EXPEDITION REPORT | A DROWNED FOLLY

[Songwitch 1832]

 

Spoiler

 

 

EXPEDITION REPORT ON ADRIAN MURDER CASE

 

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W R I T T E N  B Y
L A T R A  

R O C A S O L A N O

 

P U B L I S H E D  B Y  T H E
N O R T H E R N  G E O G R A P H I C A L  S O C I E T Y

 

O N  T H E
10TH  O F  T H E  A M B E R  C O L D ,  2 0 6 9

 

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A DROWNED FOLLY

EXPEDITION REPORT ON ADRIAN MURDER CASE 

 

IN THE YEAR 20xx OR 237 OF THE SECOND AGE, during a formal meeting of the Northern Geographical Society's Expedition Corps, I - along many other members - were invited to investigate a reported murder in the territory of Adria, vassal of the country of Idunia. This invitation was lent to us by the local Sheriff, who postulated that the victim was one of two brothers who wandered the oaken woods near the outskirts of Adria and failed to return with the other. The following Society members integrated the inquiry, headed of course by the mentioned sheriff: Dame Manon Yvaine von Distrugere (President and Chief of Research), Icroth, Soren, Bimble, Vir, Lorinthia, Klink and Ruby. I attended solely in the capacity of scribe, tasked as such with the recordkeeping of the proceedings, observations, irregularities and conclusions of the investigation as it unfolded in real time. What began as - we thought - a woodland homicide ended up, over the course of the day, expanding into a complicated case involving riddles, concealed mechanisms and maritime relics, all at Heinrik Heights' Mining Camp. 

 

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INVESTIGATION COMMENCED OFF-ROAD, where the two brothers entered the adrian woods and only one came out, beyond the slope leading toward the Stefan Euler Memorial Bridge ... where our party was guided into the treeline toward what seemed an off-grid campsite. The first cluster of dwellings was modest, meager houses and timber structures that despite their humility appeared to be maintained and well-kept. Chickens wandered freely, their coops nearby, pecking at the earth; nothing bore signs of abandonment or violence. "We venture forth", declared the local Sheriff, and we advanced towards the second portion of the campsite, far wider and open, with structures more dispersed. Before one faraway dwelling I noticed a wooden sign that read: "HELP NEEDED - Contact Larxina!". Plain lettering and message, though to me, it felt slightly incongruous. 

 

It was then, in the same treeline surrounding this second section, that the tenor of our investigation saw itself shift; two burial sites were discovered, shallow and recent for the soil had not yet fully settled. President Manon, Soren and the Sheriff gravitated toward the incline over the hill in the direction of Heinrik Heights' Mining Camp, but before reaching the rise, Vir - scouting behind - confirmed a third burial site. The entire party halted and regrouped, proceeding only toward the entrance of the mining camp when all were accounted for ... there, at its mouth, our bravest pushed forward, noticing upon first descent multiple crates scattered among three or more excavated pits. 

 

A small rivulet ran through the old quarry and fed into a sizable pond further ahead, a certain murkiness to its water, and the air grew heavy ... the stench of rot struck us all. Bimble was first to identify a peculiarity: a keyhole carved between the rocks of one quarry wall, the one closest to the shaft by which we descended. At nearly the same moment Klink located a black sarcophagus embedded deep within the stone, all the way across, and it was sealed shut, deteriorated but somehow intact. We surveyed the surrounding rockface more closely before anything else, and what appeared to be a single keyhole revealed itself to be three, aligned within the old quarry wall, then the coffin itself, whose blackstone surface held three stanzas. 

 

"First of currents, I cradle the silent tide.

Where the waters part and the river's mouth opens wide.

Let me rest where the journey begins".

 

"I linger where shadows blend with light.

High among branches neither first nor last in sight.

Place me where the twilight waits".

 

"The final blaze, where shaft exhales.

Perched aloft where men once climbed, atop the scaffold trails.

Stand me last, and crown the hall with fire".

 

Klink immediately drew the connection between the three stanzas and the three keyholes carved into the quarry stonewall, and Vir proposed that the first riddle referred to a water source. At this moment Bimble noticed something gleaming at the top of the ravine from which the murky water flowed and poured downward. Upon retrieval it was revealed to be the jagged fragment of a blue coral and its mere presence was alarming for coral is tropical, a thing of the sea, not of inland quarries. One last stanza was revealed unto us, painted in dried blood, once a consensus was reached about inserting this piece of coral into any of the keyholes:

 

"The shaft whispers in anger, waters twist and rise.

The colors know their order, and heed the wise.

Place them as they sleep, or feel sorrow's surprise".

 

Thus, Klink attempted to insert it into the first keyhole, rotating it several times before angling it roughly fortive-five degrees - it slid into place with resistance. A 'click' echoed through. The earth groaned, briefly at least. Vir then turned his attention to the second riddle and scanned the treetops, and high within the ravine canopy, something sparkled from the cup of a languid branch extended outward, toward the sky. His first attempt to retrieve it failed, prompting him and the group to craft a makeshift net from paradisian field rope, net that would be affixed to the tip of his spear, and with a sharp thrust, a lavender fragment of bubble coral dislodged and plopped down on Bimble's hat without harm. 

 

The third and last fragment was soon spotted by Icroth, caught amidst the wooden scaffolding above the shaft roof ... a fiery red one. While some of us theorized the interpretation of the word 'twilight' in the second riddle to mean the middle position (i.e. the second keyhole), Icroth moved to claim his clue and eventually Bimble inserted the violet coral into one of the keyholes, in the central section of the quarry wall. Another series of clicks followed, the earth trembling once more, and the putrid air grew stronger. Concerned for the party's safety, Klink proposed that we distance ourselves before the last key is inserted; that we did, and before Icroth fitted it into the keyhole, a rope was secured around his waist as precaution - to yank him away and out of danger. 

 

Upon the final insertion, all three fragments began rotating at once until they pointed one to the other. Now the earth cried, and dust and flecks of mica rained down on us all along the quarry's walls. Silence came after, then a grinding hiss followed. "It's open!", Vir called out, for the black sarcophagus had been unsealed. Icroth unwound the rope from his waist as the party advanced, whatever lay within that stone-case announced itself by smell ... one rancid, thick and unmistakably putrified. When the lid, ajar, was forced aside, a corpse was revealed dressed in the garb of a seafarer: tricorne hat, long coat and broad bet set with maritime fittings. The attire alone was enough to tell he was a Shipmaster. 

 

Pondering befell us until ... the corpse stirred! From the water and stone around us rose a strange miasma, and from it three drowned VODNIKS, bloated and slick with decay, dragging themselves upright from the pond's edge. At that same moment, the Shipmaster animated fully, also undead and with cutlass in hand! Vir moved to strike first, cutting into one of the rising three and leaving Icroth the opening needed to thrust his blade through the creature’s back. The second foul thing lunged toward Ruby with open maws, ready to bite down, and the third one slashed across Klink’s back, as too did the Shipmaster swing against Vir’s behind - his armor cushioning the blow.

 

Finding no purchase in Ruby, the second VODNIK broke toward Soren and the Sheriff attempted an interception; he carved a chunk from its head but it advanced nonetheless. Nearby, Vir drove his spear forward once again to fell his foe as it desperately swiped for his helm and made it rattle. The third VODNIK stood his ground, fashioning a shield from a soaked plank of wood torn from the bridge below. Icroth confronted the Shipmaster directly and both grappled each other in close quarters, with stones being thrown at them by Klink, while Soren took down his assailant only to now struggle to free himself from the sucking mud of the stream.

 

With a swift thrust, the Sheriff pierced the bridge-bound Drowned in its cranium, killing it where it stood and collapsing therefore onto Bimble, who was briefly crushed beneath that sodden mess until Klink rushed to his aide. Soren, after repeated effort, ultimately freed himself. And Icroth? He still grappled fiercely with the Shipmaster, enduring a violent headbutt until the Sheriff - once again - moved to assist, and in a combined effort, drove the undead down and back to his resting place. It seemed the end, silence fell until it broke by the trickle of the camp’s rivulet … until a porcelain canister rolled from within the Shipmaster’s coat, within it a tattered map - the same one referenced by the victim’s brother - upon which another riddle and a chart. 

 

INVESTIGATION SWIFTLY CONCLUDED to return with haste to the Society’s headquarters and tend to the injured!

 

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Her Ladyship, DOÑA LATRA ROCASOLANO, EXPEDITION SCRIBE
@Songwitch 

Hija Legítima de Cantacuervos, 

Master of Imperial Artifacts of the Celosian Courts, 

Historian & Fashion Revisionist of the Northern Geographical Society

 

Her Ladyship, DAME MANON YVAINE VON VOLKRICH, SUPERVISOR
@esotericas

Dame of Arts, Lady of Deguise,
Baroness of Guise and Distrugestadt,
President of the Northern Geographical Society

 

P U B L I S H E D  U N D E R  

T H E  A U T H O R I T Y  O F  T H E  

N G S

“ A D  T E R R A S  N O V A S ”

THE VIEWS AND INFORMATION CONTAINED WITHIN THIS DOCUMENT ARE THE SOLE RESPONSIBILITY OF ITS AUTHOR(S).

THE NORTHERN GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY IS NOT RESPONSIBLE OR LIABLE FOR ANY CONTENTS.

 

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[Ludulo 74]

Icroth looked over the report with the weary, practiced eye of a Mali'ker who had seen too many 'simple' trips turn into disasters. He ran a hand over the bump on his brow - a minor souvenir from the Drowned Folly - and let out a long, measured breath.

 

"All accounted for," he murmured to the empty museum library, the words tasting like a prayer answered.

 

In the NGS, luck was often just a word for good planning. They had faced the unknown and come back whole. He looked at the mention of the canister, his mind already beginning to untangle the next set of questions. For now, however, the pride of a successful mission outweighed the ache in his head.