As the scarf leas from him and attacks Erond, Reynard's eyebrows shoot up and he blinks twice. "Oh my." he says, as Erond wrestles the scarf off.
"What should we do with it?" Faywen asks, gesturing at the scarf on the ground. "Erond, you said it attacked your mind as well. What happened?"
"Yeah, tell us, so we can interpret this. Need a couch?"
Cordwin, too, will examine the scarf.
The scarf seems to have some old, dried blood on it, but otherwise seems like a nice scarf for a woman.
Druamin pokes at the scarf with his quarterstaff with caution. "I wonder if it can attack again." After satisfying himself that it wasn't going to fling itself on anyone immediately, Druamin looks up at Erond waiting for more description of the mental attack.
Cordwin determines that the scarf itself is normal, but was the instrument of a haunt. Without more information about what manifested, he can only tell you that if feels as if someone now dead had unresolved anger, causing the scarf to act in this way.
He also notes that these things often have lingering spirit, and will likely attack again unless you can help the spirit resolve it's issues.
"Very well," Faywen says. "Let's keep moving, and get some distance between us and the accursed thing. Maybe we'll find a clue as to how to destroy it."
Such a pity not to have eternal rest! Cordwin says with a shake of his head.
"What does it take to put this to rest?"
"I say we jus' burn the thing. Then no more curse, right?"
”Heck, we suggested that before we even came in René.”
René rolled his eyes. "The scarf, not the building." Sometimes dealing with idiots was so very tiring.
Bored of this discussion that he could have sworn had been going on for over a week, he opened the next door out of the room to see what was on the other side.
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.
René took a brief moment to attempt to discern if the mold was a dangerous variety from where he stood in the doorway.
Regardless of what he thought, he then declared that there didn't seem to be anything of interest in the room and moved over to a different door, assuming that the rest of the group with their weird insistence upon checking every small thing would most likely ignore him anyway.
Faywen is more than happy to move on as well, following after René.
The mold is not particularly dangerous, although René suggests that eating it might be unwise.
The next door leads back to the hall. The sound of the house straining and creaking gives this long, high-ceilinged room an additional sense of age and decay. The place smells damp, the unpleasant tinge of mold lacing the air as surely, as it stains the wooden floor, walls, and furniture in pallid patches. Moldering trophies hang on the wall to the northeast: a boar, a bear, a firepelt cougar, and a stag, yet they pale in comparison to the monster on display in the center of the room. Here crouches a twelve-foot-long creature with the body of a lion, a scorpion's tail fitted with
dozens of razor barbs, huge batlike wings, and a deformed humanoid face.
Erond catches a momentary whiff of burning hair and flesh.
"Nope. But if they're jus' cryin', they ain't screamin'. Means we can wait ta make sure we clear this here floor so nuthin' sneaks up behind us before checking it out." René called from where he was.
"Odds are you're affected by some other ghostee in this place. Ain't so likely to be some living someone upstairs crying, don't you think?"
"Nope, I don't hear nothing. But do you see that thing? Any idea what it is?" Druamin points to the stuffed creature in the middle of the room. "Now if that thing came alive like that scarf we just saw, that would be a big bit of trouble."
If you hadn't already put the pieces together, it appears there was a murder here. The scarf is a haunt, which has a few mechanical ways to get rid it, but typically solving the murder will also work.
Maybe whoever is crying is the murder victim that is causing this haunt? Maybe they can tell us what to do to put their soul at peace? Cordwin offers helpfully.
"Maybe it's the murderer regretting what they've done, but perfectly willing to kill us too?"
"Killing the murderer would probably put the soul to rest, I would think."
With a shrug he moves and opens the door with his shield.
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.
”Don’t look at me! I’m not going in there. I’m not too proud to admit this place gives me the willies!”
Faywen steps in after Trox, taking the other side of the door and surveying the room.
Druamin peeks into the room that Trox opened then turns to Skarn. "I know. Me too. But I also don't want to be left alone in any room."
He follows behind Trox and Faywen and also steps into the room, Kobu on his heels.
"Are you daft? Had you stayed here, we'd both have not been alone here."
It appears, to the more observant of you, that the “breeze” resembles someone pacing back and forth.
"Oh smurf no!"
"This room is definitely haunted as well. Erond, anything in the next room?"
Maybe you might be on to something about burning this place to the ground. A lot of evil here or the remnants of evil acts.
"Fire and I aren't the best of friends, but it is a cleansing force. And one of rebirth, depending on your point of view."
Skarn looks to Faywen, ”how do your people work metal, if not with fire?”
"I'm not sure even fire will help. Might just end up with a haunted burned-out mansion instead of a haunted regular mansion. Let's see if we can find another way to fix it."
Erond checks the next location. 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.