Sigvald also says at a whisper
"Should we not investigate the room? Little misses telekinesis power should be able to move the fort around. There may be something hidden here that may help us or maybe go talk to Brenton?"
and upon a seconds thought.. "What river of blood are you talking about?"
"Or maybe find something of comfort to the poor child? Something left behind? We can take a moment for that, surely?" the old man murmurs quietly.
"Um... ok."
The little halfling creeps carefully closer to the room and searches, moving things out of the way with her mind.
She ignores mention of the river of blood. Surely it's a metaphor, right?
Elska notices the kngiths. A child's toys.. Nothing else in the dormitory strikes out as particularly valuable, especially to achild. nothing save those toys.
Elska carefully retrieves each of the knights with her mind, one at a time and grips them tightly, as if evidence of children at play is somehow a comfort to her.
They easily float to her.
Once the child's toys have been retrieved Hearda draws his weapon and motions to the corridor ahead. "You will see Sigvald." He whispers as he creeps closer to their doom.
The toy knights still firmly held in her grasp Elska creeps after, eyes wide.
Sigvald proceeds down the corridor as subtly as possible
The old man follows behinf, not as spry as his young companions, but just as alert.
Feliks follows, in no hurry and not eager to be heard.
Hearda leads the way down the hall, cautiously,slowly. Painfully. At the end, after an eternity of inching their way down the darkned hall, the dreamers com to the remains of a dayroom. Ruined chairs and tapestries litter the room, choking the available space with their detritus. The flickering image of a woman sits in an armchair by the window. Impossibly, a river of blood spills from her ruined mouth and gushes in a straight line across the room and down the western hall.
Does the river of blood flow past/over/around detritus on the floor os does it flow through like it's insubstantial?
Hearda pauses at the entrance studying the scene carefully. This is not what we encountered earlier...
"This is what we saw earlier...yet the river was a torrent. Perhaps this is another haunt," Hearda muses, before turning to address the halfling, "You can move things with your mind I have seen. Can you move the blood as well, or any of the debris?"
The young halfling, wide-eyed, nods hesitantly, still gripping the knight figures in her hands.
"I.. um... I.. can try."
She focuses her mind with a grimace and tries to... move... the blood?
Sigvald looks on not really frightened but worried for his new friends.
The blood flows straight in a torrent. It's clearly pushed the detritus out of the way. and gushes in a rapid westward down the hall splashing faintly against the wall at the end.
"I would not advise trying to cross the torrent of blood. It did not end well before." Hearda whispers, "The source of the blood must be dealt with."
"So what do you know about finding the source of the blood please."
Sigvald begins looking around for a source
What would make blood so...tidy? Feliks didn't want to know. He looked anyway.
Thinking of use Detect Thoughts with Will of the Dead to try to get an idea what the woman is thinking, in the theory that if she is a ghost she might be dwelling on whatever is causing the issue. Not sure I can do that to a Haunt though, as rather than just Mindless I suspect it is without a mind.
Can he see whether she might have a mind?
The old man leans against the wall and wracks his mind for any clues as to what they face. Fragments of what might be memories, and might be half remembered dreams flit through the inside of his mind like Desna's butterflies in a lepidopterist's cage.
The blood appears to be coming from the woman's mouth. The only sense the Oldest One can make of this madness is that haunts like these usually have a trigger.. some event that is reminiscent of their demise, but also holds a key to quieting their eternal rage. However, he spots in her lifeless hand, an empty medicine bottle.
"In her hand - an empty medicine bottle. Suicide? Unfinished treatment? If we can find what stopped her from moving on we may find they key to let her go."
Hearda nods in reply, "Yes that bottle is a key here." He turns to face the resourceful halfing Elska, "Can you remove the bottle from her hand?"
"In her hand - an empty medicine bottle. Suicide? Unfinished treatment? If we can find what stopped her from moving on we may find they key to let her go."
** spoiler omitted **
Hi!
Sorry for being absent!
I needed to hide under a rock.
But, i'm looking... and did we ever decide on the bottle issue?
With but a thought, The bottle floats over to hearda's hand. The apparition's hand clasps tight about the air.
A quick look, reveals that the bottle is empty. Perhaps if it could be filled with chemicals or some kind of medicine?
Hearda examines the empty bottle thoughtfully, "We do still have the medicine provided us by Wynter and her nurses. I see no reason not to hoard it any further..." reaching into his slingback he pulls out a bottle of the blue medicinal powder and carefully transfers it to the empty bottle. Handing the bottle back to Elska he motions towards where the apparition still waits, "Now let's see if she will take her medicine..."
The bottle floats back to the ghostly corpse who snatches it quickly from the air. She pops the top off the bottle and downs its contents in one, quick gulp. She smiles and then bursts into a cascade of dust. The blood dissolves equally fast, although stains abound.
[ooc]Yay! you solved the mystery. There are a few ways to go.... pick one.
Hearda glances around the detritus of the dayroom, looking for anything of note, before turning his attention to the double doors opposite the corridor where the group entered from, pressing an ear to the wood.
Sigvald lets out a sigh of relief, That challenge was just a bit creepy.
He follows to the doors and points to himself making a door opening motion with his hand at Hearda
'Impressive' the old man notes to himself, nodding in approval to Hearda. As quietly as he can he follows Sigvald.
The western door opens easily into a storage closet. Well-appointed racks of cleaning supplies lien the four walls, untouched by the madness and ruin of the asylum. The corpse of a woman with countless stab wounds leans propped against the far wall, a bloodied club still clutched in her cold hand. The nameplate on her orderly's uniform reads "Hobes". Clearly, she died putting up a defense.
The second door is ... different. It opens to a slightly larger room with two more doors: one in the northern wall and another in the eastern wall. This, however, is not what draws the dreamers' attention. Rather, it is the madness and chaos of the room: beds, restraints, shelves, and other equipment have been blasted to pieces, as though they have gone through some sort of massive explosion. The debris fills the corners and is pressed up against the wall, as though thrust outward by some great force. The epicenter of which was had to have been the perfectly clean circle in the exact center of the room.
Most disturbing, however, are the sounds of a child's sobbing. It echoes off the walls, soft, yet clearly heard by all. It seems to come from everywhere at once.
Sigvald moves towards the womans body a few steps and mutters a prayer for her "May the gods take your brave soul into there dominion and set you free of earthly pains." he feels reassured after delivering the prayer.
"Another Haunt?" the old man questioned quietly. "Let's try to talk; the haunt might teach the trick to put it to rest."
Sigvald moves into the room, searching for a secret door in the wall or floor looking for the source of the crying[
Where are you?" he calls hoping for an answer
"Hello there, little one." the old man announces from the doorway in his most calming voice.
A small child appears in a corner, scared and bedraggled. His bedclothes are in tatters, stained with blood and other things. He sniffs, big tears falling down his sooty face to leave trails down his cheeks. "Brenton? Where's Brenton?" Terrified, he backs away into a corner, his ghostly image flickering through the debris.
Then, room is plunged into darkness. The sobbing grows louder, and sinister.
The child seems to whisper in everyone's ear:"Brenton, the lamp went out!"
Given the odd appearance of the boy, the sobbing, and the immediate darkness, you're positive this is the work of an obvious undead. Possibly a pathetic creature called an attic whisperer: the soul of a child who died in isolation and such profound terror and grief that its misery continues on in cruel mockery of life.
They can be slain, although, like a child's tantrums, they can be quite powerful. And, with the darkness, it might be difficult to do so.
There must be a way to lay this poor soul to rest without combat
Perhaps the lantern he mentioned is key? Although, yuou don't recall seeing one in this room
Hearda nods sagely as he recalls such tales of undead such as these. "Attic Whisperer. Very difficult to destroy...but they do have a weakness. Light, the lantern the boy mentioned...it sounds like the key to lay the soul to rest."
The old man calls out into the dark, trying his best to calm the child in the hopes that one his sorcerous companions can help. "I know where Brenton is. He's safe."
"Brenton!!!!!"
A piece of rubbish shatters against a wall beside the Oldest One's head.
The old man flinches and holds up his hands in the dark, hoping to protect his head.
Hearda steps out of range of the young child, while trying to recall where he had seen an intact lantern during his explorations.
"I would not want to bring the boy here, but maybe we should try a lantern." he says as he starts backing out of the room
Brenton had a burnt-out lantern back int he chapel.
"The boy Brenton had a lantern back at the chapel," Hearda recalls, "Returning back there is the safest course of action."