Noticing the auras that emanate from the five prisoner's iconic belongings, Bramwell studies each item with attention, hoping to identify their magical properties.
Based on what he knows of Father Charlatan, Khardan is suspicious of the holy symbols. He inspects them closely for signs of heresy.
The smithing hammer is a masterwork hammer. It's cursed as well.
The flute used to be cursed--now, it's simply enchanted to grant a +5 competence bonus on Perform (woodwind) checks.
The holy symbols are cursed.
The spellbook has quite a few spells in it. It's also cursed.
Imperia looks very interested in the items. "What did you learn?" She studies the book and the holy symbols.
"These are actual holy symbols," says Khardan. "But I do not trust them. What did you find, my Lord?" he says to Bramwell.
comprehend languages, dispel magic, false life, gust of wind, illusory script, levitate, mage armor, magic missile, and summon monster IV.
The book's curse is that whoever takes the book is plagued with desires to hoard their arcane magics with a miserly greed--they must overcome this compulsion if they wish to cast arcane magics at all.
The holy symbols seem to be cursed with contempt from the gods--rather appropriate, considering who originally bore them. Anyone who attempts to invoke divine magic has a chance of losing the spell entirely, but in exchange a portion of the Charlatan's luck will help them stand against the haunts and horrors in this wretched place.
Bramwell approaches Imperia and Khardan bearing the items. "These are all cursed, except for the flute. I imagine that destroying the Piper of Illmarsh must have lifted the curse on that one," the dhampir hypothesizes. "Now that we redeemed it, the flute will impart on its player an enhanced musical acumen. The handaxe is magical can hurt spirits and ghosts; perhaps you should have it, Khardan. I'm not sure what is the consequence of wielding it, though. As for the hammer, not much more than a well-built crafter's tool."
--If you encounter the Mosswater Marauder's spirit while wielding this hammer, you'll need to make a Will save every round to resist the compulsion to attack your party members with the hammer.
"The book is cursed with the desire to hoard their arcane magics. You have to have a strong will to be able to cast at all. Perhaps we can cleanse these items, and make use of them for good. Let's leave them here for now, and come back for them later. Shall we head back to the hall and look at the room to the right of the front door?"
Bramwell takes his hand to his mouth, thinking about Imperia's suggestion. "Hmm. These objects are clearly still connected with the ghosts. I wonder if they would help us get rid of them." He turns to Khardan. "You are a religious man, are you not? Do you know anyhting about exorcisms?", he asks, hoping that Khardan can help decide whether to leave the items or take it with them.
"It seems to me that we might use these objects against the ghosts," says Khardan. "It was the lady Vesorianna who sent us here. Maybe we should ask her how to best use them."
Bramwell nods. "Yes, yes. Let's ask her." Collecting the items, Bramwell heads back to the room where they first met the warden's wife, and calls out to her, hoping for her ghost to manifest again. "Lady Vesorianna! We have found the objects that belonged to the five prisoners, and we know they are damned! If we keep them, we might fall to their curses and turn against each other instead of ridding Harrowstone of those spirits. However, my colleague Khardan believes we can also use these items against the ghosts. We ask you, how should we fare to make the most of this advantage?", he asks solemnly in the empty room, waiting for an answer.
The ghost manifests once more as Bramwell calls out.
"...you have their items..." She mutters. "...I can feel the curses upon them even from here. Beware, should you decide to use them..."
Imperia smiles slightly at what Vesorianna says. "That's how most spirits speak. In riddles and portents. It will be up to us to decide if the curse is worth the benefit. We should continue." she heads to the door to the east of the entrance and checks to see if it's locked and for traps.
"Lady," says Khardan, his voice growling out between his teeth, "Can you tell us how to use these to stop the monsters?"
Vesorianna looks down at her feet. "...the book... He Who Writes In Blood greatly values it. Perhaps if you harm it, you can harm him..."
"...the axe bears the Lopper's essence. Perhaps he will be struck more easily by it."
"...the hammer... a symbol of guilt for the Marauder."
Imperia tries her hand at unlocking the door. "Did we have a key ring?"
The door remains stubbornly locked.
"Huh," says Khardan, as if his impending suggestion pains him. "We should go regroup for the night. You three are looking tired."
Imperia sighs as the lock won't open for her. Khardan is right.
We're too tired to be doing this. I can't even open a simple lock.
"I agree. I think we need the rest. We are at the front door." Imperia makes her way out the front door and back to he village.
Bramwell shakes his head at Vesorianna's reply. "It is of no use," he concludes with a grimace. When Khardan expresses his intention of retreating for the night, Bramwell nods. "Yes, yes. We must rest. We now know enough to return better prepared another day, lest we meet the same fate of out noble professor. It was a productive foray, I think."
He follows the group out of Harrowstone; looking back over his shoulder the dhampir contemplates the ruined jail and thinks of the many haunts and ghosts that remain trapped in it. To the very end, a prison for those who resist death rather than embrace it as the pivotal moment of all existence, he philosophizes walking back to the village. "We could seek council from someone who knows more about death and the unlife. Perhaps the good priest can aid us get rid of these curses."
Jayla seems to have a haunted, exhausted look in her eyes for a moment as she follows the rest of the party out of Harrowstone. A cold breeze greets the party as they move. Her thrush flits back into her hood for warmth.
"...perhaps."
Khardan puts an arm around Jayla. "It'll all look better in the morning light, Little Sister."
Jayla swallows and says nothing else.
-----------------
The walk back into town is cold and unwelcoming, the clouds overhead gathered tightly enough to block out the sun. The Lorrimor home stands quietly over the next hill the party climbs, its eaves sagging slightly with dampness.
Kendra herself is lying on the couch in the living room, gently snoring.
Imperia enters the house, and moves to the fireplace. "We are back. It was an interesting day to say the least. We've dealt with one spirit, but have several more to go. Our resources were running low." she heads to the kitchen to make tea.
Khardan makes sure his charges are safe. He checks the security of the doors and windows and generally performs the duties of a devotee of Arqueros.
"Imperia," he says. "You should sleep with Jayla in case that blood writing reappears. I'll sleep outside your doorway."
Once everyone is turned in, the half-orc kneels and prays to the Golden Bulwark, guardian of the heavens, for the strength and wisdom to keep his charges safe from harm.
"Good idea. Let's get some rest." she helps Jayla up the stairs to bed. Her manner is gentle knowing Jayla isn't quite herself right now.
Entering the house, Bramwell throws himself on the armchair he seems to have elected as his spot in the Lorrimor residence. He lets out a loud sigh as his body gets engulfed by the soft cushions. "Yes. A very tiring day. Very, very tiring...," he mumbles, drifting away, his eyes closing against his will. In this state of half-sleep, the dhampir sees in his mind's eye the spectral shapes of his colleagues discussing Jayla's protection, and senses shadowy images lurking barely out of his view. Deep into slumber, the noble dhampir ignores the fact that a bag of cursed items sits on his lap, but its presence is sure felt in his sleep throughout the night. He dreams of blood and letters.
The axe feels light in your hands. Its edge is honed so well... you feel you could cut Iomedae's cheek with it, were she foolish enough to hunt you.
The hunt called. You answered. Hiding in the shadows cast by the eaves of the town hall--the councilor's neck your target. She should've known better than to try to capture you. She'll learn.
There it is. The neck. You leap from your hiding spot, axe flashing--
...and the front door is open.
Imperia snoozes away upstairs oblivious to anything going on upstairs.
Bramwell squints his eyes and raises both hands to clutch his own neck, making pressure in the area to numb the inexplicable pain. After taking a deep breath, he lets go and turns his head towards the open door. The night wind blows gently into the room bringing with its chilling cold a gust of invigorating fresh air. "A hunter's night", Bramwell mumbles standing up, his vampiric senses awakened. The bag with cursed items falls from his lap down to the ground. He walks up to the doorsteps, peeps outside, and steps back in closing the door behind him. Bramwell then stares at the ground to look for footsteps or other signs of an intruder.
They seem to be going towards the road... and into the grass across it before continuing on.
Bramwell's eyes widen at the realization of his quarrel's possible identity. Why would she go out at this hour? The dhampir heads back to the door and steps outside. He follows the tracks carefully, alternating his glare between the footsteps on the ground and the horizon before him, in an effort to distinguish a female silhouette in the distance. His ears also search for strange sounds beyond the usual croaking, hoots, and chirring of nighttime.
There doesn't appear to be a silhouette in the distance, female or otherwise... but you still see the tracks in the grass.
Bramwell keeps following the tracks on the grass for as long as they go on.
...is that Jayla?
Bramwell picks up the pace to reach the staggering figure, throwing a side glance at the notices nailed to the post as he passes by them. Approaching the changelling from the back, he places the right hand on her shoulder to turn her around. "Jayla? What are you doing?"
The changeling stops abruptly and turns to face Bramwell. Her once bright eyes are glazed over and her expression is blank. "...blood... name..." She whispers, seemingly not realizing he's there.
The dhampir takes a look at their surroundings and then grabs Jayla's shoulders to shake her. "Wake up," he commands with a firm voice, in an effort to bring her out of the trance. The dhampir tries to conduct Jayla back to the house.
Bramwell notices that Jayla's cold iron dagger is in her hand, and is stained with blood. Her other hand has a deep cut in the palm.
She pulls away from him and tries to walk away. "...no...name..."
"Drop it", the dhampir nobleman commands Jayla, eyeing the bloodied blade. He grabs the changelling and tries to drag her by force.
Jayla flinches, and her hand opens involuntarily, dropping the knife into the dirt.
Her eyes light up with fury as Bramwell grabs at her, and she lashes out with a clawed hand. "NO. THE NAME MUST BE COMPLETED." Her voice says... in unison with a sinister male voice.
Her claw catches on Bramwell's armour and she/he growls in rage. "STEP ASIDE."
Bramwell backs off like a cowed beast and raises both hands to call for a truce. His eyes light up with a red glare. Thus you reveal yourself, Splatter Man. His cheek is turned, and he looks at Jayla with a sideway glance. "Yes, yes. Of course, Professor Faramin. We must complete the name. But your writing has been washed off the warden's statue, and the foolish townsfolk now guard their silly monument with great care. Come; we must do it where it all began. Let me guide you to Kendra Lorrimore's house, and into Jayla's room, where you can finish what you started nights ago. Jayla Janviel, written in blood, at her windowsill, as it should be. Her death shall be glorious. Come, come," the dhampir pleads, enticing the possessed changelling.
Picking up his spear and moving as quietly as he can, Khardan investigates the sound he's heard.
Your footsteps are quite loud on the stairs. You emerge outside to hear the sound of a bit of a ruckus down the road from the Lorrimor home...
...it sounds like Lord Bramwell and Jayla.
Jayla flinches for a moment. "THAT IS... NOT... the... name..."
She staggers forward and collapses in your arms, unconscious. Her nose is bleeding, and her breathing is unsteady.
Imperia sits up, and looks around. She notices Jayla missing, and heads down the stairs to see what is going on.