Iren's PbP - Chapter 1

[ERYFKRAD]

Zollo quietly stares at the grotesque creature before him and the peculiar bundle it carries. He draws his knife to point at it.

"Open", he demands. (Reaction Roll: 5)

Hrod LASTSON shakes his head. Barely a day into civilization and already an encounter that reeks of witchcraft and sorcery.

[DemoGraph]

Felix is suspicious of Tallyman as well.
But the first thing he does is suggest to @Tillomar: Do you want your hand bandaged as that hag suggested? Let's go find the local graveyard.
If Tillomar doesn't, Felix is going there alone. Ask people on the street where the local graveyard is (and whether there're more than one, especially if there's one not near the church).

[TKVNC]

Aftering their meeting with the Tallyman Tillomar carefully considers the offer - if he's tracking, it would not hurt to have a patron to support with costs.

He would look to @Felix and nod curtly, stating that it seemed a good deal.

He follows the Thief out into the streets, and to Mad Orla. He seemed untroubled by the meeting, though interested in Orla's mention of an appropriate treatment, willow was known to farmers, but graveyard dirt? He tucks the bundle of weeds into his belt, loosely hanging around his waist.

He heads to leave with @Felix after the mornings meetings, but stops abruptly hearing Fergal whining and starting toward a basement door...

Something there lad?

He investigates the door... but not really thinking much of it, nudges Fergal, and takes him along with him... But makes a note of the location, as it might be worth sharing with the others.

He catches up to Felix then heads with him toward the Graveyard, stating simply:

"We shouldn't tarry there, but let us attend to the Hag's message, then find the other men, hmh?"

[SpellSword]

► TL;DR Summary

Stein Von Steiner's growing vexation with the craftsmen and the weight of the giant rat he is carrying has turned his mind murderous against the vermin that dwell beneath town.

He's agreed to haul some deer pelts for a local furrier named Donarin in exchange for a discount for a future purchase.

The thought has occured to him that with his knowledge of alchemy perhaps the rats very stink could be made to work against them.

And finally, gaint rat ever pressing down on his back, Stein has made his way to the entry of the Bailiff's Hall.

Hopefully the furry carcass will be of use to @Wolfgang von Schwarzscheid and @Norman seeing as the guard is demanding proof of the threat to the town.

With each labored step through the town's streets, Stein can feel the looks being drawn from the townsfolk as he hauls his cargo to their destination. He ignores the onlookers. His attention is focused on the furry burden. The huge rat he was carrying on his back didn't smell any better this morning than it had in the cellar, and with every step, the head of the rat leans over his shoulder. Its dead eye peers into his own as if in mockery.

---

(Donarin’s Fine Furs & Leatherworks)
The furrier made his offer. 20 silver, and some work done, for the cloak.

Back when he had the brewery, such an expense would have been made without a second thought. Now the pitiful sum of two silver pieces and a handful of coppers weighed heavily on his mind. His entire fortune and not nearly enough. Stein made sure his inner turmoil wasn't apparent on his face as he asks Donarin for the details on the deer pelt delivery and agrees to make the run.

Even if in the end the rat cloak remained out of reach, a favor would be owed and that was not without value.

As Stein turns to leave, Donarin mentions a mountain fungus dye that would treat any rat based clothing to remove its strong rat-musk scent. (Another 10 silver, of course...) His alchemist's knowledge sparking an idea, Stein freezes mid step then turns slightly, the fur of the rat brushing his face as he does so.

"To remove the scent from these furs would indeed be of value... but perhaps, is there a way to strengthen it is well?" he asks, as much to a possibly confused Donarin as to himself. "I'll be going toe to claw with these beasts. Maybe it is best they smell only their own kind approaching as the hunt draws near."

With a look of perhaps slightly abnormal determination in his eyes, Stein says his fairwells to the craftsman. "I'll be back with the deer pelts as soon as I've finished my business with the town Bailiff." He adjust the rat's weight on his back while trying to recall the various methods for preparing perfumes using substances taken from animal organs.

His nose wrinkled, ever assaulted by his furry cargo. A bit of careful butchery and an extract of unholy rat stank could be concocted, he was sure of it.

---

(Ithmar’s Carvings & Curios)
The Bone carver threateningly expells the rat bearing man from his shop while superstitiously talking of "Bad blood" and "Bone-spirits".

With the everpresent weight of the rat and its seemingly growing smell, Stein is almost driven to challange Ithmar's venom with his own. But in the end, his mercantile training wins out and he says simply, "Bad blood? It's my blood on those fangs!" before he hurries out of the shop.

---

(Approaching the Bailiff's Hall)
As he continues to trudge through the town streets, Stein spots the rodent's mouth hanging open slightly in what his mind interprets as a mirthless laugh. "These creatures need be destroyed!" he states to himself angrily. "And their own fang and claw should be made to do it!"

Stein notes the spire of the stone chapel of the One True God standing above the rest of the town's roofs, and with a frown, he mentally deducts another copper coin from his reserves. The church had been little help when they burned his brewery. In fact he'd seen its membership amongst the mob... but still, every good merchant knew the importance of making a small donation when visiting a new town. He'd have to remember to stop and greet the local priest later...

Somehow his strength continues to hold out as the Bailiff's Hall finally comes into view. The weight of the rat on his back felt like it was increasing. A final attack by the vermin. But even as his legs momentarily buckle, he staggers towards his goal. He wouldn't be beaten, not be animals, not by rats!

The combination of all the ills that had befallen him in the past and this morning's encounter with the craftsmen had soured his mood. In that moment, he laid the entirety of his misfortunes on the horde of rats no doubt lurking even now beneath his feet.

One foot, in front of the other, the door was almost close enough to touch. "**** rats!" He'd kill these beasts... every last one.

► Out of Character

Since a composed bit of window shopping is out. I'm hoping that Stein Von Steiner will burst in with his rat cargo, the exertion and strife from dealing with the craftsmen leaving him looking more wild than he'd no doubt like. Carrying this gaint rat such a distance has likely taken its toll on the man. A strength 18 human with a giant rodent on his back is hopefully quite a sight.

I've already rolled a 6 for "Reaction for Town Authorities" which I'm assuming carries over to whatever is about to happen.

[Irenaeus]

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Scouting


Building 1: The Baker’s Basement
They find a bakery and greet the baker, asking to investigate the building. After explanations and a cautious acceptance by the owner, they go to a small, flour-dusted cellar beneath the bakery, where it smells of yeast and soot. Sections of floor have sagged inward, and the bricks are wet to the touch. Behind stacked barrels is a circular gnaw-hole, wide enough for a large rat… Other than that, nothing in it of note.

(Roll on your Intelligence attribute)

Failure - nothing gained

Building 2: An Abandoned Weaving House
The building is boarded up, but easy to pry open by the duo. In the interior, dust hangs in shafts of gray light from cracks in the walls and roof. Broken looms lie still, thread rotted. Under a broken floorboard they find a bone bead necklace, dripping wet, though no water is present. A dead rat, belly split, insides blackened. Normal-sized, they think.

(Roll on your Wisdom attribute)

Osgar takes the necklace and feels a dark magic pulse from it hitting his body. It powers him - he gains 1 Luck.

3. The Alley Between

In a narrow passage between the two cellars, they find a scratched sigil in chalk on the back wall. Possibly drawn by children… or not. Even more strange: There is a rat skull nailed to the wood behind a pile of crates.

(Roll on your Intelligence attribute)

Both Alfwine and Osgar figure that they should touch the sigil and with another dark magic pulse they are immediately transported in their minds to an underground stone walled room with steps leading up through the roof with a closed hatchway. An iron grated gate with a locker stands before them. “You are near,” the gate seems to say. “But not welcome.” In a heartbeat they are back in the alley and all is silence.

[Oyster Sauce]

"Probably best not to tell anyone we've been messing around with unknown magical sigils, yeah?" Ostgar tries to rub it off the wall with his sleeve. "I say we've done enough poking around. Oughtta tell the bailiff we chased more than a few rats back into their holes and try to squeeze a few extra copper out of him."

[Stack of Turtles]

"Probably best not to tell anyone we've been messing around with unknown magical sigils, yeah?" Ostgar tries to rub it off the wall with his sleeve. "I say we've done enough poking around. Oughtta tell the bailiff we chased more than a few rats back into their holes and try to squeeze a few extra copper out of him."

Alfwine nods, opens his mouth to speak, hesitates, then closes it and nods again.

[Kalarion]

Kal considered the events in the church, disturbed and a little overwhelmed by what he had heard. For the first time he considered that he might be coming unhinged. But no - something had brought him back from the brink of death in that glade. Perhaps other powers were attempting to subvert him from the Voice?

Regardless of which of the whispers he heard was the Voice, it was clear that he was here for a purpose - it only remained to ensure he chose the correct calling. The leaves... he remembered their rustling in the glade. Nurture, protect... like his wounds? And the sword, protecting his charges? What charge? From whom? Questions he couldn't answer, but the call... it was compelling.

No matter which vision he chose to follow, it seemed that all were leading in one direction. Down. Kal would brave the underground, and see what he was being led to.

And yet. Rise above the roof? Leap fearless? That didn't sound like the Voice - but perhaps worth looking into. Kal walked up to Father Altanis before the group concluded their conversation. Perhaps a quick diversion before diving into the dungeons.

"Father, I wonder, is there a belfry or rooftop porch on this church? I would like to take in a view of the entire village, if it is possible."

[DemoGraph]

Felix is suspicious of Tallyman as well.
But the first thing he does is suggest to @Tillomar: Do you want your hand bandaged as that hag suggested? Let's go find the local graveyard.
If Tillomar doesn't, Felix is going there alone. Ask people on the street where the local graveyard is (and whether there're more than one, especially if there's one not near the church).

To continue.
On the road to graveyard(s) and on the place itself Felix is going to look for the fresh graves or rumours of disappearances. If there're any, check on the go if there's anything common among them.
On the graveyard itself Felix is looking for a proper place to bury the girl's rat talisman, on the holy land, if possible.
And help Tillomar find the juiciest handful of dirt, of course.

[Irenaeus]

Cordial Convergences and Strange Confrontations

The adventurers, having scattered from The Mountain's Last Light, pursue their disparate morning goals across Vertidor's Rest, their actions beginning to intersect and diverge in new ways, facing the immediate reactions of its inhabitants.

Leaving the Church & Quiet Contemplation:

Inside the chilly, timeworn chapel, the conversation between Father Altanis, Norman, and Gunthard draws to a close. The priest, though wary, has shared warnings about the valley's history, the dangers of disturbing the past, and the potential pagan source of the recent troubles. Gunthard, finding Father Alstanis's reception less than encouraging despite the priest's eventual requests, nods a respectful farewell as he leaves the chapel, dropping one of his hard-earned copper coins into the church poor box. "I am going to head back to the inn," he remarks to Norman and Kal Arion, "see if anyone else heard something interesting".

However, instead of returning directly, Gunthard instead detours through the town's meagre stalls, he purchases a simple carving tool for 3 coppers. He then wanders briefly outside the town palisade, gathering suitable dry branches before returning to the inn's porch, where he settles down, he finds a seat, takes out his new tool, and begins methodically carving wood into spoons or small figures – a familiar, grounding activity to occupy his hands and mind while conserving energy. Carving spoons soon becomes a ritual. His quiet woodwork begins drawing notice. A widow thanks him for a spoon, while her child watches silently. A gruff militiaman approaches and asks: “You doing anything tonight? We could use a night eye.” An old man gives him praise: “You carve the same way they carved the gate post… back when we sealed the old well.” By midday, he’s surrounded by three townsfolk and a child, all watching him work.

Nearby, George paces slowly and restlessly, keeping the inn entrance in sight, his ranger's eyes also scanning the paths leading back from the church and the town outskirts. Olwin's cryptic words about the chapel undercroft haven't given him a clear direction, despite having received confirmation that something likely lies beneath. A sense of impatience settles on him and he waits, increasingly contemplating leaving for greener vales and a clear path forward if the others don't return soon with a unified plan. With nothing better to do, George approaches Gunthard like the ranger he is, used to the wind.

"Mind if I join you?" George begins, his tone straightforward, leaning against a porch post. "Good to see you back from the chapel. Find any guidance from the holy man? Olwin does not want to talk much about what lies beneath us."

Gunthard looks up from his carving, offering a characteristic grin, favoring his injured foot as he shifts position. "Ah, George! Aye, spoke with Father Alstanis." He pauses, making another careful cut before continuing. "A pious man, surely, but... too cautious as well." He shakes his head slightly. "Warned us plenty about digging into the past, about pagan evils and things best left buried. But answers about these rats or the old stones?" He shrugs. "Few and far between. Seemed more worried about heresy than giant vermin chewing through foundations." He holds up the half-finished spoon. "Thought I'd keep my hands busy rather than wear out my boots pacing. What did the old ranger tell you? Olwin sees more than he lets on."

George recounts Olwin's unsettling words – the inn built on older ruins, the foundations designed to hold something in, the hints of something breathing below, and the non-answer about the chapel undercroft. "He knows things," George says plainly, "but talks in riddles. Says the chapel stands on old ground, maybe a tomb for someone important. But whether there's a way down..." He looks out towards the town. "Doesn't feel right, this place. Too many whispers, not enough honest work."

Gunthard nods, setting his carving aside for a moment. His cheerful demeanor fades slightly as he considers George's words alongside the priest's warnings. "A tomb beneath the chapel... holding something in... Aye, that sits ill." Coming from a farming background, the idea of corrupted earth or things buried wrongly resonates with him. "The Father spoke of pagan rites staining this valley," he shares, "Necromancy, dark gods..." His hand might unconsciously rest on the handle of his rusty axe. "If there's true evil here, it needs cutting out, root and stem."

After a moment, George speaks again, more quietly. “You heading down there, if it opens?” Gunthard doesn’t answer immediately. He finishes a careful curl on the spoon's edge. “Depends what’s waking. Some things should be left asleep. Others… I’ve put down before.” He looks up. “But I’ll not leave the young ones to do it alone.”

George, perhaps less inclined now to simply leave, sees a shared sense of purpose in Gunthard's desire to confront evil directly, even if their understanding of that evil differs. "Well," George says finally, "Whatever waits below, it seems we won't find answers sitting here. Need the others back before we decide whether we're digging, praying, or running." Gunthard nods agreement, picking up his carving once more, the two men sharing a moment of understanding on the quiet inn porch as they wait.

(Both roll Wisdom attribute)

An Alliance at the Hall:

Brother Norman emerges from the chapel shortly after Gunthard. Meanwhile, Wolfgang von Schwarzscheid, having politely excused himself from the initially indifferent clerk at the Bailiff's Hall, intercepts Norman just as he emerge from their unsatisfying meeting with Father Alstanis.

Wolfgang initiates formal introductions, tactfully proposing his plan to gather concrete evidence (an affidavit from the innkeepers, the giant rat pelt) to present a stronger case to the Bailiff. Wolfgang offers reassurance, stressing his own faith and sanctioned noble mage status. Norman listens, his handshake perhaps still cool and slightly reserved upon hearing "mage," but he agrees with the need for proper procedure.

Now allied, they return to the Bailiff's Hall. Norman approaches the clerk at the Bailiff's Hall again, formally stating their purpose: "We seek an audience with the noble Bailiff. It concerns the yesterday's commotion at the inn. Something disturbing lurks underneath this settlement... We've come to offer our help...".

Just as he finishes speaking, a commotion erupts down the street. As the clerk turns to enter the Hall proper, Stein Von Steiner arrives, staggering dramatically under the weight of the huge, foul-smelling rat carcass. Exhausted, sweating despite the cold, and vexed from his fruitless encounters with the town's craftsmen, he presents a wild, dramatic figure. The guards stiffen, disgusted by the sight and smell; the clerk's bureaucratic impassivity finally cracks.

Stein’s sudden appearance with the grotesque physical proof perfectly underscores Norman's plea. The clerk, already preparing to fetch the Bailiff due to Norman's successful appeal, hurries inside even faster. As they wait briefly for the Bailiff, Wolfgang takes the opportunity to reassure Norman, "Be assured Acolyte, I am as well just a humble servant of the one true god... I hope in time I will earn your trust".

Moments later, the door opens, Bailiff Gerwin Voseric emerges at the threshold, gaunt, impatient, and grim. He's now faced with a polite cleric offering help, a sanctioned noble mage proposing a plan, and undeniable, monstrous evidence slumped at his doorstep. His expression turned attentive and concerned rather than dismissive as he was at the inn. The path to official cooperation seems suddenly much clearer. He is ready to hear their report and offer town support, creating a stark contrast to the party's earlier, less successful encounters with authority or craftsmen. A true delegation has come.

“You’ve brought filth to my hall… but perhaps also proof.”

The Town’s Threshold: The Bailiff’s Audience

As Norman speaks for the group alongside Wolfgang, the Church-bureaucracy axis legitimizes the cause in Voseric’s eyes. He acknowledges the testimony of Norman and Wolfgang, grudgingly recognizing Wolfgang’s courtly license and Norman’s spiritual authority. The rat carcass is ordered taken to the tannery to be examined by one of the Leechmaster Frott. Stein’s appearance – sweaty, furious, tattered – both helps and hurts. He’s passionate, persuasive, but clearly volatile.

“Brother Norman. I hear word that you are aiding Innkeeper Olwin and the Chapel. And now you come bearing truth. I will not ignore it.” He nods respectfully to Norman, then glances briefly — and less warmly — at Stein’s grisly evidence, and Wolfgang’s calm bearing. “And you bring with you a noble… and a merchant-soldier. This smells like a problem, but also a solution.”

He agrees to a limited support writ for this “rat investigation” — allowing:

• Entry into sealed buildings with recorded breaches or superstitious reports.
• Investigating the Chapel undercroft (but only if Father Altanis permits). “If Altanis won’t open his floor, you come to me. Quietly. I’ll get you the key.”
• Reporting any findings to his scribe, Otwin.
• Full access to civic maps and land records, including older vaulting and overlays.
• A token emergency budget (10 silver pieces) to be used only with a signed requisition.
• Permission to request aid from the watch, up to two guards at a time, under “civic emergency provision.”
• Permission to carry weapons openly in town for the duration of the threat. (He did not know you were already carrying weapons around.)
• Sanctioned members of the effort are Norman, Wolfgang, Stein, and "those they vouch for."

His clerk quietly notes all names involved. This “Writ of Provisional Sanction” places the party under surveillance as much as protection. He gestures toward the map table, already spread with township property lines and sealed reports.

Norman is now considered the “public face” of the effort, officially. His word carries weight. If he lies, or misjudges, the Church’s name will take the fall. Wolfgang is seen as a capable administrator and might be responsible for logistical or civic support tasks (guarding, supply trains, gate control). Stein is viewed with amused suspicion. Voseric respects boldness, but mutters smiling:

“Let this merchant handle corpses, then. Just keep them off my stairs.”

Voseric takes Norman aside after the others begin to leave and says:

“Father Altanis is… cautious. But if you wish to open the chapel floor, you have my quiet support. I will sign what must be signed — just bring me results.”

(All three roll Intelligence attribute)

The Writ of Joint Sanction

By order of Gerwin Voseric, Bailiff of Verridor’s Rest, the bearer of this writ is empowered to investigate breaches of civil integrity within township bounds, provided they act in defense of order and peace. They are permitted to:

– Enter any condemned, abandoned, or compromised structures where evidence suggests substructural dangers.
– Request up to two guards for limited escort or observation.
– Carry weapons, tools, and relics openly in public spaces.
– Submit all findings to the Bailiff’s scribe before dusk on the seventh day.

At the Edge of Heaven

Kal Arion, who had retreated to a quiet corner to pray, is deeply troubled. His prayers at the chapel now stir subtle echoes. He senses one of the pagan voices remains, watching him. The conflicting whispers he heard – nurture life, temper blades, rise above, embrace stillness, seek the undercroft – echo in his mind. Unhinged? The thought flickers, but he pushes it away. No, the Voice saved me. These others... they seek to mislead. Yet, the path isn't clear. The whispers all seem to point downwards, towards the mystery beneath the inn, but the one urging him to rise above, leap fearless... it’s jarring, different. Perhaps worth a quick look? He rejoins the others near the altar just as they are leaving the chapel.

Before Norman and Gunthard can make their final farewells, Kal steps forward, addressing the priest with polite deference. "Father," he begins, his expression masking his inner turmoil, "forgive my curiosity, but I wonder, is there a belfry or perhaps a rooftop porch accessible on this church? I find sometimes a higher vantage point clarifies the spirit. I would like to take in a view of the entire village, if it is possible."

Father Altanis had been listening to the others and just finished giving his final blessing, hands folded, face impassive. But as Kal speaks, he blinks once — slowly — as if emerging from some inward prayer of his own. His gaze settles on Kal not with suspicion, but with curiosity.

He seems momentarily taken aback by the unexpected question, especially after the heavy talk of ancient evils and underground threats. His wariness, evident throughout the conversation, might deepen slightly. He hesitates, perhaps glancing up towards the chapel's simple, decaying roof structure and the rusted bell frame visible outside. "A view?" Altanis repeats slowly, his tone shifting from cautious instruction to mild confusion.

"Brother, the structure is old... very old. The old ladder to the bell-nook," he gestures vaguely upwards, "if it still holds a man's weight, leads only to a cramped belfry choked with dust and droppings. It offers no porch, no true vantage point, perhaps a slightly clearer view of the pass." Kal insists. “I want to climb to the belfry nonetheless.”

“The belfry?”

(He glances toward the roped arch above the altar.)

“No one’s climbed in years. Not since Brother Jorrim took a fall—thank the Light he was only hurt a bit before. He blamed the pigeons. I blamed the wine.”

(He studies Kal’s expression, more closely now.)

“You’re not looking for pigeons, though. Are you?”

(A beat. He sighs, steps aside.)

“There’s the ladder. Behind the vestry screen. I warn you, it’s steep. But may you find what you seek — or what watches.”

Kal receives the ladder, nodding his understanding. The 'rise above' path seems opened. His thoughts likely return to the more consistent theme from the whispers and the tangible mystery beneath the inn. Down. Still, he will climb high. He gives Father Altanis a respectful nod and starts climbing. He ascends through silence thick with cobwebs and incense rot. The beams above are crooked and old. Light slices through arrow-thin windows, and from above, a sudden draft smells of old moss.

The hatch creaks open. Kal steps out onto a very narrow wooden walkway that rings the belfry, barely fit for a man. In his mind, the priest's warnings and the conflicting voices echoing. He is determined to investigate this call. The village lies below, quiet, still, afraid.

From here he can see:

• The inn, like a black tooth among crooked buildings.
• The graveyard, still half-shrouded in morning mist.
• The Bailiff’s Hall, austere and rigi.
• The edge of the forest, where the trees sway.
• And far, far beyond — the hills where the fog thickens, the southeastern road, and a ridge where no birds fly.

As Kal steadies himself in the wind, something stirs—not spoken, but felt. A vision rises unbidden:

A wind worn hill.
A figure in bone-white robes holds a banner made of leaves.
Below him, shapes in cloaks bow, and something writhes beneath the soil.
The figure turns — and its face is Kal’s own.
His lips open, but the wind swallows the words.

Then—a sweet whisper, in the timbre of falling leaves:

“The blade protects the branch. The roots drink deeper.”

After a while waiting and nothing more happening, Kal was thinking that was it. And then, the is wind coiling around him like a living spirit, the sky itself shakes with movement. For a moment, the clouds seem to curve inward, spiraling toward a single, open eye of dark blue. There is no thunder. Only the sound of rushing wings.

Then… a different whisper behind his ears, as if spoken by the sky:

“You climbed. You listened. You are not bound.
You were not made for one root.
So fly.”

The wind strikes him like a blessing — or a shove. Loose roof tiles scatter from the chapel below. The bells do not ring, but they sway… and Kal feels his center tilt forward, as if something within him leans toward the edge.

(Roll for your Intelligence and Wisdom attributes)

Scene: Paths of the Uneasy Dead

Having received cordial treatment from Griswold but a curse and a cryptic charm from Mad Orla, Felix and Tillomar are near the Market Square. Tillomar examines the thorny weeds Orla gave him for his bite, wondering about the strange 'graveyard dirt' ingredient, before tucking them into his belt.

Just as they are about to leave, Tillomar's dog, Fergal, stops whining and barking sharply near the boarded-up basement door of a nearby derelict building. Tillomar pauses, "Something there, lad?" He briefly inspects the door – it's warped and the boards seem loose – but decides against breaking in immediately.

Making a mental note of the location to share later, he nudges Fergal along. "We shouldn't tarry there," he says to Felix, "but let us attend to the Hag's message, then find the other men, hmh?". They head off to meet Felix, just seeking a place to bury the charm as instructed by the child spy.

Felix steps out onto the main track and flags down a passing townsman – he looks like a farmer heading towards the provisioner's. "Excuse me, friend," Felix asks with practiced politeness, "Can you point us towards the graveyard? Is there just the one by the chapel, or does Vertidor boast multiple final resting places?"

The townsman eyes him warily, likely noting his whip and gear. "Graveyard? Just the one," he grunts, gesturing vaguely uphill towards Father Alstanis's chapel. "Holy ground behind the church. Ain't no other place folks 'round here get buried proper. Older grounds?" He shivers slightly. "Best not to talk about those." He hurries off, clearly unwilling to discuss unconsecrated ground.

Felix takes only a moment to cautiously confirm the location of Vertidor’s main cemetery with inquiries at a corner stall — a woman selling cakes and ribbons — and discovers something more:

“The old ground’s out back of the Chapel, like you’d expect. But folk say there’s another. The Quiet Hill. Not much used now, and some say not watched.” She says. She nods northeastward, toward the tree-shadowed ridge behind the wellhouse. “The old families buried their dead there. But they don’t always stay buried,” she chortles.

Decision Point: Which Graveyard?

• Main Church Graveyard

Maintained, consecrated, quiet — but close to the Chapel. Father Altanis’s domain. The rat talisman can be buried safely there, and the grave dirt will have holy resonance. The priest might be tending the grounds and watching.

• The Quiet Hill Graveyard

Far and wilder. Old trees and moss. The rat talisman will sink deeper here, and something may take note.

“You feel that?” Tillomar mutters as the air swirls around them. Felix’s fingers curl slightly. Despite being near the market, the silence now is heavier than the wind.

(Both roll for Intelligence and Wisdom)

Confrontation on the Outskirts

Meanwhile, Zollo and Hrod were walking near the southern edge of Vertidor when they encountered the strange, violet-coated small mystic, Ailber. After Ailber's rambling introduction and mention of his twitching, cloth-wrapped bundle, Zollo stares hard at the package. He draws his jagged knife, not aggressively, but with clear intent, pointing it towards the bundle. "Open," he demands, his voice flat and devoid of pleasantry. Ailber flinches, his eye twitching more rapidly. Hrod watches silently, shaking his head slightly at the bizarre turn of events but ready to intervene if necessary.

Faced with the scarred Manhunter's clear menace, Ailber reacts poorly. He shrinks back, stammering excuses, "It... it must remain sealed! For her! It must... it must remain whole! Please! It's... delicate! It must be delivered intact! For the apothecary, Grelda! She requires it thus!" The standoff hangs heavy in the quiet air, Zollo's demand unmet by the frightened little one. The situation is tense; Ailber is clearly unwilling but terrified.

He finally opens it, provoking an unsettling moment: the bundle opens to reveal a writhing preserved rat fetus, embedded with brass pins and ancient script. Ailber repeats: “Not for you.” He stares at Zollo and says: “You have mountain in you. Stone in your shadow. I trust that. Hrod… you carry the silence of the lost. That makes you strong.” He asks again for you to deliver the bundle intact to Grelda the Hollow Root, a “wise one” in a borderland hamlet called Mossbarrow. Will you accept this quest?

(Both roll for Intelligence)

The Fading Sigil:

Recovering from their shared vision, Ostgar looks nervously at the chalk sigil on the alley wall. "Probably best not to tell anyone we've been messing around with unknown magical sigils, yeah?" he whispers to Alfwine. He tries to smudge the symbol with his sleeve. "I say we've done enough poking around," he suggests, perhaps still shaken. "Oughtta tell the bailiff we chased more than a few rats back into their holes and try to squeeze a few extra copper out of him". Alfwine, pale and wide-eyed, simply nods wordlessly, processing the mental image of the barred gate and the whispered warning.

The mind-vision of the sealed gate leaves both men rattled. Alfwine feels drawn toward it; Ostgar feels marked by it. If the party reconvenes soon, they can report the multiple cellar breaches and share the sigil’s vision. Alfwine now recognizes the glyph’s structure echoes ancient magical ward-sigils. Ostgar may choose to keep the vision secret, or leak it to the Bailiff — earning some coin and suspicion in equal measure.

In Conclusion:

The party is now deeply involved in several unfolding situations weaving through Vertidor's Rest. Wolfgang, Norman, and Stein converged at the Bailiff's Hall with a plan and with dramatic evidence, the group gained official sanction to continue investigating the town. Zollo and Hrod are dealing with a potentially dangerous or informative bizarre traveller. Felix and Tillomar have a lead from Fergal and cryptic instructions from Orla for a ritual in a graveyard. George and Gunthard have their old blades quietly prepared to unsheathe again. Ostgar and Alfwine have experienced something profoundly strange and potentially magical. The next actions will depend on how to navigate these encounters and resolve the complex web of secrets surrounding the town.

[ERYFKRAD]

Hrod would fain leave this sorcerous looking rat fetus alone, but he wonders if this has aught to do with the vermin infestation at hand.

[logincrash]

Norman thanks the Bailiff for his support.
(rolling for Intelligence)
The next step is to return to the inn and actually learn everyone's name and of their morning findings.

[Val the Moofia Boss]

Gunthard nods in response to the millitiaman. "Aye, I can fill in whatever watch is needed tonight. Besides rats, are there other unwelcome visitors to beware of? Have the frontier pagans stolen into town at night?"

Gunthard begins carving a spoon for his new comrade.

((Rolling wisdom))

[Oyster Sauce]

Ostgar heads to the bailiff and exaggerates the amount of tunnels and rats he found during his investigation with Alfwine, hoping to drive the bounty up. He does not mention the sigil, especially not the fact that he touched it and had a vision.

[DemoGraph]

“You feel that?” Tillomar mutters as the air swirls around them. Felix’s fingers curl slightly. Despite being near the market, the silence now is heavier than the wind.

(Both roll for Intelligence and Wisdom)

Felix: I do. It's as if we've just... walked over someone's grave.

Felix doesn't like what's happening at all. He came here for better life, not to be a hero. But these days everything was wrong.
He always had this bubbling sparkling feeling between his fingers and on his nape when everything was supposed to go right. He didn't have it anymore. It disappeared in that cellar and he missed all his hits. And now he felt as if some bubbles were replaced with... nothing. (+3 luck mod dropped to +2 because of curse) Instead he felt someone... something watching. Something slimy and scratchy was trying to stick to his next minute and... nudge him. He always dodged it so far. He was good at dodging. But he couldn't always be good.

Felix: @Tillomar, do you want to go to the Church's graveyard?

[Lord of Riva]

Norman thanks the Bailiff for his support.
(rolling for Intelligence)
The next step is to return to the inn and actually learn everyone's name and of their morning findings.

Wolfgang as well thanks the Bailiff and joins the cleric back to the inn.

Also rolling for Intelligence

[Humbaba]

Zollo, upon hearing Ailber's remarks, chuckles a sinister chuckle, flashing his gold teeth, and lowers his knife.


"Thou knowest the Mountain. And if thou dost truly, then thou wilt think better than to play Tricks. Thy Witch will I give that Carcass but afore this, thou tellst us both the Meaning of the Needles and Writ thereon."

INT Roll: 2

[Kalarion]

Kal's eyes flew wide with shock. That voice! That VOICE!

FINALLY!

Heedless of the possible danger, no longer contemplative or cautious, Kal tensed to obey what seemed such a clear command.

[SpellSword]

Recovering from his exertion on the ground with his back against the sturdy wall of the Bailiff's Hall, Stein Von Steiner watches two men grab The Big One's body on Bailiff Gerwin Voseric's order. Words of protest almost escape him "That's..." before he manages to stifle them. As a merchant, he was well aware of consequences that could fall on his head if he earned the ire of a representative of the crown. He couldn't risk interfering with their commandeering of the massive rat.

The men half carried, half dragged the rodent away causing its clawed feet to scrap at the floor as they slowly remove it from the room. He watched the rat's face which had been fixed in a perpetual sneer as they assisted it in scurrying away, the dead thing's final retreat as it escaped his grasp.

He spoke with assurance and a determination as he accepted a copy of the Bailiff's writ, "We'll get these beasts." Stein then turned to @Norman and @Wolfgang von Schwarzscheid nodding to each man. "Gentlemen, I'll meet you back at the inn later. First I have some buisness to attend outside the town walls." With the weight of the rat gone, he could feel his strength returning. His mind turned to the next task, Donarin the furrier's deer pelts weren't going to move themselves.

Unwilling to allow his furry nemesis to completely slip away, Stein speaks with the clerk (Not daring to address Gerwin Voseric directly) and inquires about the tannery the rat is being taken to. He then asks that instructions be passed along not to dispose of the creature or damage the furry hide beyond what is needed for the investigation.

He says by way of explanation, "This carcass may be crucial to hunting the rest of these beasts," and then quickly leaves heading for the hunter's lodge outside of town where the shipment of deer pelts awaits him.

► Out of Character

It seems that being finally free of the rat's weight, Stein is able to think more clearly.

(Intelligence roll results: 18)

[Irenaeus]

After Sanction, Before Punishment

Weather Report: Low-hanging clouds smother the sun, casting the town in silvery gloom. A cold breeze trickles down from the pass, threatening rain by dusk.

The late morning shifts towards midday as the adventurers act upon their plans, receiving official backing while others delve into stranger mysteries or pursue personal errands.

Resolution and Departures at the Bailiff's Hall:

Inside the Hall, Bailiff Voseric, persuaded by Norman's sincerity, Wolfgang's credentials, and Stein's dramatic evidence, granted the party official sanction to investigate the mysterious rat situation of the town. Norman and Wolfgang formally thank the Bailiff and accept the "Writ of Provisional Sanction". With the official document secured, their immediate plan is to return to The Mountain's Last Light to regroup and share the news. They leave the Hall, heading back towards the inn.

Stein Von Steiner, also holding his copy of the writ, nods to them with fierce determination. "We'll get these beasts." He informs Norman and Wolfgang, "Gentlemen, I'll meet you back at the inn later. First I have some business to attend outside the town walls". Before departing, he speaks briefly with the scribe Otwin, successfully inquiring about the location of Frott's Leech House and successfully requesting the rat carcass be preserved. His clever deference to the clerk and polite request to preserve the rat hide works and a note will be sent to Leechmaster Frott, and Otwin assures him: “The Leech House is near the east palisade, behind the tallow store. Don’t worry; the pelt won’t be damaged by Frott in his analysis.”

Purposefully, Stein heads out of Vertidor towards the hunter's lodge to fetch deer pelts and fulfill his bargain with Donarin.

Ostgar's Alarming (but Poorly Received) Report:

Shortly after the others leave, Ostgar arrives at the Hall, having come from the alley. He approaches or the scribe Otwin and is allowed to see Bailiff Voseric after a considerable wait time. Hoping to emphasize the danger and perhaps inflate his own role or potential reward, Ostgar launches into an exaggerated report, omitting the sigil/vision but describing vast networks of tunnels and swarms of monstrous rats supposedly seen during his scouting. His dramatic expressions allow him to successfully craft a convincing narrative, weaving believable details gleaned from the bakery cellar into an alarming picture of widespread infestation by inflating rat numbers and inventing breaches. The Bailiff, already concerned, becomes visibly more agitated, making urgent notes about the scale of the threat Ostgar describes.

However, despite the success of the bluff in causing panic, Ostgar's manner – perhaps overly eager, perhaps just being the bearer of bad news, perhaps just nervously glancing like a poor liar despite the intelligent construction of the lie – leaves a distinctly bad impression. The official thanks him curtly, eyes narrowed, "Your report is... noted, Guardsman. We will consider this." Privately, he might mark Ostgar as potentially unreliable or self-serving, even as he process the alarming (if exaggerated) information he provided and a promised unspecified large “bounty” to getting rid of the menace is referred to.

Ostgar leaves, satisfied in sensing he succeeded in raising the alarm, increasing the level of panic in the Bailiff and stirring the pot, but also feeling the distinct chill of distrust. He heads back towards the inn.

Alfwine, having left Ostgar after their alley encounter, also drifts back towards the inn, troubled by the sigil he recognized as an ancient ward and the strange vision.

Caught Between Gods and Evils:

As Kal Arion is standing on the belfry, wind howls. The clouds spin above him in a circular spiral, gray and blue and oddly green — A brilliant column of wind erupts, slamming into the bell tower, cracking an old beam. Kal stumbles—his hand misses a rung—

He falls.

But he does not crash.

His descent slows. A soft pressure buoys him. His clothes ripples as if on water. He hangs for a moment in the air above the chapel steps, turning gently, weightless. And then — comes a laugh.

“Ha! He leaps, and the world catches him. That is what it means to move with the wind.”

A voice wraps around him — bright, irreverent, not unkind.

“Kal Arion, you are amusing, brave, reckless, and alive. You may hear from me again — or you may not. I change like clouds. But today I give you this, use it as you will…”

Kal feels it — the form of the divine magic in his bones.

New Spell Learned: Feather Fall (As a boon)

“Let them bind the roots. I ride them like serpents and teach them to dance.”

The wind claps once — then is gone. Kal lands, knees bent, light as air, as though born of it.

As his foot touches dirt — he hears another voice.

Lower. Older. Steady. The very ground beneath him hums.

“You were nearly taken. But not yet lost. We are the Verdanic Shield. We were the Root’s Warden, the Earth’s Memory. Once, long ago. We sealed the depth you now disturb. The evil you feel… was bound by us. We broke our oaths in death. But one still breathes. One can act. Will you bear the bark-mark, Kal Arion? Will you fight for the seal, not just against the chaos?”

This is not a demand of obedience, but a plea to choose order, sacrifice, and balance. He may accept and become an heir of the Verdanic Shield. Kal had true vision — a liminal moment between the tormented sky falling and the verdant shield’s weight.

This is not all. When even these divine voices had stopped talking to Kal Arion, from beneath the stone foundation of the Chapel — deep, black, and boiling — a pressure rises. Like rotting sap in a hollow trunk.

Kal feels it in his gut. It pushes back, cold and primal.

“Not you. Not yours. Stay out. Or be eaten.”

It’s the same force Ostgar and Alfwine felt. But now it knows Kal.

It hates him.

Kal’s sudden shift — from contemplative seeker to rapturous vessel of command — marks a pivotal moment in his spiritual journey. He now feels divine tension: one path whispers freedom, the other duty. He cannot choose both forever – he either ascends or descends… or reject them and walk straight past.

Having descended miraculously unharmed from the fall from the Chapel belfry after his powerful and disturbing visions, Kal Arion makes his way back towards the inn. His successful understanding and sagacity allow him to retain clarity. He controls his mind over the conflicting commands, the vision of himself, the raw evil power – giving him time to decide whether to further investigate the underground source, while remaining unburdened by the voices' intentions. Shaken but focused, he reaches the inn to process and perhaps share what occurred.

Zollo, Hrod, and Ailber's Standoff:

On the outskirts, the strange encounter continues. Zollo, knife lowered but gaze intense, presses Ailber about the meaning of the script and needles on the revealed rat fetus. "Thou tellst us both the Meaning..." Ailber, terrified and unable (or unwilling) to explain coherently, ramblas on his stammering platitudes about "preservation wards" on the quizzing creature. Hrod, unenlightened by what sorcery is this, watches the bizarre scene unfold, impatiently.

“Take it to Mossbarrow. But beware — the woods south breathe, and the shrine is backwards.”

They now carry the quest item.

Ailber says one last warning and disappears into the bushes:

“Do not open it again. It remembers who looks.”

He is not there any longer when you go after him. You are stuck with the weird bundle.

Zollo and Hrod head back to the inn to put back their “prize” and see if there is any food for lunch.

Quiet Tasks and Conversation at the Inn:

Back at The Mountain's Last Light, Gunthard sits on the porch, back to the wall, axe within reach, hands slowly shaping spoon after spoon. The grounded, stoic craftsman-warrior offers a lens into the real anxieties of the people, and his calm presence on the porch of the Mountain’s Last Light resonates like the silent strength of carved oak.

Having agreed to help the militia watch, he discusses local threats with the guard, learning valuable intel about potential pagan activity thanks to watching their expressions, knowing when not to interrupt, and asking just enough to open them up.

The rhythmic sound of his carving drew company.

A pair of militia men, just finishing a change of watch, step up and take the bench opposite him. They’re Tarn — a young man with a crooked nose and watchful eyes — and Otgar, thick-set and chewing on something dried. They nod respectfully.

Tarn: “You staying long, carver?”

Gunthard: “As long as I’m needed. Or as long as the dead stay buried.”

They chuckle, but not with joy.

Otgar: “Captain said you’re on tonight’s high watch. You won’t be alone. And it’s not just rats anymore, you’ll be staying up with us.”

By watching their expressions, knowing when not to interrupt, and asking just enough to open them up, Gunthard learns:

1. Strange Lights at an Old Shrine

“Three nights past, out near the ruined orchard by the north path — lantern light, blue-white flame. No one sent patrols. Captain says ‘ferals or fog.’ We heard past people used to gather there. Those leaf-banner and chanting types. Before the King’s Road got reopened here.”

2. A Militia Boy Went Missing

“Eddric. Just joined last month. Took a message to the far watch line before Wolf’s Maw — never came back. He liked the woods too much. We told him — stay on the paths.” Rumor says Eddric carved symbols into trees. One guard believes he was "taken" or “called.”

3. A Widow in the Silt-Lane Has Been Hosting Visitors

“No names. But her fire burns late some nights. One of the patrol dogs won’t go near her place anymore. Veterans say she used to be a hedge-priestess… before the Chapel banned her rites.” They call her “the last leafwife.”

Gunthard’s Takeaway

These aren’t just disconnected rumors — something is stirring in the pagan undercurrent of Vertidor.

Gunthard senses that:

• Many locals respect the old faiths, even if they fear them.
• The Chapel's power barely holds outside town walls.
• And someone — or something — is awakening the roots of the forest.

He now works on a spoon specifically for George, who remains nearby. Inside, Alfred is still strumming his lute and observing, while Da Great Green Prophet continues his trance. Alfwine, having returned from the alley, sits by himself, contemplating the ward-sigil he recognized and the shared vision.

The Graveyard Ritual

Felix and Tillomar, having opted for the main Church graveyard based on Felix's fair and astute assessment, arrive at the noiseless plot behind the Chapel. Felix, keenly feeling the unsettling weight of Orla's curse and the sense of being watched, quickly locates a discreet spot. He kneels and buries the rat-bone charm, hoping to appease whatever forces Orla represents or simply rid himself of the object.

Nearby, Tillomar finds suitable earth near an old grave and collects a sample, intending to try the hag's remedy for his bite later. Felix gives the graveyard one last scan for anything suspicious, finding nothing obvious. Their errand complete, they leave the cold silence of the graveyard quickly and head back towards the inn.

The Hunter’s Lodge

Distance from Town:

The lodge is located about half a league southwest of the palisade, just beyond the timberline and old charcoal roads — roughly 1½ to 2 miles from the town gate.

The trail is well-trodden but muddy from seasonal fog and runoff, and some stretches pass through stunted woods and bramble-choked clearings. It takes Stein about 40 minutes walking with a brisk pace to reach this threshold between civilization and wilderness. It is empty and undisturbed, the door is not locked and the deer hides are as described — slightly chewed on edges. The merchant-fighter takes 15 minutes locating then loading the deer pelts. He walks back in a slightly slower pace due to the weight, but nothing interesting happens on the way.

Stein delivers the deer pelts to Donarin the furrier and sees the man smile for the first time. The craftsman thanks Stein for his pelts’ retrieval and promises the discount going forward to produce furs at cost. He considers the unexpected question about the fungus dye that would strengthen rat-musk scent in their treated furs.

“Hah. Now there’s a black-rooted idea if ever I heard one. What you’re asking for… that’d be a twist on the old Bloodmoss Cloak. Hunters around here used to scent themselves with this bile to walk past blind cave hares. You want to enhance rat musk — but not enough to gag on it in the process.” He rummages through a shelf, muttering.

Then: “I’ve got the base for it. You’ll need mountain mycea, ash-salt, and a sprig of flame root. Boil it long. Soak the hide. Let it rot slightly. Then oil it down with distilled fox-tallow.” He gives you general directions on where to find all these ingredients — he also mentions that you might find one or two of them to buy in the market — if you look really hard and are lucky. “Then you can brew yourself a flask… or a barrel.” He winks. Stein then leaves for the Leech House to check on the King Rat's carcass.

Noon at the Mountain’s Last Light

The clouds hung low and heavy over Vertidor, casting a pale, silver-gray light through the window slats of the Mountain’s Last Light. The scent of stewed barley, roast turnip, and spiced sausage clangs to the warm air within. Outside, wind teases at the signboard; inside, the adventurers settle into stillness—earned and uneasy.

The Common Room Ensemble

Olwin

Informed of the Bailiff’s Writ, Olwin gives a slow nod and clutches the rim of the bar with liver-spotted fingers.

“Then it’s real now. God have mercy. You bring law to places law’s never touched before. Be wary. Not everything obeys parchment and wax."

He whispers something to Brenna, who shortly after emerges from the back with trays of food and hot cider.
________________________________________
Brenna

“On the house,” she says, setting bowls in front of those present.

“For those brave enough to face the dark underfoot. May you eat more than it does.”

Her tone is dry, but not unkind. She simple warm fare: spiced barley stew, stewed turnips, dark bread and mint cider.

Norman the Cleric
Norman eats plainly, a hint of holy fast still hanging around him. He sits near the fire, reviewing his prayerbook—though his fingers pause at pages they once knew by heart.
He glances at Wolfgang once or twice, then lowers his voice to speak him.
“The word is moving. Faster than I’d hoped. We must be more than correct. We must be right.”

Wolfgang von Schwarzscheid
Wolfgang sits with the calm of a man freshly vindicated. The Writ has weight, and he now moves through the room like a minor lord—though not pompously. He quietly checks the wax seal is intact, then eats slowly, measuring who speaks to whom.
He pulls Alfwine aside for a quiet word:
“If what you saw around here stirs again, tell me first. Evil things whisper from the walls. They win when you speak to them.”

Alfwine the Pale
Alfwine says little. He takes the food with an absent “thank you,” his thoughts clearly elsewhere. He eats mechanically, studying knots in the wooden table like they hold answers.
His hand occasionally drifts to his pack, where his gear is tucked.
He has seen the sigil again in his daydreams now—burning red and etched into a gate of iron and vine.

Ostgar the Coward
Ostgar eats with enthusiasm—too much, almost theatrically relaxed.
“Finally! A day where I don’t need to chew leather or lie about water skins. God bless civic recognition!”
He laughs to himself and nudges Brenna for another ladle of stew. But his glances toward the cellar door are sharper than his smile.

George the Ranger
George sits alone near the window, stew untouched for a long time. His bow rests across his lap like a sleeping beast.
“It’s too quiet,” he mutters to no one in particular. “When it’s quiet at noon, things move elsewhere.”
When Gunthard enters later, George gives him a silent nod — the quiet bond of two men who don’t require words to share worry.

Gunthard the Axeman
Gunthard returns from his porch time alone and with the locals. He nods to Brenna, and sets his axe beside the door.
He sits near George and carves a spoon while he eats.
“The fog’s holding back. For now.”

Kal Arion
Having seen the town from the belfry, Kal walks with a new stillness. Returning with a distant, wind-touched gaze, feels alien even among friends. He eats some, preferring the cider.
“They’re all looking down. But we might want to look up.”
He watches the rafters. The bell tower. The blackened corners of the inn.

Zollo and Hrod
Zollo places the satchel on the table beside him, carefully upright. He shares salt with Hrod and eats in slow, ritualized silence.
“We’ve been made carriers, you and I. Like stones in the riverbed, shaped by what flows past.”
Hrod says nothing, but his hand never strays far from his blade.

Stein finds the Leechmaster

After so much time passed and with hunger in his belly, Stein finally finds the dirty street that leads to the Leech House. Inside, he finds the office of the Leechmaster’s scribe, who tells him that the analysis has already come to an end. A copy of the autopsy report has been already been sent by courier to the Bailiff. He produces another copy for Stein. It’s an impressive document.

► Show Spoiler

Autopsy Findings of Leechmaster Frott
Office of Civic Medicine and Unnatural Manifestations
Filed under: Vermin - Aberrant, Collected from Stein von Steiner
Date: 2nd Year of King Fortonius the Second, 3rd Day of the Frost-Bend Moon, 7th Bell
Filed by: Frott, Leechmaster, Civic Surgeon, licensed under both the Doctor’s Guild and the Council of Remedial Interment
________________________________________
“To His Esteemed Bailiff, Gerwin Voseric, and all those bearing sanction under his seal, greetings.
I present herein the dissectional observations conducted upon the carcass delivered unto my table — a rat, or something assuming its shape, retrieved from the cellars of the inn known as the Mountain’s Last Light."

I. General Dimensions & Exterior

• Length: 35 inches nose to base of tail
• Weight: ~45 pounds, postmortem bloating minimal
• Fur: patchy, matted in tar-like residue inconsistent with common grime
• Notable features:
o Whiskers forked at the ends
o Tail bears bony ridges, not cartilaginous knots
o Right forepaw displays a fifth digit, partially opposable
________________________________________
II. Cranial Findings

• Skull abnormally thick; internal ridges suggest reinforcement and deformation.
• Teeth: four primary incisors of around 14 inches in length, they extend back into the palate, anchoring near eye sockets.
• Upon removal of the brain:
o Optic nerve cluster bifurcated, with additional tissue trailing downward — suggestive of rudimentary sensitivity to non-visible frequencies (magic? vibrations?).
o No tumors, but black fibrous tissue in corpus callosum, identified under staining as necrotic but active — pulsing for several minutes after excision.
________________________________________
III. Internal Anatomy

• Stomach: contents include bone shards, small rocks, human fingernail, and leather strap fragments.
• Liver: tripartite, swollen with silver-gray fluid; odor strongly reminiscent of sulfur and brine.
• Heart: four-chambered on the right, consistent with rodents. Enormous, weights around 6 pounds.
• Blood: clotted quickly, but vibrated faintly under light exposure. (Repeatable? Testing pending.)
________________________________________
IV. Behavioral Inference

• Muscle tone and spinal alignment suggest the creature was capable of burrowing through stone-adjacent materials, perhaps even actual stone.
• Claw and fang wear implies habitual gnawing on unnatural substances — stone, bone, perhaps even metal.
________________________________________
V. Arcane Reactions

• Upon application of blessed water:

o Eyes burst within one minute.
o Incisors emitted a soft chime, as if reacting to latent consecration.
• A marked resonance was detected with residual glyph-scribed bone held in my possession from the Imperial Catacomb Study (prior).

The good doctor Frott makes a sudden appearance at the office and delivers a conclusion verbatim to Stein:
“This is no natural beast. If it was bred, it was done deep and in darkness. If it was twisted by sorcery, then such power must still linger somewhere beneath. I advise a full exhumation of any grounds showing vermin behavior inconsistent with seasonal norms — and the sealing of basements until further notice.”

Mid-Afternoon Light

It began slowly — a thinning at the edge of the sky. A breath drawn between clouds. A silence on the wind.

Above the town of Vertidor, the gray shroud began to melt.

The clouds parted like wool drawn through fingers. A wedge of pale blue sky split the overcast veil, and light — real light — lanced down like a blade tempered in gold.

It struck the bell tower first. Then the Chapel stones. Then the upper square, where peddlers blinked and unshaded their sacks of trinkets.

And then it reached the inn.

The golden spill caught the windowpanes, throwing warm bars of sunlight across the common room. Dust motes danced. Shadows fled.

Inside, bowls scraped clean, tankards were half-emptied, cloaks hung to dry. The mood lifted — not in song yet, but in breath. One long, quiet breath of reprieve.

Even Brenna smiled at nothing in particular as she polished a mug and turned her face briefly toward the western light.

For the first time that day, the world seemed bearable. But only just.

As the clouds finally disperse and the sunlight spills across Vertidor, laughter returns in soft hums. The town breathes again — warily, gratefully. A breeze stirs smoke from the chimney of the Mountain’s Last Light, and for a moment, the inn feels almost safe.
________________________________________
Alfred the Bard: “Light Over Shadows”

From the back of the common room, Alfred, long silent, rises with his lute and gives a small bow toward the window.
“No storm lasts forever,” he says, then begins to play.

A slow, wistful melody emerges. The song shifts midway into a tune both new and familiar. He sings:

“Where roots hold shame, and towers weep,
The sun must shine where shadows sleep.
One sword will shine, and another slip.”

As he finishes, silence hangs. Then, a few slow claps.

A voice croaks coming from Da Great Green Prophet.

“Heed me now, diggers and dreamers.
A door waits you beneath the earth. It opens… only once.”

[ERYFKRAD]

Eager to get rid of the package they've been entrusted with, Hrod enquires Olwin for a map of the area, seeking the Mossbarrow and any other site of interest to the party at present.

[Humbaba]

Zollo, sitting at the table with the rat fleshling before him, remembers Ailber's words. It remembers who looks, does it? Zollo grabs the pulsing rat, holds it close to his face and stares into its lifeless black eyes.



"Thou gazest at Zollo, disgraced by Hunkar but by Him not yet forgotten. Thy Witchcraft avails thee none against His Might. See mine Eyes and see them well. Take thee will I to the Witch, who thee covets and then shall fly her Skin in the Wind, so that my King may be pleased."

He puts the rat down and wraps it up again. Seeing and hearing Hrod ask for a map, Zollo waits patiently for his comrade to return with it.

[Kalarion]

Kal continued pondering the events of the day as he took a seat in the inn. That moment, floating on the wind, gently descending to the ground like a leaf... it had been intoxicating. And that voice! He had been sure... but it had asked nothing of him. The Voice in the glade had told him he was meant to serve. And the other, from beneath. Surely there was evil below, they had all seen it. But was there more? What was the Verdanic Shield?

Either way, he remained committed to his course. He would go below, in service to this town if not to the Voice. Perhaps he would find more there.

Yet still, the old desire, the urge to revenge... that remained as well. Seeing Zollo playing the finger-knife game had reawakened the simmering cauldron of his rage, forgotten momentarily in the terror and hectic activity of the last days. Yes, and his despair. He had spoken truly when he said he saw another play the game. He didn't get the other's name, but he remembered him. Very well indeed.

Perhaps, if time permitted before they went down below, he could pick back up on his original plans. Ask around town for his quarry. It seemed unlikely on its face, Vertidor being where it was... but if you're a desperado on the run from an angry lord and (God willing) in fear as you hear of the fates of your old comrades, maybe this seems like the perfect place to hole up.

His path resolved for now, Kal gathered to confer with his new comrades. Afterwards, he went around town, asking in the market, the inn, and at the constabulary for information on:

A man missing his left pinky-finger, and a long scar proudly displayed down his left arm.
A hunchback with a crossbow slung across his back, always wearing a sooty black cloak with the cowl up.
A fresh-faced youngster who could easily be mistaken for a boy, were it not for his height and the vivid tattoos showing on his neck.

They could still be together. They may have split up. But together or alone, he would find them.

[SpellSword]

Stein thanks the doctor and asks him if the abnormal rat carcass can safely be stored here or if Frott wants him to remove it. (If he won't hold onto it, Stein will lug the rat back to the inn) Then since the tallow store is so close to the Leech House, he makes a stop there to check the price of 'distilled fox-tallow' (If they carry it) before heading back to the inn.

Frott's autopsy findings report makes for interesting reading on the walk back. This was no mere rat. Could such a thing still even be called a rat? These truly weren't just beasts... if they were to be hunted, the utmost caution would be required.

Upon arriving at the Mountain’s Last Light inn, he takes a moment to inform the innkeepers Brenna and Olwin about Frott advice to seal off basements and to suggest they increase the fortifications on the cellar door. Considering these rats seem to be able to tunnel through solid stone, an additional barricade may not actually keep anything out, but it could be enough to buy time for someone to notice if they try and force their way through during the night.

Stein also inquires with Olwin about locations of mountain mycea, ash-salt, and a sprig of flame root. Donarin the Furrier's directions are no doubt good, but perhaps Olwin's knowledge as a ranger can narrow tomorrow's search.

Greeting @Wolfgang von Schwarzscheid and @Norman, Stein wrangles some much needed food to fill his empty belly and then shares Frott's document. Gesturing as he does with a free hand, the other filled with a bowl of inn's soup. "Blessed water caused the creature's eyes to burst out of its head. Clearly, there is not just magic, but vile magic or some other devilry at work here."

[logincrash]

"Hmm, so the cursed rats are susceptible to holy water. It looks like a lot of leads tie back to the church and Father Altanis. It seems like we'll have to delve underground to root out this menace. And for that we'll need proper equipment: torches, ropes, and the like."
Norman produces the Writ of Joint Sanction and shows it to the party.

► The Writ of Joint Sanction

By order of Gerwin Voseric, Bailiff of Verridor’s Rest, the bearer of this writ is empowered to investigate breaches of civil integrity within township bounds, provided they act in defense of order and peace.
They are permitted to:
– Enter any condemned, abandoned, or compromised structures where evidence suggests substructural dangers.
– Request up to two guards for limited escort or observation.
– Carry weapons, tools, and relics openly in public spaces.
– Submit all findings to the Bailiff’s scribe before dusk on the seventh day.

"The Bailiff has heard our case and granted us support in this matter. I will vouch for my fellow Cleric @Kal, the Rangers @George and @Tillomar, and the Fighters @Gunthard and @Ostgar. I suggest we split our efforts and also involve the guards in investigating the buildings. The more thrifty members of our party should head to the market to acquire the needed equipment."
He turns to Kal and speaks in a quieter tone: "Would you mind coming with me to the church for another visit with Father Altanis? We'll need access to the undercroft and a reserve of blessed water. He took to you more readily, to my recollection, and would likely agree to our requests if they come from you."

Then Norman addresses the innkeeper Brenna: "Good woman, the vermin lurking underground are weak to holy water; it is more like acid to them. Father Altanis can provide us with his blessing, but we need water we can carry with us. If you could lend us any flasks or wineskins or even jugs that we could fill with water and bring on our expedition?"

[DemoGraph]

A voice croaks coming from Da Great Green Prophet.
“Heed me now, diggers and dreamers.
A door waits you beneath the earth. It opens… only once.”

Felix and Tillomar enter the tavern just in time to hear it.
Later, Felix joins in for the dinner and listens to as many conversations as he can.
After the dinner he tries to play with cards again and feel whether the curse has gone away.
If it did, he later joins @Kal wandering the town to look for young tough troubleseekers who might want to join the basement diving with the group.
If it didn't, volunteer to go to father Altanis for the holy water. At the church ask him whether priest can relieve him from curse.
In both cases try to ask locals about disappearing people, strange things happening lately, what's the troublesome history of the valley (anything more specific than "stuff happened"), who might be buried under the town and what moneylender might be up to.

@Irenaeus I trust you with the rolls as needed or I can roll them myself if you want.

[Irenaeus]

Sun Emerges, Burning Away the Gloom

The unexpected arrival of sunlight burned away the morning's gloom in Vertidor's Rest.



The unexpected burst of sunlight filtering into the town seems to coincide with a coalescing of purpose among the adventurers.

Alchemical Schemes

There is silence in the Leech House, thick as tar. Even the stuffed animals on Frott’s shelves seem to look away. Stein von Steiner asks Leechmaster Frott if the abnormal rat carcass will be safely be stored at or if the doctor wants the adventurer to remove it. Frott replies that he has taken samples of the animal tissue and will send to the Cathedral Archives, pending consent from Father Altanis. The rest is Stein's for the taking. He will take the fur and the teeth.

On his way to the Inn, Stein makes a stop at the tallow store, - just downhill from the Leech House, tucked beneath a row of slanted sheds, to check the price of this intriguing ingredient: distilled fox-tallow. The smell from the place hits Stein before the sign does — a thick, waxy stench of animal grease, charred wick ends, and boiled bone. It’s a scent halfway between apothecary and butcher, still sharp enough to make your stomach curl. The low-beamed building is marked only by a hanging iron dipper and a hand-painted placard:

“Candlewright”

Inside, rows of dipped tapers, rendering pots, and racks of hanging animal fat crowd the small shop. Shelves hold jars of amber grease, some with sealing wax, others open to reveal a swirling film of half-set oils, along with many other strange items on display, colored wicks labeled “death light,” “morrow’s wick,” and “pilgrim’s pause.” Stein's sharp eyes and mind catch every sort of detail. The shop has a wall of sigils burned into wax—perhaps remnants of old pagan rites once used to scent ceremonial candles. Some are blurred, others scratched out. Hanging above the door: a dried fox paw nailed to a driftwood plank.

Behind the counter: a stooped old man, beardless, with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his slim forearms wax-scarred and pink.

“You’re not here for prayer candles,” he says dryly, eyeing the fur and dagger-teeth Stein carries, like a butcher sizing up a goose.

Stein measuredly explains to the elder what he's searching for and why, trying to make a good first impression since so many other craftsmen got the wrong idea in his earlier encounters.

The man doesn’t answer immediately. He glances toward a small locked cabinet near the heat stones — then back at Stein.

Finally, he opens a smile and relax his muscles, saying:

“I have two vials left, purified. I use it for soft oils, ward paints… or perfumed oils for wealthy hunters who think monsters fear sweetness.”, he snickers. He snorts softly, unlocking the cabinet. “Ten coppers a piece, firm. Unless you’re Church-sanctioned.” He winks. "Then I might pretend it's seven.”

He places a bone-glass vial on the counter. Inside: a pale amber liquid, thick as cream, with the faint scent of pepper and muskroot.

“Burns clean, but it's oily and it clings... Oh, that's right, you want it in a mixture? You’ll need an emulsifier. Donarin’s got better hands for that than I.” Satisfied, Stein pays the old man his fourteen copper pieces.

The shopkeeper mentions he’s had to scrub rat-musk off broken barrels lately. “Rats chew through my delivery crates. Some of it’s been… off. Sinks into the wood. Stinks like blight.” Stein thinks it could be another clue about rat-tunnel breach lines. He also waxes at length about tallow-based concoctions he might know the recipe of or knows someone who knows them (alchemists, ward-carvers, hedge-priests, monster-hunters):

► Show Spoiler

With a lot on his mind after making long conversation with the talkative candlewright, Stein finally stretches his legs back to the inn...

Stein's Return and Report

Inside The Mountain's Last Light, the core group of adventurers finishes their midday meal, the air thick the weight of decisions to come. Alfred's poignant song fades, followed by Da Great Green Prophet's cryptic warning about a door opening only once, leaving in a contemplative silence.

Stein Von Steiner returns to the inn at this time and breaks the silence. He first finds Brenna and Olwin, relaying Frott's professional advice: "The Leechmaster strongly advises sealing off any compromised basements until this is resolved. Given these things seem to tunnel through stone, perhaps reinforcing the cellar door here would be wise?". He then quietly asks Olwin about the ingredients Donarin mentioned for the rat-musk camouflage scent – mountain mycea, ash-salt, flame root – hoping he can provide more specific locations than the furrier did.

The veteran ranger, half-empty mug in hand, is flattered with the questions, his reputation and knowledge recognized. Olwin, with his age-earned wisdom, practical nature, and connections to the region, wouldn’t just give Stein a cold list of ingredients — he’d point with his pipe, grunt at landmarks, and share stories while leaning against a post. Here's where he directs Stein to find the ingredients in your region:

[*] Mountain Mycea (a pale, fleshy cave fungus that glows faintly in damp)

“Your best bet’s the cliffs east of the Old Orchard Shrine ...or maybe the north face crags near the last outpost before Wolf's Maw. Shaded ledges, damp cracks — it clings low, close to stone. Don’t eat it raw unless you want to see ghosts.”

[*] Ash-Salt (pale gray mineral dust that seeps from sacred or scorched soil)

“You’ll want to dig shallow just outside the old cemetery in the Quiet Hill, it's perfect. I'm no heretic, God forbid, but that pagan grove burned in a past purge — the soil might still weep salt when the ground’s dry. Look under char, near the base of a split tree. Don’t let the wind take it.”

[*] Flame Root (a vivid orange root used in alchemical heat and binding agents)

“If it’s truly flame root you want, then you’ll have to find it in the high wood glades south of the Hunter’s Lodge, where the red-needled trees grow. Hard to reach, but you can't miss it if you're a good outdoorsman. They curl like a nest of serpents around rocks. Burns the tongue but good for purging. The foxes over there dig it up when sick.”

Finally, finding Norman and Wolfgang, Stein accepts some food and eagerly shares the details from Frott's chilling report, pointing to specific findings: "Look here – skull abnormally thick, extra digit, stomach full of stone and leather... And this!" He taps the section on arcane reactions. "Blessed water caused the creature's eyes to burst! Clearly, there is not just magic, but vile magic or some other devilry at work here!".

Party Reorganizing and Planning at the Inn

Thanking the shared information by Stein, Norman steps forward, holding the official "Writ of Provisional Sanction" obtained from Bailiff Voseric. "Friends," he begins, addressing the assembled group (which now includes Kal Arion returned from the chapel, Ostgar from his intense bluff, and Alfwine from the magic-infused alley), "The Bailiff has heard our concerns and granted us authority to investigate this threat." He explains the permissions granted by the writ – access to compromised buildings and records, limited guard support, the freedom to carry weapons openly. "I will vouch for my fellow Cleric Kal, the Rangers George and Tillomar, and the Fighters Gunthard and Ostgar under this sanction," he declares formally.

He then shares Stein's findings from Leechmaster Frott's disturbing autopsy report, emphasizing the key revelation: "Frott confirms these creatures are unnatural monstrosities, highly resilient, capable of burrowing, but crucially... extremely vulnerable to blessed water. It burned out their eyes. It seems this vile magic is vulnerable to holy rites." Based on this, Norman proposes a course of action: "Clearly, many leads point towards the chapel and Father Alstanis, and we must delve underground. For that, we need equipment – torches, ropes, and the like. I suggest we split our efforts and also involve the guards in investigating the buildings. Those skilled in negotiation and the thriftier among us go acquire these necessities from the market". He glances towards Wolfgang and Felix, "Handle this using the Bailiff's limited budget or pooling resources."

Then, he turns discreetly to Kal Arion, speaking quietly, "Brother Kal, would you mind coming with me back to the church? We need access to the undercroft Father Alstanis mentioned, and blessed water will be crucial. He seemed... more open to you, perhaps? Your presence might persuade him where I could not". Kal, pondering his visions but seeing the clear need presented by the autopsy report, nods his agreement. Finally, Norman addresses Brenna, who has been quietly overseeing the meal service, "Good woman, the vermin below fear holy water. Father Alstanis can bless it, but we need containers. Could you possibly lend us any flasks, wineskins, or jugs?". Brenna nods hesitantly, agreeing and going back to look through her stores, her earlier anxieties returning at the mention of needing holy water for the cellar.

(to be continued - edited)

[TKVNC]

Tillomar sits a little more upright in his chair, watching the others talk and eat.

"I feel almost as though I was in a dream, you'll forgive my absent mindedness, I trust?"

He readjusts the axe tucked in his belt, and returns to quietly listening to Olwin speak with the gathered men.

► Show Spoiler

Apologies for not posting, I've been a little busy IRL, but we should be good again now

[Irenaeus]

(continued)

Curses and Clues

Just as Norman finishes outlining his plans, the Mountain's Last Light front door opens again. Felix and Tillomar enter, returning from their errand to the graveyard. They pause, taking in the serious discussion underway. Felix subtly checks his person, testing if burying the rat-bone charm lessened Mad Orla's curse or the feeling of being watched. He takes out his lacquered parchment cards to test his luck in a quiet corner of the common room. He palms a travel-sized Binding of Fates deck cards worn from use, their lacquer dulled sweat. With a quick flick of his wrist beneath the table, he draws three cards:

Heavenly: The Seraph of Discord (8)

Earthly: Withered Tree (6)

Mortal: The Drunken Brother (7)

Total: 21 — a sacred number. He's still lucky, but how to read the cards? In any case, with that cleared, Felix plans to help recruit any new adventurer from town to aid in delving.

Meanwhile, Olwin, mid-conversation with Stein, glances sidelong at Tillomar without turning his body, just a slight lift of his mug.

“Dreams come easier in this town, lad. Harder to wake from them, too.”

He takes a sip of ale, then continues his explanation to Stein — something about the red-needled trees and the fox-sick glades. But his eyes flick back to Tillomar once more.

Brenna, moving past with a fresh loaf, pauses briefly and mutters:

“You were one those with the dogs, aye? I heard you talked to Orla. Her heathen words’ll burn through your dreams like pitch.”

There’s no accusation in her voice — just an old servant’s caution over uncanny heretical consequences. Outside, the wind brushes the shutter again. Not hard. Just enough to make a sound. The voices around the hearth blend into the soft rumble of men at ease after tension, but Tillomar's gaze drifts — not to the fire, but to his hand. He closes his fist slowly and flexes the ache from his fingers. He steps outside into the cool fresh air, sits on a nearby mossed stone. Crushing the bundle of willow bark, he mixes it with the graveyard dirt and a splash of water into a thick poultice and binds it to his wrist and the pain stops. It smells of rot and wet wood. “This is nothing. Old wives’ tales and superstition, wrapped in cowshit and ash. Just coincidence.” Beneath the bandage, the swelling begins to ease and when Tillomar removes the strange and dirty poultice, to his surprise, his hand is cured completely.

New Quests, Map Seeking and Curse Daring

Ignoring the group discussion for a moment, Hrod approaches Olwin Durn at the bar. "Innkeeper," he requests, "We have need of directions. Can you provide a map showing a place called Mossbarrow, south of here, and perhaps other ruins or points of interest in this valley?". Olwin grunts and agrees to present a rough map based on his old ranger knowledge. He gives then one of his and tells Hrod that others in town, like the Bailiff, might have better local maps. It is a piece of parchment sketched with charcoal based on his own knowledge, Olwin tells, marking Vertidor, Wolf's Maw, the Three Lakes, forests, farms, the Silt-Lane, the Hunter's Lodge, the Quiet Hill, and the approximate direction of Mossbarrow.

► Show Spoiler

“Do not cross the Wolf's Maw after dusk. The region right following the pass is very dangerous, no guards or patrols of any type. There once lay Old Night-Bear Wendal, it is home to miscreants of all categories, and many other perils.”

While Hrod was talking to Olwin, Zollo placed the cloth-wrapped bundle at the table, ignoring the planning session by the rest of the adventurers and anything else. He deliberately grabs the unsettling preserved creature, holds its grotesque form close to his face, and stares into its vacant eyes.

Ailber, the little mystic traveler, had muttered once:

“It remembers who looks.”

Well, Zollo does more than look. In a low, manacing tone, he declares his binding rite, powered instead by pure will and unresolved divine debt. Zollo delivers his chilling monologue promising the Witch Grelda's demise in Hunkar's name. Having performed his strange ritualistic address and wrapping the mysterious being again, he looks back at his sidequest partner Hrod. The bundle shudders, but no sound escapes from it. The rat-fleshling’s pulse slows… then stops. Olwin breaks the silence saying that Zollo has gone from "loud zealot" to "vessel of creeping doom with terrifying hubris."

Hrod watched warily, as did others in disturbed glances and uneasy stares across the common room. From his ancestral superstitions, he sees Zollo as “Marked of the Deep”—his folk concept of walking curses. Nevertheless, he takes the sketched map back to Zollo, who has been sitting intently with the disturbing rat fetus (?) bundle. Zollo now examines the map along with Hrod, the two outcasts contemplating the unwelcome quest to Mossbarrow. They study Olwin's map, discussing the journey to Mossbarrow and deciding whether to undertake Ailber's quest now, later, or refuse it.

(to be continued - edited)

[Oyster Sauce]

Looking to kill time while more authoritative members of the party decide what to do, Ostgar asks if anyone wants to play dice for copper. Also, he asks if anyone actually has dice.