Chapter the first.
In which four serial LARPfags and a real man manage to get themselves thrown into jail. Before that peasants will be talked down, mass memory lapses in regards of their benefactor's name will be had, hardcore partying will be done, parasols and smoking pipes will be bought, ropes will be skipped, songs will be sung, crumpets will be had, and books will be read! Also, love blooms and sociopathic half elves go EMO!
This is a heavily edited chronicle of what transpired during the first session of Ulmichan's interpretation of the Carrion Crown campaign. It is heavily edited in that I have tried to keep a relatively structured narrative flow, as you can surely understand the session itself was a pretty chaotic affair with everyone talking at the same time, going from IC to OOC without warning, and getting lost in the general confussion. Some dialogue lines that were just echoing each other I left out, and a couple of times I changed the order in which two or more lines were because they did not make much sense otherwise without following the entire situation from an OOC perspective.
I have written it using Vanessa as the POV character as it came pretty lifeless, and pretty boring, as a simple line per line and action per action chronology of the events. I did pick her for the simple fact that she's the only character I know what's going inside her head at a given time, and so while every line of dialogue is written verbatim, outside some typos and grammar being fixed here and there, and all events happen exactly as they happened in the session, the narration itself is mostly from a mixture of her IC perspective and my OOC one.
That's for the notes. The story begins in a path near Ravengro's graveyard. Five people are there, waiting under a soft rain. They have been in the town no more than a couple of days and they haven't enjoyed it the slightest bit. To begin with the are attending a friend's funeral, which is also the only thing they have in common outside of a single time in which four of them managed to save the profesor from an untimely and bloody end, and maybe once or twice in the years since. Maybe more importantly is that their friend's daughter is too distraught to even care for the visitors, and that the locals are a friendly bunch who sees them as, an I quote, "Fancy-pants foreign types, coming here and meddling with their dark magicks." Charming little town, indeed.
As the result of this they have been staying at the Outward Inn, and I'm guessing they have gravitated together given the general mistrust, when not outright hostility, the quaint little pumpkins throw in their general direction. That's an explanation as good as any other as to why they are together, and I'm sticking to it.
There will be longer introductions later for at least some of them, but a brief one is right now needed. First and foremost there's Ulzir, whose last name may as well be Shepard for all we know. He's a half elf with an attitude. Two attitudes, even. Or, maybe, three. Gee, make that four.
Well met, fellow adventurers.
Much could be written about him, but we will leave it in that he's a ranger and a man, or, well, a half elf, of action, who lets his daring, bravery, and derring-do speak for themselves. It's just a shame his daring, bravery, and derring-do did not invest more ranks on social skills.
Then we have Alais, the pretty yet bookish and socially akward wizardess with an unhealthy fascination with all things long dead. And with cutting them, removing their internal organs, and playing with those. Or something that looks like she's playing with those, at least, and then hug them while sleeping. In any case, she could easily triple her already considerable Moe value by using glasses and being somewhat klutzy but, alas, I am not their image advisor.
Well, we've been living in the same inn for quite a while.
She's really smart, quite studious, and very acknowledgeable, which makes her almost the diametral opposite of the party's other girl, whom we will call a sorceress because
whimsical and beautiful socialite descended from a fairy and wielding kind of useless magical powers doesn't sound so dignified. Her name's Vanessa, and for what she has done thus far the same she could be a bard with no one noticing the difference.
In the same "inn", yes. To give it a name, I guess.
In the next place we have Grotak, a dwarf. He's not your grandmother's dwarf, though: He's centered, cool, has manners, is not bloodthirsthy in the least, and when he talks the last thing you imagine is a miniature scot. Vanessa's pet theory is that during that fateful day, almost three years ago, when they saved the Professor's life something went terribly wrong and made the dwarf and the half-elf exchange bodies, or at least personalities. It can happen.
If I recon correctly some of us met before - on the adventure we had with the professor! Prey did you receive this mysterious note about the professor's untimely demise as well?
And last, but not least, we have the odd and quite nervous alchemist by the name of Edgar. He's the party's other brainiac, a wellspring of obscure arcane trivia who has that mad scientist thing going on. From the group he's the one who did not met the others three years earlier, and the only one who's actually not a good natured anti-hero but an actual hero, with goodness and everything. In theory, at least.
Yes, I-I did.
We should cooperate and get to the bottom of this.
Indeed. I am eager to find out what took our dear friend to the grave at such a young age.
Let's wait for the actual funeral.
The Pr-pr-ofessor saved my live once, it's unfor-fortunate his demise, but I swear I'll do wh-whatever I can.
Drive a dagger into the heart of evil that has put an end to the dear professor's life.
We need to talk with Kendra about this.
alas we might be able to talk to her after the funeral. My invitation mentioned something about the professors inheretance.
Fine, but make it fast, i dislike drawn-out talks with useless wenches.
The party finally decides to resume walking. As they approach the cemetery they notice a small assembly of people, their number somewhere between half and a full dozen, all in dark clothes. Among them is a young woman with a parasol to protect herself from the rain. Kendra, their friend's daughter. Unbeknownst to her the professor's death isn't the only thing fate plans on throwing her way, and before the next day's lunch time she will have her late father's friends hitting on her, making themselves at home in
her home, arriving terribly drunk at advanced hours in the morning, and destroying what little local reputation she still has in front of about every single important person in town. But we are getting ahead of ourselves.
After a little this and a little that the funeral procession is ready to start, and our heroes are asked whether or not they want to serve as pallbearers. Whomever asked was soon feeling it had been a terrible mistake to do so.
I would hurt myself. AND the coffin.
I shall carry the dear professor on his last way.
Of course.
Let the dwarf and the elven mongrel do the honours.
Brave talk for a weak little thing like yourself.
Speaks the half-elf...
Luckily, Edgar puts an end to the bickering by taking their attentions back to the matter at hand, and to where they are, and to the company they are in. Thus the half-elf, the dwarf, and the alchemist become pallbearers, but the situation is already turning akward, and those assembled for the procession aren't taking their actions and behaviour well. This, however, is naught but a taste of things to come.
This is going to be a long day, it seems.
Let us not argue any longer and show our respect to our perished friend.
Shortly afterwards the procession has been put into motion. Kendra, the professor's daughter, is at the fore, followed first by the coffin, and, then, by the others. As they advance through the graveyard the notice a great many ravens dotting the area. But more importantly...
Have you seen this strange boy?
Strange boy? Where?
What are you talking about?
He just went deeper into the graveyard as we approached.
Hush, we'll talk about it la-later.
He must know something.
I'll be carrying our dear friend, but perhaps some one of you could investigate?
I'm not walking alone into a graveyard where weird kids lurk.
It's probably nothing.
Please, do not angry the villagers m-more than necesary.
These villagers have eyed us strangely since we arrived. I can't be the only one that noticed?
The villagers seem to have decided that foreigners are strange and appear determined to ignore the continued social faux pas'es.
Perhaps the boy can shed some light into all of this?
Let's ask the professors daughter about him.
But they will never do, alas, for they are like little rodents surrounded by many shiny thingies. And on they go, bickering and discussing and debating, and not even making the effort not to be noticed, while in the midst of their dear friend's funeral and grieving loved ones, until, upon taking a corner, they find themselves facing a small mob. Alright, a very small mob. Say, six really angry villagers.
Oh, joy.
Edgar's monocle shatters due to the repentine stress and the surprise. Given that must have someohow violated every single physical law I ever heard about, which aren't really that many, I'm asuming it's somehow related to his nature as a budding mad scientist and move along. Never trust those guys, I say.
I'm not lending you money for a new one.
For a moment wild bickering seems about to begin anew. Curiously, it is thus to be considered lucky, for the sanity of all those present who aren't them at least, that the mob takes the initiative. One of the angry villagers takes a step forward.
That's far enough!
Prey, what is the problem my good sir?
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 going' in the ground here!
You'll regret this, you filthy cur.
Ah, the wonders of half-elf diplomacy! Kendra, meanwhile, seems quite affected by what's happening, though at least she tries to hide it. Alais advances towards her while trying to discover the reason for the mob's intervention, but she's ignored. Ulzir, meanwhile, is muttering something about lopping heads off, and Grotak is trying to keep him down.
What are you talking about!? I arranged it with Father Grimburrow! He's waiting for us! the grave's already been --
You don't get it woman! We don't want a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin.
NecroWHAT?
I suggest you move out while you still can. Folks are pretty upset about this righ trnow
We can see that.
Ne-necromancer you say? Do you have any proof of it?
Having spent most of his life among books, treatises, and scientifical journals Edgar seems to forget dealing with angry mobs always puts the burden of proof square in your shoulders. He's quickly enlightened, but in the end he's not the only one who seems to have forgotten how your potential enemies deserve even more pampering, manners, and charm than your friends do.
Everyone knows he was up to something! Skulking around, doing his dark magicky things! Now either you walk out or we throw you out. Either way, he's not desecrating this place further!
How upset will they be to see their motherless children wailing and rolling in their blood?
Right, 'at does it!
I'm not with them.
Maybe this will teach you to hold your tonge.
And you'd just accept their accusations?
Please, everyone, calm down, it's just a misun-misunderstanding.
The time for words is clearly over, Edgar.
Alais does what wizards do on such situations and opens the battle by casting
sleep at those closest to her and Kendra, as she, you may remember, had advanced next to her, from her place behind the pallbearers, when the mob first tried to stop them. She kind of forgets the spell requires an entire round to be cast, which leaves her open and still at the front. She also forgets something maybe more important.
She cast magicks!
Even then, while several peasants advance towards her with a very marked lack of love for the evil witch in their eyes, she manages to notice at least one of her companions has bloodlust on his own and tries to be caring and humanitarian, maybe out of honest goodness or maybe because she's trying to make them forget she's casting a spell on them under the very same set of asumptions that would go and soon become Vanessa's life philosophy. It doesn't work as intended. But, then, what ever does?
Don't harm those peasants! Idiots!
I'll drop my weapon if they apologize.
Oi! she calle dus peasant eedjots!
Edgar lets out a sigh. Vanessa smiles to herself. Grotak shakes his head and mumbles something about being surrounded by fools. Ulzir is, well, Ulzir. Like a force of nature, you have to learn to love him just as he is, or skip town when he's visiting.
Apologize!
One of the peasants manages to reach Alais and tries to punch her with wild enthusiasm. He misses so badly it's almost comical. Edgar attacks that very same one with his light crossbow, mumbling something about trying to not hurt the peasant badly. With a crossbow and at a pretty close distance, yes. Luckily for both the peasant and the alchemist's consciousness he misses.
Bloomin' 'ell!
Moron! Don't kill them!
The sudden disappearance of one of the pallbearers leaves the coffin fighting an uphill battle against the simplest of physics, and only the quick reaction of the dwarf manages to keep it from tumbling over and spilling it's contents all around. More punches get thrown with far more savagery than skill, finding nothing but air.
Fists are flying, arrows are flying, spells are flying, coffins are nearly flying. Nothing seems to connect!
A truly codexian affair.
I never ask-asked for this.
Most of the funeral procession is by then panicked, screaming and running away. Only our heroes and Kendra remain, and whatever hint of order and purpose the mob could once have had is long gone: Everyone's doing their own thing, carried away by the panic, the anger, and not a small bit of hysteria.
Dear lord, what a good impression we're making.
They are enraged!
I wonder why...
Vanessa reacts first like someone who doesn't really remembers the rules and isn't yet completely inside her character: She casts
Grease to protect Edgar's flank from the advancing villagers, thinking completely OOC and probably with terms like goblins instead of misguided villagers and tactical combat instead of social interaction. Her spell makes one slide to the floor, and then she retreats as fast as she can towards the cemetery gate. Considering this is a cemetery under the rain, the surface thus muddy and irregular, and she's wearing some pretty steep heels the scene itself must have been pretty funny. The joke was kind of lost in the only remaining public, though.
Vile witchery! Dark magicks!
Yes, that girl in the red dress sure's a witch.
You only make our situation worse.
Some help here!
Ulzir first decides to charge one of the villagers and punch the stupid out of him, but then, remembering he's one of the only two remaining pallbearers, he carefully lowers his side to the ground instead. This takes his entire round instead of being a free action like just droping it down would have been, but preserves the contents where they belong. The same does Grotak once his own turn comes, and then one of the villagers
finally manages to connect a strike, punching Alais in the stomach for what amounts, to a wizardess, to about half her hitpoints.
And as the first round ends her spell finally comes into effect and the two peasants attacking her fall asleep. She then moves to try and place herself in such a position as to cover as many of the remaining ones with a
color spray.
It works pretty nicely, leaving only two enemies in their feet. It almost works pretty nicely on Edgar, too, but he somehow manages to resist it and takes the chance to quickly punch the one enemy next to him and still on his feet for about three damage.
By then Vanessa has kind of remembered she focused her entire character sheet into being really charming, breathtakingly beautiful, and quite sociable, and that maybe, just maybe, she should just try and talk them down. More importantly, though, she remembers the
spellcasters will be shot sign back a the town's entrance and decides, quite quickly, to dedicate her life to be nice, friendly, funny, and helpful with the locals so people starts liking her well enough before the whatever law this place has hears about her. Trying to look as innocent as possible, and remembering how superstitious those country bumpkins are...
Stop, right now! Whatever you have against -them-, shouldn't you take it elsewhere? You are disturbing the rest of those here sleeping, and spilling blood from them to savor. Do you really believe this to be smart? Safe?
The dice Gods smile upon her and give her a result of 29 in a 1d20 + 9 roll, showing a skimpy enough dress can even rake divine favour, and I would add a smug face here if that weren't to break the paragraph. The brawl stops and silence falls upon the graveyard, at least for a little bit. Seconds later a repentine clapping breaks the tense, uncomfortable quietness. Someone really knows how to make a dramatic entrance.
Ah, child, it gladdens me to see at least ONE person in his hallowed place has the presence of mind to speak common sense.
The priest glares fiercely at the now really uncomfortable mob. Being perfectly conscious she had just betrayed her nature as a sorceress to an angry mob of magic hating uncivilized primitives she decides to press the advantage and try to make the peasants remember her as
that nice and pretty lady full of forgiveness and kindness and understanding instead of
the one we have to burn before we all start croackin and licking flies.
They aren't to bear the entire guilt.
You're lucky this well-spoken lady took your side, ruffians. If I had my way, you'd all be spending the night in the sheriffs lockup.
Grotak and Edgar apologize for what transpired, the half-elf remains silent for once, and the mob disperses with an embarrased air about them. From then on things go smoothly: Before long the procession is back in business, with all those who ran away when the brawl broke out returning to their places and the last journey of the Professor coming to a satisfactory end in the plot Kendra had purchased for her father. She talks about how brave and selfless her father was, recounting stories and anecdotes, and then invites anyone else who has tales of her father to share to step forward and do so.
It is the dwarf who first does so.
well, Kendra, as your father probably has told you we all had our brief encounters with him. We knew him as a kind hearted spirit who still had much to give. We grieve over your loss, and hope he will find the peace, in death, life wouldn't give to him. Although I only briefly met him we shared many stories, and he only had good things to say about you. Perhaps later we can talk a bit in private, and share our stories about him. This is all I have to say. Thank you. May his soul find peace.
What follows may as well be the Gods' way to tell our heroes Grotak and Vanessa are meant to be best pals ever. He rolls 1d20 - 2 and gets an 18. Everyone is moved, impressed, touched, and kind of letting slide from their minds this is the very same dwarf a short while ago was contemplating to drop the coffing without much ceremony to start beating their neighbours with his axe's handle. Father Grimburrow looks around like who's expecting for another to step forward. The half-elf does.
This one time, in a graveyard, I fought to clean the professor's name of accusations of necromancy while everyone else tried to talk me out of it. I think that's a cool story.
What follows are several minutes of akward, uncomfortable silence, broken by nothing but a single conversation, held in whispers.
Wow, this dude really left an impression on us, huh. Hey, bro, wanna hit the whorehouse after this shit is done?
Again with this nonsense. We are at a funeral. This is neither the time nor the place.
God. Where did all the fun dwarves go.
What did you say, young man? I'm sure the others would also love to share this story. Don't be ashamed.
Ah, nothing, nothing, continue.
Alais takes a step forward, then, before the situation can further degenerate. Of them all she seems to have been the closest to the Professor, and she paints a pretty different picture of the deceased.
It feels like forever since I first met him. A little girl living in the gutters. I guess the story would have ended there had it not been for this kind man that offered helping hand to that girl and her brother, that wanted to rob him blind. To this day I have no clue what he had seen in me, and why he decided to pay tuition for a ragtag orphan but deeply from my heart, I cannot express how grateful I am. I hope I have not betryed what he taught me and I never will.
However, the whispering resumes halfway through her eulogy...
Would someone please face the elephant in the room and ask about the necromancy thing?
While the dwarf tries, again, to calm down the half-elf, Edgar takes a step forward, which given his character and inclination must have taken a truly herculean effort. His tale, however, is not going to do much for their reputation around town. If I understand at all the way the locals filter sensorial information nothing but sorcery, heresy, and being hanged up is getting to the sinister gulf between the ears.
Once, many years ago, that good man saved my l-life: I was to be be hang up for an injust accusation of supposed sorcery and heresy, when that man convinced everyone else that it was only a misunderstanding. I th-thanked him for that, he said that it was nothing, but he would like to pay him back for this favor. I waited many, many years for him to call me and follow through the end of the bargain. Unfortunately, the call never arrived. I'm truly sorry for his death, I was ready to do anything to pay him back. May he find peace in the afterlife.
Vanessa, meanwhile, decides to keep her peace. In the one hand she probably already spent all his reserve of social luck for the day. In the other, what was she going to say? "After I saved his life by mere accident we became kind of friends and held the ocasional very interesting discussion in the topic of fey, sorcery, and fey sorcery. But please, don't worry, neither of us were sorcerers. Honest. And have I told you the story about that day he and I... Oh, gods, look at the time! To cut it short, He was truly a scholar of things both theoretical and empirical. That's all."
So after a short while, and not a few more smart ass half-elf comments, later the ceremony came to an end. Kendra gave her thanks to all there and, once the mourning lot has exchanged the usual condolences, hugs, promises of being there for each other that neither party has the least intention of living up to, and dispersed she comes to our group and invites them to the Lorrimor estate to attend the reading of the professor's will. Since the magistrate is not due until at least half an hour later the group takes the long way around town, going through what passes for downtown here. Barely. Conceptually, even.
Regardless of context, though, this means but one thing: Vanessa and Alais are leaving all their grief behind and engaging their store raiding protocols. Before long the sorceress has bought a parasol to protect herself from the rain and the wizardess removes a smoking pipe from inventory. And you can safely asume that implied not a small amount of trying different models of parasol and smoking pipe, spending quite some time discussing how this parasol highlights the sorceress' bust if held like this and that smoking pipe, being held just like that by the wizardress lips, sugest a great many things without ever going near being unsubtle about it, trying what each other's browsing just for laughts, and finally buying the very first parasol and smoking pipe they saw upon reaching the stores. It included a lot of giggling and gesturing, too.
I knew having women in the party would lead to EXCITING parasol purchasing.
Luckily for the half elf's sanity that's all kind of abstracted into about three lines. Something like...
Can I get a parasol?
Can I get a smoking pipe?
Sure.
Wasted potential, let me tell you. The dwarf, meanwhile, makes a point on keeping his eyes peeled for anything unusual going on the streets, and Edgar enjoys whatever sights the quaint little place has to offer, which more or less amounts to about fourty houses, a bunch of orchards, two covered bridges, half a dozen shops, and a temple. Yay!
In any case, as they walk towards the Lorrimo estate, taking their sweet time as indicated, they come across something the dwarf can, without second thoughts, label as unusual: Five little girls are playing a skipping rope game at one side of the road, each of them taking turns to jump the rope while reciting two lines from a quite sinister song. The entire thing comes out as very well planned and executed, with a good enough timing in the reciting, the skiping, and the going from jumping to taking their places at the ropes' ends without ever stoping as to be qualified of
coreography.
The song goes as follows.
Put her body on the bed.
Take a knife and lop her head.
Watch the blood come out the pipe.
Feeds the stirge, so nice and ripe.
Drops of red so sparkly bright.
Splatters spell her name just right.
With a hammer killed his wife.
Now he wants to claim your life.
Tricksy father tells a lie.
Listen close or you will die.
Charming.
Hmm. How curious.
The team's wizardess believes the song to be describing a ritual used to create a flesh golem.
Anyone recognizes this song?
Yes, I recognize the song. It is a couple of decades old, it's been sung here since shortly after the old prison of Harrowstone burned down.
Let's investigate a little further. Girls, what a funny song are you singing. Will you teach me?
As she approaches the girls they stop playing and stand, kind of half to attention and half nervously, while throwing timid glances at her and her companions. A certain half-elf, since we are at it, decides not to help the situation at all.
Talking to girls, about songs. How adventurous!
Forgive my scary friend, little girls. What we mean is, that's a really interesting song you are singing. Would you teach me to sing it too? I would love to, this game looks like so much fun.
The girls relax after a while of niceness and a lot of hidding the half-elf from their sight. They seem to take into teaching Alais and Vanessa their little song with a great deal of enthusiasm, and they even explain to them it is but a song people has been singing since, like, forever. Alais rewards the girls with a copper coin each, and Vanessa then spends a little taking advantage of her youth to play and sing and have fun with the girls. And this is, obviously, in no measure related to project
let's make the locals think of me as a nice and caring girl instead of an evil witch. Nosiree, not at all.
In another corner of the town's square, meanwhile, the Dwarf is giving a piece of his mind to the half-elf and his attitude, and an alchemist who is far too responsible and serious to play and sing with little girls is arriving at the Lorrimor estate much earlier than the rest of the party. Some would say his completely unsubtle infatuation with Miss Kendra has also a part on this, but that's libel and nothing else. I swear.
Kendra smiles nervously as she leads him into the house.
Oh... Edgar, was it? You'll have to forgive if I am a bit of a mess. It was lovely, what you said about father at the funeral.
Thanks. I ask pardon for the previous outburst, I swear I didn't knew these odd people, I never expected them to react so... violently.
The girl sighs, and completely misunderstands him. I'll be asuming that's because she doesn't want to think of her father as someone to share a close bond with such a backstabbing little bookworm.
People have always been superstitious around here. And most of the group that showed up today were local farmhands of low character. I wish I could say I was surprised.
Some small, nervous, and slightly akward small talk follows, and by then the others have made their way to the estate. Shortly thereafter, and on the exact time he had announced he would arrive, councilman Vashian, the magistrate, arrives with a scroll case, sealed with the professor's personal seal, containing both the deceased's will and a small key everyone chooses to ignore for now even when it falls to the table with quite a
clank!
---> click here to read the will <---
So be it. I swear I'll help you, miss Kendra, on everything you require.
My dwarven friend, we shall gorge ourselves on wine and wenches with our newfound wealth!
His work done the magistrate is given leave and Kendra, after short deliberation, informs our heroes she will need at least a few weeks to decide whether she wants to sell the family home or remain on Ravengro. While she stays, at least, she wants the party to remain as well as was indicated in the will, and offers free room and board in the estate, which is by no means small, for everyone. She then leaves for a little while, returning with the chest the will mentioned. She leaves it over the table and gestures towards the key.
I think... perhaps I should excuse myself. If father did not wish me burdened with this, then I will respect his wishes.
Before you leave kendra... First of all again, I offer my condolences. But forgive me I have to ask... under which circumstances exactly did your father - out beloved friend - meet his demise?
Oh, it was terrible. A freak accident. He was spelunking near the old ruins when a gargoyle fell on him.
What?
Splat.
Do you know by any chance what he was doing at an old ruin?
I suppose it was only a matter of time before something like that happened. The whole place has been falling apart for years.
Excuse me. May I ask which ruins are those?
The Harrowstone prison. He was obsessed with the place, always sneaking out at night to lurk around in the vicinity.
The old one that burned down?
Yes. It's been crumbling for years. It's not unheard-of for parts of it to cave in.
The Harrowstone prison. The one related to the old song children sing while playing, right?
Oh, that dreadful song. Yes, I think I heard something about it being connected. I'm not much of a historian I'm afraid. Anyway
*sniff* if it's all right with you, I need to be alone to think for a while
Who did find the body?
The sheriff's men. They went out looking for him after he went missing and found him near the ruins with the gargoyle...
She looks about ready to break out in tears. Grotak puts a hand on Kendra's should and gives her a mournful face. Naturally, this is in no way related to Edgar not being the only one pursuing the sad depressed girl in her moment of weakness. At all, they are all upstanding members of the community, always ready to offer a shoulder to cry on and a friendly pat on the back.
My friends, miss Lorrimor needs a bit of time for herself.
Please Miss Lorrimor, do not despair. We'll honour profesor's will with utmost dedication.
Kendra delays her departure just long enough to get them tea and crumpets.
This is all very curious. I wonder what became of that gargoyle.
It was an inanimate gargoyle, methinks.
Even if it was inanimate, Alais, who says it wasn't loosened or pushed by someone?
I'll open the chest, if you don't mind.
Sure. Go ahead.
Edgar tries the key. Before he gets the chance to try and turn it Vanessa is near the door, and everyone else's discussing the best procedure to discover any trap the chest might hold, and the best methods to use while following such procedure. Almost everyone else, at least.
Paranoia?
Alchemist, half-elf, and dwarf all cluster around the object. They check it for signs of traps from every angle, cover every centimeter of its surface with wary eyes while muttering among themselves about dwarven instincts, deadly traps, detect magic cantrips, and more. They find absolutely nothing.
FFS, I am opening the chest! I AM OPENING IT!
Both her and Edgar have reached for the chest at the same time, and they raise the cover together. In retrospective, you have to give that doesn't count as much as chance as it does as sheer synchronicity, or even predestination. The team's two socially akward brainiacs reaching for the fated artifact at the same time, their hands softly and timidly touching each other, a rush of warmth ascending up from their fingers, stabing heart and numbing brain with naught but a slight tremble of the extremities, a soft blush on the cheeks, and the hands at the same time trying to remove themselves from each other's touch and trying to prolong the conection as evidence of the inner turmoil thus awoken.
Or, at least that's Vanessa's version of the events that transpired as they both reached for the box at the exact same time, and future events would show how finely crafted her Calistrian's senses are. Anyways, she must have had a hard time keeping the giggling and squeeeing under control while they actually raised the cover. Everyone's expecting an explosion.
There.
Inside there are several old tomes, along a comparatively new one. The odd one out is placed atop the others, "read me now!" inscribed on its cover.
A sure sign I should not touch it.
We should save that one for last.
Screw this magic business.
The half elf places himself as removed from the books as geographically possible without leaving the room. Vanessa takes a seat at the table, serves herself a cup of tea, and lets the brainy duo do the boring stuffies while she has some crumpets. Edgar and Alais check the books that don't say "read me now!" in the cover, first. They find those to be quite an interesting collection of texts, and if a single one of those was by the general populace discovered to have been the professor's his body would probably get exhumed, desecrated, and burned in an orgy of supertitious furor before the party can even begin to explain, though by then, and after being themselves in contact with those, they would probably be too busy trying to skip town as to care.
The first one is a jet black tome called
On verified madness. It goes on and on with treatises and essays detailing astrological observations and occult lore regarding the almost unknown region known as the dark tapestry, the dark gulf between the night sky's stars where true madness is said to inhabit. It also goes into great detail about those aberrations that while being found residing on Golarion possess remote ties linking them to such a place, but given those creatures have probably more eyes than tentacles, more tentacles than mouths, more mouths than teeth, and more teeth than eyes it is better to spare no thought for them.
The next one is none other than
Serving your hunger, one of the many profane texts detailing the faith of Urgathoa, whose office is that of gluttony, disease, and undeath. Between its covers are said to dwell not only treatises and notes on the goddess' philosophies, values, and tenets of faith but also several extravant and, if one's to believe the rumors, sinister cooking recipes, as well as works detailing several methods by which to reach undeath. Lorrimor himself seems to have written many notes on its margins.
The third one is none other than
the umbral leaves, a translation into the common tongue of the most holy book to the faith of Zon-Kuthon, the midnight lord, whose office is envy, pain, darkness, and loss. It is a volume written in blood and on pages of carefully, almost lovingly, prepared flayed skin, or at least that's what the rummors say about how the original, and most copies, look. Vanessa went and focused on her crumpets and her tea as soon as she heard the name being read aloud, and prefers to be left in obscurity and ignorance about it. And about the other ones, too, if possible. What ever happened to the actually glamorous and cool evil gods? Did they all pack and went be awesomely villanous in some distant corner of the multiverse or something? Gee.
Anyway. The fourth, and final, volume is a book with covers of a rich purple color rimmed in polished steel and clasped with an intrincate, if small, lock. A brass scarab with a single eye on its back is the centrepiece of the cover, and on the spine it can be read
Manual of the order of the palatine eye. After closer examination our heroes discover the key needed to open the lock seems to be a weird one with a triangular shaft, and no such artifact they find regardless of how much they look into the now almost empty chest.
Interesting...
Does someone knows of that order?
They try really hard to remember anything of importance about the mentioned order but nothing comes up before they give up in frustration, which must mean it's some really obscure piece of trivia. Alright, that's not completely true: Something does comes up. Alais tries really, really hard. So hard, in fact, that all of a sudden she's quite sure it might be a quite famous traveling theatre troupe she knows of. Then she notices what she just said and accuses the giggling, tea drinking, crumpet eating fairy wanabe of jinxing her rolls, whatever that may be. Maybe it's true reading ancient evil books does wonders to your sanity score.
Meanwhile Edgar, after accepting his own ignorance on the topic, tries to pick the lock, but no matter how carefully he goes about it and how very hard he tries the lock just ignores him. If it had a mouth it would probably laught at him, too.
What do you think? could the key be hidden somewhere in this house or does the recipient hold the key?
Let's search the house.
Ehh...
Searching the whole house for a key is like searching a hey stack for a needle.
Let's read the journal first.
Ok, journal first. Then ransacking the place.
Good idea. Let's read the journal.
I am doing the reading. Check it for magic, before it explodes in my face.
And traps!
And suddenly the book moves, it's a demon in disguise.
What's the point of the professor leaving a bomb to us?
Detect magic, please. It's a dangerous book.
Paranoia, dear.
Much to your dismay, the professor has not prepared any deadly traps to kill the people whom he included in his will.
It's just a journal!
Read it, bro.
Do it. Do it now.
Ok. Give them letters a nice kick in them arse, I will.
In the end, Edgar takes the book and starts reading while the others bicker and discuss and debate and tell one another to go and open the damn thing already.
You know you are in trouble when the timid scholar's the only one with initiative.
It was, in fact, the professor's journal, covering several years of life, adventures, and research. A few of the entries have been recently circled in red.
---> Click here to read the journal's circled entries. <---
Mein gott!
Crypts! Adventure! Killing! Now that's more like it.
If what the pages say its true, we have to do something!
In order to do so we should take a look at the list at the temple. See if the professor left any further clues.
First, we must lay our hands on the items the professor wrote about.
The temple is right here in town.
Before, I would like to go to the library and search for more information. Oh, and warn Kendra.
Also, this Whispering Way... Has anybody ever heard of them before?
Both of the party's bookish types had, though without access to a library and some focused research the information at their disposal was superficial and spotty at best. Still, Edgar explained what he knew to the others: "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."
It seems Grotak was right. The Professor WAS killed.
We should make further research on the prison and those... necromancers... our priority.
So this all has to do with the old prison. The girls that were singing the song... They mentioned something about knowing how to spell a name.
I guess it's time to go to the library and do some research. Who wants to come with me?
I'll be hitting the bars and mingling with the locals. I could do with an escort, and it will be funnier than the library for sure. Who's in?
I'll accompany you, Vanessa. Only to keep you out of trouble.
Monocledwarf suaves again!
I am the library type of girl.
I suggest we separate and do our own investigations. We should go to the ruins as soon as possible.
Perhaps you could also stop by the temple and have a look at that list, Alais?
I'll stick with Edgar.
I'll stay with Alais and Edgar.
So much for investigating separately.
Say, Vanessa, do you remember this song the girls were telling you about? what was the deal with the name spelling?
"Splatter spells his name..."
I would suggest stopping by the temple. The priests there might have knowledge about such things, and they got the list the professor was looking into. But before we depart, is there anything we need to discuss with Kendra first? Or take a look around the house in general.
I think we should warn her, her life could be in danger. I'll ask her for the library then.
Councilman Vashian could know a thing or two.
We'll go hit the bars and the temple, then.
Ay, and try not to throw around too much magic this time if possible.
Meanwhile, Edgar has gone to find Kendra and ask her about the libraries in town. He also forgets about telling her about his father as he just said he wanted to, but that's probably what happens if you go and check whether or not
the umbral leaves is actually written in blood upon carefully, almost lovingly prepared flayed skin. A lesson is to be found there, fo' shoo.
Hmmmm... I could think if a few places, Edgar. There's my fathers library on the second floor. You're welcome to it. Also, Ravengro town hall has a lot of old town records, but they might require convincing befor ethey let you look through the sealed records. There's the temple of pharasma of course. But again, they usually only let members of the clergy or respected members of the faith into their archives.
Anything else? Is there some sort of university here?
Hm.. closest thing to an university would be the unfurling scroll. It's a magic shop and scrollhouse run by Alendru Ghoroven. Most people avoid it.
And then the team broke into epic bickering, debating, argumenting, and discussing. Edgar proposed, again, for the group to split and for everyone to search one of those sites individually as to save time and maximise their potential findings. Vanessa, meanwhile, insisted on hitting the bars and hunting for rumors, tall tales, and local folklore as she wasn't the library type of gal, and insisted on not breaking the team too much as they were still strangers in a very suspicious, very xenophobic, and potentially very hostile enviroment, at most sending Alais with Ulzir to the archives or the temple, going herself with Grotak to mingle with the locals, and Edgar staying to research the Lorrimor estate library. Ulzir wanted to check the second floor, and thus decided to stay with Edgar even when the alchemist wanted to send everyone to do something different.
After a while they seemed about to accept Vanessa's plan, but Grotak then reminded them Kendra should be considered a potential target of the Necromancers who had killed her father. Alais, meanwhile, started kind discussing with Edgar who was going to do the Lorrimor estate library and who the archives, and considered maybe they should just focus both on the estate's library instead. Edgar, then, decided instead they should take the chance to introduce themselves one another, which gave the party another reason to discuss and bicker and argue.
When they finally decided to get the introductions done it was late in the afternoon.
I'll introduce myself first. I'm Edgar Lovecraft. I make my living working as an alchemist. Some would say that we are nothing but a bunch of pseudo-wizards but that's not the case, we study magic focusing on chemistry and the powers of maths. I can craft magical potions and also unstable devices that you could call 'bombs' for combat.
Lovecraft? What a curious name, I say. Pleasured to meet you.
Well, mother said that I was named after my granfather, sadly he died before I was born.
Ah, the name of an ancestor? I thought it was more... descriptive.
Ulzir, always the patient one, jumps in and tries to move things along as fast and rudely as possible.
ok then: i'm ulzir, i'm a ranger, and I was born in a whorehouse, a product of a brief intercourse between a human father and an elf courtesan.
Which in turn leads to Edgar completely ignoring him and continuing about his craft and the wonders of mutagenic agents.
Lastly but not least, there's the mutagens, special potions that give me special effects. Unfortunately, they're very... 'Unpleasant', the body's mutations are an horrible sight to behold.
Maybe noticing they just discovered what makes the alchemist tick and that they are going to spend the whole night listening him go on about explosions, genetical abominations, hidden labs, and angry mobs with torches and pitchforks running him out of towns is that Alais decides to quickly and quietly intrude.
Alais. A dabbler in arcane arts and specialist in forensic postmortem examination. Pleased to make acquaintance...
Contrary to what just happened when the half-elf decided to try and move things along her interruption actually strikes some soft, mushy spot and forces the alchemist into telling her how much of a pleasure it is for him to met her and that other guy who just talked but he had not noticed until now. Aha. Tell me more.
A pleasure to meet you, Alais and Ulzir.
Continues below...
Well, that was more akward than I thought when I was playing. We really need a different chat, you accidentally confused some things I said out of characters as Edgar's comments, like this one:
A very good AAR.
