Carrion Crown

[Lucy Lou]

Most towns grow up around a trade center or center of learning. Not Ravengo. Ravengo developed around the notorious Harrowstone Prison. The Harrowstone prison developed from the need to centralized criminalize for the county of Tamrivena, now known as Canterwall by the last ruler Count Eigen Lorres. The prison was a last ditch effort for the count to bolster his reputation and earn a little bit of gold at the same time. The prison would not hold only Tamrivena's criminals, but for a price all the criminals of Ustalav. This ploy worked until the prison's destruction, leading to a bloodless revolution. The citizens, having lost their purpose with the loss of the prison, were more than happy to accept the new democratic form of government. Today the town is a healthy farming community producing wheat, barely, and corn as it's main crops. The local Lake Lias also provides fish as well, though not enough to sell.

Dr. Petros Lorrimor, Professor Emiritus of the University of Lepistadt, former First Councilman of Canterwall, Emissary to the Court of Crown Prince Aduard Ordranti III, Honorary Knight of Lastwall, Order of the Vigil. The name was familiar. In one way or another, the professor had affected your life and here, even in his death he was affecting you again. The man was a defender of the weak and while he was an outsider in his home of Ravengo, the citizens respected him. If you remember correctly, the Professor was an expert in folklore and legends, who used his knowledge to combat the evil and supernatural.

It’s a solid road that leads into town. The feeling of rain on your face is cold as it beings misting again. An old sign points you in the right direction, toward a small clump of houses. Around them a small wall had been erected around the town, though it's more like a fence then anything. In the background, you can see the ruins of the old prison and even not being these parts you've heard rumors surrounding the sinister dark shape.

As you grow closer to town, you notice several farmers finishing up their days work. They glare at you with narrow and hostile eyes. Giving you the feeling that strangers are not very welcome here. So whether fullfilling a promise, seeing a mentor laid to rest, thinking it was just another job, or just out of curiosity, you've made your way to Ravengo seeking out the professor's only surviving family member Kendra Lorrimor.

Spoiler: Map of Ravengo

*A=Town Square
*N=Lorrimor Home

@Arclight @Bauren @Clayton @Kiro @Reya Starlyght @StormWolf​

 

[Arcangel]

The journey to Ravengo had been a long one. After recieving a letter informing him of Petros Lorrimor’s death, Jak Lupei had immediately begun his trek from the River Kingdoms to the gloomy village of Ravengo. It had been a long and difficult road, something that Jak was quite used to in his wanderings. Now the small village was in sight, the small clump of houses seeming miniscule compared to the old and decaying prison that dominated the skyline behind the village.

Whistling as he walked up the roadway leading to the village, Jak Lupei must have appeared quite a sight to suspicion filled farmers that toiled along the roadside. Wearing sturdy clothing of wild and colorful designs, most notable being the long orange scarf that wrapped thrice around his neck, which warded off the evening chill quite well. He was well armed and armored, as any sane person travelling through Ustulav would be. Still, such characters always aroused suspicion in the ever wary minds of the lower class of Ustulav, suspicion that was usually well earned and went long towards keeping the village safe.

As he walked, whistling a cheery tune with a slight bounce in his step, Jak couldnt help but notice the hostile glares that he was on the receiving end of. As he neared a farmer who was closer to the road than the others, Jak stopped, and with a beaming smile on his face he spoke loud and cheerful, the sound cutting through the dreary mist.

“Greetings Stranger! Do you have a moment to give me some directions? I am due at the home of my friend the late Professor Lorrimor.” Moving off of the road to lean forward against the fence as he spoke. (Diplomacy: 15+8-2=21)


One of the farmers moved up toward the fence that separated the farm lands from the road, his face still showing the distrust. The people of Ravengo were weary of strangers and yet, nothing of interest ever happened around the little settlement so the arrival of a stranger provoked a certain level of interest that would no doubt make this particular gentleman a focus of attention tonight as the all gathered at the tavern.

"Professor Lorrimor's home is to the south of town. If ye head down the road toward the prison, ye can't miss it. He had a sign hanging in front of his home." Then with what seemed like reluctance, the man continued. "Ye here for the funeral?"


Noticing the farmer’s reluctance to speak to him, Jak didn't falter. While he was in a hurry to get to where he was going, he was determined to leave a good impression on the man. Maybe he would make a new friend today. "Yeah I'm here for the funeral. It was a sad day when I learned of the professor's passing. Almost didn't get the letter, but luck found it to me at a tavern in the River Kingdoms just as I was about to depart. Anyways, names Jak by the way, and I must be off, will I see you at the tavern tonight? (Diplomacy: 4+8-2=10)


The farmer gave him a look up and down slowly as if weighing him up. "Mayhaps." The man replied giving the slightest nod in parting before heading back to finish up his days work. Nodding to the man in return, flashing him one last smile before continuing his way down the road. While the conversation didnt go as well as he had hoped, Jak looked forward to socializing with the townspeople at the local tavern that night, and if luck was with him, as it usually was, his new friend would be there.


Entering the small village, Jak felt the eyes of the locals heavy upon him. Peering out from dark windows and cracked doors. Ignoring the oppressive feeling of being watched, he continued his cheery tune as he made his way through the village, until he came to a stop in front of one particular home. Hanging over the door was a sign that read “Dr. Petros Lorrimor." Jak Lupei had only met the man once, having saved his life on the road many years ago. But they had maintained correspondence throughout the years as location and time had permitted. Jak regretted not becoming closer to the man, but his yearning for the open road was too strong, and his wanderlust prevented him from staying in one place long enough to make lasting friendships. With a heavy heart, Jak raised his hand and rapped on the door with his knuckles.

(OOC: NPC responses provided by @Megilwen )

 

[Clayton]

Snidely held the letter in his hand and twirled a waxed, black mustache. He was deep in thought. Professor Lorrimor dead? What a shame. He and the late professor had some quite engaging conversations. Snidely would miss them. He turned and looked at his reflection in an oval mirror held in a tarnished steel frame. Making a final adjustment to his mustache he dropped the letter, clapped his hands together and briskly rubbed them, "polishing his palms" as one might described. He flashed a devilish grin and dashed to a coat rack, cloak flapping wildly behind him. Lorrimor dead meant only one thing: Opportunity.

He donned his black tophat, slung a pack over his shoulders, and fled the house, slamming the door shut with a bang. Out on the front stoop he took a moment to collect himself. He was going to a funeral. He adjusted his hat so the brim sat lower, and assumed a somber expression. A "friend" had died, people were sad about that. Lorrimer may not have been a friend of his, but the man had been an acquaintance. One that had imparted some very valuable knowledge to Snidely. The late professor may have left something to him in his will. And if not, surely nobody had taken stock of every single book and scroll in the man's library. Who would notice if some text on Alchemy went missing? Definitely not the professor!

Snidely strolled down the way; Revengo was only a town over, so carriage or wagon fare wouldn't be that expensive. It was also early in the day and if he walked, Snidely might reach Ravengo by late noon. He considered the benefits of one choice over another for a good five minutes before deciding against the carriage. He could walk, and Ravengo had a interesting black market. Best save coin for that so he could acquire items of illicit, yet useful purpose.

He stared down the road that led out of town and adjusted his pack. Time to set off. He hummed to himself as he walked the miles to Ravengo. Sometimes he stopped and switched to whistling. Halfway there he starting wishing for a nice, black walking stick. Maybe Lorrimer had one that he could have. Dead people couldn't really say no, could they? He would ask, and upon failure to deny his wish, Snidely would help himself.

Just as the sun began to turn a deep orange as it sank in the sky (not that he could see it, he just assumed it had turned orange. Some infernal mist had settled over the town), Snidely reached Ravengo. It was a town of farmers and bumpkins. Rubes. People that didn't quite understand the way the world worked. Honestly, why Lorrimer chose to surround his learned self with such folk was a mystery. Honestly, could half of these people even read more than their name and some numbers? They stared at him through small eyes connected to small brains. Mistrust. He smiled jovially and waved at a couple of farmers. As misplaced as their suspicions were, they weren't wrong to mistrust Snidely. He'd gladly give every last one of them the pox. But they weren't right either, he had not the skill or the materials to concoct such a potent weapon. Their correctness and wrongness existed in some gray haze, much like the one that lay draped over the town right now.

What a miserable existence these people must live, he mused to himself as he trudged down a slightly muddy road. He knew where was was headed; Snidely had a lively and elucidating discussion with the Professor in his study one night. They had waxed poetic and scientific for hours on the various taxon of plants and how they could be used in various concoctions, magical or mundane. Snidely really had to find the texts where Lorrimer had gleaned such information from. They would be so useful.

Snidely climbed the few steps that led up to the deceased's front door, made sure his hat was settled on his head correctly, and once more adopted a somber expression. He knocked. Politeness to others never hurt. It was easier to slip poison or pestilence into the drink of a friend than an enemy.

 

[Oreus]

Landspfalz had spent his last three months in the northern foothills of the Hungry Mountains training himself. Hiking the hills and tossing boulders had increased his strength all around. He was feeling pretty good about his progress by the time a courier found him at his shack. In truth the Dwarf hardly remembered the old professor but it would make sense to be in his will. After all, Pfalz had saved his life at one point. Was the old man leaving behind some wealth for his savior? Curiosity demanded that the Dwarf head over to the nearby town to see what went down.

"I vonder vat da old man lef' for me?"

It took a full day to make the walk from his shack to town at Dwarf speed. It was already approaching evening by the time he arrived and everyone was finishing their day's work. As usual he got some odd looks as he came in through the southern gate. It had been over a year since he had seen the professor, but he remembered the house was somewhere on the south side of town. There would likely be a sign or some kind of easy way to tell it was the right place. A couple of locals looked at him with wrinkled noses as he made his way up the street but he ignored it. It was nothing new coming into town as an outsider. Pfalz found the house after a slow walk up the street. The sign was obvious enough in front of the house. It seemed a few people had made it to the home already. As he approached someone was knocking at the door. Some strange looking man with a hat.

"Gut ev'nin' zir," he said trying to sound polite as he approached the home.

 

[Reya Starlyght]

Chaelana had stopped into a town near Ravengo a day ago. She had been coming back from a typical hunt in the forest nearby, and had expected it to be a pretty typical stop, maybe to pick up an unusual request or a bounty. However, when the half-elf had stopped by the local pub, she had been greeted with some somber news. Professor Emiritus had passed away. And although Chaelana had quite an independent spirit, she had been close to him. The professor had hired her numerous times, in fact one such occasion had been one of her very first jobs.

She had been invited, so to speak, to his funeral. However, if the town of Ravengo hadn't changed since the last time she had visited, there wouldn't be much of a welcome. The town Chaelana was currently in was about 10 miles away, about a 2 to 3 hour walk. It was morning now, the day after she had gotten the letter. However, the half-elf didn't set out right away, and instead took about an hour to restock on supplies. She didn't want to get lost in the countryside without the necessary equipment.

It was late morning when Chaelana finally left the town for Ravengo, wearing her typical clothes. The walk there was uneventful, she only crossed paths with a couple farmers, who didn't pay too much attention. Or so Chaelana assumed, it could of been that they were not welcoming. By the time she made it to her destination, it was a little past midday. The half-elf didn't bother speaking to the locals, as she knew that at least that would take time. And besides, she knew her way around Ravengo well. The Professor's house was near the center of town, which was small to begin with. However, Chaelana couldn't ignore the unwelcoming stares of the residents as she knocked on the door of the house.

 

[StormWolf]

Shift your hunting ground for a few years and you'll hardly recognize it when you return. Such was Leon's musings as he leaned against the creaking mast of a ferry, chugging its way down the River Vistear. Ustalav had always been a locale of acquired taste, but now it seemed to be lacking any taste whatsoever. Perhaps it was the heart-shaped lenses of nostalgia, or fond remembrance of the deceased, but Leon found the people of Ustalav more disagreeable than ever before. The ferryman was a surly old goat with a face like gnarled roots, holding the local disdain for outsiders while enabling them to enter the country. Whatever got the job done, Leon supposed. Pride won't fill your belly at the end of the day, after all.

Leon's journey had been one of little consequence, hopping from ferry to ferry from Egede under one alias or another. People of Leon's occupation are often reviled as greatly as their quarry, especially by the superstitious country folk. The good Doctor Lorrimor had been a welcome break for Leon's Chapter; a man of intense superstition and modest wealth who sought the Blood Hunters for his more unusual experiments. Their agreement was simple and clean: Lorrimor paid the Hunter's Take and the Hunters did their job, bringing whatever samples the Doctor requested for his next set of tests. Leon himself had fond memories of Lorrimor, who had helped Leon during his time as an initiate. He had sword to repay the Doctor's kindness, and it weighed on Leon that he'd never be able to do so in life. There was something unfulfilling about owing a dept to a corpse...

Dusk grew near as the town of Ravengo came into view around the river bend. Turing up the collar of his greatcoat against the cold and damp, Leon plunged his hands into deep pockets, finding his chilled fingers brushing the scroll he had received by raven. Why had the Doctor sent for Leon in his will? They were no closer than business associates. Others in the Chapter were more akin to real friends or family to Lorrimor, so why one of their lesser members? Something about it smelled odd to Leon, and it wasn't the odor permeating the scummy waters of the river. Slowly, the rickety ferry pulled up to an equally shabby dock and the leathery ferryman began tying off lines. Traveling with no baggage or belongings beyond his usual field kit, Leon disembarked. His steely eyes, pinched by the sun yet sharp as an eagle's, scanned the town proper, giving the townsfolk the same weighing leer they tossed his way. They were guarded, distrustful, and all around displeased by the arrival of outsiders. Having been postured so before Leon's arrival was known, he mustn't be the first one.

"O'right, pay up 'afore I toss ye inna drank," said the ferryman, turning to find Leon standing right beside him, a hand clasping firmly at the old crow's shoulder. Too firmly to be friendly by any stretch. Brushing back his coat to rummage for some coin, Leon made sure the ferryman saw the wrapped hilt of the Hunter's elven sword. Seven silver clattered in Leon's gloved palm,

"Seven silver should be more than adequate for your service and your silence, friend." Leon dropped the silver into the man's rough palm and closed this gnarled fingers over them, giving the man's hand a meaningful squeeze as aged knuckles creaked. (Intimidation: 25: 19 + 1 cha + 5 intimidate) Sweat beaded on the old man's creased brow, his surly visage softening as he met those predator's eyes,

"Y-yar, sir," said the ferryman, trembling like a leaf. Leon gave the man a firm clap on the back,

"Good man."

Trekking down the streets of cobbled stone, Leon tucked his head down into his shoulders, shrugging off the glances and glares tossed his way. Leon had no desire to waste any more of his time or effort with the local color. The ferryman had been enough of a taste to know just the kind of people they were. Out of precaution, Leon buttoned up the collar of his greatcoat, masking his face up to the nose. Crossing the town square and continuing southward, Leon quickly took notice of others who appeared out of place in the drab and dour environs of Ravengo. The first was a near-instantaneous mark, as the human male seemed to swathe himself in vibrant and garish colors that defied the pallet of ash, soil, and stone about them. Second was another human male, but bore an air of self-importance and a top hat. Finally, a male dwarf met Leon's eyes; that alone was something remarkable in such a backwater. Approaching the Lorrimor estate, Leon put his back to the threshold wall and waited for whoever was managing the property to grant them entry.

 

[Kiro]

If there was one redeeming quality to Ustalav, it was it's weather. At least as far as Marietta Relthan was concerned, as she rode in the black carriage, a gloved finger tip brushing aside the drapes to peer out of the window in the door. Most would probably disagree with her, and point out just how much they disliked the frequent rains, the seemingly constant haze of fog covering the land, and when it wasn't raining or foggy, the sky was nearly always overcast, and bemoan those three facts. But for a Drow like herself, the preternatural lack of sunlight within the Principality of Ustalav was just perfect. Of course, she knew quite well that she was hardly the only resident of the nation that appreciated that fact, and that most of those that shared her views had rather... unsavory appetites.

But for now, as she reclined in the seat of the carriage, she focused her mind on a more pressing matter, namely the letter she had received, informing her of the death of her old and dear friend and colleague, Professor Petros Lorrimor. They'd only met twice in the flesh, but they'd maintained a long and pleasant correspondence, discussing a wide number of topics, ranging from the political nature of Ustalav and the apparently inherent, and literal, corruption within the nobility, to the many and varied topics of magic and it's applications. The Drow sorceress counted the Professor, for all his human failings and his advanced years, something of a mentor, though she'd never admit such a fact to anyone, except possibly the Professor's daughter, whom she suspected knew of their frequent correspondence. With Lorrimor's advanced years, his eyes hadn't been quite as they'd been when they'd first met.

In truth, the letter hadn't come as a complete surprise, as her last correspondence to the Professor had gone unanswered for far longer than normal, with the Professor's last letter giving no hint as to him going on another expedition. As such, she had quickly come to fear the worst. As soon as the letter announcing the Professor's demise had arrived, Marietta had stormed out of her comfortable home and hired a carriage to take her from the capitol of Caliphas to Ravengro. The journey hadn't been entirely pleasant, with bumpy, muddy, roads, but just as the sun was setting did the carriage arrive in the little town, overshadowed by the ruins of Harrowstone Prison. As the carriage rolled to a halt outside the Professor's home, Marietta adjusted her clothes, before pushing open the door and tossing the eight gold pieces up to the driver, before stepping up to the Lorrimor home and knocking firmly upon the door, ignoring any potential looks she might be getting from the locals. If Elves were rare in the town, then surely a Drow would be next to unheard of. She wouldn't be surprised if some of the peasants would accuse her of being a Demon.

 

[Lucy Lou]

As each of you knock on the door, it's opened by a young woman with dark brown hair pilled neatly at top her head and dressed in well made clothes. Some of you are familiar with the woman, Kendra Lorrimor, the twenty-five year old daughter to the late Professor Lorrimor.

"Please come in." She spoke, her face showing relief and yet still tired from her own personal grief at losing her father. "I'm so glad that you could make it. At first, I was concerned that no one was going to come pay their respects for my father." The door closes behind each as she leads the way into the study. There were a few that she recognized from past meetings and others that she'd only heard of.

"Miss Lithos. Father told me so much about you and his travels. Thank you for taking care of him."

"Mr. Whiplash, it's such a pleasure to see you again. Father always talked about how he'd met an intellectual match and wished he'd had more time for your conversations."

"Mr. Buhtohnz, thank you so much for taking your time to come. And I must thank you again, if it hadn't been for you I might not have had my Father for as long as I did."

"Cleric Lupei, we are truly blessed that you were able to come. Just as I was blessed the day you rescued him."

"Mr. Mandargarr welcome. Thank you for your time with my Father. I know he was really excited by what he learned from you and by the help he was able to offer."

"Miss Relthan. My father often talked to me about your correspondence and how you taught him just as much as he was able to teach you."

Chaelana had been the first to arrive and was already sitting in a plush armchair beside a fire built up to ward away the ever present chill. There were a variety of other chairs and the professor's large desk sat in the back in front of massive inset bookshelves. On one table a tea pot, still steaming with several cups. Against one wall was a crystal decanter with an amber liquor. More than likely whiskey as it was the drink the he preferred.

Once everyone was settled, Kendra looked around. "I'd like to thank you all again for coming and you arrived just in time. I was afraid that I'd have to pay some of the townsfolk to carry the casket. Some of you will agree to be pallbearers?" She waited for everyone's answers. "We can continue to talk once we return from the service. I'll answer an questions you have about the will or..." She trailed off as her voice cracked slightly from the grief. "With the way things have been in town lately. I'm afraid there won't be many others."

 

[Arcangel]

With a knock, the door was opened by a stately young woman. Jak assumed her to be Kendra, Professor Lorrimor’s daughter, whom he had only heard of but had never met. Grasping her hands gently as she greeted him, Jak gave a slight bow, sympathy at her plight apparent on his face. “You have my deepest condolences, the world is a darker place without your father’s presence in it.” Releasing her hands to allow her a chance to greet the other guests, Jak was struck by her worry that no one would come to the funeral. “Surely your father had many friends around the village and the rest of the world.” (Diplomacy: 8+8=16)

Kendra’s expression seemed to fall for a moment as Jak brought up what was obviously a painful subject. "I'm afraid that many of those friends have abandoned us as of late. We can discuss it more after the funeral friend." With a sympathetic smile and a nod, Jak dropped the subject, not wanting to dig into what was clearly a fresh wound.

Following Kendra and the rest of the mourners into the study, Jak noticed the young half-Elven woman already sitting comfortably in one of the room’s plush chairs. Flashing her a quick smile before turning his attention back to their host as she greeted the newcomers more personally. As she came to him, Jak once again flashed the woman a sympathetic smile. “I wouldn’t have missed it, and I’m sure your father would have done the same for me had our roles been reversed. He was a good man.”

Listening quietly as Kendra greeted the others, he waited respectfully until she turned to address the group. Frowning briefly at the implications of her request, Jak pushed aside his concern to pipe up in response. “I would be honored to bear your father to his final resting place. I would also, if you don’t mind, like to speak a few words over his grave, to pay my final respects to the man.” Finishing, Jak would listen to what the others would have to say. Once Kendra began to speak again, her grief so palpable that Jak almost didn’t ask what was burning on his mind with her final comment. “If now is not the best time, please let me know, but what do you mean by the way things have been lately?” (Diplomacy: 6+8=14)

Kendra gazed at Jak with her sad eyes. "I understand your concern dear Jak. Now is not the time for that. First my father must be laid to rest on his final adventure. I promise everything will be explained once this sad duty is over." With a nod, Jak laid his concerns to rest temporarily. A slight feeling of guilt pinged in his stomach at having pushed the woman during her grief. But he couldn’t help to shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

 

[Clayton]

“Of course, my dear Lady Lorrimor, your father had a mind sharper than any sword. The world is at a loss without him” replied Snidely, removing his hat as he stepped inside. Privately he was quite pleased that the Professor had thought so highly of him. Of course, Kendra could just be saying polite things for propriety’s sake. How very…prim of her.

Kendra Lorrimor. Snidely shuddered internally as he thought of her. Only twenty…five was it? Twenty-five and she already looked like a stern matron at a boarding school. The only attractive thing about the woman was her late father’s (and how hers by inheritance) estate. And who would want to live here of all places? No, he would abscond with a book or two and leave some other poor sod to try and woo the woman who was certain to be a hellion later in life.

They entered the study and Snidely moved over to the bookcases and adopted a gaze of sad reminiscence. Really, he was looking for rare or useful texts. (perception=18+0=18) He noticed five books pertaining to the alchemical arts, but one in particular stood out. Inusitatae Artis Elixirs, not a common book by definition, and one that would carry a worthy price if he were to buy it from a shop that could find it. One book wouldn't be missed, not if he replaced it, or rearranged the books to sort of hide the gap. Snidely would have to come back later for it. He memorized the spot on the shelf.

Snidely then turned away from the bookcase as Kendra began to speak. A pallbearer? None of these pathetic villagers could be bothered to respect a great man (and the professor was a great man, only a fool would deny it) by doing such a service? Norgorber damn them all. The professor may have been misguided and altruistic, but that only meant people owed him. For them to not do something as simple yet important as carry his casket, well…Snidely decided then and there that he would poison or infect the town well when he had the time and means to do so.

“It would be an honor, Lady Lorrimor, to be a pallbearer,” he said with reverence. He waited until everyone else had answered her, then he moved over to the decanter of whiskey. “Before we proceed to the funeral, I propose a toast to the late Professor. I think it fitting we celebrate his memory by raising a glass of his favorite drink. Lady Lorrimor, I do hope you will join us. You’ve been through so much lately; I think a glass might help soothe your nerves.” (charisma=17+0=17).

Kendra gave a soft smile. "I think father would approve of such a tribute to his memory. He did often enjoy a glass when with friends, as I'm sure you remember."

After everyone had answered if they would partake in the toast (with or without alcohol), he poured a modest amount of amber liquid into the requisite number of glasses and passed them around. Snidely raised his glass solemnly and spoke. “To Professor Lorrimor, a giant amongst his peers, a great man and great father, I am sure,” a small nod to the truly abhorrent woman standing in their midst, “he will be missed but never forgotten.” He probably had been a good father, by society’s standards. Snidely sincerely doubted that Kendra had been abused or neglected in any fashion, and she seemed to be honestly grieving.

He took a long sip of the whiskey, and couldn’t help but think back to having a glass of the same whiskey in the armchair over there while Lorrimor and he talked for hours, bathed in firelight. Ah, but what knowledge he had gained from that discussion! And how impressed he had been with the Professor’s vast knowledge and experience! Snidely had been honest; he would truly miss the man.

 

[Oreus]

Pfalz was happy to see the Professor's daughter open the door. It had been quite some time since he had seen her. She had been much younger at that time and not matured into the beauty she was today. For a human, she was certainly more attractive than most. A Dwarf could learn to live with that type of beauty if it came with the wealth and comforts the monk life never could offer him. Part of him thought that maybe he had been away from his people for too long now that he was even considering a human, but such was life.

"Mein dearest, to see you sad makes du efen more beautival. Eef only dis vas not vat broot uz together"
(D20-1 charisma to flirt = 8)

Kendra looked at the dwarf as he complimented her, though she had a slightly confused look because of his accent. "That... is very kind of you." A polite response, but her tense body language suggested that she didn't quite feel as her words indicated.

Failure. So far it was the theme on his life. Pfalz had only saved the professor because he endangered him in the first place by pushing the boulder towards town. It was pure luck he stopped it in time to keep the professor safe. No one had to know that though. If he was getting a prize for saving the old man, he would take it. There were quite a few people here though who perhaps knew him better. Not a good sign, especially after being shot down by Kendra.

There was an interesting conversation going on about the state of things, but the Monk didn't listen too well. He was curious about the other people and their connections though. He had thought it was just the daughter who would truly be there for the man. Instead of listening in on what the human was saying, he wandered off to see if he could find any nooks in the house. An odd man like the professor would perhaps have a secret place to hide away. If Pfalz could find it, maybe there was hidden wealth or secrets to be found. (Perception D20+7=...9) Sadly, the house was wooden and did not reveal any secrets it might have to the Dwarf. Instead he found a quiet place to sit and watch the others. He knew that their actions and that of Kendra would reveal more through his perception of them than any conversation he could hold.

 

[StormWolf]

Once inside, Leon was put at some relative ease by the comfort of familiar surroundings. Many a time Leon had sat idly in the den of this place while his Master and the lat Doctor poured over dusty tomes and moldy scrolls, delving into the shadows of bygone aeons and the devils that lurked therein. When the young Lady Lorrimor brought herself into view, Leon felt the faintest tugging of a smile - a subtle curling at the corner of his mouth as Kendra's courtesies passed over him. Meeting her eyes, Leon maintained the modest smile and dipped his head in a simple gesture. There was never much formality between them. Due in part to Leon's nature, he and those of his ilk were kept at a friendly arm's distance. He knew of Kendra as an acquaintance, little else.

"I am indebted to your father and his house for all they have done for me and mine, Lady Lorrimor. Whatever you need, you only have to ask," quoth Leon, his eyes almost biting with their chilled intensity. Despite being in a relative safe place, the Hunter lounged as a tiger would through tall grasses. Thumbs hooked his broad belt, the heel of his palm resting on the narrow and sweeping quillions of the curved sword's cross-piece. It was a stance of poise, not relaxation. When the carven crystal tumblers were passed around, Leon curtly waved the offer away, brandishing his own flask of silvered metal. Flicking open the stopper, Leon raised his drink with the others and took a quaint sip of his own stock, which seemed powerful enough to curl paint given the twisting of the Hunter's face.

"I too would carry your father to his final place of rest, if it please you," Leon said after a silent moment. The dwarf certainly wouldn't be of any use, as Leon doubted the man could reach high enough to help with the burden. "I may not be versed in the artistry of last rites like some others," said Leon as he gestured to the vibrantly-clad fellow across from him, "But there are ways to ensure this place and its oddities don't hound him into his final peace."

 

[Kiro]

Marietta listened carefully, her blood red eyes switching from one man to the next, pointy ears twitching ever so faintly as Whiplash and the Dwarf made their feeble attempts at flirting with Kendra. She could only shake her head in disgust at their vain, and oh so predictably male responses to the young woman whom had just lost her father, whom had yet to be interred to his tomb. Surely romance and the potential dalliances would be the last thing on the woman's mind!

"Of course, my dear," Marietta replied, her voice carrying an alien lilt to it, a remnant of her past life, despite her fluency in Common. It was something that'd always mark her as an outsider, as if her appearance didn't already. "Only a boor would dare refuse. Not only is it common decency towards a great man, but it'd be a genuine honour, at least to me, to see your father safely interred, with all due rites." She gave a warm smile to Kendra, hoping to ease her mind and perhaps lessen her grief somewhat, but left unsaid the very real danger both of them knew lurked in the perpetual fog. Ustalav was the one nation on Golarion most plagued with not only the various branches of the Hematophages, but all other forms of necromancy and undeath, meaning that a proper burial, overseen by a true cleric and given all the necessary rites, and a sturdy tomb, was extremely important. For those that couldn't afford such a treatment, well... cremation was always an option, but never a true safeguard, for even bones can be reanimated, regardless of any flesh or connective tissues, if the magic is strong enough.

 

[Reya Starlyght]

Chaelana had been somewhat surprised that she had arrived first at the professor's house. While funerals were often held at midday, it seemed that whoever else that had been invited had either not known that or were late. The half-elf suspected the later. But, if they arrived in the evening, it was likely they would be an interesting crowd.

She had been welcomed by the professor's daughter kindly. She, Chaelana recalled that her name was Kendra, looked older than the half-elf last remembered her. Perhaps it was because of the lost of her father, or maybe it was something else.

As Kendra spoke, Chaelana remembered the first time the professor had asked for Chaelana's assistance. It has been quite a long time ago, but she remembered it clearly. "In truth, he probably took care of me as much as I did him. I'm quite sad to see him pass on."

Kendra smiled at the other woman. "Yes that isn't hard to believe. Father could be forgetful at times and probably would have starved to death long ago if I didn't remind him to eat."

Chaelana smiled at Kendra's statement. The professor has been a good friend of hers, even if he had been quite difficult at times.
However, the half-elf didn't know his daughter that well, but she wanted to change that. "I suppose he could get quite absorbed in his studies sometimes. Of course, he was quite a scholar," she said, pausing for a second afterwards, "how are you this afternoon?"

Kendra smiled slightly. "Absorbed in his studies is quite the understatement. I'm getting along." The woman said almost evasively. "It has been quite a busy few days as the arrangements had to be made for father's final journey."

"I can only imagine." Chaelana replied. It was a quick reply, short, yet the half-elf thought it was fitting. She didn't wish to dwell on the current topic for too long. There would be time for that later, when the funeral started.

Kendra closed the door behind the woman and motioned toward the sitting room with one elegant hand. "Please would you come sit with me a little. No one else has arrived yet. You maybe the only one who does."

"That's a shame," the half-elf said, "but as long as you care for him your father will have a good send-off."

Kendra lead the way into the sitting room taking a seat in a chair. "I was just about to have a cup of tea would you like me to pour you one?" She asked as she began to pour a cup of steaming liquid.

"That would be lovely." Chaelana replied. She sat down along with Kendra. For the next two hours, they spoke about what they had done, the professor's achievements, and other things like that.

It would be a while until the other guests came to the professor's house, and for a while Kendra was busy with other things. During this time, Chaelana attempted to recall every memory she had connected to the professor. There were a lot, and the half-elf was certain she didn't get them all, but it was a way to pass time. And pass time it did, until all the guests got to the house. Once they were, she stood up from her seat:

Chaelana didn't say much as Kendra spoke to the other guests, although she was paying attention. She did, however, respond to the offer to be a pallbearer and the toast.

"Your fate he was very kind to me," she said to Kendra, "it would be right to help him now." This decision was quite easy. It seemed that she has been the last to reply to this, but her mind had already been made up. The toast was a different story. After some reluctance, she finally agreed. "A toast would be lovely."

Kendra replies provided by @Megilwen.

 

[Lucy Lou]

Once the toast was over, Kendra looked at each of those assembled. "Thank you friends." She gave them all a wavering smile, as her eyes teared up at their generosity. "Shall we go then? I'd..." She choked slightly on her words. "like to get this over with."

The woman waited for everyone to stand with her and follow her out of the house and up the road toward the Restlands, the local cemetery.

Spoiler: Map of Restlands

Outside the graveyard, a small party waited for them. It was thinner then one would expect of such a well known member of the village. The coffin itself was of high quality and the professor's body was not doubt preserved with gentle repose. The was enough room around the coffin for each of those who had volunteered to help carry the professor. Waiting there was the Father Grimburrow and a pair of gravediggers. As part of tradition, they would not accompany the procession, but instead meet the group at the grave. Kendra went over to confirm with the priest for a moment, leaving the others to observe the rest of those in attendance. There were less then ten people in attendance. In the group were the Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, Councilman Gharen Muricar, the tavernkeeper Zokar Elkarid and his thirteen year old son Pevrin, and Jominda Fallenbride the village's apothecary. After talking to Father Grimburrow, Kendra made her way around to those who'd came thanking them, her conversation with Jominda was the longest before she finally made her way back to the group.

"If we're ready." Kendra waited a few moments before leading the procession, as was tradition, up the Dreamwake first. Those who are carrying the coffin have both their hands full with the weight. As the party gets about halfway along their, they are met with a party of a dozen or so angry looking townsmembers blocking the pathway. The tallest of the group steps slightly forward. Gibs Hephenus, a retired solider speaks to Kendra. "That's far enough. We been talking, and we don't want Lorrimor buried in the Restland. You can take him upriver and bury him there if you want, but he ain't goin' in the ground here!"

The group shifts hostilely as Leon's hand shifts off the casket to brush against his hand crossbow. "What are you talking about?" Kendra cries out in swift response, her sadness transforming into anger. "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." Interrupts Gibs as he glares at the woman.

Drawing his crossbow, Leon hovers his finger over the trigger as he glares balefully into Gibs' eye, "Think of your family, my good man. What a shame it would be for them to go one without their patriarch, like the poor Lady Lorrimor."

As Leon draws his cross bow, the men ahead of the group all bristle angrily drawing their own weapons. Six of the men step forward holding improvised weapons, various farming equipment, a hammer or two. The others stand back, including Gibs, yelling encouragement to their companions and curses at the party and Kendra wanting to run them off and out of the scared grounds.

((Note: Do not post until every has rolled for Initiative - See OOC as well for notes and more information on the fight))

 

[Reya Starlyght]

One may think that having decent pride would be a natural part of a funeral, but according to the farmers of Ravengo it was not the case. Chaelana, to put calmly, had been outraged at the fact that these townfolk would dare stop the procession of one of their own. No matter what the reason. In fact, she was so angered that the half-elf didn't even listen to the rest of their spiel. Silently giving a gesture with her pinkie which was not holding anything, she started to set the casket down, although everyone working together would be required to fully do this.

 

[Arcangel]

As the group of mourners was confronted by the angry mob, Jak’s ire bubbled up from deep inside him. He understood that the men were frightened and ill informed, but to threaten Kendra over their superstitious fearmongering. That was taking things too far.

Carefully setting down the coffin, Jak turned to the angry mob as they began to menacingly approach the group. “Stop!” (Diplomacy: 2+8 =10). Unfortuneatly, the mob was beyond the point of listening to mere words. If anything his failed attempt to open dialogue seemed to spur them onwards.