Aarnr makes his way across to the cart, where Bilfro is nerving himself to turn back a corner of the blanket and check if Ozzy is still bundled inside it.  Though, if the truth be told, the bulk of his indecision appears to derive from the difficulty of selecting which end of the wrapped corpse he should check to determine its absence or presence.

The whole business reminds Bilfro of that unpleasant story about the wizard, Ponthias, who locked a cat in a box, and declared that it was then impossible to determine if it was alive or dead.  This statement made, of course, after he had plugged his ears with wax to block out the irate yowling and hissing from inside the container.  The feline had settled the uncertainty as soon as the lid was opened, by the simple expedient of filleting Ponthias' nose with a single lightning quick swipe of its claws, before urinating in the man's lap, and bolting out of the open window.

Anja draws herself up to her full height, and declares, "If you are able to assist with the trial, in the determination of truth and lies, for example, you would all be most welcome to stay the night in the city.  I can speak to some of our citizens, and arrange accommodation for you.  The best the city of Crossroad has to offer."

"Well," Eilieen ponders.  "I would be interested in staying, to see if any more information were to be forthcoming from the villains.  They might speak up with the hope of making a deal for freedom, or the like."

Turning to the others of the group - those still there, in any case, with Giant-Aarnr having wandered off - she inquires "What say you all?"

Though he is uncomfortable at the idea of spending a night here in a place where the residents were ready to turn on them just a short while ago, Arkan decides it could be worth it to hear what the cultists might have to say (or blurt out in a desperate attempt to live)

"I concur Eileen, that is exactly what I am thinking. If not their own freedom, they may decide to tell us about their plans and their masters as revenge for their own fate," Arkan replies to the priestess.

Erista draws herself up to her full height, and smiles at Anja.  "We would be honored to accept your hospitality," she says.

"Fear not, thou doughty flummox," Aarnr spots Bilfo's difficulty. "Our friend will not bite thee."

"Thou and I shall guard my blood-brother from harm this night," the priest declares, eyeing the treeline speculatively, wishing he had thought to bring the giant's head with him on this journey.

"Not for us the sweets and savouries of those wimpled, common-kissing joltheads !" he assures the wizard, keenly. "This night we dine on proper, simple fare !"  Whatever joys that trail rations may provide.

"Now Ozzie has gone, slain by those vain, ill-breeding codpieces," Aarnr looks back to the city of Crossroads behind him, considering if the Halfling's spirit will be satisfied with the vengeance taken against the white-coats, "an' it falls to thee, thou calumnious, full-gorged popinjay, to sing his praises !"

Anja speaks, at length, to a few of the villagers, and they speak to a few more, and before long there are a number of volunteers to house the guests until morning.  The idea of having a bona fide hero sleeping under their roof is, unsurprisingly, an enticing proposition for the inhabitants of a small village, out in the middle of nowhere.  The stories these heroes could tell offer a boundless expanse of entertainment...

Sadly, after a brief discussion, it seems that none of the hovels houses has sufficient room for more than one guest.  On the plus side, though, none of the volunteers appear to bear obvious signs of leprosy, plague, (excessive) vermin infestation, or madness.

Anja regards the volunteers briefly, and dismisses a handful, leaving eight worthy citizens who are prepared to have hovel house guests for the night.

"These citizens will be your hosts for this evening.  They will provide cots, an breakfast, and will bring you to the trial in the morning, so that you can assist in the workings of justice." the city's current de facto leader explains to the bold adventurers.

Behind her, the final remains of the palace crash down, driving a cloud of sparks and embers into the smoke-filled morning sky, like incandescent butterflies...

Bilfro looks under the blanket and heaves a mournful sigh.  Ozzy is still there, and still dead.  It isn't all a terrible dream.  There is no miracle to draw him from the cold embrace of death and set him back on the road to future glory.

Another sigh, and the blanket is tucked gently back into place.

The mage opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it again with an almost audible *snap* as a cloud of flame and sparks billow up into the sky above Crossroad.  Bilfro's eyes seem to emit angry flames of their own, as he glares at Aarnr, and extends one bony digit, attached to an equally bony hand and, indeed, a similarly bony arm, in the direction of the pyrotechnic display.

And then, finally, he speaks, and his voice is tinged with rage and bitterness...

"Why?"

Aarnr looks over his shoulder at the gush of flame and sparkling embers that mark the final destruction of the grand palace.

"It is not fair, " the priest agrees with the mad old wizard.  "Sometimes the gods can be froggin' cruel indeed."

Why should those tardy-gaited, sheep-biting wastrels enjoy a nice warm fire while he and Bilfro shiver out here in the cold and dark !
This message was last edited by the player at 13:10, Sun 20 Aug 2017.

Eilieen, exhausted by the day's events, gladly accepts the hospitality.  There are some reservations - she's a little concerned by how quickly the town went from 'evil invaders' to 'heroes', especially given the damage they have done - but the priestess lets that go.

'What could possibly go wrong now?' isn't what goes through her mind; rather, it's more 'what could possibly proceed worse?'.

Naught to be done for the moment, though; she could, she supposes, find shelter at camp.  But why?  It's something of a surprise that Aarnr and Bilfro haven't chosen to join them, bringing poor Oswald's body.  They'll need to send their fallen friend on tomorrow, Eilieen muses, regardless of this 'trial'.

"Erista, should you wish to share a room, I would be more than pleased," she quietly informs the mage.  Perhaps Colwyn and Arkan can do the same.

Arrangements are made, and guests are assigned to various houses.

In every case, the house is but a single room, and rather crowded.  As a result, no household is able to take more than a single guest.  For most, at least, the house owner is prepared to give up his or her bed for the night.

Anja, having taken her part in the arrangements, ads as a final few words, "You are free to explore the city, but you must come back here, to the palace... " and here she casts a rueful glance at the burning wreckage, "... at sunset, when your hosts will lead you to your lodgings."

At the cart, Bilfro opens and closes his mouth a number of times, looking not unlike a fish, before finally managing to formulate a response.

"The gods?  The GODS?  Are you saying, then, that we are not responsible for all that happened.  Did the gods decide to descend upon that village from the sky, murder all of those people, and then start a blazing inferno for their own deific amusement?"

Not at all a fan of the fact that each house can accept at most a single guest, Arkan ponders what to do. It would be after all, but a simple thing to go to sleep and not awaken, without trusty companions to keep watch in case of a dagger in the night.

Still, their options appear limited. As houses are being assigned Arkan spots Eileen conferring with Erista and walks over to them.

"Perhaps we should make our own camp with Aarnr and Bilfro by the wagon and return here by the morn?" he asks them in a low voice. "I doubt we have anything to fear but I feel uncomfortable going to sleep surrounded by strangers, even if they do appear to think us heroes."

---

ooc: Arkan is being a bit paranoid, but he cannot help it. Such is the adventurers lot in life. But if the rest are fine with sleeping as guests in the village houses Arkan will sleep in the house assigned to him

Erista frowns a little.  "I think we've been rude enough without turning down their hospitality," she points out.  "When people don't have a lot to offer, it means a lot when they offer it.  But you guys do what you think best.  I'll be OK."

She smiles and waves over to the gathered volunteers, and then walks over towards them, picking one out on her way and angling towards them.    "Hi!" she says, cheerfully, when she reaches them.  "I'm Erista, from Lokshyr.  Thank you."

The conversation seems to be jumping around all over the place, but Aarnr is always happy to discuss matters of theology, and it seems the wizard is in need of some comforting advice regarding the article of faith that the gods are out to get their mortal servants.

"Yes," the priest agrees, pleased that Bilfro seems to be getting the gist of it.

Certainly the fire was a complete surprise, though it proved that his own instincts in that regard were correct, or at least in accord with those who dwell above ... and obviously a lot of people died, mostly at his own hand, though there again, the god was riding him at the time.

"Ye have to be froggin' stern with the gods if ye wish to avoid such tragedies."

To think he'd missed out on all the arson and most of the slaughtering.  Even the death of the old man he did remember killing, apart from the beslubberin' masons of course, but they didn't count, was not only almost accidental, but turned out to be more than the venomed, pigeon-livered greybeard deserved !  Aarnr was definitely going to be exceptionally rude to Bowbe on the morrow for that oversight !
This message was last edited by the player at 05:56, Sat 26 Aug 2017.

Colwyn nods his head, and mutters to Arkan. "Well I, fer one, is plannin' ter be sleepin' with one eye open, an' my 'and. on a blade.  I's not trustin' these buggers as far as I could be throwin' one of the oxes."

It's easy enough for Erista to find a family with children.  In fact she's spoiled for choice.  Eventually she finds a worn-looking middle-aged couple who appear to have custody over a sizeable tribe.  Her introduction brings nervous glances at first, and then the woman speaks, "I'm Junna, and this is my man, Ferdun."

Emboldened by his wife's words, Ferdun clears his throat, "Hello Miss.  Begging your pardon, where's Lokshyr?"

"Ferdun!  Don't ask so many questions!  Please forgive him, Miss.  He always wanted to travel, and he has a map at home that shows all the lands of the world."

Bilfro shakes his head, and favours Aarnr with a scornful look.  Then, without saying anything further, he marches around to the far side of the cart, where he sits on the ground with his back against the wheel...

Happy to have answered all Bilfro's questions, Aarnr leans back against the wheel on his side of the cart, sword across his lap, and dozes off.

There isn't really a lot to see in Crossroad.  The major attraction seems to be the burning palace, which the locals now seem content to allow to be razed to the ground, while they concentrate on saving the tavern from a similar fate.

The adventurers wander about, observing the everyday tedium of life in Crossroad.  Most of the villagers seem friendly enough - the death of Currinder and his allies, and the subsequent rise to power of Anja, provide the main topic of conversation among the locals.  There is an aura of hope - Currinder's evil influence on the young king has been ended, and Anja is considered a much better teacher and guide for a growing monarch.

At mid-afternoon a handful of guards are stripped of their uniforms and driven out of the village by a larger number of their former comrades - the few who had been most loyal to Currinder, and refuse to declare for Anja, are clearly no longer welcome in Crossroad.  Sadly, between the fighting in the morning and the subsequent expulsions, Crossroad's standing army is reduced to about two-thirds of its original strength...

Evening sees the adventurers escorted to their lodgings, where they are, universally, treated as honoured guests.  They dine well, on the beat fare their hosts can obtain.  Then tales are told, until it is time to retire for the night.

And during all of this Aarnr an Bilfro sit beyond the city, holding a vigil over Ozzy's body.  Aarnr sits quietly, except for the occasional thunderous snore, while Bilfro whispers constantly to the large, fierce looking owl which perches above his head on the rim of the cart wheel.  Whenever he hears Aarnr stirring, the mage shushes somebody (possibly the owl) into silence, and says nothing himself until he is certain that Aarnr will not come around the cart to interrupt him.

As night falls, even Bilfro slides down into a well of silence...

And at dawn, a horn sounds in Crossroad, summoning all to the trial of the remaining  two masons...

Given too much struggle with her conscience and memories, Eilieen sleeps poorly.  Dawn finds her less-than-well, though she is gracious and pleasant as she can be with her hosts.  Offering them thanks, and surreptitiously leaving fifteen silver pieces for the night, she heads out with all of her gear, prepared to face the day, the trial, and Oswald's funeral that night.

As such, she arrives early at the trial, and awaits the others in weary silence.

Aarnr wakes in a bad mood because his sleep wasn't disturbed by bandits or wild creatures, and is quick to take it out on Bowbe - the line of swearing, insults and downright rudeness a textbook example of piety.

"... odoriferous, vile-standing, cullionly, brazen-faced, scurvy, gorbellied, fishified, swag-bellied, cockered ..."

So by the time the priest arrives at whatever passes for a courthouse in this benighted city, his humour has much improved.

"The god's patience is but froggin' short," Aarnr explains to Anja.  "I can compel the wayward, beef-witted devil-monks to speak truth for but a short time, though if the puttocks are strong or clever they may manage to resist."

The court is located in the open area before the still smoking ruins of the palace.  A table has been placed there, with five chairs arrange around three sides of it.  The table has been covered by a white cloth, and bears five cups, a flask, and a large book which lays open, the pages weighted by an ornate dagger.

The prisoners are led into the court, an look as though they have not slept well.

Moments later, Anja appears around the corner of the ruin, accompanied by five elderly gentlemen, some of whom had fled the blaze in the palace the day before.  Anja sits on the side of the water trough, while the five men approach the table and take seats.  One of them, the one occupying the central position, remains standing, while he addresses the gathering crowd.

"Citizens of Crossroad, long has it been since the old legal customs were observed her.  But we magistrates, even though we have not serve in that capacity for many years, still remember the old forms."

He clears his throat, and speaks louder.  "Hear ye.  This court is in session.  The prisoners may enter their pleas."

One of the prisoners simply smirks, which does nothing to improve his somewhat goblinish features.  The other replies, "You hears no pleadin's from us.  We no is scared of you.  The God pertects us.  If you kills us, we go serve the God.  We do put a curse on them that kills us - them and all their kin is to die of sickness."

Eilieen sits in silence at the beginning of the trial.  She has no doubt how it will end; the only question at this point are the details.  It would seem that the town, however, has decided to act in all fairness, allowing the prisoners to speak and defend themselves.

Not that they do, really; instead, it is mockery and threats.

But the thought of a curse furrows her brow, and she stands. "Magistrates - might I have leave to speak on the matter of this curse?"

Even Aarnr can see that the curses uttered by the bat-fouling, turgid death-tokens might scare the mewling clot-poles that inhabit this city, though naturally their words worry him not at all.

"I'll froggin' kill them myself," the priest assures the Magistrates eagerly, eyeing the prisoners.  "My god would smile on it."

If he must be civil to these fusty, motley-minded haggards in order to ensure that the pox-marked, pribbling prisoners are slain, then that is what he will do.  In the eyes of Bowbe, those who have truck with the undead are far more deserving of a bloody end than those who would stand in judgment upon them.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:42, Mon 04 Sept 2017.

The magistrates confer among themselves quietly, then their spokesman says, "There will be no killing before the trial, and unless they are found guilty of a crime, the prisoners will not be killed after it.  While the trial continues, these... men... are under the protection of the city of Crossroad."

Then he beckons Eilieen forward.  "We are not afraid of their curse.  We have serve this city for many a year, and uncounted prisoners have uttered dire threats and curses against us, and still we live.  But you may speak, if you wish."

The prisoners grace Aarnr with leering grins as the Magistrates denial of his offer to slay them.  The one who had spoken of curses lifts his bound hands, makes an obscene gesture at the priest of Bowbe, and mutters something under his breath.

Arkan sits by his companions, watching the proceedings. His blood cannot help but boil at the mocking attitude displayed by the cultists, aside from being disrespectful it feels wrong.

These villains face all but certain execution, but instead of cowering in fear at their fate and betraying their master they instead seem to take joy in all the attention.

As one of the prisoners makes an obscene gesture towards Aarnr, Arkan turns his head and spits on the ground in response, choosing not to deign him with a reply. He then turns his head back towards the proceedings, preparing to hear what Eileen has to say.

Eilieen bows.  "I am pleased that threats of a curse will not dissuade you from justice.  I wish only to make it known that, through Zadastha's grace, I will attempt to purify any who are cursed by these miserable creatures.  Such things lie within Zadastha's power."

That said, she bows again and steps back to observe further.

"While we do not fear their curses, not all are so confident.  Your blessing might set their thoughts at ease, and for that we would gladly receive them."

The smirking defendant calls out, "We ain't nowt but craftmen, masons, goin' 'bout our trade.  We travel from town ter town ter find work.  Least ways we was, 'til these bastards murdered most of us."

"Indeed?" the Magistrate intones sardonically, "We shall see.  My Lady... " he adresses Eilieen, "... we have been informed that one of your group has the means to discover the truth from those who would conceal it.  Is this so?"

Erista has stayed with the family she spent the night and morning with.  Listening, she looks up at Junna and Ferdun and asks, curiously - quite aside the proceedings, but loudly enough to carry - "Didn't they already pretty much confess with the whole curse thing?  That's not a thing simple masons do where I come from."

Aarnr's mind has been on other matters ... namely how much of a head start he ought to give the masons should they somehow manage to weasel their way out of this before he sets out after them so he can kill the lot of them when he catches them ... so the question regarding the extraction of the truth catches him a little off-guard.

With Eilieen's pointed gaze to assist him, though, the priest quickly realises that the magistrates are asking for something other than a very cross examination with blunt instruments (or sharp ones as the dire and vengeful spirit moves him).

Nodding thoughtfully, and glaring belligerently at the offending masons, Aarnr makes his demands of his god in a typically quiet and respectful manner, which is to say:

"Bowbe !  Thou beslubberin' spur-galled malt-worm !" the priest bellows vehemently.  "Stir thy pock-marked, rank an' reeky rump an' put the fear of thy crook-pated, guts-gripin', odiferous self into these cullionly, common-kissing toads that no falsehood may fall from their quailin', bevenomed, sheep-bitin' tongues !"


OOC: cast Zone of Truth ... and since casting time is a standard action, the above diatribe is delivered at a fair clip !  20' radius area of effect, so should cover most if not all of the court room, ourselves included ...  ;>

Junna nods absently to Erista, occupied as she is by keeping two of her offspring from starting a brawl in the court over the ownership of an apple.  "They were here to see Currinder." she responds quietly, "To my mind, that makes them guilty of something even before any questions have been asked."

"Gods!  What is he shouting about?"

Aarnr finishes his prayer to Bowbe, and there is a subtle change in the argument that Junna is trying to mediate, "Mam!  I stole Ket's apple, and now he wants me to give it back!"  Junna seizes the apple, and transfers it to the other child.

"Ket, share your apple with your brother."

The Magistrates, meanwhile, are regarding Aarnr with something akin to shock on their faces.

Their leader, though, is quick on the uptake.  "Who is this god that you say will avenge your deaths?"

The mason opens his mouth to speak, then pauses, before continuing, "I's not sayin'."

Which brings an angry muttering among the Magistrates.

Astounded by Aarnr's conjuring (Arkan had never been sure if the warrior priest was actually capable of anything of the sort) Arkan eagerly awaits for the cultists to spill all their secrets... and was then bitterly disappointed by the end result.

Flexing his gloved hand into clenched fist Arkan murmurs, "Though I do not advocate torture, perhaps slapping some sense into them, enough to loosen their tongues would be in order?"

"See?  I's thinkin' as 'ow 'e were jus' makin' a big mistake." Colwyn says sagely, keeping his voice low.  "Judges, see, they's right 'appy ter be talkin' 'bout 'ow there won't be no torturin' nor killin', an' 'bout 'ow the court's bein' in a civ'lised kingdom.  They's all sayin' that sort of thing."

"But just as soon as some cove isn't answerin' them's questions, then out they's fetchin' the knives, the needles, the 'ot irons, an' the other things, what I's not rightly bein' knowin' the names of."

The rogue sits back, smiling, and folds his arms.  "I's reckonin' as 'ow this is goin' ter be gettin' interestin'."

There is much discussion among the Magistrates, and many a sour-faced glance at the two accused men.

Then their leader speaks again, "If you will not answer our questions, then you leave us no choice.  Currinder, when he was the chief minister, decide that trial by combat was the fairest means of determining guilt and innocence.  Since you came here to meet with him, it is only fair that we use his principles to decide the outcome of this trial.  In addition, since this whole group of adventurers accuse you, the two of you must battle them all."

"Fear not, though.  If you lose, a priest will consecrate your bodies, and you will be interred in the holy ground a short distance beyond the city.  You say that you will go to serve your god after death, but that will not happen if he cannot fetch your souls from their resting place."

The Magistrate smiles cruelly, "You can avoid this fate by answering one simple question.  Otherwise, you fight to the death, and your remains will be laid in holy ground."

"For how long have you worshipped Orcus?"

Just when he was thinking he'd have to just gut the masons and have done with it, the Magistrates display the sort of low cunning that Aarnr has heard is typical of such creatures.

Indeed the whole trial is now going very well indeed, to his mind.  Legally sanctioned killing means he'll not have to endure bothersome complaints or get shouted at.  Seems very fair that the two have to fight himself and all his friends, as it wouldn't be right to deprive the others of the right.

Consecrating, though ... that does sound nasty.  Aarnr bares his teeth at the two accused, happily, imagining what that might involve and whether they have special implements for that, along the lines that Colwyn has suggested.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:50, Wed 13 Sept 2017.

Eilieen gives Aarnr a vaguely impressed look (for the results, not the demand), Arkan a shocked stare, and Colwyn a disgusted frown.  Torture.  She won't stay if it comes to that; rather, she might, but get involved to stop it.  Making themselves into what they battle, that isn't the proper way of things.

If it were, the world would quickly devolved into the horror of 'but it's necessary!'

For now, she sits in silence, awaiting the Magistrates' consideration...which comes.  It's ruthless, but really?  Not so different than had they encountered the followers of Orcus in the field.  Eilieen would have fought.  Eilieen would have killed them without hesitation.  And that would have been that.

And consecration of them?  Denying them the 'respite' of going to feed Orcus' strength?  With this, she has no issue at all.

"Merciful, in fact," she quietly decides.  The trial, frankly, is a formality to her.  They saw the masons call upon dark powers.  Sufficient evidence lies in their past to demonstrate their affiliation.  In her mind, it's all over but for the choice of endings.

In her preference, swift and simple.

The heretofore vociferous prisoner opens his mouth to say something.  "We... "  And then he stops, as a thoughtful expression spreads across his features.

His companion, however, blurts out, "We'll ne'er stop worshipp... " and he too falls silent, though in his case it's because he has been hit in the face by a double-fisted blow from his partner's bound hands.

The Magistrate gives a satisfied smile, "It seems that we have a confession."

"Orcus will feast on yer souls!  His army'll burn this dung heap to the ground!"

"Silence!  There is no terror in your threats.  Guards... gag them, lest they know magic.  We shall deliberate on their punishment."

Well, that just about does it.

Eilieen sighs.  Barring some madness from the magistrates, the men are finished.  She'll put in a word for a merciful death - none of this torment business - and leave it at that.

They could, she supposes, garner information, but the two men look likely to die before they give anything up due to persuasion of the verbal kind.  And she's not going to employ anything more...potent.

"I say we consecrate these toad-knockers anyway," Aarnr suggests to his companions as the pair manage to condemn themselves nicely, certain both that Orcus would find his soul rather unpalatable, and that after what happened to the palace, none of the inhabitants would mind if the rest of the city burned down.

Indeed, the thought of the undead army of the Prince of Undeath trying to fire anything is amusing, given the typical flammability of their dried and withered corpses and general clumsiness owed to damaged or missing body parts - most like they'd set themselves ablaze long before they got near this place !

Though, the idea of gagging someone is an interesting one.  His own preference is for the forcible removal of the tongue, which does tend to limit options regarding the answering of questions thereafter ...

Erista somewhat uncomfortably resists a guilty look towards the charred remains of the castle at the prisoner's threat, trying to think what, exactly, Orcus's army would find left to burn.  The inn, she supposes, but probably even armies of evil gods like a drink at the end of a hard day's pillage, so that seems a foolish plan.

The deliberation is short, and the result apparently unanimous.  The prisoners have, after all, confessed their misdeeds.  They are to be taken out to the edge of the forest, close to the road that runs east from there.  There they will be hanged.  Once dead, they will be beheaded.  Their bodies will be burned, and their heads affixed to planks bearing the symbols of Freya and Muir and an account of their crimes.

These boards will then be planted upright in the earth beside the road, so that all who pass by can see that demon worshippers are not welcome in Crossroad.

The pair are to be left bound and gagged until they are both dead.

At this point Anja interrupts the pronouncement.  "Don't forget the other matter that we spoke of."

There is a brief moment of confusion, then, "Oh yes...  Travellers, we are grateful for the assistance you have given here.  You may select one prisoner, who will be briefly ungagged, though he will remain bound, that you might question him regarding those matters which pertain to your own investigation."

The priest is quite delighted by the outcome, though he'd rather have been afforded the opportunity to simply cut down the pair of demon-worshippers in battle ... though against him, that could scarcely be considered a fair fight.

Consecration, on the other hand seems to be quite an involved ceremony, what with the hanging and beheading and burning and nailing of heads to planks.  Very civilised to go to all that effort.

However, given the commendable if misguided lack of fear that they have shown, he sees little point in questioning them further.  Might as well get right on with it.  Even if burning of their corpses is more than they deserve, he now appreciates that will prevent their souls going to Orcus, so is a necessary evil.

All in all, the visit to Crossroads was most instructive !

Aarnr shrugs, leaving it to his friends to put what questions they will.

Shaking her head, Eilieen moves up to where the two prisoners sit.  Considering, she points to the one with the bruised features.  Well, bruised by his compatriot's fists.  "This one...unless one of my friends has a different opinion?"

Aarnr generally has a different opinion, or is bloody-minded enough to go out and get one if there isn't one handy ... but in this instance, he can't fault Eilieen's choice in picking the one who's got the most interesting injuries.

Colwyn simply nods.  The man selected by Eilieen is certainly the less intelligent of the pair, and should be easy enough to trick into answering any questions, while Aarnr has already ensured that any answers he gives will be honest ones.  The trick will be making certain that he survives to answer them.

"'ere, it might be bein' a good idea ter move that there other cove away, so's 'e can't be beatin' 'is mate senseless ter stop 'im peelin' the turnips."

At a gesture from the lead magistrate, a quartet of guards gag the more cunning of the two cultists and drag him away from the area that serves as a makeshift court of justice.  The other mason looks about nervously, perhaps realising that he is now truly alone.

The magistrate clears his throat, and then speaks, "The prisoner is yours, at least for a little while.  Question him as you will, but do not harm him."

Aarnr growls at the hypocrisy of the civilised word.  No, it wouldn't do to bleed these fishified, muddy-mettled bum-bailys before they have their heads cut off and nailed to a post and all the other unpleasantries that their demise would involve !

The priest glares at the remaining cultist belligerently.  "Ye'd better speak up else I'll peel thy turnips, thou venomed, clay-brained horn-beast !" he warns him in low, menacing tones.

Another grimace from Eilieen; it seems they have limited time for questions, and she's not the best person to be doing the asking.  But it was her choice, so....

She strides forward, stopping before the cultist and dropping into a crouch to look him in the eye.  "I will not lie to you; I strongly doubt these villagers will release you.  But if you answer our questions, I will beg them so clemency - mercy in their sentence.  Swift death, rather than hanging, if you like.  Or poison; something without pain."

Hanging sounds...atrocious.

"What were you doing in the crypt in Bard's Gate?  And for who?"  Or what, she considers darkly.

The mason looks nervously at Aarnr.  Then at Eilieen, and he shakes his head in negation, before he opens his mouth.

What spills from his lips is in direct contradiction to the head shake.

"We was there ter bring down the cult of Muir."  Fear is creeping across his goblinish face, but he appears to be too frightened of Aarnr to stop speaking.  "The priests at Rappan Athuk sended us ter Bard's Gate, an' others ter diff'rent places.  We was ter place marks in Muir's Hall what'd open Ways fer Orcus ter send his Chosen through.  An' ev'ry one what came through'd open the Way a mite more.  An' in the end Orcus would climb out an' kill all them knights afore takin' the city."

"But it don't matter what yers do ter me.  He's going ter take this world fer his own.  We's ev'rywhere, an' you ain't got time ter stop all of us."

Aarnr snorts at the sheer stupidity of the plan.  Having had the privilege to see Sir Galdean slaughtered then  even if the rest of the Justicars were but half as self-sacrificing, that is to say, carelessly suicidal in pursuit of a good fight, as that good knight, then that puttock Orcus would have froggin' been handed his horned head !

What is disturbing, though is the mention of all the different places that these unmuzzled, scale-sided wagtails have infested.  That's a lot of very tiresome running around (for a given definition of sitting impatiently in a cart hauled by plodding oxen) in order to kill the lot of the gorbellied, reeling-ripe rampallians as they richly deserve.

Though perhaps there is an easier way ...

"Let's fobbin' go kill those ruttish, toad-spotted priests !" Aarnr asserts.  Yet another reason to go to Rappan Athuk - as if the chance to kill and be killed by the various monstrous denizens of that rank pit were not enticing enough !

The confession is... worrying.  There are so many places in the world they could go to to further their evil aim, and that's just the ones that Colwyn has heard of.  What if the vile priests of Orcus know of other places, like Arkan's distant homeland?

And the worrying thing is that the places don't have to be anything big and important, or all that obvious.  What if some of them are just stone circles on the summits of mountains, or lost ruins on jungle-choked isles, or ancient haunted temples in the midst of endless deserts.

Orcus might deem any of them vital to his schemes, and direct his minions to them with ease.  His enemies, meanwhile, might be hard-pressed to locate them and stop any cultists sent there.

The whole plot, unfolding in Colwyn's mind as the mason speaks, is terrifying in its implications...

"Bloody 'ells!  Blooy 'ells!  Bloody 'ells!" the rogue murmurs, then, "The sooner we's gettin' ter the Dungeon of Graves, the sooner as Aarnr can be startin' ter kill everythin' what's in on this 'ere plan."

Seated at his place next to his companions, Arkan has been watching the proceedings silently, absorbing all that's going on.

But when one of the foul cultists finally expouses their plan, Arkan is stunned at the implications. "Different places...so the cult of Orcus plans to attack everywhere at once?" he breathes out loud.

Hearing his companions words Arkan nods while staring daggers at the mason who had broken under the interrogation and spilled the beans. "Aye my friends, 'twould appear Rappan Athuk is the source of this madness, yet also where it can be ended before it can begin."

Clenching his fist he adds with fervor, "We should make haste and send word to the Justicars and the mayor in Bard's Gate, they need to lead an army to the Dungeon so it may be destroyed it once and for all."

Though Arkan doesn't doubt the capabilities of his companions, especially not the sword arm and mighty thews of Aarnr, can the small lot of them really be able to stop a plan hatched, as it would seem, in the very pits of the Abyss? Or should they risk the treasure and glory, swallow pride and seek aid from Bard's Gate?

The stakes are too great should they fail...

"We'll need food," Aarnr suggests, hoping that Eilieen and Erista do not undermine the enthusiasm that Colwyn and Arkan are showing.  Indeed Bilfro will probably be overjoyed, while burning Ozzie's body atop the raging pyre of Rappan Athuk would be a fitting send off for his blood brother.

Of course, the priest is thinking not at all of provisions, but merely the needs of the moment.  While it is customary to enjoy a Great Feast and offer blood sacrifices to Bowbe before any battle, Aarnr is realistic in his estimation of what this pitiful city can provide by way of edibles ... though he does appreciate that they've been kind enough to arrange for the second of his requirements to be met.  He smiles in a most predatory fashion at the talkative and soon to be hung, beheaded, burned and carpentered demon-worshipping mason who might not have realised his death would be so meaningful.

"Agreed."  Eilieen nods along with the others.  "Mayhap someone here could send word to Bard's Gate, Arkan.  I would have others know of this threat.  I feel, myself, that time grows thin.  We could head back, only to find it has run out.  We might spend the next year chasing around, finding these cultists, but they will keep sprouting up.  Rappen Athuk is the source; it is there we must go, to tear the infestation out by the roots before it blossoms."

Returning her gaze to the cultist before her, she slowly nods.  "I shall speak with the people of this town, try to convince them to show you some mercy.  It shall not be sufficient to keep you alive, I'll warrant, but at least your death might be without pain."

"Nah, not everywhere."

The cultist's fear drives him to speak, and when he does, Aarnr's prayer makes him speak true.

"But lots of places, an' no sure way ter know 'em all."

Anja, meanwhile, is talking quietly to the magistrates.  Finally she turns to face the adventurers.  "We can send a message to Bard's Gate.  Maybe as far as Reme and Freegate.  There they can find others to carry the message further afield, choosing only those who can be trusted - priests of Muir or Freya, paladins, and the like."

Aarnr woudn't normally trust any of those mentioned further than he could comfortably spit a rat, but Sir Galdean's example will serve to earn the Justicars of Muir the benefit of the doubt, while Fergus's sacrifice will stand for those who worship Freya.

Unlike Arkan, Aarnr is entirely certain that he is more than equal to whatever dangers Rappan Athuk can throw his way, though is quite prepared to share the glory with his friends, as they've more than earned it.

All in all, the visit to this city has proven to be better than the priest expected, and he's glad his companions spoke against burning it to the ground - if only because ... well, Aarnr isn't entirely certain what has happened here, but is pleased that it's resulted in the recent or imminent demise of the masons and seems to have decided everyone to head as fast at their oxen can lumber for the hell-pit where the hordes of Orcus lurk .

It's a pity he killed the former advisor to the king, of course, as the puttock proved unworthy of the honour and it would have been amusing to watch him dance on the end of a rope ...

"Ye should nail the froggin' bunch-backed greybeard's head up too," the priest suggests to Anja.  Burning is too good for the beslubberin' dog-heared knave, of course, but if there's any truth to their belief that this ritual will stop his soul going on to further the goals of the Prince of the Undead, then why not.

Aarnr's mention of Currinder causes a puzzled expression to spread over Anja's face.

After a moment's thought she walks across to the prisoner, and demands, "Why did you come here?  There could be nothing to interest you in Crossroad, except that your leader wanted to speak to Currinder.  Why?  What was he to you and your group?"

And the compulsion to tell the truth still holds the man in its thrall...

"A priest of the Lord Orcus, given orders ter help them what went to an' from Rappan Athuk, an' ter send reports back ter the temple.  He was ter tell us were ter go next, an' he did, only these lollygaggers put an end to our doin's with the Great Plan, an' made Currinder ter part comp'ny with his head."

He shrugs his shoulders, and winces as the binding ropes pull at his wrists.  "I s'pose they'll have ter send some other buggers ter Darnagal an' Palmer's Field now."

Maps are just so much scratchings in the mud, place names much the same only a lot more squashed up.  Yet the talkative mason's words send a chill of foreboding down Aarnr's spine.

Believing the fates to be more than unkind, the priest holds little hope that either of the grand cities mentioned lie in a direct line between here and Rappan Athuk.

Aarnr glares murderously at the doomed mason, then turns his gaze warily towards his friends and travelling companions, silently pleading with them ...

Don't froggin' say it !  Don't froggin' say it !  Don't frogg ...

Eilieen considers.

They've dealt with the priest, here; Currinder is dead.  However...

Her eyes narrow, and she leans forward - likely to Aarnr's horror.  "Why were you travelling to Darnagal and Palmer's Fields?" the priestess inquires, unaware of Aarnr's silent supplication (so to speak).

"I don't know.  Currinder only talked of that with Jafin, and he's dead now.  Jafin telled us where we was ter go just 'fore you showed up terday.  Never got no chance ter tell us why.  But I'm bettin' we weren't goin' ter trade fer horses."  The mason laughs nervously at his little jest, as he realises that nobody else is finding it funny.

"That were jus' my joke.  No, I'd say as how we were bein' sent there ter do somethin' ter help Orcus's plan.  But no one telled me what."

Anja nods, her lips compressed into a tight line, and glares at the mason.  "We can ask in Freegate and Reme if somebody can take word to Darnagal and Palmer's Fields.  As he has stated, their goals are too widely spread for one group to hope to stop them.  The best chance is to spread the word as far as possible.  And that we can do."

"As well as sending messengers, we can give the information to travellers on the Trade Way."

Not finding the ensorceled mason's joke to be amusing in the slightest, Arkan glowers at the man, nay the filth for a long, hard moment before glancing at Anja and his companions.

"Yes, that would be most appreciated Anja. My companions seem to have the right of it, the root of evil is the dungeon to end all dungeons, and it is there we must go to end the infestation," he says, albeit with more confidence than he feels.

Perhaps with their skill and their talents they may be able to destroy the evil, or at least delay it until the Justicars arrive with an army of Light to end it.

"Like in the tales," he murmurs suddenly, recalling the legend of the dungeon he had heard what seemed so long ago back home, before starting on this journey.

Aarnr's face creases as Eilieen speaks, but Arkan's contribution causes his eyes to wide in disbelief and his head to bob up and down in complete agreement, his gaze flicking to each of his companions in turn as he looks to them to join in.

The priest doesn't lack for confidence, of course.

Colwyn signals his assent - the quicker they get to Rappan Athuk the better, as far as he's concerned.

Though in his case it might have less to do with the destruction of the cult of Orcus based there, and more to do with their rumoured wealth.  In the end, it matters little, since the cult is unlikely to let anybody just walk out with a sack full of gems and gold, so leaving with their wealth is likely to be a somewhat bloody job.

And there are some things that he an Aarnr can happily work together on, even if their underlying motives might not be exactly the same.

"By my reck'nin', we's bein' 'bout 'alf way ter the Dungeon of Graves.  All bein' well, I's thinkin' as 'ow we'll be gettin' there inside of a ten day.  Then we can be clearin' the buggers out, prob'ly in a day or so.  I's meanin' ter say, 'ow big can the place be?"

"A whole froggin' day ?!!"

Aarnr makes no attempt to conceal his disbelief.  Even he has heard the rumours that there is an entire goblin city down there, but they're only little creatures, so how big could it possibly be ?  Bard's Gate seemed impressively big, reluctant as he is to admit that, but even so, he believes that city would take only an hour or so of concentrated slaughter to have the streets running red with blood.

It is a mark of his growing wisdom in matters of dipolmacy and etiquette that he does not point this out to Eilieen.

"My thanks, Anja."  Standing, Eilieen bows to the woman.  "Your assistance will make it possible for us to seek the source of this evil without ignoring the possible repercussions in outlying areas.  Perhaps the countryside will rise against this darkness."

She indicates Arkan.  "My friend has the right of it.  We shall make our way to Rappan Athuk."

She grimaces at Colwyn's supposition and Aarnr's annoyance.  It seems they have different ideas of the magnitude of the issue.  Still, there is business yet with Anja.  "If you would, might you grant this poor fool a merciful death?  A sharp blade, or venomous sleep?" she quietly inquires, somewhat green.  Executions are not her style.  "Whether by magic or no, he has assisted us against the dark.  I know he must be dealt with, but..."  A glance toward the pitiable creature follows.

"We are not them."

"A sharp blade is as merciful as it can get for them, though far more than they deserve," Arkan says to Eileen, glancing with disgust at the cultists. "Whatever assistance he gave to us was coerced due to Aarnr's spell, they likely curse us inside with every breath they take."

Arkan does not volunteer his own sword for the deed though, not wanting to stain Crescent Fall's blade with the foul blood of the masons. Instead he says to Colwyn, "As I mentioned before I have heard of this dark place even all the way in my homeland; I do not know much but it is vast. This will not be an easy journey, we should ensure we are well stocked and supplied, for there is little that grows or lives there of use to the living."

Anja shakes her head, "I have no authority to order the manner of his execution.  Only the King can do that, or his appointed magistrates.  And they have already stated that these men will be hanged."

The prisoner suddenly shakes himself and looks about, confused, before starting to yell...

"I curse yers all fer this!  We're just innocent masons going ter Freegate ter work.  Yer's all going ter die horrible, painful deaths.  Filled with pox, an' so mad with fever that yer'll chew on yer own flesh and beg ter die.  And after yer's dead, Orcus'll... "

A rag is stuffed into his mouth by his guards, none too gently, and a strip of cloth is used to bind it in place.

The effect that Aarnr demanded of Bowbe has clearly worn off, allowing the cultist to spit out whatever foul lies, insults and untruths he chooses...

Oh dear.  How sad.  Never mind.

Aarnr grins enormously at the prisoner's insults though sneers at the filthy, boil-brained boar-pig's invective or lack thereof.

A horrible painful death sounds about right, while fever-madness is no stranger to one who must bear the god's presence on a regular basis.  Which really just leaves the pox and the begging to die.  That last sounds very unlikely indeed, and can be safely ignored, while the threat of disease is ever present in the decadent world of the civilised where they practice such unclean practices as regular washing and bathing, removing the protective layer of mud and grime that everyone knows wards away such foul spirits and imps as spread such infections.

"Froggin' cockered, flap-mouthed, pukin' nut-hook," the priest refers to the mason somewhat derogatively as the guards, sorry, the fen-sucked, hell-hated, tardy-gaited guards, set upon him with gags and bindings.

"There's mushrooms there," Aarnr tells Arkan, vaguely recalls hearing someone swearing to that truth, "though we'll fobbin' need meat."  Which along with ale constitutes the two known food groups.

"An' fodder for the oxen, unless we want to walk home."   Since he's in charge of the cart, he's not minded to treat the beasts as portable rations.

Unable to help smirking as the foul mouthed cultist is gagged, Arkan replies to Anja, "As the king so wishes then. I suppose it is for the best, they do not suffer a quick and clean death, and their hanging corpses shall be a warning to all of their ilk."

Looking at his companions he says, "Very well then, we should stock up on supplies here for ourselves and the oxen, before we set off for Rappan Athuk. And more importantly, perhaps give our fallen companion a decent burial fit for a hero?"

Anja looks a little startled at Arkan's words.  "We can certainly supply provisions for your journey, should you need them, and at a fair price."

"But you say that one of your companions has fallen?  There is a graveyard in the forest to the north, if you need to bury him.  Some of us have some knowledge of various faiths, and can perform a funeral service.   If you know which god your friend followed, we might have somebody who can give him the correct rites."

Colwyn speaks up, "Aye, Ozzy were bein' 'is name.  Poor bugger.  I was 'earin' from 'im once as 'ow 'e were bein' a follower of Note."

"Ah, the God of the Golden Harp." replies the woman, "Unless one of you knows how to perform them, I can have the guards ask if any are here in Crossroad who know the rites for Note."

"Please do, and my thanks."  It's short, but Eilieen is deeply upset over the choice of executions.

She allows the others to take charge of discussing things with Anja - they have already begun, after all.  Cutting in would be rude.

"That is most fortuitous. Perhaps his spirit can watch over this place and ensure none of the evil from Rappan Athuk touches upon it," Arkan replies to Anja.

"I do not know the rites but yes, if you could ask one of the guards to provide them for the burial it would be appreciated," he adds with a grateful smile.

If Aarnr notices that Eilieen is upset ... well, it'd be a miracle and probably the first of such kind ever performed by Bowbe to boot !  On the whole, though ... it seems a good bet that the priestess of Zadastha's please and thank you relate to the funerary rites for Ozzie and not the offer to sell rations.

Congratulating himself on his perspicacity, if he only knew what that meant, the priest considers his own feelings on the matter of his blood-brother's interment.  While he'd intended to make a pyre of Rappan Athuk and burn the Halfling's body atop it, Arkan's words strike a chord.  There is certainly something to be said for giving Ozzie's spirit the chance to fight on in the afterlife ... as long as he doesn't rise as a foul undead !

Though while Aarnr might once have quite reasonably assumed that the presence of a graveyard would serve to attract the followers of the Prince of Undead, the burial of Fergus, in land consecrated by Freya, suggests otherwise.

So be it then.  Ozzie shall have his grave and this city of Crossroads its ward.  Though the priest still wants a pyre for himself, that his ashes might be scattered to the four winds.

Once he's dead, of course.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:36, Thu 26 Oct 2017.

Arrangements are made.  Orders are issue, and word is spread around Crossroad that somebody who knows the rituals of Note is required for a funeral for one of His followers.

Other messengers are despatched to inform such local merchants as are to be found that the strangers who have done such a great service to the city may be approaching them to purchase goods.  Furthermore, they are to be treated as if they were citizens of Crossroad, and are to be charged a fair price (further, instructions are given to the guards that the phrase, "or else... " is to be heavily implied when speaking to these merchants).

After an hour or so, one of the guards returns, accompanied by a scrawny, balding man, bent double with advanced age and leaning on a staff as he hobbles forward.  His eyes are red, and running constantly, and when he speaks his voice is hoarse and cracked.

"I've heard tell as how you folks are looking for someone what can do words and blessings for a Note fun'ral.  I'm no priest, but I know the right words, and the main blessing.  I can help.  Name's Fassik, by the by."

Fassik looks from face to face, as the group of strangers say nothing to him.  "I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking as how I look like I'll die in the middle of the fun'ral.  Well... I'm stronger'n I look, and I've got a good voice."

His "good voice" doesn't sound that good, bearing a resemblance to a couple of pounds of gravel and pebbles being rolled about in an iron pail.

Then he clears his throat and starts to sing a scale, and it sounds as sweet as any that might be heard from a choir in a temple of Note.  A song that would make larks and nightingales mad with jealousy.

"I plays the harp too."

Nodding graciously at the old man as he stands to greet him Arkan gestures in the general direction of the graveyard. "Aye, our thanks you could make it on such short notice, for time is of the essence. Our fallen companion, by the name of Odysseus fell in battle. It would do us honor if he were to be interred here, with all the proper rites as befitting a hero."

Glancing at Aarnr he adds, "Perhaps you should inform Bilfro by the wagon and bring the cart with Ozzy's body here my friend."

"It's froggin' Oswald !" Aarnr is happy to correct Arkan's mistake, the name of his blood-brother being something he actually knows, even if nobody really calls him that ... besides, there's no telling what the madman Bilfro will do if the scrawny fellow tries to bury his owl !

The man, Fassik, seems to know the sort of song that would be suitable, though it is not to the priest's taste - he prefers his music with a strong beat that you can feel in your bones ... and lots of shouting to accompany it.  Screaming too.

It is to be hoped that the old fellow doesn't die before the end of the ceremony or undoubtedly there'll be more hanging about for his funeral !

Tell Bilfro ?  Aarnr nods at Arkan's suggestion and stamps off to fetch wizard, cart and his blood-brother's corpse.

Astounded from her deep funk, Eilieen stares at Fassik.  As Aarnr stomps off to locate Bilfro and cart, Zadastha's priestess moves forward and bows to Fassik.  Arkan has taken care of the particulars, with some aplomb, but she feels the need for more.  "Forgive our lack of welcome.  Things have been tense, and I fear we are not at our best.  Oswald himself would be pleased that such a beautiful voice may sing for him, and having one who will follow the rites properly is a gift.  As Arkan states, you have our gratitude."

"I understand now why you follow Note's ways, for certainly he has blessed you himself."

Fasslk shakes his head at Eilieen, and smiles.  "Oh, I don't follow Note." he rasps, "Least ways, not no more.  But when I were a lad, some fifty years since, I did.  That's when I learned the words and the blessing.  And Note is none too fussed who does them for one of his own, as long as somebody sees to it as how they get done proper."

Aarnr goes striding out of the village city and hears around to the east.  Bilfro can be seen in the distance, performing what appears to be some kind of dance alongside the cart.  There seems to be a lot of hopping about and furious gesticulating...

"Thou infectious, dread-bolted flap-dragon !" Aarnr calls out equably to Bilfro as he approaches. "Is it squirrels ?"  He holds Gonder's blade at the ready, should the wizard want his help in fighting off the creatures.

Colwyn eyes Fassik warily.  Then he asks, "What'll yer be needin' ter be buryin' poor Ozzy?  I's meanin' like if there's bein' a price fer doin' it, or if we's needin' ter be buyin' special oils ter 'noint 'ïm.  Or a special bell ter ring, or if we's needin' lots of chickens fer sacrificin', or that kind of thing."

"Ah, good question." croaks the old man, with a nod, "But we don't need none of that, son, 'cept for some sticks.  We'll need firewood, and a bit of kindling.  Note's fun'ral needs the body to be buried, and then a fire to be laid atop the grave, so that the smoke carries the follower's Last Song to the god's home."

"The Last Song being his soul."

"SQUIRRELS!?  WHERE?!  WHERE!?!"

Bilfro leaps anew, although this time all but out of his skin.  Eyes flailing and arms dashing all around - oh yes indeed - he climbs the front left corner of the cart and perches thereupon like a mighty something something eagle or potentially, and rather more likely, a far less impressive fowl, mayhap even yellow in fluffy plumage.

As said eye-flailing returns negatory positive confirmation of sightings of targets within specified parameters the posture relaxes and he glares at the burner of capitols.

"Nincompoop and pyromaniacal megalomaniac, what do you want now?  Here be neither palace to raze ablaze nor populous to petrify, you positively plunderous plonker."

The priest joins Bilfro in the search, and is seriously miffed when there are no signs of the beasts.  "Why would they not have squirrels ?" he mutters.  "Perhaps ye scared them off."

The wizards words are more than satisfactorily insulting and worthy.  Aarnr briefly considers ... but decides that Bilfro is just being his usual jocular self and is probably not expecting a blade to be playfully levelled at his neck.  Certainly not after the pointed comments that Eilieen had after he thus obliged Currinder !  And on the whole it's unlikely that Bilfro is one of Orcus's foul get ...

The madman's question is, well, completely incomprehensible but does remind the priest why he has returned.

"They've found a priest of froggin' Knot.  Some misbegotten, beetle-headed basket-cockle.  I'm to fetch ye and the cart and Ozzie so they can bury him and he can fight the reeky, earth-vexin' maggot-pies.  We have to get back gobbin' quick before the lumpish, pox-marked haggard dies."

"Oh, fiiiiine."

With a huff and a puff and mighty tame whimper, the wizen old wizard of wizardly woes waddles with worries to wagon, wondering wherefore, to hearken the crowing of Oz nevermore.  He snivel, he sigh and he simper.

He then, neath his breath, proceeds to bemoan the unjust injustice that chills down his bones; the passing of those who naught had done wrong, now only to live on in heart and in song.

The wagon he readies with heart full of woe, the fallen to render upon final rest, the best he will do to fulfil this request, and to solemn...

...he then stubs his toe.

"@&*|%\#!"

Thus limps the begotten to deliver the forgotten by life once so shotten in a quest misbegotten.

Even by Aarnr's standards, Bilfro's demonstration of the ancient art of heartfelt cursing is very impressive.

Uncertain and uncaring of what preparations the wizard makes to ready the wagon, the priest leaves him to it, leaping up into the drivers seat and holding the reins until such time as Bilfro considers auspicious, then turning the oxen in the direction of Crossroads main gate and spurring them forward with judicious flicks of the reins and dire threats.

Aarnr, Bilfro, and Ozzy all make their way back towards Crossroad.  The nice thing about oxen is that their idea of unseemly haste is a nice sedate plod.  So Ozzy's approach to the city gate is at a pace which is very appropriate for the impending funeral.

Meanwhile, inside the city, Fassik continues to discuss the funeral arrangements.  "The burial's simple, with a shallow grave and large stones laid round and on top of the body to keep animals at off of it.  Then a fire atop the grave - it doesn't have to be a big one, but damp wood is better, for that it gives more smoke."

"Lucky as 'ow it's been rainin' so much jus' lately then.  Everythin's bleedin' damp.  That's bein' a good sign, I's reckonin'." Colwyn opines.

Aarnr drives the oxen through the gate, their slow and plodding nature not quite providing the triumphant entry into the city that he feels Ozzie deserves, but short of getting out and pushing, there's naught he can do, save to look suitably menacing and grim.

Recognising his companions, the priest guides the beasts in their direction, pleased to see that Fassik is still numbered amongst the living.

"Here is my blood-brother's corpse," Aarnr intones in a manner that says 'he is to be froggin' treated with respect or I'll fobbin' gut ye, thou goat-hearted, skinflake' or would say if Eilieen wasn't watching him closely.

"What's next ?"

The cart comes to a halt close to the ruined palace.  The citizens in the immediate area eye it curiously, especially after Aarnr's rather loud announcement.  Fortunately, that same announcement (or, rather, the appearance of the announcer) keeps them from eyeing it from too short a range.

Fassik turns at Aarnr's query.  "He will need to be washed.  A fun'ral for one of Note's flock calls for him to be clean.  Soap and hot water.  He can't bear the stains of his life, nor of his death.  Then he'll be needing new clothes, or he can just be wrapped in a new blanket.  What else?  Oh, aye, a musical instermint to be buried with him."

Washed !  If Aarnr manages (only just) to keep his opinion of that godless and unhealthy pursuit to himself, his face suffices to get the point across.  And given the provocation, the speaker is lucky that getting the point across is another thing he doesn't do !

Still, if it must be done to honour his blood-brother (and let's face it, washing can't harm him now) then the priest will not suffer another to so lower themselves.  A pity that he'd not had time to ensure Ozzie was shrived of all his previous allegiances and given over fully to the worship of Bowbe, as Aarnr is certain that the Halfling would much prefer this city be razed to the ground and his corpse burned atop it ... but such is not to be, and while he's equally sure Bowbe will welcome Ozzie eventually, it seems the lucky puttock's spirit will get to slaughter undead for a while yet.

"I'll see to the washin'," the priest tells his companions, "ye see to the clothes 'an blanket an' ... instermint."

Colwyn looks around the "city".  Halflings seem to be entirely absent, as far as he can see.  And, somehow, he doubts that Ozzy would want to stand before his god dressed as a child.  So a new blanket is looking favourite.

If nobody else wants to volunteer to buy one, Colwyn will do it himself.

Though if he does so, there will probably be a "special discount" on the item, and possibly an additional "free gift" too.  If there's anything worth having.

"'e were 'avin' a 'arp. so that' be yer musical instrument, I's reckonin'."

Erista nods.  "He would want his harp," she agrees.  "And maybe..." she looks up at Eilieen.  "Zadastha might be able to clean and mend his clothing?" she asks, recalling her intense burning envy-- comradely admiration at having seen Eilieen perform such tasks with a wave of her hand and a brief prayer before.

"He should also be interred with his favored weapon," Arkan says breaking his silence as the others discuss the specifics of Oswald's funeral rites. "He was as much a warrior as a bard," he adds by way of explanation

"He'll be froggin' needin' it !" Aarnr agrees with Arkan.

(NPCd)

Eilieen considers Erista's request for a span of time so brief that nobody would be able to measure it.  "I believe that would be possible.  Ozzy deserves a hero's funeral."

As will we all, in the end, she adds mentally, though it doesn't show on her face.

Fassik nods approvingly.  Clearly the deceased was a person of high regard among his peers...

Arrangements are discussed and finalised.  Ozzy's body will be washed, that he may stand proud (if not tall) before Note, and sing of his life and deeds.  His clothes will be repaired, and cleaned.

Anja herself will provide a place in her home for Aarnr to wash the corpse, and for the deceased, clean of both body and attire to lay overnight, ready for his funeral at noon the next day.

The night's wait, according to Fassik, is a necessary part of the ritual, giving time for friends and acquaintances to pay their respects, or to contemplate the life of the departed, and say whatever prayers they may know to guide him on his way and ensure a safe journey.

And, at about midnight, one of Note's servants will come to Ozzy and engage him in a contest of musical ability, riddles, and wit, to determine his place in Note's halls.

The funeral itself will take place at noon, and Fassik agrees to obtain some mourners from among his own friends, and two young girls to scatter flower petals during the ceremony.

The extent of the arrangements is quite baffling to Aarnr who's more used to simple ceremonies involving collecting wood and banging rocks together to light the fire.

"My blood-brother's death is providing these puttocks with free entertainment !" the priest growls ... though on reflection.  "He'd froggin' like that."

The suggestion that Ozzie's spirit might be coaxed forth at midnight is a most intriguing one.  Aarnr vows to be personally on hand for that, just in case the Noted servant performs some unholy, death-raising ritual that demands a sharp response.