These small offices were each dedicated to handling one of several key aspects of the prison’s operations, such as prisoner files, income, supplies, scheduling, repair requests, and so on. With several hours of work, the surviving paperwork in these offices can be organized into a central repository that can be used to do research.
The northern room at the end of the hall was used as a washroom by the guards—the smaller chamber to the west was a privy. There’s nothing of interest here today.
The southern room at the end of the hall is a spacious room that smells of mildew and rot. A long desk and chair sit to the south, while to the northwest a narrow alcove contains a closed safe. Thick layers of dust cover everything in sight.
You didn't realize it, but while you were in the prison, a sense of tension and foreboding filled your bodies. It manifested almost as a low vibration, felt deep in the base of your molars. As you entered this room, the tension lifted, and a feeling of peace fills you.
Aduard makes a note of the files, intending to relocate them on the way out. Who would sit in a haunted prison and read notes for hours?
"Does anyone else feel that?"
"Brogol, next door. It definitely looks like someone else beat us here first."
"Feel what?
"Aye felt it, yes. This place - it isn't tainted like tha other places in tha prison. Aye suspect so, anyways."
Normally, the papers would be where Brogol gravitates, and the half-man intends to take them with the group when they leave. More immediately, his skills are needed at the safe. Crouching, Brogol removes his new set of lockpicks and taps along the safe, listening for points of weakness, and then peers at the locking mechanism and along the door's joints, looking for danger,
Brogol does not find any traps on the safe, but he's not able to get it open, either.
It appears that the large office used to belong to the prison warden. Maybe that has something to do with the feeling of peace present in this room.
Dashil nods, at ease with the others. "I feel it. Odd though. What's so special about the warden? I'd have expected this in a chapel, but here?" She shrugs. Add it to the list of things that don't make sense. Ustalav "OK, paperwork. Now we're getting somewhere." Dashil carefully picks up the various files, doing her best to sort them by theme even as she puts them in her backpack for later. "I have some magic that will speed up our study of these tonight."
She frowns as she sees Brogol struggle with the safe. She was counting on getting that open. "OK. Maybe there's a clue somewhere about what the combination is; or a key."
Radag continues to ignore the feeling of peace, and the contrasting dead he is feeling, Careful, the paperwork is likely cursed, it might put you to sleep." Radag says walking over to the safe rubbing his jaw. "Anyone have a crowbar?"
Radag pauses a moment before throwing his bag to the floor and digging through, "Ah that's right, I bought this from the smithy a few days ago! Safe, you're coming open."
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Radag and Brogol tug on the end of the crowbar for several minutes. Finally, the lock gives way and the door slams open with a BANG!
Within the safe are kept numerous (now out-of-date) legal documents, along with 500 gp (the prison’s payroll and petty cash fund) and a wooden rack on which sit emergency supplies (four potions of cure moderate wounds, three potions of lesser restoration, and two potions of remove disease).
"Nothing to it," Radag says with a heavy breath. "Oh look labels."
Dashil shakes her head. "Too many damn papers. Here." Muttering under her breath, she lifts up her holy symbol, which emits a faint light; and she can suddenly see which of the papers relate to which topic.
She looks at Aduard. "Come on - let's at least get a handle on the names attached to those belongings. I can find the relevant papers, take me maybe 15 minutes."
Aduard sighs "Very well." he looks around "We're going to need to clear some space. Maybe come back with a few trestle tables. And pins." he looks up "Lots of pins."
"I doubt Kendra would like to see any of her tables moved up here, and that goes double when Ravengro sees us and thinks we're moving into the prison, but you are more than welcome to bring those tables up. Just the two of you though, I don't like moving furniture." Radag talks as he carefully removes and stows all the contents of the safe.
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While Radag and Brogol are busy working on the safe, Dashil and Aduard search through the paperwork in the other offices, trying to learn more about the prisoners who owned the objects in the hidden vault. Their research successfully reveals the following:
- Ispin Onyxcudgel, AKA The Mosswater Marauder
Only 5 years before his hometown of Mosswater was destined to be overrun and ruined by monsters from the nearby river, Ispin Onyxcudgel was a well-liked artisan and a doting husband. When he discovered his wife’s infidelity, he flew into a jealous rage and struck her dead with his hammer, shattering her skull and his sanity with one murderous blow. Wracked with shame and guilt, Ispin became convinced that if he could rebuild his wife’s skull she would come back to life—but unfortunately, he could not find the last blade-shaped fragment from the murder site. So instead, Ispin became the Mosswater Marauder. Over the course of several weeks, the cunning dwarf stalked and murdered nearly 20 people while searching for just the right skull fragment. He was captured just before murdering the daughter of a visiting nobleman from Varno, and was carted off to Harrowstone that same night. - The Piper of Illmarsh (real name unknown)
Before he snatched his victims, the Piper taunted his targets with a mournful dirge on his flute. He preferred to paralyze lone victims by dosing their meals with lich dust and then allowed his pet stirges to drink the victims dry of blood. - Hean Feramin, AKA The Splatter Man
Professor Feramin was a celebrated scholar of Anthroponomastics (the study of personal names and their origins) at the Quartrefaux Archives in Caliphas. Yet an accidental association with a succubus twisted and warped his study, turning it into an obsession. Feramin became obsessed with the power of a name and how he could use it to terrify and control. Soon enough, his reputation was ruined, he’d lost his tenure, and he’d developed an uncontrollable obsession with an imaginary link between a person’s name and what happens to that name when the person dies. Every few days, he would secretly arrange for his victim to find a letter from her name written in blood, perhaps smeared on a wall or spelled out with carefully arranged entrails. Once he had spelled his victim’s name, he would at last come for her, killing her in a gory mess using a complex trap or series of rigged events meant to look like an accident.
Dashil pushes her hair back from her forehead, keeping it out of the way as she looks down at the papers that she and Aduard have assembled. Her hands are covered in a mix of parchment dust, mould and smudged ink; and she's transferred some of that to her face and hair. As she looks up from what they've discovered, her eyes briefly meet Aduard's and she can't help but give a slight - a very slight - smile. "Ever have this scenario in mind when you set out to be a scholar? Good work, by the way. What say we make another go at those last two? Knowledge is power, after all - or so I'm told."
She shudders at what they've learned - the Splatter Man... Hm. Splatters of blood, spelling out a name. That rings a bell. "Do you remember that 'V' written in blood on the memorial? Any bets on a link between that and this guy? More important, any guesses as to why?"
"Undead is why. Corpses that refuse to rot like they should." Radag says over his shoulder. "If your splatterman died down here and turned to be one of the unlivibg, then maybe the cultists already did what they meant to do, whatever it was."
Brogol grunts as he removes the papers from the safe and places them in the pile on the tables. "Good thinkin', Ms. Masozi. Who's tha target then? Anyone in town's name got a V in it?"
Sitting down in front of the papers, Brogol begins going through the ones that Dashil's cantrip has pulled out, holding each up to the nearest light, the boy's lips moving slightly as he reads them over.
"Indeed I did not, er, Dashil." Aduard still stumbles over the overfamiliar address.
"Hmm - It was Hawkram written on the walls. Could that repeated name have been a paeon to Feramin? Whatever the cultists did could have awakened something I suppose. Still, it seems strange that they did not stay behind." he continues, pragmatically "Why go to that much effort, and then leave without the fruits of your labour? The town is too insignificant a target to justify this much effort on destroying it."
Dashil nods at Aduard's reasoning, although his description of the town as "insignificant" makes her stomach churn; she, too, once thought as he did. Long ago and just the once. But it was enough. More than.
Shaking her head briskly, she returns to the present. "I agree. Whatever the Whispering Way did, they haven't come back so we have to guess that they completed it; and that it wasn't anything to do with Feramin. You transcribed the runes - maybe we should look at those to see what their aim was." Not enough information, not enough time. Never enough time.
Aduard squints at the notes "There's more here. I know it. I detest the idea of going into a situation without research, when the tools for that research are so close. I suggest we revise our plan for the day. We spend another few hours here, going through everything. Then, on the way out, we grab the book from the other room and take them back to study. In the morning I will memorise as many fire spells as I can, and we return to cleanse the other room. Perhaps..." he considers "...we could find some scrolls to help as well. Or hire a cleric to help with the exorcism."
"Overnight, in a more comfortable environment, we study the book. We ask Kendra to assemble a list of everyone in town with a 'V' in their name - good point there, Stockl." he pauses again "Wait. What, exactly do we know about how that letter was placed?"
Brogol grabs a chair and settles in next to the Bookman, his head soon buried in paperwork.
"A fine plan, Master Bookman. Yer correct ta research as much a tha one can before entering any situation. Aye wish yer could meet the Doctor, Aye think yer'd like each other."
Sighing, Brogol puts one folder, the records of a housewife turned drug cook of the name Sally Jenkins, to the side. Chaff. There will much of this tonight. All research is done with a shovel.
"Tha bloody V, it wer done wit a sharp blade and rat tha had its head cut from its body. It wer rat's blood - probably mostly rat's blood, anyways."
We already know that the V was for Vesorianna - the warden's wife.
Dashil sighs, and runs her hand across her eyes, causing more smears. She's not going to be able to prevent Aduard from taking any of the items they found, so there's no point even arguing it. "OK. You want to take the book of a known murderer who was also a wizard and a madman. But I repeat myself. Fine. But if anything strange happens, it tries to possess you, you start seeing stuff or hearing stuff or anything out of the ordinary, you tell me, alright? I will know if you're trying to hide anything and I will take it badly."
There's something else too; how to put it? Oh yes. "One more thing. You bring any harm into the Professor's house, or to his daughter, and I will hunt you down."
"The professor's will said we have to spend 30 days here looking after her before we get the reward money - we won't see a penny if anything happens to her."
"This is fascinating and all, but I'm not here to research the murderers that used to live here. I'm here to find out why the professor was killed and put an end to whatever he was trying to stop. If that information isn't in those files, I'm not spending more precious time here researching." Radag walks out of the room and prepares to open the last door leading north.
As Radag goes to leave "Don't be a fool man! We've already last one person. Any information could prove critical. For example, the layout of the prison might be helpful. We've a month here, let's take it slowly and carefully."
"Rest assured I intend to be very careful with Hean's book. I'm more than happy to keep it outside the house if you prefer - but I'm not fool enough to read it here. Sanctified ground would be preferable, perhaps I can hire some space in the Pharasmin church. As for suggesting my motivations are financial." he snorts in derision "The professor's bequest would barely cover the amount I spend on liquor and cigars most months."
"Hmmm - Dmitri said Gibs wrote that 'V'. That means either he's in league, he has terrible taste in practical jokes, or there's something in here able to affect those on the outside." He pauses "Now. There's no record of this having happened before the ritual? I wonder if whoever built this place had the foresight to have the ground consecrated to Abadar? Perhaps the ritual was to deconsecrate it, and now the walking dead are free from their true prison."
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- Father Charlatan (Sefick Corvin): Of the five notorious prisoners, only Father Charlatan was not technically a murderer, yet his crimes were so blasphemous that several churches demanded he be punished to the full extent of Ustalavic law. Although he claimed to be an ordained priest of any number of faiths, Father Corvin was in fact a traveling con artist who used faith as a mask and a means to bilk the faithful out of money in payment for false miracles or cures. He became known as Father Charlatan after his scheme was exposed and his Sczarni accomplices murdered a half-dozen city guards in an attempt to make good the group’s escape.
- The Lopper (Vance Saetressle): When the Lopper stalked prey, he would hide in the most unlikely of places, sometimes for days upon end with only a few supplies to keep him going while he waited for the exact right moment to strike. Once his target was alone, the Lopper would
emerge to savagely behead his victim with a handaxe.
Dashil shrugs. "Money's nice to have." Once again, her inhuman physiology comes to her aid: not blushing means that she's less easily caught in a lie.
Dashil's motivations have nothing whatsoever to do with money. She mentioned it as a pure distraction from her real motivations.
She looks at Radag. "I know you think we're getting bogged down here, and believe me, nobody wants to gut the bastards who killed Petros more than I do, possibly while humming some sort of tune to accompany their unanswered pleas for mercy;" her knuckles whiten as she grips her scimitar more firmly. "But remember, Petros didn't just run headlong into danger - he studied to know as much as possible about what he was up against. Then, OK, yeah, he ran headlong into danger. But at least he knew what the danger was at that point. C'mon Radag, just let us finish this so we know what's what."
Using Petros' name to get her own way is a cheap trick and Dashil knows it; but she'll deal with the guilt later. Just add it to the pile...
Its easy to tell Radag isn't buying either of the two arguements by the narrowing of his eyes to slits, but he doesn't head deeper into the prison, he starts heading outside, "I'm going to take a leak." he grumbles.
While the others do more searching Radag finds something to function as a stool and sits on that, closing his eyes and resting until they've had their fill.
"I'll come with you." offers Aduard, explaining further "I don't think anyone should go anywhere alone in this place. If something is stalking us, waiting for someone to go off alone is an old, old trick."
"It would definitely be more exciting than reading those files..."
Aduard smirks as they go through the door "Really? Another old wound perhaps?" he sighs and turns serious "A young man thinks he is invincible - if you reach my age you've learnt the twin virtues of caution and mistrust so often mis-characterised as paranoia."
"I knew more than my share of dead priests Bookman. Caution and mistrust are not virtues on any of the popular religions' lists. Though the priests might have benefited had they been virtues."
"Forgive me, Irefist - I'm a philosopher. I deduced the true virtues some time ago - I have the book at home, if you are interested. I've little interest in the so-called virtues the various religions impose on the cattle they farm for souls. Think of this - how many 'gods' violate the very ethics they espouse, let alone how many priests."
He looks at the wall as he relieves himself "I was serious about Dmitri. I liked him - and I don't like many people. If I'd been my old self I would have bought him back, Cayden be damned." He sighs "But by the time I can, he'll have been 'Judged'."
When they're both finished he looks over at Radag "Don't die until I'm recovered. Humour my virtues until then."
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"Urgh." Dashil's just realised that she's covered in bits of parchment and mold from their studies. Not a great look. Still, if that's the worst any of us have by the time we're finished here, then I won't care.
A slightly awkward silence unfolds between her and Brogol as they wait for the other two to return. Dashil mentally rehearses what she might say: Not to worry you, kid, but I saw a gravestone with your name on it this morning...
No.
Brogol, this might sound crazy, but...
No.
Kid, I'd take it as a real favour if you'd avoid getting killed today...
No.
And so, the antisocial nonhuman and the socially inept half-human wait, in mutually blank incomprehension, for the others to return.
"We'll see who needs to worry about dying Bookman, especially with the blasphemy your spouting about the gods." Radag half scoffs and half laughs as the two rejoin Dashil and Brogol.
"You two make quite the pair," Radag calls. "You learn anything useful about anything yet? Or just more about the murderers that were kept here?"
Radag finds his seat again and fights the urge to look bored by the sound of papers shuffling.
Brogol shuffles a few papers and puts them into a neat stack, the research finished. It was nice to have some companionship, and Ms. Masozi seemed to understand that not all silences need be filled with banal chatter and attempts at connecting. The Doctor always said that at the heart of it, language existed as a tool to inflict one's will on the world, and it seemed that Brogol's extrahuman friend understood this as well. Everything else that it wrought - language that is, not Dashil - art, compassion, friendship, love... that was all dessert.
Long silences had punctuated Brogol's life at the Doctor's manor, and Brogol sniffles a little, running his sleeve along his nose, at the kindness that Ms. Masozi has given him this afternoon; a bittersweet pang of nostalgia, the smell, warmth, and quietude of the Doctor's study brought vividly back to Brogol's mind.
"Hnng," Brogol says helpfully, brushing lightly at Dashil's cloak. "Yer got some book-rot on yer."
The half-human then slips back into their pleasant silence.
----------------
Of course, if language was a tool to impose one's will upon the world, Radag wielded it as if it were a greenboot's first sword, swinging it wildly and blunting the world around him with insults and barking, biting observations.
Brogol can hear the man coming long before he comes into view.
Sighing, Brogol stands. "All done here, Master Irefist. Nothing new ta learn. Should wer then?"
Making his way into the hall, Brogol crouches at another door, and begins the next round of examinations.
Aduard coughs "I've no desire to be here after dark, and I've a book to decipher, and scrolls to scribe when we get back. I'll need toi find someone who can sell components..."
Aduard looks up at the form of Radag "Well, perhaps one or two more."
Dashil nods. "And we've got those runes along the outside to decipher properly, find out what the Way was doing here. But it's only just gone mid-day, it's still light; let's explore the rest of this floor, at least. I wouldn't mind a look down that hole in the floor in the other room, either."
With that in mind, she moves to the set of double doors they've not yet opened.
The northern door opens into a hallway with several other doors leading off of it.
The first set of double doors on the right leads to a collapsed stairway. This flight of stairs once lead down toward what must be a lower level, but it's now filled with a mess of large stone blocks and shattered timbers.
The second set of double doors in the east wall leads to a staircase going up to the second level. The single door in the east wall at the end of the hall leads to a broom closet, with nothing of note inside.
Aduard looks grim "This was a trap. The stairs were built so they could be collapsed. Whoever did it obviously wanted to make very sure whatever was down there could not get up. Your idea of exploring just this floor has merit, Dashil. If there are traps, as well as haunts and dangerously unstable structures, then I think we need to proceed slowly, carefully and methodically."
Moving back into the hall, Brogol crouches by the next door. "Well then, if wer staying here first, how about this door next"?
Dashil looks thoughtful - as well as vaguely pleased by Aduard's approving remark. "Maybe the prisoners were kept below, and this was triggered to prevent any escape?" She scowls at the debris. "If that's our only way down, we're in for a lot of work to clear it."
She nods at Brogol. "Yes, let's get that door open."
Opening the door to the west reveals another set of hallways, with several other doors leading off of them. The door at the northern-most end leads to a privy, identifiable primarily by the smell, which still lingers after all these years. There is nothing of interest here.
"Well that would have been handy an hour ago" comments Aduard. "Onward, then?"
Brogol laughs, an awkward, high-pitched, nervous twitting. He had the inklings of needing to use the bathroom, but he'd wait until later at the Lorrimor's Manor. He could hold it, the boy was sure - even among The Lakeside Stranglers, his bladder control was legendary. The Doctor often said it was among Brogol's best qualities.
Radag holds up his part of the deal in being the one to open the doors after Brogol checks them for out meticulously for traps, noises, and whatever else it is he is doing. "Are rot grubs an actual thing?" Radag whispers as he prepares to open the next door.