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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Scotley" data-source="post: 4230683" data-attributes="member: 11520">"Well yes, I received a note from the Arch-Bishop just a little while ago." He gestures at a piece of fine linen paper embossed with gaudy seals and stamps on his desk. "He asked that I offer you my services at church expense. I must say I thought that rather odd until I heard your tale. Lad fetch the Malvolium please." The young scribe pales but moves to a cabinet near the desk. I large lock is upon it, but the key is in the lock. The boy turns the key and brings out a large book in a velvet bag. As he closes the door of the cabinet with a foot the more observant among you notes that it is lead lined. He places the bag on the desk before Fredrick and retreats. The man carefully unties the knot holding the bag shut and then whispers a phrase under his breath leaning close to the book. Finally he takes a vial that is likely holy water and draws the familiar circled crossroads of the church of heaven with a wetted index finger on the cover of the battered book. He takes a sip of his wine, winces at the sourness, and opens the book with a red velvet page marker. The book itself is good sized tome covered in some sort of green hide over wood. Their is no title or marking on the outside of the book. However, it is obvious the book is old and has seen hard use. There are scorch marks, acid burns, claw marks, and perhaps even a tooth mark or two on the thing. The pages within have seem some action too, but the tidy red script of the text seems to be intact. He flips toward the back and begins to read to himself, though his lips move as he does so. Finally, he snaps the book shut and inhales deeply as if he were holding his breath. "So, Tyrroth, nasty fellow, even among his kind. He seems to have a special affinity for the cold and death. His symbol is a peculiar northern hunting or sacrificial knife. Have you seen one?" (Those of you who attended the Masque saw several and Radoon still has one). As he talks he re-bags the book and incants softly as he reties the knots. Finally he puts a drop of holy water on the knots before nodding to the boy to put the book back. The lad slams and locks the cabinet with perhaps more force than was really required. "I've encountered this one's work on but two other occasions. The first was when I was but a lad still studying at university. A fellow student bought a harpoon at a bizaar. Great ugly thing with a flint point. Anyway, he thought it rather amusing and hung it in his cell at the school. We noticed the boy was becoming increasingly withdrawn, but we had some stern professors in those days and one actually had to work to earn a degree. Not like now where any jack-a-naps with a pocket full of coin can hang a degree on the wall after a few years of beerbashes and wenching. But I digress, he took to carrying the thing around with him. Well, it was the height of the plague and we all went armed in those days, even if it was a rather inconvienent and excentric weapon to lug about the library stacks. Seems the think was more powerful than any of us imagined. It was leading the boy to works long hidden or concealed within the more ordinary tomes. He was studying necromancy of the blackest sort. Managed to let loose a pack of wraiths on the faculty. Not a few of the old boys lost their lives. Eventually, the foul creatures were beaten back. We all got highest marks that term as I remember. The chilling thing was the boy himself. He was trapped and we got a look at him before the priests carted him off. Pale, wraithlike, of course but the chilling thing was the eyes. Such evil in malevolence in what has once been our hale and hearty companion. Made quite an impression on us all. Indeed, it had much to do with the direction of my own studies. The harpoon was examined and determined to have been a weapon of a shaman of the far north. His undead spirit was in the weapon. Seems Tyrroth is very popular up there. We've long suspected that a cult of undead rulers guides the northmen and that the chiefs and such we encounter in trade with Icewatch are mere figureheads." He pauses for a sip of wine and says, "lad fill their cups, please drink up gentlemen this stuff may go down hard, but it is truely a fine tonic for the blood. Besides one shouldn't have to face such dire subject entirely sober." He gives you a chance to comment or ask questions before going on.</blockquote>

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