"No, no. Back to the chapel. I'd rather risk the return than sleep in this place. And we'll need to bring more candles."
With wary trepidation, the Dreamers bolt the door to the library and slink away back to the chapel and the relative safety it provides. The moaning from around the corner echoes as it did before. An odd, droning noise that buzzes and pulls at the corners of the rational mind. It calls to the dreamers, drawing them in. But, then, just before all hope is lost and they give in to their curiosity to venture into the darkness, rough hands grab their shoulders and pull them back into the chapel.
Winter stares at the Dreamers with a fixed gaze from her violet eyes. It's best to stay away from the dark places. Madness dwells in shadows here. She gives a sidelong glance at the poor man dressed in yellow that the Dreamers rescued from the ghoul, and the guard they found when they first woke to this living nightmare. The guard has slept since they got to the chapel the day before, the yellow-robed patient sits in a corner drooling. The children are afraid of him, and he does not respond to the adults.
She shakes her head. It doesn't matter, we will tend him. Many of us were orderlies in this place. We have cared for worse. What did you find when you ventured beyond the Argus Wall? You were gone long.
Hearda nods tiredly, feeling the fatigue threatening to bury him. Fighting the urge to snap at Winter in a fit of pique, he adds "We found answers...and yet more questions. We need to return to finish our search...our bodies are too weak..."
"There was a witch." the Old Man says "It seems there is always a witch."
A witch in the library? Wynter looks aghast. Here? How/
"No, no. In the history of this place. The island." he waves his hand to dismiss it. "We'll talk about it later. It may be a dead end."
Wynter nods. Yes.. rest. You've been through a great deal. We all have. Let's sleep in our shifts tonight.
That night, the dreamers sleep. It is a deep, peaceful sleep, untroubled by eyeless yellow-wrapped horrors, or the monstrosities of their waking lives. Instead, they soar high in the air through mauve clouds and vermilion skies. An azure sun sets and sable stars shine once more. They land, dressed in finery and dance as though in a grand ball. Butterflies flutter throughout the room the light of candles and torches sparkling off their iridescent scales.
Come dawn, they awaken, refreshed and at peace, ready to face the nightmare of the waking world once more.
The old man stretches "I thought I'd be a living knot of muscles after a night on that cot, but I'm feeling... well." He looked around at the others "A quick breakfast and back to it? I'd give a lot for coffee before and a hot bath after."
Hearda shakes his head in a vain attempt to focus upon the reality of the situation while trying to banish the images flitting from the corners of his eyes.
"Yes, a quick meal then back to the library. Our freedom will not wait for us...we must seize it else it flees!"
Hearda shakes his head in a vain attempt to focus upon the reality of the situation while trying to banish the images flitting from the corners of his eyes.
"Yes, a quick meal then back to the library. Our freedom will not wait for us...we must seize it else it flees!"
"First thing should be to check those rat tunnels again," Feliks said. "No telling if they've come back or are hiding in the things."
"Agreed. Let's see what supplies still remain. Perhaps we can take a flask of two of water and something for lunch. I suspect we'll be at this for a while yet."
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The stores are dwindling, but there's enough for a light breakfast and lunch of cheeses and fruit with a few flasks of water. As they eat, the three children bounce balls between them.
Maeve! You can't go outside! One of the boys whispers, and grabs the young girl's hand. You know it's not safe outside.
But, I want to Brenton! I want to go out into the garden and play in the flowers! I want to talk to the fairies! Maeve spins around staring the freckled boy in the face, pigtails whipping through the air.
It's not safe.The other boy mutters. He is a frail, slim child, prone to seizures. Listen to Brenton.
Maeve glares murderously at the other boy and screams, throwing rubbish in one of her typical tantrums. I want to go out! I want! I want! I want! I want! She grabs the rubber ball and heaves it with all her might. It slams into the frail boy's head and sends him to the ground, the back of his head connects with the stones. It's only a light tap, barely enough to give a healthy child a lump. But, Bates isn't a healthy child, and he begins to shake as another episode seizes him. Maeve's tantrum stops as she looks on in mute horror.
A woman in her early twenties rushes from the other side of the room and shoves Maeve to the ground. She brandishes a large sliver of glass like a knife and snarls before dropping it to the ground and picking the young boy up into her arms, silently weeping and rocking him back and forth.
See what you did?! Another woman, snarls from her guard position at the barricade. Spoiled brat!
Maeve collapsed into herself and began to cry. She didn't mean it, DaNae, leave her alone! Look, Mura's already calming Bates down. Everything's going to be OK! Brenton looks down at Maeve and wraps her in a hug. It's OK, you didn't mean it. I understand, I want out of her, too. I want to find my brother and I miss my mommy and daddy. But, it's not safe. We gotta stay here, right? It's safe here. Brenton rocks Maeve back and forth, a pained look coming to his eyes as he silently weeps, their game forgotten.
Tolman, see to the children.[b] Yorik commands bookishly handsome young nurse. He stares a bit longer than normal as the blond man nods and mutters to a middle-aged woman in a nurse's smock from their position beside another nurse with bound in splints. Yorik sighs and turns to the dreamers. [b]I should go relieve the night watch. He stalks off, motioning to three survivors. A shaky middle-aged man, a man in a chef's uniform, and a dreamy-eyed woman get up and follow.
It gets harder, every day. We try, but every day is harder and harder on our nerves. Lady Wynter sighs, setting out meals for everyone. There used to be more of us. But, some gave in and they slipped away beyond the barricade in the night, and we never saw them again. Not really. We just saw things that wore their faces. Naysa and Tolman She points to the middle aged woman used to be nurses here, they do what they can to treat the wounded, like Airwynn and Bates. She points towards the bound woman. But, this was an asylum, everyone here has wounds. Not all of them can be treated, and all of them are getting worse. Wynter brushes her hands clean and smiles. It's a pale thing, clearly frayed around the edges. The guard you brought with you helps, though. He has experience, although he taxes our resources. Even the patient.. the one you call Zandalus...helps. It helps knowing that there's hope out there. There are survivors. You give us hope. Please, find out what's going on. End this nightmare for us.
Winter
Hearda stares at the unfolding scene before him with a stony look, though inside his soul he seethes in rage. These...younglings need to learn their place...They know nothing...NOTHING of what this place is!
Amber's voice distracts him from the murderous rage building with him. Giving the young woman a short nod in thanks, he nods abruptly and shoulders his slingpack. "Yes. This place will be our tomb...if we are lucky. Let's go."
The Dreamers slip past the barricade blocking where the Argus Wall once stood and once more stand in the receiving lobby of the asylum. The double doors of the library stand closed and barred to the north. The other doors from the lobby also remain shut, and the moaning has grown slightly fainter from what it was beyond the corner.
The Dreamers slip past the barricade blocking where the Argus Wall once stood and once more stand in the receiving lobby of the asylum. The double doors of the library stand closed and barred to the north. The other doors from the lobby also remain shut, and the moaning has grown slightly fainter from what it was beyond the corner.
"Did we leave those doors barred?" Feliks said, his eyes darting everywhere.
Hearda shakes his head slowly, his hand straying to the hilt of his mace. "No...we did not. Perhaps our rat-friends have returned."
"Either way - I don't fancy breaking in. Any ideas? My best at the moment is to knock and hope it is more refugees looking for clues." The old man added.
"There is that corridor." Hearda shakes his head and motions to where the moaning emanates from, "It should lead to the other side of the library. I did see a door on the far wall."
The Dreamers unbar the library and Feliks slips into explore the room. As before, the unmistakable stench of rat fills the library, but he doesn't hear anything. Confident in at least partial security, the Dreamers set to work researching.
Hearda takes the lead with his research knowing the ever-elusive key he is searching for lies within these tomes.
"Can't believe we all forgot about locking and barring the door..." Amber murmurs as they all set to work once more. This time she makes sure to scribble down what she learns, as well as what they'd already learned, so as not to forget it.
** spoiler omitted **
"In this gods-forsaken place?" Before settling down with the books, Feliks went to give the rat tunnels a second look.
"Perhaps we went too long. I sincerely hope we didn't forget anything we read. I think this time we need to ensure we take a ten minute break every two hours, and stop after no more than nine."
OK, so I forgot that since this library is well-stocked you get a +2 knowledge bonus.it doesn't really affect things, but i need to remember it from now on
Hearda rolled a 32 +2 to knowledge bonus = 34
Amber and the Oldest One both rolled successes so that brings the total to 36
36-15 (complexity) = 21
21/5 = 4 additional knowledge points to the roll!
Hearda's highest so we use his ranks. He has less than 5 in the skill, so he uses 1d8
that's enough to use up the libary! yay! you learn 2 more things ahd have sucked the library dry.
For hours the Dreamers pour over their musty tomes and moldering scrolls. Their candles burn low,and their eyes grow bleary in the shadowy confines of the ruined library. But, still, they pursue every lead, track every word. Several times they pause as the building shakes or they fear the horrors lurking beyond their doors. But, they go on unmolested and the library disgorges its secrets, almost as though it wanted them to learn the truth of this place!
They learn more of the nature of the cult the Briarstone Witch led: Encouraged by the Witch, the people of Thrushmoor split both from the church of Pharasma and the national government. When emissaries of the state marched to retake control of the town, they found the entire population had disappeared. Although a few gruesome stains marked buildings across the empty town, no other evidence of the people was ever found. The unsettling event became known as the Thrushmoor Vanishing and hundred of years passed before Thrushmoor was resettled.
That seemed to be the end of the tale until Amber found a small journal, ancient and near falling apart from neglect. What remains is disturbing to say the least. It's an account written by the daughter of one of Thrushmoor's homesteaders and details life in the town. She refers to the Briarstone witch as Mother Ariadnah and notes her sitting in council with other town leaders: Father Gierde, Father Weavewood, and Mother Zandalus. The precocious youth directly asks about the Tatterman. While her parents fearfully hush her, Ariadnah tells her not to be afraid, saying that "The Tatterman is only a dream, and a dream can't hurt a good girl like you."
Hearda stares off into the corner of the room, his gaze faraway. "Amber, do you not remember...Dreams to one are a reality to another. This is perfectly clear to me. Magic or no, it does not matter now. We are here now. We must keep moving...whether we are awake or asleep, it matters not." He picks up his slingback and turns his attention to the crack in the northern wall. "Should we investigate that further or move out?"
Hearda stares off into the corner of the room, his gaze faraway. "Amber, do you not remember...Dreams to one are a reality to another. This is perfectly clear to me. Magic or no, it does not matter now. We are here now. We must keep moving...whether we are awake or asleep, it matters not." He picks up his slingback and turns his attention to the crack in the northern wall. "Should we investigate that further or move out?"
"I don't see how we can get anything else out of these books," Feliks said. "We still need to get out of this madhouse."
"Indeed. A long bath and another nap would be welcome, but who knows what horrors lurk to assail us in our sleep."
The old man looked sourly at the doors "Best to press on a little, I think."
He cast his gaze at the journal "Take that with us. Witches. Always witches."
"North, then?" the old man suggests.
"Yes." Hearda nods slowly. "Lets move out. The crack here can wait."
The hour has grown long, and the day is well past new when the Dreamers put aside their books and take unbolt the northern doors of the library. Beyond is a scene of unsettling normalcy. A large L-shaped corridor stretches west and north. The western end holds two doors on the northern face and terminates in a pile of rubble. The northern ends holds three doors along its length and one door at its northern terminus. The most unsettling thing about this hallway, however, is that it's relatively untouched by the filth and destruction of the previous rooms. A few cracks run through the plaster on the walls and ceiling, and a few glass globes have shattered. But, other than that, and the rubble from the collapsed ceiling at the western end of the hall, this entire corridor seems as though it's fresh and new, and ready to be used as an actual service way for medical professionals. It even bears the faint scent of antiseptic. A nameplate on the northern door reads "Administrator Eliege Losandro".
There is a faint mucus-like smear on the tile floor.
The mucus is actually a trail running between the doors in the western hallway up to the last door on the right of northern section. It smells strongly of alcohol and antiseptic. [/ooc]
Hearda eyes the corridor with a measure of anxiety. "We should proceed cautiously here. Feliks," he motions to the door off to the side. "Was this the room you saw earlier?"
The old man leans on his cane, and gets to his knees.
"That's disgusting." he pronounces, lip curling in revulsion, and draws forth his flask. "Here, wash your finger off girl, before you catch something."
Feliks nodded at the warning.
Feliks nodded at the warning.
** spoiler omitted **
The old man leans on his cane, and gets to his knees.
"That's disgusting." he pronounces, lip curling in revulsion, and draws forth his flask. "Here, wash your finger off girl, before you catch something."** spoiler omitted **
The Oldest One pokes and prods the mucus with a bit of paper. The scent and texture are unmistakable: it's a preservative. It's exactly the kind of fluid used to preserve specimens in jars for later study.