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Agale wrote:"If you would be so inclined sir, our party is better situated to further investigate this lead as I assume it would be inadvisable for you to enter the city proper at this time."
"It would be inadvisable for anyone to stop me," the hunter grinned, before grunting in acquiescence. "Hrm. Take them. A mausoleum seems too small for my quarry, but perhaps you'll find your cultists there."Lia wrote:"Now. Before any of us go rushing off... what kind of help do you feel we could give you?" she asks directly of the 'woodsman'.
He ignored Agale's gesture, handing the keys over to Lia instead. "I don't need to tell you to be careful," he warned grimly. "Anyone powerful enough to call up those hounds won't be easy to put down. If this is some kind of base for your cultists, they'll have the advantage over you. They've probably noticed by now that one of their men went missing. I wouldn't be surprised if they were expecting trouble."
"Good hunting," the man said, pulling the rapier from its sheath and saluting you.
Leon National Cemetery, Night of April 21st, 770
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Back when Port-a-Lucine was still a small town on the coast of the Sea of Sorrows, the dead had been buried in Pere Villon Cemetery, just south-east of the Cathedral of Ste. Meres des Larmes. All had been buried there, the rich and poor, the notable and nameless. But as time had gone on, it became too crowded, the city grew too much, and even the construction of the subterranean catacombs beneath the city had not been enough to stem the tide of dead.
So the city fathers of Port-a-Lucine had commissioned Leon Cemetery. Just outside the city walls, it was vast, stretching out into the distance, a dizzyingly large collection of tombstones and cenotaphs, graves and mausoleums and potters' fields. The dead here were beyond counting, for Port-a-Lucine was one of the largest cities in the world, and Leon Cemetery, though still new as such things went, had been collecting their dead for some centuries now.
There was a lichgate across the wrought iron fence surrounding the cemetery, an altogether larger and more imposing fence than the humble assemblage near Troischamps. But it was only latched, not locked, the gate more symbolic than practical. Nothing so large could be guarded with less than an army of night watchmen, and there was little reason to bother. But there was still a fence, and there was still a latched gate. The dead had to be kept away from the living.
A few moments of straining in the darkness undid the latch and let you inside. It was night time, past the tenth bell, most likely, and your voices echoed across the cemetery. You were alone here, in the quiet, and the dark, and the night. Or perhaps not alone, to be quite precise, but no other living hearts beat in the darkness.
"I wish to be absolutely clear on this before we proceed any further," Thierri spoke up from where he had been lingering in the back. The grey circles beneath his eyes had deepened as the day had progressed, and his skin had turned ashen from fatigue. "What, exactly, are we attempting to do here?"
