"Yes...yes indeed. We were held as prisoners...no, PATIENTS!" Hearda exclaims with an undercurrent of anger. "We managed to free ourselves and made our way here. The only survivor we were able to...recover is that one," Hearda points over to Zandalus, "However we...we have lost..." here he pauses for a moment.
"We have lost our memories. Have you seen any of us before?" Hearda finishes softly.
This would be just the place for one of those things to slip in unnoticed, Feliks thought. Far from relaxing, he did his best to keep an eye on everything and everyone without being too obvious about it.
The old man takes the cup gratefully. The tea is hot, but bitter. He reaches out to the attache case slung across his shoulder, sets it down, and opens it. From one of the myriad vials he sprinkles a fine white powder, and then from another vial a coarser blue one.
He only then catches himself, caught up in a ritual so habitual as to be muscle memory. The white is sugar - but the blue? Medicine? Carefully he stows the vials, and drinks the now sweetened cup.
Wynter raises her hands in defeat. I don't know? No one does. We woke up three days ago with the asylum like this. Monsters in place of patients. Guards dead. And.. that fog.. out there.. with things, in it. Everywhere. Everyone who has gone in... She frowns. They do not make it to the other side.
She stares at the dreamers intently, fixing each of them with a piercing gaze from her violet eyes. I have never seen you before in my life.
"I... I think we know where the patients went. There was... a mountain of the dead." the old man says quietly.
"This fog. Have you seen it? Can you see it from here?"
Wynter gestures to the western walls. Behind the statue of the Butterfly Lady, thin cracked windows of spiraling blue-stained glass stand in deeply recessed casings. Beyond, stout iron bars as sure as those of any prison belie the quiet serenity and solace the Lady offers. And, beyond those, a thick mustard-tinged fog roils and seethes like a foul smoke. Within its orpiment roils, strange shapes and lights flicker. It stretches out, high and thick as far as the eye can see in any direction. Thin tendrils occasionally snake out from the bank, pulling towards the asylum before pulling back in on themselves as though alive.
As near as we can tell, it's everywhere. The town beyond is gone, at least we cannot see the bridge to the mainland. We had nightmares.. terrible, terrible nightmares, and then there was the earthquake. We woke, screaming, to a world gone mad. As ridiculous as that would seem, in an asylum, the world grew suddenly madder. Monsters that could change shape.. show you the horrors of your deepest fears, become lovers lost or longed for... Only to torment and deceive us. Others, feast on flesh, and spread their filth and curse throughout the building. And, there was that fog. Captain Wynter shudders, and forcibly turns away from the window. As far as we know, we are all that remain of the sane in the whole of the asylum. Some say, the world, though I will not brook such talk. This chapel, somehow, provides us respite.. serenity. Here, at least, we can sleep. The nightmares do not come. Not here. Beyond the walls of this room, even in the rest of our redoubt... We dare not sleep. The nightmares come, beyond the walls of this chapel.
The old man fights to regain his feet, then walks to the window. Silently he stares out at the bilious clouds outside. Desperately he tries to force the black void of his memory to spit up something about the clouds.
"Food?" he asks, without turning. "Water? How long can you wait this out?"
"We cannot trust our own memories, what is left of them anyway," Nathaniel comments regarding Amber's questions, "so perhaps we cannot trust theirs either."
He turns to Wynter. "You say you have never seen us before. Is it possible that you have but do not remember? Our own memories are... all but gone."
Hearda shakes his head slowly, as if in a daze. "Still...I refuse to give up here. There MUST be an answer to this...somewhere."
And I believe WE are the key to this... He suddenly realizes.
"Escape may be difficult...but not impossible. When we awoke, there were no sign of the fog...and we were in the basement. Perhaps the fog does not extend under the ground." He turns to face Wynter, a look of excitement on his face. "There may be escape from beneath the asylum! Do you know of any passages under us?"
Wynter sighs as the Oldest One speaks of provisions. We have enough for a few days. A week or two, at the most, even with short rations. After that... She leaves the words unsaid as she turns to Yorik. Make sure the children are fed and go to sleep tonight.
Yorik nods and gestures to a few guards they speak to an elderly couple who are passing out small bowls of very watery soup. I was going to rotate the guards tonight. They need sleep. Three days without is too long. Wynter nods and he departs with three different guards. The three guards who met the dreamers before soon enter the large room and collapse on to pallets.
We don't sleep beyond the chapel walls. It's not safe. Wynter sighs. I've never seen any of you, before. None of us have. That's not uncommon, though. Many of these, here, are patients, including the children, and they're not the most reliable of sorts to begin with. The other orderlies and nurses had specific patients or sections they treated. They may not have gone to your wing. She frowns, pursing her lips in thought. The basement had a place to store the most violent of patients, as well as tunnels to bring supplies from the docks on the river. With the earthquake... I can't say how safe those tunnels would be.
"We've plenty of time." the old man said, emphasising the first word. "May be that those outside are looking for us. But we awoke just now, and they've been awake for days. It may be that different parts of the asylum are waking up at different times. That means there could still be people - real people - stuck out there, waking to the same horror we first faced."
He finished his tea "I'd like nothing more than to collapse here. Rest. Recover. But I think we need to make a plan - all of us. We need to safeguard this refuge, but still put together a group to search for more survivors, and clues."
Wynter nods. You are all welcome to stay. If you can find a means to end this curse... You would have my thanks. We have little knowledge of what's beyond our area. We... have't been able to bring ourselves to leave this chapel. It's safe, here. and, we can sleep.
"Amber speaks truly, and she speaks for all of us. I have no desire to live trapped like a songbird in its gilded cage. We need answers." Hearda points out. "Do you know where the offices to the administrator of the Asylum are located? That seems a good spot to begin our search. Also if you know of a library here as well? Sometimes the written word holds many secrets."
The old man raised a hand to forestall the others. "You have memory of this place, and days of experience. Can you tell us what locations this place has, or any ideas you've had. I take it this chapel is the only one?"
Wynter ponders for a moment. I've only been here for a few weeks. I first came here to investigate some strangeness in Thrushmore. That led me to take a position here. I don't know much else. The administration wing is in the center of building. Offices and the library are there. We haven't been there, though. Gods only know what horrors are there.
"Strangeness?" asks the old man "Is there any chance it could be related? What strangeness brought you to this place?"
Hearda nods in reply, "Then that is where we need to begin our search." The woman's emphasis on the word 'strangeness' catches his ear and he pauses awaiting her response with a sense of eagerness.
"I concur," Nathaniel says after hearing Wynter out, nodding in agreement with Hearda. "Whatever this... strangeness is, it could very well hold the answers to many if not all of our questions."
"If we stayed clear of strangeness...where would we have to go?" Feliks said with a grim smile.
Wynter shakes her head. There were.. other things. Haserton Lowls, the count of Versex, appears to have abandoned his duties as one of the nation’s rulers. Accuser Omari had reason to believe that Lowls had regular business here at Briarstone. She sent me along with other associates to investigate the asylum while she went on to Thrushmoor. She sighs and looks about the room, calmly surveying her charges. There is little left to us, and even fewer answers. Yes, the Library may be your only recourse. Perhaps you can find something there that can end this madness. But, for now,. sleep. You may rest and heal here in this place. On the morrow, you should begin your search.
Heaarda nods to Wynter, a wave of exhaustion striking him as she mentions rest. "Yes, rest would be wise. Should we assist in setting watches? I do not trust that statue can ward us here forever."
We can sleep, here. Somehow, the statue protects us. But, yes, please, assist in the watch. My guards will welcome the rest.
"I'm old, but my eyes are still fine. I'll assist with the watch as well." The old man adds. "Let us work out who is most injured, and then organise shifts."
As each dreamer stands watch, they see shadows in the darkness beyond the barricade. The shadows twist and cavort in the darkness, as though dancing to some unheard music. The dancing is rhythmic and graceful, a ballet in umber against a deeper darkness. It's elegant in a way that is indescribable. Yet, somehow, it's unnerving. Sickening. Unnatural. The shadows bend in ways that are impossible to anything a mortal form can make. As the shadows dance, the arms elongate and stretch, reaching out down the hall in tattered ribbons. Closer and closer the ribbons stretch, almost to the dreamer's face. But, something intangible keeps the ribbons from reaching their prey. The ribbons flail against the barrier, battering at the air in an echoing boom until.. until...
Each dreamer awakens to Captain York's gentle boot. Time for your watch. Soon, after Amber's finished her watch, a small child named Brenton comes bringing a slight ration of food for everyone. It's enough, barely, but it still leaves the dreamers' feeling slightly empty. He a small thing, scrawny and scared, but he gives the Amber and the others a smile before scurrying off to help the others.
Soon after they're done eating, the Lady Wynter appears. Alright, I'll have York show you the way to the rest of the asylum. Return here to rest. Please. Do not sleep beyond the our chapel. It is not safe. You will not rest easy out there. She gestures, and Captain York rushes over. Take them to the Argus Wall... I'll occupy the children. She stands before the shrine, smiling. Come, children! Come! Time for morning lessons! The children grumble but hurry over all the same, ready to learn.
As soon as the children are completely occupied, Captain York motions with his head to follow him out of the chapel. He crosses the hall and pulls aside the curtain. Beyond, the wall is completely covered by a fungus with a large weeping eye. It moans and sobs softly.
It screams if you attack it. York whispers from the rear. The screams upset the children, so we stopped trying to hack it away. It appeared two days ago, and slowly grew. It's still growing.
Hearda awakes more refreshed than he has in a long while, his warring minds at peace for the moment.
That peace is chased away as his gaze lingers over the weeping fungus wall. "I have never heard of such a thing..." he breathes in awe. "Still it does appear to be a normal fungus, albeit warped by the fog perhaps..."
He dares to approach closer to the fungus wall, but avoids touching it for the moment.
What secrets do you hold...
Troubled, yet refreshed, the dreamers awake, rested and ready for their sojourn into the depths of the asylum. They follow York to the hallway, and the captain peels back the curtain revealing the nightmare beyond. Whatever peace came to Hearda's warring minds is lost as he his gaze falls upon the weeping fungal wall.
"I have never heard of such a thing..." he breathes in awe. "Still it does appear to be a normal fungus, albeit warped by the fog perhaps..."
He dares to approach closer to the fungus wall, but avoids touching it for the moment. What secrets do you hold..., he whispers silently. His mind is shrewd, despite the horrors he has faced, he still maintains his faculties. And, he brings them to bear, now. Logic will win this day, not brute force or foolish superstition; cold hard logic. The rhythm of laws and rules, the surety of axioms and theorems; the certainty that with enough information, anything can be reduced to a simple calculus or metric; these things Hearda knows and can rely on. He does so now... and finds something that defies all of his understanding and truth. This is not a creature pulled from some other-worldly place, nor is it an entity of the mortal realm! It is something otherwise foreign.
Behind him, Amber gasps with horror when as she moves behind the curtain to the exposed the weeping fungus. "Starsong ne proteja! Ce este acest lucru!?" she exclaims, reflexively slipping into her native tongue, unknown to her, yet familiar. How did she know this language? Yet, with such surety she also can put a name to this aberration before her: Haunt. This is not a creature of another dimension, nor is a creature of this world. This is mortal instrument possessed by the dead. A soul wearing the matter of the world as a man wears a cape or a tree leaves. Easily donned, and easily shed. For a moment, she pales and her mind quivers at the realization of what she sees: the dead infesting the world, mimicking life. But, then, she rallies. Hauntings are indeed like capes or the leaves of trees. They can be terrifying, and quite harmful.. deadly, even, infesting a whole building. And, once someone awakens the haunt, it can attack. But, they also can be stopped. They can be put to rest for a time, and wholly dispelled if you can but learn how.
Everyone's spooked again. Because this thing is weird as heck.
Also (thanks to Amber) you know these things:
1) it's a haunt.
2) it's not "active" so it's not hurting anyone (although it is blocking the way out).
3) York said that attacking it makes it scream, which upsets the kids. Best to avoid that. And, that's probably how you activate the haunt.
4) If you attack it enough, since it's physical, you'll break apart its physical form, which will deactivate it for a time (see #3, though). But you'll have to deal with this thing EVERY time it resets...which could be problematic for you guys if you need to go through the door in a hurry. Also, you may end up breaking the door. again, problematic.
5) there's a way to permanently set the thing to rest without hacking it to bits.
I'll allow for Perceptions and Intelligence checks, along with any Knowledges you think might come in handy to learn about how to defeat the thing.
Hearda nods at the woman's explanation. "Yes, much is cleared up yet is still unrevealed. If these are indeed spirits that infest this wall perhaps a way can be discovered to communicate with them..."
He steps as close to the wall next to Amber, studying it closely for any clues as to what may allow the spirits to be put to rest. He wracks his incomplete memories for any other occurrences similar to his he has read about. As he gazes at the fungal wall his eyes suddenly roll back into his head and sways unsteadily on his feet...
The old man shuddered. "I've never seen anything like it..." he starts, finishing hesitantly "... as far as I know."
He steps back "Communicate? Put them to rest? That sounds dangerous. Perhaps Holy Water...?"
The dreamers study the haunting carefully, logic and perseverance will triumph over their baser emotions. They are not cowards, nor animals who let themselves be ruled by fear! No! They have faced such horrors since they woke in the asylum, true. Yet, they have bested them all through cold rationality and the surety of their own fortitude. As they study the fungus, their keen eyes discern much of the undliving being. Much of what they know, they know because they do not know it. Hearda recalls hearing of a spirit that possessed a set of cooking knives. None of them grew fungus. Likewise, Amber, recalls stories of a fungus that spread through a small town's crops. But, such was a result of poor weather, not the undead.
As the two work, the old man shudders. "I've never seen anything like it..." he starts, finishing hesitantly "... as far as I know."
He steps back when they mention a means to speak with it. "Communicate? Put them to rest? That sounds dangerous. Perhaps Holy Water...?" Both Amber and Hearda know that holy water would only harm the creature, making it scream.
It seems that that would be their only alternative. Indeed, the investigator and the occultist both seem to give up when her keen eyes spot the fungus' eye. It darts about the room, seeing, tracking their movements, yet, it always darts away from anything reflective, as though mirrors offend it somehow.
"Hey," Feliks said softly. "This thing looks away whenever there's a reflection. Is there a mirror or something we could press on it?"
Going to assume that's high enough to notice. :)
Hearda shakes off his daze that momentarily befuddled him, and turns his attention to what his fellow dreamer stated.
Unslinging his pack he rummages around in it for a moment, shaking his head in disgust. "I do not have a mirror in my possession. Do any of you happen to possess one?"
"A mirror?" Amber stares. "No...no I don't..." she begins, her expression downcast. But then a spark seems to flicker in her eyes.
"If not a mirror, why not a blade? Not as clear as a mirror but they reflect just the same! I have a dagger and some of the rest of you have blades too! Why not give it a try?" she asks as she draws her dagger and tries holding it up to the darting eye.
"It is worth the try," Feliks said, holding his own blade up to the eye, with the flat toward it.
"No, no, I can do better." The old one roots through his pouches furiously, finally producing a silvered steel mirror the size of his palm.
"Aha!" he exclaims, raising the mirror victoriously like some conqueror of old. "Here." he states as he extends the mirror towards Feliks like an offering.
Tears of ammonia drip from the haunt's eye as it desperately tries to avoid the Oldest One's mirror. But, to no avail. He follows the thing's movements, and soon it catches its own reflection in the silvered glass. The haunt's pupil opens wide, revealing a fanged mouth that whispers out in three overlapping voices: What am I become!!?? Then, it dissolved into black slime like rotting mushrooms. It trails ichor and filth down the walls revealing a mold-eaten door that crumbles to the touch.
The ruined door frame leads to a cathedral-like hall. floored in white marble tile, spiderwebbed with cracks. A prominent, oval desk faces staunch double doors to the south and north, while hard benches and portraits of somber doctors line the walls. Regal stairs ascend toward a second floor, but rubble has crushed the upper flights, blocking passage. Lofty windows, gridded by bars, reveal yellow mist seething just beyond.
Eerily, the hall is silent.
Hearda moves silently into the great hall holding position next to the stairs, eyes and ears attuned to any sound or movement. Hearing nothing at first he pauses and slowly continues forward towards the oval desk, while waving his fellow dreamers onward.
Feliks too slipped forward, as silently as he could.
The old man stands a long while looking at the wall that was once a man before he can bring himself to step through.
Once thought he sees the others vanishing into the room. Though stealth is not his forte, he does his best.
The dreamers cross the threshold and cautiously walk into the hall. The room is deathly silent, the horrors that surely lurk beyond those closed doors seem so far away. There is naught in this room but the shattered promise of hope and sanity.
In the distance, the hall extends to a corridor that curves to the north out of site.