Part one: the Last Will And Testament of Petros Lorrimor

You have all gathered at the entrance to the Restlands, with Kendra Lorrimor, to prepare to take the coffin through to the professor's final resting place, and also the reading of the will. Kendra turns to you with the rather simple question: Which of you would like to be pallbearers?

Iskir Jabbour, a young cleric of Sarenrae, passes a gloved hand through his shoulder length black hair and gives Kendra a half-hearted smile. "I would be honored to serve as one of the Professor's pallbearers," he says, his Common inflected with his Keleshite accent. It would have marked him as a stranger in Ustalav, if his olive skin hadn't already given it away to all but the least observant.

He rolls his shoulders, his heavy pack groaning as it gets jostled. His lamellar armor tinkles softly as he shifts his posture. "Is there, perhaps, somewhere we could leave our travelling gear?"

Yulistvan, head buried in a book, pays little attention to the happenings until the professor's daughter speaks to the group. He snickers dirisively at the thought of being a pall-bearer; not only was it impossible for him to do so, he also found most acts of ceremony to be tedious.

"I cannot and shan't," he declares matter-of-factly to Kendra Lorrimor, briefly tilting his head up to give the appearance that he had been looking at her when he spoke, even as he continues to scan the page.  "Apologies," he adds as an afterthought.

The journey here had been a real eye opener for Quántóu having for the first time in his entire life travelled more than a few miles from the monastery he'd been brought up in. He'd stayed in various taverns on the way and had been shocked at the behaviour people got into when drunk. He'd been embarrassed on numerous occasions due to his naivety and had also managed to get into a bar fight. He was lucky to have had Iskir and Bethany's company on the road or he would have got into more trouble no doubt.

He turns his thoughts from his travels to the question from Kendra "I would be honoured to take part in the ceremony."

Bethany steps forwards and eyes all present with barely contained suspicion.

"I will serve." she says flatly.

Quántóu had travelled with Bethany for some time and while he didn't know her well he sensed her 'unease' or something. He spares her a glance, nothing more than that to check all was well.

If anything he felt a little off, he felt down and not because of the funeral. It had been exciting on the road and while he still had the journey back to look forward to he would be returning to the cloistered life of a monk and that disapponted him.

He set his face solemly for what was to come and pushed such thoughts to one side with the firm discipline he'd been trained under. He was grateful to the monks, he'd learned that a half orc child would have been rejected by many so he owed them much. The time he'd spent on the road though sure made him yern for 'more'.

Iskir Jabbour lets slip a disbelieving chuckle. He tilts his head to look at the man whose head is buried in his book. "Surely you didn't come all this way just to say out of it. If the professor invited you, you must have meant something to him, and if you came, him to you. If you're worried about your..." he eyes the man's thin arms and legs, and takes a second for way to say things nicely, "capacity?... to carry the coffin, then you don't need to worry. The rest of us can shoulder most of it and you can be there to keep it balanced."

The cleric looks to Bethany and Quántóu to see if his suggestion works for them.

Quántóu nods at Iskir "I'm sure we could make that work" he then looks to Yulistvan to see if there was any agreement, he knew his name after brief introductions but otherwise the man was a stranger.

He bristles slightly, given that he is here for the reading of the will, not to be a beast of burden.

"Perhaps you misunderstand my use of the word 'cannot'; it is quite literal. You will not be shouldering most of the weight, you will be shouldering all of it. Should the load become unbalanced, I will be of no use. I can certainly walk in formation with you while touching the coffin."  Sensing that he would not be able to read in peace for a time, Yulistvan marks his page and tucks the book into the inside pocket of his coat.

"For the record - so to speak - I came 'all this way' to honor a great scholar who..." he pauses, the sentence which had begun indignantly trailing off as Yulistvan is reminded yet again - a strange phenomena, grief. At times punctual, and others omnipresent. I loathe it. - that he would never again spend late nights dissecting concepts with Petros, drinking tea that was paradoxically both overly sweet and far too strong.

"Is sorely missed."

Iskir initially bristles at Yulistvan's rudeness. Old instincts, which he often prayed he'd forget, kick in and he squares up, ready for a confrontation. However, as the scholar speaks, the cleric can see the signs of grief playing across the other man's face. The hint of sadness in his eyes, the heavy pause as Yulistvan describes the deceased, the tightness of his jaw... He clearly knew the departed better and felt his loss more deeply.

Iskir's posture shifts as the tension leaves his shoulders. He gives Yulistvan a compassionate smile. "Standing with us will be enough. I'm sure it would have meant a lot to your friend."

Quántóu had no doubt that he could have carried the back end of the coffin on his own without it becoming unbalanced. However he sensed now was not the time to boast so he stayed quiet.

Pressing left index and digitus medius to his sinuses, Yulistvan exhales slowly.  He could not fathom why Petros had wanted him here, let alone in the company of strangers. The teacher would have been happy to choose from among the tomes Kendra was willing to part with, if any.

Bethany stood, eyeing those who had offered to help. She did not know nor trust any of them. Something set her on edge. Why would the professor only let one of the pallbearers bear the weight of the casket.

And those who did, took on the coffin - there is only room for between 4 and 6 to carry the coffin regardless, so one opting not to do so is no real issue. Kendra then holds up her hand.

"This is not the time for arguing, as we have some who will take it on, let us go."

She leads the party, and a handful of others, into the cemetary, past the gates and along a gravel path, known only as the Dreamwake.

As you pass the halfway point, you see the way ahead is blocked by about a dozen locals.

One of these, a tall, wiry local who has the bearing of a military man, speaks out.

“That’s far enough. We been talking, and we don’t want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You can take him upriver and bury him there if you want, but he ain’t goin’ in the ground here!”

Kendra is swift to respond, her sadness swiftly transforming into anger. “What are you talking about?” she cries out. “I arranged it with Father Grimburrow. He’s waiting for us! The grave’s already
been...”
“You don’t get it, woman. We won’t have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin. I suggest you move out while you still can. Folks are pretty upset about this right now.”
“Necromancy!? Are you really that ignorant?”

OOC: Note, those that are carrying the coffin currently have two hands full.

Iskir frowns at the accusation being levied against the Professor. He'd only known the man a short time, but he had seemed like an upstanding man. Not the kind to indulge in the desecration of corpses. Kendra quick repudiation settles the matter for him.

The cleric gives the folks barring the road a strained smile and shifts under the weight of the coffin. "Friends, whatever sins you may believe Professor Lorrimor may have committed, he's dead. All that can be done to or for him now, is to let him rest in peace, or not. If you believe him being a necromancer, it seems wiser to let him rest in peace. If you disagree about where that should be, then you should discuss it with this... Father Grimburrow? Not us."

Diplomacy check:

Initially Quántóu stands caught off guard, he spares a worried glance at the coffin and briefly wonders about what might be within. He had little knowledge of necromancers but said in such a tone by the villagers it didn't sound like it was a good thing, but surely his master wouldn't be party to anything 'bad'(?).

He frowns at the perceived slight against his master that he be party to someone of ill repute "Why do you accuse the deceased of such a thing?" Quántóu demands roughly.

Bethany's features instantly twisted into something bitter. A necromancer? hardly. It was Lorrimor who had shown her ways of dealing with the undead. He had had many books on efficiently killing them off.

...but then again, maybe he had those books for other, more nefarious reasons? Bethany's suspicious nature started to ebb away at her opinion. Judging by the way the others reacted, they didnt buy it either.

Though they were swayed slightly by the diplomacy of some, it wasn't quite enough. Whilst about 6 of them stayed back, shouting words of encouragement, including the leader, the others did step forward brandishing improvised weapons.

OOC: Initiative.

The group moved quickly, and the thugs had little stomache for a fight - they cursed them and ran off shouting.

"You'll regret this, see if you don't!"

Bethany lowers her bow. She needed only place a few well placed arrows to scare the yokels.

Without turning she looks back at the others.
"You don't buy that garbage do you? About the professor being a lich"

Iskir nods in satisfaction when the villagers retreat. No one had gotten seriously hurt. A small scuffle and a few bruised egos was nothing he'd lose sleep over. He looks at Bethany when she asks about the professor. "I didn't know the professor very well, but he struck me as a good man. If he did study necromancy, I'm sure it was just... uh, what's the word? Academic curiosity?"

"What I do know well, is small town folks. They don't usually know much about magic. It's not a big part of their lives. All of it is strange and scary."

He looks at the coffin they'd been forced to lay on the ground to drive off the thugs. "Let's get the professor buried. After that, I wouldn't mind looking into it to clear his good name."

Kendra apologises profusely. "I knew the townspeople were uneasy with the professor, I never thought they'd go this far though."

In a few moments Father Grimburrow makes his way out. He looks simply shocked by the sheer audacity of the attack.

"Let us move and have him buried then, it is horrifying anyone has gone this far."

The group then move on to the burial plot purchased by Kendra, and lowered his body into the ground.

Father Grimburrow speaks a moving sermon about death, before he then stops and turns to Kendra.

"I believe you have a few words?"

Kendra nods and steps up, fighting back tears, and speaks of a few brave moments of his life. She then turns to the party and asks quietly.

"Would any of you like to say anything about him?"

OOC: Feel free to use this to expand upon how you know him. Anyone who speaks needs to make a diplomacy or perform: oratory check; either of which is just a charisma check if you don't have the skill.

OOC: Diplomacy to give eulogy: 1d20+4 5 Nat 1... here goes...

Iskir clears his throat. He was a priest, performing funerals was the kind of thing he was supposed to do, after all. "I met the professor a few years ago when he was in a bad way. He'd been injured while travelling. He... um... what did he say about how it happened? Did he trip or... maybe fall? It was raining of that I'm sure. Or... maybe, it had rained? I'm sorry it's, uh, been a while."

He pauses. This was going all wrong. In truth, he had no idea why he'd been invited to the man's funeral and certainly hadn't expected being asked to say something. He wasn't prepared and couldn't find the words. Quote some scripture! He does his best to recall what the Church had taught him about comforting words to say at funerals. The silence stretches on.

Iskir smiles, the embarrassment plain on his face. "I'm sorry, uh... I'm not sure of the professor's faith, so perhaps the Everlight's words would be of no comfort. Um... when my grandfather died, he left behind a lot of debts. My father told me his last words were: “Of all the escape mechanisms, death is the most efficient.” If the people we met along the way had shared their thoughts with the professor, he may have thought the same thing."

Iskir thankfully shuts his mouth, hoping someone else speaks soon and does better.

Bethany keeps her silence. The professor was a good man who helped her find a purpose in life. That's all she knew and all she needed to know.

Kendra frowned a bit, but then she nods after the funeral; before looking at you all.

"Would you like to come to my home, to attend the reading of the will? We need to wait for Councillor Hearthmont of course, but we could have a drink whilst we waited. He shouldn't be too long I wouldn't think."

OOC: I'll post tomorrow unless someone posts not wanting to go to her home. Been out of Internet for a bit.

Bethany was the first to speak.

"We might as well. I dont think the town will take to kindly to us and may attack us again if we mill about in a public place."

You follow Kendra to the house to read the will. You do mill about there for about an hour, before the councillor Vashian arrives, to read the will. It's clear he's not exactly thrilled about strangers being involved, but he proceeds without further comment.

“I, Petros Lorrimor, being of sound mind, do hereby commit to this parchment my last will and testament. Let it be known that, with the exception of the specific details below, I leave my home and
personal belongings entire to my daughter Kendra. Use them or sell them as you see fit, my child.

“Yet beyond the bequeathing of my personal effects, this document must serve other needs. I have arranged for the reading of this document to be delayed until all principals can be in attendance, for I have more than mere inheritance to apportion. I have two final favors to ask.

“To my old friends, I hate to impose upon you all, but there are few others who are capable of appreciating the true significance of what it is I have to ask. As some of you know, I have devoted many
of my studies to all manner of evil, that I might know the enemy and inform those better positioned to stand against it. For knowledge of one’s enemy is the surest path to victory over its plans.

“And so, over the course of my lifetime, I have seen fit to acquire a significant collection of valuable but dangerous tomes, any one of which in the wrong circumstances could have led to an awkward legal situation. While the majority of these tomes remain safe under lock and key at the Lepidstadt University, I fear that a few I have borrowed remain in a trunk in my Ravengro home. While invaluable for my work in life, in death, I would prefer not to burden my daughter with the darker side of my profession, or worse still, the danger of possessing these tomes herself. As such, I am entrusting my chest of tomes to you, posthumously. I ask that you please deliver the collection to my colleagues at the University of Lepidstadt, who will put them to good use for the betterment of the cause.

“Yet before you leave for Lepidstadt, there is the matter of another favor—please delay your journey one month and spend that period of time here in Ravengro to ensure that my daughter is safe and sound. She has no one to count on now that I am gone, and if you would aid her in setting things in order for whatever she desires over the course of this month, you would have my eternal gratitude. From my savings, I have also willed to each of you a sum of one hundred platinum coins. For safekeeping, I have left these funds with Embreth Daramid, one of my most trusted friends in Lepidstadt—she has been instructed to issue this payment upon the safe delivery of the borrowed tomes no sooner than one month after the date of the reading of this will."

Kendra turns to the councillor and thanks him, before dismissing him, before turning to you.

"I'll need some time to decide if I want to stay here, or sell my home. In the meantime, if you would stay, I offer you rooms in my home free of charge for the month the will requests you to remain. Now if you'll excuse me, I will go get the chest and key mentioned."

OOC: I'll leave it at that, feel free to RP either currently or in the hour whilst waiting for the councillor.

Iskir's eyes grow wide as he hears the amount set aside for him by the professor. Greed, born of his past life, rears its ugly head and he has to make a conscious effort to push it down. Still, he could do a lot of good with 100 platinum pieces and as an itinerant cleric, he had no duties to return to at a specific church. Furthermore, if the professor's tomes were as dangerous as he claimed, he had to help get them to a safe place.

The young cleric nods at Kendra before she leaves. "I will honor the professor's wishes and I thank you for your hospitality," he says, trying to sound like he imagined nobles spoke.

Once she's gone, he takes some time to look around the room. The professor had been a man of means and it showed in the décor of his lavish home. Iskir picks up some bauble, wondering how much he could get for it, before putting it back down on its shelf. He chuckles and looks to the companions fate had given him. "I don't think I've ever stayed in such a fancy place. Sarenrae may have nice churches, but the presbyteries... Let's just say that's not where they put the donations."

When the locals had tried to engage their group, Yulistvan had immediately sought to disengage. He had not come here for a fight. He ignores the sermon, but does listen attentively when Kendra speaks. In innumerable little ways, she reminded him of his friend, and of all of the people gathered she seemed to be the only who felt the weight of Petros' death more than him. Iskir's allocution was as painful as it was amusing, and he tunes the man out once he begins fumbling with however many braincells he has left.

He smirks, not unkindly, at the reading of the will. One hundred platinum each. Petros, for such a brilliant man, it is astounding that you would have so much more money than sense.

He nods at Kendra before she leaves the room, and then looks to the others. "Kendra and overdue library books... Petros remains conscientious to a fault, even in death. I am looking forward to seeing what tomes we will be transporting; chances are that once they are back at the University, it will be hard if not impossible for most of us mere mortals to have access to them."

Bethany nods to Kendra, "I will stay and assist as you see fit. Gods know I owe it to your father."

The money would certainly aid her in her future endeavors, as well as make the professor proud.

Iskir looks at the sour little man and raises an eyebrow. "If the University decides to lock them up, maybe it's a good thing us, uh... mere mortals... don't have access to them. The Professor did say he'd been studying evil things."

He looks at the others, gauging them like he'd done in the old days. "A warrior, a monk, a scholar, and a priest of the Everlight. Other than being the setup to a bad joke, it seems to me like the Professor is being very careful about these books. And paying us a lot of money to see it done. I'm not sure flipping through them just because you're curious would be wise, Mr. Vilkaskis."

"We can agree that a warrior, a monk, and a priest should refrain from indulging in idle curiosity in this matter. I, however - as you have correctly surmised - am a scholar, and will not be doing anything so inane as 'flipping through' the tomes." He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.  "I suppose that there is anyone to blame for your ignorance, it would be me. If I had been more careful with my word choice, perhaps you would have understood that there is little cause for concern.  Thank you for your vigilance; it will eventually serve us well." Yulistvan gives Iskir a smile that is no doubt meant to be encouraging.

Quántóu was taken a back by it all, naive and inexperienced to anything outside of the monestary. He was pleased at least that he would not have go directly back to the monestary, he could explore and experience the 'world' some more. He had more tasks to complete for Kendra for Master Zhou; he pocketed the one hundred coins not to be touched again until he handed them back to his master.

Profane tomes were another matter, but he was no scholar so remained silent for now. It sounded bad though, so Quántóu wore an unhappy face.

"A month here," he muses, looking around the room. "I can only speak for myself, but I have certainly had worse lodgings. Seldom do schoolteachers get to live in the lap of luxury. Hell, some years it was hard to find a seat near the ankles of adequacy." Yulistvan chuckles wryly.

A month here indeed. While the comparatively luxurious surrounds were a big improvement to lodgings at his monestary Quántóu was not happy to be here for so long. A few days would be good to recharge from the road, but he'd sooner be away. He'd have to keep himself active while he was here. Extra calisthenics was probably in order...

Kendra soon returns with a chest and key. Without much ceremony, she unlocks the chest quickly. Within are several old tomes, and one newer one. The new one sits on top, and engraved on the cover is the words "Read me now!" A quick look at the other books show they all have notes indicating where they are to be delivered - three are to be delivered to one Montagnie Crowl, a professor of antiquities at
Lepidstadt University. The fourth, Manual of the Order of the Palatine Eye, has a note indicating it should be delivered to Embreth Daramid, a judge at the Lepidstadt Courthouse (although the note asks for this delivery in particular to be handled discreetly, and includes the address of Embreth’s home.

OOC: Your call if you examine the books more than just a brief look to find out where they are to be delivered.

Bethany shrugs, "looks to me like the prof left a message specifically for us."

She reaches out for the book, and inspects it.

When Bethany reaches for a book, Yulistvan manages to resist the urge to slap her hand. While he does not think that she is necessarily well-suited to handle the tomes, he is certain that he is ill suited to receive her indignant wrath, regardless of the form that it might take.

"What has been written?"  His students would recognize this particular turn of phrase, as his reply to "What does it say?" is more often than not "Nothing, it must be read". Pedantic? Perhaps, but how else could one ensure that a town's future leaders would be somewhat competent?  "If he has given further instructions as to the other tomes, I would like to know so that I can make a well informed decision."

The book indicating to be read immediately by the group, seems to be a journal, quick look does indicate very quickly it's the professor's journal.

OOC: Will do a more detailed post about the journal tomorrow.

Certain entries in the journal as you read through them have been circled, which are summarised below.

Ten Years Ago:
The Whispering Way is more than just a cabal of necromancers. I see that now. Undeath is their fountain of youth. Uncovering their motivation does not place me at ease as I thought it might. Their desire to be eternal simply makes them more dangerous.

Two Months Ago:
It is as I had feared. The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be?

One Month Ago:
Whatever the Way seeks, I am now convinced their goal is connected to Harrowstone. In retrospect,
I suppose it all makes sense—the stories they tell about the ruins in town are certainly chilling
enough. It may be time to investigate the ruins, but with everyone in town already being so worked
up about them, I’d rather not let the others know about my curiosity—there’s plenty of folks
hereabouts who already think I’m a demonologist or a witch or something. Ignorant fools.

Twenty Days Ago:
It is confirmed. The Way seems quite interested in something—no, strike that—someone who was
held in Harrowstone. But who, specifically, is the Way after? I need a list of everyone who died
the night of the fire. Everyone. The Temple of Pharasma must have such a list.

Eighteen Days Ago:
I see now just how ill prepared I was when I last set out for the Harrowstone. I am lucky
to have returned at all. The ghosts, if indeed they were ghosts (for I did not find it prudent to
investigate further) prevented me from transcribing the strange symbols I found etched along the
foundation—hopefully on my next visit I will be more prepared. Thankfully, the necessary tools to
defend against spirits are already here in Ravengro. I know that the church of Pharasma used to
store them in a false crypt in the Restlands at the intersection between Eversleep and the Black
Path. I am not certain if the current clergy even know of what their predecessors have hidden down
below. If my luck holds, I should be able to slip in and out with a few borrowed items.

Seventeen Days Ago:
Tomorrow evening I return to the prison. It is imperative the Way does not finish. My caution
has already cost me too much time. I am not sure what will happen if I am too late, but if my
theory is right, the entire town could be at risk. I don’ t have time to update my will, so I’ll
leave this in the chest where it’ll be sure to be found, should the worst come to pass.

Quántóu folds his arms and his face darkens at the mention of necromancers. Such things were evil and he had been taught to stand against them. He abrubtly bursts out "We should find the false crypt to arm ourselves against this evil then strike against these necromancers before they can realise their plans" his look was eager as it passed across his companions.

Bethany held her tongue as she silently ready the lines over and over. She always knew there was a reason the professor had those skills she needed, he was a hunter of the undead, just as she would be.

"I agree, we should check this crypt out."

Iskir looks increasingly uncomfortable as he slowly reads the diary entries. "This Whispering Way sound like bad news. Since we have to stay for a bit, I agree that we might as well like into it. Might help clear the Professor's name."

He shifts on his feet. "So, I may be a cleric, but I focused on healing when learning. I won't be better at dealing with the undead than any of you. The Professor mentions ghosts and making preparations. Maybe there's something in his manor that could help us deal with them? We should check before going to this crypt."

Close reading suggests the preparations he was talking about were to be found at the false crypt - it is not in fact expected to be dangerous there.

Without research, there is little to tell what in the manor could prove useful. So it is a choice of doing research, or going straight to the false crypt.

OOC: Going to the fake tomb, or doing research? Just trying to figure out what you're doing.

ooc: Sorry for the delay. Things got hairy IRL - I'd say research first.

IC: Yulistvan sniffs, looking ready to criticize Iskir's suggestion. "I concur. Research before the crypt. It would be irritating to learn post hoc of something that might have been useful."

Quántóu folds his arms. "I disagree. The professor has dedicated much to his investigations. Do you think you'll find in a few days which he did not in weeks and months. We should head to the crypt."

Iskir looks surprised by both Yulistvan's approval and Quántóu's dismissal. He'd grown to expect the scholar's chiding and had thought the monk would urge patience. "We don't need to spend days on it. Just a few hours looking around to see if the Professor left behind some tools or materials that could help us. I'd hate to join him early when something here could've saved us."

He looks at Bethany. "What do you think, miss? Poke around or charge in?"