The Song of Aurea

The Church of Newtale Pt. I

Rael Ironflame

Newtale

February, 1703 AR

"My old church..." says the bar-keep, "The one to Pelor...It was recently closed and no one will tell us why."

"Go on," I say as he pauses.

"Well...The church has been in disrepair since then, and that was about a year ago. Windows are boarded up and broken, the fence is rusted, and the offerings of fruit and flowers are decayed beyond recognition, the salts only a bitter mound. Every night, a thick fog appears and shadows lurk about the old cemetery. Some say ghosts, I say thieves. Grave robbers," the man explains as he cleans a mug with an old rag. He looks just like the bartenders in the illustrations of children's books.

"Grave robbers?" Markkason asks, inquisitively.

"Aye," he starts again, "I never seen a ghost with my own two eyes. Why should I believe they exist?"

"They exist alright," replies Markkason, "Ever heard of necromancers? Curses?"

The man laughs.

"You believe that rubbish?"

"I do."

"Hmm," he growls, "Well whatever suits ya."

Sheltered man, I think, Must not travel outside the city much. Otherwise he'd have at least seen such a monster from a distance.

"Anyway, I've heard tourists complaining about this sort of...Aura about it. Say a shiver runs down their spines whenever they walk by. Not to mention the smell of rotten flesh. From open graves, no doubt."

"So what do you want us to do?" asks Elanya, clearly losing her brief moment of superiority.

"I'll let you spend the night for free if you tell me what's going on, and what we can do to fix it."

"How many rooms?" I ask.

"Three. One for each of ya," the bar-keep specifies, "Have we got a deal?"

"Indeed we have," I say, "Thank you."

"You're the one that deserves thanking, Sir. I'm sure you've got bigger matters to attend to."

"Not at the moment."

We walk away from the bar and sit at an empty table near a small, decorated window, looking out to the streets outside. The bards are still playing, but their tune is less wild now. Much more somber, but not what I would call sad. It's fitting for the moment.

"Again, I ask..." starts Markkason, his eyes unfocused, "Where should we start?"

"I'd say with the mayor. His home's just up North of here. The one with the notice board," says Elanya, who seems a little taken aback by our attention to her, "I-I mean he'd know what was happening. Wouldn't he?"

A flurry of ethereal, blue butterflies flutter from Markkason's palm. He smiles and looks up but his countenance drops as he sees us staring at him. The drunkenness shows clearly on his face...Maybe I shouldn't have forced him to drink a pint of ale after all.

"Doubt he'd say anything," I continue, "But it's worth a shot."

"Well I can't see any point in staying here much longer," says Markkason in an almost excited tone.

I nod and lead the way outside where a very happy dragon nearly pounces on me, but I give him a look before he jumps and he visibly calms. Elanya takes the lead and we follow the increasingly less crowded road. It's about midnight now, an odd time to go questing for shelter and small coin, certainly, but we don't have a lot of options.