After checking for locks or bolts, Cas attempts to force open the trapdoor.
the hinges are broken, snapped off; Castiel's able to shrug it open.
A room with a window to the outside of the wall, and a window overlooking the courtyard.
There's a rack on the wall with two masterwork heavy crossbows and five boxes of twenty bolts, normal. They need about 2 or 3 hours worth of p.m.c.s, and they'll be fully functional.
Castiel has a quick look around for anything else of interest up here , then passes the crossbows and bolts down to the others, suggesting they stack them in a handy location and take them with them when they leave.
If there's nothing else he'll climb down and join the others.
UGH!!!....in the middle of some really tedious b@%+@%!% right now,....bear with me, I'll be around soon.
As Castiel looks out the window to the courtyard, he looks at the prison; on the west side, there's a balcony, reachable from the courtyard by a stair, with a guillotine on it. This is the same balcony he could see from the prison window from the colorspray induced weird dream.
Alinya helps the others stack the heavy crossbows and ammunition by the prison gates, ready to be picked up when they leave. "Oof! How do people even lift these to aim them? Well made though - might be worth something to someone."
As Castiel looks out the window to the courtyard, he looks at the prison; on the west side, there's a balcony, reachable from the courtyard by a stair, with a guillotine on it. This is the same balcony he could see from the prison window from the colorspray induced weird dream.
Can Castiel make out the window that he might have been looking out of?
Once he’s had a good look around, Castiel climbs back down. “Alright. Say we take a look at those marks on the base of the prison wall?”
As Castiel looks out the window to the courtyard, he looks at the prison; on the west side, there's a balcony, reachable from the courtyard by a stair, with a guillotine on it. This is the same balcony he could see from the prison window from the colorspray induced weird dream.Can Castiel make out the window that he might have been looking out of?
Yes; looks like on the second floor.
The ivy and grass have been cleared around the base of the prison proper.
A series of sinuous runes have been carved there, and smeared with blood. The runes encircle the building, except on the north/east side, where a flood has occurred, and a pond now exists.
The runes are Varisian.
time check: 2:35 p.m.
The runes are Varisian ... can they be read by one who reads Varisian? Ie, Castiel tries to read them.
Edwin eagerly hurries to the base of the wall, and begins studiously examining the markings.
"Let's see, if we presume that 'E' is the most common letter, and appears the most often, then ,..." he mutters as he walks along the wall.
Alinya helps the others stack the heavy crossbows and ammunition by the prison gates, ready to be picked up when they leave. "Oof! How do people even lift these to aim them? Well made though - might be worth something to someone."
Larissa hefts one of the crossbows. "I think I might be able to make use of one of these. It does look like it requires some attention, though, doesn't it? Perhaps someone in the village can get it back in usable shape."
Rholf continues along with the group, trying to stay far enough away from Larissa to allow her her own freedom and space in which to move and think, but still be near at hand in case something endangers his young charge.
The runes are Varisian ... can they be read by one who reads Varisian? Ie, Castiel tries to read them.
Alot of the runes are magical incantations so they don't make any sense; for all you know they're babble.
The name, "Lyvar Hawkran," however, is repeated numerous times.
Edwin eagerly hurries to the base of the wall, and begins studiously examining the markings.
"Let's see, if we presume that 'E' is the most common letter, and appears the most often, then ,..." he mutters as he walks along the wall.
1d20+2
1d20+7
Again, it's all magical jibber jabber; however, the name "Lyvar Hawkran" appears a lot.
time check: 2:45 p.m.
“Does anyone recognise that name?” Castiel asks.
It's the last warden the prison.....I'm thinking with all the research you guys did you would've scored that little morsel, even though I don't remember handing it out.
"So, the name of the last prison warden, mixed with several mystical slogans. Looks meaningless, but... Nigel, Myron, what do you make of it? Could it be some sort of ritual curse?"
Can't really identify anything.....
Not quite; he's not sure....
“The warden? Hmmm ... well, here’s what we know; Professor Lorrimer had discovered that a cabal of necromancers called The Whispering Way seemed to have some interest in Harrowstone. He came up here to investigate and died – very possibly murdered. Since then the town has had a problem with undead, and various things we’ve seen – zombies in prison garb, the visions that Rholf and I had – connect that with the prison.
“Now we find magical looking writing around the base of the main prison building that incorporate the name of the former warden. What follows is pure conjecture on my part, but could it be that these necromancers, this Whispering Way, has raised the spirit of the Warden? The man was killed – perhaps burnt alive – trying to stop a prison break. A horrific way to go, and he may have died not knowing whether he succeeded. Seems to me a true formula for an uneasy spirit. Could the Whispering Way have stirred that spirit, and that is the cause of the problems here?”
Expanding on Castiel's thoughts... "Often, at least by my understanding, summoning spirits, demons, and other ilk from beyond is done with the use of a 'summoning circle' to ensure whatever is summoned does not run loose. Given that water has removed the blood, or at least what we assume to be blood, from the North/East portion of the 'circle', if you will, it's possible that the summoning circle is damaged enough to release whatever spirits this Whispering Way summoned up. Again, more conjecture, quite probably sheer fancy on my part." Rholf ends with a nervous chuckle.
"Interesting conjecture, both of you. And it would certainly explain some of what we have seen. I should think that removing some of the runes would end the summoning... but perhaps that is overly hopeful and it has indeed just unleashed horrors on the poor township of Ravengro."
To Castiel, "So, should we go inside the main prison?"
Larissa keeps her own counsel, trying to absorb everything being suggested.
Knowledge (religion) to see if she has anything to contribute.
"Very interesting theory. And entirely plausible. However, I find it unwise to create theories before all the facts are at hand. Otherwise one invariably twists the facts to fit the theories, instead of allowing the facts to dictate the theory." He lectures, not unkindly, as he pokes at one section of crumbling wall with his cane.
"Still. It is imagination that makes a decent investigator into a great one! And I believe that you show promise!" He grins.
"Shall we?" He asks the lady Alinya, holding out his elbow for her to take as if he intends to escort her formally.
"Gladly," replies Alinya with a courtly nod. She takes Edwin's proffered arm and they walk together into the cold stone shadows of the prison.
Earlier, Myron has helped himself to a heavy crossbow. "Nice. A portable arbalest! This is more my thing. Needs a bit of work to return to proper working condition, though."
"A question." He squats down next to the runic gibberish. "Assuming you're right - if the runes called up the dead, shouldn't they be returned to their rest if we scrub out the rest of the writing?"
Larissa keeps her own counsel, trying to absorb everything being suggested.
Knowledge (religion) 1d20 + 7 to see if she has anything to contribute.
The runes were part of a larger ritual, that involved abjuration and necromantic magic.
Earlier, Myron has helped himself to a heavy crossbow. "Nice. A portable arbalest! This is more my thing. Needs a bit of work to return to proper working condition, though."
"A question." He squats down next to the runic gibberish. "Assuming you're right - if the runes called up the dead, shouldn't they be returned to their rest if we scrub out the rest of the writing?"
They're etched into the foundation, then painted with blood; you'd have to deface them with a hammer and chisel, and that'd be the work of many manhours to complete.
"Lady Gurov, as I look at these runes, they remind of me work I've seen related to abjuration and necromancy. What sort of ritual would involve both? And why would they take the time to chisel these runes into the walls if they could create them with a brush?"
The water was there before; the runes end where the water begins, as the walls there are no more.
“I’m still just guessing,” says Castiel slowly, with a sidelong glance at Edwin. “But I don’t think removing these markings now will help us. Whatever spell or ritual was conducted here is done. Unless one of our priestly types can detect any ongoing magics on these runes? Also, the fact that this pond breaks the line of the runes suggests it will not matter if we break parts of the script, it is not a closed summoning circle or something similar. No ... I think we’re going to have to put down these undead the old-fashioned way.” He shifts aside the armoured coat he now wears over his plate armour, revealing the internal pockets filled with silver daggers, wooden stakes, vials of holy water, spare holy symbols and other such accoutrements.
map of the prison.....ground floor.
note it's 10 feet per square; it's also kinda cheezy when it's time for non-90 degree angles; this spread sheet wouldn't work to map R'lyeh.
The shadow of the bleak stone beckons mockingly, menacingly.
"Is anybody here?" Alinya intones in a mock-sepulchral voice. She stands in the entranceway with Edwin, peering into the gloom, waiting for the others to join them...
"No. Now go away!" Edwin replies in the same mock-echoing tone. He gives the lady a swift grin before turning his full attention to the rom they are in,...
"Need more light" He mutters.
"Rholf? Would you be so kind as step this way?"
"As you wish." Rholf replies to Edwin's request as he ascends the stairs and enters the prison with one final glance at the courtyard.
Larissa follows the cleric up the steps, looking past to see inside.
"That is a terribly useful hairstyle," Alinya murmurs as Rholf steps past her, his flaming locks casting light into the shadows. A thought strikes her, "What happens when you bathe?"
The party opens the front door to harrowstone; it resists a bit, but sags outward with a groan finally after coaxing from Wod.
Larissa's little friends dance even more furtively in her hair as the group enters the foyer. Wooden beams sag above, and clouds of dust dance in the beam of light allowed entrance by the door.
Four doors from here, to elsewhere within....
nothing of interest has escaped the larceny that time itsself performs on abandoned buildings.
note, again, that the squares are 10 feet, not 5 feet.
"Thank you Rholf. Ah. Much better. So gentlemen, ladies, which shall it be? Door #1? Or one of the other enticing egresses?"
They're all sturdy, and in decent repair.
And they're all opening of their own volition, slowly, and in concert.
And the labored, tired moaning of several people in pain and as if at death's door proceeds from beyond all four portals.....
what do yo do?....
"That is a terribly useful hairstyle," Alinya murmurs as Rholf steps past her, his flaming locks casting light into the shadows. A thought strikes her, "What happens when you bathe?"
"Actually, it..." Rholf's sentence is cut short by the interior doors opening, along with the screams and moans that accompany them. Raising his shield into an active guard and hefting his scimitar as he looks from door to door.
"Oh. Goody." Edwin says sourly. He gently pats Alinya's arm before reluctantly disengaging her arm from his and knocking an arrow to his bow.
"It sounds as if our party guests are arriving? And early no less. It IS still daylight outside, isn't it? I must confess that I lose track with all of this accursed fog and cloud cover." He says conversationally, belying his readiness to make a pincushion out of the first undead that is foolish enough to stick its head out,...
“Ghosts,” states Castiel, with an odd hint of satisfaction – this is what he had been expecting all along. He draws a flask of holy water from his coat, sword in his other hand.
“You might find it more prudent to arm yourself with holy symbol and faith than blade and shield Father Kastigarr,” the paladin suggests grimly.
It sounds more somber than anything else; not really screams, but the labored repetitive moaning, say, of somebody who's been laid up delirious in pain for days, and is petering out.