Contrary Mari, Part 1

Log Info

• Title: Contrary Mari, Part 1
• GM: Telamon
• Characters: Dirk, Dolan, Seyardu, Silmeria
• Place: Karda's Ford
• Time: August 9, 2023
• Summary: The party ventures out to the township of Karda's ford to investigate reports of an enemy ghost haunting the town hall. Upon arrival, the local Vanguard and various townsfolk are questioned, and doubts are raised about the veracity of the fifteen-year-old cold case.

Karda's Ford, afternoon

A bit of a trip to get out to Karda's Ford -- though it's a more substantial township, with a stout stone wall that still shows the scars of the wight invasion in places, it's a ways out on the road towards Myrddion. The houses are well built, with slate roofs and strong walls. While it's not as cosmopolitan as Alexandria -- Seyardu in particular gets some curious stares -- it's no less of a civilized place.

You are met at the temple of Serriel by your contact, Grigor Berkson, the priest of the town. It's a small temple, humble, but with a lot of care put into its construction and design.

"I was sent out here after Sunguard Haysden passed away." The human Vanguard speaking to you is so young it might cause some of you to double-take. His dark hair is close cropped, and his blue eyes look guileless, but there's a clever wisdom there. But there's no denying he's very new to his duties. "I didn't know him that well, but my impression was that this isn't a particularly... well, glamorous posting. Still, when the Guiding Star says go, we go."

Dirk has come strapped up for battle. His heavy blue cloak is tossed around his broad shoulders, and his scarf flutters in the wind. His mythril breastplate is freshly polished, and his gear is securely strapped to his frame. He rides astride his pony Thistle, looking this way and that. This is fairly farther afield than he usually goes. Lulu perches atop his shoulder, her head twisting side to side. "Hoo! Hoo hoo-oo!" she hoots as they approach Karda's Ford. "Aye, that's a fine lookin' wall. Looks like it done the job keepin' the Dragonier wights out," muses the old snowbeard.

Once they reach the temple, he swings out of the saddle and takes a moment to tie Thistle's reins off. As they enter, he doffs his tricorne. Berkson is offered a hearty shake of the hand before he settles in to listen to the Vanguard's tale. "Well, it surely could be worse, I'll warrant," he says. "It's a bonny town, at least. Although... we're given tae understand ye all have a bit of a ghost problem needs sortin'?"

Scars down half of his face and an artificial eye are good for making one either look older than one's years, or of indeterminate age, but Dolan wears an easy, relaxed, cheeky grin in response to the man's admission. The farther he's gotten out of the city, the more the inquisitor has relaxed, until by the time they're out in the sticks he's in positively good spirits. He seems to take no issue with the hinterlands at all, and even a small town like Karda's Ford puts him at his ease. "We go where we're called, my friend. There's no shame in that. The trick is to make the most of where you are, yeah?"

He, too, is fully kitted for battle, and wears a stylized platinum dragon prominently around his neck, but no other indicators of his calling. "Like Dirk here says," he offers. "Can you tell us what you know?"

When there's something haunting a village, it would almost be shocking if at least one Vardaman didn't show up. And show up Silmeria does, in full clerical regalia -- as well as the shield affixed to her backpack, and the ornate pistol at her hip. Now and again her sleeves pull back just enough to show off finely-woven mithril chain, so it's quite clear she does not simply assume her goddess will do all the protecting for her.

And when they meed the Vanguard and hear his story, she can't help but mirror Dolan's grin. "As must we all, Vanguard, and may the Guiding Star mark your service, glamorous or no."

Seyardu was one of the adventurers who answered the request, perhaps a bit surprised by how they seemed to be needing more experienced folk for such a task. "It must be a particularly dangerous spirit, or a stubborn one, for them to make such a request. I just wish that lady Verna was here, but it is good we have another Vardaman here instead, I am sure you will do a fine job as well, miss Silmeria. I hope you are doing well."

"Such a wall would not stop the wights. But it would give protection from a few, and time to evacuate people." She notes after a pause, happy to get into the village and temple proper. "Lack of glamor does not mean a lack of importance, it is true." The silver makari nods. "It is unfortunate you received this posting under such unpleasant circumstances however."

"As I understand it, the valor of the townsfolk kept the wights at bay as well as the wall. For the most part, they're a sturdy folk, which makes this even worse in some ways."

Grigor continues, "From what the townsfolk tell me, the troubles started not long after Haysden passed. Noises, strange scents, chilly spots in the town hall. It got worse and worse, until there was a full-blown, well, appearance during a routine town council meeting." Grigor shudders. "That ghost... her screams were like how I'd imagine the damned sound. I don't... have a lot of experience, to be honest, and the best I could do was channel the Maiden's light to keep her at bay while everyone fled. That seemed to confuse her, so I took the opportunity to run once everyone was out of the conference room."

Grigor's cheeks redden with shame. "My skills weren't enough to banish the spirit. I prayed to the Maiden for guidance, to beg forgiveness -- the instruction she sent in return was for me to call for adventurers, that I had done all I could." He smiles a bit sadly. "She may forgive me, but I think it may take a while for me to forgive myself."

At Grigor's confession, Silmeria shakes her head, slowly, and approaches Grigor with a gentle smile. "Brave Vanguard, you protected your people. You were the wall between danger and the innocent, and you bought them time to escape. I cannot think of an action more sacred to your goddess, and She has guided you true. If not for you, there's no knowing who may have gotten hurt."

Taking a deep breath, she steps back, looking in the general direction of where she imagines the hall to be. "The spirit remains there still, then?"

Dirk tugs at his beard, his expression turning dour as Grigor describes the apparition and its manifestations. "Hrm." He looks to the others--each one of them blessed by the gods in their own way. And then there's him--his blessings are tangential at best. "I've plenty experience huntin' deadwalkers, but... usually they're deadwalkers." He puffs up his chest a bit as he nods firmly. "I assume me holy shot should work on ghosts. Only one way tae find out, nay?" He takes a step forward, reaching up to put a comforting hand on Grigor's shoulder. "Ye did all that ye can. That's all the gods ever ask any of us. An' there'll often come a time when we find we can do more than we ever dreamed possible." He gives the lad a solid clap before stepping back. "Not tae fret, laddie. We'll get this sorted."

Sweet Sunlord, do I ever know that story. The mobile half of Dolan's face may as well have the words written across them, so plain to read is that half of his expression. It even spills into the scarred half of his face, although the amber-gold gem in a steel-and-bronze ring he wears in his right eyesocket is eerie in itself, for its utter lack of expression.

"Know how that feels," he offers. "Been up against a thing or two bigger than me. That's how you find out you ain't the biggest stallion in the stable, and it drives you to improve, yeah?" He tilts his head at Silmeria, his grin fading. "She's right, too. The most important thing is that you did what you could, and it was enough. We can take it from here."

He shuts up, and purses his lips, tapping his foot, mulling over the man's words. "Spirit's still there. Anybody who might know who it was in life?"

The silver makari shakes her head, and exhales a puff of mist. "The others have said enough about it. But do not feel you need to forgive yourself for what you are not ready for. If your goddess tells you to seek aid, do not feel it is a failing of yourself. Growth does not happen suddenly, and the needs of you and your people come first. We are glad to be of service, so you can focus on what can be done, and continue to grow." The clerio states simply.

"So, that is what we are here to do, yes? We will do what we can to get the bottom of this, and anything which you can tell or show us would be of great aid, Grigor."

Grigor bows, his cheeks still a little reddened but not with shame. "Thank you, sirs and ladies. It's my first posting, after seminary, and ...I seem to have jumped into the deep end of the bay here."

At their questions, though, he exhales. "I won't lie. There's something very peculiar, and very ominous, about this. One of the council, the merchant Resnith, thinks it's the ghost of Mari, a witch who was hung fifteen years ago in this township." Grigor takes a deep breath. "What worries me is how much trouble I seem to be having getting people to talk about it. Nobody likes to discuss that sort of thing, sure, and I grant having the ghost of a witch reappear is not ideal, but..."

Grigor looks around, to make sure no one is eavesdropping. "They call her 'Contrary Mari', that she embraced dark powers out of spite more than anything. But there's so little hard evidence. And of course, the records are in the town hall -- which is currently infested with unquiet spirits, and I'm not strong enough to face them down. Something is wrong here and we need to find out what happened."

Dirk hrrms softly. He looks up at the others. "Think the three of ye can manage some blessings o' the gods?" he asks. "Enough tae keep any haunts off us while we do some diggin'? If we can track down the proper records, then we might just find summat tae help us lay these angry ghosts tae rest." His beard bristles as he sets his jaw, and he puffs up his chest. "An' if not... well. I'm sure we've got plenty of other ways tae manage it." Lulu puffs up her feathers as well, fluttering her wings with a fierce little 'Hoo!'

"Think of it like this," Silmeria chuckles. "After a commotion like this, how dire are the average clump of raiders?"

Turning her thoughts inward, she considers the balance of Grigor's information, and her own studies. "It sounds... like an average -- if powerful -- haunting, Master Dirk... Ghosts of its like are too stubborn to be beaten into submission, best to convince the unquiet to lay quiet. Fighting it head-on would be... daunting."

Drawing in a breath through her nose, she lets it out in a long sigh. "I think we'll have to begin by squeezing as much blood from the stone as possible... Vanguard, you said Merchant Resnith is the one who fears he knows this ghost?"

"There's someone at the Guild who told me that people are like tea. You'll never know how strong they are until you put 'em in hot water." Dolan's grin has faded, but his entire mien is entirely equable. "I'd say you did pretty damn good. Now. 'Contrary Mari', eh? A witch who was hung fifteen years ago. Anybody ever tell you any of the story around how they decided she was a witch and why they strung her up? Last I checked, magic wasn't a crime in Alexandros."

"Fifteen years, that is just around the time of the fall of Animus, yes?" Seyardu considers after listening. "I can imagine there may be spite there, if she was a witch in the modern sense, and that led to her hanging. It is disappointing how we treat those we do not understand or know sometimes, but she may have been not good, still."

"I can not guarantee anything that I would be capable of doing would keep them away completely." She answers Dirk. "Though I might try so we can learn more about them, before confronting them. The inquisitor is correct, we should not attempt to remove them by force, and only consider it as a last resort. Many spirits can be brought over to their proper place with the right information and rituals, after all."

Grigor spreads his hands. "Resnith was one of the first people I met here. He took over from his father, who took ill a few weeks back. We're praying for his recovery, but sometimes these things are in the hands of the gods." He pauses, marshalling his thoughts. "Resnith was a young boy when it happened, and didn't remember much about it himself. He just remembers the chants of children. 'Mari, Mari, quite contrary' and how she came for wicked boys and girls."

The priest nods to Dolan. "Supposedly, the official charge was 'consorting with the powers of darkness'. But as you say, if her powers were born from the fall of Animus, people might have become confused or frightened. From the scraps I've assembled, she had something of a reputation as a wild child." His lips quirk up. "The sort that usually becomes an adventurer."

Dirk's frown darkens slightly. "Beards o' me fathers," he mutters softly. "If this is goin' the way I think it might be..." He looks back up at the others. "I think we need tae get into those records. We dinnae have nearly enough knowledge o' what's goin' on here."

Almost at once, Dolan crosses his arms. "If she's a ghost, and her soul is stuck here instead of in the halls, that charge is probably bullshit," he remarks with his usual frankness. "If she was messing around with Bauglir's lot, they ain't going to let her soul just stick around, because it's theirs. Let's find out the truth. Maybe start with Merchant Resnith's papa, if he's well enough to speak. If the merchant was a lad at the time, his papa'll remember."

He nods over to Dirk. "Exactly. Let's get into those records, and do some asking around. Like the Speaker says, if a soul is hanging around like that, there's probably a reason, a reason the old Sunguard probably knew. Wasn't in any of his diaries, was it?"

'Wild child' 'magic' 'contrary' -- There are a great many tales that include children described thus, but only two sorts end in hauntings.

"The merchant's father is an excellent idea, Corona. I think perhaps it best we start there. No matter how we go about this investigation, the records at the hall will likely be our last resort -- and I fear the bulk of my effort will be wrapped up in keeping the ghost's attention."

"Well, I do hope that someone was not punished unjustly, but I fear it can not be ruled out, and would explain why spirits find themselves unable to pass on. What it does not explain however, is the large group of spirits also with them, which we must determine the cause of." Seyardu considers, tapping one horn for a moment. "The person who came before you, Haysden, was their illness natural, or do you think it linked to these happenings? I do not wish to assume that a Vardaman cleric is ready to speak to the dead at any time, but perhaps if they have not been interred yet, we could ask them some questions that may help us understand what was going on, if possible?"

Merchant Resnith's house is a well-kept design, with a surprising dwarven flavor -- just built for people who average a bit taller than your usual khazadi. The man who answers the door is around twenty-five summers, his face a little weary. "Vanguard Grigor," he says. "Good to see you."

Grigor steps forward to take Resnith's hand in his, shaking it. "A bright dawn to you, Resnith. These are specialists from the Guild in Alexandria. They're here to help, but we need more information. Is your father up to talking?"

The merchant's expression becomes dour. "He's better, but... he tires very easily, Vanguard. Can you promise you won't offer him too much stress or worry? He's just not as young as he used to be."

Seyardu's question earns a silent, confident nod of affirmation as the group is led to Resnith's house -- if a corpse must be interrogated, the Speaker has the means.

At Resnith's concern, Silmeria dips a curtsy, an apology in her expression. "Would that we could make such a promise, Master Resnith. Such matters often touch on uncomfortable events, but you have my word that what matters is laying the spirit to rest."

When the group approaches Master Resnith's house, Dolan goes quiet, and hangs towards the back of the group, although he does offer a "Brightest of days," to the merchant fellow. "Maybe it's better if just a couple of us go. When you're ill, having a lot of people in the room at once is exhausting," he offers.

Dirk takes a step back, doffing his tricorne and tucking it under his arm. He'll let the others do the talking--gods know his tongue isn't silver. It might be made of something else, but silver is not it.

"Well normally that is the case, but we have two clerics and an inquisitor here." Seyardu notes with a shake of her head. "I am sorry to hear that your father is ill, if there is anything we can do to provide aid then we will do so, Resnith, and not because we wish to speak to him. It is my duty to aid those in need wherever I find myself, and I would not make an exception of your father. If you could show us to him, it would be greatly appreciated."

Resnith stares at the motley assemblage long and hard, before exhaling. "I won't have you standing on the porch like a bunch of cloak-racks. At least come inside." Grigor gives you all a nod, before leading you inside and to a small parlor. Evidently he's been here before.

"Vanguard, you and one other person. I... appreciate the offers to heal him, but it's age more than anything. He married late, and I think the days just caught up to him. I'm glad I'm here to take care of him." Resnith rubs the back of his neck, watching the others. "I'm glad I didn't wait as long as he did."

At this last statement, Silmeria tilts her head in curiosity, shooting a meaningful glance to Dolan and Seyardu. "Then if it please you, Master Resnith, I'd like to be the one to speak to him. If his illness is mostly his age... I'd like to calm any fears he may have, if it happens he doesn't rally in the short term."

The peremptory tone wipes the good-natured ease off of Dolan's features, and he follows the others in, turning his head fully towards Silmeria when she speaks. "Fine with me, Speaker," he replies finally. If Master Resnith has the time, I wouldn't mind speaking with you, too." He turns his head back to the others. It's an odd mannerism. "I myself wed a bare moon past, Master Resnith. Sometimes, it's about finding the right one, and sometimes, it's about proving you're worthy of her. The right woman's worth waiting for, and some of us had to wait." His smile returns, but it's a wholly different thing - a boyish affection. "I'd love to read his story set down, though."

"I hope he appreciates you are here with him as much as you appreciate being there for him. Thank you for inviting us in." She answers, taking a seat down in the parlor. "Regardless, if there is anything out of sorts, I would do what I can. Age can make one more prone to illness after all, and making sure any that show up are taken care of promptly is even more important than normal. And, yes, if you need any support if it is age, Mourner Silmeria would be happy to provide what council she can."

"Dolan speaks true. It is not a matter of age, but finding one whom you are happy with, no matter what stage in your life you find yourself. That being said, it is a joyous thing to find one you care about when you are young, so you might enjoy even more happy years together, yes?"

Dirk can't help but get a wistful expression on his face as he trundles in with the rest of the team. "Wait out here, Lulu," he says quietly. His owl hoots and affirmative and flutters herself over to a perch on the bannister. He looks up and around as they're bustled indoors. "Ye have a lovely home. Looks dwarf-built," he says. "And aye, Dolan has it right. The window never stays open long. I'm glad ye found the one."

Resnith relaxes, and nods. "I'll show you to him then, Executor. Then I'll come back with refreshments for the others. I don't wish to be a poor host, even in these trying times."

Grigor escorts Silmeria down the hall to a ground-floor room that's been repurposed into a bedroom. Sitting up in bed is an older man, his hair gone iron gray, pushing close to sixty summers. Lines of fatigue mar his face from a long illness, but the face he's sitting up with a book in his hands is probably a good sign. Resnith steps inside first. "Father? Vanguard Grigor is here, with someone who'd like to speak to you." The voice that comes from the old man is a bit hoarse, and thinner than it should be, though it's not a querlous wheeze. "Well, come in.."

As introductions are made, Resnith excuses himself, and hurries back to bring tea and biscuits to the others left waiting in the hall.

'Executor' prompts an amused twitch at the corners of Silmeria's mouth, but with a nod to her fellows, she follows Resnith and the Vanguard further into the manse. "Good afternoon, Master Resnith, it's truly a pleasure to meet you. I'm sorry to disturb your reading, but I and my compatriots... Well, I'm afraid we're here about the problems in the town hall." She pauses, looking about the room for one or more empty chairs. "Ah... D'you mind if I sit, Master Resnith? Or if you'd prefer Vanguard Grigori at your side, I'd quite understand."

Resnith the Elder's somewhat sleepy eyes brighten a bit, and he offers Grigor a grin. "Ah, I see how it is, Grigor, you canny rogue. Put a pretty girl next to my bed, see if that doesn't get me moving." The old man chuckles. "Sorry, miss. Dear Alana's been gone two years now, but her hair was just the same as yours. I know I'll be seeing her soon enough, but forgive my follies."

At the mention of the town hall, though, the cheerful expression drains from the elder's face. "I guessed as much. When I heard about the haunting, the ghost..." He sighs, staring at the ceiling. "I'm thankful, I guess. Thankful I wasn't directly involved. Maybe I should've been, though."

While Silmeria's composure doesn't seem at all ruffled by the old man's casual flirting, the comparison to his departed wife actually brings a pleased flush to her cheeks, and she ducks her head. "Master Resnith, I would like to say that I cannot think of a higher compliment, and thank you for it. And if you could give your wife my compliments when you see her, I'd consider it a personal favor."

Pleasantries made, Silmeria nods slowly, her own cheerfulness fading. "We've very little to go on, Master Resnith, but we need to know everything we possibly can to see the haunt set to rest. If you'd be so kind as to help us...?"

The elder's eyes go to Grigor, and then to Silmeria. "It was in the wake of Animus. So much confusion. Mortals, well, we die." He offers Silmeria a small grin. "I think there's a writing somewhere by a Mourner. 'The high cost of living', it's called. But who expects a god to die?"

"And Haysden... gods give him grace, but he wasn't the best in Daeus's service. He wasn't corrupt, but... he was weak, weaker than he needed to be. And I know he was a drinker. Into this mess comes Mari. Contrary Mari... wouldn't play by any rules of her own, a foundling. And then she found that cat, and people started whispering and wouldn't stop."

Hearthguard Seyardu had it right on the platinum, Silmeria muses, listening closely to the elder's tale, nodding her understanding. "Did Miss Mari display any powers, Master Resnith? You're quite correct, it was a time of grave upheaval, and I suspect I have some idea of how this tale will end... But I'd hear it from your lips, in case I'm in error."

"Some said she did. Others insisted she was just a charlatan. There was one fellow who wanted to send for a wizard to test her -- something about a 'sorcerer augury'." Resnith the Elder closes his eyes, his face looking very old for a moment.

"I'd come back from a business trip. Alana and Junior were frantic, because the mood was getting so ..." He makes a gesture with his hands. "Tension. Like a rope drawn taut. Then some idiot took a swing at Mari, and she wasn't taking it. Used her magic to hurt him."

And now that the story is coming out all in a tumble, Silmeria simply rests a hand on the elder Resnith's hand, her features kind and understanding as he speaks.

Resnith sighs. "That idiot boy was the son of Karlven Tertlan -- the last mayor. Neither of those two was the brightest candle in the table setting, and that was when things went crazier than a goblin hopped up on Veyshanti coffee. All I know is the city council went into session, charged Mari, tried her, and hung her. With Haysden giving the proceeding an official stamp of approval."

Resnith looks up at Silmeria, his eyes watery. "They insisted she was in league with demons. But I've spent fifteen years wondering... was she?"

"I believe, Master Resnith," Silmeria says softly, "that before we leave, we will know for sure. But I want you to understand this very, very well, Master Resnith; be sad for Miss Mari, and for what could have been. But from what you've told me, you and yours bear no guilt. On my oath as a Speaker for the Dead, I promise you; we will learn the truth, and we will set that truth free, for the good of all souls in this city. Alive or otherwise."

Grigor looks shaken, but he takes Resnith the Elder's hand as well. "Duty is a hard mistress, and you did have a duty to your family. We'll unravel this puzzle, set it right." He gives the hand a squeeze. "Rest now. Take heart that we'll fix things."

With that, he leads Silmeria back out of the room... shutting the door gently, before clenching his fists. The young Vanguard's eyes blaze with sudden anger, before he shuts it down again. "There could be other possibilities," he says in a hard, clinical tone. "Other reasons." But there's something in his voice that says he doesn't believe it.

"There could be," Silmeria says, settling a hand on the Vanguard's shoulder. "We have to remember; we don't know the truth yet, and memory is an awful witness. But remember; we are not here to bear the burden of guilt. We are here to free a soul, and let the truth act as the truth will."

Sighing heavily, she nods toward the parlor. "Come, Vanguard," she says. "We should meet back up with my compatriots."