to investigate the ruins, but with everyone in town already being so worked up about them, I would rather not let them know about my curiosity. There are plenty of folks hereabouts who already think I'm a demonologist or a witch or something. Ignorant fools.
Twenty days ago:
It is confirmed. The way seems quite interested in something--no, strike that--someone who was held in Harrowstone. But who, specifically, is the Way after? I need a list of everyone who died the night of the fire. Everyone. The Temple of Pharasma must have such a list.
Eighteen days ago:
I see now just how ill prepared I was when I last set out for Harrowstone. I am lucky to have returned at all. The ghosts, if indeed they were ghosts (for I did not find it prudent to investigate further on my own) prevented me from transcribing the same symbols I found etched along the foundation. Hopefully on my next visit I will be more prepared. I almost considered calling for help from an associate, but it feels there is little time for that now, and I would only let the sand run down waiting for someone to answer my call. Thankfully, the necessary tools to defend against spirits are already here in Ravengro. I know that the Church of Pharasma used to store them in a false crypt in the Restlands at the intersection between Eversleep and the Black Path. I am not certain the current clergy even know of what their predecessors have hidden down below. If my luck holds, I should be able to slip in and out with a few borrowed items.
Seventeen days ago, the date the professor's body was found:
This evening i return to the prison. It is imperative the Way does not finish. My caution had already cost me too much time. I am not sure what will happen if I am too late, but if my theory is right, the entire town could be at risk. I don't have time to update my will, so I'll leave this in the chest where it'll be sure to be found, should the worst come to pass.
From inside of the page slips a letter, scrawled in the same handwriting as the journal.
If you are reading this letter, I am very regretful to inform you that I have most certainly perished. This letter would not be but embers were I still drawing breath, and with that in mind, I would like to say that I am sorry. If my dearest Kendra is reading this, please hold back the final paragraphs as they are only for you, and if you are not Kendra, I implore you please let only my daughter read the closing sentences, as they are for my daughter's eyes only.
I am sorry that I cannot tell you more, but in my haste I must run and there is little time to explain all of the many things I must say. But you are a clever lot, and I am certain you will come to learn all the details yourselves before it is too late. What is important for you to know is that it is no coincidence that put each of you in my will. The dark forces that I have worked to study and move against in all of my years have always been a threat, and I realized that were I to perish alone, it would likely be due to forces that endanger the people, and you would all know well that I cannot let such dangers proliferate.
Each of you was put into my will from a position of trust. Across all considerations of capability, intelligence, trustworthiness, and a willingness to do the right thing, each of you are among the best I have ever met in my many years. I apologize, but your placement in my will was as much a contingency as it was a care for each of you; Kendra may need you, but there are others who need you as well. Your thirty days in Ravengro will not be a slow and quiet vacation, I am afraid, because there are matters to attend to, and I hold you in high enough esteem to have entrusted whatever may lead to my death to you. Ravengro is in danger, and Harrowstone is the key to it. I implore you to please consider your choices wisely and to help these people. To keep this evil from spreading and hurting countless people.
By the time that Kendra is finished reading it all, she's in tears again, fingers tightening against the letter as teardrops wet the paper. "I-I will give you some time," she says, walking quickly out with the letter to leave you to talk about what happened or to examine the books, her footfalls sounding more erratic as the door closes behind you and Kendra leaves, perhaps to give herself some isolation rather than to leave you be.
Kendra seems a little shaken by all of it happening at once, nodding slowly and taking a moment to come to answer you. "I would be very thankful if you stayed," she says softly. "I can set you in here, it is no promise to stay here, and in fact I might prefer it. Since father died, the house has been so empty. It never bothered me when he was on trips, but now, knowing he won't be coming back... Company would be very well appreciated. Admittedly, father left me some letters to explain things to me; I couldn't act legally on them until the will was read, but he explained the general extent of what he was leaving me. He'd never sold the home we had in Lepidstadt, the one I grew up in. He said he was worried I may not like Ravengro, and keptheld onto it for if I ever wished to move back to the city or pursue academia. I think now, I may sell this house and move back to the city. It's nicer there. If it is no trouble at all, would you be willing to stay with me while I make the preparations? Perhaps help box up all of these books." She laughs genty. "They will be much more spacious back in the old house. Father bought this place thinking his shelves would fit like they used to, but they don't.
"Oh, right! The books. Would you like to look at the books father needs you to take back? I do not know as much as he did, but perhaps some of you would have clearer ideas of how to handle them if you saw them?"
"At any rate," she sighs, smearing some jam onto a biscuit, "The jam is sold by one of the farmers in town, made from their own crops. I can give you directions before you leave if you wish to pick some up, Mihaela. It is certainly worth stocking up on."
It's just before the silence after her words can really start to become uncomfortable that a knock on the door startles Kendra, who rises quickly up to tend to it. "Councilman Hearthmount, thank you for coming," you hear her say, as she returns into the room with one of the well dressed men from the funeral.
"Greetings," he says tersely as he walks in, carrying a scroll case and a folder with him. He keeps his coat on and even as he enters the room he seems to be just barely out of it, positioning himself in a way that implies he has no intention of staying for a second longer than he needs to. "I am Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, and as solicitor of the Town of Ravengro, it is my duty to read the will of the departed Professor Petros Lorrimor, and to oversee the legal requirements and contingencies placed upon his estate. First, I require a roll call; I will read off your name. Confirm to me directly by stating that you are that person, stating your name in the process as you would when legally swearing an oath." One by one, he goes down the list, sorted alphabetically by your last name and pausing with each one to let you speak up.
Once each of you has confirmed your identities and presence, he lifts the scroll case, showing that at the end of the tube sits the professor's unbroken wax seal. "This tube has not been opened since Professor Lorrimor last committed his will, some six months ago. The case has been sitting in the city hall since that day, undisturbed." Once he has made a note of showing each of you that the seal is unbroken, he breaks the tax. A small iron key falls out of the tube, noisily clattering onto the table, but the councilman remains undaunted as he unravels the scroll and begins to read.
I, Petros Lorrimor, being of sound mind, do hereby commit to this parchment my last will and testament. Let it be known that, with the exception of specific details below, I leave my home and personal belongings entire to my daughter Kendra. Use them or sell them as you see fit, my child.
Yet beyond the bequeathing of personal effects, this document must serve other needs. I have arranged for the reading of this document to be delayed until all principals can be in attendance, for I have more than mere inheritance to apportion. I have two final favors to ask.
To my old friends, I hate to impose upon you all, but there are few others who are capable of appreciating the true significance of what I have to ask. As some of you know, I have devoted many of my studies to all manners of evil, that I might know the enemy and inform those better positioned to stand against it. For knowledge of one's enemy is the surest path to victory over its plans.
And so, over the course of my lifetime, I have seen fit to acquire a significant collection of valuable and dangerous tomes, any one of which in the wrong circumstances could have led to an awkward legal situation. While the majority of these tomes remain safe under lock and key at the Lepidstadt University, I fear that a few I have borrowed remain in my trunk in my Ravengro home. While invaluable for my work in life, in death, I would prefer not to burden my daughter with the darker side of my profession, or worse still; the danger of possessing these tomes myself. As such, I am entrusting my chest of times to you, posthumously. I ask that you please deliver the collection to my colleagues at the University of Lepidstadt, who will put them to good use for the betterment of the cause.
Yet before you leave for Lepidstadt, there is another favour--please delay your journey one month and spend that period of time here in Ravengro to ensure my daughter is safe and sound. She has no one to count on now that I am gone, and if you would aid her in setting things in order for whatever she desires over the course of this month, you would have my eternal gratitude. From my savings, I have also willed to each of you a sum of one hundred platinum coins. For safekeeping, I have left these funds with Embreth Daramid, one of my most trusted friends in Lepidstadt--she has been instructed to issue this payment upon safe delivery of the borrowed tomes no sooner than one month after the date of the reading of this will.
I, Petros Lorrimor, hereby sign this will in Ravengro on this first day of Calistril, in the year 4711.
With that, the councilman places the scroll down onto the table. "If that will be all, I will be on my way. Thank you for your time, and I am sorry for your loss." He does not linger around for questions, starting out of the house immediately and leaving you to have the reality of his words sin in.
Kendra nods thankfully, but as the conversation circles consistently back around toward the latecomer and his impolite speech, Kendra's nods slowly sink down a little bit. "You mean Adivion. Yes, it's... I shouldn't be surprised that you would have an issue with him, he did step out of line a little bit there. That was was Adivion Adrissant. He was my father's star pupil, and spent many years as his assistant. Please, I know he may seem pompous and impolite, but he does mean well; he's a brilliant man, and even my father often sang his praises. But some men end up so brilliant they lose a certain kind of social grace. I'm sure some of you who've been through academia know the sort. Endless knowledge but very short on social grace. Father spent years considering him his best friend, and I've seen the better sides of himl; he's grieving, just like the rest of us, I just think he's worse at hiding it. Please, don't hold it against him too much; when I see him for tea later, I'm certain the first words out of his mouth will be an apology for how he spoke." The speech seems to not be bothering Kendra at all, amid all the many things more genuinely bothering her.
Before such deliberations can continue, Kendra walks into the room carrying a tray with teacups and a steaming kettle in the middle of it, and there is more of that post-crying puffiness in her eyes now, but she's tidied herself up as best she could to come out and greet you. "Tea is ready," she says softly, placing it down onto the table and starting to pour equal measures of tea into the seven cups there, with a small vessel of cream and a bowl of sugar sitting for anyone to apply to their drinks as needed, as well as a plate stacked with biscuits and a little thing of jam to spread onto them.
Only once she's finished pouring all the drinks does she look up at you and notice the tenor of the room, her brow furrowing as she gazes across you all, about to say something, but deciding otherwise, instead settling down comfortably into her seat and giving up a relieved groan as she finally takes a moment off of her feet. "I honestly cannot thank you all enough for coming all this way here. It means a lot to me."
I imagine Ellie would know because she spent so long traveling with him and being around him to a degree the others didn't; it's one of those "it's not a secret but we don't often talk about it and not everyone needs to know" kinds of things.
Weird. I think opening the spoiler on italics breaks it somehow????
Mihaela:
A book called Alchemic Golems: Finding The Spark Of Life Through Science is a book that catches your eye first for its utter simplicity. A very simply bound book, looking fresh and plain with thick paper instead of a proper backing and spine. Inside, you find a myriad of essays, papers, and scrawlings from a myriad of 'outsiders' in the academic world, talking about using alchemy in the place of magic to create constructs and artificial life. The foreword catches your eye for reading like no book on alchemy you have ever read before. It warns that this is not a collation of 'proper' academic sources, but of fringe writers who 'still have something important to say', while also taking time to explicitly distance the publisher from specific named writers 'in light of later events in their lives'.
You find a worn down book that has copious amounts of gravel driven into the spine and the cover of the book so tightly that any restoration project would have to involve entirely rebinding the book with new material. Findings of Tornar Stoneedge's Expedition Into Varisian Mountain Depths[i], under which a crudely scrawn etching right into the leather reads in clumsy and shaky Dwarven, "Ghasts, ghouls, and gobshite". Within the book is a very dry and technical detailing of an expedition to explore the Darklands with the intent of classifying the myriad undead creatures found in in the darklands, with particular focus on the expedition's findings amid a necromantic cult of duergar after rescuing slaves held by the cult.
Mihaela:
[i]Promethean Discovery: The Spark Of Life Through Alchemy is a series of writings on various alchemical subjects from a myriad of writers, centered around the use of science rather than magic in the creation of constructs, and on assorted manners of research oriented around perfecting that art. The book itself looks very simple and plain, and even the preamble makes ample mention that these writings have been sourced from locations outside of 'conventional academia', and in some cases makes explicit efforts to distance the publisher from several of the authors of papers 'in light of later events'. Its simplicity is likely due to its authors, some on the fringes, some outright dangerous, but with things to say worth noting in spite of the questionable uses they had in mind for them.
Solemn nods and the occasional bout of polite applause accompany the speeches offered, all kinds words that help bring the tone away from the accusatory confrontations behind you and back into the sweet remembrances that this ceremony is supposed to be about. It helps lift the mood to remember him as he was, with his kindness so firmly ingrained.
None of the locals seems to have much to say about him, but the latecomer does, adjusting his coat as he steps forward after each of you willing to speak have had your turn. He speaks in a very airy and aristocratic voice, his accent lingering with traces of an Ustalavan accent slowly beaten out through either effort or many assimilating travels. "Petros was truly a brilliant man. Perhaps the one one I would ever call brilliant; it was a word I otherwise reserved only for myself before I met him, but there was no mistaking his mind. From the first day I sat in his class, I was hooked on his every word and I could only sit there and listen to him begin to drift off into lecture and reverie with such passion and sharpness. His mind could drift onto a myriad of subjects, but he was no airheaded fool; he understood the links between them, and used that depth of mind to find new angles and connections through which he could better understand something. Watching him work and think was always a joy, and it inspired me to perform similar duties with glee.
"I spent years as the professor's research assistant before deciding that academia was not the life for me, and in that time he showed me the world through a lens that I had never seen it before. He showed me kindness, too. Took me in and treated me like a son. Not, perhaps, as much as he did when he adopted the baby Kendra, but..." There is a faintly resentful tinge in his voice as he motions his hand, but quickly seems to realize he's stepped a bit out of line and moves on quickly. "Even in our intellectual disagreements or when we saw a find from different angles, I could never truly argue with his methods or his understanding. To the very end, I considered him my mentor, my equal, my friend. We did not always agree, but he never took those disagreements as a reason to not be cordial or considerate, even as we grew further apart in time. To see him go so soon into the ground and under such tragic circumstances is certainly a shame, and a crime upon this world." He steps toward the group again.
The gravediggers slowly ease the professor into the ground, lowering him down with ropes and easing him slowly into the grave dug for him, as the old priest reads another, final prayer to commit his body to the ground and his spirit to Pharasma.
Before Kendra turns to you, she says her goodbyes one by one to the guests, speaking last with the late arrival. A few short words offered; an invitation for tea later, once matters are dealt with. The man seems amenable, nodding slowly as he turns away. Then, Kendra focuses on all of you. "The sooner that I am out of this graveyard, the sooner I can find sturdiness. My house? Councilman Hearthmount has business to attend to after the funeral, so we will have some time to relax before the reading of the will." She looks gratefully at each of you, thankful for your arrival and eager to bring you somewhere else, away from here.
****************
The Lorrimor home, once Petros's but now, in all likelihood, Kendra's, is a modest home but very heavily cramped. Crowded bookshelves make each room feel smaller than it is, as what must be hundreds of tomes, history books, and technical manuals line up the shelves with what must be some kind of order, but the system is almost certainly dead along with its inventor, leaving everything to look very chaotic. The living room is a comfortable enough place to settle down comfortably, and Kendra quickly heads into the kitchen. "I will need some time with my mind," she says firmly. "Please, just remain here for the moment, I will be back with tea shortly." She hurries off, already fretting with her dress and wiping at her eye. She's held it together well so far, and now she just needs a private moment to deal with it all.
Which leaves you in a room with five other people all brought together by one dead man's adventure and kindness.
While the attempts to reason with the bitter villagers don't seem to allay their forward intentions, the threat from Elisa does. The same superstitions that make them fear the professor and his "witchcraft" now give them pause as they ponder the idea of Pharasma, and weigh their fear of the Lady of Graves's wrath over any possible dangers posed by a wizard's grave. As if seeking to drive that point home, the singing of the whip-poor-whills off in the distance has fallen silent, and the emptiness left in the silence of Pharasma's scared animals is an abrupt and ominous portent that seems to make them hesitate to advance, deeply nervous and uncertain as they look around. It's a foreboding emptiness that gives them pause, and the more they think on the words, the more their fury and anger begins to falter.
The first few members of the mob step away, heads hung in shame as they walk past you and give up, taking the shortest way back in town. Their decision to walk by you rather than take the longer route isn't only convenience; it's concession, and some of them almost seem apologetic in the chance to think for a momen about their actions and what they really mean, like a moment of clarity has them regretting what they've done. Nobody offers up any passing, bitter comments, pacified even if only through reluctance and superstition into decency. A few more follow after, and slowly, the party dissolves, until it is only Gibs standing before you, and there is no mistaking the pure stubbornness in his bitter expression as he stares you down.
Gibs seems sto struggle for some kind of indignant words to leave you off on as he drops the thick tree branch he'd brought with him in case things came to blows. Finally, he manages to spit out the cloest he can muster to a proper response "Well when the dead start rising from their graves, it'll be no skin off my back, and you'll all be begging for my forgiveness." He storms off, proud enough to take the long way back home, back around where he had come on his ambush route rather than passing by you and acquiescing to anything. He leaves with his head held high, firm in his conviction and
It's as people pass by you and your eyes follow them that you notice there is someone new in the group. A bony, pale Human man in a very well tailored and kept suit, whose black hair is swept back in a way that emphasizes his widow's peak. There is a very polite, cultured bearing to him, one that makes him stand out even from the other well dressed and older men in the group, as an outsider. He offers a quiet, apologetic nod for his tardiness.
"We will continue," Father Grimburrow says, wanting to move forward and urging the funeral forward as he continues on with his prayers and continuing the funeral procession. It continues on without a problem, but all of the mournful calm feels sucked away from the moment now. The serenity of good memories gives way to frustration and annoyance, even if no more threats bother the procession, allowing you to guide the coffin toward the grave that has been dug out for it. A headstone reads "Petros and Annabeth Lorrimor" and then the dates of their births and their deaths, with the professor's death recently carved in; he has been dead for seventeen days. You're instructed to place the coffin down, allowing the gravedigging acolytes to take over and set the professor into the ground, and as you do so, the congregation is shifted over a little toward the side of the headstone, the priest hanging his head and finishing his prayers. "And now," he wheezes, "We will open the floor to memories. First, the professor's daughter, Miss Kendra."
Kendra takes her place beside the old priest, and the tears are back in her eyes again as the tense moment is over and she's had time to come back down from the anger high and into her sorrows. Fighting back the urge to sob, she begins. "First, I would like to thank everybody for coming. Father was always a little worried he may one day perish delving into some tomb and never be recovered; the older he became, the more he worried about it, I think. He never could slow down. In the end I'm only happy that what happened, happened near town where people could find him. His fear was never being put in the ground and never allowing his friends this chance.
"Father was a... An interesting man. Kind and courageous, and he was like no professor I'd ever met. His students have told me for years after that they had no other teacher quite like him. His sense of adventure and his desire to help people in any way he could always made me respect him, always pushed my own interests and intellectual pursuits, because I looked up to how much he touched the lives of those who he met. Mother did love that about him, but she was so constantly worried he might not come home to us. But he always did." She offers a soft, sobbing laugh, wiping some tears from her eyes. "And he would have been so happy to see that you all came out for this." Kendra seems unable to say much more, and with a polite bow steps aside.
"Would anyone else like to share some memories of the professor?" the old priests asks, motioning for anyone who wishes to eulogize to step up to the plate.
All I'm going to say is, read the room when it comes to "details" of your lives. You literally just faced an angry pitchfork mob.
The coffin has space for all six of you lift it up. Father Grimburrow takes a moment to explain the rite of walking the Dreamwake, a gravel pathway leading up through the cemetery, and will stop only upon reaching the grave prepared for the professor. He instructs you to think about your times with the professor and the memories you would like to see him buried under, while he will pray and lead the march. Kendra will walk ahead of the coffin, as his surviving family leading him to his final resting place, and the rest of the attendees will walk behind the coffin, flanked by the gravediggers. Once each of you understands and you have your secure grip on the coffin, the funeral march begins.
You are considered to have both hands full while carrying the coffin up the road.
The old cleric's wheezing voice begins to call out prayers to Pharasma, calling on the Lady of Graves to judge this man fairly and to remember that he was a good man. Those of you who have received formal education find yourselves reminded of dusty old professors whose voices drones on such with continuous, flat exposition for hours upon hours that it was difficult for you to keep focused for too long, and Father Grimburrow's continuous prayers make it all too easy for you to slip into reverie. It's as if by some miracle that for as sad as the day is, your fondest memories with the professor shine through immediately, bright and warming in the gloomy, gray, unwelcoming town you've found yourselves in. Perhaps it is a miracle, as the whip-poor-whill's song rings out from the distance with perfect clarity. But still, the thought of the professor at his best and his kindest, regardless of the hurt you may have met him through or the pain you shared with him, feels stronger a memory than it ever has before, and it gives you some warmth in this bitter and peculiar cold, which not only lingers, but seems to blow right through you and chill you deep as the winds begin to pick up.
The graveyard is much like the rest of Ravengro has been; gray and gloomy, but it feels deserved here, and it's a grayness more solemn than bitter. Grave stones sit along the path and run deep in all directions, laid out not in rows but as in spirals, organized to evoke the symbol of Pharasma and to coil the weight of this city's history around it, as the spiraling gravestones push outward across the years and continue to expand out. A scant few crypts and mausoleums stand out amid the rows of grave stones, but unsurprisingly for a rural farming town, there are very few of them even in a graveyard as long standing as this one seems to be.
Under your feet cracks and crunches the gravel, which provides a firm foothold against the effects of last night's rain, allowing you to walk confidently to your destination with somber acceptance of the situation and of the professor's tragic passing without slipping or balance problems. Everything seems like it's going well, until you reach the halfway point on your march, rounding a corner onto a path called the Eversleep, and you find your way blocked by a dozen surly looking locals who all stand unarmed but with intimidating posture as they block off the road. Tallest and frontmost in the group is Gibs, the man who raised a stink at the inn, and he seems to have only grown stormier. Behind him, the make-up of the group seems to skew older, other somewhat elderly men, but a few younger ones and even a young boy stand to block the way.
"That's far enough. We been talking, and we don't want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You can take him upriver and bury him there if you want, but he ain't goin' in the ground here!" The men behind him nod in agreement.
Kendra has been through a lot today, and you hear the barely-held back sadness cracking in her voice a little bit, but the stronger force is the anger at the front. "What are you talking about?" she cries out, and you see her hands ball up into fists. "I arranged this already, and the grave is waiting for us! Please, let us pass, my father has done nothing to do."
"You don't get it, woman. We won't have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin. I suggest you move out while you still can. Folks are pretty upset about this right now." Gibs stands firm, and some of the men in the back laugh at Kendra's outrage as she shakes in front of them.
It's shortly after you've given your introductions and the stories of how you know the professor that your food runs out, and the innkeeper, with as polite a means as possible, starts to subtly urge you out to go head to the funeral. "There will be more food for you once you're back. Miss Kendra has seen to that," she says. "And if it would be more comfortable, I can set you up in a private dining room so you can mourn without being disturbed." Though she seems sympathetic about your plight, you can't imagine that on some level, she isn't thinking about striking a balance that will keep the locals happy too. An inn in such a small town can hardly afford to run off of the scant few travelers ever passing through a town like Ravengro.
In only the short time you spent inside the inn, the sky has grown even more dour, the cloud cover starting to grow so so thick in some places that it becomes a dark, threatening black. There is a storm on the way, and the air feels slightly electric and very thick. It's going to be a hard one, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. But at least the storm is a force of nature, and not the very human worry that pervasively follows you through the streets as you follow the innkeeper's directions north from the town square, past some general stores and lots of people staring daggers at you as you move, only drawing more attention and scorn as an even loosely clustered group moving on than you had individually. You come to a bridge, beside which is a large pole, upon which a series of papers have been nailed into the very broken and worn down wood. The papers are all local matters; mentions of a marriage in a few days' time, a job posting for a new farmhand, a notice about a missing dog, and the largest paper, reading the Wealday Parchment, seems to be a summary of recent city politics. There is no indication anywhere on the post of news from the outside world.
The bridge is the only way across the river, and it is not the most confident bridge walk you have ever made. It creaks and groans under your feet, little spaces of splintered or broken wood warning of its age, while the shoddy roof put up over it has holes and even some spots of rot and mold. This bridge has not been tended to in a very, very long time, and the river current underneath is strong and noisy enough that the slight peril holds onto you the whole way across, uncertain if the creaking might give way to sagging and then to breaking altogether. Fortunately, you make it across just fine, and pass by a little more farmland on your way up north toward the graveyard.
A sign by the entrance to the burial ground reads "The Restlands. Please circle Pharasma's sign over your heart before entry, to respect our fallen loved one." Underneath is Pharasma's holy symbol, the spiraling comet, which both makes the area as under the stewardship of the Church of Pharasma, and indicates the sign it asks of any who step into the gates. By the gate, you see a trim woman dressed in dark, conservative clothes, whose eyes are red and puffy from what must have been a very recent bout of tears. Her brown hair is done up in a tight bun, and aside from the sign of recent crying she looks very well put together and composed, like she has taken great effort to be dressed as sharply as she could for the funeral. Some of you recognize her as Kendra Lorrimor, the daughter to Petros.
She stands by a coffin, upon which sits a bed of flowers already waiting. On the other side of the coffin stands a [url=http://dfry.warpmail.net/HH/Father%20Grimburrow.jpg]furrowed, wrinkled old man with thick, bushy eyebrows and a strangely proportioned face, who looks around stern and composed, but perhaps with an air of not-quite-impatience about him. Robed Pharasmin acolytes stand on the fringes wearing robes, but there are very scant few locals standing about. A round-faced and red-nosed man looks at you as you arrive, and he has a somber, understanding look on his face, sympathizing with you for the professor's loss. By his side stands a thirteen year-old boy, even rounder, who keeps his head down low and quiet as he looks at the coffin. A middle aged woman wearing a veil stands off to another side, holding in her hand a small bundle of herbs and flowers wrapped in twine. Two older men dressed in finer robes than anyone else you've seen in town and who hold the sort of regal bearing one would associate with dignitaries or politicians stand silently beside one another. Five locals, one of whom is evidently the son of another. You outnumber those in this city who have come to pay their respects to the professor.
Knowledge (Nature) or Craft (Alchemy) DC 10:
You recognize many of the components from the bundle that the woman holds. Bluebells, mandrake, lavender, willow, and myrrh, are all herbs strongly associated with funerals and meant to symbolize the peaceful passing of a spirit. But their meaning is not the most common of knowledge, known more to people who study herbs and alchemy than to the layperson, who would choose more standard flowers, like the roses that cover the professor's coffin.
As Kendra sees you all, she sighs in relief, waving you over happily. "You're here! Thank the gods, you made it. Nobody else has come to pay their respects, and with the way things are in town these days..." She looks around, grateful for the very few people who came from town for this, but it is an understandably sad and scant affair. "I'm afraid there is no time to catch up or talk right now, but we shall retire to my home after, okay? I will prepare us some tea." She moves to hug each of you, whether she knows you or not, and at a few points wipes her puffy eyes with her sleeve. Her voice sounds a bit congested and shaky, but she holds herself together well.
"Will this be all of them?" asks the old priest, whose voice can only be described as dusty. There's a faint wheeze to it, and a certain emotional distance away from the matter at hand that doesn't quite come off as cold and uncaring, but certainly doesn't seem particular moved by the proceedings. He must have watched over dozens of funerals in his time.
"Yes," Kendra says, casting one more frustrated glance out toward the crowd. "If it's not too much trouble..." She turns back toward you all. "I hate to ask another favour of you when you have already come all this way for my father's request and are fresh from the road but, would you please do one more kindness and serve as pallbearers?" Kendra's face softens, weary and tired, but there's an edge of hope to it that for once, something will go right.
Once everyone--I guess except for Freija, if she'd like to remain to herself--introduces how they knew the professor, we'll transition on to the funeral.
The innkeeper sighs nervously, keeping her head low. "Nothing wrong with the funeral. The town just doesn't always warm up to everyone quite so easily, dear," is her answer, which doesn't say much, but she doesn't seem to want to say much more.
Much more telling is when Mihaela goes over to speak to the woman, who suddenly doesn't much care about making a scene as she snaps her tongue. She rises up quickly, eyes flaring over as she stares at Mihaela, refusing to let that remark pass. "I dare you to speak that way of my father again! He was a soldier who defended this city proudly, and it's no right of yours as an outsider to come in here and pass judgment on him!"
A man sitting beside her chimes up as well, just as furious. "Interesting talk about 'respecting the dead' coming from you. Here to mourn a warlock like that. Always interested in the dead and in necromancy. He wasn't right, and neither are you." He grabs his coat and begins to storm off, the woman and the children sitting across from them leaving with him. Then, several other people at their tables follow, storming out but stopping to remark to the innkeeper about the food and making sure to leave money on the table for her as they leave, dour and furious. No time to consider a response and no interest in hearing it, they simply leave. The rest don't take much longer either, and most of them keep their eyes forward as they leave, not even bothering to look down on you as they head out of the inn and abandon what's left of their breakfast.
The innkeeper sighs and leans against the wall, waiting for the doors to close behind the leaving crowd as it comes down only to the lot of you left in there. "I'm sorry about that," she sighs, offering a sympathizing glance as she looks across at you. "You don't deserve that. I know, you lost a friend and hearing people speak that way about him hurts, but... Right or not, Ravengro never really learned to grow fond of the professor. I had an easy time becoming one of the village, but I was ready for a quiet life after I retired in Calipha. I wanted the quiet life. Petros was still an academic to the end, and people here didn't trust him. I knew better than that, but they... They're good people. Please, don't let this bad first impression sour you on these people. But still, maybe you had best be going as soon as you've finished your food." She hangs her head low and goes about cleaning up after the mass exodus of townsfolk.
As you go about eating your food or mingling, some sound from the other end of the room grabs your attention. "It's not right. Not right at all," says a voice, bitter and tense, belonging to a wiry, somewhat elderly man who's rising up from his table noisily. "Even when he's dead we can't know peace. He has to bringing that lot into town to bother us some more."
"Please, father sit down," implores a young woman, who tries to pull at his sleeve and get him to sit. "You're making a scene. Please, they'll likely leave after the funeral, just let them pass. We don't need to make this an incident."
"Bah, the funeral is the problem!" he says, pushing her arm away and starting to storm off. "But it won't be for long!" He storms off before anyone can do anything about it, and despite the fact that he's the one shouting and making a scene, as he leaves, eyes turn toward you as if you're to blame for the outburst, although everyone quickly goes back to looking down at their food and going about their breakfast.
The innkeeper is quickly upon you to try and smooth things over. "Don't mind him," she says, topping up any tea of coffee each of you might have, and slipping some more food onto your plates. "Gibs is a... Very opinionated man. But he won't hurt you or anything. Just keep your heads high and worry about what you're here for. Ravengro always takes a while to warm up to travelers, but once they get to know you, you're family." She offers a faint smile before shuffling back off again.
The innkeeper comes around with tea and coffee on request, and in front of each of you she slips a plate of food. Good food, too. Cooked sausages still billowing with a bit of steam, a sweet porridge dotted with bits of fruit, and some cheese to slip onto slices of freshly baked bread. It's better food than you would expect to find in a place like this, as any of you who have traveled can attest. The food you would find in a small town inn like this often ranges from faintly acceptable to "at least it's food", but this is a genuinely well made and tasty meal, which helps lift your spirits a bit after the gloomy day morning you came in from.
If only the others in the inn were as warm and inviting as the innkeeper. The locals who have come here to enjoy breakfast are easy to tell apart from any guests who may be staying, as they keep off to one side of the room and give you a wide berth, occasionally casting judgmental and distrusting glances over toward you. They don't say anything loud enough for you to hear, but there doesn't seem anything about them that would imply they'd be too quiet with these thoughts. Simply selective of who to share them with.
"I don't believe that Miss Kendra will be coming," the innkeeper says as she pours Sofia some tea. "I was told when she made the arrangements to have you on your way after your bellies were full, and to point you in the direction of the church. I would wager she is there now, making preparations with Father Grimburrow. I admit, I do not know the Lorrimors too well, so I don't know much more than what she asked of me. I think she only came here because I have open rooms, and because I'm not entirely a local myself, so I wouldn't scare you off with my idea of hospitality." She gives a rich, musical laugh as she finishes pouring off the coffee and starts away from the table.
