Carrion Crown (on the Farm) IC: Season One

[SanguinePenguin]

Despite the obvious allure of going to an Ustalav graveyard, Tamara knows that Kendra needs her more… and some part of her needs Kendra too. Perhaps it was because she was her main extant link to the late Professor, but there was some desire to stay in her presence.

When Aaron politely cleans her boots, she smiles broadly, the first bit of joy she had in almost 11 minutes! “Wow! I don’t know if they’ve ever been this clean! Thank you!”

After Kristoph’s introduction, Tamara nods as the man is obviously correct. She opens her mouth to introduce herself right as Aaron takes a turn. She listens intently to the tale, her grin widening at the introduction of the familiar. When no one else jumps to an introduction, she announces, “my name is Tamara Whittlecrop Brockhouse. I’ve lived in different places, born in Cheliax, then Andoran, then Druma, Nirmathas, Lastwall, now Ustalav! I am… well I guess a sellsword is the right term, but I aspire to adventure! As to how I met the professor, well, one of my jobs took me into the lair of a beast of unspeakable horror,” at this point the halfling’s transition to into storytelling becomes clear, her voice suspenseful and her diction waxing poetic, “the team I was with were investigating a band of cultists in northern Nirmathas, the twelve of us cleared their gathering, then descended into an underground vestry where we believed the leader was holed up. What we found there was an amorphous writhing mass of flesh, teeth, tentacles, and eyes. The chitters and gibberish it produced were maddening - thinking became like trying to… cartwheel in a windstorm. The very ground started to melt, the stone became as mud, hells… my boot print might even still be there set in solid stone. Our leader, Allin, went crazy and attacked Pax from behind; the thing spit acid into Kel’s eyes and he went blind; it grabbed Jerry and ate him; I hit it, but I don’t know what good it did. Doral gave the order to flee,” Tamara sighs slightly, clearly still unhappy with the call, “and so we did. Fortunately, it gave me this cool acid burn on the way out!” She displays the back of her hand proudly, where a sizable purple chemical burn is located.

“That’s the short version. So our group disbanded after losing Jerry and especially Pax at Allin’s hand no less. Petros learned of this aberrant horror somehow, but no one else from my former group would talk about it for some reason, maybe it damaged their memories somehow? Eventually, he found me, and we talked all about it and his adventures. In the past year since we met, I’ve even worked for him twice now as a guard! It was fun, but nothing as neat as the gibbering mouther happened in those jobs.” There is genuine disappointment in her tone.

[Farmerbink]

The lithe, pale man snorts good-naturedly. "Healthy market. Clever." Smiling in genuine mirth, he listens raptly to Tamara's naturally-endearing, if amateur, delivery. As she falls silent, he claps enthusiastically, stepping forward from where he leaned against a door frame. "My dear, you have a gift! With just a bit of polish I daresay you could spin a yarn as would rival the best in House Ordranti! Ah, I suppose I might as well follow you, though I'd rather let some other sap take the fall," he adds with a grin.

"My name is Elian Evenstarr. Of course, that's not my real last name, as 'Henricks' just doesn't do anyone any favors on the stage- no disrespect to my father, of course. I had the- ah good favor to meet the late professor Lorrimor on one of his many visits to the City. To my unending shame, I found myself in desperate need of a personal connection, and he played along quite well. Meaning no offense, Master Harrison, but I do hope you've a greater appreciation of humor than many of your colleagues." He smiles ingratiatingly before turning back to Kendra and the others.

"By trade, I suppose I'm a storyteller. In most places it pays near as well as larceny, and to my knowledge hasn't yet been outlawed anywhere! By preference, I'm a singer and- well, I try my very best to know anything worth knowing." Finally, his expression softens to one more suitable to the recent loss. "Jokes aside, I owed him my life. Honestly, I wasn't looking forward to hearing what he was going to ask in return, but-" he gestures vaguely to the conspicuously empty chair. "Now I wish-"

Tears choke back his final statement, and he turns away to compose himself.

Spoiler: OOC

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Feel free to roll sense motive if you must. Elian is taking 10 on bluff for a modified 20.

The broad strokes are true. The details are nearly complete fabrication.

[DarkOne-Rob]

Spoiler: Mechanics

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Sense Motive: (1d20+3)[23]

Kristoph raises an eyebrow at the other man's story, smirking a bit and chuckling under his breath. "I am, to my knowledge, the only paladin in Pharasma's church. A sense of humor is a basic requirement of my office," he responds before turning to listen to the rest of the gathering's introductions.

[Inspectre]

The Sheriff merely sighs and adjusts his hat one final time at Kristoph's oath to fulfill his purpose as Pharasma's implement to bring peace to the unquiet dead within the haunted prison.

"Now, that's why I didn't want to say anything. But I'll put in a word to the town council - they're the ones you'll need to convince to get permission to go poking into things that just should be left well enough alone."

The Sheriff then wanders off up the road, leaving Kendra to play hostess for all of you. The professor's daughter leads the way up onto the front porch, gesturing at a spot just to the right of the stairs.

"Oh, watch your step right there! The boards are a little rotten there - you might break all the way through if you put your full weight on it!"

As she steps inside, Kendra removes the dark glasses from over her eyes, breathing a faint sight of relief.

"My apologies, but I've found the afternoon sun to be very irritating to my eyes as of late. As for where you can clean your boots, umm . . . we never needed such a room, as Father usually - ah, yes! That!"

Kendra says, gesturing at Aaron as the wizard cleans the paladin's boots of mud with a simple spell. With Aaron now manning the door to repeat the process on everyone else's boots, Kendra is free to lead the group deeper inside the Lorrimor home. The interior of the house does seem to be as old and rundown as the exterior, as there are spots here and there where the paint is beginning to peel and the old wooden floor groans and creaks in protest. Despite its age, however, the home certainly appears cozy and well lived-in, if perhaps a little overcrowded with artifacts and knick-knacks taken from an eclectic variety of places from across Golarion – some examples include a wooden ritual mask from the Mwangi Expanse hanging on the wall there, a decorative scroll displaying calligraphy from Minkai across from it, and a clay urn decorated with designs from Osirion tucked in the corner beyond them.

Although it’s a little cramped, all of you manage to squeeze together into the small kitchen at the back of the house, gathered around the table. After a bit of searching, Kendra finds a corkscrew for Adivon to make use of, and then sets to work producing an equally eclectic mix of goblets and cups for the toast. Once everyone has been served their own small portion from the bottle, Adivon raises his goblet.

“To a dear mentor and friend. Rest well, Petros, you have more than earned your rest.”

Kendra raises her cup in response, but sets it aside without drinking from it as a fresh wave of grief washes across her face. She turns away from the group, moving over to the small fireplace in the corner and stoking the fire back up.

“W-would anyone l-like some tea?”

Kendra asks, a faint quaver creeping into her voice as she reaches over to manipulate a lever on the side of the fireplace. She recoils with a loud cough as smoke from the growing fire starts billowing out into the kitchen.

“Oh no! It’s those sparrows again – they must have rebuilt their nest up in the flue! I told Father I had suspected as much, but he said he would take care of it when he . . . he . . . “

This memory seems to break the dam completely, as Kendra racks back onto her heels, covers her mouth with a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress to stifle the sobs, and begins a fresh round of crying. Adivon seems particularly perturbed by this fresh outpouring of emotion from Petros’ daughter, as he fiddles with his goblet, takes a step toward Kendra, stops, opens his mouth as if to say something, but then remains silent. After another few moments Adivon seems to arrive at a course of action, as he steps over to the fireplace, fiddling with the flue lever and coughing from the smoke before he grunts in frustration and whispers a spell, summoning a thin blue ray to lance down into the fire and partially extinguish it, and roughly returning it to its previous low ebb, cutting down on the smoke dramatically.

Spoiler: Spellcraft DC 10

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Adivon casts Ray of Frost on the fire, extinguishing most of it.

“So . . . how did all of you meet our mutual friend?”

Adivon asks, clearly hoping to strike up a new conversation to replace the awkward silence that settled over the group. That led in to the various members of the group to make their introductions, including the introduction of Perry, who earned a brief but curious examination from Adivon – and seems to rouse Kendra from the depths of her anguish as well.

“Hrm . . . that is a most unusual familiar, Mister Eldaval. Do you recall where in Absolam you purchased it?”

“Oh, how adorable!”

Kendra sniffles, wiping at her eyes as she pushes herself back up onto her feet and comes over to stand beside Aaron, tentatively stretching out a hand towards Perry before stopping to look for confirmation form Aaron.

“May I? Or does Perry bite?”

Assuming Aaron (and Perry) approves, Kendra reaches out a finger and gently scratches and strokes under Perry’s chin, drawing forth a chip of approval from the tiny dino – it seems Kendra has made one more new friend today.

As the conversation moves on to Tamara’s tale of how she met Petros, Adivon nods appreciatively.

“You are most fortunate not to have been killed by such a foul thing, young lady. Gibbering mouthers are quite formidable and unpleasant abominations – and unfortunately a nuisance that have been growing more and more common in Ustalav as of late.”

Adivon spits, his disgust dripping off each word.

“Should you ever wish to avenge your comrades’ deaths upon one of its kin, do let me know. I believe I could direct you to one nest or another where one is lairing – or where to avoid, if you would rather not have a repeat of your prior experience.”

Eventually the introductions are all complete, with the exception of Adivon, who finishes the last of his portion of wine and sets the empty goblet aside with a nod.

“Well, I suppose I should formerly introduce myself. I am Professor Adivon Andrissant of Lepidstadt – yes, my however many greats-grandfather was the Andrissant of legend who drove the Whispering Tyrant back into his tomb-fortress, and then helped seal him inside with his last breath. I do prefer to stand upon my own merits, however meager they may be in comparison, so please do not reveal this bit of my lineage to anyone beyond this room. As for how I met Petros, well, let’s just say that a certain brash young student raised a rather loud and foolish objection in the middle of one of his lectures at the university. And, although he was made to regret his bravado a few moments later after Professor Lorrimor dismantled his entire argument, the student earned a new mentor and friend – eventually.”

Adivon shakes his head with a rueful smile, and makes a brief mock salute with his hand at the memory.

[DarkOne-Rob]

With the Sheriff

"I will not guarantee that I will follow the council's direction, but I will inform you if I intend to go. There are laws greater than that of man, and the Lady of Graves does not permit me to ignore her edicts. However, I owe you, as legitimate authority here, an explanation should I explore the ruins. Go in peace, now, good Sheriff. I am sure we will speak again soon..." replies Kristoph as he excuses himself to visit the mourning daughter of his dead friend.

Inside, after everyone has toasted the Professor and shared their stories

With some light coughs Kristoph goes to open a window or two. "Someone needs to help you get that cleared, Miss Kendra!" he exclaims. "If you have a ladder I will do so, though it won't fix things forever. Perhaps with so many of us here we can help you best by taking care of these...mundane problems while the necessary work is done to inter your father...?" Kristoph asks as he hesitates on several phrases and tries to consider the best way to gently console the young lady.

Spoiler: Diplomacy

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(1d20+7)[17]

[Gyrfalcon]

Perry chirps in contentment as Kendra lavishes his long beak with affection. At a mental nudge from Aaron, he crawls across the young man’s arm and onto Kendra’s wrist, chirping away to her. For Aaron’s part, he is glad that his friend can provide Kendra some comfort in a dark time.

”I’m afraid that I found him at one of the temporary stalls on a market day in one of the great squares. I haven’t seen the same vendor again since, but should you wish to find an exotic familiar, I know there are many shops that cater to every possible wish for a familiar, from cats and toads to pseudodragons and other rarities, Professor.”

Once the Professor reveals his heritage, Aaron nods his head in respect – both for his legacy and for his determination not to let it overshadow his own achievements. ”Professor Petros’ wisdom has always been widely regarded, it seems. To a mentor and friend.” Aaron says softly, raising his cup in toast to the memory of Professor Lorrimor.

As the group converses, Aaron takes a moment to talk to Kristoph. ”I apologize for intruding, but I overheard your conversation with the Sheriff. You too believe the prison might be haunted? I have a professional interest in such things. If you wish to go there, let me know – I’m knowledgeable in several fields, though far less so than the Professor. I would be honored to help solve the Professor’s last mystery.”

[Farmerbink]

"I will not guarantee that I will follow the council's direction, but I will inform you if I intend to go."

Elian snorts quietly at the young paladin's diplomatic rebuttal. "I always did prefer forgiveness to permission, myself," he adds with a smirk.

In the living room, he listens politely to the professor's introduction and his unlikely companion's comments. "You'd have to be at least half-mad to really intend to venture into Harrowstone," the pale bard interjects. "Only good thing that ever comes from places like that is the stories, and most folks don't know the difference between truth and fiction, anyway," he adds with visible wariness. "Do your best to ignore it, or burn the place down and let whatever haunts it float about the rubble, if you ask me."

The paladin earns another appraising glance, at mention of the mundane necessities. "Sparrows should be no problem for a paladin of the lady of graves. I suspect your training didn't include aviaries nor pest removal, but I can assure you it's simpler than learning the blade and rites." Turning to Kendra, he inclines his head modestly. "I'll appreciate a warm bath after, but I suspect my shoulders would be less a hindrance than our broad-armed young friend's here. Please, let us know whatever you need and as long as I'm able I will be at your service."

[Inspectre]

Kendra gives a soft gasp of surprise as Perry hops across onto her wrist, but is clearly delighted by the familiar's affection as she continues scratching away around the chirping familiar's beak. It's not until Kristoph mentions clearing the chimney that her attention returns to the rest of the group.

"Oh, that would be lovely! I could definitely use the help - Father and I did the best we could, but this house has a lot of problems that need fixing! I am afraid, though, that we do not have a ladder - when Father needed to get up onto the roof to tend to the plant samples from the Mwangi Expanse that he was trying to grow, he would simply climb up the side of the house!"

"Hah! Is he still trying to get those samples to grow!? I told him that the chill Ustlavian fog would doubtlessly smother any plant used to the sweltering heat and bright sunlight of their homeland!"

Adivion barks, although the laughter that accompanies his words dies on his lips as he catches his error in tenses regarding the late Professor. Kendra clearly doesn't miss the mistake either, as she reflexively winces, but keeps her composure this time as she nods.

"It hadn't stopped him from trying. I'm sure that Luramin has a ladder that he would be willing to loan you, Kristoph, and I should be able to cover whatever cost he asks for in return. While you're up there, perhaps you can bring the pots down off the roof? I would prefer not to see such a reminder of Father's fruitless labor every time I look up at the roof from the back door."

Kendra next turns her attention to Elian and favors him with a wain smile.

"Oh, a warm bath would be lovely! We do have plenty of water – there’s a small stream a short distance down the street, and the river a little further beyond that. The trouble is heating it. We have a porcelain tub that Father brought back from his one trip to Minkai which could magically heat water placed inside it, but it stopped working a while ago. Another thing Father was going to get around to fixing later . . . and while we could heat up the water the old fashioned way . . .”

Kendra gestures to the fireplace, where a few thin wisps of smoke are still curling around it.

“But that will be difficult until those sparrows are chased off again.”

“Perhaps I can be of assistance. While I find the concept of a self-warming bath fascinating, I imagine that it operates on some level similar to one of the most rudimentary arcane spells – Prestidigitation, which in addition to cleaning, can warm or cool non-living matter. A single casting of the spell can only affect a small amount of material, however, and so warming an entire bathtub up to a sufficient temperature would be fairly tedious, but doable.”

“Oh, that is clever! I had not considered using that spell in such a manner before! I had been afraid that warm baths were a luxury of the past, but I suppose with a bit of time I could provide myself with one whenever I wished! Thank you for the idea, Professor!”

“Oh, so you are a student of the arcane then, Miss Kendra? I suppose I should have expected as much, given your Father was –“

“Self-taught.”

Kendra snaps, cutting Adivon off, and then looks down and sighs in embarrassment at the flash of anger.

“Father did not approve of me studying magic, so I could only learn whatever snippets I gleamed from his textbooks while he was away. Fortunately I am a quick study, but I have still only mastered the most rudimentary forms of magic, including Prestidigitation, as well as a few other minor tricks.”

“That does not sound like the Petros I knew. I would have expected that he would have been trying to teach you everything he knew so you could come along on his adventures.”

“He was very protective of me. Too protective.”

Kendra insists quietly, and an awkward silence begins to fester in the room, thankfully broken after a few long moments by the sound of a knock at the front door, followed immediately by the sound of the door opening. From the entry hallway, a feminine voice calls out “Kendra, are you home? Kendra . . . oh, hello!”

The voice concludes as two figures step into sight in the kitchen’s doorway – a petite woman with streaks of grey in her hair, and a portly man dressed in the finest clothes you’ve seen in Ravengro.

“We were in a council meeting when the sheriff came in to tell us about Petros – oh, I’m so sorry dear.”

The woman explains, walking across the kitchen to give Kendra a smothering hug before turning her attention to all of you.

“So, who are all of your guests? I don’t recognize any of them.”

“We’re friends of Petros, madame . . .?”

Adivon says stiffly, leaving the question hanging and prompting a nervous laugh from the woman.

“Oh, where are my manners? I am Shandra Faravan and this is Vashian Hearthmount.”

Still in the doorway, the portly gentleman gives you all a nod of greeting and then turns to Kendra.

“A pleasure. Kendra, the funeral will be just before sundown as you know. Afterwards, I would like to return here to read Petros’s will . . . and I would appreciate it if all of you would also be in attendance.”

Hearthmount explains, sweeping his gaze around to all of you in turn.

“Is that really necessary “Vash”?”

Kendra sighs, promptly a scowl from Hearthmount at the nickname.

“I’m afraid that it is. Your father presented me with a rewritten copy of his will several days ago, and I suspect that the changes were to incorporate some of the very people in this room.”

“Several days ago? How interesting . . . well, we’re all here now, so why don’t you go get it and read it now?”

Avidon presses, earning an even deeper scowl from the councilman.

“There is a time and place for everything, my good man, and the time and place for reading Petros’s last will and testament is after he is safely interred in the Restlands. We will return here and I will read the will then.”

“Will the two of you be at the funeral?”

Kendra asks, finally managing to pull away from Shandra, who nods.

“Of course, dear. I was afraid that it was going to be just the three of us in attendance, but it looks like these friends of his from out of town arrived just in time.”

“That is very good – some of you appear to be quite fit and strong. Would any of you be willing to help carry the coffin from the church to the Restlands? Otherwise I suppose I shall have to enlist the aid of some of Quess’s guards to do it, assuming she is willing to spare any.”

Spoiler: Vashian Hearthmount

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Spoiler: Shandra Faravan

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[DarkOne-Rob]

Kristoph waits patiently for a moment when he can move forward with his idea to help clear the chimney, mentally noting some of the awkward topics (to avoid) and the arcane proclivities of their hostess. When the two Ravengro councilmembers arrive he nods respectfully and waits some more before finding an opportunity to speak.

"I would be honored to help carry my friend to his final resting place. Do we have time for me to run by Luramin's to borrow a ladder first? Miss Kendra is struggling with some mundane issues here that we hoped to help fix. If there isn't time now then those chores will have to wait until morning..." he asks. As he considers the sky out the window he says, "Ravengro isn't so large that I'm worried, but I haven't been to the Temple yet - is it close enough?"

[Inspectre]

"Certainly, we have a few hours until sunset approaches. The temple is just back across the river, on the outskirts of town. I imagine you saw it when you entered town."

Hearthmount explains, and then fidgets, peering at Kristoph's armor and heraldry.

"Pardon me good sir, but by your heraldry I assume you are a man of the cloth? I must admit I am hopeful that you can explain something to me. It is tradition to bury the dead near sunset, but it is also said to be ill luck to bury the dead after sunset, that the spirit may not be able to find their way to Pharasma's seat in the dark and thus will return to the haunt the living instead. If that is the case, why take that chance and not bury the dead in the middle of the day instead?"


Adivon quietly sighs and seems to be struggling not to put his face into his palm.

Spoiler: Religion DC 15

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It is a Pharasman tradition to bury the dead around sunset, the setting of the sun a symbolic mirror of the soul's journey out of the body and into the darkness to await Pharasma's judgement. However, there is no theological reason behind it - Pharasma will judge the dead's soul at their appointed time, regardless of the time of day their body is buried. More so, the tradition was born out of a practical purpose, during the time of the war against the Whispering Tyrant, where most of the day would be spent to gather all of the bodies from the battlefield before the Tyrant's necromancers could get hold of them. These bodies would then be buried or burned as necessity dictated before nightfall to thwart any attempts to steal them back in the dark. Most likely, this superstition of the dead coming back if not interred before nightfall was due to attacks from other undead that emerged with the fading of the sun, not the deceased souls returning for revenge.

[Gyrfalcon]

Aaron considers the question and knows the answer immediately from his time in the seminary, but given it was directed to another, he contents himself to murmuring a jogging thought or a small bit of elaboration if needed to the paladin's own response.

Spoiler: OOC

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Aid Another passed - Kristoph gets a +2 on his own roll. Additionally if he flubs it and wants help, Aaron can reiterate the same information as the spoiler to prompt his own explanation as our friendly Pharismanite remembers his lessons.

[DarkOne-Rob]

With an appreciative smile towards his companion Kristoph answers. "I am a devout man, though not a member of the clergy. In fact, I doubt most of them would have me...

Pharasma judges all souls, no matter when they are buried. That tradition came from the time when we fought against the Whispering Tyrant and was more practical than spiritual. That said, tradition is important too, so perhaps we should be going...?" he finishes with a questioning tone in his voice. "When we get back, or early tomorrow, I will help clear the chimney, Miss Kendra."

[SanguinePenguin]

Tamara files Adivon’s offer for another gibbering mouther encounter into the ‘yes, definitely” category for another day. She greets the newcomers with a beaming smile, and watches as they, especially Shandra, greet Kendra warmly. Stifling her urges to breach into conversation by force of will, she watches the back and forth with interest.

When the modified will is mentioned, Tamara’s eyes widen. It had never occurred to her that the Professor might leave her something! He must have countless artifacts of unknown origins that would be a delight to play with! Or better yet maybe there is a haunted mansion that he would leave to her if she could spend the night there! He did pass away entering the abandoned prison, which Kendra said he believed was haunted… maybe, if she was really lucky, he might have arranged for her to get to investigate there.

When the conversation turns to pallbearing, Tamara says, “I would be honored!” Gazing around the group, she frowns, “but I am guessing there won’t be three other short friends - a gnome or even a dwarf, of the professor coming? I could probably help clear your chimney though! Seems like a place to use my height to an advantage!”

[Farmerbink]

Elian pipes up from where he had been largely watching the council members. "I agree, let's be about the late Professor's business first," he opines. "I'm not overly fond of most things that 'go bump' in the night, and not fool enough to believe they don't exist. With your blessing, of course, Miss Lorrimor, I would like to suggest we press on with the ceremonies and see our friend safely interred sooner rather than later."

He turns to Kendra and Hearthmount, bowing deeply to his host and only slightly less-so to the councilman. "I too, would be honored to serve at his side one last time," he offers sincerely.

[Inspectre]

"Hmph . . . well, I suppose that's fair enough."

Hearthmount sniffs, clearly not entirely satisfied with Kristoph's answer regarding the timing of funerals in Ustalav.

"I . . . may be able to assist you in this matter, young lady."

Adivon offers after Tamara expresses her concerns over being able to help carry Lorrimor's coffin. He glances over at Kendra.

"Of course, someone will also be needed to walk beside Miss Lorrimor at the head of the procession as well. I believe there is an important part to play there also."

Adivon adds, looking at Hearthmount who gives a terse nod. No doubt the professor is referring to another burial tradition in Ustalav, the trail of tears, as the lead members of the procession sprinkle water along the path that the deceased takes to their grave, a nod to Pharasma as a goddess of water as well as death (and probably some ritualistic representation of the river of souls leading the deceased onward to Pharasma's throne for judgement.) Generally those closest to the deceased take this position, making it a similar mark of honor to be included along with those actually carrying the coffin to the grave.

(OOC: So, we basically have five positions here with four pall-bearers carrying Petros’s coffin, and one up front with Kendra leading the procession. Adivon is willing to take whatever position is left open, and since I believe we only have four players its just a matter of sorting out who goes where. If each of you could mention whether you are going to carry the coffin or escort Kendra in your next post I would appreciate that. Of course, you can also opt out of both and just follow along at the back with Shandra and Hearthmount if you’d prefer a third option!)

“Yes, I need to get cleaned up and dressed for the funeral. I will meet you at the temple?”

Kendra says, turning to Shandra who gives a gentle nod.

“We will wait for you there child.”

“Try not to tarry too long – we will not have much time to conclude the ceremony before sunset.”

Hearthmount adds, clearly still uneasy despite Krisoph’s reassurances that the stories of the improperly buried dead returning for revenge were just stories.

“How unfortunate, I was not expecting to have to attend a funeral today. Please excuse me as well, I will need to briefly return to my inn room to acquire a change of appropriate attire as well.”

Adivon says, quickly moving out of the kitchen back out to the front door, which seems to be the final signal that this visit with Lorrimor’s daughter is over. Shandra and Hearthmount accompany you all back out to the front door. As he steps outside, the councilman waves his hand towards the road leading onwards south out of town.

After crossing over a narrow streamlet feeding into the river via an ancient but sturdy wooden bridge about seventy feet from Lorrimor’s house, the road quickly reaches the southern end of Ravengro. Marking this southern boundary is a large manor house and a separate out building. While this road remains a wide well-trod path of mud to this point, at the manor house it curves around to the west, back towards the river. There is also a road that continues leading due south, but it quickly narrows and becomes clogged with vegetation almost immediately after passing the manor house. As it enters the forest beyond the village, the road becomes little more than a game trail through the undergrowth. Further still to the south the dark outline of what could only be Harrowstone Prison squats against the skyline above the tops of the forest’s trees, overlooking the town from its position atop the highest hill there.

“This would be the quickest way to get across the river and over to the temple. Of course, if you also need to retire back to our humble inn to adjust your attire, you are welcome to do so.”

Hearthmount explains, and then immediately begins walking down the road to the south without further commentary, clearly taking pains to step around the deepest pits of mud in the road with a quiet disgusted “tck”. As you cross over the bridge and approach the manor house, those still traveling with Hearthmount and Shandra notice an older, well-dressed woman standing in front of the manor, directing the work of two gardeners in the flower bed covering most of the ground in between the manor and its out building – although perhaps berating them for the poor state of the flowers in said bed would be more accurate.

“Hello, Mirta! Will you also be joining us for Petros’s funeral?”

Shandra calls, causing the older woman to whip her head around and scowl at the group in confusion for a moment.

“Eh!? That old codger’s finally dead!? Hah! Why would I want to pay my respects to such a troublemaker and likely necromancer? Bastard probably cursed my flowerbed with some sort of blight!”

Mirta grunts, spitting into said flowerbed to underline her point.

“If it was up to me, I’d bury him right here, amongst the mess he created! Fertilizing my flowers with his useless carcass is the least penance he could do!”

The woman grumbles, turning back to gesture emphatically at a nearby wilted rose bush, berating the gardener who was working nearest to it.

“No, idiot, stop digging there! You damage its roots anymore and that’s going to be the end of it, along with your job!”

“Mirta asked Petros to look into what could be wrong with her flowerbed, after the plants there began to all wither away and die. He never was able to figure out what had gone wrong with it – seems Mirta is still holding a grudge about it.”

Shadra whispers quickly as your group proceeds onward past Mirta’s house and around the bend in the road, now heading west towards the river. The bridge going across the river itself is a sturdy construction, stone pillars jutting up out of the water every dozen feet or so to support a covered wooden bridge spanning across the entirety of the river, in a mirror of the bridge you took to enter into the town’s northern square. The one difference between them, however, is the massive moss-covered statue standing guard over the riverbank a few hundred feet south of the bridge itself. Hearthmount nods at the stone sentry as you approach the bridge.

“Don’t know how much you know about our town, but there used to be a prison a little further south – Harrowstone, they called it. Well, that all ended after a riot by the prisoners caused a massive fire to break out, destroying most of the prison and killing many of the guards, including the warden and his wife. My grandfather built that memorial to honor all the lives lost on that terrible day . . . course, now it’s just a place for lovesick youths to meet for their nighty trysts.”

Hearthmount grumbles, shaking his head at those amorous youths, real or exaggerated as they may be. Once across the river, the road turns again, this time to the north, and it’s not long before the Temple of Pharasma is visible. A stout stone building that is probably one of the largest in town, the temple could easily (and probably was intended to) serve as a fortified shelter for the town in event of attack. Some attempts have been made to beautify the stone bunker/temple since its original construction, including a new smaller side wing that features a large stained-glass window depicting Pharasma sitting in judgement over a nobleman kneeling in supplication.

Spoiler: History DC 10

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This is a relatively common image depicted throughout Ustalav, and so the nobleman kneeling before Pharasma to be judged is almost certainly intended to be Count Adachi, a nobleman who ruled over this region roughly six centuries ago. While perhaps his various failures could be understood as due to the chaos rippling through all of Ustalav in the years immediately following the Whispering Tyrant’s downfall, history has judged him quite harshly for his failures, particularly for allowing an invasion of orcs from the adjacent Holds of Belkzen to nearly overrun the entire country.

It is this side-on addition that is your destination, as you cross around the front of the temple and enter into a small side chapel that takes up most of this new wing. Waiting for you is a young man just barely out of his teenage years in the robes of an acolyte of the faith, a young woman dressed in black and with her features partially obscured by a heavy veil, and a plain but solidly built wooden coffin. The young acolyte excuses himself from his conversation with the woman, who remains by the coffin and runs her hand back and forth across the lid, as if trying to wash it away.

“Hello, friends, I am Acolyte Rufio. Father Grimburrow is preparing the actual burial site in the Restlands nearby. We should be starting the procession to the grave shortly – are we waiting for anyone else?”

“Just Kendra. Oh, and possibly Gharen as well.”

Hearthmount says quietly, pulling out a silk handkerchief to dab at his forehead while Shandra goes over to speak with the other woman. As you file into the building, you see the boy some of you had observed posting notices just outside the town square walking briskly towards the temple, accompanied by a swarthy, balding man who could easily pass for a barrel rather than a man.

(OOC: We’ll pause here for a chance of people to mingle, before we move onto the funeral proper.)

[DarkOne-Rob]

Spoiler: Mechanics

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Knowledge (History, untrained): (1d20+1)[12]

Kristoph nods silently at the familiar scene in the stained glass window, though he appears to decide not to comment on it.

At the temple he takes a moment to kneel and make the sign of the spiral over the one on his tabard. From the ground he says a silent prayer and then rises to approach the coffin. Taking the back left corner position he introduces himself to the woman there, saying, "Hello. I am sorry to meet under sad circumstances, but my name is Kristoph, servant of our Lady of Graves. The Professor was an erstwhile companion of mine on travels some time back. Did you know Lorrimor well?"

[Farmerbink]

Elian is content to remain a pallbearer, and allows his kept peace to be sufficient indication. "I fear my dress will be woefully inadequate. My traveling cloak is by far my simplest affair; I fear my other outfits would prove unduly off-putting." He considers his options only briefly before admitting defeat with a rueful frown.

The lithe bard prowls nearly silently along at the back of the group, eyeing the bridges and stonework with appreciation and a bit of distrust. As they approach the temple of Pharasma, he looks on with an oddly pensive expression before dutifully filing in at the rear. He somewhat pointedly doesn't either speak with the acolyte or approach the veiled woman, instead keeping to himself and clasping his hands respectfully near the coffin.

[Gyrfalcon]

Aaron murmurs to the bard, who was indicating his lack of suitable garments. "If it is an issue of color alone, I can help with that. The changes in color last about an hour - its something of a very simple illusion." he says, demonstrating as he adjusts the color of his own traveling clothes to black.

Knowledge (History) - (1d20+8)[26] Inside the church, Aaron eyes the stained glass relief of Count Adachi in judgment by Pharasma with an appreciation of the history and the artistry together. "Truly, the story of Count Adachi remains one of the most compelling pieces of our recent history. In truth, we judge him quite harshly with the benefit of historical hindsight. Many of his mistakes were understandable in the chaos of the day, though his failure to respond to the orcish incursions was quite damning, even in his own day." the student of history said to anyone interested.

He finds a place near the coffin, taking a moment to rest his fingers on the plain wood and murmur a benediction for the body of his friend and mentor contained inside.

[DarkOne-Rob]

Kristoph smiles and nods in agreement as Aaron discusses the history of the stained glass window's subject. "I agree - one of the failures of our perspective. A bit of empathy directed towards him would be a nice addition to the history books," he says before they both reach the casket and he's distracted by introducing himself to the female mourner.

[Inspectre]

The woman turns at Kristoph's approach, extending her hand wordlessly to offer it to him. Although her fingers are long and delicate, her grip is firm, and through her veil her grey-irised eyes stare into Kristoph's own.

"Jominda Fallenbridge. I run the apothecary shop here in Ravengro."

"I am surprised that you have time to leave your shop unattended, Jominda, or is it closed today for another of Sheriff Caeller's surprise inspections?"

Shandra asks from over Kristoph's shoulder, and the apothecary's eyes flick over to the councilwoman to glare at her.

"My shop has never been closed by the Sheriff! He merely stops by now and again to . . . window shop and inquire about healing poultices for him and his deputies. I don't know how those vile rumors got started, but the only things I sell in my shop are perfectly legal!"

Jominda gives Shandra one last scowl, and then forces a soft smile onto her face as she shifts her gaze back to Kristoph.

“It is an honor to meet one of Professor Lorrimor’s proteges, as I believe he referred to you as when relaying some stories of his adventures outside Ravengro. I . . . would not say that I knew the Professor terribly well, despite collaborating with him on several projects. He was a very secretive man, but also a very kind one.”

(OOC: This is a sense motive with multiple levels of success)

Spoiler: Sense Motive DC 12

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Jominda is not a very talented liar, as she has to pause for a brief second to come up with the lie instead of having one prepared already. Her anger at the Sheriff’s repeat visits to her shop is real, but the given reason for those visits is not. She has no idea why the Sheriff keeps stopping by, but made up the healing poultices comment as a way to explain it without appearing guilty of selling anything illicit.

That undercurrent of frustration appears again when she speaks of the Professor, although with much less of an edge to it. She definitely did not know the Professor as well as she would have liked, so that much is true, but she is definitely downplaying what she does know about the Professor here.

Spoiler: Sense Motive DC 16

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If Professor Lorrimor could be said to have had one flaw, it was that he could be a shameless womanizer. And looking at Jominda, she is exactly his type, so in at least one respect she probably knew him very well. And that slight flush to her cheeks as she downplays their relationship all but confirms it. Clumsy as her attempts at concealing this may be, it seems that their relationship was – as much as any such thing could be in a small town – a secret, which she is continuing to keep, more for the Professor’s memory than her own embarrassment.

Spoiler: Sense Motive DC 20

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While Jominda is not a terribly skilled liar, Shandra seems to be better at maintaining a façade. You still catch that brief, flickering sneer of disdain as Jominda speaks of the Professor – so at least one person in town was aware of their relationship, and did not approve. Which also gives a bit of context to that slight smile you saw crawl across Shandra’s face after she needled Jominda about the Sheriff’s visits to her shop, and the apothecary exploded in anger. Clearly Shandra does not like Jominda, but there doesn’t seem to be any reason for such a deep-seated hatred, unless . . . oh, gods damnit Professor.

The apothecary takes a shuffling step to the side, gesturing to the closed coffin.

(OOC: This one is a Perception check, followed by a Heal check if the Perception is successful)

Spoiler: Perception DC 15

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There is something about Jominda’s gait that is off. With the long dress down to the top of her boots you can’t see her legs, but something is definitely something awkward about the way she shifts her weight to take that side step away from the coffin. It’s not quite a limp, but something is causing her to sway and have to compensate as she shifts her weight from one leg to the other.

Spoiler: Heal DC 15

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Most likely, one of Jominda’s legs is some sort of prosthetic. Good enough to not be immediately obvious in the form of a peg leg or similar, but not good enough to be a perfect replacement for flesh and blood either.

“Please, if there is anything left you wish to say to the Professor, don’t let me stand in the way. I had thought that we would have an open casket so we could see him one last time, but the state of his body . . . they had to . . .”

Jominda does not say more, biting her lip and blinking rapidly as tears start to form at the corner of her eyes.

“Please excuse me.”

The apothecary shuffles past Kristoph and rapidly makes for the door leading out of the chapel, only to collide with and bounce off of a balding, barrel-chested man who is just entering. The man easily wraps an arm around Jominda’s waist to keep her from falling, and with similar ease carries her back into the chapel as he enters with a boisterous laugh.

“Harharhar! Where do you think you’re going, Jominda!? The procession hasn’t started yet, and we need at least one pretty face here to lead the Professor’s spirit onwards, else he’ll never leave! Though I don’t know why we’re burying his body – bit of old, tough meat is exactly what my corpse chowder needs! Harharhar!”

“Put me down you . . . you . . . ridiculous man!”

The man takes several rapid strides into the chapel, ignoring the series of light slaps Jominda is raining down on his head and shoulder as he goes, until he puts her back down onto the ground beside a pew. Behind them, a young teenaged boy – the same one posting notices onto the pole outside of town – quietly and respectfully shuffles into the chapel, making the sign of Pharasma with his hands as he does so. The barrel-chested man looks around at all of you in momentary confusion, clearly trying to place your faces, and then smiles.

“Ah! We have some out-of-town visitors here as well! Welcome to Ravengro, friends, welcome! I am Zokar Elkarid, owner of the Laughing Demon, the only tavern in town! After we take care of this bit of sad business, you all must come to the Laughing Demon and refresh yourselves! We have the best corpse chowder in all of Ustalav, you see, and the perfect accompaniment to wash it all down – liquid ghosts, fresh from the Prison!”

Silently behind the man, the boy covers his face with the palm of his hand, and Rufio scowls at the tavern owner.

“Zokar, please, can you have at least a little decorum in church!? We are burying someone today, by the Lady!”

“Yes yes, and I am sure that the Professor would rather we do it with a smile! After all, tonight he will be feasting in the Hall of the gods, rather than this dreary place, filled with people who want everyone to go around all the time with a serious, moody frown!”

Now it’s Acolyte Rufio’s turn to cover his face with the palm of his hand, clearly giving up on attempting to convince Zokar.

“Is Kendra coming soon? I believe she is the last person we need.”

“My son and I did see her coming, far off down the street. But perhaps she was merely trying to flee from old Gharen! Harhar, she can outrun his wandering hands but not his eyes!”

Now it’s Shandra turn to lecture the barkeep, with similar results.

“Zokar! That is a member of the town council you are referring to!”

“So? It is no secret our town councilman likes his ladies, hmm? The younger the better in his mind too, I think! Harharhar!”

(OOC: Next DM we will be moving on to the actual funeral, I think, although certainly I can have some mini-updates for conversation with the oddball barkeep or anyone else present if PCs are interested in such.)

Spoiler: Jominda Fallenbridge

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Paizo does not have a portrait for poor Jominda, so I had to go find a rough substitute for her. This is reasonably close to my mental picture of her.

Spoiler: Zokar Elkarin

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[Gyrfalcon]

Aaron brightens as Jominda introduces herself. "Given your acquaintance with Professor Lorrimor, I take it that I might purchase spell reagents from you if needed?" the mage asks, aware that in magic-fearing Ustalav, reagent sellers are sometimes few and far between, and a wise mage can best establish sources where he can.

The young man is sharp enough to catch the undercurrent of Jominda's lie, and makes a note that he should approach the Sheriff obliquely to find out his story for why he frequents her shop. Perhaps the man is courting her, and doing so so badly that she herself wasn't aware of it.

"Speaking of poultices, might you have suggestions for curing the after affects of stirge bites? We were beset on the way into town, and myself and several others were bitten and drained by the horrible things."

Aaron blinks at Zokar, the ebullient man's demeanor far more cheerful than most other people's. The Ustalavian gallows humor is on full display as he mentions corpse chowder and liquid ghosts, both far more harmless than their names might suggest. (Well, the ghosts might be outright moonshine, in which case they were a serious threat to one's stomach).

[DarkOne-Rob]

Kristoph is about to continue speaking with Miss Fallenbridge when she and Councilwoman Shandra begin arguing. With a bit of common sense the handsome man stays out of the spat, content to listen and watch quietly. With a stoicism born of many, many confusing interactions with those around him Kristoph is about to shrug and settle in to carry the coffin when the bartender bursts into the chapel. With a smirk he cannot quite stop appearing on his face the Pharasman knight listens to the jovial - and dark humored - man speak with a natural appreciation for his way of thinking.

"A bit of affection could be good to remind the mourners of the good of this life...as long as the ladies aren't too young," he says in response to Zokar's last quip, with a jolly sound to his voice that makes it unmistakable that he appreciates the man's jokes. "I think I will be coming by after the service to see your establishment, good sir! Perhaps a round of drinks could lead to a nice, healthy wake for our dearly departed friend? What do you think - one round on the house, and then I will cover the next?" he asks before remembering that he's currently broke. "Well, perhaps I can work off the cost of the drinks, anyway..." he laughs self-depricatingly.

[Farmerbink]

Elian is quite too self-conscious to notice anything the slightest bit untoward about Jominda's explanation, though he offers her and Kristoph a pleasant smile as they converse of their mutual acquaintance. He frowns thoughtfully as she looks to make her exit, but finds himself suddenly laughing out loud in amusement As Elkarid enters, and does so loudly.

"Ah, finally another kindred spirit in this dreary town!" Elian gasps, striding forward to greet the man eagerly. The lithe man's hand almost disappears outright in a friendly handshake as he inclines his head to the offer. "I will certainly stop by," he agrees, "as soon as Miss Lorrimor is quite seen-to. If I may be so bold, I think we've all been caught up in what may be the good Professor's final puzzle, and other than soothing his daughter's loss, I'll be quite glad of some meat, mead, and smiles before the night is through!"

An appreciative glance for Kristoph's apparent shared interest earns a surprising nod of approval from the pale man as he amicably chats with the tavern owner to await Kendra's arrival.