# Forum > Play-by-Post Games > Ongoing Games (In-Character) >  Carrion Crown (on the Farm) IC: Season One

## Inspectre

Link to the OOC Thread


Music!

It began with the arrival of the letter.  Over the years you had received occasional letters from your old friend Petros Lorrimor, and so its arrival was not particularly alarming.  Likewise, its contents seemed innocuous enough at first glance, banal even.

*Spoiler: The Letter*
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Hello Old Friend,

I realized the other day that it has been some time since last we spoke.  You need not worry, for I am in good health.  The quiet air of Ravengro has been a great help to my nerves after a life of adventure.  Danger may be a flavorful spice to add to ones life, but an exhausting one as well.  I imagine tis strange to hear such a sentiment come from me, given the circumstances in which we met.  Nonetheless, these old bones of mine have found that peace quite appeals to them.  

The people of Ravengro are an insular lot, it must be said.  But though they are slow to trust, I have gradually earned their respect.  No doubt my time as a professor in Lepidstadt winning over recalcitrant students has been of aid there.  One other thing that I have found helpful is an attentive ear, as everyone carries their share of problems, even if they are too proud to ask for aid.

If you should decide to come pay your old professor a visit, I would caution you to beware the rainy season.  Ravengro has quite the stirge population in the surrounding moors, and paradoxically the little blighters are most active then.  I would hate for your first experience in town to be hearing the whispering from the townsfolk over your pockmarked face!  Nonetheless, I am sure you will find a way to impress them even if such should come to pass.

I hope you will forgive the ramblings of an old man, but I will not keep your eyes glued to their letter any further.

May Pharasmas waters guide thee,

Professor Petros Lorrimor
7th of Rova (September), 4722 AR




There it was, at the very end of the letter in the farewell  May Pharasmas waters guide thee.  Petros had always told you that was an old catchphrase, a challenge and response system set up centuries ago during the darkest moments of Ustalavs history.  May Pharasmas waters guide thee was the challenge, and then the response was some phrase agreed upon ahead of time that could be changed as necessary  May Pharasmas waters guide thee, and protect thee from harm, May Pharasmas waters guide thee, and lead thee to Her Throne, and so on.  Its relevance here was that Professor Lorrimor had always told you that when he used that challenge phrase in one of his letters, it would mean that a secret was encoded within.  Sure enough, holding the letter up to a candleflame close enough to singe, but not burn, the paper was enough to activate the invisible ink, underlining several words to reveal the true message.

*Spoiler: The True Letter*
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Hello Old Friend,

I realized the other day that it has been some time since last we spoke.  You need not worry, for I am in good health.  The quiet air of Ravengro has been a great help to my nerves after a life of adventure.  Danger may be a flavorful spice to add to ones life, but an exhausting one as well.  I imagine tis strange to hear such a sentiment come from me, given the circumstances in which we met.  Nonetheless, these old bones of mine have found that peace quite appeals to them.  

The people of Ravengro are an insular lot, it must be said.  But though they are slow to trust, I have gradually earned their respect.  No doubt my time as a professor in Lepidstadt winning over recalcitrant students has been of aid there.  One other thing that I have found helpful is an attentive ear, as everyone carries their share of problems, even if they are too proud to ask for aid.

If you should decide to come pay your old professor a visit, I would caution you to beware the rainy season.  Ravengro has quite the stirge population in the surrounding moors, and paradoxically the little blighters are most active then.  I would hate for your first experience in town to be hearing the whispering from the townsfolk over your pockmarked face!  Nonetheless, I am sure you will find a way to impress them even if such should come to pass.

I hope you will forgive the ramblings of an old man, but I will not keep your eyes glued to their letter any further.

May Pharasmas waters guide thee,

Professor Petros Lorrimor
20th of Arodus (August), 4722 AR

Which could be transcribed to:

I NEED HELP. DANGER. COME TO RAVENGRO. TRUST NO ONE. BEWARE THE WHISPERING WAY.



For those of you more learned in the history of Ustalavs various towns and factions, you consult your own resources of knowledge before setting out to answer the professors disguised plea for aid.

*Spoiler: Ravengro, Knowledge Local or History DC 15*
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The town of Ravengro, originally known as Ravens Grotto, was founded in 4594 to support and supply the newly established Harrowstone Prison nearby.  After the prison was closed down in 4661, the town lingered on but largely went ignored by the County of Tamrivena.  A few attempts were made to revitalize the town by transforming it into a lumber or farming community, but all such efforts failed in rather short order.  Today the town of Ravengro is an isolated, sleepy hamlet of no importance whatsoever.



*Spoiler: The Whispering Way, Knowledge Religion or Arcana DC 15*
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A secret cabal of sinister necromancers and undead sympathizers, the Whispering Way are best known in Ustalav as servants of Tar-Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant, so-named in part because of his own association with this order.  While there are any number of secretive fellowships with varying legal standing within Ustalav, the Whispering Way is the only one whose membership has been officially declared illegal by the government in Caliphas, with punishments ranging from life imprisonment to execution by slow torture.  Despite the official government stance that this has led to the organization being virtually stamped out within civilized areas of Ustalav, rumors of the Ways continued existence abound, alongside rumors that the most notorious members of the organization continue to operate unimpeded in the regions of Ustalav outside the governments firm control - which it must be said, is the larger portion of the country.



It has taken the professors letter several weeks to reach you from the date it was written, and several more for you to conclude your own business and set out to the town of Ravengro.  The roads, as always in Ustalav but especially for an isolated town like Ravengro, are dangerous for an armed group but nigh suicidal for a lone traveler.  As such you have had to arrange passage with a small caravan of merchants and fellow travelers leaving the county seat of Tamrivena to reach Ravengro at all, let alone in time to come to the Professors aid.  Today is the first of Lamashan (October), and with any luck at all this will be your final day on the road before arriving in Ravengro at mid-morning.  A little over a month since the professor sent out his desperate letter to you  it would have to be soon enough.

This is shortly after the start of your fifth day on the road from Tamrivena.  While the weather has thankfully remained dry for the duration of your trip, the chill after the sun goes down certainly heralds the approach of winter.  Furthermore, the dark clouds starting to gather overhead suggest that if you do not arrive in Ravengro soon, you may have a cold autumn rain to endure as well.

Fortunately, that defaced signpost you had passed a few minutes ago reported that Ravengro was only half a mile ahead, and so you should only be minutes away from arriving, even at the slow pace the caravan has been traveling to accommodate the slower draft animals.  Aside from the guards and travelers tromping along on foot, the caravan currently consists of, from front to the back of it stretched out along the narrow, uneven hardpacked dirt road:
A travelers carriage bearing a Ravengro-local merchant, Luramin Taigh, returning from Tamrivena on business.  He has offered anyone traveling a seat within the carriage . . . for the extortionist fee of 2 gold pieces.A wagon bearing the proceeds of Luramins business within Tamrivena, largely various odds and ends of gear and tools.  With the two hired guards riding up front and a third hanging off the back of the wagon, there is no room for a comfortable seat but the guards have grudgingly offered a spot in the wagon amidst the piles of supplies, in exchange for a promise not to steal anything and not to tell Luramin that they allowed you to ride in his wagon.A magical carriage drawn by phantom steeds summoned by a middle-aged professor who apparently has traveled all the way from Lepidstadt.  The professor has largely kept to himself (and been largely shunned by the others in the caravan for his flagrant display of magic), but has introduced himself as Professor Adivon Adrissant in one of the few conversations youve had with him.  To anyone who has made an effort to speak with him over the course of the journey (requiring a DC 10 Diplomacy check), he has offered a seat within his magical carriage, free of charge.A Varisian travelers wagon, complete with sketches of butterflies flying over streams twisting around into spiral patterns (symbols of Desna and Pharasma both, to be sure) painted along the side of it.  The covered wagon is driven by a middle-aged Varisian woman named Zellara, and you have caught glimpses of a passenger riding inside the wagon, a strange pale-skinned fellow covered in heavy robes, a face-concealing scarf, and a cowl with a monkey pet (or familiar).  Like the professor, the strange duo have been largely shunned by Luramin and his hired guards, and thus kept to themselves, which perhaps only increases their aura of mystery.  Zellara has made passing remarks to those walking that someone could ride up front with her, or hang off the back of the wagon if they so wished to rest their feet, although she has asked that no one go inside the wagon as her traveling companion wishes for privacy.A cart pulled by a pair of oxen, driven by an elven scholar (Losais).  It is up to *Sarone* to determine what criteria are necessary for riding on his cart instead of walking.

(OOC:  And so we begin!  Everyone can introduce their character and where they are within the caravan, whether that is on one of the vehicles making up said caravan or tromping along on foot at some point near one of the vehicles  please make note of where you are walking in relation to the vehicles so I can get some idea of whether youre brining up the front or rear of the single-file formation.  And once weve got some introductory descriptions and banter settled, well begin in earnest with your arrival in Ravengro!)

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## DarkOne7141981

From his position near the front of the caravan Sir Kristoph Harrisson, self-announced Paladin of Pharasma, walks with a smile and a light step in spite of his heavy breastplate and weapons. Regardless of the cold and damp he seems in a jovial mood as he makes innocuous small talk with the greedy merchant Luramin Taigh. Over the course of their trip it seems he's deliberately poked fun at the man's "offer" of a seat, instead walking and talking instead of spending two gold crowns on a bench. 

"Nearly there, now - I'm sure you're happy to be home, Luramin. Probably time to get back to the shop, start up a nice fire, and dry off from this mist. Do you do much business with Professor Lorrimor? Can you direct me to his home once we get there?" Kristoph asks, smiling at the pending end of their trip. "Once I've visited my friend, is there an inn or tavern in town? I'd like to meet some of the good people and join in their nightly feast!"

The striking man, with elven ears, distinctly otherworldly demeanor, size, bright red hair, and intense green eyes knows he is unlikely to receive a warm welcome in the insular town, but that doesn't seem to bother him. Despite his well polished, matte black armor and the bright blue spiral of Pharasma on the black overcoat, the unlikely knight seems to carry none of the seriousness or dour mood of Pharasmins. Instead he has opted for a joie de vivre that seems at stark contrast to the gloomy, dark country of Ustalav and the suspicious town they approach.

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## Farmerbink

Legs crossed lazily, Elian lounges alongside the woman Zellara, much preferring her company to the guards and the other even-odder folk heading to Ravengro.  "...and that's how I saved the crown prince from what surely would have been an untimely demise- or at least dismemberment.  And would you believe, I've never received even a note of thanks?!  The nobility can be so ungrateful, don't you agree?!"  Laughing easily despite the gloomy weather and dire contents of his coat pocket, emerald green eyes twinkle back torchlight as the wagon bumps over yet another imperfection in the "road."  

"You'd think they could at least maintain a _pretense_ of maintaining the roads," he chuckles, jokingly rubbing at his side as if bruised from the journey.  His eyes take in the clouds periodically, their undulations a mirror of the thoughts stirring behind his pretty eyes.  _Danger.  Whispering Way._  For half a heartbeat, he scowls, before turning an easy smile upon Zellara once more.

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## Triskavanski

The Odd Varisian man dressed in a bizarre blend of a military uniform and some of the typical varisian cloths and jewelery rode on the back side of the wagon feeling more at home there than with the others. He was mostly silent, observing those around him at the present time. Occasionally though, when they were on breaks of travel, he would  perform minor fortune tellings with the harrow deck he kept in his inner breast pocket. He didn't quite have the flair that most Varisian had when it came to performances.

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## SanguinePenguin

The journey back to Ravengro leaves Tamara brimming with delight.  She got the professors message, then - after she had already decided to stop by and visit him - she remembered the time he told her about _secret_ messages.  He always knew the right things to say!  Help?  Danger?  Beware?  He had her at Hello!

Tamara is a social animal and is happy to be in a caravan with such a melange of characters.  She readily and eagerly engaged in friendly conversation with her fellow travelers.  The slimy merchants absurd price for a seat made her laugh.  She didnt really understand the joke, but it seemed impolite not to laugh at such a clear attempt at one.  She didnt see any reason to go behind his back for a ride on his other cart, though it was nice of the folk to offer.  While she happily gave a friendly wave to the scholar bringing up the rear of the caravan, she had a more desirable place to sit.  Though Desna is a kindred spirit, and Tamara thought the old woman would make for delightful company, the middle wagon was being pulled by _magic horses_.  Surely Desna would understand how irresistible that was.  The professors letter said to trust no one, but surely a man in a magic wagon pulled by magic horses doesnt count!  

When she introduced herself to this other professor, her curious mind set into a barrage of exuberant questions, wow!  How does it work?  Where do the horses come from?  What are they made out of?  When the professor kindly offered a seat, she took it enthusiastically.  As they neared Ravengro, she asked the man, do you know Petros Lorrimor?  I recall he has some Lepidstadt affiliation.

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## Gyrfalcon

Sharing the carriage with Professor Adrissant and the irrepressible halfling Tamara was a rangy dark-haired man in slightly worn but clean traveling clothes. He half-smiles as he adjusts his glasses and runs a gloved hand through his hair as she barrages the poor Professor with questions about the magical carriage.

Aaron marked her as likely being an outsider to Ustalav - halflings being somewhat rare to begin with and lacking in the almost instinctual fear and revulsion of the arcane arts that marks much of the populace. At her last question, he enters the conversation as well. Professor Lorrimor is well respected at the University for his knowledge and wisdom. I was fortunate to have taken one of his classes when I studied there. he offered.

As the conversation continues, he thinks back on the Professors letter. Something must be truly wrong to ask for Aarons aid  while he considered himself a fine student and historian, he was a mere dabbler in the arcane arts still. Perhaps the Professor had unearthed some tome that required more extensive research? But then, there would have been no need for the secret message written so.

It was something that Aaron continued to fret over as the magical carriage smoothly passed over the road.

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## Sarone

*Spoiler: Description:*
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  A half elf of middle age, Lo'sais is wearing light blue and tan clothes of a priest, devoted to Sarenrae.  A wooden holy symbol of the Sun Goddess hangs from a simple twine around his neck.  His brown hair has started to grey, and the lines of too many suns cross his eyes.

Besides his age, the other distinct feature of him is his burnt arms, as though some great fire had tried to consume the flesh.  On closer inspection, a scar of a cat's eye can be seen on the back of his hands, ivory white against the burns.


Taking up the rear, Lo'sais guides his oxen from his seat on the cart.  _Better to let the young find their own way than be imposed upon,_ Lo'sais thinks to himself, a smile crossing his lips.  _Petros, your skill at diplomacy in an adventure has always been a light to the world.  Hard to believe that I have spent so long away._

Inside the cart, Lo'sais has a back pack, loaded with a limited array of supplies expertly stored.  Next to his seat, a spear rests with a light cross bow.  A scan from his eyes indicate a wariness to the travels.  _And equally hard to believe that Agatha would "warn me" of what is to come.  Her being "paid" to stall my travels suggests far more is at play._

Hearing the paladin's jovial banter, Lo'sais smiles.  "My good knight, Petros is a fine diplomat, able to find a friend in any village or town, and a man of keen intellect, wit, and cunning.  His time at Lepidstat should have made his ability with the blade."  Lo'sais says from his spot.  "Likewise, he would recommend that one takes up a seat while traveling, to be well rested as a guest and visitor.  He said that his family bought a residence ten years ago and I have been meaning to take time away from the clan caravan to visit."

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