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Kithian slams into the ogrekin and elicits a strong yell from the creature as it is clearly unready for this fight. The combat is cut that much shorter as an arrow sinks deep in the ogre's side and then the large cat, once a victim of this hunter's trap, stalk from the brush and rends his foe apart from the back. Shalelu, having emerged to shoot bob her head in satisfaction as the ogrekin sinks to the ground in death.
You make your way back to the jailhouse/sheriff's office and find the sleepy eyed fellow from before half nodding off at the front desk while the man you met earlier sits at the other desk which is set near the back wall of the building. The sheriff sits writing a note of some kind but looks up at your entrance. As you step in he moves around his desk and comes forward putting his shoulder on the other man, Half something to eat? I'll deal with these men. The other man grunts and gets up, keeping his eyes low as he walks past you out into the morning. The sheriff looks you three over and gestures at a small grouping of chairs and a couch that are set against the eastern wall in the open space across from the small cells that are the feature of the western wall. Have a sit. Quite the entrance you've made to town.
Jominda gets a thoughtful look then shrugs, Seemed nice enough and I did business with him now and again. Some thought him a crank of sorts but it was obvious to me that the man had seen plenty to justify whatever concerns he had. He was sort of "hot and cold" with the locals, ya know? Did his part more than once and helped good folks out but a man with that kind of knowledge in a place that fears difference? Hard combination for a stable life if you catch my meaning.
The woman simply shrugs, Born and raised. I left for a while though to see a bit of the world.
Jominda turns back to the lot of you and wavers her hand as though to dissipate a foul smell and then smiles at the lot of you, Well then. Fun mornings all around. Was there something else I could do for you gentlemen?
The sheriff narrows his eyes at the lot of you seemingly still dubious about the course of events but Jominda clears her throat, Business, Sheriff. I respect their privacy I'd ask you to do the same... The sheriff's grey eyes flick to the woman and you can see the barest flush of red meet his cheeks before being beaten back. He tips the brow of his hat with his hand and turns to leave. As he walks out he stops at the door and half turns, Nice to meet you gentleman. Stop by my office when you are done and perhaps we can discuss yesterday's goings ons? I've heard you wanted to speak to me... The man leaves the store, the door resting to a close with a bang. Jominda exhales slightly and shakes her head. Damn fool of a man.
The woman offers a nod and smile of her own. Jominda Fallenbride. Alchemist and skeptic. She punctuates her introduction with a slight wink. As the four of you stand talking Jominda has a frown come to her face as she looks out the door of her shop. Look fellas. Play along will you? Following her gaze you see a chisel faced man, mid thirties approaching the store with a set jaw and dark clothing with hat. He carries a sword that hangs from his belt and the light glints off a small metal badge that peeks out from his vest beneath his long dark coat. He has a look of concern and approaches the door at a quickened pace. As the man approaches Jominda takes on a conciliatory tone, I do apologize again for the confusion gentlemen, it such bad manners of me to leave such experiments out and unattended... The door opens with a bang and the man steps in looking each of the newcomers over with hawkish grey eyes. Never leaving the faces of the three stranger the man's baritone voice has a suspicion to it, Jominda. Are you all right? The woman laughs and waves at the man, Sheriff of course. I scared these poor newcomers with a brew I was working on. It got everywhere. Luckily I had already brewed just the thing to clean it up before I left... She makes a hand motion not unlike pouring something on to the floor and offers no further explanation. The man looks over the lot of you and it is apparent that both he and the shopkeep are expecting on of you to say something next...
The woman inspects the upstairs compartment with just a cursory glance from the stair then descends, stripping her coat and putting on a leather apron. No, not particularly. Oh I know that the dead can rise and that haunting happen, I am no fool. But lets just say that the average Ustalavian and the average Ravengro citizen in particular can be prone to...how shall I put it...paranoia about the paranormal?
Man I am missing posts and everything. Bad DM! BAD! The woman frowns at Adimov's description of events and sighs when the talk turns to "ill magic". At Lorrent's request she barely contains an eye roll and casts a glance at the ever present and ever quiet stranger with the two men. Moving to put her parcels down and the strange orb back in her pocket the woman enters the shop and crosses to the group of strangers. Looking about she seems to only be half vested in "searching" and takes a conversational town, So do you lot normally go about, causing social chaos and prying the shopkeeps about ill fortunes and dark magic? Her tone has a mixture of idle interest and play.
Lorrent can tell that she certainly is no longer thinking of throwing her object but is still unsure about entering the premises. Her frown deepens ever so slightly at Adimov's statement, How did you you get in here? You opened the door how?
The woman purses her lips at the odd stranger and a frown starts to set as Lorrent descends and offer his apologies, Just me alone that runs this shop and I'm the sort to keep things set and locked on my absence. No blood or anything else would simply be chased away by your presence...I would doubt you more, you all certainly made an impression on the town yesterday, but you have the trapping of a Pharasmite... The woman doesn't stand down but she doesn't advance either. She seems to be mulling her options.
From behind Xaeken, from the front door of the shop the voice of a woman is issued with some reluctance, May I ask what you are doing in my store? The voice come from a woman, human, who appears to be in her mid thirties. Her clothing is conservative in that she wears a simple white shirt, leather pants, high boots, and a leather smock. Despite this mode of dress she is exceptionally fair (in every meaning of the word) with long dark hair, green eyes and an almost alabaster like complexion. Under one arm she holds a basket and in the other she holds a small glass vial. It would appear she is ready to throw it at a moment's notice.
Adimov emergres into a single loft apartment featuring a handful of furniture, a locked cabinet, a variety of alchemical machines/supplies, a wardrobe and other basic living accoutrements. Nothing sinister. No people. Lorrent scans the area and finds nothing suspicious. A few item in the shop radiate faint magic but are specific implements or wares, certainly nothing that should do what Adimov described.
The man at the desk sputters awake at the sudden kick from Lorrent, Adimov's entry moving him nary a bit. Hazily he stands and mumble some sort of ascent as the group rushes back to the shop. The group heads to the back door, and it is ajar. Yet the group sees only stairs and faint lamp light. The floor is dry and in desperate need of some oil or stain.
Neither Xaeken nor Lorrent notice anything especially out of place in the area though you both spot a key ring and a secured chest on the back wall. You both also notice a flask tucked in the coat of the sleeping guard. Adimov tests the door and finds it unlocked. A cold feeling of uncontrollable dread washes over Adimov as the gunslinger sees a river of red blood streaming down the stairs and poling just on the other side of the door. A lantern light flickers from the stairs above as the ascend into some sort of loft. The smell of iron is pungent and almost overwhelming.
Seemingly mute on the subject Xaeken follows Lorrent as the cleric crosses the way and enters the jail. Loud snoring can be heard in thesmall building and its hard to determine if it comes from the old man working a poorly worn desk facing the door or the disheveled pile of human being that seems to be featured in one of the cells along the back wall.
Lorrent The man nods appreciatively and scoops up the coins, Stop by anytime. Adimov The shop is full of ungents, salves, jars and bottles all filled with items of various color, consistency and smell. A large setup near the back features a myriad of tools (bottles, flames, pestles, mortars etc.) for preparation while another glass case feature fare that adventurer's might be more familiar with like tanglefoot bags, smoketicks and so on. A locked wooden cabinet flanks the only other door in or out of the shop along the back wall.
- The man looks at Lorrent with an expression that seems surprised, more so from the directness of the topic than anything else, it may be a fairly taboo topic in town...Oh there are stories you know, kids try to touch the walls then run that sort of thing...then of course there's the Professor...and whatever he was up to... The room is quiet and there is no response.
The owner of the general store nods on as Lorrent speaks and Lorrent gets the impression that while he has no LOVE of strangers he seems to care about his shop and not too much else. Not a threat. Oh most folks might bluster but all the shopkeeps are right to do by, they love the coin after all. I'd steer clear more the political types, councilmen of some stripes are liable to be elitist as is their way...and of course the laborers and more mundane folks of the town...the sorts that aren't used to doing business with the passersby. No strong recommendations or warning just...know that is the lay of things.
The man looks past Lorrent at Xaeken but then back over to Lorrent, I suppose that is true in some places, not sure it is true here...but that said whatcha trying to find? -------------------------------- Adimov moves across the square to the apothecary, a few morning travelers and the like over a lingering gaze or two but nothing too controversial. Stepping through the door of the shop the room smells of a myriad of potions, powders, salves and supplies. The overall effect is somewhat close to cedar or clove but is rudely interrupted by less favorable wafts of various items. The store, or so it would appear, is empty save for its wares.
The elderly wizard looks askance at Admiov and stops his preparation. I've no cause to look after stories of hauntings and normally I consider most stories of such to be superstitious clap trap. Mathematically, occurrences of such phenomenon is exceptionally rare. That said, you seem to be of good breeding so perhaps something of the sort is going on. Return this afternoon, we can look through my wares then. Seemingly more an order than a recommendation, Ghoroven finishes his work and returns to his desk, picking up a small bell and ringing it. The students begin to shuffle into the room and take their spaces.
Nothing much jumps out at Lorrent but there are plenty of standard fare items that might be useful if you were looking to head into the wilderness for any extended period. Making his way to the counter the cleric notes the armor, That's a fine piece of work. Was that made by someone here in town? Shocked by the voice, the man jumps from his chair but makes to smooth his hair then his shirt as he reaches for a pair of worn spectacles and pushes them onto his face as he addresses the new patron, Ah no...I mean yes, that is to say it was made in town many many years ago but the maker has long since past. Wife's father's father ya see.
The elder wizard looks right ready for a sneer and a rude word but the regale bearing and proper accounting of person that Adimov presents seems to set the man at ease. Taking the extended hand the wizard nods slightly before returning to his flitting about. Alendru Ghoroven. Forgive me as I continue my work as we share our introduction. He continues to direct the unseen forces to move things about and the room continue to turn itself into a classroom. Quite right that I intend the space as a mercantile exercise to reap profit from my expertise and keep the passerby magically prepared. Sadly the good folk of Ravengro are woefully illiterate in such matters and are in a desperate need of education. I suppose in a way I am hoping that if enough of these simpering brats get educated they may one day be worthy of procuring my wares...Alendru punctuates his statement with a wave of his hand sending a mass of books flying off the shelves into a stack at the front of the class space. And you were looking for what Mr...?
Adimov Approaching he Unfurled Scroll the gunslinger sees an odd sight; children idling in front. Upon approach the children look to be anywhere from 7 to 12 and each of them has, either on their person or near them, a book or two bundled with random sheafs of paper. The building itself seems like a classic piece of Ustalavian architecture, storefront on the bottom floor featuring tall windows while the top looks to be a peaked thatch and shingle roofed apartment so that the ever wary shopkeep need not stray far from his storefront. Inside, an older man dressed in vintage robes mutters to himself as he throws his hands about with articulated gestures. Small objects fly to and fro while a series of desks and a chalkboard on wheeled legs move themselves into position. The kids sullenly look after Lorrent but offer no commentary. The half stair that leads to the door of the shop remains unobstructed though the door itself is closed. Lorrent and Xaeken
Behind the counter a tall suit of finely crafted plate armor menaces the store as a silent guardian. Next to it, studying a book furtively, sits a man in his mid fifties with a thin build and wispy hair. He seems to have not noticed the entrance of either the cleric or the samurai despite the loud bell that jangled upon your entrance to the store.
You don't have a key because you don't know what things are. O:)
Look over the map on the campaign tab and let me know where you want to go first.
The night passes without incident and in the morning the crew continues to be in celebration mode as the captain brings the lot of you together once more. The various prisoners and officers of the Man's Promise are brought before him with the rest of gathered about in a ring around them. Harrigan strolls the decks and as he looks over the prisoners the body from yesterday is brought to him and placed on the deck behind him. Harrigan turns and points the dead captain. Your loyalty ended there. I am in charge of the Promise now, it is my ship to be added to my fleet. I need a crew and you are it...unless you think you are too good to serve for me... Harrigan points at the first officer, a tall Rahadoumi woman with long black hair that is coming out of its tight braid. She is pushed from the group by Scourge and she lands at the feet of the captain. Harrigan looks down at her with his one steely eye, What say you, former Mate of the Promise will you serve me? The woman stands at her feet and looks to Harrigan then spits in his face. The blade from Harrigan's belt pierces her stomach and the captain uses his strength to lift the former first mate off the ground before throwing her to the deck unceremoniously. The crew of the Wormwood laughs. Harrigan looks at the other officers and crew from the Promise and offers a gruff, WELL?. The majority of them erupt into chaos as the yell about that the would serve Harrigan and well. A few of the older or perhaps more "polished" in the group stand their ground and after a few minutes 3 have been killed, one tied up to be keelhauled after hitting Plugg in the face and two more to be held as ransom when it is realized that they have pedigree or breeding that might be worth something to someone. Harrigan calls for more rum to be served and the new crew member to be welcomed properly. He exhorts that both ships will set sail on the morrow and raucous cheers, music and so on punctuate the morning air.
North of the vhurch in the graveyard
GM Screen:
Grimburrow frowns deeply and crimson flushes his pale skin. Moving to stand he gestures to the door, his jaw flexing and his tone wavering. I have no need to suffer such abuse. You will leave.
Grimburrow sets his jaw as Lorrent talks and it is obvious that he is sour on the notion of the group entering the crypts. There doesn't seem to be a malice at play more a simple issue of "impropriety". I appreciate your stated goal but I simply cannot see the value in disturbing the honored and rested dead looking for "something of interest". If you had some evidence that might aid your assertions about necromancy or some other, more specific, case to make I would certainly offer you the courtesy your title affords you...but at the moment I cannot let your whimsy suffice.
So be it. You are a fellow cleric of Her faith and I will not ignore your concerns, regardless of my skepticism. Tell me what I and my brothers and sisters of Ravengro might help...
The cleric stops for a moment but does not say anything as he waves you forward through the chapel to a room through a side door. Through the door is an office. The space is large and features a few bookshelves, a stone hearth with fire and a few basic wooden chairs set around a table. To the side a small writing desk and chair feature an ongoing illumination left out to be resumed at some future moment. Grimburrow waves at the table. It is not often I have a seeker such as yourself come, Lorrent Baladin. The church here has been more...traditional...in it focus and has not always seen fit to recognize the more...esoteric notions of the faith. Grimburrow sits a moment and looks the lot of you over then resumes, You have had quite the arrival in town with a less than warm welcome. Lorrimor was not the most devout but he was respectful. He deserved better. But your insinuation...about...a...cult was it? Forgive me if they seem a little outlandish. The man looks at the lot of you.
Grimburrow looks over the group again and it is plain that he is flexing his jaw as he looks the lot of you over. For a moment it seems he might say no before he opens the door wide and waves you in to follow. Guiding you into the main room the church is a dark room with stained glass and sconced lanterns that flicker upon the blacks, blues and purple of Pharasma's church. The floor and furniture is simple wood but the dias at the front features a set of elaborate tapestries, silver floor set candlabras and a silver and steel statue of sorts that appears to be a book pedestal with a metal book upon it. There are a series of arches and portals that speak to side rooms and so on (the church from what you can tell is perhaps one of the largest buildings in the town) but the symmetry of stark to grand only seems to amplify the cold and constrict the room. Grimburrow, wearing a simple robe much like the acolyte waves the men to follow as he walks the main row between the simple hewn pews, It is always cold in here, as I'm sure you can imagine sir...what was your name...and your title? He does not look over his shoulder but it is plain that he addresses Lorrent.
A moment passes and then a few more as Lorrent stands at the doors and the other two look around but notice little. After 3 or 4 minutes there is the distinct sound of the bar being removed from the door. An elderly man pokes his head out the door and you recognize him to be Father Grimburrow from the service the day before. He appears to have been roused from bed and as he looks at the three of you he nods slowly. There is whispering behind him and gives an annoyed look at the source but then turns his eyes back to you. Good morning gentleman, I did not think to see you here so close to the rising hour. How can I help you? The man remains mostly covered by the door but his tone is neither confrontational nor fearful.
Bart moves past Ajani to the nearest pirate and strikes out with the brass knuckles. The metal *ptang* and the thud of the strike into the other man's skull shakes the pirate and it is clear that he is very near to dropping.
The woman sort of repeats the name to herself, spending a lot of time on the word "inquisitor" until it seems like she remembers something that she had not remembered before. A flush creeps up her cheeks as she seems to suddenly become almost afraid of Lorrent. Stammering, she offers an apology, MMhmm...mmmyy mistake, sir. I will fetch someone for you! Instead of inviting you in however she closes the door. It is easy to hear a bar being slid into place with a resounding *thunk*.
The girl looks the group over warily, first and foremost at Xaeken but then to Adimov and finally lands on Lorrent. Whether it is a lack of decorum or simple youth she fully examines the cleric up and down her face forming a frown as she takes in the sight, Ah begging your pardon but who are you?
Deciding to leave Kendra behind you make your way to the church as the sun enters its full rise. Standing at the gates you knock on the doors and await a reply. A moment later there is a shuffle and the creak of old doors. A surprisingly young (and attractive) young woman, wearing acolyte robes in purple and black pokes her upper torso past the doors and looks at the three of you, Can I help you?
Kendra nods as if that comment decides things, Best to wait until the morning for such things. I will show you to your accommodations. Kendra gets you each a room and shows you the lay of the house. You are able to wrap up your evening needs/meals and rise the next morning refreshed.
WEird I lost a post... Lorrent figures that dead of night (midnight or so) is ideal, Pharasma has rituals at dusk and dawn and the Restlands are a Pharasamite graveyard so there is surely to be some cleansing and purifying. That late hour should also minimize foot traffic between the Lorrimor house and the crypt. Lorrent:
It should not be lost on you that your unique position as an Inquisitor does make it so that you can confer with and even ask things of other Pharasamite orders. You might be able to just ask to be let in, assuming the local church wants to play nice.
While occasionally running into reference about the prison Admimov find more luck with details about the Whispering Way. In fact, in his search for historical information Adimov is able to collate a stunning amount of detail on the Way, perhaps more verified truth on the group than many have seen in some time: The Whispering Way is a sinister organization of necromancers that has been active in the Inner Sea region for thousands of years. 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. 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. 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. Adimov. No duh roll. Wis DC 10: Lorrimor fell face first. Harrowstone is "supposedly" haunted.
Lorrent:
Much of what the professor has in the house is of a more esoteric nature than straight chronicles of history. That said many of the tomes you flip through reference times and events that tickle your memory. Harrowstone was not just a prison in Ravengro but a premiere "institution" of Ustalalv in its day.
Harrowstone was built in 4594. Ravengro was founded at the same time as a place where guards and their families could live and that would produce food and other supplies used by the prison. In 4661 there was a fire that killed all of the prisoners and most of the guards, destroyed a large portion of the prison’s underground eastern wing, but left most of the stone structure above relatively intact. The prison’s warden perished in the fire, along with his wife, although no one knows why she was in the prison when the fire occurred. A statue commemorating the warden and the guards who lost their lives was built in the months after the tragedy—that statue still stands on the riverbank just outside of town.
The library of Lorrimor is voluminous. The man has managed to stuff into a single home a volume of texts that rivals many a temple, city library or small university. Though the topics vary it is easy to see that with a little planning and a clear eye you could gain insight into a number of topics.
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