As the pile of mouldy clothes catches fire, the pile suddenly bursts and sends flaming cloth flying. Rising from the fire is a... a straitjacket. It's stained with soot and patches of mildew, but it's completely open with nothing wearing it.
It starts flying towards Imperia!
Khardan lashes out with his spear, trying to drive the flying straitjacket away from Imperia.
Bramwell drops the club and grabs hold os his scythe while advancing towards the straitjacket, standing between the floating garment and Imperia. He swings the blade hoping to rip it into pieces.
"Lovely. A haunted straight jacket or perhaps it's animated. I'd appreciated if we can keep it off me. I'm not crazy. At least not today." She slips into the room next to Bramwell. "I don't want it attacking you either." She swings her mace at the straight jacket.
The straitjacket is not at all hindered by Bramwell's nor Imperia's efforts to injure it, and lashes out with both arms at her!
And she manages to dodge both swings with little effort.
The rattling chains coming from inside the closed chamber made Jayla think of Father Charlatan upstairs and also the poltergeist's words pertaining to 'the chained ones'. I will tell the others what I've heard and my assumption. She did not open the door and instead returned to the group only to discover a commotion inside the other chamber. Standing by the open door, Jayla saw what appeared to be an animated straight jacket floating before Lord Bramwell and Imperia. She reached her hand just inside the doorway and brushed it against Imperia's arm, placing a protective ward over the librarian.
Bramwell steps sideways and keeps swinging the scythe against the straitjacket.
Bramwell's strike tears through part of the straitjacket.
Imperia swings at the jacket with her mace again. Haunted clothing. Just what we need. At least it just tried to hit me, and not make me wear it."
Imperia's mace smashes one of the buckles on the straitjacket.
"Blessed Bulwark, guide my hand!" calls Khardan.
The straitjacket turns to Bramwell and tries to strike him with its animated arms...
...and promptly beats him into unconsciousness, the buckles that once secured arms raking across his temples and knocking him to the floor!
Jayla watched as her dhampir companion fell beneath the successive blows. Unable to heal him, she called to Imperia, "Help Lord Bramwell, when you can, for I cannot."
The witchling then took a 5ft step inside the chamber and promptly attempted to bludgeon the animated straitjacket with her Changeling claws.
Both of her claws rake along the straitjacket, tearing fabric asunder.
"I will do my best." She steps behind Bramwell, and reaches down to touch him. She casts Inflict Light Wounds. She heals him as well as she can. "Come on Lord Bramwell wake up. That's my last Inflict Spell for the day."
Khardan stomps into the room and impales the straitjacket right through the collar. He then waves the spear around inside it for good measure, tearing it to pieces.
Imperia reaches down to help Lord Bramwell stand. "How are you feeling?" Then she looks around the room. She doesn't notice anything new.
Bramwell takes Imperia's arms and gets up with some difficulty. "Not too well. Pharasma whispers in my ear," the dhampir replies. "But don't worry about me. Let's go on." Bramwell helps Imperia investigate the room.
Maybe we should think about returning in a day or two. I've used all the spells I have to help you today." She is prepared to move on if Lord Bramwell insists.
Neither Bramwell nor Imperia find anything unusual in the laundry room, now that the straitjacket has been destroyed.
"You will be die if you continue," Khardan says, growling. "I can do nothing for you,"
Bramwell reaches for the used haunt siphon. "There is still negative energy in here. It might give me a second wind." He moves away from the group and raises the siphon above his head, and then throws it at his feet. An eerie vortex of green light sweeps around his body as the haunt's energy escapes the siphon. Bramweel takes a deep breath and the energy enters his body switly through the nostrils. The remaining energy dissipates almos immediately.
The dhampir opens his eyes and smiles showing his crooked, pointy teeth. "Let's go on. If anything else happens to me, I suppose I'll have to be carried back." He looks at Khardan. "You look strong enough."
Imperia nods at Lord Bramwell. She moves to the next door and listens. "Surely we'll find a way down soon."
It sounds like a woman.
Imperia motions to the others to come closer and whispers, "There is a woman signing in this room. Should we take the chance this is the Warden's wife?"
Bramwell nods. "Yes, yes, we should." He knocks gently on the door. "Lady Versorianna?"
The sighing stops.
A whisper seems to carry through the door on the air.
"The door's open..."
Imperia opens the door. Rapier at the ready, and steps into the room. "Hello."
Tangled mounds of moth-eaten fabric sit on several wooden tables, each surrounded by workbenches. Various sewing tools—shears, needles, rolls of thread, boxes of chalk, and other objects lie scattered over the floor, while the arm of what appears to be a skeleton protrudes from a stained heap of fabric to the west.
Seated atop the heap of fabric is a ghostly blue woman, the tattered remains of her dark dress fading into pale blue mist around her feet. Her pale blue skin appears to be free of blemishes at first, but as her form shimmers and shifts, hideous swathes of burn tissue flash across her face, chest, legs and back. She looks up at the party as they enter, her black hair waving wildly in an ethereal breeze. Her eyes are a solid white, and half of her face briefly appears to be scorched and maimed beyond belief before smoothing over into a vision of beauty.
"Oh..." She rises from her fabric seat, her legs fading into pale blue mist. "...are you the ones who banished the Piper?"
"Yes we banished him. Who might you be?"
The ghostly woman sighs again. It sounds like her last breath, and it fills the room for a moment before abruptly stopping.
"My name... my name is Vesorianna Hawkran." Her eyes narrow, and at that moment tear streaks etch themselves on her cheeks. "Are you... the new guards?"
"No, Miss Vesorianna, we are not," Bramwell says gently while stepping forward. "There is no prison left to guard. It s all ruins and tormented souls. Do you remember what happened here? The fire?"
"We have come to find out why a friend of ours was killed here," says Khardan. "And now to deal with the prisoners that seem to have been released. Are you... here by choice?"
"Names have been bleeding on walls, and we'd like to make it stop. Our friend was mentioned. Some of the spirits suggested you might be able to help us."
"No, Miss Vesorianna, we are not," Bramwell says gently while stepping forward. "There is no prison left to guard. It s all ruins and tormented souls. Do you remember what happened here? The fire?"
Vesorianna nods slowly. "Yes... I remember too well..."
"...the fools locked me in here. 'For my own safety', they said." The ghost's expression turns... oddly calm. "The prisoners in the depths wanted out. They wanted to escape. My husband would never allow it."
"We have come to find out why a friend of ours was killed here," says Khardan. "And now to deal with the prisoners that seem to have been released. Are you... here by choice?"
The ghostly woman flinches. Khardan's question about choice seems to be a painful one for her. "...yes and no."
"The prisoners still wish to escape. I must keep them here, with my husband gone." Her jaw tightens. "Gone to those who whisper in shadow. I witnessed the death of another--one who sought to spy upon them. They conjured a killer of phantasmal malevolence and shattered him upon it."
"Names have been bleeding on walls, and we'd like to make it stop. Our friend was mentioned. Some of the spirits suggested you might be able to help us."
Vesorianna's expression suddenly turns fearful and she violently shakes her head. "No no no no no no... the blood... I see it--still it flows down my husband's memory..."
"Your friend is in no danger from him. Not yet. It is me he wants."
She blinks in confusion. "...who told you I could help you?"
"The "Father" upstairs said you could help. He was afraid of you, and wanted free. We wanted to speak to you about this first. I don't want to free someone who should stay bound. We'd like to clear this place of spirits if possible, and set those who should be free."
The ghostly woman's face abruptly contorts into an expression of utter rage. "He should be afraid. By his countless heresies, I know his heart."
"He must die. He must be destroyed. He plots with the others to undo me." The smell of burning timbers and flesh fills the room, and for a moment, the party glimpses the room as it was the night of the fire--choked with smoke and heat, flames licking the door and the roof catching fire.
The vision fades, and you once again see Vesorianna, her face smooth and free of burns.
"You say your husband left you to join those who whisper. Did that happen recently? What did they say that convinced him to go with them?", Bramwell asks.
Vesorianna vehemently shakes her head. "Lyvar did not go with them willingly. They conducted an arcane ritual around the foundations of the prison, and compelled me to watch as they tore him from his duty and imprisoned him. It happened only a scant few nights ago..."
"Tell us what we need to do," says Khardan, ever practical. "We will end this threat, and save your husband if we can."
Vesorianna's expression turns distant. "I fear there is no saving my beloved Lyvar now... I know not where Those Who Whisper have taken him."
"But I can tell you how to end this... this menace." Her face adopts a look of determination. "The remaining four madmen here... they must all be destroyed. Their forms must be broken, scattered, and sent to Pharasma's Court, where they should go."
"But they will not accept this. And all of them are to be feared. The Lopper, the Marauder, the Charlatan..." She winces, and hideous burns cover her face again.
"...He Who Writes In Blood. All of them must be destroyed."
Lord Bramwell takes another step towards Vesorianna. "The ones who whisper... we believe they call themselves the Whispering Way, appropriately enough. Tell us this, Miss Vesorianna: are the four madmen working with such group? We are familiar with the deeds of the Mosswater Marauder and the Piper of Illmarsh, but not the others. What are they here for—the Lopper, Splatter Man, and even Father Charlatan...?"
"The Piper of Illmarsh is no more, and we will take care of the "Father". Imperia informs Vesorianna.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
"Tell us this, Miss Vesorianna: are the four madmen working with such group?"
The ghostly woman shakes her head. "No. They merely saw an opportunity to escape, and they're trying to take it."
"We are familiar with the deeds of the Mosswater Marauder and the Piper of Illmarsh, but not the others. What are they here for—the Lopper, Splatter Man, and even Father Charlatan...?"
"The one known as the Lopper... he was a strange one in life. He would hide in an out-of-the-way place for days on end, taking provisions with him. Once he was convinced the target of his stalking was lone, he would savagely behead them with a handaxe the size of his arm."
"The Splatter Man--He Who Writes In Blood--was incarcerated for murdering a comely student from Lepidstadt... but not before he scrawled her name on a wall in blood."
"And Father Charlatan--" She spits on the ground. It's a futile gesture, but it seems to give her some comfort. "--truly, he is the one whose presence infuriates me the most. He would pose as a priest of various faiths, and bilk believers out of coin and possessions for his own disgusting amusement. He promised false miracles, and laughed at those who believed him. Of course, when the law finally caught up to him, his accomplices killed six guardsmen and guaranteed their own slow executions."
"We know where to find the Father. Where can we locate the other two spirits? We'd like to send them to their final judgement soon."
"Especially if you can tell us how," says Khardan.
Jayla had listened as the other spoke with Vesorianna Hawkran, paying attention to her words without interrupting her. Lirin had remained silent but alert within the tendrils of Jayla's hair.
"If you can provide us with knowledge of how to rid this place of the foul four, we would be most grateful," adding to what Khardan has just said. "Once the four are dispatched for good, what will become of you, Mistress Hawkran?" Jayla's voice was low, almost a whisper inside the chamber; curious about Vesorianna's own fate.