The Shattered City: Chapter Three

[yalenusveler]

"I'm..not so sure these elementals are undead." Kerrian said once the social maven was distracted by talks of art contests and the like. "What was seen that leans towards it being undead...and not the elemental equivalent of what happened to Cedolin?"'

It was a strange question but fortunately Kerrian provided some followup. "If there's an increase in things from the other side of the mirror, it stands to reason that the energies would start corrupting elementals, doesn't it?"

[NeoTiamat]

Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; Morning of April 21st, 770
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Katja retreated upstairs to fetch her armaments, giving any room that might contain Loiseau a wide berth. She paused as she passed by the Blackwoods, examining Richard with her single eye. "Do you wish to join us?" she asked the young man.

"I, I would be honored, but-" Richard began.

"He cannot," Alice interrupted, finishing his sentence for him.

Richard gave his sister a pained look, but didn't correct her. "My, my father has come to Port-a-Lucine," he said quietly, firmly setting his jaw. The two siblings didn't look at each other, which spoke volumes more than any expression they might have had if they had. "I, we must attend to, to him."

"Good luck," Alice said to you, darkly and sincerely.


Troischamps, a few miles outside of Port-a-Lucine; Mid-afternoon of April 21st, 770
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At the end of the day, Dementlieu was not an agricultural power. It was a trading nation, taking its share of the goods that travelled through Port-a-Lucine and along the the tributaries of the mighty Musarde river. Following that, it was a manufacturing nations, with artisans and shops churning out quality goods by the hundred-weight. And of course, there was the Dementlieuse culture, the export of knowledge, learning, taste, fashion, artwork, literature, music, everything. This was how the behemoth that was the city of Port-a-Lucine and its outlying townships survived. Not through agriculture, with significant grain supplies imported from abroad, from Invidia, Darkon, and ultimately Falkovnia.

This wasn't to say that the Dementlieuse had no farming base. There were hundreds of villages llike Troischamps, thousands perhaps, scattered throughout the country. All of them looked more or less alike, at least to the undiscerning eye.

A rolling expanse of hills which had been kept clear of the incursions of the King's Forest, covered with fields of wheat, rye, barley, and more rarely potato and rice. Others were covered in clover, with cows and other livestock grazing amiably. Still others had beans or turnips, and the remainder lay fallow.

In the center of this agricultural haven was the village of Troischamps. A cluster of a thirty or forty tiny houses, any four of which could've been swallowed by the Chateau Malchance with room for a shed for dessert. In the center was a church of Ezra, with a steeple that towered over the rest of the village by virtue of reaching two stories in height.

Crop-blight marred this industrious scene. Here and there throughout the fields, one could see splotches of greyish-brown blight, touching all crops alike. You happened to pass by a large patch near the side of the dirt road, where a farmer was currently plowing a deep furrow around the dying rye. He was deeply tanned and aged by the sun, and built like the oxen that were pulling his plow. He looked to be in his fifties, though he was probably in his forties. Years of heavy labor had taken its toll, though they hadn't dulled the man's blue eyes. He slowed as he approached where you were, easing momentarily in overturning the earth, though he didn't stop.

"Feel I should give you folks fair warning, we got the plague in this town," the farmer said, his attention still mostly on the plow and not on you. He wore simple clothes and grey-blue cap, covering his straw blond hair. "If you're here to rob the place, we don't have anything to take, and if you're not, we don't have an inn, though I'm sure you can find someone to put you up if you've nowhere to go."

[DocBeard]

Tomas tries to remember the last time he was sick.

Shaking his head, he smiles happily at the old man. "Thank you for the advice, mine herr. It is appreciated." Eisenwald smiles, and offers a handshake-he'll take it back after a few seconds in case the fella doesn't want to shake hands with a foreigner.

[The Whistler]

Celeste treated the trip into the country with the same degree of joie de vivre as most other activities: she was (or so she informed you) a rather springtime-ish sort of person, and necromentals notwithstanding, appreciated the opportunity to be surrounded by nature for a day or two. This being Celeste, the voyage entailed rather more luggage than you had thought possible for a day trip—perhaps on the chance that she would be called upon to shore up the village’s struggling morningwear reserves. You were pretty sure that there was an entire valise devoted to spare parasols, somewhere in there. She had also (unfortunately) elected to bring along her violin case, although the bumpy ride out had blissfully prevented her from practicing at her usual hour. You were not entirely certain that you could listen to another strangled chorus of “Love in Bloom” without stabbing someone.

Surprisingly enough, though, she let Tomas do most of the talking upon meeting Troischamps’ first villager: apparently, even she had enough sense not to open with “We are here to investigate your grave elemental.” Instead, she contented herself with a bright curtsey and an: “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Monsieur!”, allowing those more properly qualified to cut in.

[Cronax]

"I can assure you sir, that our intent is not at all larcenous, nor are we in search of lodging." Agale was careful to maintain a distance from the local, as if prolonged exposure to peasantry were contagious.

Bother, The lawyer thought to himself, We are quite unprepared for this endeavor. Mr. Boucher's ill manners in disappearing all of a sudden precluded any further exposition concerning his brother's manner. Very well, improvisation it is.

With a civil and no nonsense tone he inquired upon the yokel, "Instead, we would be interested to know if you recall a certain gentleman who passed through few days or so ago? He has a prominent nose, high hairline, quite unmistakable."

Bluff 29 to couch the farmer to fill in the blanks.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia does not respond to the farmer's words, seeing as he has not looked at her or any other member of the group out of Châteay Malchance yet. Instead, she looks out over the landscape, eyes narrowed behind the veil.

[Nerit]

At first Nerit did quite the same as Lia, though she observed the countryside unobstructed.

"Lady of the Mists watch over you," Nerit finally said to the farmer, as if she had to think about it first. She did smile, however, at the prospect of all ten of them looking anything like thieves. Though if they looked like mummers...

[NeoTiamat]

Troischamps, a few miles outside of Port-a-Lucine; Mid-afternoon of April 21st, 770
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The farmer didn't stop to shake Tomas' hand, but he gave those who greeted him a curt nod, the kind Tomas was familiar with from back home. You're alright, it said, you're alright by me. It probably showed more respect than any sort of praise or greeting. Seeing that names were not being passed about, the old man didn't offer his own.

"Couple of city-folk came to stay in town a few weeks ago, but you're better off talking to them if that's who you're looking for," the farmer answered Agale stoically, gesturing abruptly towards the center of the town. He paused to wipe the sweat from his face, which bore a rather prominent nose as well. "Can't say I would have noticed if any strangers had come 'round in the last few days."

Those looking at the withering fields could probably guess to the cause of his distraction, or those who spotted just a faint glimmer of misery behind the stoic expression.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Do you by any chance know," Lia asks, still looking out over the fields, "what kind of plague is affecting your people and your fields, and whether there are cures to either that might be found in the city?" She shrugs. "Might be able to get my hands on some things, if you'd like them."

[yalenusveler]

"I know a ritual that might be able to help with the fields." Kerrian offered, looking at the blighted crops. "After we get done looking around, I'd be more than happy to see what I can do to help. It's going to depend on the nature of the blight thought." And with that, Kerrian disengaged to examine the blighted Rye a bit more closely.

OOC:25 on a Nature check to ascertain the nature of the blight affecting the crops here

[Nathan of the FoS]

Darius stays at the back of the group, keeping a careful eye on the surroundings and listening with half an ear to the conversation with the old peasant. The crop-blight reminds him of the wide fields and valleys of Hazlan, which often have similar afflictions; in the mountains the land is much less fertile, but less prone to such diseases.

"Everything's sick," he mutters. "The hand of Mytteri..."

Something the old man said returns to his mind.

"Have you been robbed?" he asks. "Recently?"

[The Whistler]

"Couple of city-folk came to stay in town a few weeks ago, but you're better off talking to them if that's who you're looking for,"

"Entirely possible, good Sir, entirely possible! Thank you very much for your kind intelligence." Despite all odds to the contrary, Celeste was actually far too sincere for this to come across as condescending.

"Forgive us for prying, Monsieur, but it is best to be certain...what manner of people are they?"

[NeoTiamat]

Troischamps, a few miles outside of Port-a-Lucine; Mid-afternoon of April 21st, 770
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"Have you been robbed?" he asks. "Recently?"

"Bandits out in the forest," the farmer explained his previous statement. "Haven't bothered us as much of late. Gendarme caught the last batch, wasn't very kind to 'em."

"Forgive us for prying, Monsieur, but it is best to be certain...what manner of people are they?"

"Reniers," the farmer summed up succinctly. "Real pale-haired lady with sharp face and sharp eyes, and a sturdy young man with an upturned nose."

"I know a ritual that might be able to help with the fields." Kerrian offered, looking at the blighted crops. "After we get done looking around, I'd be more than happy to see what I can do to help. It's going to depend on the nature of the blight thought."

"Nothing I've ever seen." The farmer finally stopped his plow, letting his oxen rest, so Kerrian could look at the rye without getting run over. "Doesn't spread normally. My son doesn't think it's natural. Can't say I argue."

"Do you by any chance know," Lia asks, still looking out over the fields, "what kind of plague is affecting your people and your fields, and whether there are cures to either that might be found in the city?" She shrugs. "Might be able to get my hands on some things, if you'd like them."

"We have a doctor here, least, someone training to be. Better than most, better than what most towns have got." The stoic farmer's face allowed a bit of pride at that, even if it vanished soon after. "He just got here, though, so I couldn't tell you anything useful. Better off asking him direct. Don't understand half of what he says, never have."

"As for the fields, only cure I know is burning it." The farmer looked out at the brownish crops and the furrow he'd plowed around it. "I'm not taking any chances."

[yalenusveler]

"It isn't natural." Kerrian finally said, offering a bit of an expert opinion. "At least, it's not a disease or anything similar. Someone has either cast something very much tied to necromancy, or there's something here that has a strong amount of negative energy." Alright, so maybe it IS an undead elemental..

"It's spilled over and affected the land. Unfortunately, it would take nearly a generation to go away on its own, and anything else planted here would be just as blighted. An Exorcisim might work, or maybe the ritual I know, I can't say for certain though. And without getting rid of whatever caused it, it would be a short lived solution."

Kerrian frowned "I'm sorry I couldn't give more optimistic news.."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Is it all flowing from a central point?" Lia asks of Kerrian. "Is it all connecte? Or would counterspelling loose areas have any beneficial effect?" It would have to be a very astute observer to notice her brief moment of hesitation at the name of Renier.