Tales are told throughout Golarion of shadowy figures that lurk in dark corners—stories recounted at children’s bedsides feature bestial creatures that come out only when the moon is right, and fireside legends speak of otherworldly beings beyond reckoning, whose very existence is more than the human mind can bear to know. These are the legends that explain where the blood of the family cow went, and why clerics spend so much time ensuring the proper Pharasmin rites are observed at gravesites throughout the Inner Sea. One can write them off as simple, scary stories in Absalom or Westcrown, but in Ustalav, everyone knows the truth of the things that go bump in the night.
The Immortal Principality of Ustalav lies on the northern shore of Lake Encarthan, a grim bastion of civilization amid the barbarian north, where a harsh landscape and a history rich in tragedies inspire a wary population with skepticism, religious devotion, and superstition. A conglomeration of loosely affiliated counties, each run by feuding nobles vying for power and inf luence, Ustalav is a pitiful shell of its former glory, before it was subjugated to centuries of slavery at the hands of the Whispering Tyrant’s undead armies. While the nation’s upper classes struggle to compete with the very nations that abandoned them to fend for themselves after the Whispering Tyrant’s defeat, the average Ustalavic citizen has it much worse.
Hundreds of years of subjugation and the residual horrors that plague the countryside have left the people of Ustalav suspicious of magic, religion, foreigners, and their fellow citizens. Beyond their eccentric and insular qualities, Ustalavs often have a dour worldview. They resign themselves to lives of suffering, seeing nothing in their people’s history to suggest there is any hope for a better life. Despite the physical and psychological strains upon its populace, Ustalav nevertheless fosters extremely hardy and tenacious stock: men and women who firmly believe that no matter how bad it gets, history shows it could always be worse.
Although Ustalav has little to offer its rural peasants, inhabitants of its many metropolitan cities fare somewhat better, and the centers of learning and culture they provide draw trade and travelers from throughout the Inner Sea region. The capital, Caliphas, stands on the banks of Lake Encarthan, and its fog-shrouded streets host some of the nation’s most esteemed centers of trade and academia. In the north, the city of Karcau boasts a thriving culture of music, theater, and other fine arts, and its opulent architecture rivals the excess of even the most exotic Taldan palace. Meanwhile, Ustalav’s northwestern counties have broken from aristocratic rule and formed their own local, democratic government without nobles, calling themselves the Palatinates and providing a glimmer of hope for the downtrodden people of provincial Ustalav.
It is here, in the Immortal Principality, that these adventures takes place, a tale of heroes who will will rise from simple pallbearers to the potential saviors of the nation. As internally varied as a nation can be, Ustalav is their home, and the possibilities for fame, fortune, and influence are as thick as the fog that creeps across the windy moors at night.
As with much of the Inner Sea, Ustalav is a nation inhabited primarily by humans. The capital city, Caliphas, is conveniently located on the banks of Lake Encarthan; trade with the neighboring nations of Druma, the Five Kings Mountains, Isger, Kyonin, Molthune, and Nirmathas bring nonhumans into Caliphas’s port, and from there into the heart of Ustalav. Trade aside, the rich and dark history of Ustalav is lure enough for the adventurous and curious among all the civilized races of the Inner Sea. Furthermore, Professor Lorrimor was more open-minded than many of his fellow countrymen, and counted members of all races among his friends and colleagues.
Elves are uncommon in Ustalav, especially outside the cosmopolitan capital of Caliphas or the nation’s many centers of learning. Even the oldest living elves are too young to remember the reign of the Whispering Tyrant, but elven memories are long and current elders recount tales of their parents’ generation joining the ranks of the Shining Crusade to drive Tar-Baphon’s armies from the banks of Lake Encarthan. As such, many young elves venture into the Ustalavic countryside, hoping to uncover long-buried mysteries or even to see the land where a not-so-distant ancestor perished. Some elves find themselves subject to deep-seated prejudice from Ustalav’s primarily Varisian inhabitants, who collectively—if subconsciously—hold a grudge against the elves who returned to Kyonin once the Whispering Tyrant was defeated so long ago, abandoning the crippled natives to fend for themselves—a fate from which the nation of Ustalav has never fully recovered. Ustalav’s legacy and identity are inseparable from the fact that Ustalav was the cradle that spawned one of the most powerful wizards of all time, the dreaded Whispering Tyrant, Tar-Baphon. Although he was long ago imprisoned, the arcane lore amassed by his servants and the crusaders who rallied against him remains alive in modern Ustalav, albeit often buried in dusty libraries and tombs scattered across the land. Many wizards travel to the region in search of ancient lore or artifacts or to teach or study at the various universities and isolated monasteries that dot the countryside. Himself a devout scholar, Professor Lorrimor found it easy to relate to wizards, and he held many as close friends, colleagues, and competitive rivals. Professor Lorrimor saw past his countrymen's prejudice against elves and his own pride as a scholar to view with joy and wonder the achievements and cleverness of Breagan Eloria Lotheriel. A former Prefect of the University of Lepidstadt College of Mortal Sciences and recently vetted Journeyman Wizard of the School of Evocation at the Arcanamirium of Absalom, Breagan Lotheriel is embarking on her Journeyman travels fully prepared for the mysteries and intrigues of haunted Ustalav and under the protective gaze of the spirit of lost Professor Lorrimor.
Resulting from the unlikely union of a vampire and a living human, dhampirs are graced with long life, an elegant appearance, and unnatural reflexes, but are cursed with an aversion to bright light and an affinity to negative energy. In Ustalav, dhampirs are more common than nearly anywhere else in the Inner Sea region, but they are nevertheless seen and treated as monsters. Svetlana Icebringer Amarth, a castaway child born of an unholy and rapacious union between the living and the dead, daughter of the Moroi Vampyre of Ustalav, Khagan Ménmarót, a Margrave of the luxurious and gold-bedecked people of the Agathyrsi Clan of Varisia, came to know the friendship and confidence of the good Professor Lorrimor. Now she will explore the tangled labyrinth of his untimely death and bring dark justice to his killers. Sometimes, in the course of exploration or research, Professor Lorrimor would hire a rogue or two to help defuse traps or procure difficult to obtain information, the most efficient of which, Svetlana, he remained in contact with after the jobs were done.
Humans dominate Ustalav’s population, and among them most are ethnic Varisians whose ancestors also called the land home. Whether nobles clinging to the few drops of blood that grant them a claim—albeit a distant one—to the Ustalavic aristocracy, or stoic peasants struggling to make ends meet in the unforgiving countryside, heritage and history are incredibly important to Ustalavs. All modern Ustalavs feel directly connected through familial ties to the centuries of torment at the Whispering Tyrant’s hands and share an inherited acceptance of a life of struggle and suffering. Their groups are typically considered backward and dangerous, and are thus treated as second-class citizens. Nomadic Varisians worship Desna almost exclusively, while most common Ustalavs respect her but pay their
truest homage to Pharasma. Starling Kotsni, a Varisian wanderer and young man of powerful and charismatic faith. Itinerant priest and journeyman healer, newly fledged in the power of his faith in Desna, the star-eyed supreme lady of dreams and the road and all travellers who trust in her to protect them on it. Professor Lorrimor was himself more interested in the pursuit of knowledge than matters of faith, but frequently met with religious scholars throughout the Inner Sea, and always took a healer or two on his many archaeological expeditions. His close friendship with Father Kotsni led him to trust him with his secrets and family's protection after his death.
Capable fighters can be found across Ustalav, whether as members of local militias, guards, bodyguards in the service of nobles, or trained hunters. Especially along the land’s border, members of the country’s wary military keep careful vigil, knowing that the greatest threats to the land’s people come from beyond, not within. Mercenaries make a decent living because their talents are in such demand, whether as guards, caravan escorts, or personal bodyguards. Professor Lorrimor often found the need for protection or hired muscle, and over his long life, he held Ornifex, the strange and singular Tengu Warrioress in his employ, both locally and abroad.
truest homage to Pharasma. Starling Kotsni, a Varisian wanderer and young man of powerful and charismatic faith. Itinerant priest and journeyman healer, newly fledged in the power of his faith in Desna, the star-eyed supreme lady of dreams and the road and all travellers who trust in her to protect them on it. Professor Lorrimor was himself more interested in the pursuit of knowledge than matters of faith, but frequently met with religious scholars throughout the Inner Sea, and always took a healer or two on his many archaeological expeditions. His close friendship with Father Kotsni led him to trust him with his secrets and family's protection after his death.
Capable fighters can be found across Ustalav, whether as members of local militias, guards, bodyguards in the service of nobles, or trained hunters. Especially along the land’s border, members of the country’s wary military keep careful vigil, knowing that the greatest threats to the land’s people come from beyond, not within. Mercenaries make a decent living because their talents are in such demand, whether as guards, caravan escorts, or personal bodyguards. Professor Lorrimor often found the need for protection or hired muscle, and over his long life, he held Ornifex, the strange and singular Tengu Warrioress in his employ, both locally and abroad.
Although he was getting on in years, Petros’s death was rather sudden and his daughter Kendra, a 25- year-old woman who has lived in Ravengro for nearly 15 years (having moved here with her family as a child from Lepidstadt after her father retired from teaching), is still in mourning. Her eyes are red and puffy and she dresses in dark, conservative clothes. Trim
and attractive, Kendra greets the old friends of her father with a mixture of curiosity, sadness, and relief—no one else has come to pay their respects to her father, and “with things the way they are in town these days,” very few folks from Ravengro have come out for the funeral as well. The four companions have gathered at the entrance to the Restlands with Kendra Lorrimor and a fine coffin containing the body of her father (preserved with gentle repose), the PCs’ onetime friend and ally Petros Lorrimor. Kendra asks the fit and capable quartet if they would honor her father by serving as pallbearers for the trip through the Restlands to the grave-site. Father Grimburrow and a pair of gravediggers are already waiting at the site of the professor’s burial—as part of local tradition, they do not accompany the pallbearers from the gate to the grave. And so besides the four, only a small handful of villagers are attending the funeral procession. Old friends of Lorrimar, they too have come to pay their respects. These mourners consist of Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, Councilman Gharen Muricar, tavernkeeper Zokar Elkarid and his 13-yearold son Pevrin, and Jominda Fallenbridge (Ravengro’s apothecary and one of the professor’s good friends). Kendra provides brief social introductions to each of these local worthies and our heroes agree to convey the Professor to his final resting place and the procession begins. Kendra, as the deceased’s closest living relative, has the job of leading the somber procession along the Dreamwake—a gravel pathway that winds through the cemetery.
As the procession reaches the halfway point along the Dreamwake, rounding a corner onto a path called the Eversleep, they’ll see that the way ahead is blocked by a group of a dozen surly looking locals. The tallest of these toughs is an elderly but wiry retired soldier named Gibs Hephenus. He speaks out as soon as the group is noticed—
“That’s far enough. We been talking, and we don’t want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You can take him upriver and bury him there if you want, but he ain’t goin’ in the ground here!”
Kendra is swift to respond, her sadness swiftly transforming into anger. “What are you talking about?” she cries out. “I arranged it with Father Grimburrow. He’s waiting for us! The grave’s already been...”
“You don’t get it, woman. We won’t have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin. I suggest you move out while you still can. Folks are pretty upset about this right now.”
This did not stand in the mind of Ornifex. Stepping beside the small frame of Kendra Lorrimor, defiant and trembling with anger and despair, Ornifex croaked out a reasoned and only slightly menacing and insulting argument. That, while it did not dissuade the throng from their chosen course did set the hearts of the cowardly among them to doubt and uncertainty. The bird warrior did not yet reach toward her sword.
Then Father Kotsni, still upholding the heavy, ornate casket of his departed friend, spoke his heart to the mob, his words level and even. Reason and moderation in his every tone. Careful not the provoke the ruffians into sudden action with Kendra so close to them. It would not do to have a lady, and their hostess, assaulted at her own father's funeral. Such an indignant molestation could only be answered in blood for honor's sake. Slowly and carefully he picked his words, speaking of the ways of Pharasma and the traditions of the Palatinate counties of Ustalav, upholding the virtue of the common people over the oppressive laws of the monarchy and the good and proper ways of the people being the ways of honor and peace. So went his monologue and as he saw that his words were falling upon deaf ears, he redoubled his efforts, the more belligerent of the throng edging closer to Kendra and gripping their tools and weapons tight in anticipation of the fracas.
Then, spurred on by his concern for this should-be hallowed event, he speaks passionately and bravely, his eastern Ustulavi accent becoming more pronounced as he spoke plainly and from the heart, rather than in careful and controlled tones. And the words this time did not fall upon deaf ears, Among the assembled, some shook their heads and abandoned their purpose. waving off their friend's attempts to keep them to task, they broke from the mob and headed home, embarrassed by the whole affair.
This seemed to be enough to scatter the gang. Giving up on their disruption of this lawful and blameless procession, they all retreated back along the gravel path. Some muttering their dissatisfaction with this bloodless turn of events.
Along the pathway then approached the wizened and bent form of Father Grimburrow, holy-symbol emblazoned shillelagh poking into the path with each step. He takes in the scene through a stern, squitning glance and snorts with derision at the ruffians backs as they retreat.
Having dealt with Hephenus and his gang, Kendra thanks the friends of Professor Lorrimor profusely and apologizes for the assault. The attending councilors profess shock at the attack and indicate that they recognized the thugs as “local farmhands, all of low character.” Councilman Hearthmount sighs, but promises to seek out the town’s sheriff to report the crime.
The assault now past, the procession continues up to the plot Kendra purchased for her father. No further complications prevent the lowering of his coffin into the open grave by the gravediggers. Father Grimburrow gives a short sermon, then invites Kendra to say a few words about her father. Kendra fights back tears and briefly recounts a few of her father’s more courageous or self less moments, thanking everyone once again for coming. She then invites anyone else to share a few stories or remembrances.
After the funeral is over and Kendra has said her goodbyes to the other guests, she invites our heroes back to her home (so recently her father’s) for a drink and to hear his last will and testament. The Lorrimor residence is a modest home with crowded bookshelves in every room. The reading of the professor’s will requires the presence of Councilman Vashian Hearthmount (the closest thing Ravengro has to a solicitor), and he has some other matters to attend to after the funeral, so he doesn’t arrive for about an hour. The five enjoy a cook-prepared meal at the Lorrimor house served by the families only two servants.
Vashian arrives precisely on time. It is easy to note that he doesn’t completely approve of strangers being involved in local matters, but he keeps his comments to himself, focusing his involvement entirely on the reading of Petros’s will. Kendra isn’t sure what’s contained in the will, since part of its stipulation was that all of the beneficiaries must be present for its reading. Councilman Vashian produces a scroll case, shows that the professor’s personal seal is unbroken, then breaks the wax and opens the case. As he does, a small iron key falls out of the tube, clattering noisily onto the table. Undaunted by the key, the councilman begins to read, eager to be done with the business and to get back home.
Once the will is read, Councilman Vashian looks to Kendra, who thanks him and dismisses him. Putting on a brave face, Kendra thanks the four beneficiaries again for coming, and informs them that she’ll need at least a few weeks to decide if she wants to sell her family home or remain here in Ravengro—in the meantime, as stipulated by the will, she asks the PCs to remain as well. She offers rooms in her spacious house for them, promising them free room and board for the month the will requests them to remain in town, and then excuses herself to go fetch the chest mentioned in the will.
The chest itself is a relatively small object of oak and iron. Kendra, nervous about the contents, offers the key to the PCs to give them the honor of opening the chest. The key fits the lock perfectly, and within are several old tomes and one relatively new one. The newest tome sits on the top and bears the phrase “Read me now!” scratched into the leather cover. It is the professor's journal.
The professor’s will does not mention his journal—it is not one of the dangerous tomes he wants delivered to Lepidstadt. It does, however, contain clues that cast doubts upon the nature of his death—the professor knew that he was delving into dangerous territory in his final days, and since he didn’t have a chance to amend his will with a warning, he did so in his journal, leaving it in his chest in hopes that our heroes or his daughter would find it should his investigations take a tragic turn. The majority of the entries are relatively bland, accounting for day-to-day activities in a small town. The professor has circled several entries in the book with red ink, though, and it is these entries he wanted his friends to pay particular attention to. The final entry, dated 17 days ago, was written on the same day the Professor’s body was found. The journal entries went as follows:
Ten Years Ago:
The Whispering Way is more than just a cabal of necromancers. I see that now. Undeath is their fountain of youth. Uncovering their motivation does not place me at ease as I thought it might. Their desire to be eternal simply makes them more dangerous.
Svetlana has heard of this Whispering Way, she recounts what she remember's to the assembled. The Whispering Way is a sinister organization of necromancers that has been active in the Inner Sea region for thousands of years.
Agents of the Whispering Way often seek alliances with undead creatures, or are themselves undead. The Whispering Way’s most notorious member was Tar-Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant, although the society itself has existed much longer than even that mighty necromancer.
The Whispering Way itself is a series of philosophies that can only be transferred via whispers— the philosophies are never written or spoken of loudly, making the exact goals and nature of the secretive philosophy difficult for outsiders to learn much about.
Two Months Ago:
It is as I had feared. The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be?
One Month Ago:
Whatever the Way seeks, I am now convinced their goal is connected to Harrowstone. In retrospect, I suppose it all makes sense—the stories they tell about the ruins in town are certainly chilling enough. It may be time to investigate the ruins, but with everyone in town already being so worked up about them, I’d rather not let the others know about my curiosity—there’s plenty of folks hereabouts who already think I’m a demonologist or a witch or something. Ignorant fools.
Harrowstone is not unkown to Father Kotsni, recalling the history of this dire place he recounts for the other what he remembers. Harrowstone is a ruined prison— partially destroyed by a fire in 4661, the building has stood vacant ever since. The locals suspect that it’s haunted, and don’t enjoy speaking of the place.
Harrowstone was built in 4594. Ravengro was founded at the same time as a place where guards and their families could live and that would produce food and other supplies used by the prison. The fire that killed all of the prisoners and most of the guards destroyed a large portion of the prison’s underground eastern wing, but left most of the stone structure above relatively intact. The prison’s warden perished in the fire, along with his wife, although no one knows why she was in the prison when the fire occurred. A statue commemorating the warden and the guards who lost their lives was built in the months after the tragedy—that statue still stands on the riverbank just outside of town.
Most of the hardened criminals sent to Harrowstone spent only a few months imprisoned, for it was here that most of Ustalav’s executions during that era were carried out. The fire that caused the tragedy was, in fact, a blessing in disguise, for the prisoners had rioted and gained control of the prison’s dungeons immediately prior to the conf lagration. It was only through the selfsacrifice of Warden Hawkran and 23 of his guards that the prisoners were prevented from escaping—the guards gave their lives to save the town of Ravengro.
Twenty Days Ago:
It is confirmed. The Way seems quite interested in something—no, strike that—someone who was held in Harrowstone. But who, specifically, is the Way after? I need a list of everyone who died the night of the fire. Everyone. The Temple of Pharasma must have such a list.
Eighteen Days Ago:
I see now just how ill prepared I was when I last set out for the Harrowstone. I am lucky to have returned at all. The ghosts, if indeed they were ghosts (for I did not find it prudent to investigate further) prevented me from transcribing the strange symbols I found etched along the foundation—hopefully on my next visit I will be more prepared. Thankfully, the necessary tools to defend against spirits are already here in Ravengro. I know that the church of Pharasma used to store them in a false crypt in the Restlands at the intersection between Eversleep and the Black Path. I am not certain if the current clergy even know of what their predecessors have hidden down below. If my luck holds, I should be able to slip in and out with a few borrowed items.
Seventeen Days Ago:
Tomorrow evening I return to the prison. It is imperative the Way does not finish. My caution has already cost me too much time. I am not sure what will happen if I am too late, but if my theory is right, the entire town could be at risk. I don’t have time to update my will, so I’ll leave this in the chest where it’ll be sure to be found, should the worst come to pass.
Father Kotsni is immediately driven to seek more. The journal mentions a hidden cache of tools to defend against spirits in a false crypt in the Restlands at the intersection between Eversleep and the Black Path. He entreats the others to join him in investigating the sinister implications of the circled entries in the professor's journal.
Svetlana asks Kendra more about the death of her father. She recounts that the body lay on its back near one of Harrowstone’s walls near the stone face from a leering gargoyle from the roof above. The heavy block crushed the professor’s face and neck. A tragic accident killed the professor.
Breagan, hearing this description feels a surge of instinctive insight overcome her. In a fugue, she drifts from the assembled company in the Lorrimor parlor and her mind's eye flashes to the scene of the professor's death. Events described replay in her ingenious mind ( Intelligence 20!! ) the stone face from a leering gargoyle from the roof with such amazing coincidental timing finally succumbs to the rigors of age and erosion and slips free from it's statue so that the heavy block tumbles groundward, crushing the top of the professor’s head and shattering his shoulder but this event strikes a note of discord in her vision and her reassembly of the circumstances commences over again. This time, the professor is crept up on and surprised by shadowy assailants. A stout club swings in the darkness and the professors face and jaw shatter, more in keeping with the wound Kendra described. Desperate to conceal their foul deeds the figure grabs-up a fallen piece of masonry littering the grounds of the haunted prison, dashes it gruesomely into the face of the fallen professor and lets it tumble off to the side as it will, now stained with the professors blood. The grim work of completely smashing the professors mouth and jaw out of any hope of utility now vouchsafing the killer's anonymity, the damage done preventing the magic of the " speak with dead" spell from allowing the body to reveal any secrets about its death.
She voices her concern to the others, snapping back into herself from her reverie. Her ferociously powerful intellect still racing unconsciously over the details of the murder. Vowing to find out more, our heroes bed down for the night in the many guest-rooms of the Lorrimor house, bidding Kendra to have the servants wake them early so that they can begin their investigations.
The new day dawned, and a fine breakfast of bacon and sausages with egs and new-baked biscuits warming their bellies, they troupe heads off into the village with Kendra. to visit the shop of Jominda Fallenbridge, the apothecary of Ravengro. Jorminda keeps a well-stocked supply of pharmacological provisions, both herbal and alchemical. Here they find all manner of special substances and items ( listed in Table 6–9 of the Core Rulebook ) as well as most common material components for spells and a good selection of magic potions, though to their displeasure, she won’t agree to sell these to anyone but those whom she trusts, and the doughty comrades are still strangers in this little town. Though from the events at the funeral, she is already in favor of their presence her in town. Purchasing empty vials , Father Kotsni, presaging encounters with dangers of the night, heads out the door and down to the river to fill them. As he return he espies a scruffy, old gray dog snoozing in the shade of the Gazebo in the town square. Returning into the shop he askes Jorminda about the old hound as he blesses the clean river-water, rendering holy water with diving positive energy right there in the shop. As Jorminda explains that the old mutt is a sort of erstwhile town mascot and playmate of the village children. Svetlana, hearing this, steps outside to see the creature. Seeing it still wandering about the town square she beckons to it with enticing sounds, crouching down to its level. It ambles over and carefully takes the food and allows the Slayer to pet him and scratch him behind the ears. Searching her pockets, she pulls out a travelling wafer and offers a bit of it to the old mongrel who carefully takes it and gobbles it down gratefully. A titter of tiny laughter from between the rows of buildings reveals that children were watching this exchange and have seen her kindness.
and attractive, Kendra greets the old friends of her father with a mixture of curiosity, sadness, and relief—no one else has come to pay their respects to her father, and “with things the way they are in town these days,” very few folks from Ravengro have come out for the funeral as well. The four companions have gathered at the entrance to the Restlands with Kendra Lorrimor and a fine coffin containing the body of her father (preserved with gentle repose), the PCs’ onetime friend and ally Petros Lorrimor. Kendra asks the fit and capable quartet if they would honor her father by serving as pallbearers for the trip through the Restlands to the grave-site. Father Grimburrow and a pair of gravediggers are already waiting at the site of the professor’s burial—as part of local tradition, they do not accompany the pallbearers from the gate to the grave. And so besides the four, only a small handful of villagers are attending the funeral procession. Old friends of Lorrimar, they too have come to pay their respects. These mourners consist of Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, Councilman Gharen Muricar, tavernkeeper Zokar Elkarid and his 13-yearold son Pevrin, and Jominda Fallenbridge (Ravengro’s apothecary and one of the professor’s good friends). Kendra provides brief social introductions to each of these local worthies and our heroes agree to convey the Professor to his final resting place and the procession begins. Kendra, as the deceased’s closest living relative, has the job of leading the somber procession along the Dreamwake—a gravel pathway that winds through the cemetery.
As the procession reaches the halfway point along the Dreamwake, rounding a corner onto a path called the Eversleep, they’ll see that the way ahead is blocked by a group of a dozen surly looking locals. The tallest of these toughs is an elderly but wiry retired soldier named Gibs Hephenus. He speaks out as soon as the group is noticed—
“That’s far enough. We been talking, and we don’t want Lorrimor buried in the Restlands. You can take him upriver and bury him there if you want, but he ain’t goin’ in the ground here!”
Kendra is swift to respond, her sadness swiftly transforming into anger. “What are you talking about?” she cries out. “I arranged it with Father Grimburrow. He’s waiting for us! The grave’s already been...”
“You don’t get it, woman. We won’t have a necromancer buried in the same place as our kin. I suggest you move out while you still can. Folks are pretty upset about this right now.”
This did not stand in the mind of Ornifex. Stepping beside the small frame of Kendra Lorrimor, defiant and trembling with anger and despair, Ornifex croaked out a reasoned and only slightly menacing and insulting argument. That, while it did not dissuade the throng from their chosen course did set the hearts of the cowardly among them to doubt and uncertainty. The bird warrior did not yet reach toward her sword.
Then Father Kotsni, still upholding the heavy, ornate casket of his departed friend, spoke his heart to the mob, his words level and even. Reason and moderation in his every tone. Careful not the provoke the ruffians into sudden action with Kendra so close to them. It would not do to have a lady, and their hostess, assaulted at her own father's funeral. Such an indignant molestation could only be answered in blood for honor's sake. Slowly and carefully he picked his words, speaking of the ways of Pharasma and the traditions of the Palatinate counties of Ustalav, upholding the virtue of the common people over the oppressive laws of the monarchy and the good and proper ways of the people being the ways of honor and peace. So went his monologue and as he saw that his words were falling upon deaf ears, he redoubled his efforts, the more belligerent of the throng edging closer to Kendra and gripping their tools and weapons tight in anticipation of the fracas.
Then, spurred on by his concern for this should-be hallowed event, he speaks passionately and bravely, his eastern Ustulavi accent becoming more pronounced as he spoke plainly and from the heart, rather than in careful and controlled tones. And the words this time did not fall upon deaf ears, Among the assembled, some shook their heads and abandoned their purpose. waving off their friend's attempts to keep them to task, they broke from the mob and headed home, embarrassed by the whole affair.
This seemed to be enough to scatter the gang. Giving up on their disruption of this lawful and blameless procession, they all retreated back along the gravel path. Some muttering their dissatisfaction with this bloodless turn of events.
Along the pathway then approached the wizened and bent form of Father Grimburrow, holy-symbol emblazoned shillelagh poking into the path with each step. He takes in the scene through a stern, squitning glance and snorts with derision at the ruffians backs as they retreat.
Having dealt with Hephenus and his gang, Kendra thanks the friends of Professor Lorrimor profusely and apologizes for the assault. The attending councilors profess shock at the attack and indicate that they recognized the thugs as “local farmhands, all of low character.” Councilman Hearthmount sighs, but promises to seek out the town’s sheriff to report the crime.
The assault now past, the procession continues up to the plot Kendra purchased for her father. No further complications prevent the lowering of his coffin into the open grave by the gravediggers. Father Grimburrow gives a short sermon, then invites Kendra to say a few words about her father. Kendra fights back tears and briefly recounts a few of her father’s more courageous or self less moments, thanking everyone once again for coming. She then invites anyone else to share a few stories or remembrances.
After the funeral is over and Kendra has said her goodbyes to the other guests, she invites our heroes back to her home (so recently her father’s) for a drink and to hear his last will and testament. The Lorrimor residence is a modest home with crowded bookshelves in every room. The reading of the professor’s will requires the presence of Councilman Vashian Hearthmount (the closest thing Ravengro has to a solicitor), and he has some other matters to attend to after the funeral, so he doesn’t arrive for about an hour. The five enjoy a cook-prepared meal at the Lorrimor house served by the families only two servants.
Vashian arrives precisely on time. It is easy to note that he doesn’t completely approve of strangers being involved in local matters, but he keeps his comments to himself, focusing his involvement entirely on the reading of Petros’s will. Kendra isn’t sure what’s contained in the will, since part of its stipulation was that all of the beneficiaries must be present for its reading. Councilman Vashian produces a scroll case, shows that the professor’s personal seal is unbroken, then breaks the wax and opens the case. As he does, a small iron key falls out of the tube, clattering noisily onto the table. Undaunted by the key, the councilman begins to read, eager to be done with the business and to get back home.
Once the will is read, Councilman Vashian looks to Kendra, who thanks him and dismisses him. Putting on a brave face, Kendra thanks the four beneficiaries again for coming, and informs them that she’ll need at least a few weeks to decide if she wants to sell her family home or remain here in Ravengro—in the meantime, as stipulated by the will, she asks the PCs to remain as well. She offers rooms in her spacious house for them, promising them free room and board for the month the will requests them to remain in town, and then excuses herself to go fetch the chest mentioned in the will.
The chest itself is a relatively small object of oak and iron. Kendra, nervous about the contents, offers the key to the PCs to give them the honor of opening the chest. The key fits the lock perfectly, and within are several old tomes and one relatively new one. The newest tome sits on the top and bears the phrase “Read me now!” scratched into the leather cover. It is the professor's journal.
The professor’s will does not mention his journal—it is not one of the dangerous tomes he wants delivered to Lepidstadt. It does, however, contain clues that cast doubts upon the nature of his death—the professor knew that he was delving into dangerous territory in his final days, and since he didn’t have a chance to amend his will with a warning, he did so in his journal, leaving it in his chest in hopes that our heroes or his daughter would find it should his investigations take a tragic turn. The majority of the entries are relatively bland, accounting for day-to-day activities in a small town. The professor has circled several entries in the book with red ink, though, and it is these entries he wanted his friends to pay particular attention to. The final entry, dated 17 days ago, was written on the same day the Professor’s body was found. The journal entries went as follows:
Ten Years Ago:
The Whispering Way is more than just a cabal of necromancers. I see that now. Undeath is their fountain of youth. Uncovering their motivation does not place me at ease as I thought it might. Their desire to be eternal simply makes them more dangerous.
Svetlana has heard of this Whispering Way, she recounts what she remember's to the assembled. The Whispering Way is a sinister organization of necromancers that has been active in the Inner Sea region for thousands of years.
Agents of the Whispering Way often seek alliances with undead creatures, or are themselves undead. The Whispering Way’s most notorious member was Tar-Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant, although the society itself has existed much longer than even that mighty necromancer.
The Whispering Way itself is a series of philosophies that can only be transferred via whispers— the philosophies are never written or spoken of loudly, making the exact goals and nature of the secretive philosophy difficult for outsiders to learn much about.
Two Months Ago:
It is as I had feared. The Way is interested in something here in Ravengro. But what could it be?
One Month Ago:
Whatever the Way seeks, I am now convinced their goal is connected to Harrowstone. In retrospect, I suppose it all makes sense—the stories they tell about the ruins in town are certainly chilling enough. It may be time to investigate the ruins, but with everyone in town already being so worked up about them, I’d rather not let the others know about my curiosity—there’s plenty of folks hereabouts who already think I’m a demonologist or a witch or something. Ignorant fools.
Harrowstone is not unkown to Father Kotsni, recalling the history of this dire place he recounts for the other what he remembers. Harrowstone is a ruined prison— partially destroyed by a fire in 4661, the building has stood vacant ever since. The locals suspect that it’s haunted, and don’t enjoy speaking of the place.
Harrowstone was built in 4594. Ravengro was founded at the same time as a place where guards and their families could live and that would produce food and other supplies used by the prison. The fire that killed all of the prisoners and most of the guards destroyed a large portion of the prison’s underground eastern wing, but left most of the stone structure above relatively intact. The prison’s warden perished in the fire, along with his wife, although no one knows why she was in the prison when the fire occurred. A statue commemorating the warden and the guards who lost their lives was built in the months after the tragedy—that statue still stands on the riverbank just outside of town.
Most of the hardened criminals sent to Harrowstone spent only a few months imprisoned, for it was here that most of Ustalav’s executions during that era were carried out. The fire that caused the tragedy was, in fact, a blessing in disguise, for the prisoners had rioted and gained control of the prison’s dungeons immediately prior to the conf lagration. It was only through the selfsacrifice of Warden Hawkran and 23 of his guards that the prisoners were prevented from escaping—the guards gave their lives to save the town of Ravengro.
Twenty Days Ago:
It is confirmed. The Way seems quite interested in something—no, strike that—someone who was held in Harrowstone. But who, specifically, is the Way after? I need a list of everyone who died the night of the fire. Everyone. The Temple of Pharasma must have such a list.
Eighteen Days Ago:
I see now just how ill prepared I was when I last set out for the Harrowstone. I am lucky to have returned at all. The ghosts, if indeed they were ghosts (for I did not find it prudent to investigate further) prevented me from transcribing the strange symbols I found etched along the foundation—hopefully on my next visit I will be more prepared. Thankfully, the necessary tools to defend against spirits are already here in Ravengro. I know that the church of Pharasma used to store them in a false crypt in the Restlands at the intersection between Eversleep and the Black Path. I am not certain if the current clergy even know of what their predecessors have hidden down below. If my luck holds, I should be able to slip in and out with a few borrowed items.
Seventeen Days Ago:
Tomorrow evening I return to the prison. It is imperative the Way does not finish. My caution has already cost me too much time. I am not sure what will happen if I am too late, but if my theory is right, the entire town could be at risk. I don’t have time to update my will, so I’ll leave this in the chest where it’ll be sure to be found, should the worst come to pass.
Father Kotsni is immediately driven to seek more. The journal mentions a hidden cache of tools to defend against spirits in a false crypt in the Restlands at the intersection between Eversleep and the Black Path. He entreats the others to join him in investigating the sinister implications of the circled entries in the professor's journal.
Svetlana asks Kendra more about the death of her father. She recounts that the body lay on its back near one of Harrowstone’s walls near the stone face from a leering gargoyle from the roof above. The heavy block crushed the professor’s face and neck. A tragic accident killed the professor.
Breagan, hearing this description feels a surge of instinctive insight overcome her. In a fugue, she drifts from the assembled company in the Lorrimor parlor and her mind's eye flashes to the scene of the professor's death. Events described replay in her ingenious mind ( Intelligence 20!! ) the stone face from a leering gargoyle from the roof with such amazing coincidental timing finally succumbs to the rigors of age and erosion and slips free from it's statue so that the heavy block tumbles groundward, crushing the top of the professor’s head and shattering his shoulder but this event strikes a note of discord in her vision and her reassembly of the circumstances commences over again. This time, the professor is crept up on and surprised by shadowy assailants. A stout club swings in the darkness and the professors face and jaw shatter, more in keeping with the wound Kendra described. Desperate to conceal their foul deeds the figure grabs-up a fallen piece of masonry littering the grounds of the haunted prison, dashes it gruesomely into the face of the fallen professor and lets it tumble off to the side as it will, now stained with the professors blood. The grim work of completely smashing the professors mouth and jaw out of any hope of utility now vouchsafing the killer's anonymity, the damage done preventing the magic of the " speak with dead" spell from allowing the body to reveal any secrets about its death.
She voices her concern to the others, snapping back into herself from her reverie. Her ferociously powerful intellect still racing unconsciously over the details of the murder. Vowing to find out more, our heroes bed down for the night in the many guest-rooms of the Lorrimor house, bidding Kendra to have the servants wake them early so that they can begin their investigations.
The new day dawned, and a fine breakfast of bacon and sausages with egs and new-baked biscuits warming their bellies, they troupe heads off into the village with Kendra. to visit the shop of Jominda Fallenbridge, the apothecary of Ravengro. Jorminda keeps a well-stocked supply of pharmacological provisions, both herbal and alchemical. Here they find all manner of special substances and items ( listed in Table 6–9 of the Core Rulebook ) as well as most common material components for spells and a good selection of magic potions, though to their displeasure, she won’t agree to sell these to anyone but those whom she trusts, and the doughty comrades are still strangers in this little town. Though from the events at the funeral, she is already in favor of their presence her in town. Purchasing empty vials , Father Kotsni, presaging encounters with dangers of the night, heads out the door and down to the river to fill them. As he return he espies a scruffy, old gray dog snoozing in the shade of the Gazebo in the town square. Returning into the shop he askes Jorminda about the old hound as he blesses the clean river-water, rendering holy water with diving positive energy right there in the shop. As Jorminda explains that the old mutt is a sort of erstwhile town mascot and playmate of the village children. Svetlana, hearing this, steps outside to see the creature. Seeing it still wandering about the town square she beckons to it with enticing sounds, crouching down to its level. It ambles over and carefully takes the food and allows the Slayer to pet him and scratch him behind the ears. Searching her pockets, she pulls out a travelling wafer and offers a bit of it to the old mongrel who carefully takes it and gobbles it down gratefully. A titter of tiny laughter from between the rows of buildings reveals that children were watching this exchange and have seen her kindness.