Miron is finding this all quite odd. Perhaps the influence of the phylactery has made things worse.
Miron signs to Anneka, then thinks to speak.
"The sheer amount of paranormal activity here is...abnormal. Perhaps the phylactery has worsened this by its presence? Anneka, if you are well enough to continue, let us try that western door. Clear this place out swiftly."
This cozy-looking drawing room is marred by the unnatural dampness and the thick sheets of mold that cling to the curtains closed over the southern window.
Going back into the main corridor they find another door leading to a stairs going upwards.
This dusty room features a long couch caked with white sheets of wispy fungus. Eddies of dust skitter along the warped floorboards as if caught up by a slight breeze, yet no wind is noticeable in the air.
The dust is being disturbed, almost as if an invisible person were pacing violently back and forth before the fireplace.
"That dust is being dusturbed, as if an invisible person is pacing back and forth. Violently. We should avoid it entirely, unless someone has means to disable the haunt, which it likely is."
Between ye after Drazh talks about walking around it you recall where the door might lead that you were previously letting you avoid the potential haunt.
This is a simple washroom. An ancient metal washtub stands to the north, a ring of mildew crusting its inner surface. A strange, furtive scratching comes from inside the tub.
Moving closer to the bath tub what you see is a horrific and pitiful
sight, a blind, tumor-heavy wretch. It's nose twitches picking up your scent and scurries up some cloth into a crack in the wall.
The ground floor is explored leaving the upper levels.
"That was a pitiful sight. Let us clear the upstairs."
"How about that room to the south-west?"
This bedroom features a child-sized bed, a chair next to a toy box, and a looming stone freplace big enough for a child to get lost in.
You faintly hear the sounds of a sobbing child.
"A child?" Anneka asks. "Tell me Aldern didn't kill a child, too."
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"A youngling's room?" Drazh said with a hint of sadness. Looking at it reminded him of his own lost dreams. He was fortunate to not have lost a child, but to be put face to face with the evidence of such a tragedy occurring? It was sobering, even to a dwarf in the throe's of gold-fever.
"Don't even want to think about that. I doubt that there's anything of value in such a place."
He was about to turn away when he froze, a look of horror on his face.
"Fook...do ye all hear that? It's a child crying..."
Miron signs to Anneka:
Sound of a child crying. So, he possibly did. I will search for evidence.
And replies out loud:
"Yes."
Miron begins to carefully search the room by hand, seeking evidence of what happened here. Whether he wants it or not.
Miron suddenly becomes convinced that his parents are trying to kill each other, and that whichever of them survives will be coming to kill him next; he has a vision of his mother, wielding a torch, and his father, festering with tumors and wielding a long knife, both struggling to kill each other. The vision passes as fast as it occurs. Miron recognises that neither were Aldern or his young wife Iesha, no doubt an echo of an time longer ago.
Miron turns to the others, with a stony expression, then flatly states and signs:
"Neither Aldern or Iesha were involved in this particular horror. A tumour-riddled father and a torch-wielding mother struggled, and whomever won also slew the child. I believe that before we burn down this building, I may be able to consecrate certain areas. But I will need to pray long to Abadar tomorrow morning first."
He pauses.
"For now, let us leave for the next room to the north. Hopefully, a less horrifying place."
This last part is perhaps a bleak attempt at levity.
You find a stairs leading downwards back into the hallway.
This large room features two padded chairs and a long couch facing a wide alcove lined with stained glass windows. These windows depict a diverse
array of animals and plants—from north to south This large room features two padded chairs and a long couch facing a wide alcove lined with stained glass windows. These windows depict a diverse array of animals and plants—from north to south are a large pale and ghostly scorpion, a gaunt man holding out his arms as a dozen bats hang from him, a moth with a strange skull-like pattern on its wings, a tangle of dull green plants with bell shaped flowers, and a young maiden sitting astride a well in a forest while a spindly spider the size of a dog descends along a string of webbing above her.
All five of the subjects in the windows as classic spell components for necromancy magic (scorpion venom, vampire’s breath, the tongues of deathwing moths, belladonna, and the heart of a maiden slain by poison)
A stone fireplace sits in the northwestern portion of this chamber. Paintings hang on the walls to the north and south, each covered over with a thick sheet of dusty cobwebs that obscures its subject from view.
This room is colder than the others you have entered with no natural reason evident.
Miron seems filled with fresh determination to uproot the taint in this manor - and to cleanse it.
He looks from window to window.
"Classic spell components for necromantic magic."
On the fireplace:
He speaks and signs urgently:
"This room is colder for no obvious reason. I will enter first."
And he does just that, longbow in hand.
Azalia follows along, alert to anything magical with her constant magical sight. She asks
You guys, I think we should burn this place down after we loot it. What do you say? I feel really strongly about this.
"I believe that from tomorrow on, I could begin consecrating areas where haunts are trapped. But I agree that regardless, the manor should end in flames."
The furniture in this bedroom, while dusty and unkempt, does not exhibit any major signs of water or mold damage. The one exception is a dark stain on the desk near the northern window.
You notice a dagger on the desk that, an instant before, was not there... yet another foul sign of the taint on this place?
You guys, I think we should burn this place down after we loot it. What do you say? I feel really strongly about this.
"The previous generation of Sandpoint residents came to the same conclusion. Who are we to question the wisdom of our elders?"
But after a moment, he adds, "Actually, it's prudent to question everything. But I think that in this particular instance, they had the right idea."
"By the way, the dagger on that desk wasn't there a moment ago. There's another haunt in this room, most likely."
Ferocia regards Azalia.
Is she alright..?
After a moment she shrugs. "Agreed. Let's burn it when we're through. No good can come of this place."
Azalia examines the dark stain on the desk, staying wary of the new dagger.
Miron examines the dagger and stain - from a distance.
While he looks at the table from across the room, he says and signs to the others:
"I will need to rest, and pray. After that, I will be ready to begin consecrating. Perhaps purging the phylactery site will be sufficient, perhaps not. Regardless, what resources do we have to ensure that this tainted place does not survive the flames?"
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"Prayers, yes." Anneka says/signs to Miron. "I will pray as well." In truth, she has a different sort of supplication in mind.
You believe purging the phylactery will remove the manifestations in the house but given it's history, who would stay here?
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The tolling of the midnight bell finds Anneka, draped in her dark cloak, wandering the streets of Sandpoint. She walks aimlessly, following nothing but her own instincts as she turns one corner, then the next. Her thoughts travel their own journey, wending through the darkened corridors of her mind, where memories grow from shadowed places like moonflower, their fragrance leading her back to days best forgotten.
She can hear her own laugh as she chases her sister through the house, and that of Arika and, best of all, Casp yelling at them to settle down or he'd tell mama. Oh, what she would give to go back.
Instead, she finds herself standing in Chopper's alley. Though whether this is a dream or real, she cannot tell. It doesn't matter, for the feeling is the same. Dizzy, she braces herself against the wall, mumbling incoherently as the moon begins to spin.
"I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night."
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Anneka awakens in her own bed, though how she came to be there remains a mystery. She is dressed in her nightgown, though she can't remember donning it. What she does remember is her dream. She was talking with Casp. No, he had been talking to her. Explaining to her what they must do. And she could hear him.
Dressing quickly, she gathers her things and races out the back door without so much as a "good morning" to Arika or mama. She heads for the church. She must speak with Miron.
We must destroy the phylactery! If we do, the house can be cleansed!
Miron is deep in prayer, repeating to himself the incantations that have been revealed to him.
I know how to consecrate an area. Abadar has given me the tools to cut out the source of the taint within the manor.
He stands and then sees Anneka there. He is unsure if she has just arrived or has been waiting.
He signs:
Ah, Anneka. It is good to see you. I have just completed my prayers. I must obtain holy water and silver dust, but I can indeed consecrate an area.
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Azalia gets up and orders some hash browns.
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Ferocia sits beside Azalia, grumpily devouring a pound of bacon. "We should've burned that place last night." she scoffs and shakes her head before going back to her food. After a few more bites she chugs a glass of water.
"You alright?" she asks. "Honestly, I mean. I won't judge."
This entire bedroom is caked with a thick, spongy layer of dark green, blue, and black mold. Marten gets hears a childs voice “What’s on your face, mommy?” before almost being overcome with the urge to start clawing at his face, thankfully the others are able to restrain him before he harms himself.
An iron tub sits in the middle of this room, the floorboards around it sagging with the tub’s weight. It's apparent that the floorboards wont take the weight of a person on them.
This once fine chamber has been destroyed. The bed is smashed, mattress torn apart, walls gouged as if by knives, chairs hacked apart, and paintings on the walls torn to pieces—with one exception. A portrait hanging on the northwest wall seems to be untouched, although it hangs backward, its unseen subject facing the wall.
Miron hears a woman's voice “What do you get up to down in the damp below?” He feels the compulsion to attack Ferocia but can resist it.
A desk and a chair sit in the middle of this drafty room. Chimneys rise to the west, while to the east, two intricate stained-glass windows are set into the wall. The northern window depicts a dark-haired woman with pale skin, large green eyes, and a black-and-red gown; with both hands she wields a jagged iron staff. The southern window’s lower half has been broken and patched with canvas; what remains of its upper half depicts a handsome man dressed in regal finery and a crown of ivory and jade. Small scorch marks mar the wood near the broken window. A battered and ruined telescope lies on its side near the desk and a large trap door in the roof has been tied shut by several lengths of rope.
Anneka smells burnt flesh and has to be restrained from climbing out the window momentarily.
Shelves of books line the walls of this room, interspersed with curious objects such as skulls fitted with stubs of candles, tribal fetishes, and decorative scroll cases. An empty birdcage lies near the southern wall beside a small desk and a fine leather chair. Statues and sculptures grin from all corners of the room.
300gp
The books are mostly on Shoanti tribal cultures and history, along with numerous maps of mysterious realms and nautical charts. None of the books are particularly valuable.
Scroll of Protection from Energy
Scroll of keen edge
In the caverns below Foxglove Manor the group stands before the patch of fungus. Azalia hurls oil onto the patch. Marten lights the the oil with his molten orb spell, the fire quickly begins to spread... rather anticlimactically no reaction.
As it burns Miron begins to consecrate the area in the name of Abadar the fungus to suddenly animate and tear free from the wall. The thing howls in a sloshy, barely human voice, then crumbles to a pile of flaming dust—the haunt of Foxglove Manor is thus exorcised, and while the building retains its unwelcoming aura, it is no longer haunted.
As the fire takes hold in the fungal mass, Miron can feel the oppressive sensation of a presence. The *thing* will not go quietly.
Fine by me. I now have the means to defeat it for good.
Calmly and methodically, Miron sprinkles the silver dust to create the key symbol of Abadar on the floor in front of the fungal mass, and holy water sprinkled across the room. All the while steadily praying for Abadar to bring order to this place, to drive out the taint.
And with that, order is restored to the manor.
Miron turns to the others, speaking and signing, sweat beading on his forehead. He looks each of his companions in the eyes at various points as he does so.
"It is done. The haunt is banished from this place. You can surely all sense the difference? The manor, while not a cheery place, is no longer the domain of ghosts. Now, to make a final decision on whether we will burn the rest."
Ferocia looks to Azalia, watching her friend's reaction. This place was nasty, but the effects had to be worse for her. She was the focus of Aldern's obsession, after all. Ferocia waits to headr what Azalia thinks, ready to back up her friend, whatever her decision might be.
Oblivious to Ferocia's sensitivity, Marten blurts out, "We should still burn it. Nobody from the town is going to live here. The only people or things that will move in are likely to be threats to Sandpoint."
"We should've burned that place last night." she scoffs and shakes her head before going back to her food. After a few more bites she chugs a glass of water.
"You alright?" she asks. "Honestly, I mean. I won't judge."
I'm okay... I mean, I think I am. I keep thinking I am going to turn into one of those undead things. They carved me up good, and you can catch it, right? ... And you're right. We *definitely* should have burned the place down. I have no idea why we didn't. I meant to. I guess we just left so fast I didn't have a chance to think about it. Anything associated with that man... should be nothing but ash. I don't want his memory to live anywhere. Especially in my head.
________________
Burn it. Make sure we have everything valuable first, but *definitely* burn it.
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Ferocia shrugs. "You look alright. I can keep an eye on you, if you want. If you start to look sick I'm sure there's some priest we can pay to fix you. Or maybe Miron can. I don't know." After a moment she adds. "As for memories... Let's hope they burn up with the flames. Once that place is done with you can put it out of your head. He was just some psycho. Ain't got nothing to do with you. Don't let it get you down."
Ferocia nods. "Torch it."
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Drazh had arguments about keeping the manor. Mostly financial ones. Even if nobody here wanted anything to do with the manor, he was sure that the furniture could be moved and sold somewhere else at a profit. Just pay the shipping costs and reap the profit! Heck, maybe even buy the deed to the place at a low cost. The land itself would be valuable, especially when enough time went by for the humans to forget. Owning land was never a bad thing...
But then he heard Azalia, and decided to keep such thoughts to himself. She was a comrade, and had gone through a traumatic experience. To be faced with such a horrific event, targeted directly at her? He couldn't imagine what that felt like. Combined with the horrors of the house? There was no way he could be so heartless as to make the experience worse.
"Aye, put it afire then."
Unknown to either of them, Anneka's thoughts mirror Drazh's. Surely there's some distant relative of the Foxgloves who'd be entitled to it? At the very least, she has fleeting notions of living in the big house with her newfound friends, each claiming a bedroom, and dressing resplendently for supper and descending down the main stairs. She can't help but smile to herself.
Fanciful, childish notions, and one look at Azalia confirms that the others are right. She simple nods and steps back.
"And the phylactery?" She asks, making Marten's invented sign. "Are we going to destroy it?"
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"Ye know. Before we torch the place...it does belong to the Foxgloves. We should take back proof of all of the dead ghouls with us. That way, should we be arrested for burning this place down, we can point to all of the ghoul claws as evidence that what we did was necessary. And who knows, we might even get a reward from the town for solving these murders. We could even show the fil-ack-erry! Further proof to the town that what we did was needed. Liches are nasty business, aye?"
He added the last part with a smile.
Ferocia cracks a smirk at the other dwarf's constant greed. Typical.
"We can't carry around ghoul parts. They're... contagious or whatever. We need to burn them." She casts a glance at Azalia as she says that part, confirming that's what she would want. Then she returns her gaze to Drazh. "Besides, it's easier if we head back to Sandpoint and tell Belor what happened. He can write us a report--" Ferocia suddenly realizes she has forgotten to sign the words, so she tries a fumbling summary with her hands and then continues, both signing and speaking. "A report or a letter or something and sign it. Then we can bring a copy of that to Magnimar. An official document corroborating our story's got to get us somewhere. It's certainly proof of innocence. It might even earn us that reward you want so bad. Plus, Belor might reward us. Or Mayor Deverin or something. it's not like we're getting paid for this sh*t."
At mention of the phylactery, Ferocia shrugs. "I don't know about that." Turning to Marten she asks, "Is it dangerous?"
"And the phylactery?" She asks, making Marten's invented sign. "Are we going to destroy it?"
At mention of the phylactery, Ferocia shrugs. "I don't know about that." Turning to Marten she asks, "Is it dangerous?"
"It's inert," Marten states simply. "Whomever was trying to become a lich--Aldern Foxglove, presumably--was unable to complete the process. There is no danger from the broken puzzle box. It matters not whether it is destroyed or not, for it was only a component of a larger ritual, which... well, I could walk into Azalia's shop and purchase any number of suitable containers that would serve as a phylactery.
"And..." Marten looks to the sky and sighs in frustration. "We have dissolved what we've taken to calling 'haunts' from this house, but do not forget the fact that this was the site of horrific evil that created those haunts. Innocent people were killed there. Children were killed there. I am not the sort of person who could live in this building walking the same halls where their lives were snuffed out. It is the height of disrespecting the dead, in my mind. I also object to allowing the house to be used by any would be comfortable using this house if they knew what occurred here, and especially if they didn't.
"We should destroy the house, allowing the memories of its victims to be forgotten, the only true healing those souls could ever hope for at this point."
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Drazh looked at Ferocia in confusion. It was almost as if she didn't care about a reward. What kind of dwarf was she? How was she supposed to return to her clan with her head held up high if she was a pauper? And then he remembered that he was dealing with a dwarf with a reputation for being fey-touched. He sighed and shook his head. He fully intended to do his ancestors proud. He would extract revenge against giant-kind. And once the blood-price was paid, he would return to his kinsmen with his head held up high, resplendent in mithral plate and with enough gold to buy his own manor. To strive for anything else was unthinkably dishonorable.
He opened his mouth to make a rebuttal, but stopped. He was reflective enough to acknowledge that he was suffering from gold-fever. He was indebted. Indebted! If his father were still alive, and if he knew about it, then Drazh would have received such a scolding that he'd need to wear his armor for it. Mostly likely because said scolding might well have involved the shaft of a hammer and his head. And if his grandfather knew of it? Just the thought of what that crotchety old dwarf would do sent shudders down his spine. Why, within a week every dwarf in the extended clan would know of his shame! Most likely even other clans as well. Unconsciously he glanced at Miron.
Drazh was of two minds, at that moment. On one hand, he had a love of artistry. Well crafted items *spoke* to him. The painting they had found in the manor? The one of the bullfight? It was exquisite. A testament to the craftsmanship of the artist. He loved it for what it was, and what it represented. The armor he wore was what he took the most pride in, for it was made by his own hands. It was proof of his worth as a dwarf. And, he remembered seeing the wayfinder. The intricate lines of silver, gold, and platinum. The skill it must have taken to make one. Sometimes he even dreamed about it. Of owning one. Of having something so rare and so beautiful on his person at all times. He truly wanted to raise as much gold as possible so that he could make one of them his own.
But at the same time...he was indebted to Miron. And while he was sure that his comrade would allow him to pay the debt back in time...the situation was unbearable! Every second he was indebted was another second that he was in shame. And if he died with such shame? Why, he was certain that he would become a haunt himself! How could he go to the halls of his ancestors with such a shame? He'd rather face oblivion itself than that.
So he contented himself with grumbling under his beard as the others talked about how to burn the manor down. He decided, in that moment, that he had to keep his priorities straight. Beautiful craftsmanship was all well and good, but what was the purpose of it, or even gold, if one was dishonored? Honor was more valuable than any amount of gold, for no amount of gold could buy honor. He knew what he had to do, even though he knew that he was under no compulsion to do it. He would have to pay Miron back, as soon as he was able. Everything else had to wait. His very soul depended on it!
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Once discussion is over and the party is near the manor, Marten casts a spell that creates a large spherical thundercloud in front of him. He concentrates and guides the mini-sotrm inside the mansion, whereby he has it target everything flammable in sight. It's not long before the flames that have started on the first floor work their way to the upper floors.
Miron looks around at his companions as they speak.
And then nods, speaks and signs.
"So it is agreed. Whatever the value of the manor, it has been fatally compromised by the deeds committed within its walls. We remove anything portable of value that is not inherently tainted. Then we burn the rest, especially the ghoul remains. I suggest that we establish a perimeter outside the building, just in case stealthy undead hid escaped our search and try to break out."
He pauses.
"And should the Foxgloves or any other party try to challenge our actions here, I knew many fine law students in Magnimar."
Then Miron begins to go through his mental notes of portable wealth still remaining.