BobolexDelacroix

Bobole slinks into the graveyard, the head in his palms. He calls out "Hay Dela, uh, Delacru-Lady who talks to the dead! I need you to talk to a dead goblin!"

The graveyard and quiet and silent save for the sound of periodic winds sweeping through drying curls of fall leaves. A squirrel hops once or twice then dashes up a large elm tree, the sound of its tiny claws scrambling up the bark audible in the still air.

"I ain't leaving longshank, I need to talk to this goblin and I'll wait here all night if I have to!"

The silence continues as Bobole passes grave stones, grave markers, memorials and crypts. Some very fresh, some very old. Some meager and some, like the Later Father Tobyn's crypt, impressive. Yet, no one replies, the graveyard as silent as goblin's can be loud.

Bobole, his thin attention span long since depleated, wanders into the crypt to see what can be pilfered.

(which crypt, Tobyn's?)

Bobole wanders into Tobyn's crypt, picking at the ground for things to loot.

Bobole finds the crypt has been sealed by Sherriff Hemlock. The heavy stone doors are more than enough weight to keep 1 goblin out, solidifying that a group of them at least had to have been involved in the initial assault. Fresh flowers have been laid by the doors and all signs of desecration erased.

"Stupid Longshanks, stupid stone corpse house, stupid everything!" Bobole tramps around the graveyard, kicking graves (and subsequently yelling in angry pain.) throwing rocks and cursing various longshanks.

Leaves are kicked up in a fury, squirrels scatter and a few mourners on the distant sides come to investigate. A young man holding a large stick approaches warily, "Ole Bob?" he ventures warily, ready to strike should the goblin prove to be not be the Sandpoint Hero. Another man stands further back, hand raised, fingertips slightly shimmering.

Bobole, exaughted and annoyed, plops down on the ground. Only now does he notice the frightened man, slowly he looks him up and down "Your an ugly lady, but I need to talk to this guy." He says holding the goblin head by the ear.

The two recoil and take a few steps back. The man at the fore swallows hard and poked the head with his branch-sword. Satisfied by its immobility and subsequent lack of life, he leans to the side to get a clearer look at Bobole? "Why do you need to talk to uh, "That Guy"?" His friend behind him gives him a bemused look and mutters "Are you not going to address that he called you an ugly woman?"

Bobole Barks "Hey!, are you going to talk to him or not, Delacroix?"

"Del...Delacroix?" the man stammers. He looks back at his friend. "Who-" The young mage puts his hands down and walks closer to Bobole, the conversation clearly turning to his area of expertise. "Delacroix? Madam Delacroix the witch and necromancer?" His face brightens. "OF COURSE! She could talk to the dead, she could animate the head or call up the goblin's spirit for beyond The Veil!" He smiles self righteously. "This," he jerks his thumb at his friend, "Is Padraig Millersen - he couldn't do magic to save his life. I'm Allen Oberklif, appentice. I can take you to the Madam"

"You talk too much, but come let's go." he says, picking up the head.

Padraig laughs and props the stick on his shoulder, glancing at the blushing and indignant Allen. Allen avoids looking at his friend and heads off swiftly to the oldest corner of the cemetary. Sandpoint, thought a medium sized town, is old and there are many graves to pass. Some deaths peaceful and too many violent. He stops before a modest grave, marked by a jagged crag of deep purple amethyst only a foot high with "DELACROIX" carved crudely into it. "Sir Olebob, I present to you Madam Delacroix. She passed nearly a century ago and asked to be squeezed in with the "old dead" for whom she felt most comfortable around..."

Bobole kicks the grave, setting the head down "Hay Lady! I need you to talk to him!."

Padraig raises his brow and looks a bit nervous. "Say, should he be doing that?" Allen winces and shrugs noncommittally. "Hey, Bob...She's dead, man. She can't help you and she was a necromancer . Even if she could come back, you wouldn't want her to..."

"Listen to me you stupid longshank. Either you help, or I'm digging up this longshank and she'll help me!"

The two young men exchange a look. "Uh, Ole Bob, I REALLY don't think you should do that..." Allen nods emphatically. "Yes, please. At best, you'll be arrested for desecrating a grave and worst...eeeeeeeeh..." he makes the uncertain sound as he holds up his hands in protest.

"I ain't worried about that, that sheriff who told me about her is busy with a dead family. So if you can't talk to dead goblins beat it!"

The two lads look at each other then take off in a dead run. Padraig outpacing his friend, who after a few dozen yards, stops to catch his breath then limp along.

Bobole, the realization he's been duped fineally dawning on him, takes his fangfile out and pries out the jagged amathyst, quickly stuffing it in his pocket. then silently wanders back to the sherrifs office.