The combination on the brand is irrelevant to the story. Only the fact that it IS a prison brand for inmates sentenced to life imprisonment or worse.
Even if you are disintegrated and then resurrected, the brand would still haunt you. Only if Harrowstone is laid to rest will the curse of the branding be broken, and you can regenerate it clear again.
"Hey! You easy with Spirit Siphons! It take a day of hard work to reset ONE!" Shouts Xiuj irately.
Ysabot, examining one of the irons closely, determines they they are (at least for the moment) exactly what they appear to be. Branding Irons that have a kind of movable type screwed in to the business end. They certainly seem lifeless at the moment.
Testing shows that they don't radiate magic, evil or undeath. Right now.
Upon realising his companions are in danger, Jevault rushes back to help. Too late, the brands have both attacked and been defeated.
He curses himself under his breath.
"On our toes indeed. It would appear that the prison doesn't want it's secrets revealed." he states, gruffly. "We need to be more cautious. No more than three people to enter any unexplored rooms. Those going in to have one syphon; those without to hold another." The dhampir looks around to note the effects of his words. "As an alternative, the haunts seem confined to their respective rooms; we might be safer ignoring side rooms and trying to find the source of all of this. Of course, that means potentially having things behind us as well as in front..."
The sickly light coming through the high windows combine with both the fear and the grim determination etched into his face to make the inquisitor's pale countenance look even more unsettling than usual.
Ysabot picks up one of the branding irons, feels it remain dead weight, and sighs in relief. She inspects the type, and begins idly trying to unscrew one of the letters with her dagger as Jevault speaks. When he finishes, she nods in agreement. "I cannot heal anymore, and my spells appear to be useless against these haunts. We can only take out two more, unless we retreat to allow Xiuj to 'reset' them. Going for the source seems wise - I doubt the haunts will follow us."
"Jevault, we will follow you. If we see anything besides haunts, I can put my new bow to use."
A haunt siphon that neutralizes a haunt can no longer be used
to harm haunts, but it can be used as a grenadelike splash
weapon that deals 1d6 points of negative energy damage
with a direct hit. Every creature within 5 feet of the point
where the haunt siphon hits takes 1 point of negative
energy damage from the splash.
So yes, you could use it to heal.
Domminia looks around and sees her new brand, chuckles and says, "Duly noted! Let's get going, shall we?"
"Those things lookLet me go ahead a few paces before you follow on.". With that, the dhampir casts his gaze around the motley group, turns and, moving out of the light, allows the blackness to swallow him.
Moving quickly but cautiously, Jevault presses on, surpressing the fear that threatens to overwhelm him.
The witch shudders, unsettled by the way Jevault vanishes into the darkness so easily, so... naturally. She waits behind with the others, unscrewing a few letters from the brands while she waits. She pockets them, feeling the small squares of metal bump against her leg. No harm in taking a small souvenir, after all.
Moving further up the prison corridor, you come to another door on the left side.
The door to this room appears to be locked, but the door itself looks warped and relatively rotten from the long years of neglect.
The sign over the door is partly obscured. All you can see is ____SHOP.
From this point you can see twenty feet further up the corridor it makes a right turn out of sight, and you see another door on the far wall there.
Domminia marches forward like a pikemen with the blade of her spear feeling for traps with every step and she prods everything with the spear first.
Ereviss examines the area with care.
"Should we check the door? There could be more than just haunts in here."
"There has to be a headquarters of the prison where important stuff was kept. When we find that, we should be more informed."
Ignoring the first door, Jevault stops just short of the bend in the corridor, his back against the left wall. Holding his breath, he listens for signs of activity up ahead.
Suddenly, a spectral vision unfolds in front of you.
Around the corner you see a beautiful young woman dressed as if going to a ball, her hair carefully coiffed, jewelry at her throat, ears and wrist.
She is weeping as she is propelled by the grips four men dressed as prison guards. All of them are semitransparent.
Before you can move, they sweep through Jevault and up to the near door on the left.
You can hear the woman as if from a distance.
The men open the (transparent representation of) door and thrust the woman through. They then put a key in to lock it, then turn and walk back the way they came, fading to nothing in moments.
Then you are alone in the corridor again.
Jevault's legs buckle slightly as the ghostly figures pass through him. The negative energy release energises him, making his skin tingle, and allays some of the doubt in his mind.
He allows himself a few short seconds to enjoy the feeling before returning his focus to the task at hand. Projecting his unearthly sense through the door before him, he quickly steps back, adopting a defensive stance, as a great unseen power registers.
Turning just his head, and as loud as he dares, he beckons the half-orc forward.
"Paladin! Paladin!"
"We need to see what is in this door!!"
Agrimar steps up to the Inquisitor, falchion drawn. "What vexes you?"
His nerves calmed somewhat by the presence of the half-orc, Jevault quickly, and without embellishment, describes his encounter.
"Beyond that door is something big. Given all that we've been through, it would be wise to assume that it's malevolent.", he concludes.
"Let's cast prep magic first then go in."
Agrimar pulls a vial of oil from his pouch and anoints his falchion, murmuring, "Let my sword strike down corruption so that justice and honor may rise in it's place."
Closing his eyes, Agrimar opens himself to detect for emnation of evil.
Strangely, there is no spike in the evil-o-meter. Just the usual background Evil of Harrowstone.
You detect a massive spike in Undeath; you estimate the same power as a Ghost or Vampire. Maintaining focus, you feel it somewhere behind that near door.
"I sense no greater concentration here than other places we've seen within the walls."Agrimar rumbles to Jevault.
The elf opens the door.
Domminia jumps through the entrance with her spear ready.
"Thank you for the input, let's get the show on the road, shall we" says Domminia with 3/4 sass and 1/4 spunk.
The door was locked, but so rotted that Ereviss was able to shoulder his way inside on his first try.
Inside, the dim grey light from high window slits reveal tangled mounds of moth-eaten fabric sit on several wooden tables, each surrounded by workbenches. Various sewing tools—shears, needles, rolls of thread, boxes of chalk, and other objects lie scattered over the floor, while the arm of what appears to be a skeleton protrudes from a stained heap of fabric to the west. All is still but for the sparkling of dust kicked up by Ereviss and Domminia.
"Watch that rack to the north. It looks out of place."
Ereviss has his shortbow with a ghost touch arrow ready to go.
Ysabot steps into the room cautiously , looking around. Her curiosity begs her to investigate the skeletal arm; she takes a step towards it before stopping herself. Instead, she picks up a couple of sewing needles, pocketing them - one never knows when they might come in handy. She glances at Ereviss as he points out the rack. "Out of place?" she inquires, raising one eyebrow. "It looks perfectly normal to me."
"Yes, perfectly normal."
At that moment, only a couple of feet in front of Ysabot, a semitransparent figure rises from the mound of moldering fabric covering the skeletal arm. She appears
as a beautiful young woman dressed in a tattered but lovely blue dress.
In fact, much about the ghost is blue, including her hair, the tears that run from her pale blue eyes, and the clouds of smoke that drift from her
lips when she speaks. She floats a couple of inches above the floor.
She whispered you you intimately; her voice thin, but you can hear every word.
Persimmon's ears flatten and she crowds back against Ysabot, her eyes fixed on the ghost.
She said, drifting a little closer, her hand about to clutch at Ysabot.
"Are you the warden's wife?"
Bemused, confused and angered slightly by the audacity of his companions, the dhampir follows them to the door, although he remains in the corridor looking in.
He gets there just in time to see the apparition appear.
"YSABOT!", he yells, as the ghostly figure reaches out towards her.
"Spirit, not one step closer!"
The witch shrinks back in fear from the spirit before her, feeling the icy chill seeping into her bones. "Stay back!" she cries, clutching at her staff, holding it in what she hopes is a threatening manner. "I'll listen to your words, spirit, but keep your distance!"
The apparition reaches out as if to touch Ysabot, but when Agrimar interposes, she seems to hesitate. She hears Ereviss' question and nods at him.
She becomes agitated and moans eerily, raising the hackles on the back of your neck. She looks almost feverish as she looks at you.
Ysabot shivers as the ghost moans, thankful for her brother's warding presence. "Alright, Mrs. Hawkran. Please calm down - we're the reinforcements; we're here to help you - and your husband." She takes a deep, shaky breath, lowering her staff slightly, and glances at her companions questioningly.
Domminia scratches her head in disbelief.
"Where is your husband, Mrs. Hawkran? How can we help him?" However uneasy he is parleying with the undead, Agrimar senses no evil from the weeping phantom.
From the doorway, and in silence, Jevault watches on. After all the group has encountered in the prison, someone...something...wanting help was the last thing he expected.
"We have come to finish your husband's work--help us!"
In brief, Ghosts are undead, incorporeal, very dangerous, and even if you destroy them, they'll come back unless you address what made them dead in the first place.
She pleads with Agrimar.
She grasped her own arms.
Tears run down her face, evaporating into evanescent smoke as she weeps silently.
"Mrs. Hawkran, we would quiet these roused spirits again. Your husband's cause is our own."
Ereviss adds: "We are here to save the town and fight the evil here. We are trying to find your husband's office or the command center of this place. Do you know where it is?"
More accustomed to slaying the undead than aiding them, Jevault watches on intently, looking for any sign of deceit.
Domminia pats the womanish ghost thingy on the back and says, "There, there, we will handle it for you, we ladies have to do everything... "
Yea to shoots a questioning glance at Domminia, noting her irreverent attitude towards the spirit. "Mrs. Hawkran, can you tell us anything about the prisoners? Can you think of anything that might be important for us to know?"