"Rawr! Here you go!" the intern beams with job satisfaction.
They continue to lead you on throughout the museum, showing you the ancient wonders of Tian Xia, preserved birds from the Mwangi Expanse, gigantic taxidermied magical beasts and lecture halls that are presently absent of tenured staff. By the time you've seen the entire first floor, most of the patrons have left.
"I gotta help lock up, but since you're with the Society, feel free to come back later tonight and speak with Chayron. I'll leave him a note to expect you!"
"Hooo! Here you go! If anyone else wants one when you come back, I'll leave the box hidden behind the podium in the Main Lecture Hall."
As the party gathers information regarding your next mission, Faethor, Jak, Panarugathom and Gabrod learn that the Mavedarus estate was built generations ago by a Chelaxian family. Disturbingly, a series of disappearances and deaths was reported in and around the house before it was even completed! Despite the perpetual incidents, the house remained within the family's possession through the generations until it was abandoned after the earthquake that shook Absalom in 4698 ar, which sent most of Beldrin’s Bluff into the sea. The couple in residence at the time both went missing in the quake.
While rescue workers never found their bodies, they have found many others within its walls since—until a series of accidents eventually killed enough rescue workers that they simply boarded up the site and left it for demolition. Rumor is that stereotypes die hard, and the family must have been Archdevil worshippers sacrificing innocents. As your destination comes into view...
The three-story Mavedarus home likely once commanded the respect and envy of its neighbors, with a rooftop veranda and manicured grounds. Now, the second and third stories appear to have collapsed during the earthquake, and the remaining story is cracked and crumbling. In the years of neglect since, the grounds have grown into a wild disarray filled with scattered stone and debris.
Two curving staircases lead to a broad veranda bereft of its railings. Two openings that might have once been doors lead into the faint remnants of a solarium, while two more doors lead further into the creaking house itself. A whiff of rot and decay seeps from the structure.
Panarugathom detects no traps (yet).
Jak detects no magic (yet).
Slate detects no ambushes (yet).
Panarugathom and Slate do, however, hear the faintest of scratching underneath the rotting floorboards, as though some sort of vermin were following the party's movements.
The tiled floor, ornate columns, and sweeping staircases of this once-grant hall evoke a distinctly Taldan aesthetic, though the finery has suffered greatly over the past years. The marble floor tiles are cracked and filthy, and the statuary lining the walls has been smashed. None of the three staircases climbs beyond head level before ending abruptly, debris from their fallen upper reaches scattered across the floor.
Manfried draws his greataxe as a precaution and joins the champion.
Pan and Slate find the pantry.
Only a single, aged worktable still stands in one corner of this room, though the clay fragments of an oven and rusted metal suggest it was once a kitchen. The ceiling has completely fallen in, leaving this room open to the sky above. Doors stand in the east and west walls.
While Gabrod and Manfried find where the food was likely served.
The furniture in this once-fine dining room was crushed by the debris falling from the floors above. What remains is sodden and mostly unidentifiable.
Despite your best efforts, you only hear more of that scratching underneath.
As Gabrod and Manfried return from the dining room, just before everyone leaves together, the scrabbling underneath the floorboards comes to a CRESCENDO! As it does, illusory hands tear from the floorboards, clawing at your legs and leaving real wounds!
Manfried and Slate react the quickest as they catch the faintest whiff of brimstone and sound of chanting...
...which everyone but Faethor are Jak recognize as an Infernal chant to the Archdevil, Mephistopheles!
Slate recognizes Mephistopheles as an "Ancient Religion". He may attempt a Lore check to exorcise the infernal influence before it fully manifests. Manfried can act before the Haunt as well, if he has anything he would like to do.
Manfried spends two actions to run over to be closer to the rest of the party, but otherwise isn't sure how to deal with this situation due to his lack of knowledge of religion.
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Slate looks around before spitting in disgust at the chant, "Blasted devils... It is not safe here!" He will begin to chant, trying to drive away the haunt, his body and mind in Zen.
First Action
He will then go into Mountain Stance 1 Action And move out into the middle of the floor, trying to draw the haunt's attention, if possible.
Slate calls upon ancient Osiriani tomb-purging techniques to subdue the riled spirits, but he recognizes this is just a temporary patch until the true story of what happened here becomes public.
Pan leads the group into the cramped frontroom.
Everything this room once held now lies jumbled over the floor in a soggy mess: torn pages, scraps of fabric, and splintered remnants of furniture. Doors hang askew in the north and east walls, but the door to the south has been smashed from its hinges.
Panarugathom and Manfried find a hidden compartment in the wall behind a collapsed bookcase that contains a stack of notes about the owners’ work. Closer examination reveals that they are religious text for the archdevil Mephistopheles (entitled Three Lies), overflowing with notations.
Far more obvious is a faintly glowing lesser healing potion simply discarded on the ground.
And then the adjacent room...
Ivy has overgrown the empty window frame, casting this room into cool shadow. A low shelf, its wood warped and cracked, stands against the south wall, and a desk has been overturned and smashed in the eastern part of the room.
As you all crowd into this room, Panarugathom, Manfried and Gabrod hear a disorienting susurrus of whispers... You think it's another haunt!
Panarugathom not only quiets down the spirits, he determines that the whispers were meant as desperate praise to appease Mephistopheles. You now believe that between this experience, the book of notes you found earlier, and witnessing the spectral claws in the main hallway, that you have enough evidence and information to report what truly happened here.
Finishing up, you search the remaining room:
A large, long-cold fireplace stands in the east wall of this expansive parlor, but the furnishings are all rotted. A dank stench of mold lingers in the air. The ceiling overhead has collapsed, leaving the room open to the sky. The floor in the room’s southern end has followed suit, leaving a gaping hole into darkness.
Everyone (except Gabrod) notices that the floorboards in this area have been slowly rotting from below, leaving what appears to be a normal floor but is in fact merely splinters. The floor would otherwise collapse underneath any creature who moves near the gaping hole, and would likely then spread from there.
You otherwise find nothing of value.
Jak does a quick saunter up the stairs, and finds out there is no upstairs.
Proceeding back to the Petals District...
The Blakros Museum rises into the night sky, its single black spire severing the full moon in twain. The black iron gates permitting entrance onto the manicured grounds grind in protest against the wind. Beyond, the museum’s large oaken doors stand closed, although lamplight shining through several windows suggests that not everyone has retired for the evening.
After knocking on the door, a single staff member (whose name tag reads “Chayron”) answers, holding a broom and dustpan. ”We’re c-closed to the public right now. C-can I help you with something?”
"C-curator... Oh! Nigel Aldain's the c-curator, but he's off for the holiday. And yes! T'was expecting you."
Chayron obligingly opens the massive doors as if their great weight didn’t mean much. ”I just been tidying up. Maintenance is best performed after hours. G-gotta admit, I’ve been somewhat troubled by the odd... manifestations, lately, but I just assume Tavvar has matters under c-control. She’s up on the third floor. I'll take you to her.”
He gives you a brief tour along the way.
This long, narrow presentation space has seating for around thirty guests, all facing a low stage at the south end of the room. At first glance the room seems empty, but a moment later, shadows of an audience fill the plush seats. A chill draft sweeps through the room, and a whispery voice echoes from the podium as though teaching a classroom.
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Carefully framed spellbook pages hang along this room’s walls, while eldritch relics stand in small display cases in the room’s center. In the far corner, shadows hang thicker than the rest of the room.
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A gigantic skeleton is on display in the center of this expansive gallery, ferociously leering over a collection of taxidermy animals and monsters. Shadows flit between the displays, meandering and shuffling shapes reminiscent of museum patrons. Then a distant shriek echoes off the walls as the shadow of a stuffed owlbear lashes out at one of the shadow-visitors. The shadow of the tyrannosaur then suddenly departs from its stand and snaps at the misty image of another patron, tossing its head back and seeming to swallow its meal whole. Other shadows snarl and hiss, scuffling amongst themselves as shadow-guests panic and run toward the exit. When their victims disappear, the creatures turn and leer hungrily at your own shadows!
Chayron casually remarks, ”Honestly, I’ve kinda grown accustomed to it by this point. Tavvar’s up there,” he adds by pointing up a darkened staircase.
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Pan tries not to put up a brave frame, but he is clearly spooked by the strange happenings in the museum.
"You mean this is normal?" he whispers.
Not liking what he's seeing, he presses himself flat against the wall, fading into the darkness, and slowly creeps up the stairs.
I could take up the front if there are no objections.
You all cautiously creak up the stairs...
Droning voices echo off the mahogany walls and domed, plaster ceiling of this luxurious room. The sumptuous furniture has been pushed to the sides of the room, making space for eldritch markings and mystical paraphernalia laid carefully over the plush carpet. The chamber seems muted and dim despite the crystal chandelier overhead, and a bone-numbing chill seeps through the space along with a metallic scent. A ritual is obviously underway here, but it doesn’t seem as though it’s working as planned. Shadowy energy lashes out from a twisting breach in the center of the room, and indistinct shapes flit and scuttle along the walls. Your arrival appears to have stirred the shadows up even further. Whatever fragile balance was being maintained has been well and truly broken by your sudden arrival - it is only a matter of time before the ritual fails, catastrophically…
A woman with white hair manages to spit out through gritted teeth, "I don't know who you are, but if you are here to help, stabilise the wards!"
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Manfried
Panarugathom
Slate
Jak
Gabrod
Faethor
Ritual
Tavvar
Green Assistant
Purple Assistant
Red Assistant