The Haunting of Harrowstone

The sound of rusted wheels crunching, screeching and rattling over gravel was heard as the rickety old horse drawn wagon made its way down the long wet and winding road. It was on the back of this very wagon that Millie Button sat, perched on the lip of the folded down bay wall with her feet swinging freely over the ledge as it slowly moved. Behind her was an assortment of trade goods that had been gathered and boxed up in Tamrivina to deliver to Ravengro; a lucky destination for the trade wagon that Millie was fortunate enough to run into, almost literally, on her travels towards the very town. Now having procured a somewhat free ride, she sat contently and viewed the rather bleak and dreary setting of rolling farmlands sprinkled with trees; such being the running theme since reaching the region of Ustalav. It was reaching mid-afternoon, or so she could only assume due to the clouded and dark skies that marred the sun’s golden glow from warming the chilled land, which meant that they should be arriving soon. Yippee.

Pushing up the round spectacles that had slipped to the tip of her nose by their metal bridge, Millie’s vibrant golden hues dropped to the journal that rested on her lap. The bindings and cover were pristine, a rare sight for the book obsessed Alchemist, which hinted at how new the object likely was. Trailing the tips of her fingers over the leather bound cover, a faint smile tugged at her lips before it was opened to reveal the first crisp virgin page. Oh what a wonderful sight that always was. Withdrawing her inkpen from the backpack beside her, a small vial of ink was likewise produced and unlidded before the tip of her writing utensil was dipped in the dark liquid and tapped on the edge several times to rid the pen of excess. Taking care to balance these items throughout the shaky ride, she began to write...



Sunday
Arodus 1st, 4711

Location: The back of a wagon, Ustalav.


Oh what a joy it always is to start a new journal! It’s akin to a holiday for me, my presents being the endless blank pages of white that will soon be filled with the random sprawlings and doodles that leak from my mind and fingertips like a festering Melancholic ooze swarm in the bowels of a labyrinth filled with deadly traps, hungry monsters, and priceless treasure. Sounds poetic? Sounds... Pathetic.

Nevertheless, these are the memoirs of Millie Button. I have learned to scribe my thoughts, experiences and ideas in journals to better catalogue all the amazing things I encounter during my travels; such being an ongoing obsession, er, habit of mine since a young age. My last journal had yielded its remaining blank page but a day ago, which has caused me to tearfully retire my beloved record keeper and move on to my newest companion... You.

But what shall I call you, my newest diary and protector of my innermost thoughts and ideas? T’would have to be something fitting for such an important role as this I think. Hmm... Oh I know! You shall from this point on be known as Sir Fogwolt Brownbook the Eighty-Fourth. Unfortunately, that is your number in the line of past guardians of my writings.. But much like them, I am quite certain you will serve your role valiantly, unlike Dumbdolt Bookrunner, whose rude and unruly insults and sudden disappearance still anger me so to this very day!

But I digress... Currently Fogwolt, we find ourselves somberly wheeling our way towards the town of Ravengro after a rather extensive journey. I used such a depressing word pointedly in this case, for I fear this trip is not done with a happy heart and cheerful spirit as per the usual ventures in my past. For you see, a dear old friend, who my vast collection of journals could tell you was a long time brilliant teacher of mine, has died...



Letting her inkpen terry on the page, Millie let out a rather sad sigh before reaching a hand into a side pouch of her nearby backpack. From it, a letter was withdrawn which bore the personal broken wax seal of the Lorrimor family Tracing the design, a frown marred her features as recollection of the grim news that filled the letter dampened her mood. Tucking the note between the pages she had already written in, Millie dipped her inkpen once more before continuing to write as legibly as she could manage whilst on a bumpy road.



It is to Professor Petros Lorrimor’s funeral that I am being summoned, to not only pay my respects to my cherished teacher, but to sit in for a reading of his will! You see Fogwolt, it would seem my name was one of a couple to be addressed in his final wishes, and according to customs regarding the deceased, I am required to be present before the document can even be opened! I must admit... I had no knowledge of the Professor inking me into his will, but I can’t help but feel mildly curious as to what it is he wished to leave me.

Between you and I, Fogwolt, I do so hope that some of his published works, notes or documentations have been left for me. However just writing that fills my heart with pain, as in comparison to the Professor... Well... I’d much have him alive and with us than any of his priceless notes.



Shoulders sulking, Millie used the end of her inkpen to push up her glasses once more as her eyes glistened, as if threatening to shed tears. The news had struck her hard, and she knew that today, the day of the Professor’s funeral, was going to be especially difficult. Jolted from her mournful thoughts by the wagon hitting a rather deep puddle, she flailed with a squeak while clasping her journal and things tight lest they spill out. Giving a sigh of relief when she discovered everything to be fine and dandy, Millie adjusted her glasses while looking over her shoulder to see just how close they were. Gazing past the slender wrinkly old man who drove, sure enough the gloomy and rather dark town of Ravengro could be seen, and rather closely at that. The buildings loomed silently amongst the dark rain clouds in the backdrop, and off to the side between drooping trees, she caught a glimpse of what appeared to be the cemetary.

“Oh lookie! We are nearly there!” She sang out, literally, despite the silent sneer delivered from the driver when disturbed. “Ahem... I mean... It would be so kind if you could let me out near the edge of town. Thank you.” Her bum was rather sore from the road, and as she predicted, the Professor’s funeral would be starting rather soon. The idea of walking (read: scampering rather quickly) towards the cemetery yonder was in her best interest.

Closing her journal with a satisfied snap and packing up her things as they wheeled their way towards town, she hopped off the back when the wagon finally stopped before hoisting her large backpack over her shoulders. Moving around the wagon, several silver pieces were given to the driver in thanks before, without another word, the Alchemist made her way along the side of the road towards where she would pay her last respects to a man whom she sincerely respected.

Map of The Restlands:

How long had it been? Days? Weeks? The journey from Absolom to Ravengro had taken quite some time, countless hours spent on ship, then wagon, then on foot as part of a trade caravan. So many days simply watching the horizon press ever onward, watching first the sea and then the rolling plains slither by at the speed of molasses drooling down the side of a mason jar. All this travel did not suit one who was so used to blue skies and lush forests of a more tropical climate. Particularly given that the further travel carried him away, the darker and more overcast the sky became.

With every step the world grew more dim, though it was not fear that tugged at the back of the Half-Elf's mind. No, it was more a longing. A desire for the comforts and pleasures he had left behind after receiving a summons to the funeral of one Professor Lorrimor.

"To hell with that old devil..." came the gruff tones of the masked man, his hand subconsciously reaching up to rub the scarred skin around his right eye. To hell with him indeed. The Professor was the very reason that the odd, quarter-mask was necessary in the first place. Though, it was pleasant to see the dead man was making good on old debts.

Despite the apparent negative feelings he felt, the young fighter trudged on ever onwards. Every thudding step of his heavy boots carried him closer and closer to the end of his journey and the beginning of what was surely a long and tiresome affair.


"Balta..." came a voice along with the clip-clop of hooves. The caravan master having had ridden up alongside his newfound companion. He was a middle-aged man, a human with a pot belly and a fine, curling mustache.

"...we should be nearing Ravengro. That's where you wanted to part ways, yes?"

"Aye." A curt response given in reply.

"You know, Knave, you hardly live up to your reputation. I swear when we first met a fortnight ago you were all songs and celebrations, boasting how you were going to return from your trip a rich man. That bluster is all gone and now I find you in a sullen state. What is it that troubles you, my friend?"

"Ceaseless questions from a fat man and a blister forming on my toe. That is what ails me."

The caravan master chortled at that, rubbing his belly at the mention of his girth. "Aye, yes I suppose I cannot deny that, but I have not known the mighty Balta Luske to complain about a mere boo-boo. Perhaps all the big talk and bluster was merely that."

"The mighty Balta Luske complains a great deal, he just isn't in the habit of letting others hear. But you've seen well enough of my skill to know that my 'bluster' is no mere tall tale."

"What a shame, never confiding in another. And I would have thought all those beauties you left behind would be all too keen to lend a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on."

"Enough."

"Apologies, my friend. I did not mean to make you any more homesick than you already are. But you shall be relieved to know that your destination lies over this next hillock." A wave of a pudgy hand lead the warrior's eyes upwards, the black peaks of rooftops looming in the distance.

"My thanks. But, now that we're so close to our next stop, wouldn't your time be better spent at the head of your carvan rather than chatting away with hired help?"

"You are correct. It seems I've been remiss in my duties. But, since you are no mere 'hired help' perhaps it is good of me to see you off personally? Gods keep you close, Balta. I do hope that we meet again after your affairs are settled." With that, a small kick of the spurs had his horse setting off in a trot, leaving Balta alone with his thoughts.

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

The remainder of the trip went rather quickly. His gear secured and his goodbyes made, it was not long before he found himself at the edge of the dreary little village.

Carefully, he made his way to the cemetery, slipping in amongst the gathered faces. His scale armor and striking red hair may have appeared a bit under dressed, but Balta had not thought to pack anything black. Given what he was owed, he didn't exactly care should his appearance bother anyone.

It had been a few days, but the man known as Kevin was already among the number of people addressing the funeral he had been 'invited' to. It was sad to say, but he was use to this. Hell, in a way this was a rather cheerful mood, compare to the nights where he'd be guarding a graveyard like this, where there was only him and another, with only the howl of the wind to speak back to them. At the moment, his current job forced him to guard the graveyards, along with going from town to town to track down those that had decided to dishonor those within a grave themselfs already.

He would remain standing during the entire bit, never once sitting, as for some it was a sign of disrespect. The Crusader would keep to himself, not really knowing anyone here. Another reason was. . .well, at times, outside of other guards he worked with, he was not use to being around the living at a graveyard! He wasn't new to the job, but he was still learning a thing or two after a few years of this.

His black spiky hair would stand out against many others, seeming to look akin to if he had put his finger in a socket as a kid. . .if such a thing was even invented yet! Bright green eyes would stand out, against a few of the black strands of hair that was dangling about infront of his face. He'd be dressed in all black, the normal coloring for a funeral, save for the scale armor he wore over his body, as he awaited to see how this would all go about.

It didn’t take Millie long at all to make her way to the town’s cemetery. There was a neat little path that twisted its way off of the main road and brought travelers to the rather expansive graveyard that seemingly decorated the dreary town’s northern facing. Surrounded and protected by a tall metal spiked fence, the large spread of land was remarkably well taken care of. The grass was trimmed low, shrubbery well maintained, and the tombstones and crypts were clean and prepped. Several points of entry into the cemetery were each paired with high gates that hung open with a bone chilling invitation for those who approached, and above all a sign informed any the name of this gloomy and foreboding place.

“The Restlands”

Approaching the area, a soft drizzle of rain could be felt as the low hanging rain clouds finally let loose, thus darkening the land and adding to the grim atmosphere all the more. In the distance, crows could be heard making their caws as they flocked and gathered atop a crypt, as if wishing to spectate the small crowd that was now gathering for the funeral. Making her way to the small handful of people who remained near the entry and passing by the short line of carriages that awaited those attending, Millie adjusted her glasses as she took note of those who gathered. It was a small gathering for a funeral, consisting of a handful of people whose faces didn’t ring any bells. That was up until her golden hues landed on the familiar grumpy red-headed Half-Elf, Balta.

“Ahhh... It has been far too long, Balta!” Millie spoke out once joining the crowd and gingerly moving towards the eyepatch wearing Fighter. Offering him a warm and genuine smile that seemed far too out of place for the somber setting, she’d extend both arms to offer a snug hug, as she always was one for invading personal space on whim, before pulling off her raindrop splattered glasses to clean and see him better. Well, somewhat.

“Merry meet, good tidings, and happy greetings! A shame we meet again under such sad circumstances however, but it is good to see ya’ nonetheless. How have ya been? I trust that fix” She pauses to tap near her eye, signifying the patch he wore. “is still treating you well?” Briefly recalling their chance encounter many years ago where her assistance proved invaluable, she was happy to see that much of his facial wounds had healed up nicely. Well, as nicely as they possibly could that is.

As the two conversed, across the small gathering the sight of a fine coffin could be spotted on the road. Beside it stood a fine woman speaking to one of the funeral hands present. Her eyes are red and puffy and she is dressed in dark, conservative clothes. Trim and attractive, it would be a safe bet for any of you that she was Kendra Lorrimor, the late Professor’s only daughter, and the one who had personally handwritten each of the letters that had brought everyone here this day for the funeral.

As she finishes conversing with the funeral hand, her attention eventually falls over the very small crowd before lingering upon Kevin, Millie and Balta specifically. Her expression is a mixture of curiosity, sadness, yet there was a hint of relief that any looking upon her could pick up. Stepping graciously towards the trio, who the others of the crowd took care to give space with their harsh judgemental glances and hushed murmurs, a polite smile is shed their way from the lady.

“You three are new faces in town, though I could spot each of you out due to my father’s vivid stories which described each of you perfectly...” Going silent for a moment, as if wrestling with her emotions, the polite smile is forced to remain as she turns towards Balta first.

“The Crimson Knave, as my Father spoke in his wild tales. The man solely responsible for saving his life that fateful day when he was attacked by an assassin. I have always wished to personally thank you for saving him, though it is unfortunate it is upon this day that I do. Regardless of that fact... Thank you, Sir Balta Luske.” Curtsying graciously as a lady schooled in etticate would, she dipped her chin with the thankful gesture and words. Upon arising, her puffy light-blue eyes shifted towards the small Alchemist.

“Millie Button... One of my father’s favorite acolytes whom he personally spoke proudly of. The adventures you two shared while under his tutelage are some of my favorite stories told. It is so very good to meet you at last.” Extending out a hand, she’d softly press it to Millie’s shoulder as a show of endearment before finally turning towards the silent Crusader.

“And last but certainly not least, Kevin Skyloft. My father had told me briefly of your journey into a cursed tomb to rid it of the evils that plagued that particular graveyard; an endeavour given to you by the Goddess Pharasma herself he had said. He was honored to aid you with that dangerous journey, per your request, those many many years ago. I’m glad to see you a man of honor with keeping up your end of the promises made that day.” Bowing her head in greeting towards him, she’d pause to examine each of the three.

“I thank you for coming today. I am Kendra Lorrimor, the Preofessor's daughter, and the one who wrote each of you. I know the trip was long for some in particular," She looks towards Balta before continuing. "but it means so much to see those who my father spoke fondly of to be present. Unfortunately not many others have come to pay their respects, what with things the way they are in town these days, so seeing you all here brings me comfort.”

Kendra Lorrimor:

OOC:

The small throng of funeral goers certainly seemed all the smaller when compared to the sheer size of the graveyard around them. That much had not been lost upon the Half-Elf. Granted, nothing about this realm sat well with him. The reverence given to death, the gloomy atmosphere, it was all so foreign to one used to a world of drinks, music and lust. His world was a celebration of life and its pleasures. This. This mockery of a world was the exact opposite.

“Ahhh... It has been far too long, Balta!” A vaguely familiar voice pulled his attention back into focus.

"Ah...erm... uh.." came a mumbled response. As far as he knew, no one here had even heard of him. Though, the sight of those familiar spectacles and big gold eyes, how could he forget?

"...Millie, was it?" he asked, twitching his mouth into a crooked semblance of a grin. She was one of the few people associated with this entire affair that he had any vaguely good memories attached to.

"...but aye, it has been what... a few years since I last saw you. And yes, the fix has kept up well enough. It gets itchy in the mornings but a local apothecary was able to give me a salve that helps." He patted the black colored cloth that covered a quarter of his face, from cheek to brow on the right side. "I've been told the mismatched eyes give me character..."

The small amount of conversation lasted only a short while until the finely dressed, fine looking, fine-ass daughter of the late professor made her way on over to speak to Millie, Balta, and the armored priest that happened to stand nearby. The Knave had paid the man little mind. He was but a hired blade, much like himself, but something about his vestments and the small, subtle holy symbol reliefs on his armor gave away his true nature.

“The Crimson Knave, as my Father spoke in his wild tales. The man solely responsible for saving his life that fateful day when he was attacked by an assassin. I have always wished to personally thank you for saving him, though it is unfortunate it is upon this day that I do. Regardless of that fact... Thank you, Sir Balta Luske.”

"I am no knight, good lady, so the title is not necessary. But I am honored regardless. Your father... he was a... ah... good man." Balta never really knew how to speak to people outside of a casual context. Consoling someone newly bereaved was way out of his league.

Millie's turn came next, and most of her history was no secret. Balta and she had a small amount of familiarity with each other. Enough to know the very basic details, at least. It was when this third fellow, this Kevin Skyloft, was addressed that any new information was gained.

So, just as rumored, the professor had friends everywhere and of every profession imaginable. It was not difficult to imagine the old man braving the depths of some ancient crypt, accompanying some young priest on one of his first real missions. But he was no simple priest, it seemed. The armor he wore and the weapons on his belt hinted at his martial prowess.

A fighting man was to be respected. And as such, Balta gave the man a firm nod in greeting, though he spoke not a word.

“I thank you for coming today. I am Kendra Lorrimor, the Preofessor's daughter, and the one who wrote each of you. I know the trip was long for some in particular, but it means so much to see those who my father spoke fondly of to be present. Unfortunately not many others have come to pay their respects, what with things the way they are in town these days, so seeing you all here brings me comfort.”

The woman was given a quick once over. The half-elf's eyes taking in her form, sizing her up, before settling back on her face. "The journey was long indeed, but worth it to deliver my respects to your father."

Something about what she said struck him as odd. 'With things the way they are in town these days.' But, he decided to hold his tongue for the time being. Best not to get her too worked up should the subject be sensitive.

Not speaking a word still, he'd only return a nod to the woman, a small smile gracing his lips for a short moment before falling back into a slightly more relaxed state. He'd gaze over towards the other two, noting what the woman had said about them, as he figured after the service he could go greet them. It'd be refreshing to have a chat with people outside of his 'job', as it did leave one wanting for friends to chat with. Alas the dead made very poor speakers, but the best of listeners at least!

Just like the other man though, he too would note the mention of town's currecnt events, causing a small frown to be display across his features, for but a moment. He'd not speak aloud though. . .why? Pffft, he wasn't sure what to say back! His social skills were a bit weak after doing his first job, as he had come across only a few outside of the following, inwhich the topic was NOT about their duty on this land.

For now, he'd STILL NOT SPEAK A WORD, sad huh, as he'd merely wait and listen to waht else would be said by her and the others about them.

Millie’s smile brightened all the more in delight to Balta’s remembrance of her name. Nod nod nodding her head multiple times, which caused her wet curls to bounce, she set about using the hem of her navy blue dress to clean off the glass of her spectacles before placing them back on her face, which they framed oh so well.

“Oh, how good to hear! I had wondered if the alchemical transfusion to resolidify your iris had indeed remained consistent. Gotta’ admit ya’ were the first one I’ve even tried that particular treatment on, and I had some doubts...” Tapping at her chin, Millie’s golden hues uplifted in apparent thought before a brief shrug and innocent yet charming smile was flashed the Fighters way. “But all ended well! When all is done here, I’ll see what I can do to give that itch a more permanent remedy, ya?”

It was at that time that Kendra Lorrimor walked over to address the two of them, which caused the young Alchemist to go silent as she listened to the woman’s words whilst observing her curiously. By all accounts she matched the description the late Professor had given when he spoke of his daughter--which he did quite often--though she always imagined her to be a bit taller. Ah well. She was happy to finally meet the highly spoken of young woman, and only wished it was under less somber circumstances.

“It is a pleasure to meet ya’, Lady Kendra. I too have heard so very much about ya! Your Father... He was a brilliant man who shall be missed by many. You have my most sincerest condolences.”

As Lady Kendra politely went about recounting her knowledge of each of them in turn, Millie’s attention was pointedly drawn towards the third member who was being addressed in this little gathering of theirs. Canting her head to the side as she examined the man known as Kevin Skyloft, she couldn’t help but look him up and down--much like Balta did--as she’d catalogue his appearance in her mind. The holy symbols that decorated his armor were quickly recognized as those of Pharasma, which had her musing on whether he was a Paladin, Cleric, or simply one of many devout followers of the Lady of Graves. He was rather silent, which of course meant one thing... After the funeral and will reading, Millie would of course be all over the poor guy(ghiggity) with questions. She was ever the little information seeker, and new people, especially those who had favor with the Professor, were gold mines in her eyes.

Twisting her lips at these giddy inner thoughts of hers, Millie finally turned back towards Kendra Lorrimor as she thanked them. Much like with the rest, the woman’s peculiar choice of wording in regards to the town did pique her interest, yet she wisely chose not to push the subject more at this time. The Lady was sad and rightfully so, what with having just lost her father.

Kendra looked appreciative of the words of comfort offered from Balta and Millie, to which she’d softly thank them before glancing over the small gathering of those who came. Their dour expressions were painfully apparent, and the words ‘Half-Elf’ ‘strangers’ and other not-so-nice things could be picked up amongst the hushed murmurs they passed as they watched and waited. Apparently the newcomers were not kindly looked upon by the locals. Regardless, Kendra let out a sad sigh before turning back and forcing yet another smile towards the three before her.

“Well, it would seem this is all who will be attending. I... I suppose we should begin. Father Grimburrow and his funeral hands are already waiting at the... the burial site. Per local tradition, they will not accompany us during the walk down the Dreamwake. A-as you each had important roles in my Father’s life, would you do him the honors of being his pallbearers whilst I lead the procession? I believe... No, I’m sure he would have wanted it that way...”

Allowing her question to hang in the air for each to answer if they so wish, Kendra otherwise turned to move towards the fine coffin, whose flower assortment atop and shiny black surface were now speckled with drops of water from the rain. Tracing her fingers along the decorative detailing fondly, her eyes swelled with tears as she turned back and awaited for everyone to ready themselves. There would be one person from the crowd who moved forward towards Lady Kendra to offer a handkerchief and the comfort of a hand on her shoulder; an older heavy set brown-skinned woman who appeared to be a close friend of the family. Moving to stand on one of the sides of the Professor’s coffin, it would be a safe bet to assume that she’d fill the role of the fourth pallbearer.

Balta maintained a regal sort of calm, or maybe his face was simply incapable of conveying emotion. Regardless, he did at least not let whatever feelings he had for the professor be all that visible on the surface. And truth be told, he regarded the man with a slight grudge, given the yanno... near destruction of his right eye.

"It would be a great honor to see your father off, my lady. I will certainly lend my strength to the delivery of his coffin."

That, and he had very little choice it seemed. He was in a realm in which he had no friends. Saving face was the only option available.

The murmuring and muttering of the townsfolk certainly caught his sharp ears, the negative use of the term 'half-elf' having obviously been at his expense. Not one to idly deal with the prattling of loose tongued fools, the warrior turned his head in the offender's direction. His one visible brow furrowed, fixing the peasants with a glare that promised retribution should the insults continue.

Intimidate Check:

Moving forward as she asked them that, Kevin would give a soft nod before moving over towards where he would be a bearer for the man he had only a brief encounter with. In a way. . .this felt wrong. There should be a large family, with the oldest sons stepping forward to offer a hand, and accept such of honor of being a bearer. Yet. . .three people, two of which it seemed were not even close to him save for a chance encounter, were going to do it with this other girl.

He twitched a bit, noting how she seemed to. . .nod a lot and was so damn bubbly. God he hoped she didn't drop this $#%^, or else stuff was going to go to hell in a hand bas--bad pun to make at a place like this, FFFFF!

Shaking his head free from such thoughts, he would not stare at anyone else as he went to offer his hand in making sure the man within was laid properly to rest. Here's to hoping he didn't become a zombie. . .or a ghost. . .or just wouldn't stay in the ground. Kevin hated souls like that, it always required some type of story to solve, someone they want have sex with, but couldnt, so they stalk them like a creeper.

The crowd that gathered for the late Professor’s funeral was small, and out of those attending it was Lady Kendra only who seemed to be related to the deceased. There were no sons to carry the coffin, no family members present to weep their grief beyond that of the lone daughter, who by the second seemed to be looking more sad as the gravity of the funeral became all the heavier.

Millie would of course accept the honor of serving as Petros Lorrimor’s pallbearer, and with a nod-nod and little delay, she moved forward to take claim to the front right of the coffin. Watching Kevin move in behind her, a brief smile was shed towards the silent man as she waited in position to lift the coffin.

Balta’s glare certainly did the trick with hushing the murmurs of the crowd, though the looks he received back were none too kind. Much as with everywhere else in Ustalav, half-Elves, or anything not Human for that matter, were not overly welcomed. The stares and looks would become a constant thing, yet at least now the townsfolk took care to keep their opinionated words to themselves. At least while around him, that is.

With Balta moving in to take the opposite side of Millie on the front of the coffin, Kendra issued a soft smile towards the four of them before turning to address the small gathering. “Thank you all for coming. Let us... Let us begin...” Voice cracking, the handkerchief was brought up to her nose as she’d turn towards the gates of The Restlands. Pulling her shawl all the tighter over her slender shoulders, Kendra Lorrimor, as the deceased’s closest living relative, would lead the procession as tradition dictates along the Dreamwake--a gravel pathway that winds through the cemetery. Waiting only long enough for the pallbearers to raise the heavy coffin with the need to use both hands, she slowly lead onwards. Her steps were slow as they all walked through the drizzle and rain, and with the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders accompanied by soft sobs and cries, any could tell this was very hard for the young woman.

As the procession somberly moves through the gloomy and rainy setting of The Restlands, it would be at the halfway point when rounding a corner onto a path called the Eversleep that Kendra immediately stopped her slow moving march. As Balta, Kevin and Millie moved around the corner, they would immediately see what it was that caused the late Professor’s mourning daughter to freeze in place.

Ahead, it would appear that the way was blocked by a group of a dozen surly looking locals. Each of them appear to be wielding an assortment of farm tools--a mix of rakes, hoes, sickles, pitchforks and hammers--that they hold tightly and at the ready. The tallest of these toughs is an elderly but wiry looking man who speaks out loudly towards Kendra 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 as her gloved hands slowly tighten against the handkerchief she holds. “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 supet about this right now.”

“Necromancy?! Are you really that ignorant?”

OOC:

Music:

It was with a grunt and a gritting of his teeth that the powerfully built half-elf hoisted up his side of the coffin. It was no small task to perform by oneself, but dude was a hoss. Anyway, he kept pace with the small procession, each step heavy due to the considerable weight of not only a human body but also the big wooden box that he'd been shoehorned into.

They made it only so far before the local color decided to step in, waving torches and pitchforks as is their greatest pastime.

"A necromancer? Good sir, I do believe you're mistaken. What we have is a dead man in a wooden box. But... good try either way." Balta stated rather plainly to the man in front, having little patience for this affair beyond basic requirement. The addition of unruly peasants was really wearing at his nerves.

"And what difference does it make what he did for his profession? I'm none too keen on pastry chefs, myself, but you don't see me protesting their burials, now do you?"

Carefully maintaining his grip on the coffin, the fighter fixes the blockade with a stern look. It was clear he was not going to meet their demands.

Halting as the crowd came about, and started to become rather rude, the man would frown once more. As tales of what they 'thought' the man was, his anger would start to boil rather quickly. He'd keep himself in check however, despite how everyone of them were pissing on rules he followed in life, in the same type of place he guarded almost everynight! Not this one, but ones just like it of course.

Holding onto the coffin, he'd raise his voice towards them, the anger being held within it clear as day.

"I suggest you take your reasonings up with the Father then, as you have no right to judge where the dead may be buried." Kevin stated, speaking for the first time since coming to this place. "Now leave, before you're made to leave. Should honestly be ashamed of yourselfs, causing such a blasted fuss in a place like this." He made sure to show a bit of himself from the back end of the Coffin, which may showcase his armor and which belief he was following.

Spoiler:

Despite the heavy weight of the decorative coffin that the four of them carried, Millie Button, despite her small size and appearance, did a decent job with handling her share of the weight. Certainly she struggled with raising the heavy thing, much like the rest--save Balta--but once they started to move she kept up well enough with the rest of them; albeit she was taking twice as many steps in order to keep in pace.

When the funeral procession made their way around the bend to discover what Kendra had walked into, the Alchemist couldn’t help but to stare in disbelief and confusion of the angry mob’s seemingly random appearance at Petros Lorrimor’s funeral. Perhaps they were mistaken about whose funeral they were interrupting, perhaps? Upon their deranged suggestion of Necromancy however, her jaw immediately dropped. She had spent many years learning under the late Professor, and knew that his work, though dark at times, was always towards the end goal of protecting against such evils.

“How could you possibly come to such a deranged and misinformed conclusion about the Professor!?” Millie blurted out defensively towards the gathering of apparent farmers and fishermen, thus interrupting Kendra’s final comments of outrage. “Petros Lorrimor has done more for the good of all then you could possibly know or imagine!” Her cries were full of emotion as she defended her dear old friend, and as Kevin behind her and Balta spoke up, she found herself growing all the bolder and strengthened.

“Not only are you being extremely rude towards Lady Kendra, who is mourning for her father just like the rest of us here for the loss of our dear friend, but you are interrupting a holy tradition that has been an ancient part of your culture since th---Wait, why wouldn’t you like pastry chefs?” Head turning suddenly at realization of the comment made, Millie’s golden hues rested on Balta across the coffin who had made such a silly comment. Pastry chefs baked cakes, muffins, cookies, and all sorts of sweet delights! How any could dislike the merry bunch of taste bud ticklers was well beyond her.

Despite Millie’s random trail-off at the end, the mob yonder did appear to have lost some of their angered fighting spirits. Slowly the men, whose faces were twisted in rage and anger but moments ago, began to lower their improvised weapons quietly. The old wiry ringleader of the group himself, upon hearing the outsiders quickly come to Kendra’s defense, couldn’t help but take a step back whilst examining the strange group. There was a stern finality to Balta’s words that caused many to think twice about engaging in a fight against the great sword wielding red-head. Not to mention the sight of Kevin, who upon moving out to show off his armor confirmed that he was a holy man of Pharasma.

After the old man murmurs something or another towards the thugs behind him, the mob calms down enough to sullenly disperse. The venomous glances shot towards Kendra and the strangers were very much pointedly there, yet they all leave the cemetery nonetheless to allow the procession to continue. Behind them all the small crowd of funeral goers, who had been cowering upon seeing the aggressive mob of brutes, slowly right themselves to stare at the newcomers. Not long after they were speaking amonst themselve

“Did you see what just happened?” Someone of the group murmured.

“They sent them off without even a fight!” Came another comment amongst the small crowd.

”They were mere farmhands, all of low character.” Was a comment that, when Millie looked back, she recognized it to be spoken from one of the attendees who looked to be a more prominent person of stature.

“What kind of friends are these of the late Petros Lorrimor?”

All these statements could be made out from behind Balta, Kevin and Millie as the small crowd, who seemed to look at the trio in a more positive light now, continued to whisper and murmur amongst themselves in shock. Kendra Lorrimor, who also looked relieved that a fight did not break out, turned back towards everyone. The tears that were running down her blanched cheeks were apparent, and it certainly looked as if this interruption had not only insulted her, but left her rather upset and shaken.

“Thank you... All of you...” Was all she could manage to say towards the three before burying her face in the handkerchief she still clung to to cry before turning and continuing to lead everyone towards the grave site and awaiting Father Grimburrow.

OOC:

Balta had a look of what could have been disappointment worn about his ever-scowling features. His smart-ass jibe was fun and all, but part of him had been looking for an excuse to slug one of the silly brutes right in the kisser. POW.

"...what? Oh..." he took a moment to realize that Millie had stopped off mid-rant just to question him. "Truth be told, I have nothing but the utmost esteem for the noble profession of pastry cheffing. I said it simply because I found it amusing." he confessed, a grin creeping over his downturned lips for once. That, and the mention of pastry chefs did bring to mind his favorite and perhaps greatest vice. Sweets. Tarts in particular.

The murmuring and mumbling behind the group was ignored for the time being. Instead, he focused his attention on the recently spoken cleric.

"I had been wondering when you would speak up, Mr. Skyloft. A man of few words you may be, but you wield them well." A nod soon followed.

Flexing his left arm, he gave a bit of a hinting grunt. The lack of motion had really started to strain his grip. It was easy to maintain whilst moving, but standing still tended to let the wood and metal grips dig into one's palm.

"You're most welcome, Kendra. But for now, let us resume our procession and put that ugliness behind us."

Looking over towards the man speaking to him, as the town folks started to wander off like told off children, the man would merely shake his head before speaking. "They were being beyond rude, childish. . .and also disrespecting the path I've chosen in life." He tells him, sighing as he looks over towards the woman who was thanking them yet again.

"Agreed. We should carry on and not let this hinder us any further. I rather lay this man to rest now, before they think it's 'wise' to try and rile up another mob of childish doings." The cleric said, feeling that the quicker they put this man to rest, with the proper respect of course, the more easier it will be for the young woman to deal with such grief. However, he was starting to think he may have to stay in town a while after this, to ensure the town folks didn't unbury this man and try to do away with the body else where. Rude ass motha $%^&ing bitches.

OOC:

As the angry mob dispersed, Millie let out a soft sigh of relief. She would have hated to see a fight break out... Not that they wouldn’t have been able to handle a riley bunch of old farmers, but that the entire event would have likely been devastating for Kendra, who was already going through a very hard time. Much as Kevin said, which she fully agreed with, it was disrespectful.

Hearing Balta’s comment and clarification on his opinion of pastry chefs likewise relieved the young Alchemist all the more. She didn’t quite know the red-headed half-Elf as well as she would've liked from their first meeting many years ago, but now that they had this very important clarification cleared up in regards to sweets, their budding friendship could certainly continue without complications.

“That is so very good to hear. I must admit ya’ had me worried. Not liking pastry chefs... How silly that would be, ya?” Millie answered back towards Balta with a coy smile.

Shifting her weight as the casket did indeed start to weigh heavily against her grip, the thank you from Kendra was returned with a comforting smile and silent nod before the lady turned to continue leading the funeral procession. Following dutifully in toe, Millie would spare a glance over her shoulder towards Kevin in order to give him a quick look-over. Hearing him finally speak denied her suspicions of him being a mute, but her curiosity wasn’t sedated quite yet. Who was he? Surely the Professor held him in high regard to ink him into his will, and she was dying to learn more about the mystery man.

Following the gravel trail of the Eversleep through the cemetery, no further complications prevents the procession from reaching the plot of land Kendra purchased for her father. Greeted part way there by Father Grimburrow, who had caught sight of the fleeting mob in their retreat, the old Priest looks everyone over to ensure no harm was done before turning back towards Kendra. Upon inquiring what had all transpired, she tearfully recounts the short exchange, which has the Priest shocked by the audacity of such an interruption.

“You have my thanks for keeping the peace in a time when violence would have been expected.” Father Grimburrow finally says towards Balta, Kevin and Millie before gesturing for the gravediggers behind him to move forward to aid in bringing the coffin towards the designated site. Soon enough, the Petros’s casket is placed above the open grave and lowered slowly by the gravediggers as the following crowd assembles themselves around.

Father Grimburrow gives a short sermon befitting for the late Professor, then invites Kendra to say a few words about her father. The young lady fights back tears as she stands before everyone and briefly recounts a few of her father’s more courageous and selfless moments. The stories are heartfelt, and more than once she had to pause in order to compose herself.

“I thank all of you once more for coming on this day to pay your respects to my father.” Kendra finishes by saying. “I would now like to invite anyone who wishes to speak to share a few stories or remembrances you may have.” Taking several steps back, she silently stands near Father Grimburrow whilst awaiting any who would step forward to speak their piece.

Of the old friends of Lorrimor who have come to pay their respects, those that step forward to speak their stories and remembrances consist of Councilman Vashian Hearthmount, Councilman Gharen Muricar, tavernkeeper Zokar Elkarid and his 13-year-old son Pervin, and Jominda Fallenbridge--the lady who aided in carrying the Professor’s casket.

Once Jominda steps down, Kendra turns her puffy and tear filled gaze towards Balta, Kevin and Millie whilst waiting to see if any of them had anything they wished to say.

Relief arrived swiftly as the workers helped take the casket the last few yards toward the grave site. Not that the small group hadn't being doing alright on their own, but there's something about six men carrying a casket vs 3 that can really make a big difference.

As soon as the wooden corpse-box was laid down and ready for burial, Balta took the opportunity to get a good stretch in. Either arm was held out to his sides and then worked slowly with short, circular motions of the shoulders. This lasted only long enough for everyone to get arranged for the service.

A spot near Millie and Kevin was claimed, given that they were the only two people he'd spoken to. With his hands held behind his back, Balta assumed a near soldierly air, standing in a dignified pose as first the priest and then Kendra began to tell tales and deliver sermons. One by one the funeral goers came and went, sharing insights into their relationships with the late professor. Many were dull, some were humorous, others were short and to the point.

When the trio was finally asked if they wished to speak as well, Balta had to pause, looking between the other two for a moment. Their hesitation made it clear that someone should at least say something. So, with a muffled sigh, Balta stepped forward.

"The professor was a good man..." A second or so passed, the fighter apparently having to think before continuing. Public speaking was never his strong suit. "... he... lead a full life. A life... full of... experiences and... adventures... and experiences. I remember one time... when... we... um..." Another awkward silence "...hmm... let us not forget this good man and his good deeds. He did... good things..." silence "...but most of all, he was good, and he certainly left his mark upon all of us. Some of us literally." With a tone of finality, and a painfully forced chuckle, the fighter took a step back in line with his companions.

Spoiler:

After all was said and done, and it was his turn to talk, the Crusader would unsheath his sword. Taking it within only one hand, he'd hold it infront of his face, letting the blade lightly press against his forhead. Closing his eyes, he would mutter something under his breath, offering a pray to the man that was at last being laid to rest.

Stopping for a moment he'd speak up once more, though it'd be short as he kept his eyes closed, and his pose never once breaking. "Twas a man that gave me great aid, inwhich I was able to further myself within this life. His deeds will not be forgotten, and I shall carry on 'ere for a time, to ensure no one tries to lay a finger upon his body."

Lowering his sword, he'd keep it unshealth in hand for the time being, his head bow as he awaited for any further sayings or prays to be placed upon the site on which they stood now.

Throughout the sermon from Priest Grimburrow, the stories told by Kendra, the rather painful sounding albeit empowering speech from Balta, and let us not forget the moving words spoken by Kevin, Millie remained unusually quiet. Eyes glistening with tears, she clasped her hands together in front of her mouth while doing her best not to cry. She always got so emotional at these sorts of things, and what with the Professor being an old friend, it was weighing on her quite a bit. When it came her turn to speak, she looked from Balta to Kevin, as if for encouragement, before taking a step forward in order to stand in front of the small gathering and clearing her throat..

“Ahem... Petros Lorrimor... Well, he was many things to many different people. For some, a drinking companion, for others a guide in their time of need, he was a devout citizen, and a loving father..” Her golden hues rested on Kendra a moment before continuing. “To me however... He was a teacher. We used to stay up all hours of the night debating over the finer topics as widely ranging as military strategy, planar anomalies, theology and agriculture...” Pausing, a brief smile curled at her lips with remembrance of this. “He saw potential in me where others only saw crazy, and took it upon himself to nurture that spark over the years I studied under him. He opened many intellectual doors for me that continue to flavor my outlook on the world... And for that, I thank him.”

Turning towards the open grave, Millie slipped a hand into one of her many pockets before withdrawing a handful of dried flower petals. They were alchemical components, used primarily in making her vast assortment of extracts, yet their vivid color had hardly faded with time and preservation. Sprinkling them over the lowered casket, the Alchemist took a moment to reflect on the Professor before blowing a kiss towards his final resting place.

“You will be missed, old friend..” Millie whispered, the words barely heard above the caws of crows and the blowing of tree leaves around them with the oncoming storm. Turning to look back up toward the group, she feigned a small smile while using the back of her hand to wipe away a tear or two before relocating back to stand beside Balta and Kevin.

After the funeral is over, Kendra makes her way through the small gathering to say her goodbyes and thank-you’s to the other guests who had attended. Well wishes are bid, followed by various words of comfort towards Kendra before, one by one, the crowd began to disperse with each of the attendees silently disappearing down the various paths that twisted through the darkening cemetery. Finally the lady, after saying farewell to Father Grimburrow, made her way towards the awaiting trio, whom she’d smile towards warmly.

“I’m certain you are getting tired of me saying this, but I cannot help but to thank you again for all you have done today. Were it not for the three of you... Well, I couldn’t bear to think what would have happened. I would like to invite you all back to my home for a drink and to hear my father’s last will and testament.” Gesturing down the Blackpath, which a blanket of fog was slowly creeping over, in the distance one could catch sight of a lone carriage that awaited them just outside the gates of The Restlands.

OOC:

"The thank you's are note necessary, Miss Kendra, but again, you are most welcome."

The service passed all too slowly for the bored fighter, but he did at least manage to keep his boredom from being too obvious. Having had given a somewhat awkwardly convincing speech, he bought himself a decent amount of credibility. Maybe they simply thought he was too overcome with emotion?

"I would like to invite you all back to my home for a drink and to hear my father’s last will and testament.”

That was all he needed to hear. Previously, he'd barely been paying attention. Simply nodding and the like at the appropriate times. It was easier to just play along.

The walk to the carriage was short enough, the somber silence that came over them, or maybe it was just Balta that was being quiet, was interrupted only by the steady crunch of gravel beneath boots.

"Ah... very nice. I didn't expect such lordly treatment." He stated as they reached the small four person carriage. Looking at the door, and then reaching back for the lengthy bit of steel attached to his back, the fighter let out a sigh. Removing the greatsword, he moved around to the back of the carriage, securing it tightly on the luggage rack.

His favorite, and most familiar weapon out of his reach, he returned to the carriage itself, a hand resting on the hammer that hung from his left hip. The presence of the sword offered a bit of security, though without it, the warrior did feel a touch naked.

He waited for both Kendra and then Millie to board before he made his wa inside, securing himself a seat next to their fine-ass hostess.

Giving a nod when being offer that, he felt he might as well get use to the area. Find out information on the locals. . .along with trying to figure out why they were deeming the man as a necro. That and the will reading of course too.

It seemed he didn't have much to say, as he'd get into the carriage along side the man, after watching him put his great sword up towards the back of the car. Smiling a bit, he was happy he had not bring such a sized weapon along, though he'd at once feel cramped within the carriage when getting himself sitted. Looking across at the warrior across from himself, he'd offer him a small nod before reaching out to offer his hand.

"Kevin Skyloft, nice to meet'chu." He said, the smile seeming to stay now that they were not among the dead for the time being. He wouldn't speak much further then that, considering it rude to try and question a man he had just met. He'd wait to see what type of man he was, before diving into any questioning of the sort.

“It was the least we could do, Lady Kendra. There’s no need to thank us! And I would be delighted to have a drink in a warm place to dry off, especially after the long and wet trip here.” Millie answered as the small group of four made their way through the fog and down the Blackpath towards the yonder coach that awaited them. Once reaching the carriage, a slender man hopped down from the wet drivers seat, where he had been waiting throughout the funeral, in order to open the door dutifully for Lady Kendra and her guests as they approached. Aiding his Mistress first and foremost with an outstretched and offered hand up into the coach, he’d follow Balta around to the back luggage rack to make sure the man required no assistance

Millie wasn’t far behind Balta as she hoisted the heavy backpack from over her shoulders to store. Silently she watched the half-Elf strap the large and rather brutal looking weapon to the back of the coach before her bag was passed off towards the driver per his request and aid. Waiting several moments to make sure he took care in handling her belongings, as there were quite a few fragile bits of glass vials and things of the likes within, the Alchemist finally rounded the carriage before sliding in to sit next to Kevin.

“My home is on the other side of town. It.. It won’t be long until we’re there.” Kendra spoke softly as she adjusted the wet shawl over her shoulders and settled back for the ride. She looked exhausted, and rightfully so after the rather emotional events of her father’s funeral. Offering Balta a forced smile in politeness as he sat beside her, she otherwise remained silent throughout the ride unless questioned or spoken to.

Millie nod nodded her head in understanding before removing her glasses to clean off droplets of rain with the hem of her skirt as the two men went about introducing themselves with a shake of the hand and all things gentlemanly. When their pleasantries were finished, she placed the spectacles on her face once more before turning to offer her own hand towards the Cleric.

“M’names Millie. Millie Button. Nice to meet’cha Kevin.” Millie greeted in turn, her voice chipper and bubbly despite the grim events that had come to pass. Flashing him a warm smile, her attention otherwise was drawn back outside as the driver finished securing the luggage and door before climbing back up onto his elevated seat. Flicking the horse's reins twice with a sound click of his tongue, the carriage was soon moving down the gravel road towards Ravengro.

As they rode in silence, the scenery of Ravengro likely drew the trio’s attention as the carriage followed the main paved road through the heart of the city. It appeared much like any other in regards to build, perhaps a bit more dark and gloomy, though one could imagine it was likely due to the dark skies and rain which was really starting to downpour outside... Right? Whatever townsfolk were out and about in this weather shot the coach dour and yet curious looks in its passing, to which Kendra explained was to be expected from the untrusting and superstitious locals.

Eventually the thick of buildings of town began to thin as farms and manors of the more wealthy citizens in Ravengro started to dot the surrounding area. The cobblestone road eventually gave way to gravel once more, and not long after, the carriage pulled off the main road onto the driveway of a rather large sized home. Approaching the Lorrimor manor with a slowing pace, the carriage came to a gradual stop outside of the house just as the grand double doors opened and several servants came out to greet their Mistress and new guests. Much like the townsfolk, their looks towards the newcomers were curious, yet the harsh undertone of their expression was not there, or rather, hidden very carefully.

Hopping down from his perch, the driver lowered the fold-up stairs of the carriage first before opening the door and offering his hand once more as aid for the ladies as they exited. Moving rather quickly through the heavy rain, the small group was escorted by Kendra through the elaborate double doors to the foyer as the servants customarily greeted their Mistress in her return. The home was remarkable, its grand two-story foyer alone worthy of awe with it’s winding staircase, art decorated walls and black and white marble floors. Within moments Kendra’s wet shawl and funeral veil were removed and taken by one of the servants before their attention fell upon Balta, Kevin and Millie where they’d offer politely to take any of their traveling gear, wet coats or things of the like.

“Wendy, please be a dear and send one of the maids to start up a fire within the drawing room and study; it was dreadfully wet and cold outside and I’d hate for our guests to catch a cold. Have Willard put on a pot a tea as well for our guests, and make certain the bar is stocked with clean glasses.” Kendra spoke softly towards the head servant, Wendy, before she turned to face Kevin, Balta and Millie as the maid went off to issue orders. Her eyes were half-lit and glossy, as if tears threatened to roll down her rosy cheeks once more.

“The reading of the will requires the presence of Councilman Vashian Hearthmount; the closest thing Ravengro has to a solicitor. Unfortunately he had some other matters to attend to after the funeral and won’t be arriving for another hour. In the meantime, I will be retiring to my bedchamber to rest and freshen up... Please make yourselves at home, and should you desire anything at all, do let my servants know.” Pausing to force the most polite smile she could muster, despite her heavy emotions, a hand gestured side-long towards the returning Wendy, who offered to escort them to the drawing room.

“I apologize for not being a more... Proper hostess... But I... I need some time to myself.” With that said, Kendra nodded her head politely towards the three of her guests before turning to make her way up the winding staircase. Any with a keen eye could catch a glimpse of tears as she turned, followed by the sound of muffled sobs after the lady disappeared down the hallway towards her personal chambers..

Wendy frowned at her Mistress’ mourning before turning to lead Kendra’s guests to the grand room without another word. As they walked down the long decorative hallway, any glimpse spared towards the rooms they passed would see that most were crowded with bookshelves that ran from floor to ceiling; such, to Millie’s guess and knowledge, likely being the Professor’s extensive personal library.

“Tha’ tea will be ready soon, as well as the hors d'oeuvres if yer’ hungry. Should ya’ be needin’ anythin’ in the meantime, best be lettin’ us know.” Wendy spoke, her common accent thick, as she pushed open the drawing room doors for the trio to enter. Inside, the room was a welcoming sight. Decorated with rich velvet and mahogany furniture, at the far end a newly made fire crackled and shed its warmth and golden light across the bookshelves and tapestries that lined the walls. In the corner of the large room was a modest bar that housed a good assortment of liquor and wine.

“Please, make yer’selves comfortable.”

Balta was fairly quiet for the majority of the short trip, save for the gentle in and out of breath. His eyes were fixed on the window, watching as the village rolled by at a steady pace, houses, shops, farms, all fairly common sights, save for the ever overcast, ever dreary weather. Absolom was not unfamiliar with rainstorms, but even the cloudiest, darkest skies gave way to sunlight. Here, though, the very land itself seemed determined to give its occupants as few luxuries as it could.

"Balta." Kevin's introduction shook him from his meditations. "Balta Luske, it's a pleasure to meet you." The proper reply came, a sparing glance given to the cleric. Though, within seconds he was back to staring out the window. Wanderlust, as ever, did make the world outside the norm all the more intriguing.

The remainder of the trip passed without a word from the warrior, having lost himself in the sights and sounds of the passing town. He did, however, perk up when he noticed their trip coming to an end. Stepping out first, he immediately went to recover his sword and his pack from the luggage rack before the driver could so much as lift a finger. There was something about other people getting all handsy with his things that never quite sat well with him.

The house itself was fairly impressive, for a country home. Spacious, marble floored, full of well-dressed yes-men. This Wendy character was obviously the one in charge, or the most yes-woman of the yes-men, or whatever that metaphor was attempting to say. Silent as ever, he'd let Kendra take her leave, offering her a polite nod and a forced smile before she headed off for her private quarters to do... private things.

Regardless, he'd play the part of the good guest and follow along as directed. The drawing room, at least, seemed comfortable enough. It had a very distinguished feel to it, though it wasn't the most homey. Rich people's homes always felt that way. All for show, very little genuine life to them. But, books and booze.

"I never knew the old man was so well off..." He found himself saying aloud, more to start conversation with his companions. "...I mean, I'm not shocked, but I had expected something a bit more... low key, I suppose." Drawing closer to one of the many bookshelves that surrounded them on all sides, the fighter would reach up to one that's spine read 'Oris the Owlbear and Other Childrens' Tales.' He had it as a boy. It was one of the few books he'd ever read before being taken in by the Court. It held lessons on standing your ground and a few decent recipes for baked goods. Everything a growing sociopath needs to know.

Nodding at the man after he greeted him, he'd not seem to mind he kept it sweet and short. It didn't bother him really. . .though this Millie on the other hand. He'd give her a small smile, mostly to be nice, but twitched as he was NOT use to being this close to a woman before. As the 'car' took off, he'd be remember that a woman such as Millie, had a bust. One that was bouncing a lil' bit during their ride up.

Damn, ffff.

Feeling his cheeks flush a bit, when you deal with the dead and a few other 'older' guard members in the dead of night. . .one was easily fluster when about the other sex.

Looking out the window, as he didn't want to stare as that would be rude, and result in a slap, he'd wait until they came upon the next location. He wouldn't say a thing as they were lead into the house of the woman who was crying, nor a word when entering the drawing room. Giving her a nod as she left. . .he'd look towards the man speaking about the person that had drawn them all upon one another.

"Tis rather sad reall'eh. . .the man was of great aid to me, teaching me how to fix many of the flaws he saw in me. Was a bit moody at first when he did, but now I'm thankful for what he did. Though. . .what on 'ell caused that mob to speak so ill of him?" He asked, making a small gesture in the air, venom slipping into his voice as he mention the bit about the mob from before.

Once Wendy shut the sliding doors to the drawing room in her parting, Millie let out a long and fairly dramatic sigh as they were finally given some time to themselves. She was a social butterfly through and through, but emotional affairs such as this tended to get draining, especially when around crowds. And angry mobs who wish to hurt you for that matter. Scampering closer to the newly started fire, the red-head huddled near it and rubbed her chilled hands close to the crackling heat in order to warm herself. The constant drizzle of rain throughout the funeral followed by the eventual downpour they had to walk through from the coach to the manor had soaked right through her coat, leaving her all wet and cold.

As she stood warming and drying herself off, Millie’s attention was pointedly elsewhere. Golden eyes wide--which behind her spectacles made them look all the bigger--she marveled at the sheer number of books that cluttered the majority of wall space within the room. Even on her way through the large manor, the sight of room after room with the same set up, each crammed with books, was pretty much enough to give the Alchemist a nerdgasm. The Professor really wasn’t kidding when he said playfully say that he lived in a library.

Hearing Balta speak up was enough to draw Millie’s attention towards the red-headed half-Elf. Quirking a slender brow for a moment, she’d giggle softly while rotating her lithe body to warm and dry evenly.

“I forget that ya’ didn’t know the Professor as well as I did. Within the world of science and academia, he was a genius! I’ve listened to his seminars in all the prominent schools of Ustalav; I particularly fancied his discussion of ancient formulae at Rozenport’s Sincomakti School.” Musing over the fond memories for a moment with a soft smile and distant look, her attention focused back on Balta as she continued.

“His work often had him far away from home however, leaving his daughter Kendra without him for months at times. I’d imagine this house was his way of making sure she was well taken care of while he was gone. That and, ya’know, the books. He has lots of them!” Way to go Millie, state the obvious.

When Kevin spoke up again, Millie turned to face in his direction whilst also quite effectively warming her fine booteh in the fire’s golden glow. Nod nod nodding her head in agreement to his words, the final question he brought up also got her mind gears turning.

“Aye... I must admit, the intrusion and claims of the Professor being involved in necromancy was very peculiar. Certainly Petros may have seemed odd at times due to some of the darker subjects he studied and taught on, but all of course was in the name of science! His research has done more to protect the masses from evils, plagues and diseases than some people even realize!”

Realizing that she was getting a bit too worked up on the subject, which caused her pitched voice to escalate all the louder, an innocent smile was shed as she blushed and rubbed at the back of her head full of curls.

“A-any ways... Ahem... Perhaps they didn’t agree with his line of work or studies?” It was as good a guess as any that she’d give with a shrug before pausing to think on it some more.. “Though... He lived here for over fifteen years... It does seem odd that now of all times, and at his funeral at that, the locals would finally speak up and protest.”