Investigating the estuary

GM
On the way to the Estuary, Calwen is able to catch several fish and a meaty rabbit to sate the drake's hunger; despite Marsh's earlier warnings, the drake seems plenty content to feed on this ordinary fare and makes no suspicious movements toward the rest of the party. It remains quiet as it approaches the estuary, however, as if the weight of its situation has begun to dawn on it now that the adrenaline of being chased has faded.

It does not take long to find the small complex of hastily-built structures that form the so-called "estuary." Built over a stream that branches off from the Lampblack River, it has the look of a structure intended to be set up, broken down, and moved about quickly. The fire that had likely been intended to destroy the facility and cover the Professor's crimes seems to have burned itself out without destroying the estuary outright, though the smell of burnt flesh hangs heavy in the air.

Inside one of the structures, the pen, you find the mutilated forms of two adult river drakes. From the looks of things, they were killed while they slept, and several of their internal organs were removed postmortem.

Inside the main housing, you find a sight still more grisly: the bodies of the Twilight Academy magicians manning the facility. One is horribly burned, while the others seem to have been bludgeoned to death or shot with crossbows. Three of them appear to have been young, maybe teenagers; their right ears have been removed, but more horrifyingly, their hearts have been cut out as well. All of their gear and spellbooks lie in a scorched pile in the middle of the room, ruined.

In the back room, you find another body, a girl that looks as if she couldn't have been older than sixteen. A crossbow bolt juts from her neck, and like the others, her right ear and heart have been removed.

Dalton the Thirsty
Dalton's mouth forms a thin grim line as he surveys the massacre. "Such barbarism in the name of attaining personal wealth," he comments aloud. He casts about himself for a digging implement to bury the bodies with.

If he can find one, he will set to burying the bodies of the Academy students immediately.

Dramin Jodare
There is discovery and there is wanton slaughter. This was the latter and despite Dramin's desire to seek out the world, it wouldn't be in this way.

He faced away from everyone and composed himself after surveying the bloody scene for but a moment, and sent out a quick Detect Magic in the area, focusing heavily on anything that may still be floating around. If this ritualistic killing is any sign, there may still be some sort of energy in the air.

He musters what he can with a short curse to Nethys and turns back afterward, to examine the bodies. "They have all had their hearts cut out. All of them." He stands near Marsh, stone faced and continues, "However, there are some things here that don't add up."

He debates waiting for someone to ask what, but decides to carry on in his monologue. "No one would burn spellbooks like this, not any wizard anyway." He runs his hands through the ashes, pained.

His head is a blazing mess of thoughts swirling, as his anger fuels him to recalling back everything he may have read regarding the subject here; like traversing an old hedge maze of thought.

Vincent Marsh
Marsh hands out the CLW potions, one per member of the party.

"These will come in handy. I'll take the poisons . . . And the Flay Leaf. Heh, nice tool kit, this should work on the strong box nice."

"Dramlin, check this thing for heat. I'll do it too, but ya can't be too careful right?"

"Looks like these guys had a real party."

To Calwen:

"Hey uh, you asked me about kids. I heard you when you asked, but uh. . . I wasn't in the best of sorts at that exact moment and---look, I don't need em knowin what I'm about to tell ya."

Vinnie's eyes wander everywhere, but to the elve's own. His shoulders slump and he is visibly the most outwardly vulnerable he has appeared since Calwen joined the group.

"I was wonderin what made ya ask about that cause . . . << >> . . . No one ever assumes I ever . . . Well that is to say I come off as . . . You know, as I am."

Marsh falls silent and takes several deep breaths.

"I was a dad. << >> an I was a good husband too."

Marshes eyes light up a bit.

"My wife. You shoulda seen her, face like a dryad, eyes that sparkled like light in a dwarf cut gem, rosey cheeks and a heart more beautiful than anythin I've ever experienced. . . The kids took after their momma. Heh, good thing too right! I mean . . . No one wants to . . . You know be like this guy."

"She was a good one to em. A real proper mom an a lady to boot---no crown or titles or nothin like that, but no less a noble person, ya know what I'm sayin."

Marsh stalls his story a bit. The elf can tell he's fighting back emotion and steeling himself up for the final push.

"I can't believe I'm tellin ya this. Probably don't want to hear now right? Like heh, oh boy sorry I asked. << >> Well ya asked sincere an all so I'll spill it to ya. I don't much trust people, well humans anyway I guess. You say there are bad elvess, sure, makes it easy when they've got black skin. Humans are monsters an you can't tell nothin about em from just lookin at their outsides. Anyways, you are the right sort of elf, like right out of a story book. I can tell you haven't been hangin around us cave monkeys long. You got that clean slate, pure heart look to ya."

"I won't bore ya with the details, but I was workin on a case. . . Men who . . . Men who stole women---girls actually. . . Used em like sex slaves and meat puppets---an worse."

"I got into it wit em. I mean I was taken it to em hard. I, I don't like that kinda s#$*. Sent a lot of em off to Hell, Jail, an other places. I was passionate about it. . . Thought I was makin the world a better place for my kids. I had my own kids. I worked with the parents that were missin their kids---made it a personal matter, get it?."

"See, I didn't want em growin up like I had it. I literally grew up in the dump. Like as in the city's cesspool. I didn't have no dad. My mom, she was an angel, had to sell herself to keep me alive an she did."

"That's another sob story that don't need tellin though."

He pauses and his eyes search hers apparently expecting to see distain or some other form of disapproval. Finding none he resumes.

"I f&+$ed it up Calwen. They couldn't get me. I was their worst nightmare. I was what made those evil men afraid in the darkest allies they prowled. People like that don't respect s$@#. They dodged Sebastian's beloved codes, didn't play by Warshawski's stupid rules and hid behind the nobles that purchased their wares. I didn't play by the rules either when justice needed to be done, but I got those girls home when I could. That's all that really mattered."

His face is beet red now.

"I got careless or somethin. My cover got burnt. They must have figured me out. My work followed me home. . . I was."

<<>>

"Fugitive Taskforce an Extraditions, ten years."

"They took'em Calwen. I got to missin my family so I went home. It's my fault. They waited til I wasn't there and they took em. No signs of forced entry. Probably someone my wife knew, thought it was safe. An inside job. . . They sold em . . . To << >> (unintelligible) Skinsaw. . .

His eyes screw shut and his teeth clench so hard Calwen half expects to see them shatter.

"By the time I tracked em down."

You think he's going to barf.

"They were . . .This s+@+ here (indicating the dead at the estuary) it's bad but it ain't nothin like they did to my family."

"They left the little one to---Oh god!"

Vincent doubles over. Calwen senses his rage brim, a gift he seized on to continue with.

"Now I ain't a dad, I ain't a husband, I ain't nothin no more. Nothin worth anythin that is . . . I met Sebastian at the scene. He's homicide. Couldn't get rid of that guy. He thinks I am a mess too. Just feels too sorry for me to let go I guess. I can never repay him. No one understands me any more. Not even myself."

"Sebastian's good people. So's his dad. Both good men, but Sebastian don't have his old man's sense of things. Good thing I guess. Keepin him alive is the only real purpose I have in life now. I am too stubborn to do myself in. I told my wife I'd make myself go on and my word to hers as good as she was to me."

"So anyway, that's the scoop."

To everyone:

"That story about the savage being spelled, heh---Sounds good, but she didn't do this all by her lonesome. She wasn't beatin down on people with a two handed hammer in one hand and reloadin a heavy crossbow with the other. All those a$+&!*~s had a part in this."

"So we've got mayhem, murder, arson---not to mention burglary, vandalism and buggerin with the dead. I've gotta take some notes for Sebastian."

Marsh goes over and checks the young girls pulse once more before passing his hands over her eyes to make the slack lids close over her dulled and dried out eyes.

"Sleep easy sweetheart."

"Don't let her hear I said it, but I wish Warshawski was here to helps these souls cross over or whatever it is she does with em."

"It's a cryin shame. They didn't have to go to this extent. This little girl wasn't a threat to nobody."

"You succeeded though sweat pea. The drake got away an we'll watch over him for ya. We can at least try'n make your sacrifice worth somethin."

Marsh nods at Dramin's assessment.

"You got that right, unless the barbarian girl did it. Some of the tribes are awful suspicious of anythin magic. But you'd think the gnome bein as greedy as he is woulda kept em to sell."

"I wonder if they shot the drakes with Drow poison then butchered em when they passed out."

"Those bandits made their own bed they can rot in the open as far as I care, but these people here deserve better. I'll look around there's gotta be some shovels around."

"Ey! Dalton! I'll give you a hand buddy."

GM
To Marsh, regarding the lockbox:

With some difficulty, you are able to pry the lockbox open. Inside is a well-worn leather book.

The text within is nearly indecipherable, scrawled in twisting, ugly script and dotted with arcane symbols and patterns with little rhyme or reason. As you flip through the pages, you occasionally find a few handwritten notes written in a different script, one still unfamiliar to you but clearly of a different language than the rest of the book.

You also spot a folded-up sheet of paper stuck into the back of the book. On it, written in common, is:

Nettleby-   You were right. Ustalav. I'm going back there soon myself. Beliandral says that our brothers there are well at work on their "special project." Hope you make it that way soon. Keep listening for the whispers. You will know the way. 

To Dramin:

You rack your brain in search of some answers regarding what you've found, but in truth the removal of the heart and other organs was once quite common in the old faiths of Golarion- particularly those dedicated to the worship of the Old Ones or undeath. It was also considered to be a sign of dominance, the ultimate show of victory to remove and consume the heart of one's opponent after defeating them in battle... but this was hardly a battle. Human hearts, particularly those of the pure or of virgins, are often used in summoning and planar-binding rituals, though in nearly all cases the act of removal is done as a part of the ritual itself, not performed beforehand. To cut the hearts out beforehand and leave the bodies behind seems to throw off the idea of using them for such a purpose.

You detect no lingering magic from the pile of burned spellbooks, however, a fact that continues to trouble you as the investigation continues.

To Dalton:

Unfortunately, your search of the area provides you with no further clues as to what happened here.

Calwen Snowpaw
“May your family roam free in Elysian fields.” answered Calwen seriously to Marsh. Things like this were terrible, for a human probably even more than for an elf. There was no time for decades of grief and starting over afterwards. '''“And your heart not loose the light. The Star Song sings for you at night and the Eternal Rose blooms closer than you may think. You are brave to keep on fighting.”''' She put the soft leather on the inside of her armoured glove on his shoulder and left it there for a moment.

There was nothing she could have said to the drake that he would have understood, but she touched his neck carefully in a resemblance of a hug to give him comfort. “I am very sorry...” she whispered to him in elven, hoping that her tone would make him understand. She tried to lead him outside... he was still young and while it was probably to late now and the images would forever remain in his mind she tried to lead him out.

She sighed as she looked around. At least the death was too recent for the bodies to smell all to horrible, but what she saw was painful to look at. Nevertheless she tried to focus. How were the victims killed? What was taken from them. Was there any indication of different persons which they were yet unaware of at the scene? Was there anything that might give a further clue about the motive of the bandits? Was there anything that connected this to the disappearance of this Elias or the blight in the forest?

'''“Please wait a bit with tending the victims' remains, I would like to have a thorough look at all this. We should also find out how river drakes typically honour their dead. Though I am almost afraid to ask.”''' She sighs. “This may take a while.”

She looked around, choosing every step carefully to avoid destroying tracks. She tried to find tracks that fit to no person they were aware of and had at the bodies, the blood stains, tried to figure out how the victims were killed and which wounds applied post mortem. She was no investigator like the humans, but she wanted to know the face of her enemy. And this scene simply screamed for answers, there must be something that gave all of that some resemblance of reason, even if that reason was more cruel and terrible than the deed itself. She particularly looked for those strange holes in the ground that she saw at the scene were Armand was murdered.

'''“Hm... was this man burned during the fight or post mortem along with the rest of wizards' possession? Why did they burn all this anyway? Spell books are valuable, are they not? The gnome wizard did not use fire spells... used them all up? Or did they use some kind alchemy... the burnt man I mean.”''' she was talking more to herself. It would be difficult to find the remainders of possibly non existing potion vial in all this mess and identify it as such. She cast a quick glance around to see whether there was any coin left at the scene – if there motive had been greed they would definitely have take it.

A little louder to Marsh she asked: '''“What have you got there? Research notes?”'''

Dalton the Thirsty
Calwen suddenly remembers that she saw the gnome wizard attempt to use Burning Hands on Dalton, the monk. However, he was so nimble and elusive that it did little other than scorching the grass, so it's not surprising that it slipped your mind.

Vincent Marsh
"The gnome had a wand and had an alchemists lab with him. I am bettin he was collectin body parts for whatever sick lotions and potions he was wantin to whip up. Freakin Alchemists, always on the werids."

"But, uh, check out this book of his here. It was in the bandit camp strong box. The text within is nearly indecipherable, scrawled out in twistin, ugly script an dotted with arcane symbols and patterns with little rhyme or reason an's@&&. As you flip through it, you occasionally find a few handwritten notes written in a different script. I am guessin that is in gnomish."

"Sebastian an I ran across somethin kinda like this with a chaos cult once. I was gonna wait to show him the book when we joined up, but uh. Maybe we should look at it an figure out if anyone here can read it. I was bein cautious because I know some things are best left unread."

"There's a bit more. I found a letter in the book too. Had a talk with Calwen here and it got me thinkin I need to try an be a bit more trustin of you folks so any way here it goes."

Vinnie digs a parchment out of his jerkin.

"It says."

"Nettleby-   You were right. Ustalav. I'm going back there soon myself. Beliandral says that our brothers there are well at work on their "special project." Hope you make it that way soon. 

Keep listening for the whispers. You will know the way.

-Markham"

"Sounds like some dark conspiracy s%+! right there. I don't like conspiracies, they always end up with someone dead."

Dramin Jodare
"Yes Calwen, spellbooks are indeed valuable. It makes me wonder the reason of this all. If it was for money they would have taken them." He takes a deep breath to collect his thoughts, "I also sense no magic here. Nothing. Its unsettling to say the least."

He walks back from the scene and moves toward the large man with the lockbox. "I am no alchemist, but perhaps I can read that book. Marsh if you don't mind?" He holds his hand out in wait of the book and with his other he moves his fingers around and speaks out "Cethalni." and the magic of a Comprehend Languages is upon him. "I do not fear what it may say Marsh. The march of knowledge is a force greater than any force made by man itself. This is my last one for the day, so lets make use of it shall we?"

Vincent Marsh
"You should fear many things Dramin. Man doesn't have much force in reality---that's why we seem to be the favorite conduit of all the other powers. I don't think this book is that bad. The words don't crawl off the page or give you a headache, but something cracked that Gnomes mind. Bring a brotherhood into it and that adds another layer of danger cause not everyone is a member of an organization like Dalton's here."

"Ah well, hope this doesn't wind up bein a bad idea."

Marsh hands the kid the book.

"As for the crispy critter here, I could check his lungs. If it was post-mortum then the lungs will be pink an clean. If it was cause of death they will be soot filled an scorched. We can check the mouth too, but the lungs are the best way to tell."

GM
The concerted efforts of your group are able to not only search the area thoroughly, but bury the remains of the Twilight Academy's slain mages. The river drake lingers a while, staring at the bodies of its slaughtered family, but eventually returns to Calwen's side, where it remains, silent.

From the looks of things, it was not only the spellbooks that were burned- all the records of the research they were doing on the drakes, all the journals and diaries of the students, everything- all the work done at the estuary. The Professor was thorough in his spite.

Calwen keeps a suspicious eye out for similar tracks to what she found at the scene of the druid Armand's death, but finds none of the telltale pinpricks in the dirt. The tracks do seem to match what the brigand had confessed to before- that their group had come up from the river to the north and approached on foot. Investigating the body of the burned man, you find that the burn wounds were the cause of death, not post-mortem... but the removal of the hearts of the mages was, indeed, done after their deaths.

Thanks to the comprehend languages spell, Dramin is able to read the book- and determine what language it is written in. Aklo, said by some to be the first language, an obscure and twisted tongue associated with very old and very dangerous things. It is a book of rites, rituals, and odd anecdotes that make your head spin just trying to make sense of them. You imagine that sitting down and spending time reading this stuff would be enough to drive a weak-minded man insane. The notes in Gnomish are not much more helpful- mostly ravings and notes. There are a number of repeating themes you notice in the writings: "seven days and seven nights," "the dark dancer in the wood," "those who sleep behind the stars," and "hear the whispers; know the way." It looks like a load of esoteric mumbo-jumbo, but it sends a chill down your spine nonetheless.

Calwen Snowpaw
"Dramin, could you ask our little friend here how we should honour the remain of his parents, brothers and sisters? Should we bury them, too? I know they are river drakes, but I don't want to raise the impression that made them less. I shall try to keep him away a little. He has seen more than he should already."

Dalton the Thirsty
Dalton keeps a respectful distance from the river drake. The bodies of the slain haunt his vision even when they're buried underground. He stares at the sky for a few long moments before he can achieve mental quietude. He approaches Marsh as Calwen speaks with the drake and Dramin.

"I have heard nothing but ill tidings from Ustalav, and I've met one or two individuals from that country in my travels. They were unpleasant, to say the least, to the last man. The gnome would fit in well there, I'm certain."

GM
To Dramin and Calwen:

Dramin indeed asks the Drake what it knows of traditional methods of honoring the draconic dead. The drake shakily replies, "When brother or sister die before, we eat body, take strength into ourselves. This one not want to eat mother and father. This one thinks they should join their friends you put in the ground. This one thinks they would be happier that way." It keeps close to Calwen, whom it seems to rather like, though it has gotten somewhat chummy with Dramin now that he has begun to serve as its unofficial spokesperson.

To Dalton:

Boy, have you! Ustalav is known to be a hotbed of paranormal activity. Life is hard enough for the people who live there without all the undeath-worshiping cults and sadomasochistic vampire clans running around up there.

Dramin Jodare
"There are some things that worry me, but I can count them on my hand Marsh. Madness is not one of them as Nethys watches me afterall. Call it naivete, I prefer to call it required." He shuts the book and hands it back, detailing the feeling he got from it. "It was Aklo, an old language. I wonder what it may have to do with this all?"

He smiles wrly at the drake and Calwen, walking up to Dalton after. Opening his pack he shows the monk what remains of the drakes, blocking the sight of the others. He nods and then walks off alone to sit and light a small candle in silence, not using his magic to do so.

Dalton the Thirsty
alton nods silently in acknowledgment.

"A great injustice has been done here. I sometimes wonder if punishment from law-men like Warshawski and Bacarov goes far enough..." as the monk trails off, he stares at the nearby piles of dirt, and sighs.

"It's better not to dwell on it. I hope they rejoin us soon."

He moves off to bury the drakes' bodies as the drake wished.

GM
To Dramin:

Aklo has as sullied a history as any language could have; it was said to have been a favorite tongue of none other than the wizard-king Tar-Baphon, better known after rising in undeath as the Whispering Tyrant. Since then, it has been associated with cults far and wide, and is often used in dark rituals or profane magicks involving animal or human sacrifice or appeasement of vaguely-defined otherworldly forces. It is seen as something of a tasteless language in arcane circles, the sort of thing practiced by the same sort of people who speak Necril.

Vincent Marsh
Marsh accepts the book back, wraps it in leather and stuffs it to the bottom of his rucksack.

"Perhaps the gnome thought the same thing, Dramin. Overconfidence precedes carelessness and is certain death of the artist who practices it. Early in my career I was accused of being overconfident and even cocky, but I really was confident that I had done the trainin and didn't see any other reason to say otherwise."

"You let us know if somethin starts eatin at the edges of your mind. You start hearin whispers or seein shadow people or somethin, you speak up. Sebastian can get you help before its too late ya hear. No joke. . . thanks for takin a look at it."

"That took balls kid. Sometimes you gotta take a risk."

To Calwen and the others musing over the dead drakes.

"Well, these are creatures of nature. What happens when an owlbear or unicorn dies in the forest?. Nature reabsorbs and distributes it in its own way to create more life from the end of a single one. I think its us namegivers that get wraped up in ourselves when we care for our dead."

"That said, I say we wrap up the students bodies individually in whats left of the canvas. Burry em too keep the temp down and then stack rocks, timbers, an'etc. on top on top of that to protect em from scavengers attention as much as possible."

"Their families will want to lay them to rest in their own way. . ."

"If the drake wants something done with his family we can try to do that as well."

Marsh looks towards the river flowing past the estuary.

"Crap, we aren't that far from Wolf's Ear. . . should we just take the boat down the river with the bodies? It might take us less time and the clerics could see to them."

Dramin Jodare
Dramin eyes Marsh for a moment and seems to take his words to heart, or at the very least takes them to thought. "Believe me when I say that I will be documenting this process, if there is one. If you wish, I can share it with you if I feel it is becoming far too burdensome of dangerous; though I wouldn't worry too much about it, this was child's play to say the least."

His arrogant tone drops in an instant though.

"These students need a resting place, and I would prefer we get them somewhere where the wolves do not feast and they can get their true rest." His normally self-interested reasons are suddenly overwhelmed with purpose and his voice is resolute. He looks at the river, "What have I gotten myself into?"

Earlier to Calwen:

Dramin walks up to the elf during the trip to the estuary, his movements wary and hesitant. He speaks quietly and in elven to minimize what is heard by the others.

"Calwen.

He doesn't wait for her to turn, though he hopes that she notices that he used her name over the constant 'elf'. For him it has always been difficult to speak about certain things and subtlety was required; this was no different.

"I mentioned that earlier we needed to discuss something, but that was a lie, you just have to listen." His harsh choice of words cuts the beautiful elven tongue down the middle, his emotions getting the better of him.

"Your kind caused my mother great grief in her life, so much so she almost paid in blood for it." He stumbles on a few words but continues on. "Your kind with their talk, their flowery words and their snake-like tongues; poisoning every place, and every ear she decided to tread. Speaking of neutrality and balance but not showing any of it in their actions."

His voice raises slightly but simmers down almost as quickly as it began.

"From what I have seen Snowpaw, you are not like them. You are not like them at all. For that I wish to apologize." The last word comes out as a struggle, but is genuine.

"Taelanor aeye ama amrun." The sun hails a new dawn.

Dramin starts walking off without any further words, his mind focused on the path ahead.

Calwen Snowpaw
She replies to Marsh: "This drake is young and he may not have decided yet who he truly is. But there is enough reason in him to make a choice whether he is a beast or not. I cannot teach him what it means to be a drake but I can teach him compassion and so I will. He cared about his family and he asks as to honour the memory in the same way we do with the humans and that I will. They were creatures trying to become something more than what fate seemed to dictate them. True beauty comes from the inside." She recites the central tenet of the dogma of Shelyn, a Taldan deity. She wondered whether Marsh realized that there were many elves who thought about humans in a way that was similar to the way he thought about dragons.

She looks for a patch that is close to the river but high enough that she will not hit water all too soon when she digs and starts to excavate graves for the drakes.

She listen to Dramin, as he addressed her as well. It disturbed her how he generalized the actions of all elves, though she was curious for the story behind all this. A bit strange was this talk on neutrality. That sounded more druidic that elven. Elves made their choices slower than humans and their choice tended to be more complex, but as she herself was concerned, she knew exactly on which side she was in this. "Seraph, amid all this splendour, I can see the moon."* she whispered in elven, as though she was reciting a song as he departed.

Dalton the Thirsty
Dalton finishes his grim burial of the river drake's family, and nods. He is ready to finish this business.

Vincent Marsh
Marsh nods to Calwen as he speaks with the elf and monk at the grave sites.

"Yeah, at some point someone domesticated wolves into man's best friends. This little guy seems to be on the road to domestication. At any rate we can't just turn him loose."

"I'd keep him close to you though. Most will assume him to act like every other drake they've run across or heard of."

"That kid Dramin worries me. He's so hot to pursue knowledge for its own sake . . . I hope he has enough sense. . . life experience. We're gonna have'tah watch out for him."

"Well . . . I guess that's that then. We'd better get movin. Gotta catch up with Sebastian an'friends on their way back. I want us all together when darkness knocks."

GM
As morning rolls over into afternoon, both parties finish their business and begin making their way back toward the path to Ravenmoor. In order to remain on schedule and arrive in Ravenmoor tomorrow, you will need to travel later into the day than you had before.

Bacarov and Warshawski, approaching from the south, spot the rest of the investigation team up ahead. The young river drake is still with them.

Vincent Marsh
Marsh remains deep in thought on the way back to the road. As Bacarov and Warshawski approach he picks his baggage back up and prepares for the journey further inland.

"Well, lookin at yer faces tells me ya learnt somethin. We did too. You wannab start fist?"

Sebastian Bacarov
Bacarov steps forward and grips forearms with Marsh. It's a common greeting, but between the two long time friends it speaks volumes.

After, he steps back and nods greetings to the others and withdraws his notebook to review their findings. He's a bit surprised by the presence of the drake, but it'd been a nagging concern regarding turning it loose after the Estuary had bred some of the wild out of him.

He smiles at the drake and then turns to reading thru his notes. "Vikas, one of the human poachers, all but confirmed the gnome was at the heart of this evil. A tale confirmed by the long list of warrants outstanding for one Nettleby Brackenweld, alias Tomwell Brakindu, alias Tomarindi Parthenvalt." He pauses a moment as he lowers his pack to the ground and turns from one page then returns to another. "Brackenweld hired the group of poachers, attacked the Estuary, then promptly dove in for murder. Vikas told us he chanted some sort of phrase as he...removed the hearts of the students..."

A brief look to the others and it's all he needs to confirm that the last description is accurate. Bacarov sighs. "Bloody hell, I was hoping that part wasn't..." A sigh and he continues. "The phrase was  'I hear the whispers, they know the way.' Brackenweld said as much when he killed himself by bashing his head against the bars of his own cell."

"Warshawski and I found two things unusual; the phrase and these odd kiss marks (hickies) on his neck where some blood vessels had burst." He shares a drawing he did of the gnome's neck. "The phrase though, it might point to some cult activity a colleague of mine researched in Ustalav. Those Whispering Way lunatics and the like. I'm still chewing on it. But I think he was after more than a tidy organ-legging profit."

He closes his book and stashes it away. "As distasteful as it is, I should mention the bounty for Brackenweld and the two poachers was generous..." Bacarov toes his pack on the ground in front of him speaking again, his tone is somber. "740 gold all told. I'm thinking if we know the names of those slain, some of it could go to the families. Just a thought." To look at him, it's clear the Inspector wants nothing to do with the gold.

Warshawski
''I let Bacarov tell the others the scoop. Drake included. I knew enough to know the little thing was intelligent. Maybe even understood the common tongue, even if it pretended not to. When Bacarov finished, I had very little to add.''

"There are clerics dealing with the gnomes body, in case he has an infection of some sort that can be passed along from one person to another. In a lot of cults, "whisper" means divine guidance. Or not so divine as the case may be. "way" is a specific plan. I say all the gold goes to the families. Maybe keep a small amount to fund this trip but... all we did was stumble across them. The families are the ones who have the real hard time."

Dramin Jodare
Dramin takes in the situation and takes a deep breath. "You are correct regarding the hearts of the students." He goes on to describe the men and women in detail, stopping only once during the exposition. "What I feared was a possibility could very well be a reality it seems. This type of behaviour reeks of the cults of old." Satisfied of his initial hypothesis before he looks smug, despite the content of what he is speaking.

Dramin tries to remember back to the book he read and if that phrase ever appeared, though as soon as the spell started to expire it became a little more difficult. Rolling Knowledge (memory) Budd?

He instead thinks on the 'kiss' marks Bacarov described. "These marks Bacarov, do you have an image of them? Perhaps I can narrow down a few more things. With what is going on it would never hurt to know more regarding this threat."

He pauses.

I suppose it is I who must be the practical one.

"The money. I was under the impression that whatever we found we got to keep. As unfortunate as this all is, I would like my share of that gold." He voice doesn't show anger toward Bacarov or Warshawski, but his voice drops low and chilly."To be frank, we should all be keeping it. For one, we have no time to go deliver it; and two, we potentially may need money where we are going. Consider the taxman, the bandits and Ravenmoor itself; they all had one thing in common and it was gold. Gold drives everything and everyone and it is as much a tool as that big brain of yours Bacarov. Imagine what it would look like if it went there empty handed, it would raise alarms as a dragon in a gargant pen."

He sighs.

"If it eases your conscience, when you receive the payment from the client, pay it out to the families. But right now it is not practical in the slightest."

He gestures to the lot of them.

"Say what you must about that now and get it over with. We have no time to dawdle over what is right and wrong when we have seen what we have seen."

Sebastian Bacarov
"Aww, shucks kid, I was hoping you guys would camp out here for a few weeks while I went and found the family members." He brings his notebook back out, knowing full well the boy hadn't been paying attention when he'd shown the drawing of the skin marks earlier. Bacarov hands him the notebook, open to the desired page.

Opening his pack he withdraws 10 tightly wound leather pouches. "Each has 74 gold pieces enclosed, each person gets two, their share."

Anyone attempting to do the math can note that Bacarov takes none of the money.

He shoulders his pack and looks to the others, Marsh in particular. "So, other impressions on what we've got so far? Any other possibilities? I want to make sure as much as is reasonable is considered." Bacarov's posture says  'We can talk as we go...' 

Dramin Jodare
Dramin pays no heed to the tone in Bacarov's speech and silently takes the money with little argument. If he is willing to drop his share, I can't sleight him for the thought despite his pandering.

His eyes scan the drawing for the first time, he is unsure what to make of it but comes up with a few ideas.

He instantly scraps them when he realizes it would do nothing but be a waste of time and thinks up a new angle for the picture.

He knew that if it was from somewhere beyond their world, he may have heard of such a story a time ago.

Vincent Marsh
"How about the Whispers of Ustalav? Sounds like a pretty catchy title for a horror book eh?"

"All jokin aside I gotta book and a letter here for you guys for evidence. Took some notes too about the scene for ya."

Marsh starts digging out his materials for Sebastian.

"We rolled up the scene. As expected, bodies were smashed, burnt and riddled with crossbow bolts. Parts harvested off the humans an drakes. The adult drakes had been put to sleep somehow then slaughtered. Regardless of what those blokes said they all had a part in it."

"Oh and there were a buncha wine bottles in the bandits' camp. We heard that there usta be vineyards in Ravenmoor at one point. Might not be related, but I didn't see a source for the bottles at the Estuary."

"We also got ourselves some poisons and a mobile alchemistry set outta the camp. Real nice set of breaker tools too. I am thinkin that gnome was usin a wand, but was more likely an alchemist than a spell flinger. Maybe he whipped up some liquid courage and mayhem juice and fed it to his crew before they hit the research base?"

"Anyways, the book here is written in Aklo, just awesome right? There are a buncha other notes made in the margins. Dramin read it, but sees no danger in it. Actually seems excited by the prospect of writtin about falling into madness as some sort of documentary."

"Here's the letter."

The Letter: Nettleby- You were right. Ustalav. I'm going back there soon myself. Beliandral says that our brothers there are well at work on their "special project." Hope you make it that way soon.

Keep listening for the whispers. You will know the way. -Markham

"It reminds me of that manuscript from that chaos cult. The words don't crawl off the page or give you a headache or nothin, but somethin cracked that Gnomes mind. I know you need it for your cases, but do me favor you guys please don't read it. You can ask Dramin about it. I'll carry it too."

"You know my dumbass can't read it, can't effect me right? heh heh heh, but seriously I'm startin to learn a bit of dragon and elfish lurkin around with these guys."

Warshawski
''I wasn't taking the money. Not for doing what was essentially my job and my duty. And not when some mother wouldn't have her child come home.''

"Keep it." I said to Bacarov as he attempted to hand me the coin pouch. "Put it with your share."

''I hadn't taken my pack off. I was ready to move.''

"Tonight, I'll talk to the spirits and see what I can learn about the book. They've sometimes got an insight into the horrors of the world that the living can't have. Being dead gives perspective."

Sebastian Bacarov
''Not the Whispering Way, not those guys... Nosatrub and Duneheim's stories are enough... ''He looks at Marsh and a full conversation goes on with the silence. "Hold onto the book, Vinnie. Pack it up nice and tight." He glances Dramin's way then back to Marsh. "Reminds me of Phedron."

''We both remember Phedron...how he'd sworn up and down he could handle the pages of that cursed book Duneheim'd brought back with her from Ustalav. We both watched him slide into the bottle, then Dream-dust...then his mind broke... All from a book in Aklo. ''The look he shares with Vinnie is enough.  'Keep an eye on him.' 

He folds his arms across his chest and sighs again. Gods, why did he feel so tired all of the sudden? At the mention of the linguistics lessons, he brightens a bit. "You're snarky enough without knowing hire to curse in elvish and draconic."

They start the process if getting on the road and Bacarov is left with his thoughts and his notebook. He commits what he can to the pages before they leave, shorthanding where necessary. Abadar, set the balance, did he say they'd harvested human organs too?

To Warshawski, "Exercise caution in the discussion. I've seen what such topics do to the living..." Bacarov, reinforces his warning. "I'm not being condescending, I respect your ability."

Vincent Marsh
Marsh looks down. His hand absently reaching for his main blade.

"Yeah . . . Phedron . . . "

He locks it up and meets Sebastian's gaze. His hand comes off his sword pommel and goes to rest on his stubbly chin instead.

"I mean yeah. I'll keep an eye on the kid."

Marsh speaks to Warshawski in an easy and knowing tone.

"We'd better hang on to the coin. I have a bad feelin we're gonna need it. This little trip ain't gonna end at Ravenmoor. << >> There's gonna be expenses. This might go cross country. It's got that scent. Riddleport figures into it---again . . . an Ustalov."

"Sebastian can't cut the cords to that place. Like freakin tentacles the evil there is always reachin out for him."

Marsh spits to the side and gives the homicide detective a wry smile.

"Another gods damn cult, uh Bacarov?! I shoulda known. Quick trip to Ravenmoor, he tells me. Sweet. This case is gonna have us lockin horn with a whole freakin Brotherhood this time. Heh heh heh sounds . . . All, I don't know? Organized an's#%%. If you're startin up an Occult Intervention Squad I'm gonna have to put in a divisional transfer. Heh heh heh."

Marsh turns back to Warshawski.

"Oh---we burried the dead wizards. Made sure we wrapped em up good, stacked rocks and said some words. Figured you'd tell the officials down in Wolfs Ear. So, uh, I guess I'm sayin the families will have someone to, uh, you know, lay to rest. An, uh, we tried to help their spirits. Don't know if it mattered, but we tried. Burried the drakes too."

"Anyway. Better get walkin right? Yeah."

Marsh goes to move off.

GM
To Dramin:

You rack your brain, trying to run the phrase involving whispers and ways through what you remember reading in the strange book, and find that not only do you remember seeing it, but that more than a few permutations of it existed within that bizarre text.

Upon examining Bacarov's drawing of the "wounds" on the late Professor's neck, you reach the very same conclusion... they look like hickies. You compare this possibility with your knowledge of the denizens of the outer planes and realize that it is not unheard of for some corrupting fiend to consort with a mortal in order to better bend them to their will... succubi, for instance. It is hard to say for certain, but the idea rings very strongly in your head.

To everyone:

With the party reunited and ready to hit the road again, the drake looks up at Dramin. "This one apologizes for not giving its name before. Mother and Father named this one Dionysus, but it is not so

''' arrogant as to expect friends to call it this. So much has been done for this one already. It cannot expect to ask anything more of friends, having saved its life and given family and wizard-friends proper journeys to the beyond. Know that this one will do anything it can to protect new friends if it can. It is the least this one can do."'''

Vincent Marsh
"S&&* Sebastian, were they hickeys? Or Stirge bites?"

Warshawski
''I listened to Marsh try to make nice. He had time to cool off. Maybe realized a few things. I don't know. I wasn't sure how much of it I bought but I believed he tried to do right by the students. I nodded my thanks but kept my mouth shut. I didn't trust myself not to make the situation worse again. The True Spark willing, those kid were already on their way to a better place.''

GM
To Vincent:

You examine the drawing of the gnome's neck and reach the same conclusion: they don't look like bug bites or the sort of gaping hole a stirge's proboscis might make. They look like... well, hickies.

To everyone:

The road north is much the same as what came before- a long march sandwiched between the Churlwood to the west and the Lampblack River to the east. As the day goes on and the distance to Ravenmoor grows shorter and shorter, the Churlwood begins to slowly peel away and the Lampblack curves eastward. This does not, however, prove to be welcome, as just because you have left the Churlwood's bandit-infested expanse behind does not mean the rest of the trip will be smooth sailing. The path becomes hillier for a short time, and soon you find that the earth begins to soften and grow muddy in patches. The neaby foliage appears soggy and degenerate, and hanging moss and thick, greasy vines dangle from branches and form bridges between the trees.

Worse, despite being farther north than ever, the air here has become thick with heat and moisture. Mosquitoes flit about, biting at your necks from time to time. Even the Lampblack Trail itself begins to become overrun with muck, which sucks diligently at your boots with every step.

Eventually, as night begins to fall, you see a fork in the road ahead. An old, withered signpost juts up out of the greenery, signaling that the Lampblack Trail continues on northward. A wooden board jutting off to the east bears the word "Ravenmoor" with an arrow indicating that direction. The trail branching off that way looks to be in a fairly sorry state, patches of tall grass poking up through the pathway at irregular invervals. You press on down this trail for a while, moving onward for another hour before the sun completely sets and night washes over you. There are clouds overhead, but through the occasional gap in their cover, you can see that the moon is nearly full.

Vincent Marsh
"Great, perfect weather and timin for mosquitos and were-creatures. What? Don't look at me like that. Wolf's Ear usta be the main place for those afflicted to live. They got moved out a while back. Maybe they came here. Had to move someplace. kinda like lepers."

Marsh slaps the back of his neck.

"Damn it Sebastian, you shoulda invested in a couple of traveler caravans with all that money. Woulda been nice to not have to sleep in the muck and hard wooden walls around you feels a lot safer than canvas."

He swats the buzzing insects away from his ears.

"<<>> Well, where do you wanna pitch our tents? . . . Oh and what are we gonna tell the towns people about the drake?"

Calwen Snowpaw
Calwen raises an eyebrow as Dramin speaks of a 'cult of old'. It can't really be that old, she thinks, but then humans probably have a different perspective on what is old and what is not.

She takes the two bundles with money without comment; that Bacarov did not take a share eludes her, she did not pay much attention to what the total was anyway. Supporting the families of the victims may be a good idea once all of this is over, but first they must finish it and money can be helpful at that.

'''“That cult is not known to me. I doubt there is much more we can conclude from what we know without our reasoning becoming all too inductive. There was no flayleaf or blue whinnis poison among possessions of the bandits. It did not seem exactly like Armand's death, but it is possible that there were organs taken from him as well. I am afraid I am not sure whether that was the work of the same cult, but it certainly was the work of some cult as well. It did not occur to me that Brackenwell was somehow connected to stirges, though. I wish I knew a way to”'''... she paused for two heartbeats, and even though her face remained calm and her eyes moved patiently, it was clear how little trust in her environment she had. “... to communicate what we have come to learn and guess on that matter before we enter the village.” She did not want to put further emphasize on it, but she was afraid that what she learned from the humans as well as their findings at the estuary might get lost if was killed after visiting Ravenmoor. That their little group failed was possible, so there better was someone who knew what happened if they did.

She smiles as Marsh asks what they are going to say about the drake. '''“We tell them the truth: he needs our help and is a friend. I am sure they will have objections, but I am also quite sure that they will consider carefully if and how they vocalize them.”''' She could not help herself. She was fond of Dio and everyone who tried to harm him would have to face the unveiled wrath of a knight of the White Rose and a river drake. She certainly did not want to hide him, that would only raise the impression that she was ashamed for him, which she was not. He was what he was, and what he was needed no excuses. Of course he still was a river drake and the temptation to succumb to evil would be great in him. Watching over him would be a tough task, but failure was not an option.

She looks around and considers the environment. '''“I need to go hunting again. Now that we have a net it might be easier to catch some fish as well. I would like to talk this through with Dio, though, he could be of outstanding help if he is well enough for it. Dramin, could you teach me a few words Draconic and help us agree on signs, so we can coordinate while hunting?”''' She gestured too him, tried to ask him whether he wanted more food and how his wounds were, primarily with gestures, but also with what few draconic words she heard through.

Sebastian Bacarov
"Travel caravans? And I suppose a team of mules would be needed to get them thru the mud." Sebastian chuckles. "Dont worry, thats why I bought us mosquito nets."

Bacarov gestures to a spot off the trail. "This looks good. I'm spying some spider webs so hopefully the blood suckers will he discouraged. And Vinnie," He grins towards the big man. "Let's you n' me take a watch together this time. Alone in liable to come back with a unicorn or an owlbear...heh heh."

On the topic of Dionysus, he shrugs. "They've got giant bugs for pets and call it normal."

Vincent Marsh
"Eh, I woulda gone with some oxen, they're better eatin when things go to s$@$."

GM
Bacarov, with a stroke of inspiration, is able to fashion a very fine campsite in the little clearing off the trail, even doing a little rearranging with the shrubbery so that the tents are nearly invisible to the naked eye if anyone were to pass. While setting up the campsite, Bacarov notes what appears to be a wooden shack a little ways away, deeper into the foliage- perhaps a few hundred yards from the campsite.

Calwen, meanwhile, goes hunting to find some fresh game for Dio (and, perhaps, the rest of the party). Dio at one point rushes off into the brush, returning a few moments later with a rather large cane rat, which it happily tears into. It seems well enough to hunt for its own food now. While the net is hardly meant for fishing, with Dio rounding up the fish and driving them toward her, Calwen regardless is able to wade out knee-deep into the water and snatch up a few passing fishies using it. The fish are brown and slimy-looking, but meaty enough.

Dramin Jodare
Dramin sees the tent setup and grins. ''I knew what I was getting into. No matter it will suffice for magic.'' He goes toward one of the canvases and puts his stuff down inside.

"Calwen, I would do my best to teach you but it is not an easy language to grasp; if you have some time later feel free to stop inside."He doesn't really notice the implication of a comment like that and he just continues, "However if you see a small light from the tent, do not disturb me though, I would need my alone time for study."

In Draconic to Dio "Find a place anywhere friend, we shall find those monsters soon."

Before he retires, Dramin speaks up to Marsh and Bacarov.

"Those marks we saw before and the text, I forgot to explain what they may have been." His talk drops down to a lower whisper.

To Marsh and Bacarov: "They may be many things, however my fear is that it may have been caused by a succubi or some otherkin. Now I do not know for sure just off of an image but it is best to sleep in pairs tonight as a precaution. I won't bring this up as we all know what glares I will get from the ladies, but it truly is for their own safety."

He turns pensive for a moment, his head debating whether or not to continue. After a small hesitation, he continues.

"As for that book. The Whispers were mentioned everywhere, and I mean everywhere. It was if they were written between the lines themselves. Every way possible, every manner and permutation.This is not a normal book or phrase and I recommend we do not speak it out loud in future." His brows furrow, "If there are more texts, give them to me. There is no need for many of us to risk such a thing."

To everyone:

He waves his hand to fake dismissing a spell and keeps onward.

"I have much to get done. You will find me in the tent there studying and writing."

On his way over he decides to survey the scene for anything that can act as a good ink for a spellbook.

He turns to go search near the drake instead on a whim.

He believes he finds some stuff to help him scribe but he does not know for sure. He adds the foliage, webs and muck berries to his pouch and goes toward his tent to study and write.

GM
To Calwen: You've gathered enough food from hunting to feed Dio and the entire party tonight, and it all looks plenty safe to eat.

To Dramin: You have to browse around for a while, but you are able to cobble together a rudimentary ink of sorts from squeezed berry juice that you can use to write with.

Calwen Snowpaw
"Oh, don't worry, a few basic will do. 'Game', 'Fish', 'Enemy', 'Flee', 'Danger', 'Tasty', 'fresh water' ... we shall communicate using gestures first and foremost. I think it should be easy finding out the numbers directly from him as far as he can count."

She sighs as she sits down by the fire. This time she left building the camp to the others. "Here, I think we have enough for Dio." She smiles to him, careful to not show teeth so she will not be misunderstood and caresses his neck. "He is a natural born hunter and works well in a team. I have a big fish, elder, hazel nuts and a few porcinis for us. I get it prepared."

She feels a little guilty for hunting an excess of food. It's disgraceful to kill more prey than one may consume. But she wants to avoid ending up with too little food to feed their dragon. Whether she likes it or not she will have to do a lot of hunting in future.

As she starts preparing the fish she pays great attention whether it is somehow affected by the environment. And she looks to Dio every now and then to see whether there is anything he doesn't like to eat.

"Warshawski, would you like to hold a watch with me tonight?"

Warshawski
e'd been out of Magnimar for only a few days and we'd already visited two towns, discovered a poaching/organ harvesting plot as well as multiple murders and picked up a drake as a mascot.

"Watch, yeah. We should do it in pairs. I need time under the moon at some point with you looking the other way. I'm not trying to be an ass about things but my religious devotions require some privacy. But beyond that, sure. I'd like that."

Sebastian Bacarov
Bacarov listens to Dramin carefully, thankful for the magical expertise. ''It's been too long since I've had Phedron's crazy theories bending my ear. But for what this kid says is true, he just offered up some good advice.''

To Dramin and Marsh: "Let's do this, buddy system for the watches...buddy system for reading this infernal book. For now, get your spell set worked out, Marsh can keep an eye in the book for now." Bacarov grins and stretches his back. Gods he could use a rest! "When it comes time to research the Professor's scribbles, you have either Marsh or me with you. But as babysitters, more like a safety net. We've some experience with how the words of a page can twist the mind of even the most powerful."

To everyone:

He turns to prepare for some rest, but the shack in the distance looms with it's shadowed bulk. Over at Marsh, "I hate having unknown quantities lurking around. Makes sleep difficult. Should we give it a look?"

Vincent Marsh
Marsh watches Dramin while he answers Bacarov.

"Yeah, let's take a look. Best not to get seen sneakin up to it. I'll walk up nice and neighbor like an knock. If no ones home then I'll peak inside. If it looks abandoned, I'll go inside and snoop around."

GM
To Vinvent - the Shack: Confident in your sneaking skills, you make your way through the brush and step up onto the porch of the shack. It is small, rickety, and at first glance appears to have been abandoned for some time. You knock on the door, but there is no answer, and it is not locked. You push it open as carefully as you can, minimizing the creaking of the old, rusty hinges... and find that there is nothing inside. No furniture, no rotting skeletons, no nothing. It does not even smell of much, aside from the same swampy musk from outside. It looks as if it has been abandoned for many years.

Vincent Marsh
Vinnie carefully searches the inside.

Sebastian Bacarov
Bacarov strings has shortbow and slips to the edge of the clearing leading to the shack, staying tucked away in cover to keep an eye on his friend's back.

GM
The two of you patrol the perimeter of the shack and explore it as thoroughly as you can- not difficult, considering it is only a single empty room and a musty cupboard. Aside from a few spiders, there is not a thing to be found in the old shack. Examining the state of the place, it doesn't look like a soul has stepped foot in this shack in a long time.

Vincent Marsh
"F&+* sleepin in a tent. This place is a lot safer. We need to make sure there aren't any other nearby residences. How far outta town are we?"

Marsh checks the strength of the walls.

"So what's the game plan anyway? We walk into town with our ragtag fugitive fleet of mismatched merry persons an a man satin drake an say---Yo where's the tax money at? Oh-an uh, you seen our missin ginger!?"

"Heh heh, I mean come on Sebastian it's gonna be awkward."

Sebastian Bacarov
Bacarov finds a reason strong crate to park his rear end and begins fixing his pipe for smoking. At the point he readies to strike the spark he glances up long enough to ensure Marsh has averted his eyes. Then he closes his eyes to strike the tender alight, the better to preserve the night vision.

He puffs the tobacco to life and passes it to Vinnie for sharing. They both had a love for the halfling leaf grown south of the city. And this batch is among the best.

"To be honest, chumeroo, this whole business went east of comfort yesterday. Now possibilities?" He scratches at the stubble on his chin. "Have Calwen and Dalton outside the village along with our new friend Dio. They observe Ravenmoor at a distance and watch comings and goings. If there's cult activity, chances are the crazies take their business out of town and activity reward from prying eyes." He takes the pipe back. "You, me, Warshawski and Dramin, we go into town and stay official.  'Good afternoon, we've been dispatched by Magnimar to collect on taxes, may we speak to the mayor and conclude our business.' ."

He glances at the surrounding shack and how the softly burning embers cast whisps of shadow. It makes him think of the spirits Warshawski sees. He shakes his head and continues. "I say we don't make a single mention of Elias. We let them bring it up."

He looks Marsh's way. "What do you think?"

Vincent Marsh
"<< >> Damn! That's some good s%!#. Where'd you pick up that weed? << >>"

Marsh passes the pipe back to it's owner.

"That plan sounds as good as any."

"You know it ain't gonna go smooth right?"

"You know what's flippin weird the government hasn't even bothered with findin out about this blight thing? Gotta love it, the beards sittin pretty up in the tax countin house want their 50gp a year, will spend a couple hundred to get it, but the towns on its own to fend for itself."

"What does Ravenmoor get out of the deal?"

"It's a cool name for a town though. Sounds like a small town outta one of those novelettes your mom reads. Like ah . . . A settin for a crime drama or horror story or somethin."

"I guess we get to be the main characters in this game. Set upon by powers beyond our control, like pawns in a greater universe bein played and manipulated by bein's beyond our comprehension. In turn those bein's dance as part of the twisted dreams of a slumbering creature known as Chudthulu! Our fortunes cast by the toss of a dice roller or some s@%!."

"<< >> Damn, what's in that s#~%? That pipe weed is makin me freak out."

Vincent Marsh
"You pick up any snacks in Wolfs Ear? I'm gettin kinda peckish."

Sebastian Bacarov
Bacarov laughs. "Vinnie, you're the only guy I know who gets this way from tobacco." He stands from the crate and heads for the door. "It's a wonder you can drink without seeing pink elephants."

Outside the world is humid and threatens to gag him with the uncertainty of the road ahead. But he's got a job to do and Abadar has seen fit to give Bacarov a set of cards no gambler in their right mind would play.

"Let's see it thru the night, see if we can greet the dawn. Then let's run the plan by the others."

♤ ♡ ♢ ♧ ♤ ♡ ♢ ♧ ♤ ♡ ♢ ♧

Assuming they make the morning without incident...

Bacarov sees to prepping the food stuffs as to be palatable, thankful for the elf's efforts to provide food for Dionysus. When the drake catches his eye, the Inspector sees the sated belly and smiles. "You'll have to learn to hunt, my friend. But I'm glad you're alright. It didn't look too good for either of us when we found each other."

With food prep done he drifts over to his gear and opens his vihuela case. At the least, the previous day's activities had not seen it damaged. He plucks idly at the strings until the others are fully roused for the day.

"He had 3 whole coppers  A worn out horse  And a wife who was  Leaving for good  LIfe's made of trouble  Worry pain and struggle  She wrote good bye in  The dust on the mantle  They found a map of the 'Cleft  Lipstick on the mug  They must of left  In the middle of the night"

"And I want to know  The same thing  Everyone wants to know  How’s it going to end?"

"The barn leaned over  The vultures dried their wings  The moon climbed up an empty sky  The sun sank down behind the tree  On the hill  There's a killer and he's coming  Thru the rye  But maybe he's the father  Of that lost little girl  It's hard to tell in this light"

"And I want to know  The same thing  Everyone wants to know  How’s it going to end?" --- lyrics by Tom Waits

"I need to get impressions and suggestions on a plan I've got," Bacarov says as he lowers the vihuela into its case. "With a town full of unkindness towards strangers, it might not be best to show up as we are...and with our latest party member to boot." He knuckles a salute towards the drake. "All things being equal and seeking all of your input, here's what I've got so far; Vinnie, Warshawski, Dramin and myself go into Ravenmoor. Our job is to be the officials. Warshawski n' I are the badges, Vinnie is our armsman, and Dramin is our magical support. I can walk you thru the official jargon, Dramin. Vinnie's already been on the job so he can make the tunic fit again."

Over to Calwen and Dalton, "You two and Dionysus set up shop outside of town. The more inconspicuous the better. If there's cult activity down by the bayou, they most likely will take their business out of town. You three will be in a good position to monitor the comings and goings for the townfolk. If you're found, you tell them you're with us, setting up camp outside town because we knew they didn't like visitors."

"Those of us going in, we make nice with friendly official business and seek an audience with the mayor." Bacarov works his left hand knuckles "My twist on the tale? We don't even mention Elias for the time being. We're there for the taxes. Somewhere along the way, if these guys disappeared the red-headed idiot, maybe they slip up." He shrugs as if to say,  maybe they don't.'  "But we'll have two inspectors, an old copper with an eye for human nature, and a spell-slinger with eyes wide open. On the outside, we've got an elven knight who knows the wilds, a capable monk with a patient mind, and a bloody river drake with keen senses."'

He sits down next to his pack and pulls out his vihuela again, this time to wipe down the wood and the strings. Bacarov looks to all present. "This is where we work as a team. What can we change in the plan. What works, what doesn't? Help me make it better."

GM
During the night...

To Dramin:

In spite of the muggy air and sweltering heat, you manage to drift off to sleep without incident.

The incident comes during the sleep, as it happens.

''You are in the woods. No idea where exactly- some dead, black forest, cracked and naked branches reaching out at bizarre angles.''

''"Seven days and seven nights," she says, her cool voice cutting through the buzzing din of the insects as if she were whispering in your ear. "Come and lay with me, boy. I will open your mind. You will hear the whispers... you will know the way." She draws closer, and you see that she is beautiful- an elf, superficially similar in appearance to Calwen, but with deep, black eyes. She smiles sweetly and reaches out to embrace you.''

You awaken sometime later, well-rested but curiously sore. Either side of your neck stings.

To Warshawski:

As you and Calwen take your turn on the watch, you gain your distance and change into your dancer's garb to begin your obedience to the True Spark. The mud makes for a poor dance floor, but nonetheless you complete the ritual. By the time you have finished, your dancing combined with the murky heat leaves you sweating and short of breath.

With that task completed, you begin to consort with the spirits on the mysterious book that once belonged to the late Professor. The wandering souls seem reluctant to gather at first, but finally, you feel as if they are ready to talk. One particular specter approaches and cautiously speaks:

''The book... the words written within it were never meant for the eyes of men. They crack minds open and let dark things crawl inside.''

''The hands that carried that book were no doubt stained with blood. And the hands before those, as well. No good can come of keeping that abomination. You should throw it into the river and be rid of it before it drives you all mad.''

''And believe me, there is enough in this world already capable of doing that. The book must be destroyed, spirit-speaker, or I fear some terrible shadow will fall over you and your companions.''

To everyone:

In the morning...

The sun rises more or less uneventfully, the mosquito nets purchased in Galduria protecting you from the ravenous bugs- who have helpfully waited until you leave your tents to greet you. As you all prepare for the final leg of your journey to Ravenmoor, Bacarov gathers the entire party and begins to speak of his plans.

If you leave soon, you will arrive in Ravenmoor about an hour before noon. The weather is every bit as uncomfortably warm as yesterday, partly cloudy, and seems to be holding steady.

Warshawski
''Let's say I've had better evenings. I'm just glad Marsh was asleep and not able to make a crack about my dancing and mud. The visit with the spirits after made the rest of the evening... well, let's just say I had interesting dreams.''

''In the morning I munched on breakfast and listened to Bacarov's song. Then his plan. It was a solid plan. All except one point.''

"First, we destroy the book." ''I took my time saying each and every word. Making sure everyone heard.''

"I spoke to spirits last night. Learned a bit about it. The words in that book break mortal minds open. Crawl inside like earworms until they hatch murder and insanity. Just having the book is like handing an addict a packet of refined pesh. They might say they won't smoke it but how long before they're blissed out of their minds? We're all addicts and we don't even know it. We need to destroy the book. NOW."

Dalton the Thirsty
Dalton nods to Bacarov's plan. "I will wait outside town with Calwen. Hopefully you will not have need of me while inside Ravenmoor. If something goes wrong while you are there, how will Calwen and I know?"

When Warshawski comments on the book, Dalton's face is a picture of disgust. "Such an artifact does not need to exist. If you wish, I will aid you in destroying it. It can be destroyed conventionally, yes?" Dalton had heard stories of artifacts that resisted blades and blunt impacts.

Dramin Jodare
Dramin awoke to write whatever he could down before his knowledge left him, leaving the tent in time to only the tail end of the conversation. Coming out hearing Warshawski talk about the book had him recollect what had happened during the night and think on it before he stepped into the limelight. ''She is correct of course. Though I doubt such an artifact can be struck so easily. Perhaps if I can get a hold of it I can figure out a way---''

He blinked a few times. And again. And again.

This is foolish.

Dramin heard the voice again echoing, "Seven days and seven nights", though there was a single one that pierced through it suddenly before getting dropped out, he wasn't able to focus on who it was but it was a faint glimmer.

He strode out and toward them all.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible." His face gave a wry smile. "That book is definitely evil, but I doubt its destruction would come from any mortal means." He takes out his papers and hands them to Marsh, "I keep track of this journey for my research, and as we discussed yesterday I will maintain my part in this all. I request them back when you and Bacarov are done. Though unfortunately they are in my shorthand so..." He takes them back swiftly and grins, perhaps trying to lighten the mood however he can.

"Though enough games." His voice gets extremely grim. "I wanted to confirm what I saw last night was more than just mad hallucination, and Warshawski solidifies my suspicions. I had a dream last night, and this is not my usual foreseeing. This was something much more sinister. He doesn't realize it, but he unconsciously backs away from Calwen as he paces.

"There was this... lady; though I doubt she was anything close to and she kept trying to draw me in while these bugs flew about. This bugs in a corrupted, dead forest." His eyes close as he tries to envision what he saw, his hand twitching slightly at the memory. "But that was not the important part. She mentioned the phrase. That same phrase that was written in the book." He avoids making eye contact with Marsh and emphasizes the fact the did not mention the phrase about the whispers.

"Though, knowledge and madness is a double edged blade." He smiles. "Unnatural or not, outsider or demon, she was foolish and gave me more than she intended." He slowly opens his eyes again. "She mentioned that there was seven days and seven nights. Perhaps that is the time I have left, or the time she requires; but regardless we have a clock it seems."

GM
As Dramin emerges from the tent and says his piece, the marks on his neck are plain to see. It looks very much as if he has experienced a night of passionate loving; even the depression of tooth marks on his reddened neck are visible. These are far more fresh than those seen on the gnome before; bright red, vivid. You can almost see the shape of the lips.

To Dramin:

As you move about, you feel more soreness, particularly on your back, though this is more a shrill stinging, as if from a number of small, shallow cuts. It feels very much like nails raked down your back during the night.

As you attempt to understand the nature of the being from your dream, you reflect on some of the creatures from your studies: demons, devils, and fiends of all sort, from succubi to pairaka to night hags. The fact that you appear to have been physically affected by this invasion of your dreamscape leads you to lean toward the lattermost of those, though the woman in your vision was certainly no hag.

Sebastian Bacarov
Bacarov listens intently to the group. Dalton makes an excellent suggestion; communication will be key. And without a messenger of some sort... He glances Warshawski's way... ''I wonder what sort of 'bargain' she can strike with spirits? She's no hedge-witch...but I wonder...''

But his thought process is interrupted as she speaks on just what the spirits thought of Nettleby's journal. Yeah, we're going to have to destroy this thing sooner than I'd thought...

Then Dramin alerts them to a new level of concern. Bacarov lays his instrument aside and grabs up his healer's kit. "Let's have a look kid," he pulls a few options from the pouch; a poultice, some soothing balm, and most importantly, a gift from his mother he'd received weeks before. The metal vial, engraved with the Scales of Abadar, would be the most important test.

First he attempts to ascertain the markings on his neck. His first thought when he sees the teeth is of the Rook. Though the underworld fixer made every effort to downplay his heritage, Bacarov had been forced to seek his counsel in the past. A murder in the Dockaways where the victim had been attacked, bite marks upon the neck, blood drained. Bacarov shakes his head loose of the memory and goes back to Dramin. He focuses his abilities and runs down the list of things he knows...

''Okay, what sort of bite am I dealing with? Is he right, could this be a succubus? Or is it vampiric in nature?''

His hands press along the edges of the wound...checking the puncture marks carefully.

''Is it a sign of poisoning? Something being inserted? Or is it draining?''

He thinks on what it could mean, the connection to the journal. Could it be this creature has bonded Dramin to the book? If they destroy it, do they harm him as well?

"Dramin, I need your permission for this last part," Bacarov holds up the vial with the sigil of the Scales of Abadar. "This is holy water. I'd like to apply as dab to your neck to see if there's any sort of reaction. To be honest, I seek to discern if this is arcane or does it smack of an unholy influence."

I won't apply the dab of holy water until I've got permission from Dramin.

Dramin Jodare
"It seems to be a physical affliction, not just something in a dream. It makes me wonder what had manifested, or where I had went that night. If I may make a suggestion, if someone wishes to observe me at night it would be appreciated; though I fear we can't slow down now that I have heard the seven day warning."

He tilts his head to Bacarov, "Nothing to stop the pursuit of knowledge friend. Go on, I don't see anything wrong with your blessing or method. My back also should be looked at if you do not mind, I feel like I had been raked by a large cat." His tone is nonchalant now and less grim, it is apparent he is taking interest in the whole process.

Warshawski
"A lot of nasty things can operate through dreams." I said as I watched Bacarov go through the steps, being as methodical in his medicine as he was in his investigations. "Make sure nothing laid any eggs in those bites."

''I had a brief vision of giant bugs bursting out from Dramin's flesh. Suddenly my breakfast wasn't sitting so well in my stomach anymore.''

''While Bacarov tried his medical tests, I worked from a more spiritual side of things. I whispered to the spirits and let them whisper back to me, staring at Dramin's neck with the intensity of a starving mountain lion watching a rabbit.''

Vincent Marsh
"Well s@@!, I for one slept like a friggin baby in a swing last night."

"I'll get a fire goin."

"Was this chick hot at least? Exotic lookin? Come on we need some details here.---You know for investigative purposes."

Dramin Jodare
Dramin sighs and rolls his eyes at Marsh. He closes his eyes to get a better sense of the image in his head.

"She looked like an elf, no different than Calwen though she oozed much more sexuality. Eyes as black and as empty as night and void itself." He coughs for a moment, "Completely without any clothing. Skin pale as porcelain and ivory."

He lets his eyes linger for a second longer than the description lasts then shakes his head.

"Make what you will of it. It could be anything from a succubi, pairaka or even a night hag or something much worse. It was probably using another face or form though, makes it difficult to pin down."

Calwen Snowpaw
"I am... highly uncomfortable with destroying a book." she looks suspiciously at the bound item as though she fears it might take a jump on her. "Destroying knowledge and thoughts of another, no matter how dark and misguided, is an act of deliberate ignorance. It is easy to destroy what one does not like to hear, but to judge a thought unworthy of existence is subject to once own bias and it strips one of the chance to understand one's opponent. However, the danger that comes from this book may go beyond the sentiment of the words inside it itself." She sighs. If she had that option she would prefer to hand it over to an angel, for she fears that a mere mortal's mind may be too vulnerable to handle something that sprang from the mind of a creature that may have existed for eons, if not since the beginning of time.

"Regarding the plan... I am not particularly comfortable with being left on the outside, either. I would very much prefer to have an own impression of Andretti Kriegler. My order does have an interest in what transpires around this village and I am the only one who may represent it." She ponders for a moment. "I will go with the plan for now. My own intentions must not be disclosed at this point, if they have not already been. Be careful. You might very well be walking into a trap. Do not hesitate to signal us if you feel threatened. And don't trust Kriegler."

Before she readied Windmane she took a closer look at the webbing Bacarov mentioned the night before. She is carefully not to touch it or set it into vibration in any way, but she compares it with the sample she took from the webbing in which she found Armand. She compares it to the webbing in which she found Armand. Should Dio follow her she gestures to him to stay a bit behind. "Danger" she says in Draconic pointing at it.

She is a bit surprised when she sees Dramin's strange mark, but does not bother him beyond giving him an asking look. This may be a threat, but as an elf she is fiercely aware of another one's privacy.

Calwen Snowpaw
"Pale skin, so, so..." She shook her head. "Spiders are usually connected to dark elves, and they are most sensual in their often wicked ways.... but they are not usually pale."

She nods carefully. "While this is none of my business I strongly recommend following Warshawski's suggestion. This may be tied to what we know about Armand's death; or it may have nothing to do with it all, just the circumstances of how I found him were not easy to forget. Dio noticed that Brackenweld was sick..." she glances over to the drake and watches how he reacts to Dramin.

Even though she acknowledges the notion that the woman was more attractive, and more actively so, than Calwen was herself with an awkward grin, she seems rather amused than offended.

Sebastian Bacarov
Bacarov dabs a bit of the holy water with a handkerchief then applies it to Dramin's neck.

I just hope I'm wrong...

He glances briefly over his shoulder but Warshawski is already ahead of his thought process. She's got the thousand yard stare she gets when in communion.

Dalton the Thirsty
Dalton looks revolted when Warshawski mentions eggs in wounds, for a moment, before he regains his normally smooth composure.

GM
he holy water- perhaps thankfully- seems to have no effect on the wound. At least it's not vampiric in nature. The bites do not seem to have pierced the skin so much as pinched or sucked enough to burst some blood vessels beneath it. And, on further review, it does not appear that anything- eggs, for instance- has been inserted into Dramin's body.

But that still leaves an awful lot of possibilities as to the nature of the thing.

Now, it is impossible to be sure, but between Sebastian's knowledge of the arcane and Warshawski's prodding of the spirits for clues, they are able to determine this much:

There are a number of arcane spells that would allow a mortal being- such as a human or an elf- to enter the dreams of another, though typically it could not be done to a stranger, and Dramin certainly has no memory of this woman prior to this dream (her curious resemblance to Calwen notwithstanding). The book, then, must be the proxy that connected the mind of the woman in the dream with Dramin when he read (and more importantly understood) the bizarre text. What, then, of the fact that she seems to have left her "mark" on him in the real world...? That, it seems, is the one thing that you have no answer to, as any proper magical aura remaining on Dramin's person has faded away to near-nothingness. It is there, however, if very faint.

In other words, by reading and comprehending parts of the book, Dramin seems to have opened a back door into his mind that someone, either the woman herself or some being wearing her guise, has used to get in.

For now, even with Bacarov and Warshawski working together, that is all that can be determined.

- - - -

Calwen brings out the sample of the webbing she collected from the scene of the druid Armand's murder and shows it to the others. When examining it, it proves to have a very faint magical aura of its own. It is no ordinary spiderweb.

Dalton the Thirsty
Before bedtime, Dalton will approach Dramin where the wizard is seated. Without sitting down himself, the monk will comment, "Your earlier comments about the nature of this book, coupled with your wounds, have me concerned for your continued safety this night. Might it be safer with the book in my possession? My mind has been disciplined against intrusions such as the sort this book represents, and I can fortify myself against its temptations until you fully recover." Beneath his hood, which is not drawn fully down over his face, Dalton's eyes are narrowed with concern for his injured friend.

Dramin Jodare
Dreamtime with Dramin and Dalton Dramin grins. "Already ahead of you Dalton." He reveals an empty pack. "Marsh or Bacarov has it, I don't know which, nor do I feel its necessary. Though your concern for me is appreciated, I would like if you could let me know what occurs later on." He pulls out an empty piece of paper. "This is important for myself and for everyone."

Dalton the Thirsty
Dalton glances over his shoulder at the others. "They must have taken it when I wasn't paying attention. I will make sure to record everything I do notice." he taps his nose and accepts the paper.

Sebastian Bacarov
Bacarov steps back from Dramin and sighs relief clear in his baring. He places his Healer's Kit back into his pack and dusts his hands on his trousers."Good news? You're not cursed by an thing unholy. Bad news? You've got something that's bored a doorway into your mind."

He squats down on his haunches and goes about repacking his vihuela. "I ran across a fellow in my case work, taught me a thing or two about locks. See, there's a way of picking locks that adds a bridge along the tumbler system. Long story short, the filing expands the lock and allows for anither key to get the door open." He gestures a hand towards Dramin. "Whatever got into your skull last night, kid, they've nite got free access to come n' go as they see fit."

He stands and places his case next to his pack, now ready to depart. "Nobody reads the book from here on out. That's it, done deal, no buts about it. At the least no one gets bamboozled by it ever again. Odds are good it won't do Dramin any harm...well any more harm."

"Any objections? Or can Marsh and I see to it?"

Sebastian Bacarov
To Warshawski:

Bacarov finds a moment to discuss an item privately with Warshawski, begging her pardon and pointing to the edge of camp.

"Look, I'm going to ask you something that might not be my place, but it could prove to be a big asset in this little venture." He takes a breath and asks what he's been thinking since Calwen voiced her objection to splitting up. "Is there a way to enter into a request...maybe barter a favor from the spirits lingering here? I'm willing to wager a bench warrant that more than a few have a score to settle with this town. Maybe we can offer them retribution in exchange for some assistance. Can they convey messages to those not touched with your abilities? I mean, could they bring messages to and from the two groups? That way, if there's trouble, we can communicate on the hop."

Bacarov folds his arms across his chest. "Look, partner, I wouldn't be asking this if I didn't think it necessary...so I how I'm nite overstepping."

Vincent Marsh
"F@!$ it. I'm just gonna burn the thing."

Marsh had been stoking the fire while the others were talking.

Warshawski
"For once, I agree with Marsh. We don't know it won't burn until we try to burn it." ''That thing was bad news. I'd agree with Asmodeus himself if it meant getting rid of it.''

To Bacarov:

''Bacarov's suggestion was an interesting one. Other than information, I try not to ask the spirits for help too often. They'll translate for me, help me see magic, sometimes find hidden doors but I've never asked them to run errands. I could see where he was coming from, though. This could be important.''

"I can try. I can't make them manifest, though. Most spirits can't actually show themselves to the living except at certain times of the day or in certain places. I can ask and they might be willing to try but it won't be a reliable method of communication. We might want to see if Dramin knows a spell to help. Assuming he isn't already possessed by what got to the gnome."

GM
Marsh snatches the book up and tosses it into the fire.

After an agonizing moment of tension... it burns, just like any other book. A grotesque smell fills the air for a moment, but then even it vanishes, replaced by the smell of burning paper and leather.

To Warshawski and Sebastian:

Getting the wayward spirits to agree to help you will be simple- most of the time, the mere novelty of a human being able to see and interact with them in some rudimentary fashion is enough to win them over. The hard part will be getting them to actually manage to create some sort of signal that Calwen and Dalton would be able to receive; these spirits are no ghosts or wraiths- their ability to interact meaningfully with the material world is highly limited.

Vincent Marsh
"Well . . . It was that or use it for toilet paper. Kinda anticlimactic really."

"Now supposin this thing that's suckin the brains outta Dramin is from the spirit realms it can manifest itself somehow. Or, it is actually somethin we can see that is makin Dramin think it is a hot ass elf like chick, but is really somethin else. Or, it really is some kinda hot ass elf like chick with a funky fetish thing for necks and gnomes."

"However its doin . . . Well? Whatever the hell it's doin, we will need to watch Dramin while he is sleepin."

Dalton the Thirsty
Dalton smiles as he watches the wicked manuscript burn. "Sometimes the direct approach is best."

He nods to Vincent's suggestion, but has something to add. "Somehow, I get the feeling that Dramin isn't quite as impressionable as that gnome was. Still, it is prudent to keep an eye on him for the next few nights. The creature that used the book as a..." he struggles for the right word a moment, "mind-key-opener-burrower," he finally tries, "might try to exact revenge."

He looks over at Marsh. "Your role in burning the book itself might make you a target. I'd attempt to remember your dreams tonight if I were you, to share in the morning." He grins in a morbid attempt at ribald humor. "I'm surprised to hear myself say that. I'm sure your dreams would normally horrify a simple monk like myself."

Vincent Marsh
Marsh chuckles and winks at Dalton.

"What?! A big badass monk like you scared of warm summer days, rainbows, cotton candy an princess kitty-unicorns?"

Calwen Snowpaw
Calwen shrugs as she sees the catch flames. What's done is done. "I've considered your plan... I will not wait outside the village and see what is going on with my own eyes. That is what I came for, after all. If I was not to join you now it would become so much harder to gain a foothold later."

She finishes packing everything and gets ready. "I am not sure about Dio, but we cannot hide him forever, anyway. While I certainly would not suggest to bring him into an actual city, a village like this should be in the realm of possible. I think that in combination we can make quite an impression, for Dio and I are powers they cannot truly estimate. Especially considering they cannot know what strings may be attached if they harm me. Every attack on me is an attack on my order as a whole."

Warshawski
"I don't think we're going to need the spirits to communicate, Bacarov." [i]I said with amusement, listening as Calwen of the gorgeous eyes refused to be left behind. "We're not leaving one man behind so, let's modify the plan."

''I twisted my sleeves and my outfit rippled, transforming from something suitable for traveling the outdoors to something more suited to the bean counters in the office, complete with a pair of spectacles. I carefully wrapped my battle scarf around my neck as a cravat. The armor came off and I handed it to Bacarov for safe keeping.''

"My name is Ms. Warshawski. I'm from the tax office. Officer Bacarov, officer Marsh and officer Jodare are my escorts. Officer Jodare should be mute. Ms. Calwen is our guide, along with her companion drake and her partner Dalton, hired to escort us through the wilderness."

Sebastian Bacarov
I don't like not having knowledge of the perimeter, but if her nips is unwilling... Bacarov shrugs. "It was worth a shot to get some intel on the outside, but if Calwen is unwilling, so be it. But word to the wise, Ms Snowpaw, if bandits with more experience with the world outside don't restrain themselves from striking at a Knight and openly revealed officers of the city, don't expect a backwater town to pay much mind to title either."

He turns to the monk and continues. "I'm not expecting you to remain outside all by your onesies, so obviously you're coming in with us. Unless you think you're odder than a river drake." Bacarov chuckles.

He looks to Warshawski and agrees. "Sounds good. Although I was hoping to portray," he pauses and assumes the dramatic voice of a theatre actor. "...Lord Dogray Fancypants, noble man about town and purveyor of sweet treats and processed moisturizing lotions, here to save Ravenmoor from dry skin!" He chuckles and tips his head to the trail. "Okay, let's get this movable feast on the road." He shoulders his pack, a wary eye on the smoldering camp fire with the book's ashes.

Good riddance...

Warshawski
"Okay, change in plan. With us not having anyone on the outside, maybe your friends can take that job for us. They can maintain a watch, then report back to you regularly." Bacarov pauses to set of that might work.

GM
To Calwen: Upon cross-examination, whatever the webbing that Bacarov had mentioned before is- it appears to be natural, perhaps from a larger spider of the sort your drow brethren are so fond of- it's not exactly the same thing as the strange, vaguely-magical substance that you took from Armand's place of death. Deeper and deeper the rabbit-hole goes...