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Mortimer's eyes narrow slightly with suspicion as the Warpriest's connection to the Professor is laid bare. "Ah yes, your name was listed in the will." he says somewhat coolly. "Mortimer Valdebridge of Ardis." he says with a nod before turning to return to the house, taking over from Stefan with the carrying of Drake.
That's just Mortimer's reaction to priests.
Mortimer draws himself up to stand before the crowd should they become violent, trusting in his noble status to cow them into docility. Harold's intercession is backed up by the Ranger's display, but he does not look happy about it. After the villagers disperse, he looks to Stefan. "Will Drake live?" he asks. "And thank you for your speech, Mr. Wainright." he says. "We can take it from here."
Mortimer sighs and circles around Drake and using his saber still in its sheath, he swings at the man's head.
Mortimer's expression becomes one of shock when he sees Drake. He skids to a halt and looks at the detective, stunned momentarily. "Drake! Drop the razor!" he shouts.
Mortimer looks over the ammunition with eyes gleaming as he handles the beautifully made bolts. "Not often you see craftsmanship like this!" he breathes. He tucks the bolts into his own case and lets the others pack up the rest. ---------------------- Mortimer vaults out of bed when he hears the scream, and bounds down the stairs after throwing on his breeches and a shirt, his scimitar in its sheath held in his hand. "What's going on?" he asks the first person he sees. He rushes out of the house, his hat snagged off the coat tree. He slows to take in the information from the man, turning to tell Drake something. "Uh... huh. Someone make sure that man doesn't wander too far." he says before running in the direction pointed.
Welcome! Glad to have you onboard.
Mortimer advances cautiously on the remaining centipede before swinging his mace at the thing's darting head.
I'm liking Esme and Harold. We're still lacking in the Trapspringer and Face categories, but those two are the my favourite over-all characters.
"Scavenging Vermin!" Mortimer says with disgust and anger as he steps toward the Centipede nearest him and tries to smash it with his mace.
Doi. Meant to type Chaotic Good... *facepalm*
Note that Druids can't be Chaotic Neutral. They have to have at least one of their alignment axes be Neutral.
Mortimer, having returned to the house and retrieved his gear, is now dressed in worn studded leather armor with a buckler strapped to his left arm. His hat has been doffed for this excursion and his dark brown hair is speckled with silver. At his waist is a heavy mace with its head moulded to look like a Wolf's, a well-used dagger and a Scimitar in its sheath. Strapped to his back is a heavy, powerful-looking crossbow filigreed with silver and a case of bolts. Peering into the gloom, Mortimer falls in behind Gregorius, loosening the mace in its loop on his belt. "We may face any number of different vermin or even Undead in such a place. Be vigilant." he says.
Mortimer walks with the others through the town, and into the Restlands. Noting where the crypt is, under the pretext of examining the engravings on the door, he checks the ground for signs and tracks.
"I concur, Stefan." he says when he stands, brushing dirt from his hands. "Let's continue our tour of the town and come back when we won't be observed." He stands and walks to the Professor's grave where he stands in silence. Forgive me. I did not know how deeply you were involved and how much danger you were in. I wish you had confided in me. I could have helped. Passing the statue, he looks to the others quizzically. "Do any of you know what this is in relation to?" he asks? "The prison fire perhaps?" At the Apothecary, he smiles at Jominda, but lets Stefan take the lead.
Mortimer walks from the church in frosty silence, but as they walk towards the heart of the town, he begins to look around him at the farms and homes that surround him. A pleasant enough place, when you get down to it. Like many places on my family's estates. The little girls playing draws the barest of glances from him at first. There is little in his own childhood to relate to their games. He looks away from them towards the gazebo at the center of town, looking for something, until Gregorius stops to speak to the girls. Mortimer turns and looks at him curiously to see what has caught his interest.
I'd feel more comfortable with another player. Maybe another Rogue-type, but I'm content to continue.
I'm still here.
Mortimer shakes his head as they walk away. "I told you this was a bad idea. Now he'll require a lot more convincing, and he may set guards on the Restlands." he says, looking off into the distance, his eyes tight. "So, do we start doing chores around town and holding bake sales to raise the money we'd need to acquire the weapons we'd need to investigate the prison?"
Hey guys, sorry for dropping off the face of the earth this weekend. I took a role in a play at the last minute to replace a guy who had to drop out unexpectedly and we open tomorrow night and I have a lot of lines to learn so I won't be able to post until Tuesday probably.
Mortimer retains his composure for just so long, before speaking up. "Don't be so blind. There are forces moving beneath the surface of Ustalavian society and they wish to return to the blighted days of the Whispering Tyrant. I know that sometimes the Church prefers to cover such things up, but think of the safety of the people in your charge. We have strong arms and strong minds, and we are in a position to potentially strike a blow against evil. Don't turn your backs on us." he says quickly and passionately.
But it seems his haughtiness and forcefulness are not his friends in this attempt.
Mortimer seriously considered not joining Stefan and the others in visiting the temple should he be unable to restrain his opinions, but with a good breakfast in his belly and his convictions reinforced by a little reading and rumination on his purpose and the necessity of his cause, he swallowed his pride and descended from his room dressed respectably in blue and grey with his heraldic pin displayed prominently. He bid Kendra farewell, belted his scimitar to his waist and donned his hat before walking out into the misty morning air. At the temple, he stood behind Stefan, looking around him in seemingly aloof interest.
Mortimer slumps back into his chair, defeated for the time being. "Fine, we'll do it your way." he says. "Understand this, though, if the Church wants to get in our way on this, I will not hesitate to break into that vault without their permission if it means arming us against the Whispering Way." he says angrily.
Mortimer grimaces at the mention of the Priests of Pharasma. "I'd rather leave the Church out of this. The Professor deemed it expedient to not mention it to them and I'd rather emulate his example than let the Church interfere. In my experience they are not interested in upsetting the status quo." he says, crossing his arms. "I think we should go to the Restlands and retrieve this cache. But we should also look more into the prison. What the Whispering Way is after at Harrowstone we need to discover. But the place seems to have its own complement of hauntings that a little more research could prove useful in illuminating."
Mortimer nods to Drake. "I'm in agreement. Thanks to Stefan's research, we know the Whispering Way defaces the bodies of their victims... literally, to prevent magical interrogations of their spirits. We also know, thanks to the Professor's diligence that the Way had some interest in the Prison. I think he went there and interrupted the Way in their work and was murdered for his interference." Mortimer says. "But are we prepared to take this cult on?" he asks, looking to each of the men in the room.
"I understand your reasons, Stefan." Mortimer says with a slight hesitation. "And goodness knows the Professor has delved into such foul knowledge, and while I expressed my concern to him about that, I trusted him to use it wisely. I hope I can trust you to do the same." he says.
Mortimer listens to Stefan's story, but when he gets to the big reveal, he erupts with indignation. "Stefan?!" he shouts, but stops himself, though with some effort, from charging across the room at him or simply leaving. There is still an expression of disbelief, and a little dismay on his face as he listens to the story continue. His eyes soften somewhat at Stefan's explanation of his motives, and by the end he has a begrudging softening in his gaze. "The Professor seems to have trusted you, Stefan." he says softly. "But you know the hatred I bear for Necromancers. I wish you had told me sooner and then you could have spent time trying to convince me of your point of view instead of springing it on me in a time of grave uncertainty." he says.
Stefan's knowledge of the Whispering Way surprises and delights Mortimer. "Well done, Stefan. I did not know this obscure cult was a subject of study for you." he says. He pauses. "I am sorry to have to ask this, Kendra, but do you know the particulars of your father's death? The location, the disposition of the body, any wounds he may have received?" he asks her, a pained expression on his face.
Mortimer eyes the covers of each book, trying to recall any information he can about each of them.
He then leans back in his chair to listen to Gregorius read each of the journal entries, his elbows resting on the arm rests. As each entry is read, Mortimer leans ever forward, his brow darkening. When it is finished, he stands from his chair and, trembling with anger, looks at the others in the room, his eyes wide. "Murder and conspiracy to commit acts unnatural and vile!" he growls.
Still here!
Mortimer, his face grave, and expression stony, listens to the words of his teacher and friend. He nods at the mention of the books. Many a time I helped the Professor with such tomes. "One month?" he says under his breath. One moment of consideration. "I will be happy to stay in this charming town." he says, rising to his feet and shaking the Councillor's hand. He turns to Kendra. "I hope we will be a comfort to you and an aid in this time." he says to her.
I'm off to non-internet land until Monday. I may be able to log in at some point, but no guarantee until then.
Happy Holidays everyone!
Mortimer frowns at the turn in the conversation and stands, planting his hands on the table top. "I for one mean no disparagement to your character or your job. Any of us that do owe you an apology." he says, giving Drake a reproachful look. [b]"I for one have the utmost respect for your office, and it is clear to me that this is a peaceful and proper town, no doubt due in no small part to the efforts of yourself and your deputies."
Mortimer is grim-faced as the men walk into town. He looks around him with care as he walks. I smell a Necromancer behind all this. His trained eye scans for anything that sets off his instincts.
Once in the center of town his eye is then drawn to the gazebo and the dog. He frowns and pauses. "Hmm." He follows the other into the inn, still glancing behind him. Inside he looks around at the people present, standing tall and showing an aristocratic bearing to all. He sits at the table offered and smiles at Zokar after shaking his hand. "Mortimer Valdebridge." he says. "Thank you kindly for your hospitality. It's a fine place you have here." "Ah..." he mutters at the names of the menu items, but orders an ale and a 'Vampire Steak'. The Sherriff's arrival makes him smile and he rises from his seat and offers a hand to the man. His hostility, however, makes him frown. "Of course, Sherriff. We depend on your expertise in defending the people of this town. We are, fortunately, experts on matters involving the Unquiet Dead." he says. "We place ourselves at your disposal and convenience if you have anything you want cleared up about the technical matters relating to fighting them or rooting out those who use them to threaten your town and your people."
Cool, thanks for letting us know!
Mortimer nods to Anselm. "I'll drop my belongings at the inn, gear up, and then come back here to stand watch with you." Mortimer says. He eyes the cemetery with a grim gaze. What else is buried in this small village, Professor?
Computer issues resolved - for now... :/
Hey guys, sorry I haven't posted. Had a super-busy weekend and now am having some PC issues that I'm trying to resolve. I'll try to get back to normal posting schedule ASAP.
Mortimer is cowed by the Councillor's rebuke. "As you say, sir. You are right. I will govern my tongue more strictly in future." he says with a bow. To Stefan, he adds, "The Councillor thinks the danger is past, but I'm not so certain." He crouches down and examines the creature who spoke to them. "Is this one one of the risen loved ones, or did he come from somewhere else?" he asks. He stands and looks for tracks to find where it came from.
Mortimer walks right past Father Grimburrow to the Councilman. "Get those gravediggers back here, and any able hands you have. We must burn these risen bodies immediately and set watch on the graveyard incase more arise." he says in a commanding tone. He looks about to say something else, but he stops, then continues with a different thought. "Have you a Sherriff in Ravengro? I would speak with him about these matters." he says. He turns and walks over to where the others are examining the Undead warrior. "What do you make of this, Stefan?" he asks. "An Unquiet Dead with the mind to speak?"
Mortimer, seeing the Zombie turn away from him, takes the opportunity offered to him to strike at it, aiming another slash at the corpse's already damaged body. The wave of healing from Father Grimburrow elicits a look of distaste on his face.
He then turns to see one Zombie still attacking Stefan and he calls out, "Stand firm!" and spins, directing another whipping slash at the undead.
I like both styles of play. Sometimes I just want to boot the door in, and so I go to a PFS game. But that's not to say that great roleplaying can't happen in a PFS game.
Sorely wounded, Mortimer staggers under the Zombie's assault, "Fall back... get away. The Zombies can't move quickly." he says, coughing as he feels the splintered ribs tearing at the flesh inside him. He brings to mind his training, despite the pain and damage he has suffered, and tries to coolly assess his foe. Zombie. Still fleshy, apply cut to disable motor function... He applies his blade with precision to the Zombie's torso, aiming for the spine, but his wounds reduces the effectiveness of his slash.
Mortimer curses. It is a bad habit he picked up from the mercenaries he's had to hire during his hunting expeditions. The shocking nature of his words underscores the seriousness of the situation however. "To arms!" he calls out, drawing his Scimitar and turning to face out from the gathering. "Everyone to the middle. Stefan, I hope your magics are prepared. Drake, have you a knife about your person?" he asks. He looks to Anselm and Gregorius. "Get these people out of here. The Dead rise."
I'm doing a show this weekend, and may not get to post much - just a warning.
Mortimer remains only barely polite during the sermon, and he warms up significantly to Kendra's words. The others, he pays special attention to, after Kendra mentions that the Professor requested they all be gathered together. There is something more to all of this. When it is his time to speak, he first turns to the other friends of the Professor. "I am glad the Professor had such friends." he says. "And I hope we can do justice to his memory." "My name is Mortimer Brandon Valdebridge." he says, letting the name sink in for any that may recognize its noble provenance. "Professor Petros Lorrimor saved my life, and brought salvation to my ancestral lands. For that, the Valdebridge family owes him a great debt. Professor Lorrimor... That is Petros, faced a legion of the walking dead with calm, intelligence, and most importantly, knowledge!" he says, shaking his fist for emphasis. "This was his greatest strength, and the lesson he taught me that day has carried me to where I am now. I saw that day, that it was not the mewling of preachers or the ignorant superstition of the peasants... Or the indifference of the aristocracy." Mortimer blushes at that. It only takes him a heartbeat to regain his composure. "It is the application of knowledge that will protect us from the scourge of the Unquiet Dead and those debased mortals who dare to unleash them on the innocent! Petros was the greatest of scholars and was also strong enough to battle evil when others prefer to pretend it doesn't fester under their very noses." he glances at Father Grimburrow, his disdain for the clergy apparent in his eyes for a moment before it is gone in the sadness of the moment as he continues. "Petros, you were a greater man than most, and I hope that I can use all that you taught me to continue the fight! Be Smart, Rein in Your Fear, Know Your Enemy, Strike with the Right Weapon. Thank you Petros." Mortimer steps back then turns to Kendra. He takes her hand once again and kisses it softly before moving aside, his eyes bright with unshed tears.
"Councilman Hearthmount, thank you. I am glad to see that the people of your town are not all characterized by such rudeness." he says, offering a slight bow and then his hand to shake. "My name is Mortimer Valdebridge of Ardis." he says. "I don't know how long I will be in town, but I will be glad to meet with you." "Superstitious peasants." Mortimer mutters angrily under his breath as he returns to the coffin and resumes his duty, pulling his handle up a bit more quickly than the others. "I'll be glad to stand vigil over the Professor's grave with you." he says as they begin walking again. "Yes, indeed. We should also investigate what the Church is up to in this town. No sense leaving the matter to them when we can no doubt deal with matters better than they." he adds with a touch of coldness.
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