20th of Neth, 4709 AR - Journey begins.
It has been seventeen days since Professor Lorrimor passed away. The letter that arrived with the grave news was delivered to you personally by a courier, who went on his merry way immediately after confirming your identity. The letter was penned by a steady hand. Tears decorated the edges of the parchment - it was signed by Kendra Lorrimor, his daughter.
But it was more than a hopeful invitation to the funeral. The letter mentioned his will - and your names - and it was of utmost imporance that you could arrive to be there during the reading. However long the trip would take, you arrived in time for the funeral, to the small town of Ravengro...
It is early morning. The skies are dark, and the clouds seem to be on the verge of weeping. The Lorrimor residence is quiet, almost deserted. The garden is untended; thorns have begun creeping up the iron gates that wall off the residence. After a couple of minutes of waiting, the door to the manse opens. A woman emerges from the doorway and advances towards you at a rather slow pace. Her eyes are red and puffy. She is wearing dark-red mourning robes, a black cloak cast over her shoulders. Her hair is tied up in a topknot. When she sees you by the gates, her expression is a mixture of curiosity, relief and sorrow. "Are you...? The letters arrived in time?"
She shakes her head softly and curtsies for you. "I...I apologise, where are my manners? My name is Kendra Lorrimor. My father... the funeral will be held up north, in the Restlands."
"Thank you for... for coming. I...there are few who wish to pay their respects to my father, with things the way they are in town these days."
The tone of her voice is bitter - and sad. She wipes away the small hint of a tear in her eye. She looks at all of you, her lips tugged into a mournful smile.
It's been three days since Venedictos rode into Ravengro on the back of his donkey, Modestine. The land around the mournful town looked unspoiled by war, but dreary and sad, the locals suspicious and unfriendly. "Yet another place in this world where Shelyn's light has failed to reach," he mutters to himself.
He spent the first day traveling about town, trying to speak with people, and finding himself treated like he was riddled with plague. The second day, he confined himself to speaking to locals at one of the cheap watering holes in town. Locals opened up a bit once they had some drink in them; they got nastier and less polite about their distrust. By the third day, he gave up trying to talk, and just drank instead. He almost missed the time he was supposed to head to the Lorrimer mansion. Staggering out of the tavern, he left Modestine in her rented stall and meandered his way to the creepy, gothic manse. As he slumped against the gate, four other individuals began to arrive with him.
An overweight and balding man leans heavily on the wrought-iron fence, his studded-leather armour straining around his girth, and a glaive propped precariously on his shoulder. A scarlet birthmark in the shape of a bird with a long tail is emblazoned across his wide forehead. His skin is flushed from exertion and, you suspect, drink - his nose is beet red. He nods greetings to the others. When the gate opens, he staggers in, leaning on his glaive for support.
Upon meeting the grieving daughter, his slightly-vacant expression sharpen slightly. "To be honesht, I'm not shure why I'm here, but shince I am, my condolenshes on your losh. The hour of grief may sheem dark and ugly, but the light of Shelyn can shtill penetrate the gloom and bring you peashe."
Torsten arrives in Ravengro on the 14th of Neth, in the year 4709 AR. Having arrived early and with little gold to spare, he sets about trying to find daily employment doing manual labor. Day-to-day living is not uncommon for the strapping man - it is, in fact, the norm - so by this point he rarely has trouble making ends meet. Nighttime finds him in the local Ravengro pubs, often laughing uproariously at any manner of coarse jokes and generally trying to find some sense of community in the small town. Like many others he has been to, though, the people of this town do not seem to be interested in embracing the huge barbarian. He doesn't understand these people or their ways, but then again, the things he does understand are now many miles behind him and lie down a dark road. He sees more travelers than he might have expected - in the last few days, a heavy-set, balding man at one inn drinking heavily is almost certain to not be a local, and another man, drinking alone and bearing a brightly-colored scarf of Varisian make, may as well wear a sign around his neck proclaiming his heritage. But the people of Ravengro do not seem to embrace these men either, and Torsten (having been rebuffed many times in the past) is slow to seek camaraderie, and largely leaves the men alone save for a passing word or two.
Approaching the gate of the late Professor's residence, Torsten is not entirely surprised to see the balding man offering his condolences to a rather severe-looking woman. Hearing the woman's greeting, Torsten steps forward after the heavy-set man finishes what Torsten deems to be a sincere, if drink-addled, statement of condolence.
I am called Torsten Olæsson, Kendra Lorrimor. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, though the cause be sorrowful. Your father was a kind and good man, judging by the short time I was in his company. I, too, have lost a father. I grieve for your loss.
Torsten solemnly places a ham-sized hand on the greiving young lady's shoulder, squeezing as gently as possible in a gesture of warmth.
Turning to the balding man, Torsten smiles widely and claps the man on the back.
I have seen you in town. People here did not treat you kindly. I am sorry for that, and I understand - I have received mostly the same. I am Torsten. Who are you?
The fat man turns from Kendra to stare at Torsten's chest. Slowly, he tilts his head up, and up, and up some more until he's looking almost straight up. "I am Venedictosh, and you are very...very...tall."
Aerys arrived in Ravengro on the 17th of Neth, finding this town no more to his liking than the rest of Ustalav he had encountered. Ale too bitter, food too tasteless, barmaids unwilling to grace him with so much as a smile. His dreams have taken a dark turn in this town, leaving him waking with a palpable sense of dread.
Fully intending to leave this place after the funeral, Aerys packed his meager belongings before beginning his trek to the Lorrimor manse. A damp breeze rifled unenthusiastically through his blonde hair as he walked, as chill and lifeless as the rest of the surroundings. Twice the wind seemed to carry a soft, sibilant whisper, making him stop and turn suddenly. Sensing his master's unease, Nyx clawed his way up to Aerys' shoulder, chittering softly.
"Perhaps you're right, Nyx."Aerys whispered to the obviously nervous creature."If more people walked around carrying a ferret, the world might be a happier place."
As the grey bulk of House Lorrimor looms out of the fog, Aerys finds his mood brightening somewhat at the sight of the strangers at the gate. At least these folk show some life, he thought to himself.
Aerys bows deeply at Kendra Lorrimor's greeting. "I offer you my condolences as well at your loss, Lady Lorrimor. I knew your father but briefly, but I there was no mistaking his intelligence and kindness."
Turning to the others, Aerys gives a smile and nod of greeting. "I am Aerys Trajyon." He grimaces at his familiar's outraged squeaks. "And, of course, my companion, Nyx. It is nice to at last be greeted with something other than scowls or furtive glances. If only it were under less sorrowful circumstances.
Valerya has just arrived in town, with muddy boots and a water-stained hat. The small town brings too many bittersweet memories; arriving there confused and lost, guided by the already aging Lorrimor. Looking at the mansion the passage of time is evident, and the absence of Lorrimor looks extremely obvious. Trying to hide her feelings, she prays for rain to conceal her tears and pulls down her leather hat.
Valerya stands in the back, hoping nobody notices her until it's absolutely needed. Waiting anxiously so everyone goes through their introductions, she goes through them and holds Kendra's hands into her own like a close friend.
"Kendra, it's been... A long time..." A couple of seconds of hesitation later (and feeling awfully on the spotlight in front of all these strange people) she finishes her greeting hastily but honestly "I feel your pain."
As the newcomer maiden is speaking to Kendra, Torsten whispers excitedly to Areys and Venedictos.
I am pleased to meet, you, Aerys Trajyon... Nix, this is your ferret? He is a fine ferret, and clearly a clever beast. This - Torsten says, again clapping Venidictos on the back - is Venedictos. I am Torsten Olæsson, of Losthome in the Land of the Linnorm Kings.
In stark contrast to the warmth and enthusiasm with which he has greeted the others, Torsten does not introduce himself to the newly arrived redheaded woman, instead studying his boots intently.
Such hair! It is the color of flame! I have never seen it's like before. I wonder what omen this portends?
A dark, brooding young man arrived in Ravengro on the 16th of Neth. Ever since, he could often be found in the bar, drinking, or in the local graveyard, reading. The coldness the townspeople offered him did not phase him, as he was not one for talking much himself.
Once he arrives, he silently advances, shaking the hand of the saddened young woman.
I'm sorry we couldn't have met under happier conditions. Your father happened to be a very influential person to me, almost as much a father to me as to you, although I am sure your grief is many times greater.
He turns, nodding to the others, having seen Torsten and Venedictos in the tavern.
Kendra bows to each and every one of you as you step up to introduce yourselves - she embraces Valerya like a sister when the red-haired woman hugs her. As the hug falters, she does a final bow, before she shakes all of your hands. "I...I wish we had met under different circumstances."
She gestures towards the road into the city, and you begin on the road to the Restlands. Walking through the streets of Ravengro, you are met with suspicious eyes from townsfolk that have just begun their morning duties. Kendra doesn't throw them much of a glance, her eyes set on the road ahead. Having crossed the centre of the city, the road carries on up to the river.
"I...I do have another favour to ask," she says. "Would any of you be pallbearers for the funeral?"
Venedictos leans close to Kendra, the fumes of cheap wine surrounding him like a cloud, and says, "Anything we can do to help, though I think the tall guy'd probably do it by himshelf."
Valerya casts a quick, angry look to Venedictos, soon turning again to Kendra "I'll do it. And if he meant anything for you people, you'll do it too." She's clearly upset and a little sad.
Aerys nods. "Of course, good Lady. It would be an honor."
Torsten frowns.
What does this mean? I have not been to a Southern funeral. In Losthome, a pyre was built for those who had departed. Is that not the way here?
He quickly shrugs, and continues.
If there is any way I may be of assistance, I would be pleased to do so.
Kendra bows gracefully to you all as you cross the bridge. "I much appreciate this. Father...father would too."
She looks up at Torsten during the walk and begins to explain. "Here, in Ustalav, we bury the dead. A pallbearer is a volunteer who carries the coffin from the entrance of the cemetery to the burial site. In other cultures the gravediggers also perform this duty, but here in Ravengro and nearby villages, they prefer to separate the task."
There is a slight flush in her cheeks; she seems joyous for the minor distraction. After crossing the bridge, the walk goes for fifteen minutes when you approach a large site closed off with dry stone walls. At the entrance you see four men dressed in dark-brown robes, with their hoods drawn over their heads. A bald man, with withering features and grey eyebrows, greets you - a symbol of Pharasma is hanging around his neck. "Ah, Kendra, my child. How are you holding up?"
"As well as I can, Father Grimburrow." She gestures to all of you. "They agreed to be pallbearers."
"Good, good. You will lead the procession up the Dreamwake. We will wait for you on the burial site."
Father Grimburrow leads you all to the coffin: it is a dark casket, with few decorations. On top of it lays a small thicket of carefully prepared purple roses. He bows to you and sets off with the other three across the cemetery. Kendra turns to the coffin and gazes at it - longing is in her eyes.
"I...I think four of you should be able to lift the casket..."
Thank you for the explanation, Kendra Lorrimor. I have dug graves here in the south, but I have never seen an actual funeral, much less participated in one.
The big man reaches down and lifts the front right corner of the coffin easily, waiting for the others to lift their corners before pulling it up the whole way.
Venedictos moves to grasp the left front corner and attempts to heave it up. It takes three tries, his face turning peculiar shades of scarlet as he does so, before he gets it up. When it is time to carry it, the coffin leans precariously in his direction as he can't lift it as high as the Ulfen. Professor Lorrimer might not be rolling in his grave yet, but his coffin is probably another matter.
With a grim nod to Torsten, Aerys lifts the left front corner.
Saying nothing, Viktor lifts the back right corner.
Saying nothing, Viktor lifts the back right corner.
As you heave the casket, you find that the weight itself is nothing to scoff at. The four of you have no problems, however, though it does require both of your hands. Kendra does a gesture of thanks as she takes the lead of the procession, with Valerya by her side.
The Dreamwake is a stretch of curved road around two hundred feet long; the gravel crunches beneath your feet, though despite the weight of the casket you don't struggle to keep balance. Eventually you round the corner to the Eversleep - only to find the path blocked by a dozen locals. Their expressions are surly, and they are all spread. A man, broad by the shoulders and with a worn face, approaches. When he speaks, it is with a military tinge.
“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!”
Kendra is swift to respond, her sadness swiftly transforming into anger. “What are you talking about?” she cries out. “I arranged it with Father Grimburrow. He’s waiting for us! The grave’s already been...”
"Did you suddenly forget all the good professor did for you? All the children he taught how to write, all those vendors he taught sums? He was a good man, a godly man, and he doesn't deserve this!" She announces with emotion, a couple tears streaming down her eyes.
Her voice comes out a little pitchy, and she loses control a little bit, making her argument sound like a crying child instead of the hardened monster-hunter she is.
Perform, sing:
Some of the most beautiful, mournful chanting you've ever heard starts up from the fat man in the front, a low moving haunting tune which uplifts the spirit, and cuts Valerya's whining off short. Through it, he casts a guidance spell, the birthmark on his forehead glows softly, and his drunken lisp seems to vanish.
Diplomacy:
His chant comes to a finish and he lowers his gaze, kind but stern on the assembled mob.
"My friends, good people of Ravengro, what is the source of all this ugliness, this hatred? Why do you prevent the Professor's remains from finding rest within this hallowed cemetary and his beloved daughter from finding peace in her sorrow? I understand that you have had troubles recently, and I'm guessing now that you lay the blame at the feet of the deceased man we carry. I cannot speak to that one way or the other, as since the moment I arrived in this town, none of you saw fit to look beyond your irrational distrust of strangers to give me a chance to learn of your troubles. Now, it seems, you have decided to go against the wishes of your own trusted priest of Pharasma. Do you really think you possess the required earthly wisdom to decide where a man should be laid to rest? Moreso than your own expert is these affairs? I implore you: lay aside whatever anger or fear has led you to this assembly today. The Professor is dead, whatever deed you think he has done cannot be further avenged. All you do now is punish his daughter with your actions. Come with us - find one good thing, one good memory you have of the Professor that you can celebrate at his gravesite, and after we have laid him to rest, we can meet together for a drink and you can tell us what disturbs you so."
He attempts to shift the weight to his shoulder or hip so that he may extend a hand to the man in friendship.
Valerya shuts her mouth, dries her tears and stands woed at Venedicto's song. She fades into the background, heading close to Kendra, hands subtly on her weapons in case anything happens.
"I can't say it any better than he did. As much as he affected all of us, he must have done so much more for this community. Wouldn't it be reasonable to allow his body to rest in piece, and his soul find it's way to Pharasma?
Aerys finds himself blinking rapidly in response to Venedictos' melody."Yes - our friend here has spoken wisely. Can any good truly come of these actions?"
With Venedictos' rousing speech, a wave of murmurs wash over the group of thugs - and they all disperse instantaneously. Their eyes are laden with scorn but they say no more. As they walk past you, one of the men has tears in his eyes and he mutters an embarrassed apology to Kendra and Venedictos - another one looks guilt-ridden. Father Grimburrow comes rushing from the distance with one of his acolytes. He clasps his chest and heaves for air. "What happened?"
Kendra is sobbing - she has been ever since Venedictos' speech. She is smiling when she wipes away her tears. "Hephenus tried to stop the burial, but... But Venedictos convinced them to leave us be."
The man sighs and finds a handkerchief from his pocket, and hands it to Kendra, who offers her thanks. "You have my thanks. To think that they would disturb a funeral..."
He leaves shortly, asking that the procession carries on. Kendra looks grateful as you continue along the Eversleep, to the burial site. When you arrive you find that five others have also arrived - all clad in mourning clothes, black and dark blue, with sombre expressions. They all approach Kendra, offering their condolences. "T...thank you, Vashian... Gharen, Zokar, and little Pevrin too. And Jominda..."
The sermon begins. As you lower the coffin into the grave, Father Grimburrow begins his speech. "Today, we have gathered here, on this 20th of Neth, to commemorate Petros Lorrimor..."
The sermon lasts all but five minutes; the air is laden with mourning. He invites Kendra to say a few words. She fights back tears, her voice trembling. "I ... I have no words to say. Father was... he was the best father I could ever ask for. I remember the year I turned ten, when we first moved to Ravengro, and he frightened me with ... with Zokar's meals. I remember he brought home a carved ebon tiger from the Mwangi Expanse. And the stories he would tell me of all the corners of the world. And... and I will miss him so..."
She buries her face in her hands, unable to utter another word. Father Grimburrow gives her gentle comfort. "Does anyone wish to honour Petros Lorrimor?"
Faced with the prospect of public speech, Torsten shrinks as much as possible, and stands in the back of the crowd.
I'd not tell the story of how I saved the man's life. This is about him, not about me. I'll leave the flowery speech to Venedictos - he's clearly got the tongue for it.
Aerys' heart goes out to the grieving woman. "Good Lady, I can only offer that I know that time does indeed take the sharpest edge away from loss. Although I know too well that such words of comfort rang hollow for me as well at the loss of my own mother. I wish I could offer more."
"I wish I had known your father better, but sadly, our meeting was brief. Even so, I could sense his learning and wisdom, and the depth of your grief speaks volumes of his good nature."
Perform, sing:
Venedictos offers a short chant to the dead, mixing another guidance spell in with it.
"I too, knew him but briefly. He offered me words of encouragement when I was down, even though it was he I had just picked out of a roadside gutter. He saw something in me that I couldn't see myself. Sadly, what he saw has long since faded away."
Diplomacy:
For the third time today, Torsten claps Venedictos on the back as he returns to the small group of mourners.
You sell yourself poorly, skald. Your voice is inspiring, and your power to shape words is impressive. Leave self-pity to lesser men.
Beginning to feel shamed by his cowardice, Torsten finally does step forward.
I am not a man of words. I do honor to the memory of Petros Lorrimor today, as do we all. He was a kindly and good man. He will be missed.
Venedictos lowers his head. "That's almost what Lorrimer said to me, too."
A tear comes to the face of Viktor, and although it seems his anger is welling up inside of him, he says nothing for the time being.
Valerya lays a gentle hand at Kendra's shoulders before addressing everyone.
"The Professor saved my life and gave me instruction and direction in a time I was lost and confused. I'm not the only one who can say that, either. He... he was a good man."
As you all speak up to commemorate Lorrimor, it is clear that the five other guests are all impressed and thankful of your kind words; Kendra is nodding gratefully, wiping away the tears in her eyes. Father Grimburrow somberly completes the sermon as the gravediggers start covering Petros Lorrimor's coffin with dirt, filling the grave.
One of the other attendants, who Kendra addressed as Vashian, comes up to Kendra. "Again, my condolences, Kendra. And I dislike bringing this up, but these people," he glances at all of you, with a bit of distaste, "They are the ones mentioned in his will?"
Kendra nods. "Y-yes, they are. Will the reading of the will go through today as we planned?"
"Yes, though I have matters that demand my attention shortly. I will meet you and your father's friends at your manse in an hour."
With that, she gives him a last hug before he leaves. The others approach and again offer their condolences before they disperse. Father Grimburrow and his gravediggers leave as well, and Kendra looks at all of you. "Will you join me at the mansion until Vashian arrives to read... to read the will?"
Of course, Kendra Lorrimor. It would be an honor to so join you.
Torsten offers his arm to the greiving lady, that she might avoid falling in the mud, which would make a terrible day for her even worse.
Aerys falls in a few steps behind as they begin their return to the Lorrimor mansion.
Viktor will fall in step as well, about 15 feet behind any of the others.
Venedictos trails a bit further behind. As he walks, he keeps an eye out for some of the men from the mob, and if he sees any, especially Hephenus, he'll try to go talk to them.
Valerya starts walking besides Kendra, but falls back slowly until she's at Venedictos' side.
Thank you for what you did back there. When dealing with the mob, and, and everything else. If Lorrimor's out there"- she takes one quick look up "somewhere and he got to hear your song, I know he now has a smile on his face."
"Also, thanks for not letting me make a bigger fool out of myself."
Venedictos pulls his eyes away from the local populace long enough to bestow a kindly smile on the young woman.
"It is kind of you to say such a thing. The music of Shelyn is a powerful thing, I merely lack the energy to maintain it, and the world wears away its beauty."
He sighs sadly. "I appreciate what you say, but try not to look for too much in me. You will be sadly disappointed in what you don't find."
With that, he returns to introspection and scanning the locals.
The walk back to Ravengro is no less laden with sorrow. Kendra seems to have cried all she could, and the tears do not compliment the beautiful features of her face. She takes Torsten's arm when offered and leans in on the giant of a man, visibly grateful for the support.
The irate townsfolk that had stopped you earlier are nowhere to be seen. The walk south to Ravengro is uneventful - the grey skies loom and threaten to rain, yet never do. As you approach the Ravengro bridge, you see some of the locals are out, cleaning their front porches. They avert their eyes as they spot you, though bow their heads respectfully in Kendra's direction.
When you approach the gate of the manse, she thanks Torsten for the support and leads the way up to the mansion. "Please, if you could wipe your boots in the grass?" she asks of you as she opens the door. "Does...does anybody want tea?"
When you enter the house, you find that every single room seems to have several bookcases, stuffed with books from one end to the other. As she leads you into the living room, there's only one window that isn't blocked by a shelf. Several couches and chairs are situated around the table in the middle of the room, enough to seat all of you and more, with the hearth close by. The fireplace is, not surprisingly, not crowded with books. The room is cosy.
Tea will be fine, thank you, Kendra Lorrimor.
Torsten looks at the furniture skeptically, wondering if it would even hold a man of his girth. He wanders around the room, looking - slack-jawed - at all the books.
Never have I seen a collection of books this large. This is truly astounding.
"Lorrimor was a collector as well as a scholar. He never missed an opportunity of buying a book, no matter how esoteric the subject. He wanted to preserve the knowledge, fearing other people would misuse the books and that piece would be lost forever."
Valerya takes a quick look at Kendra, pointing to the fireplace with her chin. She remembers many afternoons in this small room, huddled by the fireplace reading a book or another, or just hearing the professor go on about a particular subject. If Kendra won't object, she'll start the proccess to light the hearth (setting wood and kindling, etc).
Aerys accepts the tea with a bow. "My thanks, Lady Kendra. Your father's collection is indeed impressive. Would you mind if I look over some of the titles?"
Venedictos looks around appreciatively. "This must be the most welcoming place I've seen in all of Ustalav," he says as he gratefully sinks into a deep arm chair. "Ahhhh!" He rubs his calves.
At the offer of tea, he thanks Kendra and asks if she has any brandy to splash into the tea, "To warm up my bones."
Kendra flushes softly as Torsten keeps referring to her by her full name. "Please, Mr. Olæsson, call me Kendra."
She nods at Aerys and heads over to the doorway to the room adjacent to the lounge. "Feel free, Mr. Trajyon - but please handle them with care. I do have some brandy, Mr. Venedictos - I don't know how much is appropriate..."
In only a couple of minutes, she returns, carrying a large platter. Several cups of tea and a small bottle of high-quality brandy is arranged in a pattern. She places the platter on the table, and hands a cup to all of you - and the brandy to Venedictos. "Thank you for lighting the hearth, Valerya. Are the volumes to your liking, Mr. Trajyon?"
Kendra flushes softly as Torsten keeps referring to her by her full name. "Please, Mr. Olæsson, call me Kendra."
Hmm. I will try to remember to do so. But surely you must call me Torsten, then.
Torsten sips the tea more delicately than one would think possible, but remains standing, inspecting the books with curiousity.
This te is pleasing, Kendra. I have only had te a few times, and this is by far the best of the lot. Thank you for it.
He pauses, turning his attention to Valerya.
So, you seem to have known the professor well - and seem to know much of his habits, likes and dislikes. I did not expect to ever hear from him again, much less be asked to be present for the reading of his last testament. Why do you think he requested that I be here? Does anyone have any guesses?
"Torsten, I too am at a loss as to why I am here. After I worked for him, he paid for my schooling, and I thought for sure that that would be the last I heard of Professor Lorrimor. When I received my letter, I was confused, for I thought that as he has already provided so much for me, I should not be considered in his will."