As the old harpy stopped singing her song gave place to a vision. From the balcony of a palace two raven haired elves stood, contemplating an idyllic horizon where clear skies met the waters of a calm sea. The taller of them, a man, had fair skin and a chiseled face. His eyes were stern but gentle and he had the shorter elf, a woman, wrapped on his arms. She was beautiful beyond belief, her skin was olive and her smile carried no worries. Ilithir knew they were married. He new their names and that they were happy. They had the life that he took from them. The life that he could never restore and still, deep inside his heart, wished to restore. More than anything.

A fleeting dream from which the silver haired man awakened noticing he had dropped his arcane focus. I haven’t changed at all, he said with the voice of his mind while recovering the argent crystal. For so many years he tried to forget, to convince himself he had his own path with his own desires but in the end he was still bound by the past. It was a frustrating, bitter realization.

“I think that at this point we should report to our patron and see what he wishes for us to do. He may prefer using the guards to deal with the harpies and have us on the road.” Ilithir said as everyone started contemplating their next steps. As Heran proposes to look at the box he approaches the genasi and gently touches her shoulder. “Good luck.” And with this he casts Guidance and distances himself again. “Faera, do you know a spell that creates a spectral hand? It could open the box while we hide from a safe distance even if it is trapped.”

 Notes: Ilithir is dejected, but hiding it the best he can (I believe other characters would only be able to notice after beating his Deception with a Perception roll). He casts guidance on Heran

((Investigation with Advantage and Guidance: 12 + 3

Moving the box ever so gently from the niche in the wall to the floor of the rooftop, Heran feels something shift a little inside. The box is not empty. 

She studies it carefully. Her lockpicking tools are unable to fulfil their main purpose here, as the box has no lock, but she is able to use them to poke and examine carefully any suspicious areas of the box helpfully pointed out by Thurodim who is watching over her shoulder - a loose looking joint, a discoloured patch. None of these yield any results, and Heran is pretty certain that the box has not been trapped, and from the feel as she moved it, contains probably a single item.

Faera looks at Ilithir and blinks.  She pauses a second more and realizes what he is saying, she runs over to the ones checking out the box.  "Hang on, let me help.  Sorry, I could have done this earlier, but well... I have no excuse."  She casts mage hand and sends it over to the box and gently lifts the cover with it.

The spectral hand shimmers into existence. It floats over to the innocuous looking box, and gently lifts the lid away. 

Inside, you see a brooch. It bears an ornate design in the metalwork, and in its centre is a large, perfectly faceted gemstone. The singing is very clearly coming from this brooch.

As you listen, the sound of the song catches slightly, before starting again.

The box also contains a small strip of parchment which bears the word "Ansrivarr" in elegant, neat handwriting.

For those who understand Talithan (Elvish):

"Don't be sorry Faera, we were all a little taken by the harpies powers." Thurodim says to the elf with a frindly smile, but his mind partly lingering on the vision he had, clearly slouching at the thought. As the lid comes off, the half-orc suppresses an urge to pick up the brooch. "It is magic, some kind of insidious magic. We should try to find who put it there." He mutters, backing off from the brooch to let others take care of that. Instead he sits down cross-legged at the center of the tower roof and starts a low growling chant with his eyes closed, holding the Wolf's head cloak clasp in his big green hand to call upon the powers of his blood. (Ritually cast Speak with animals.) He then stands up and tries to spot some seabird, takings some bread from his pocket to offer as a gift for information.

Perception to spot seabird: 17 Animal handling if needed to get to ask a found seabird some questions: 7

Rituals take 10 mins, so we can resolve that once we know what the rest of the group is doing.

Faera reaches into the box and pulls out the small piece of paper.  She unrolls it and reads outloud, "Memory"  She turns the paper over to see if there is anything more, than looks to the others, "Not sure if that is the name of the song or what?  Sure is a beautiful piece of jewelry though."  

"Beautiful and magical. It probably wasn't hard to plant it up here, with how unused most of the tower is." Heran asks as she pushes herself to her feet, before tucking her tools away once more. "But a who would be a good start. Then we might be able to get a why."

Ghurr looks at the broach, reaching out one tentative furry finger to touch it but then pulls his hand back.

"If here attract harpies," Ghurr starts, furrowing his brow a little as he tries to put the words in the right order, "why little paper put in too? Not think harpy message."

Ghurr walks to the edge of the roof to see if he spots any sign of the harpies still lingering around.

Perception: 12  

"Message for other?" Ghurr asks.

He shrugs and shakes his head after that much thinking. Ghurr then goes to the top of the stairs, down a couple of steps and bellows as loud as he can down into the tower.

"Guards down up here," Ghurr shouts. "Come get."

As Faera reads the word inscribed on the strip of paper, the song stops. The only sound is the wind, the crashing of the waves far below, and Thurodim performing a ritual spell in the centre of the rooftop.

“It seems the word was the key to deactivating the magic, and activating, I would hazard a guess.” He said looking at the brooch. Maybe it was like his blade and with attunement it would reveal other powers. Maybe it would curse the wearer. Ghurr made the right question why asking to who the message in the box, and the box, for that matter, was intended to.

Ilithir once again looked at Faera. On his travels he had worked with other spellcasters, one or two could use the Art to identify items. It was not guaranteed, he was magic inclined himself and had no such capability, but the possibility was enough the question.

“Faera, can you identify the nature of the item?” As the words left his lips an idea crossed his mind. What if someone on the guard put the box there? “If no one knows what this is or how to identify it I urgently recommend hiding it on a bag until we can speak privately with Landgrave. There may be a mole amongst the guards.”

In fact, maybe one of these strangers was colluding the traitor. No, he said with the voice of his mind before doubt became paranoia. They just arrived in the fort and battled the harpies. They and Landgrave should be trustworthy.

Evidently not noticing anything in looking about and not finding any victims still capable of being helped, Mala starts to wander back towards the others crowded about the box.  She sees Thurodim pulling crumbs of bread from his pocket.  She shakes her head thinking, 'Of course he has some old bread in his pocket. Just like the bits of cheese!'  She absently picks at her ear with her finger, trying to get any remnants - or imagined remnants - of cheese out.  Reaching the others, she takes a peek at what is found. 

"Well, let's put it in a bag then and Landgrave should be down at the bottom. Let's go then!" she says.  She then pauses, "Oh. Well, someone should stay with Thurodim while he plays with the birds I suppose," she says with a grin. 

(Sorry Mala!)

Just as Mala had expected, the four soldiers on the rooftop are motionless, unbreathing. A quick look through their belongings reveals nothing of value, only the usual accoutrements of a town guard, and a badly kitted one at that. Tucked into the pocket of a human male is a small charcoal sketch of a guard, possibly this guard, clearly drawn by a small child.

Edit from if you saw this post earlier: I changed my mind. If you didn't see it: don't even worry about it.

Ghurr, not hearing the sounds of any guards responding to his shouts into the tower straps his glaive, diagonally across his back and goes over to the dead town guards.

He looks down at them sadly and sighs.

"Nature keep you," Ghurr says quietly to the dead.

The large bugbear then kneels down and scoops up two of the dead guards, one under each arm and starts down the stairs to return them at least to their comrades.

Mala takes out the little sketch and looks at it just a moment. She then tucks it firmly back into the pocket. "Best you just keep that," she whispers. She straightens taking a look over at how Thurodim is progressing.  "Any volunteers to wait for the half-orc or am I babysitting once again?" 

"I can stay up here if you feel like heading down." Heran suggests, looking around the tower. Her eyes try to not land on any bodies Ghurr hasn't started moving yet.

Still quite focused on his growling chanting, Thurodim doesn't really notice the warmth with which Mala speaks of him. ;-)

Responding to Ilithar, Faera looks up to him, "I'm sorry, I do not.  But you're right, we need to get this down to Landgrave.  If this is what brought the harpies, that part is at least understood, but who and why set this in motion?"  Confused, the elf puts the note back into the box, closes the lid and squeezes the box into her bag.  As the bugbear starts heading down the stairs with two of the bodies, she follows, though a bit behind.  Sorry that they weren't able to help these four guards.

The harpies dealt with, and the object which seems to have lured them here discovered, Faera, Illithir and Ghurr begin the descent back down the tower - Ghurr carrying his sad burden, Faera carrying her currently unidentified one, Illithir carrying the weight of his memories.

Meanwhile, Mala and Heran remain on the rooftop as Thurodim finishes his ritual. The gutteral rhythms of his chanting cease, and he stands up.

Thurodim, you can now Speak With Animals for 10 minutes. There are plenty of seagulls wheeling around the tower, and you know exactly what they are saying to each other. Most of it is about food, some of it is about mating, and all of it is pretty raucous and crass.