Party 5

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Balion leans back some, a hand coming up to rub one of his shoulders, and lets out a small breath. "I can't speak for everyone as to how far traveled they are but Carwyn and I have both lived a life on the road for some time. Him being a traveling priest and I being a hunter of monsters. Not to mention that my home is quite far from the Sword Coast in and of itself. I'm guessing this is the most traveling you have done, eh Edmon?" He looks to Edmon with a small reassuring smile. "This world of ours is much larger than any of us could imagine, and thanks to that I have seen much and have a variety of tales available to me. What kind of stories do you like?" Letting his hand fall from his shoulder he seems to settle some and his calm gaze sweeps over the inn for a moment, happy to see it has returned, if only a degree, back to its previous calm waters.
 
Are you being coy wit me? Ya, just said you knew where some action was! I told you want ya, wanted to know an' I'll tell ya more if, your a man o' ya word." Gimble steps forward a bit looking the delivery boy right in his eyes. Then twists around a bit sighing as he does so. "Though I guess ya don't wanna know the tales and splendor that is beyond your tiny world, carting around groceries in to this drab place every now an' then."
 
“But is there much of a disparity within your customs, or are they largely similar?” Both opened up interesting avenues of thought. Did something pick and choose dissimilar societies to integrate within this world—provided that something was making this happen rather than an abnormal fluctuation in magic? Or were these lands suddenly cursed, developing in tandem like a small microcosm of larger continents? “Ah, colleges. I recall them being mentioned last night. Perhaps it would be good to pay them a visit.”

She listens to Ismark’s words and nods. “That makes sense.” She looks at the house, seemingly abandoned. ”How strange. And they gave no prior indication of feeling the need to leave?” She gives Ismark a weird look. “Do you think they will return? How long has it been since they left?”

The professor nods thoughtfully. “They could still provide me with a point to start out from. Even outdated, they might still be useful.” She wonders if she can get a discount, if they were outdated. She files the thought away for later.

Whale whale whale whale whale.
 
Carwyn listens to Ismark talk about other domains with vague interest, noting down that his question never really seemed fully answered but that there was the possibility that the domains shared gods. He thinks about this for a minute and decides that it is not really what he wanted to hear. If the borders of the lands are controlled by these mists but the gods are the same then it means there is little chance of finding somewhere with a connection to Eldath in these 'domains'. He frowns as he comes to this conclusion but by then the conversation has mostly passed him by.

He looks up at the house with a modicum of concern and turns to Fauntleroy, hoping that with her interest clearly perked by something she will be less hostile with him. "Do you suspect foul play? Or would you need to know more about the customs of the area?" Given the state of the rest of the village he would not be surprised if they had just left but then his mind catches on something from the church and won't let go. The wolf attacks. He turns to Ismark and there is the merest hint of panic in his eyes as he looks to the burgomeister. "Wait. Did they leave before the wolf attacks started? Or after? Could they be victims of them?" 'Or the perpetrators.' He thinks but he doesn't say it out loud. Wincing, he looks back to Fauntleroy and gives a small shrug. "There have been wolf attacks, I am assuming the same pack that injured Iselka and took Edmon. The priest informed me of them. I meant to tell you."
 
“Hard to tell.” Fauntleroy steps closer to one of the windows, squinting as she studies the room. “How strange. Their furniture is still there, but it’s been moved.” She turns to Ismark. “Does the village have any rowdy youth that would hang around an abandoned place such as this?” It seems unlikely to her. “There is something on the wall...Burgomeister, would you mind if I take a look?”

She looks at Carwyn for a moment when he explains, shaking her head. “That would indicate this pack traveled between this world and ours. It seems unlikely, going by the information I’ve gathered. Still...” She purses her lips, frowning. “It would be a strange coincidence, and there is no such thing.”
 
Diavolov House:

"A... disparity? Again madam Professor, I apologize for my lack of experience but I have only traveled so far," Ismark says, frowning a bit. "Every little community has its own customs, does it not? Why, if you go far enough west in Barovia you'll come across folks who do their own thing, quite unlike us here in the village. Though that might just be us being rather outdated," he notes, before glancing back at Carwyn. "Oh, yeah. There have always been reports of wolves, even when I was a kid," he notes, scratching his head and chuckling a bit awkwardly. "I wish I could do more but unlike the other towns we don't have a wall, or much of a standing guard. Not enough young people in the village you see."

He looks over to Fauntleroy who seems to be inspecting the house more closely and furrows his brow in thought. "That includes children, and for the ones that are here I doubt that their parents would let them wander about too easily." He takes a side glance down the street before approaching the home as well. "I suppose it wouldn't be too intrusive to investigate... I had only heard about this recently when I got back to town, but I figure it's been a couple weeks or a month at the least."

Testing the door he finds it to actually be unlocked, and it swings open with a slight creak. He shrugs to the others and pushes forward into the darkness, opening the door fully to allow a bit of daylight to illuminate the entrance. Though you are first greeted by a cloud of dust there strangely enough seems to be some evidence of someone being here. One side of the main room is extraordinarily dusty, like it hasn't been touched in ages. On the other, a side table has been propped up against the wall and had a sloppy circular target drawn on it; it is surrounded by singe marks, as is the wall behind it. Strange graffiti covers part of another wall, seeming like chicken scratch marks and unintelligible to anyone in the group. Further down there is a bit of a hallway, with two doors and a set of stairs leading up to the second floor.

"What happenened here...?" Ismark looks around in confusion, not even knowing where to start.
 
"Gods wait don't-" Carwyn calls out as Ismark pushes open the door. Shaking his head the cleric follows the pair of them in, muttering under his breath. This sort of behaviour is what gets people killed and as much as he has had disagreements with Fauntleroy he did not want the wizard in any peril. Looking around he sees the dust and the graffiti and his frown deepens. Something wrong had happened here, something very wrong. He looks disapprovingly at the burgomeister, despite the man likely being a little older than himself. "Next time, wait a second okay? I have a bad feeling about this place." He sniffs the air and he can smell that distinct almost sweet, bitter smell of rot in the air.

He moves closer to the staircase, putting himself at the front of the group, and runs his hand over the top of the mace at his side. Deciding against unclipping it just yet he grabs his amulet and steps up to stairs, sniffing again. His eyes widen as he recognises the smell almost immediately, it wasn't just rot. "Someone has died here, there is a corpse upstairs. Keep close but stay behind me." Maybe it would be a wolf, if it was then he would not stop hitting it until it was definitely dead. Maybe Fauntleroy was right, maybe bludgeoning something to death would calm him down. Fucking wolves. There is a grim half-smile on his face as he starts to make his way up the stairs. 'Run'.
 
“Disparity, yes,” Fauntleroy repeats. “Every little community has its own customs, yes— but most neighboring communities tend to have things that overlap due to the way they developed, yes? But if your villages and communities didn’t develop next to each other, then they might have very different customs.”

Fauntleroy listens to Ismark talk about the wolf attacks, nodding as she takes in the words he says. She hums. “You left town recently?” she notes, though she’s more distracted by the house. She eagerly follows Ismark inside the dilapidated house. She heads for the wall with the circular target and the singed marks before she tilts her head as Carwyn points out there might a corpse about.

“You’re right,” she says after taking a sniff. “I wonder...” If it’s a fascinating corpse, how old it is, who it is. She doesn’t say as much, knowing most people would take offense with her approach—especially someone like Carwyn.

Fauntleroy ignores Carwyn’s words and instead starts heading up the stairs, taking them two at the time in an attempt to catch up and overtake him as she starts the search for the corpse.
 
Diavolov House:

"Well, I came back a few months ago because I heard my pop wasn't doing so well... I was off studying before then," Ismark says idly, his attention drawn to the various messes around the room. "Jeez, has someone been camping out here this entire time?" He says to himself, peeking into one of the side rooms in front of the stairs. "No food in what I'm pretty sure is the kitchen, it's like it's been picked clean." After a few moments he finally notices that the other two have already moved onto the stairs and he scrambles out to follow them. "Guys? Is there something there?"

Fauntleroy pushes past Carwyn and makes her way to the top of the stairs, finding just a single door at the end of the hall, slightly ajar. Without a moment of hesitation she opens the door with a slight creak and is greeted by the full brunt of the deathly stench they had first noticed when they entered the house. It appears to be a bedroom, with an old double bed in the middle of the room and a few old shelves along the sides, one of which seems to be stacked with old dusty books in various conditions. There are quite a few scratches and singe marks all across the room, and the bed itself is quite messy, with the sheets and the (abnormally numerous) number of pillows ripped up and tattered in places.

At the opening of the door there's suddenly a stir of movement from the other side of the room, obscured by the height of the bed. With a creak and a soft gurgling sound a hand suddenly reaches out and grabs the edge of the bed for support -- but not just any hand. A sickly, rotting hand with bits of cracked bone exposed in-between the remaining grey flesh. Rising up slowly the pair is confronted with the foul, unnerving gaze of a zombie, staring at the new arrivals with a mix of raw hunger and pure hatred as it grasps its bearings. "Gggrgrgrghhgghhhh....." With a disturbingly quick agility, it rushes forward to attack.
 
As Fauntleroy overtakes him Carwyn throws up an arm to try and stop her but to no avail. "What in the hells are you-" His words are cut off by the emergence of the zombie from the room rushing forwards. 'Oh. Wonderful. The dead.' Carwyn snarls in anger as Fauntleroy fires off some spells and he hears Ismark come up the stairs behind him and draw a weapon. He moves forward in front of the wizard and holds his shield up in front of him, trying to protect everyone in the hallway. 'This is why I said I would go first.' The thought barely has time to form in his head before he channels Eldath's magic through his shield, firing off a bolt of radiant energy that slams into the zombie in front of him. He looks back to the wizard for a second as she says something about not damaging it too much and is rewarded by a huge hit under the shield. The blow knocks all of the wind out of him and with it any chance for him to reply. Before he has a chance to pull back and avoid it the second blow hits him across the face and the world goes quiet for a second. He blinks and shakes his head, trying not to stagger.

He sees Fauntleroy launch more spells, all hitting the undead beast before Ismark pushes past and decapitates the monster. Carwyn puts his back against the wall and slides down to a sitting position, trying to get his breath back and stop the world from spinning. The zombie's head is sat there on the floor just staring at him and, with a frown, he bats it away towards the room with his shield. Letting his shield drop to the floor he scrubs his face with his hands, pressing the palms into his eyes to try and stop the ringing. After a couple of seconds he opens them again and turns to the burgomeister, sighing little in relief. 'Thank Eldath he was here, I don't think I would have got through another round with that thing.' He nods gratefully at Ismark and gestures at the head vaguely without looking to the wizard behind him. "Thank you both. Fauntleroy, this is your area of expertise not mine. Do whatever you need." He rests an elbow on his knee and sets his head into his hand. So many rage in that zombie's eyes, so much violence. 'Run.' He presses the thought down before it can spread and rubs his temple lightly. "Ismark you are very handy with that blade. Tell me are the undead a common occurrence around here? Is this something you are used to fighting? For the record that thing moved as fast as the hells and hit like a fucking sack of bricks. Fuck." As he sat there for a few moments more, still catching his breath, his thoughts drift back to the tavern. At least the boy was safe with Balion.
 
Blood of the Vine Tavern:

"Monster hunting? Sounds cool." Edmon nods slowly, kicking his feet a bit to readjust the blanket around his legs. "I like hearing about faraway places, I've never really been farther than Waterdeep and even that's just when Mama has to stock up on supplies. My papa tells me stories about places he's visited when he comes around." He pauses for a second, before swinging his legs again. "I don't see him that often. He travels a lot, almost all the time." Stifling a yawn he looks back up to Balion curiously. "What kinda monsters have you seen? Have the monsters ever had any treasure, like dragons? I think it'd be cool to find a treasure map and follow it to dig up some buried treasure. Maybe there's still something like that out there."

----------------

Just outside of the tavern, the delivery boy backs up a few steps, almost ducking into a bit of a defensive stance at Gimble's words. "W-what do you mean by that? I'm not being coy!" He huffs, turning away from Gimble in his own direction and crossing his arms, giving a slight huff. "I'll have you know I have very important duties, and they are most certainly *not* drab -- not like someone like you would understand, hmph."

"Oi, what're ya lollygagging out here for?" An older male voice calls out from down the street, coming from the direction of the general store. It seems to be a man in his mid-40s carrying a bag of miscellaneous supplies in a large cloth sack, probably a very recent purchase. He idly tosses a bitten apple up and down as he approaches, only stopping to take a bite once he was in front of the two. "I already told ya we were behind schedule lad, ya can't keep chit-chattin' like this."

"Oh, sir," the delivery boy replies, straightening up immediately. "S-sorry 'bout that, I got a bit... distracted. Busy morning." He takes a side glance at Gimble before abruptly reaching for another crate, shooting the man a stressed look. "If that innkeeper lady comes back, don't tell her I was slacking okay?" Having said that he rushes into the front door with his haul and disappears into the tavern again.

The other man munches his apple again, seeming to think about something. "Hmm. That boy'll never learn," the other man says with a slight nod towards the door, before looking down at Gimble. "I hope he wasn't bothering ya too much lad, looked like things were getting a bit heated."
 
A zombie. Fauntleroy cannot help but be delighted by this turn of events. She takes a step back as the zombie rises up and comes their way and draws out her wand. “<Dart!>” she commands crisply in Sylvan. The tip of her wand glows as she uses it to paint a circle with a sigil inside, from which burst three darts that hit the zombie in various spots.

“Try not too damage it too much, master Carwyn.” She lets the cleric pass by her, rolling her eyes as he gets hit while somehow being distracted. She repeats the spell, watching more darts hit it before Ismark makes a swift end to the zombie.

She grimaces when Carwyn bats the head away. “Fool,” she chastises under her breath. “That’s the most important part.” She follows it to where it rolls. There’s a leather bag next to a stack of books.

Fauntleroy picks up the bag and rifles through it. Her face lights up at the leather bound journal and what she hopes is a spell book, though she cannot make out the contents of either one. The half-elf slings the bag over her shoulder. Then she hums, before tugging the sleeves of her coat over her hands before she picks up the head.

A few moment’s worth of studying don’t glean her anything of note. She’d been close, tracking down the specifics about zombie creation, but had been asked to leave before. She grits her teeth at the fact— it would have been useful to have a basic understanding of the process.

After a moment she forces herself to let go of the annoyed tension. It was merely something else to study. Instead she turns to Ismark. “More importantly, Burgomeister, is this someone you recognize? My guess is that he was a spellcaster, and I estimate his time of death between two and one weeks.”
 
Diavolov House:

"Well it's good that this ol' thing sees use at least once in my life," Ismark says a bit out of breath, grimacing as the head rolled into the room. He picks up a spare rag off of the floor and begins to wipe his shortsword down. "I mean I wouldn't say I'm 'used' to fighting... anything really. But Pops always said that learning a bit of swordplay would save my life one day. That... thing was definitely not normal though."

When Fauntleroy asks if he recognizes the dead man he glances down at the head and squints at it for a moment, then shakes his head in the negative. "No... it's definitely not Mr. Diavolov, and I don't know of any spellcasters that live in town. I wonder if he was camping out here until... whatever this was happened." Noticing his belongings he starts to flip through the journal, raising an eyebrow after he goes through a few pages. "Weird... his diary is written in Darkonese. Weirder still, some paragraphs are just jumbles of letters. I think he was using a secret code or something for part of this."

He tries to wave away the scent of death from his nose, but frowns as it doesn't seem to be working. "Ugh... I can try to give this thing a better read, I picked up a bit of the language a while back, but maybe we should continue this business at my house instead. Did you find anything else, Professor?" Scanning around the room he notices one other book sticking out between the pillows on the bed. Picking it up the front cover reads "Hauntingly Beloved", and a page seems to be earmarked. Opening up the page and skimming he blushes a bit before closing the book shut and dropping it back down. "That's uh... that's enough looking around for me I think," he says hastily, moving back towards the hall where the body was. "We should probably get that guy buried too, yeah? Maybe we can use one of the sheets to wrap it up and bring it over to the graveyard for Father Donovan."
 
Ignoring the man's question for a moment he yells towards the boy "That's TWO ya owe me!." Turning towards the man he says, "Hah, just trying to get the best deal from a bad pitch." looking further up Gimble stretches his back a bit "Maybe you can help pay off that kids debt... with info?" Looking slyly at the man. “Im looking for trouble and your boy there was just about to tell me where to find some. You look like you’ve been around, how about you?”
 
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“How strange.” Fauntleroy watches Ismark flip through the journal. “No note of a name or identity?” She files the name of the language away, wondering if there was anywhere she could obtain a dictionary to translate. The journal of a spellcaster who turned into a zombie was worth putting some more effort in.

“No,” the half-elf says, shaking her head. “A spellbook and a wand were the only other interesting objects.” She watches as Ismark picks up the book, scoffing a little at his response. Something illicit, then, she guesses. For a moment she looks at the body, wishing that she could do a detailed autopsy on it— but she doesn’t have the tools, and somewhat important too, permission of the diseased.

“Probably,” she says with the faint note of regret. “Does the church not have any services or do we need to bring it by ourselves?” It seems like quite the diversion to their destination of the burgomeister’s house, but she suspects that if she mentions as much Carwyn will get annoying. Again.
 
Carwyn struggles to get to his feet in the doorway and stretches, rolling his shoulders a little. Everything still hurt like the hells but at least he isn't groggy anymore. He picks up his shield and straps it back onto his arm before he moves to the room. "Darkonese? Another... domain?" 'Gods above I should be writing all of this stuff down if I am going to remember it. Domains, languages.' He frowns to himself, starting to feel a little out of his depth, despite his time out on the road.

Even with the doubts swimming around his head he still laughs at Ismark's response to the book. "Not one for romance are you Ismark?" Hearing the request to move the body the cleric moves to the bed and pulls off the sheet before using it to wrap the body up carefully. He winces as he leans over and has to use one hand to steady himself, breathing out heavily. Nodding gratefully to Ismark as the man helps him prepare the body he lifts it up and props it up onto his shoulder. He mutters in Elvish as he lifts the corpse up. "<Fuck me, that's heavier than it looked.>"

The man looks to Fauntleroy with a resigned half-sigh, still struggling with the weight of the body combined with his injuries. He notices Fauntleroy's hesitation at the mention of the church. "It's only Donovan up at the church but I don't want this to keep you. Why don't you and Ismark head off to his house together and work on that stuff. I know my way to the church, I can take this to Donovan and then make my way back to you both." He adjusts the body a little and makes his way to the stairs.
 
Diavolov House:

"No... no, not that kind of romance," Ismark says when Carwyn mentions the book, still a bit flustered. "Oh, um... the domain of Darkon is quite a ways to the north, yeah. I passed through once, years ago -- their capital city is pretty massive. I learned the language hoping to one day study at their university but unfortunately nothing ever came of that," he notes, frowning a bit at the fact before slinging the man's bag over one shoulder and leafing through the journal once more. "Unfortunately I didn't see anything that stuck out as an author's name. I'll have to give it a closer study in case I missed anything."

At Carwyn's offer to transport the body alone he raises an eyebrow, seemingly hesistant to just let him go. "Er....are you sure? It looks like you took quite a beating there, I'm no doctor but I don't think you should be straining yourself. If nothing else I could see if Bildrath at the general store has a spare cart or something we can borrow." Looking over to Fauntleroy he shakes his head in the negative. "Unfortunately the church here doesn't have much going for it, only Father Donovan himself keeps up the maintenance. Usually friends or family of the diseased help with the transport and burial, though sometimes other people help out I hear."

Blood of the Vine Tavern:

"What're ya blabbing on about, boy?" The man says unamused in response to Gimble, scratching his scruffy beard before taking another bite of his apple. "The poor lad owes you nothin', from the way you were all up in his face. Only I get ta have the privilege of yellin' at him while he's haulin' product." He crosses his arms, watching the delivery boy disappear into the tavern. "Never mind that I've been gone for more than an hour and he still ain't done. 'Course he ain't got the time ta find trouble, he's gonna be in a load o' it if that mean ol' innkeeper makes it into the kitchen before all the wine does."
 
Fauntleroy tries not to roll her eyes. Romance, romance. Who has time for romance when there is science to be done? Instead she focuses on Ismark’s other words.

“They have an university? Interesting.” She files that information away for later. It seems this realm at least has some center of knowledge. She wonders if they’ll pass it at some point.

“A name would be useful. Right now we seem to have quite teh mystery on our hands,” she says, contemplative. “A missing family, an unknown dead wizard turned zombie.”

We’re not family or friends— problem solved, Fauntleroy thinks to herself, but she knows better than to speak that sentiment. She watches as Carwyn tries to drag the body with him, amused at how he tries even as he seems to be tired after the fight. “What is your choice, burgomeister? Shall we head to your house, or do you want to go past the church first?”
 
Carwyn looks up the burgomeister as he shows concern, an almost frown on his face. This man seemed at odds with the rest of his environment, a genuine and good person in a place of undead and wolves and unfamiliarity. It was a very, very welcome feeling for Carwyn and he stops struggling with the body for a second to reach out and pat the man on the top of his arm reassuringly. "I don't usually like using magic on myself but if it will put you more at ease about my safety delivering this body then I will." He holds his amulet and touches the spot on his side where the zombie had hit him. "<Heal.>" The celestial rolls off his tongue easily as the amulet then his hand glow and he takes a deep and steady breath for the first time since the fight. There is the faintest sound of a gently trickling stream in the air and Carwyn has a wave of calm wash over him.

"Almost as good as new. Do not worry, I have been to the church today already. I have talked to Donovan about the Morninglord and I doubt burial rituals differ wildly here from back in Faerun." He gives Ismark a genuine and warm smile then gestures to the bag in Fauntleroy's hands. "This mystery is far more important to solve, besides I might run into Iselka or Balion's new friend. Having a staging point to reconvene at would be particularly useful, especially if we end up in this village for any real length of time." He sighs and gives a small shrug before pulling the body into a more comfortable position, much easier this time around, and picking up his shield with his spare hand. He makes his way towards the stairs and heads down and out towards the exit. "I will see you at your house Ismark, thank you once again."
 
Gimble huffs a bit, "If he's old enough to work, he oughtta learn the value of his word. I don't let any loan unpaid, but you best believe I'll be charging interest by the next time I see 'em." Getting increasingly irked at the taller man's casual demeanor, on top of the frustration of not getting any information or action, Gimble uses flicks his fingers and plucks at the fleece in his pocket to cast minor illusion. Right as the man is about to catch the apple a high pitched 'screee' sound sounds from his shoulder. "Also I am probably older than you are boy." Staring down the man a bit Gimble walks off to join with Balion in the Inn.

Coming into the Inn Gimble is irked at the compounding events that have been landing on his head ever since coming to this...Barovia. Seeing Balion and Edmond still at the bar he goes over to sit next to his comrade. "Balion. Edmond. I'm gonna wait with you two for a bit, my escapade didn't pan out. Hopefully Doc and Cary don't strangle each other coming in the door." Gimble growls to himself.
 
Diavolov House:

There's a mix of curiosity and relief on Ismark's face as he sees Carwyn cast a healing spell on himself. "Thank the Morninglord," he says, watching the bruises heal nearly instantly. "I was just worried, I could barely see it attacking while I was running up the stairs but I could still tell that thing hit hard. It's good that you've met Father Donovan already, he could use the company."

He walks down along with Carwyn, making sure he's alright carrying the body alone but also giving the cleric enough space to move freely. He glances at Fauntleroy over his shoulder. "Well, the holy man here has already healed himself up so I suppose my excuse for being worried is gone," he says with a slight laugh, hoping to lighten the mood. "The church and the house are in opposite directions anyway, so no point in wasting daylight. Barring any other troubles from popping up today I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of this soon enough."

He holds the door open for the two of them, letting in a bit of sunlight once more to illuminate the dusty house. "Just knock on the door when you arrive, we'll be on the first floor most likely," he says to Carwyn, waving him off before gesturing for Fauntleroy to follow him southward. "So, miss Professor, you've probably cooked up a few theories in your head already about this whole thing. Any idea what could've happened to that poor stranger?"
 
"Knock on the door. First floor. Got it. Don't have too much fun without me." 'Not that there is going to be any fun to be had you poor bastard, stuck in a room with Fauntleroy. I'd rather take the zombie. Better sense of humour at least.' Carwyn shakes his head, trying to hide the wry smile on his face as he heads out of the house. 'Fuck, I'm not supposed to be thinking like that. Friends after all. Get a grip.' The priest starts to move off out of the grounds and north towards the church, walking the now more familiar route thanks to this morning. Although he did not expect to be walking it again carrying a corpse in a sheet.

As nothing at all happens on his walk up to the church, nothing at all happening seemed to be a feature of the village, he spends the time considering the undead. If it was a spellcaster, specifically more likely a wizard given the spellbook that Fauntleroy had been talking about, then something powerful must have killed them before just leaving them there to turn. One thing was never enough for a pattern but Carwyn is worried that Fauntleroy may be in danger but at least she has Ismark there. That man was handy with a blade and even handier with generosity, of his heart and kindness rather than his coin purse although he had seemed generous with that as well so far. Maybe he could be convinced to give them somewhere to base themselves out of that was a little more private than the only tavern in town. 'That's if you don't get back to the mansion and he's sat in the corner with a dunce hat on.' He grins at the thought of it as he arrives at the church and bangs on the door with the shield. "Donovan, open up. I need your help."
 
“No point in wasting daylight indeed,” Fauntleroy agrees. “I do need a moment, though.” She pauses and takes out pen and paper to copy down the scribbles. It’s tough to try and figure out whether the unfamiliar script is right. If only she had some sort of device to capture images exactly as they were in reality.

Eventually she puts the stuff away again before following Ismark outside, giving the house a passing glance. She vows to come back later, when nobody is around to interrupt her, and try to detect magic.

“Some,” Fauntleroy admits. “And just professor will do fine. I fear that our spellcaster might have gotten wrapped up in something beyond his abilities. It’s a shame I cannot decipher the scrawling on the wall or the journal. It certainly is very strange. I wish I had the chance to study the subject of zombie generation more.” She says it almost wistfully, shaking her head at the lost opportunity.
 
Church of the Morninglord:

It takes a bit of time for the old priest to make his way to the door, opening it with a slight grunt. "Oh... you've come back, and so soon," he begins, looking at Carwyn before his expression drops upon seeing the body he was carrying. "By the Morninglord... what happened here, child? Who was this?" He seems like he has more questions but his words are failing him at the moment, and he deigns to simply start walking out of the church and towards the back, where the gates to the graveyard stood. "Come, come -- it must have taken some effort to bring it this far without a cart."

Village Streets:

Ismark nods at Fauntleroy, waiting patiently outside as she attempted to copy down the strange graffiti. When she's done he begins to lead her back to the large two-story house at the end of the street. "Do you think that's some sort of inscription or something? Maybe it's just my ignorance showing but it almost looks like they let a chicken loose with charcoal to draw over the walls."

He chuckles a bit to fill the gap in conversation, scratching the back of his head. "Well if he is indeed a spellcaster I can't guarantee I'll be able to make sense of all those fancy words, my knowledge of the language only goes so far. Not to mention if he is quite intelligent, cracking his cipher... he had to be writing like that for a reason," he notes absentmindedly, considering the possibilities. "Maybe he was a spy or something? I don't know why a spy would come here though, there's not really anything to spy on that the tavern ladies wouldn't be able to pick up on easier."

Blood of the Vine Tavern:

The man Gimble was talking too raises an eyebrow at the gnome's words, seeming to glance vaguely in the direction of his hands before the screeching sound makes him flinch. "Doesn't mean ya don't act like a boy," he says with a slight grumble, before turning away from the front door. He takes a second to glance inside, making sure the delivery boy was doing his due diligence, before shrugging and beginning to whistle a tune as he starts taking a stroll down the western street of the village.

Inside the tavern Edmon looks at Gimble curiously as he arrives in the middle of storytime, fiddling with his oversized loaner clothes as he fidgets in his seat. "You... okay?" he asks innocently, at roughly eye level with the gnome as he stood there. "And... what's an 'escapade'?" He pouts a bit, confused at a word he hasn't quite heard before.
 
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Carwyn shifts the bulk of the body on his shoulder a little uncomfortably as he waits for the other priest to open the door. 'Maybe I should have put this down, or mentioned it right at the start. I don't want to shock the old guy. Need to stop worrying, I'm sure he's seen plenty of bodies before.' He smiles as the door opens, trying to put Donovan at ease. "Ahh yes, back but not on the best of terms sorry to say." He notes the changing expression of the priest and simply nods. "Yes. This. Truth be told Donovan I have no idea who it is, except that they tried very head to beat me to death. After they had died." He waits for the implication of that to sink in, sure that the priest will have at least be familiar with the concept of undead before even if he had not dealt with them.

"Luckily Ismark was with me, the Professor as well, and we were able to fend it off. I am fine though, I used healing magic so please don't worry." He tries to preempt any sort of questioning about his own health, still a little annoyed that he had turned to magic instead of working through the injury as normal. 'By the gods you used a bit of magic, it is not the end of the world. That thing was trying to kill you. To kill you. Run.' He shakes his head to stop the thoughts and readjusts the body as the two of them make their way to the graveyard. "I am not the best versed on the undead, healing the living is more of my strong suit, but this seemed unnaturally fast for a zombie. Do you know if the undead around here are normally very quick?" He waves dismissively with his shield as the other priest talks about effort. "It's fine I'm stronger than I look. People often think-" He stops abruptly as he sees the destination, his voice going very suspicious and very hard at the sight of the already prepared grave. "Why is this one pre-dug Donovan?"
 
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