Party 5

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Graveyard:

"A risen undead? That is quite strange, most people in the village would report a death so I could perform the proper rites," Donovan says, frowning slightly. "I do not doubt your ability to take care of yourself, though the situation is still unusual to me. Undead can take many forms and hold many different abilities or so I've read, though there is typically some external force at play when that occurs. Where did you encounter this creature?"

He raises an eyebrow as Carwyn's tone suddenly turns for the suspicious, raising his hands as if to signal that he meant no harm. "It is nothing more than a matter of courtesy, child. The time when performing such physical labor was a trivial matter for me is long past; I have to rely on others to volunteer their time these days. Luckily some do."

He gestures to an adjacent grave, upon which a small tombstone is inscribed with simply a date. "Sometimes when a burial is required, they will dig an extra hole in advance so I do not have to wait if another body is brought to be buried. In this case it was dug just a few weeks ago at the same time as this one here. I was never told who they were though, I had simply found the grave prepared and finished one day when I was making my rounds." He sighs, clasping his hands and bowing for a quick prayer as he stands over the hole. "It is truly a shame, but sometimes they are simply beyond recognition. We can only hope that their memory lives on somewhere in the world."

 

[Harmon]

Balion gives Edmon a small smile as he talks about his parents. "Sounds like a busy life, keeping the house in order with your mother like that. Do you know what your father does?" He shifts in his seat to a more comfortable position as he weighs which of the questions to answer first. "Well, I have traveled further than most that I know but Carwyn, by nature of being a traveling priest, I'm sure has seen his fair share of the road. As for Gimble and Professor Fauntleroy, I can't say much as to how far traveled they are, though we have traveled some together already."

He looks up to the beams in the roof as he begins thinking of his homeland. "I doubt you've heard of Evermeet from your father though? I could tell you some of the place my wheel began turning if you would like. As for stories of monster hunting...it may be best to say I have mostly gone against werewolves and a few other simple story-like monsters. Mostly the targets were chosen by my mentor and friend, she had an uncanny ability to know when and where we were needed to help." He looks back down to Edmon with something of a shine to his eyes. "I have not faced anything like a dragon though, so most of my hunts haven't led to treasures, though Kethra, my mentor, has told me of magical artifacts she had seen among her hunts. She even had claimed to have gotten her cloak, which made here seem to be standing in two places at once sometimes, during a hunt. So in that sense finding a treasure map might not be so unlikely." His eyes darken for a moment. "Though I must admit, the dangers often don't equal the 'treasure' found. It's more something to be done to make the world safer."

Giving Edmon a smile Balion tilts his head slightly. "I'm guessing Carwyn or Professor Fauntleroy have already made sure you have eaten, yes?"

 

[SlyCooperKing]

Gimble grunts “An escapade is something I do for fun. Generally involving me getting all the fun and others a wake up call to protect their belongings a bit better.” Sighing slightly Gimble continues “Though I did that more when I lived on the streets” then internally “Maybe I am acting like a child....Damn that man.” Leaning back in his stool up in the ceiling,

“Balion. I’m hoping we can get more than enough treasure for as little danger as possible. Hah! Ain’t that the dream.”

 

[LAmPailk]

“Perhaps,” Fauntleroy says, keeping the option open in her mind. “It might also be nonsense, but I don’t see the point of scribbling on the walls like that without a good reason. Just because we cannot read it does not mean it holds no meaning.” Perhaps they were something else, that she could understand later. Nonetheless, it was worth documenting just in case.

She follows Ismark down the street. “If there are any jargon phrases that make no sense to you, perhaps I could look them over,” she offers. Fauntleroy raises an eyebrow. “A spy?” She cannot imagine why there would be a spy here— even though they hadn’t been there long, the village had seemed sleepy and desolate and not noteworthy enough to spend a spy to. “Forgive my potential ignorance, but is there anything of note to spy on?”

 

[roSpEnTo]

Carwyn nods and sighs a little, it didn't seem like the priest was harboring any ill will and Carwyn could clearly see the wear and tear on the sides of the grave from the time it had been spent open. "Apologies Donovan, I didn't mean offense by my tone. There is still plenty that is strange for me here and after being attacked by the undead already today. Well I guess you could say that I am a little jumpy." 'Didn't think of what it would take to run this purely by himself. Dug graves at the side of the road often enough though, know it's rough work.' He gives the other priest a side glance before he shucks the body into the grave with a thud, still in the sheet.

The cleric gets onto one knee by the side of the grave and pulls out his water skin slowly. He uncorks it and pours a little over each of his hands before re-corking it and placing it beside him. He goes through the motions of washing his hands before holding them out slowly in front of him over the body, focusing his mind on the amulet around his neck. "May Eldath's waters give you peace now. May her calm give you comfort on your journey beyond. Let stream and current guide you. As freewalker I bless this ground and cleanse this spirit." His voice is crystal clear and peaceful as he speaks the words, even if there is a vindictive part of him that feels it is more than the zombie bastard deserves.

When the prayer is done he stands up and looks over to Donovan with a small smile as he rests his shield down on the ground and rolls his shoulders, working out some of the kinks and strains from carrying the corpse over to the church. "Do you have a shovel? I can get this filled in for you. Oh it seemed that they weren't from around here, would you like to say some words for your god too?" He looks around the immediate area for a shovel or something he can use to fill in the grave and get the body covered up before moving back to Ismark's house.

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Blood of the Vine Tavern:

Edmon shrugs slightly at the question about his father, fiddling with some of the scattered things on the table. "Dunno what he does really. He never really told me, Ma doesn't like to bring it up. A merchant or explorer or something? Might explain why he's always away for so long. It's been..." He furrows his brow, as if deep in thought. "... a while. Since I last saw him."

He shrugs again, looking up to Balion as he starts talking about his hunting. "Evermeet? That's a cool name." He seems a bit disappointed that the ranger hadn't seen a dragon, but still appears to be interested in hearing about magic artifacts and his mentor's abilities. "Making the world safe... sounds pretty nice." At the mention of eating he nods, glancing over at Arik who still has been wiping away at the stack of plates and glasses brought his way earlier. "The lady said she could maybe make pot pie. Hope it's ready by dinner."

He looks over at Gimble when he mentions fun and treasure, seemingly having caught interest. "Are you... going to try and find treasure while we're here? Or do one of those 'escapades'?" He glances between Balion and Gimble, a curious glint in his eyes. "... Do you think there could be treasure around this place?"

In the far corner of the room Gerbruht, the man Gimble had been talking to earlier, perks up when Edmon asks about treasure. He smirks slightly before returning to his notes. In the meantime the young delivery boy has rushed back through the front doors for another crate; a hearty laugh can be heard from his boss outside.

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Village Streets:

"Maybe you're right about the scribbles, though at the same time I don't know if scribbling really needs a reason," Ismark says, scratching his head as he thinks back to it. "It seemed like nonsense a child would write, but I suppose I'm not the scholar here. I appreciate the assistance though."

He tries to smile reassuringly, though it quickly fades when Fauntleroy asks about the presence of anything worth spying on. "In this village? Not really, if I'm being honest. Most folks don't have a reason to stay here for any significant amount of time unless they've got nowhere else to go -- otherwise they're like you and your group, concerned more with the next destination. If I had to guess, it wasn't because of what was in this village..." He pauses in his step, looking to the northwest. For a moment, the spire of a large looming castle peeks out from beyond the overcast fog. "But what lies just beyond it. It's hard not to be cautiously aware of the fact that we're settled so close to the castle." He looks away and continues on.

Eventually he leads Fauntleroy to a weary looking mansion standing behind a rusty iron gate, once built to some level of magnificence (or rather, opulence) but faded over time. Weeds litter the field around it, only the cool autumn climate keeping them from growing wildly. Pressing forward the damage to the house is more than apparent in the overcast daylight -- the looming walls of the several-story abode are riddled with claw marks, scratches, and other signs of damage. Many of the windows are dusty and cracked in some places but otherwise intact, and the double front doors stand hardy and tall, like the last bastion of defense against any assault. "Apologies for the mess, it's hard to manage the cleanup by myself most days and I haven't gotten around to hiring new help yet." He opens the gate and gestures for Fauntleroy to enter. "I try to keep it habitable, at least."

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Church of the Morninglord:

Donovan shakes his head, placing a hand reassuringly on Carwyn's shoulder. "I understand that these are trying times for you and your group, as they have been for many of us. I do not fault you for worrying." He watches with a solemn expression as Carwyn tosses the body into the grave, the decapitated head rolling slightly before coming to a stop. "To think something like that attacked you in the middle of the day... I pray that this isn't a sign of something more dire waiting to be unleashed upon the village."

He shakes his head, as if trying to dismiss the thought. He watches curiously as Carwyn invokes the rites of Eldath on the corpse, unfamiliar with the motions but observing quietly as if to commit it to memory. He nods slightly when the fellow cleric asks about filling in the grave, pointing to a worn shovel that leans against the iron fence. "I have more in the church storerooms but I always leave one out here for when someone wants to dig themselves. Just give me a moment, I will prepare rites as well."

He starts towards the church again, a slight melancholy in the air as he leaves Carwyn alone momentarily. After a minute he comes back with a tall lit candle on a loose holder, burning softly as he makes his way back to the grave. He kneels down and places the candle in front of the grave (making sure not to cover the same area that Carwyn had washed his hands) and pushes it slightly into the soft dirt, wax already beginning to drip down.

He clutches a circular amulet hanging loosely around his neck and drops his head, closing his eyes. "May the Morninglord illuminate your path to the beyond, to the final fate that you deserved." After a brief moment of silence he stands back up with some effort, brushing the dirt off of his robes. "That is the most I can do without knowing who he was, or whether he followed or rejected the Morninglord's teachings of hope and compassion. I hope it is enough for him to see his final rest."

He lets out a tired sigh, looking back to Carwyn. "Thank you for your assistance, I know that it has been quite a long day for you already. Are you off to somewhere else now? I would not want to keep you here in this place of mourning."

 

[LAmPailk]

“I still wonder why it would be there, if it turns out to be nonsense. There has to be a logical explanation behind it,” Fauntleroy says, determined to get to the bottom of this. Even if the scribbles meant nothing, their placement had to. “There has to be a reason one goes out of their way to scribble on the walls. It hardly seems like a ‘fashionable’ decor choice.”

The half-elf follows Ismark’s gaze, observing the castle’s spires for a few moments between the sweeps of fog. She keeps pace with Ismark. “What about the castle makes it worth spying upon then? Is it inhabited?” Perhaps it was someone from an enemy dominion, or some magic that lay within. Either way it doesn’t seem to Fauntleroy like the village and castle have a good relationship.

She comes to a halt outside the house, staring at the claw marks and scratches. “What happened here?” she asks, curiosity obvious in her voice. “I mean no offense, but it seems like your house has been under attack.” The professor shakes her head at Ismark’s apology. “Do not worry, Burgomeister. I used to work with teenaged students. I undoubtedly have seen worse.”

 

[roSpEnTo]

Left alone in the graveyard Carwyn looks around for a moment, losing himself in his thoughts. The priest had seemed shocked by the undead but not amazed by its presence, which likely meant that there is or has been an undead problem in or around the village before. If this wasn't a member of the family of the house who had been there before then something had still happened to them. Wolves, undead, disappearances, as much as Carwyn was comfortable in new places and on the road the wrongness of this place grates at him. Maybe one of the other towns will provide something more steady or a safer feeling. It is not like they have put roots down here yet or anything, although having a friend in the burgomeister was not a bad thing and the man did seem genuine and honest which Carwyn appreciates in someone. He is also wary of subjecting Edmon to even more new things so soon after getting him settled from the threat and kidnapping, best that the boy beds down a little somewhere if possible.

He is brought out of his meandering thoughts by the return of the other priest and he gives Donovan a warm smile as he sets about his own funeral rites. Carwyn wonders how different they are to Lathander's from back home as Donovan finishes up the rites. Carwyn gives the man a nod and grabs the shovel from the fence before he sets about filling in the grave. The feel of the shovel and the work itself feels good on his shoulders, he is able to push all of his pent up anger from the last few days into the digging as he loses himself in the task. When he finishes he realises that he has dug a grave next to the zombie, leaving another open plot for whomever will end up needing it next, just as Donovan said the townspeople often do. Carwyn smiles to himself thinking that Balion would have a lot to say on the matter of it balancing out, a wheel's turn and all that. He looks down at his muddy robe and gives a small shrug as he climbs out of the grave and nods to Donovan.

He has been silent the entire time of digging the grave but he looks back to the other priest as he stabs the shovel back into the ground by the top of the new grave, noting the tired sound of Donovan's voice. "You sound more tired than I am Donovan." There is a smile on Carwyn's face and a sense of calm in his mind. "I am used to days of traveling so some extra muscle work is no problem. I'm glad I could help. Now? I am off to Ismark's house, we have been working with him on a few things. He seems kind and I feel there are too few people like that around recently. Thank you for your aid with this Donovan if you need anything at all find us at Ismark's house or at the Blood of the Vine Tavern. You will know my compatriots from there difference to the local folk. I take my leave." The young priest gives Donovan a nod and goes to make his way out of the graveyard unless stopped.

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Burgomeister's Mansion:

"Regardless of what these scribbles actually mean I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it eventually," Ismark says, attempting to flash a reassuring smile. "In any case, it seems like we've got quite the mystery on our hands, eh?"

Glancing back at the castle he seems to continue to look for an extended moment, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "Well... yes, it's inhabited. That's Castle Ravenloft, home to the current ruler of Barovia. I'm sure you've heard of Count Zarovich already?" He fishes a gold coin out of his pocket and flips it, presenting the side with the cameo print to Fauntleroy. "His ancestor, Strahd von Zarovich the I, is the one who's image is minted on all the currency 'round these parts. Or was it the II? Eh, it's all in the past anyway."

He shrugs, then looks over to the professor as she stops outside of the house. "Oh, well... it's been attacked before, yeah," he starts slowly, unsure of how to bridge the topic. "But that was years back, decades really. My father never really explained it to me really, but he didn't want to shell out the money for repairs." He scratches his head in thought, inspecting the various damages as he leaned a hand against the doorway. "I suppose I could do it now, but it's been... hectic. Especially since it's mostly just me handling all the business."

Graveyard:

Donovan bows his head once more at the finished grave, before smiling weakly at Carwyn. "I suppose it is just my age," he says in reply to the other cleric noting his fatigue. "Even the most simple and uneventful of days will leave me winded, now. But I pray that it can stay like this, the people here deserve a peaceful experience."

He walks with Carwyn to the exit of the graveyard and closes it shut behind them. "Ismark is a good man, albeit a bit unfamiliar with the ways of the world," he says with a soft chuckle, as if reminiscing. "I imagine it has been difficult for him to shoulder his father's legacy in the months since his passing. It would be good for him to have friends in these trying times. May your day be well, Freewalker." He nods once more, then makes his way back to the church front doors and heads inside.

 

[SlyCooperKing]

Looking at Edmond Gimble states squarely “Lad, I’m gonna find treasure ‘ere even if I gotta rip it outta that big ol’ castle!” Throwing out a chuckle “Hell! I’m going to be doing non-stop escapades! You better watch Yerself boy cause I’ll show ya how it’s done.” Gimble puts a finger to his lips and starts stalking off seizing a singular object as his prey he waits until the unsuspecting patron looks away and snatch! The fork that was on his table is gone and has appeared in Gimble’s hand. Walking casually back over toward Edmond he shows him the fork. “Stick with me and you could pick up things twice as easily and three times as shiny.”

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Blood of the Vine Tavern:

The other man that Gimble stole from reaches over for his fork after taking an extended sip of wine and, upon grasping air, scratches his head confused. "Wait... did I drop it...?" He spends a few moments standing up and crouching under the table in an attempt to spot it to no avail, eventually giving up and walking back over to the bartender to ask for another one. Arik reaches over to his drying rack and holds out a new fork before the man even asks, leaving him staring dumbfounded for a few seconds before going back to his table. Arik lets out a sort of a grunt before returning to his business.

Edmon watches curiously as Gimble comes back with his stolen fork, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands though he does still seem interested in the gnome's antics. "Gonna take from the castle...? Doesn't someone live there? Isn't that bad?" He asks, tilting his head. His tone is more inquisitive than disapproving. "Or at least... dangerous? Finding good treasure is always dangerous, I thought."

 

[LAmPailk]

“A mystery,” Fauntleroy repeats. “That’s one word for it.” Fauntleroy can think of better ways to phrase it— unsolved problems, unsolved formulas. Now that is a language Fauntleroy speaks— a problem can be solved

“I have,” she confirms. She takes a moment to study the cameo, committing it to memory. She purses her lip at the way Ismark so easily writes the distinction between the first and second count off. Even though she is no true historian, even Fauntleroy can see that the past might teach them something valuable yet. She swallows her words though— it’s tiring to argue even more. “Is the current ruler much involved with his people?” she asks, something telling her that isn’t the case when the village near the castle was so dilapidated.

“Any idea of what attacked it?” she wonders as she studies the marks of wear and tear a moment more before joining Ismark at the door. “I can understand not having the time or funds for not repairing it. If the building still holds up, then what is the point. Sometimes people have to be practical about these things.”

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Village Streets:

No one really bothers Carwyn as he makes his way back down from the church, though a few people can be seen wandering around the streets again. Many laborers seem to enter the tavern or general store for supplies, or return to their humble homes for a short rest. From the western road what seems to be a loaded wagon caravan can be seen slowly approaching in the distance.

Approaching the crossroads he can see that the man who was fixing the roof of the general store has taken a break, leaving the front door of the building ajar as he sits just inside. Meanwhile the delivery boy from before starts to pack up the cart, starting to zone out. He straightens up just as Alenka, the third tavern sister, starts to make her way back from the south with a small sack of supplies in hand. She looks over to the delivery boy, who immediately straightens up as if feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. "I-I'm done ma'am," he says nervously, trying to avoid eyecontact but in not too obvious a manner. "It's all loaded, every last thing. And I'll try to be on time next time, yep."

"Sure whatever," she says with a huff, breezing past him and starting to enter the tavern before she pauses in her step. "Say... you owe me don't you?" she says flatly, as if her irritation from earlier coalesced into a death glare. The smirk makes it worse. "I need someone to transport the haul from this harvest, got a load of potatoes and grains to bring over. I was going to ask Arik to do it while I covered the bar, but you'll do."

The boy's expression immediately drops at hearing she wanted him to do even more work, but one glance at an older man sitting on a nearby barrel makes him realize that resistence is futile. He sighs and nods, and the lady gestures for him to stay put. "Good. I'll be right back." She steps inside and he plops to the ground, seemingly defeated. The other man merely chuckles to himself, lazily munching on a half-eaten apple as he watched the scene unfold.

The streets leading downward are fairly empty, save for a few farmers taking a shortcut from the fields. The two story mansion that Ismark mentioned is very prominently displayed at the end of the street, beyond which the comforting rush of the river can be heard a decent distance away.

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Burgomeister's Mansion:

"Involved?" Ismark seems to rub his chin as if pondering the idea. "Yeah... he's pretty involved I'd say," he says, shrugging as he holds the door open. The old door creaks slightly against the breeze but holds up well due to its heftiness. "He tends to frequent the more populated towns for business and maintaining his presence. That's historically been Vallaki and Krezk but if I was a betting man I'd wager he's been visitng the Gundarak territory more often nowadays. He's probably too busy to lounge around his castle and hang around this drab little village if I'm being honest."

Passing through the doorway Fauntleroy is met with the dilapidated yet still strangely grand main hall, a testament to the craftmanship from decades past. A sweeping staircase divides the room in half as it ascends out of sight, with halls and other rooms leading to either side of the entrance.
A noticeable amount of dust and debris has been swept hastily to the side, though not all of it -- as if attempts to clean were interrupted part of the way through and never quite picked back up. "Well if I'm to believe the stories Mum used to tell me at bedtime," Ismark starts, seeming a bit distracted and disappointed at not having cleaned up prior. "the culprit was monsters, beasties, or any of the other things that go bump in the night. If that was true then I suppose we can be glad the ol' place is still standing, even after so long."

He stands in the middle of the hall for a second, as if deciding where to go. He looks back to the professor inquisitively. "So, uh... fancy a cup of tea or something? Or I guess we could go straight to my father's study, that's where I ended up storing most of the books I could find laying around."

 

[LAmPailk]

“Interesting.” She wonders about this Strahd— having been warned about the nobility’s dislike for minority populations, she wonders how effective of a ruler he was. Such a trait was often a sign of close mindedness. The kind of trait that would make an academic a failure and a ruler a despot. “So if he doesn’t spend his time in his castle, then why would one try and spy?”

Fauntleroy asks the question out loud just as she enters the house. She takes in the dilapidated grandeur, the half-swept dust. Briefly she wonders if the village has nobody to be hired for cleaning before she lets it go. At least it seems to be dry, and that’s important above all. “It might hold a grain of truth, looking at the marks,” she says, “though I’ve heard from some that often parents will attempt to scare their children into good behavior with tales as such.”

“Let’s head to your father’s study,” she suggests. “We’ve already wasted plenty of time today. No need for pleasantries.” What was the use of chatting over tea when they could be doing important research instead?

 

[roSpEnTo]

Carwyn gets lost in his own thoughts a little as he wanders back through the village. He mumbles a few small prayers to himself and looks around, noting the caravan coming down the road. He remembers that Mirabel had said that caravans were the place to buy things that they might need, specifically clothes that didn't make Edmon look like he was borrowing someone else's tunic. 'After Ismark's. We can go and get stuff sorted after Ismark's.' He files the thought away with everything else, getting to the bottom of this undead was just more important than sorting out clothes for the moment.

As he passes by the tavern he spots the scene with the delivery boy, the third of the sisters and, judging by the look the boy gave, the man in charge of sorting the delivery. He waits until it all blows over, not wanting to get involved in a dispute that seemed to still be going on. After Alenka goes back inside he steps forward from his respectful distance off, giving a nod and a friendly smile to the man eating the apple. He puts a hand on the delivery boy's shoulders and speaks in a stage whisper clearly designed to put the harangued workman at ease and make him laugh. "Don't worry, if you are out on a delivery it means you are here getting shouted at."

Grinning to himself he moves on to Ismark's but he stops at the door, running his hand over the marks. His grin is quickly replaced by a frown and a slow shaking of his head. These look like similar marks to the Church, which means wolves or werewolves. So the church wasn't the only place in the village being attacked, he hadn't seen any marks on the tavern or on the house that Fauntleroy, Ismark and he had gone into earlier. He thinks hard, considering whether the wolves or werewolves are picking specific targets and if so what could be directing them towards it. From what Iselka had said werewolves were like wolves in that they followed an alpha but could this just be a simple grudge from the alpha or did it have other purposes.

Pushing open the door he steps inside, noticing the mess and the dust but not being too concerned. Ismark had mentioned having trouble besides, with dirt covering his robe and his hands, he wasn't the picture of prim and proper tidiness either. He remembers that he was told to come up to the first floor so he closes the door and makes his way upstairs. Halfway up he calls out so that his presence won't be treated as a complete shock. He tries to keep his voice calm but it's shaking a little with anger from seeing the marks. "Ismark? Professor? I'm here. Which room are you in? Body is buried so we can draw a line under all of that now."

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Burgomeister's Mansion:

"That's the conundrum isn't it?" Ismark says, shrugging at Fauntleroy's possibly hypothetical inquiry. "Either they were camping out hoping for a lucky break, not wanting to chase his fancy black carriage all across the country... or they were looking for something else." He makes a mixed expression at that idea, as if he wasn't quite sure of it. "I suppose we won't know until we solve the mystery, eh?"

He chuckles awkwardly again, though it doesn't last as long this time. Seeing that the professor wasn't really one for chit-chat he quiets down and leads Fauntleroy up the staircase and into a dusty room down the hall, in which a humble library and desk lays unused. "Sorry about the dust, it's hard to reach the upper parts of the shelves so it all gathers up there. Now let's see..."

Seating himself at a nearby cushioned chair and gesturing for the professor to take a seat as well he takes out the journal of the deceased man and flips to the first page, idly rubbing at what seems to be header written in the upper margin. The ink is long dried, and the script is impeccably neat. "Hm... January 1, year 735 of the Barovian Calendar. Maybe he liked a fresh start every year or something."

He looks over to Fauntleroy. "Where do you think we should start, first or last entry? I noticed there were a lot more encoded passages towards the later half of the book, so that might take longer."

 

[LAmPailk]

“I suppose we’d best get to it then,” Fauntleroy agrees. She follows the burgomeister up the stairs to the library, immediately letting her eyes drift over the titles. The study is crammed, more for work than leisure, which is exactly the way the professor likes it. It’s a shame the place seems to have gone dusty, she thinks to herself. She briefly studies the titles, making note of the ones she doesn’t understand just as much as the ones she does understand.

“It’s no problem,” Fauntleroy says as she makes her way over to the seat Ismark has gestured for her to take. She gets her own notes and pen out, ready to start taking notes on whatever Ismark will translate. “A good habit, but interesting. It seems you use a different calendar than us.”

She leans back in her seat for a moment, tapping her lip in thought. “Let us see what the first entry might bring us. We can always skip ahead if it isn’t useful.”

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Burgomeister's Mansion:

"Oh, even the calendar is different? Interesting," Ismark notes, as he pulls out what appears to be a small dictionary. "I'm a bit rusty on the finer words but hopefully this guy isn't too wordy. Now let's see, page one..."

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

Year 735 of the Barovian Calendar

January 1

Weather:
- Overcast with occasional snowfall, not enough to impede travel.
News:
- The source of the contamination has not been identfied yet, but locals have been sufficiently advised to seek alternative sources of water especially considering how it compounds upon the scarcity due to frost.
Reflection:
Another year, another journal -- as before, I look to fill this one as exactly as possible. It has been three years and ninety-seven days on the dot since I started this position, and although upward trajectory has been slow I am confident in my ability to prove my worth given the right opportunity. I believe that when I have my status update in a fortnight's time I will be afforded such opportunity.

January 2

Weather:
- Clear skies. Early morning chill but overall warmer than average for the winter months.
News:
- The higher temperatures have afforded the locals some respite, melting some of the frost off of the newly seeded fields and providing some much needed water supply.
Reflection:
- Nothing of note.

January 3

Weather:
- Overcast, but no significant snowfall.
News:
- A local beggar has been apprehended for petty theft, from a prominent traveling passing through from Chateaufaux.
Reflection:
- Nothing of note.

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

"Nothing of note, nothing of note... you'd think you could at least reflect on something every day," Ismark mumbles as he flips through the pages lookiing for something. "How much is a fortnight anyway... aha!"

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

January 14

Weather:
- Sudden drop in temperatures, possibly causing a few water sources to freeze overnight.
News:
- A large trading ship has been refused entry into port. Local officials are reporting that it is due to the sudden frost and the danger of accomodating them when the harbor could free over and trap the other seafaring vessels inside.
Reflection:
- Hb ztaknzk ja kql xdnys jarjrkr kqnk jk jr sdl kt kql glxjaajaxr te na lhgnyxt gdk J qnwl hb stdgkr, Nunoja ptdos atk gl rt gynula pjkq qjr nkklhmkr. Mlyqnmr jk jr tal te qjr otply ynavls teejzjnor nzkjax pjkqtdk qjr nmmytwno?

January 15

Weather:
- Not cold enough to spread the frost significantly, but cold enough to maintain it. Fairly strong winds cause a more intense chill.
News:
- The trade ship from yesterday seems to have been rerouted, and the topic is quickly downplayed.
- More traffic seems to be coming in from local roads to avoid the seas when possible.
Reflection:
- Opportunity does appear to have presented itself. I have been informed that my current position has been rendered redundant due to shifting of resources, and I am to begin acting as a traveling agent. I have been given a little over three weeks to prepare my travels.
- It is unlikely that I will need more than one week, but it appears that they have offered that time window equally for all affected by the transition. I assume it is for those among us who have families or other ties to their current location.

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

Ismark frowns a bit on reading that, but suddenly perks up at the sound of Carwyn's voice. "Oh, looks like your friend is back," he says, standing up and heading towards the door to call out. "Up here, friend!" he says, before quickly catching himself. "Gosh, I hope that didn't wake him up..." he mutters to himself, then shakes his head and turns back to Fauntleroy. "Well this guy seems... interesting at least. Any thoughts so far?"

 

[LAmPailk]

“January,” Fauntleroy muses out loud, “what a strange name for a month. Why not Hammer or Deepwinter? This name gives no indication of the season. Does it even start on the same date as our calendar?” She listens as Ismark reads out the entries; the somewhat seemingly trivial entries, where the man tells them little of importance. Vague hints of politics Fauntleroy doesn’t know or care for, gossip about the weather. How trite.

“What is that paragraph?” Fauntleroy asks, leaning over to see if she can make sense of it. Finally something good perhaps? she wonders. Or more nonsense, lost to time?

And of course, when they finally start getting somewhere, they get disturbed. Fauntleroy can’t help sigh at the predictability. “Friend is an overstatement,” she mutters darkly before she refocuses on matters at hand. “What kind of ‘traveling agent’ was this man?” she wonders. “I fear we must skip ahead a little to gain something of true value.”

 

[Kanaxe_Ru]

Burgomeister's Mansion:

"I think someone at school once told me it means something, but in a much older language," Ismakr notes, peering at the word curiously. "And then we just stuck with it maybe? I don't know, tradition always just tends to stick around once it's... gotten stuck, I guess."

He frowns a bit, as if internally calling himself out for poor choice of words, before showing Fauntleroy the part with the jumbled text. The text appears to be written in the same letters as what she would know as the Common tongue, but jumbled up beyond any sense of recognition. "Not sure really, it's one of those coded passages. I guess there were some things he wasn't too keen on sharing, even in a personal journal like this."

He takes a little sheet of paper and tears it to place next to the encoded entry as sort of bookmark. He doesn't say anything about Fauntleroy's comment, instead flipping through the pages again and distracting himself with skimming the words. "Not entirely sure what his job is supposed to be, he's either extremely vague or makes super specific references I have no clue could even mean."

After a minute or so of reading he perks up again, squinting at the words. "Ah, there's another one of those paragraphs..."

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

February 3

Weather:
- Clear skies but still chilly. Signs of spring temperature are beginning to emerge, but consistently warmer temperature is still a few weeks off.
News:
- A merchant has come into town selling what he claims to be a panacea. His customers appear to be primarily lower-class citizens or people generally desperate for relief from their various ailments (which, of course, he the merchant claims will help).
Reflection:
- I suppose that conman has some guts for daring to claim that fresh Caldera Rose could possibly bloom so soon after the winter frost, which I have reported in prior entries has generally been much worse in Borca this year. Either he ground up stale, dead plants from the previous year or he used the fact that his powders were pre-ground to hide the fact that he is selling a placebo.
- Bwjvkuq wjibkwi cnju cnw rcnwif aka oirvkaw xw skcn frxw fwdyikcm ku xm tyudckru, drufkawikuq cnjc K sjf qwuwijbbm qkvwu cnw xrfc oirxkuwuc jiwjf cr fdrow ryc ijcnwi cnju fbrsbm amkuq ku frxw rgfdyiw iwqkru. Nrswvwi, kc njf gwwu jddrxojukwa gm qwuwijbbm xriw fdiyckum ku xm dnjijdcwi jua kucwuckruf cnju K njvw oiwvkryfbm nja cr awjb skcn. Cnwm kufkfcwa, tri ruw, cnjc xm wudrakuqf fnryba gw xriw girja cr wudrxojff jumcnkuq iwqjiakuq xm hrg, skcn jum akiwdc iwtwiwudwf wvwu yfkuq ju wuckiwbm fwojijcw draw. K ar urc wuhrm cnkf wpcij srie ru xm wua gyc K fyoorfw qiwjcwi orfkckru ku cnw riqjukzjckru kf yuawifcjuajgbm jddrxojukwa gm xriw dnjkuf.

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

"He sure likes to write a lot..." Ismark mumbles a bit, giving up on translating in favor of copying the letters down on a separate piece of paper.

 

[SlyCooperKing]

"Aye lad, it would be dangerous, but that's also 'alf the fun. You gotta take a gamble in life in order to make the most of it!" Chuckling, Gimble looks around for a bit, "Hm... Balion! We need to stir some excitement up around here. Ya got any talents that would gather a crowd? Maybe we could start a betting ring around here, see if these farmhands can throw a few!" Looking at Balion with a cocked head, "think we could make some money? eh?"

 

[Harmon]

Balion tilts his head slightly to the side as he looks to Gimble and hears his inquiry. "I...am unsure? My skills aren't very well translated to hand-to-hand. If needed I might be able to hold my own, depending on the opponent." He takes a moment to think before pulling out his pan flute. "Otherwise all I really dabble in would be a few simple songs I picked up here and there." He gives a small nod after a moment of considering his own words as if making sure he was right.