[center][img]https://db4sgowjqfwig.cloudfront.net/campaigns/33680/banners/298837/carrioncrown_title.jpg?1398104802[/img][/center] [hider A Stormy Night (Prologue)] [hr][color silver][center] ??? | ??? | ??? [/center][/color][hr] Ustalav is currently suffering through the worst storm it has seen in years. The rain pours torrentially, the night is pitch black, and the twisting road is empty. Almost. A flash of lightning illuminates the form of a small two-wheeled carriage, which rolls nervously down the muddy road. Within the carriage sit two figures, an elderly looking gentleman – clearly a scholar by the books he carries and the spectacles which sit on the brim of his nose – and the second is a dainty young woman, whose eyes sparkle with light, and whose facial features are slightly similar to the man she sits across from. The scholar speaks up first, his voice authoritative but kind. “[color forestgreen]Have no fear Kendra, we’re almost there.[/color]” “[color PaleVioletRed]I’m not afraid. It’s just a storm, the rain can’t hurt us![/color]” comes the reply: a small, dainty voice to match the small, dainty frame. “[color forestgreen]You would be wise to heed the signs of the weather, my dear. When the gods send dark omens, it is said that dark things walk in the night![/color]” “[color palevioletred]Oh come on father, you don’t actually believe that! I know you’re simply trying to give me the spooks. ‘Observation over superstition’, isn’t that what you always say?[/color]” “[color forestgreen]Mmmm. I do say that frequently, don’t I. But there are other things that-[/color]” He says, his thought left unfinished as the carriage draws to a halt, and the driver indicates that they have reached their destination – a warm and pleasant inn, whose sign reads ‘The Open Book’. Keen to exit the storm, the professor and his daughter shuffle into the inn. Their bags are quickly taken, as the scholar is expected here tonight, and the travelers make their way into the back room of the inn. Here, a roaring fire, leather chairs, and three additional figures wait for them. There appears to be an argument in process as the scholar and his daughter arrive. [color DarkOrchid]Well, I think I speak for all of us when I say you are clearly not the man your father was! He would never have used such a tone with me. Lodge or no lodge.[/color]” This voice, angry and offended, comes from a stern elderly lady with pursed lips, her hair in a bob, and icy blue eyes, which glare at the apparent offending party; a slight and spry man with dirty spectacles, somewhat disheveled himself. “[color burlywood]What you think of my tone is irrelevant, it’s the outcomes that matter, and my logic cannot be denied especially when my contacts within the clan clearly report that-[/color]” Both voices fall silent as it is noticed that there are two other people present. The elderly lady speaks first, her tone quite clearly brash and scolding. “[color DarkOrchid]You’re late, Petros. Why are you always late? It’s terribly disrespectful. You have missed much of the discussion already.[/color]” “[color forestgreen]My apologies to all three of you,[/color]” the scholar states, giving a slight bow. “[color forestgreen]There was some…’research’ that could not wait.[/color]” “[color DarkOrchid]Yes, well, the rest of us have commitments as well. This must be your daughter, then. Are you not going to introduce her, Professor?[/color]” The Professor opens his mouth to speak, but not a word comes out before the young lady speaks for him. “[color palevioletred]If it pleases you, m’lady, and sirs, my name is Kendra and I am quite capable of introducing myself. I’m afraid I don’t have the pleasure of your names.[/color]” “[color khaki]And you will not, young lady.[/color]” Speaks the final voice, belonging to a tall, stocky aristocratic man, who swirls his wine disinterestedly. “[color khaki]Professor, send this child to bed. We have matters to discuss.[/color]” “[color forestgreen]My good lord, I was hoping that this evening may be an opportunity to introduce-[/color]” He is interrupted by the aristocrat before he can finish his sentence. “[color khaki]Out of the question. Not tonight, not any other night. These are weighty matters, not games for infants.[/color]” The Professor once again opens his mouth, but is once again stopped by his daughter before he can speak. “[color palevioletred]Save your breath father. I can clearly see when I am not wanted. Good night sirs, madam. I hope your ‘weighty matters’ do not require the application of manners to solve, or else we should all be in for a dark day indeed.[/color]” She kisses her father on the cheek and leaves, her huffing sighs indicating her anger. Beside her chair, her wine sits undrunk. After a long silence, it is once again the elderly lady that speaks up first, “[color darkorchid]Good heavens, what nonsense. Now, do sit down Petros, and tell us all of your findings.[/color]” “[color burlywood]Quite.[/color]” adds the disheveled man. “[color burlywood]Leave no stone unturned, and no tree unbranched. I am all eyes and ears as well.[/color]” At the request, the professor does indeed sit down. He sets his wine on a nearby stand, drawing a stack of papers from his case. He talks for quite a long time, and his topics seem to reach all possible fields of study; making reference to the papers, showing charts, calculations, maps (of both the land, sea, and star variety), inventories of foreign places, itineraries of people both alive and long dead, notes from a diary, more calculations and then extrapolations with reference to calendars (both current and past), and finally some hand-written scrawls from the charred remains of an old spell book. He concludes his excessively long discourse by flailing his hands in a dramatic fashion to indicate a point of great importance to him, knocking over both his and the other full goblets of wine nearby, sending them splashing all over the oak floor and across the long evening dress of the elderly woman. “[color darkorchid]Oh for goodness sake man, be careful,[/color]” She says, her voice more disgusted than angry. “[color forestgreen]Oh, I’m sorry! Terribly sorry! My apologies, I will buy you a new dress, I promise. Here, I actually have some coins with me tonight,[/color]” says the Professor, fumbling for his coin pouch. The elderly woman interrupts him, brushing herself off and sitting back down in her seat, most of the wine already stained into the fabric of her clothing. “[color darkorchid]Put your money away, you old nincompoop. At least you missed the maps, for what it’s worth.[/color]” “[color forestgreen]For what it’s worth?[/color]” speaks the Professor, his tone almost offended. “[color forestgreen]What do you mean? You see the pattern! Surely you realize we must act now, before it’s too late![/color]” “[color darkorchid]Now Petros, let’s be calm over this.[/color]” “[color khaki]Let’s be frank instead,[/color]” says the aristocrat, standing from his seat. “[color khaki]What you have here is hogwash, professor. Hogwash and hokum. All you’ve shown us is conjecture, unconnected occurrence and fancy. The plural of anecdote is not theorem, and this sir – this is not evidence.[/color]” His voice rises in anger as he speaks. “[color khaki]I have the denizens of the night practically running my city – my city! – and you want me to divert resources to this... this treasure hunt. Pah![/color]” He finishes with a dismissive gesture, burying himself into his wine. “[color forestgreen]But the math… the equations demonstrate the proof. They show the connections. Admittedly, there are a few holes yes, but they have been very careful to cover their tracks. This is all that was left. Estov, you followed the numbers, surely you must agree.[/color]” The disheveled man sits in his chair, hand on his chin and eyes closed in contemplation, giving the Professor nothing but a short “[color burlywood]Hmmm…[/color]” “[color forestgreen]Is that a yes?[/color]” “[color burlywood]No, it was a ‘hmmm’,[/color]” speaks the man, opening his eyes to address the Professor. “[color burlywood]A ‘hmmm’ is very different than a ‘yes’. Not quite the opposite, but certainly not equal. I find myself agreeing with his Lordship. Not on all the various…'colorful’ terms with which he describes your lecture, but in your prescribed course of action. A scatter-shot approach is a waste of resources, and will not provide results. Besides, I have other interests I am pursuing at present. Still, I enjoyed the discourse, I’ll give you that.[/color]” “[color forestgreen]Then I’ve wasted my time. None of you will listen,[/color]” The Professor says angrily, a slight hint of dejection in his voice. “[color darkorchid]Now, now, professor; that’s not entirely true. There is still me.[/color]” “[color forestgreen]But… the wine… your dress…[/color]” “[color darkorchid]Oh stuff the wine, you nonce![/color]” the elderly woman nearly shouts. “[color darkorchid]If what you say is true, the risks of not acting… They are too great…[/color]” “[color forestgreen]So you will help?[/color]” There is a sudden hopefulness to the Professor’s words as he says this, his voice perking up nearly as much as his stooped form does. “[color darkorchid]I must confess…I’m not sure. Despite everything you’ve shown, there is little direct evidence. Plus, the third ingredient you mention, a tortured spirit that still retains its goodness…it’s unlike anything we’ve ever heard of. Perhaps if you had more evidence, a lead, perhaps a trail to follow…then I could help.[/color]” The Professor pauses for a moment, thinking, before speaking up. “[color forestgreen]I could do that. I still have some clues to pursue. Ravengro, there is some connection to Ravengro, I’m sure of it.[/color]” The aristocrat nearly chokes on his wine at this point, chuckling heartily. “[color khaki]That dead-end of a village. Ha! Not likely. That is a village of fools and liars.[/color]” “[color forestgreen]I’ll do it. I’ll prove it to all of you![/color]” the Professor exclaims, a resolute determination in his voice despite the mockery flung at him. “[color burlywood]I’ll drink to that![/color] says the disheveled man, raising his tankard in a mocking gesture. “[color burlywood]To a futile quest driven by nobility of thought and stubbornness of ideas![/color]” The elderly woman sits quietly and purses her lips as the aristocrat turns around to look out a window, shaking his head. The Professor quickly gathers up his notes and files them away, turning back towards the group. “[color forestgreen]Ravengro. Ravengro it is. I’ll call another meeting when I have more proof. I will make as much haste as I possibly can. Until next time, friends. Ab Sek, Abet Sahu.[/color]” [/hider] [hr][color silver][center] ℜ𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔬 | 5𝔱𝔥 𝔬𝔣 ℜ𝔬𝔳𝔞, 4711 | 1530 [/center][/color][hr] The flickering light of a candle illuminates the oaken desk that is currently in use. At it, a dainty woman sits with quill in hand, her eyes red and puffy, as she scrawls out a letter. She’d found herself writing far too many of these letters recently, trying to reach out to her father’s old friends and acquaintances. She’d have to assume that the locations and methods of delivery left in the old man’s notes would lead the envelopes to their destinations. Some of them were most peculiar, but he’d left her the funds and methods of doing it, at least. He really did seem to think of everything. These letters were different, however. These were being written on the behest of Councilman Vashin, who had most certainly been left his own set of instructions, she’d wager. The names she had before her (which also had their own methods for delivery) all shared one thing, and in fact, her own name also shared this. Petros had mentioned all of them, by name, in his will. It was this list of people that the Councilman had personally delivered, despite his general distrust of outsiders being involved in Ravengro affairs. It wasn’t surprising for her to be named of course, but the rest of these people she hadn’t even heard of. Her father would usually spin wild tales of his adventures, but it seemed like these names had never come up. Or if they had, it was astoundingly infrequent. She finished the last one, dipping her quill back into the inkwell. They were ready to be delivered, and she dared not read over them again, for fear of sending herself into another teary fit. Even thinking about the news these letters delivered was starting to make her eyes well up. Within the day, they’d all been sent out via their respective means. She'd have to hope that the detailed instructions the Councilman had been left with would be up to date. [hider Letter From Kendra Lorrimor] [i]Dear Friend, I hope this letter finds you well. It is with great regret that must advise you of the passing of my father, Professor Petros Lorrimor. I have been tasked by Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, the executor of my father’s will, to summon you as you have been named in that document. This came as a great surprise to me, never having met you, however if my father held you in high esteem enough to be a beneficiary of his estate, then I can only assume you must be of good character. Consequently I hearby extend an invitation for you to stay at my home in Ravengro while you attend the funeral and subsequent reading of the will. It is the least that I can offer in these sad times. I have made arrangements for the funeral to occur on the 12th day of Rova, 4711, and that the reading of my father’s final Will and Testament will occur later that afternoon. I look forward to meeting you and hearing stories of my father’s exploits. Yours Sincerely, Kendra Lorrimor[/i] [/hider]