Iozef caught up in examing the card, notices nothing.
Search Posts
Iozef remains in the main room, waiting patiently.
Iozef moves up and looks down at the cards before returning his attention to the majordomo with a raised eyebrow. "A Tarot card? Very well, I shan't ask." He takes a card as instructed and proceeds inside.
Mildly amazed at the man's ability, he keeps a wary eye upon the odd man. "Thank you, but no. Not at this time. Possibly later this eve, if that suits." Iozef notices several others, one coming and going in a carriage in which he found quite strange. Obviously lost. As one half-orc appeared before another one, the former one obviously wished to remain undisturbed. Obviously one who prefers solitude. There must have been a dire reason for him to attend such a gathering. The latter one that arrived, appears quite the opposite of the former. Dressed in attire of one who serves the law, Iozef notices he speaks to the doorman in hushed tones. And obviously a no nonsense type. I gather that comes with the occupation. He glances around at the few that are here. Interesting. Truly a diverse collection of guests. I am curious if there are to be more? Mentally shrugging, Unimportant, he thinks to himself candidly.
Iozef walks studiously up to the gate, observing the grounds before he enters. "Hm. Pleasant enough I guess." Making his way to the front door, he raises an eyebrow to the one drinking tea. Possibly an herbalist of some form. They seem to be everywhere. He thinks to himself matter of factly. As the gentleman at the front door asks him to wait, Iozef complies and steps back down from the stairs onto the grounds. Turning his attention to the only other individual that has arrived, "Greetings. I am Iozef Kolnikov." He nods quite business like, while straightening his vest.
Seeing no one speak up, Iozef turns to the man. "Very well. We are on a mission. I am afraid we cannot speak of the nature of our mission but I promise you, it is of grave importance. Now, having said that, our mission has led us here. We came upon Lord Echtmoor, or what was left of him, during our travels. I'm afraid he was a victim of the 'Creature of the Tower'," he states as a matter of fact. "Anyway, we concluded that a disguise might better our chances to gain entrance to the lodge. Well, we had hoped I should say. Unfortunately, you recognized him where we hoped very few would. All we are asking is entrance to the lodge so we can continue in our attempt at finding what it is we are searching. I implore you to grant us that, sir."
Iozef sighs, figuring they have cut their own throat already. "Sir, we would be more than happy to explain, but we would rather speak to you in private. This is not something to be spoken aloud, I promise you. And your guards are more than welcome to accompany you."
Iozef pulls out the invitation and holds it up for him to see. "There was a... complication, but we managed to retain it mostly in tact."
Staring at Valiard stoically, yet, you get the feeling if he were able, thousands of daggers would instantly be flying straight for the heart of the herbalist, Iozef plays the part as he clears his throat and stands proper. "I give you, 'Lord Echtmoor Dravin of Sturnidae'."
Iozef ponders a moment on what words might help. "I believe the proper phrase is, 'Break, a leg'. Although, I've never understood such. If such an event were to occur, how would one go on? No matter. And I gather we are to follow Mr. Thetra's cover story idea if indeed it is needed."
"No, no, nevermind. I have confused the name with another noble family who's name is similar, yet far more prestigious. Apologies, Mr. Tessar. The only information I do have was gathered through rumors, now that I recall properly. And those consist of nothing more than him being a part of a small noble family who is possibly on the rise. I fear we are just going to have to, 'wing' it, for lack of a better word, Mr. Tessar." He tells him matter-of-factly as he straightens his vest.
"I'm afraid the only other information I have, Mr. Tessar, is that the letter was addressed to, 'Lord Echtmoor Dravin of Sturnidae'. Which, I would gather, is now to be you. Now, I believe I have heard of this gentlemen at some point. If I recall correctly..."
"Well let us hope those that have seen him, won't be at the front gate." He ponders the issue a moment. "Mr. Tessar, if at all possible, do your best to keep your face hidden. But don't be obvious about it. And please, Mr. Tessar... don't slouch." He tells the typically laid back rogue.
Iozef rolls his eyes at the herbalist's attempt at theater. Sighing, "This is going to be death of us." He mutters under his breath. "Now Mr. Tessar, you must remember that 'Margrave Graydon' is the gentleman that sponsored your sojourn. AND, he is supposedly excited at seeing you again. DO NOT forget this. If you are to have any success at this, I would deem it wise to run the man's name through your mind over and over."
"Let us hope so, Madam Mireza." Dropping his voice to a whisper, "And if Mr. Tessar is to impersonate the deceased, let us hope whoever it is we are attempting to fool is a fool himself. Nothing against Mr. Tessar, mind you, but the man is simply an herbalist. I would gather his acting skills are not much better than my own. And believe it or not, I am not much of an actor. Yes, I know it is hard to believe. Especially with one such as myself, who's been gifted with such an exquisite charisma, but I speak truth. I possess a great many skills but that, alas, is not one of them." He states in a tone of absolute seriousness.
"What? You never know when a staff just will not suffice in a given situation. Plus, it is the chosen weapon of our Lady of Graves. It is an error of mine I do not already possess one." He states candidly as he straightens his vest. "How much further do any of you expect?" He asks, changing the subject quickly due to the awkwardness of his admitted mistake.
Finding there is nothing more he can add to Windle's response, "Mr. Thetra speaks truth, Mr. Tessar. Oh, and something I was meaning to ask you, Mr. Tessar: Would you be opposed to relinquishing the knife to me?"
Iozef takes a look to see if there is some form of mark that might help identify who this man was.
Rolling his eyes at the back and forth between the two, "Yes, well, anyway, the flowers within the gentleman's mouth is called wolfsbane. Toxic for sure but also used against werewolves and the curse they carry. We would do well to retrieve it and store it for later use, just in case."
Curious, Iozef looks to Mireza through narrowed eyes as he turns his attention to the knife. "What do you mean by 'odd', Madam Mireza?"
"Hold, Mr. Tessar!" Iozef calls out. As the wagon comes to a stop, Iozef gets out and just sighs at the grisly scene. "It would appear, the farther we go, the more deceased we happen to find. Would one of you gentlemen please cut him down? Thank you," he says while his attention is fixed upon the purple flowers. Reaching up, he removes them and examines them closer.
As the threat fades, Iozef straightens his vest and brushes off his sleeves. "Very good," he simply says as he returns to his watch. As the morning comes and they prepare to leave, Iozef gathers up his things and is ready to move.
Iozef nods. "Very well. But I fear I am not one for words, Mr. Thetra, I mostly deal with the record keeping. Nevertheless, I shall say... something." Holding his holy symbol, "Pharasma, our Lady of Graves, this one has taken one last journey to you for his final reward that only you can gift. I knew him not but I pray it shall be one of peace and comfort." Iozef then draws Pharasma's holy symbol in the air, over the man. "May you rest in peace," he concludes.
"I shall acquire my rest first. Fortunately, I need but an hour or two. After that, I shall retain watch the rest of the night. Any who wish to join me on watch, can feel free to do so."
Realizing it's futile to ponder such with so little of the letter legible, "No matter. Let us continue on. I'll solve nothing remaining here." Iozef then pulls out his wand and takes care of the remaining wounds left unhealed on them all.
Once that is taken care of, "Alright, time to move." Iozef then makes his way back onto the wagon.
Rubbing his eyes in frustration, "Madam Mireza, I..." he stops, looking to Windle. "Your turn, Mr. Thetra. Or any of you who wish to travel down this dead end road," he says candidly as he turns his attention back to the letter. "Ah yes, I do recall such a man. Cilas Graydon, is his name. A retired military man; served under one by the name of Count Aericnein Neska. Graydon is well-known throughout for how ruthless and brutal he was during war time. Because of it, the citizens of Ardeal and Barstoi despise him." "Near the civil war's end between Ardeal and Barstoi, Graydon broke from Neska, declared him tyrant, which then Graydon had no choice but to flee. Flee to the town of Lozeri, where his voice in all things political is quite strong. As you would expect, Neska had Graydon convicted of treason, revoked his title, and placed a bounty upon his head. A large sum if I recall correctly. And with Neska in charge, Barstoi is a town in which hope is but a memory, if anything." "So, from what I gather, on one hand we have a retired military leader who, at the cost of winning, would resort to any means regardless. And on the other, we have a Count who has eliminated all hope within an entire town. Which would agree with Graydon's claim of tyranny." Looking at the burned corpse, "My question is: What was the importance of this man to Cilas Graydon? And who is, 'us'? And what does this 'sojourn' entail?" He asks out loud, mostly to himself as he ponders each question.
"If they do not belong to the land of the living dead, then I see no reason why they must be removed absolutely. Although, by committing such heinous acts--as you mentioned--I would not fault those that choose to hunt them down and eliminate them. You see, Madam Mireza, unnatural and evil--and yes, Madam Mireza, I do consider 'cooking' another evil--are not necessarily the same thing."
Instantly taking his mind off the letter, Iozef doesn't hesitate to respond. "Yes. It is not only good but necessary. Now, as far as hags, are they former living, yet, now dead who walk?"
Somewhat disappointed, "I fear I can only make out very little of the letter. But I did manage a name from within. Margrave Graydon."
Momentarily taking his eyes off the letter and glancing over Mireza, "Yes, Madam Mireza, there is..." he starts but then realizes he's wasting his breath. "Never mind," he finishes, rolling his eyes at her complete lack of understanding and returns to his work on opening the letter as carefully as he can.
The inquisitor nods slightly at Iozef's comment. "Even if the Mayor would do such a thing, the priests of Pharasma would not permit it. I can assure you that for all their difficulties with me, they were not so heterodox as that." "Well, Mr. Thetra, if nothing else, that is at least something we can agree on," he nods in appreciation. Iozef takes his attention off the letter once again, moving it over to the herbalist and then to Grigor. "Well, oddly enough, I would have to share Mr. Vachkov's sentiment's toward you on such a matter, Mr. Tessar. Nevertheless, I find your thoughts on the issue agreeable. Well put." He then returns to his work on the letter.
As he carefully attempts to make out the letter, he listens to the witch with interest. Coming to the conclusion she knows very little of the proper ways of Carrion Hill, "No, Madam Mireza, that is not our common practice. That was but the actions of a madman. The Temple would most assuredly obtain the bodies of the deceased, and follow protocol of giving them the proper burial they deserve." He explains matter-of-factly. "The Mayor would do no such thing, I can assure you."
Iozef takes his eyes off the letter a moment, moving them to Valiard as he finishes speaking before moving them to Mireza as she does. Raising an eyebrow to the odd woman's statement, he moves his vision back to the letter, resigned to shaking his head in unbelief. "Yes. 'Stab'. 'Spin'. And 'Slurp.' If only I could be as eloquent in my descriptions. It would come as a complete surprise for one not to understand such clarity." He mutters facetiously as he continues with the letter.
"I will tell you what sort of man; the only sort of man that goes and gets himself killed... the fool. Over confidence, I'd claim, is what led to his undoing. This forest is known for its dangers, yet he is found alone amongst the creature's victims. Either the rest fled and left him to die, or we go back to my original theory of him being the fool," he states as a matter of fact, not really caring one way or another.
Examining the body, "Hm. He hasn't been dead for more than a week." Iozef states mostly to himself. Turning to Valiard when he mentions a letter, "Letter? What letter? May I see this letter you speak of, Mr. Tessar?"
"Smiles? 'Pretty' lies? Hm. I suppose you have a point, Madam Mireza. Smiling is something I have not done in such a very long time. A very long time. The 'pretty' lies I completely do not understand so I won't bother. But I do not deal with the dead as much as you assume. I mostly deal with record keeping. To be frank, it's only been on rare occasions I've had to assist with those that have passed. If anything, I should smell like old books." he states candidly as he loses himself in thought for just a moment before continuing. "Thank you, Madam Mireza." He nods. As the others make their way back, "This 'bug-lady' you speak of, Mr. Tessar, was a Weaverworm. I finally was able to recall what I read upon such a creature, Mr. Thetra. An abomination long forgotten by their creator, Urgathoa. Yet their 'songs' are in constant praise of the goddess. The nail that was embedded within you, Mr. Vachkov, was equivalent to that of a scorpion or a bee, with the exception of it's power to paralyze. And even though it was broken off, the nail continues its excretion of the paralyzing fluid. Impressive, I must admit. Anyway, so even if you weren't webbed up, you would've had a great deal of difficulty escaping," he concludes. "Oh, and as Mr. Tessar mentions the creature's, 'special time with you', what he means is, she would've consumed you. Fortunately for you, it is unknown as to whether it would have been dead or alive." Iozef then examines the dead man himself, wondering if he can determine how long he's been that way.
As the others go to search the lair, Iozef begins to head back to his seat before catching sight of Mireza. Curious about something, he makes his way toward her. "Madam Mireza, if I may," he nods. "If you'll indulge me, I am curious about something." He glances back to where the others went, making sure they aren't heading back for whatever reason before turning his attention back to her. "What makes Mr. Tessar so...," he ponders it a moment before rolling his eyes, "'attractive'," he concedes with obvious disdain in his voice, "I guess is the word, to other women? He's reckless, his attire leaves much to be desired, and let's be honest, he travels on the side of 'scruffy' looking, for a lack of a better word."
So... Victory or death? Well, she's neither going to suddenly blink out of existence or morph into a different PC in the middle of the forest. She's part of the party for the foreseeable future anyway.
Iozef looks to Grigor through narrowed eyes, as if attempting to discern what it was he said, obvious his thoughts consuming him still with what that creature might be. Nodding, "That I can assist you with, Mr. Vachkov." He stands and walks over toward him. "Will your weapon suffice?" Iozef asks, as he casts the light upon the sword without awaiting an answer.
"I'm afraid I cannot help you in that regard, Mr. Vachkov. And please watch your language in front of Madam Mireza, it is improper," he reprimands rather oddly, as if he's lost in thought. Appearing to be as such, one would think he has some type of 'proper attitude' alarm that goes off when something he deems improper happens and he just responds automatically.
"Very well, Mr. Vachkov. If there is anything new that happens upon you that prefers to destroy you... I would highly advise running."
Pulled away from his thoughts a moment, Iozef looks to Valiard with a raised eyebrow. "Mr. Tessar, I believe now is not the time to be chasing after large beasts that have the means to paralyze us, eat us, and whatever else it can probably come up with to do with us. Most of us are still injured and I'm tired. I'm ill prepared for such a creature or any more like her. But I can promise you this, I shan't be next time." He rests his head back up against the wagon as he's taken his seat on the ground next to it and then returns in his attempt at recalling what it was he learned of such a creature.
"I tried to discern what type of creature she was initially, but couldn't quite make out her features. But when she fled right by us, then I could make out her features. I recall reading about such a creature back during my days at University. Now, what was it?" he rubs his chin, pondering it a moment.
"Mireza is right." Iozef agrees before returning to his coughing fit. "Utterly foolish. We should all be present within the Boneyard now." Iozef then calls upon Pharasma's healing for all.
Noticing Grigor's wound, "Let me have a look at that, Mr. Vachkov." He moves to inspect the nasty looking wound, attempting to remove the 'thorn' that's causing it.
As he manages to remove it, he studies it a moment before tossing it aside and finding himself a place to sit. "I must rest a moment. It's not everyday I am near burning to death."
|