There isn't anything (living or otherwise) visibly noticable in the infirmary, but it looks as if something had previously crashed through here, with a lot of the tools laying scattered far from their trays or original holding places.
You're not sure what actually caused it, but as the three of you start making your way deeper into the room a long surgery saw slowly rises off the floor and flings itself at Petyr.
"Are any of these vials things that would be useful for..." Andrei starts before suddenly being cut off by the appearance of the flying saw.
Petyr was decently known for his reflexes, but he was still surprised to catch the final moments of a saw levitating of its own volition. He still dodges easily out of the way, but he is still shocked. Whatever he had expected in here, it wasn't that.
His blade was already out, but he turned himself about like a dervish as he tried to identify the source of this latest attack and retaliate.
Park was surprised.... No, he was kind of expecting a haunt. But is the haunt in the saw of throwing things? He steps ahead and tries to hit the blade.
From what Petyr can remember of such things, it likely isn't a haunt.
There are all sorts of stories of spirits that can throw objects and haunt places like this, but the most common is one called named poltergeists that are naturally invisible at all times, unless they decide to reveal themselves to frighten their victims. Luckily for those victims, they're also known to stick within a certain radius of whatever area it is haunting (usually the place where it died, or an area that meant a lot to the person it was before death).
It appears as if this could be the force throwing saws at you.
"Can we even fight these things? Or should we just leave them alone?"
"Damn--I think it's a poltergeist!" Petyr cries in probable recognition of the phenomenon. He draws out a flask of holy water in his free hand and pops off the cork. "If I'm right, we won't be able to do much against it."
Ultimately it comes to naught, as the poltergeist reveals itself on its turn. The figure of a horribly twisted body of flesh, rendered in spiritual energy, appears in front of one of the smaller slepeing cells to the west. Its form has been ravaged by what looks like a thousand small cuts and hundreds of other injuries that leave it mangled and disformed. Its appearence, while expected, is still extremely shocking.
With the appearance of the poltergeist, a cold shiver rattles up Petyr's spine and he recorks the flask. "Nope!"
Andrei agrees with his two friends, and exits the room quickly after them.
Luckily for the group, it seems as if the poltergeist only haunts the infirmary. The fear wears off shortly after, and the group finds themselves safe from its attacks, although a bit out of breath from the running.
"Well," Petyr huffs, hands on his knees as he is bent over outside the asylum, "That may be a problem to deal with later." He shivers uncomfortably, trying to tease out the cold from the weather versus the sheer fear. "But if it's just going to defend its territory, then we can leave it alone until we have a plan."
His breath returning to him, the erstwhile scholar grabs a small branch from the prison yard and draws a rough schematic of the building and where they've been so far, just reviewing where they've been and what they've seen. They had gone through both southern wings and assessed the eastern portion of the first floor save for the central stairwells. But the whole of the west remained yet unexplored.
Petyr draws a path through the west wing, starting with the two rooms in the center before encircling the rooms on the outside. Looking from a certain angle, the path almost looks like Pharasma's spiral. "Does this seem reasonable to you two?"
Park catches his breath along with Petyr. Had he screamed like a little girl? Well, maybe. But it was evil magic from the ghost....
"That looks good. Clear this floor. Then we'll have a safe area to fall back if we have to."
Andrei agrees, nodding with the proposed travel plan.
The door to this room has fallen from its hinges. The rectangular chamber beyond seems to have once been a chapel, but now thick sheets of what appear to be cobwebs drape everything within in gossamer threads.
An altar to what the three of you easily recognize as Pharasma stands at one end, a crumbling statue of the Lady of Graves, with a cabinet covered in thick webs hanging on the wall next to it.
Petyr draws his blade back out. He didn't fancy spiders particularly well, and the look in her suggested a potentially territorial one. He gives the sign of a spiral and moves forward towards the cabinet to see what, if anything, it might hold.
Park draws his sword as well and follows slowly. "I hate suggesting that we could burn the webs, in a building that already burnt out. But rather than risking the poison of whatever spun these webs?"
Petyr grimaces. "We can always back off. Setting their home on fire isn't going to endear them to us at all."
Luckily for the group, it seems as if whatever made these webs has either left or is not at home at the moment.
The cabinet looks like it held medical or religious items for the chapel, and isn't locked. Opening it reveals three vials of holy water, a scroll of lesser restoration, a wand of cure light wounds with 15 charges remaining, and a tarnished silver holy symbol of Pharasma.
Looking over the treasure found Park picks up one of the vials of holy water and the wand. "I can use the wand, but Andrei will have to use the scroll if we need it. We can each take one of the holy waters."
"Good thinking," Petyr responds.
As probably the least overtly religious of the three, Petyr isn't wearing a holy symbol of Pharasma. The necklace that he had found earlier with the dozen or so holy symbols was still in his bag next to the spellbook. He hadn't ever bought a Pharasmin spiral of his own, relegating his worship to signs and sayings rather than items. But now it seemed prudent to hold onto it, if only out of the potential that it could serve as a ward. So this tarnished bit of silver, he puts around his neck, grabbing a holy water to bring his collection to three.
"All right, spiders, wherever you are," Petyr says as he withdraws from the room, "We're leaving now. No need for trouble."
That room cleared, Petyr moves in a westerly direction towards the next part of the spiral--that odd, almost triangle-shaped room.
This odd-shaped chamber is in a shambles—old wooden benches lie in ruins along the walls, while rusty chains and bits of rotten rope lie scattered on the floor. It appears as if this room was one of the first ones prisoners would be taken to, as there are stacks of severly decayed but still recognizable prison uniforms among the benches.
As the three of you enter, a faint sobbing and the rattle of chains echoes around the room at the same time as you are nearly overwhelmed with a momentary sensation of hopelessness and the strange feeling of heavy manacles clamping over your wrists. Luckily, the sounds and sensations pass quickly and no other side effects seem apparent.
Beyond the uniforms and the broken manacles and benches, nothing else of interest inhabits the induction chamber.
Petyr rubs at his wrists. "The echoes of the dead are loud," he comments, wondering if Andrei or Park would recognize the quote from his aunt's novel, Steps Upon the Sanguine Stair. Shaking, after completing a circuit around the room and finding nothing ready to jump out, Petyr looks at his companions. "The spiral continues then, yes?"
Park holds his weapon ready and quickly scans the area when he hears/feels what must be some sort of haunt attack.... But then it ends. "That did not feel good. I wonder if it activates every time someone enters, or only the first?"
After a quick scan of the debris he shakes his head. "Nothing of use here. Where to next?"
This stark room contains a low stone bench against the north wall and a ruined desk to the west that sits under three narrow, barred windows. An old brass brazier lies on its side to the south, surrounded by several rusty branding irons.
You've heard of branding rooms before, it's one of the more inhumane things some prisons do to its inhabitants in an attempt to dehumanize or otherwise classify their prisoners. Certainly not a place of positive emotions, that's for sure.
Petyr and Andrei both notice the awful scent of burning flesh rising up from the ground in a wave of assaulting scents and notice that several of the branding irons scattered on the floor are shaking, but only Park is able to act before the now obvious haunt enacts whatever vengeance they might get on this plane.
Seeing the obvious haunts rise up to attack Park empowers his machete with Soulblade and attacks.
Park is quick enough to strike out at the brand that was preparing to launch, and takes it down before it can do so.
The other two, however, fly into the air and fling themselves at Petyr and Andrei.
The anger behind them, however, is too strong, and they speed past their intended targets and clatter harmlessly to the floor behind the trio.
Barely dodging out of the way, Petyr curses and lets his essence imbue his blade. He charges over to one of the burning brands and presses his weapon into it.
Whatever animating force was behind this haunt is dormant once more after the first volley of brands. Petyr makes sure of this by striking one of the brands, but they don’t move again.
Petyr huffs, glad to see the haunt dormant. "I wish I had a sense of how to put these things to rest permanently. Or how long it would be until it roused again." A thought occurs to him. "Did they seriously brand the prisoners? Like cattle? That's..."
He tentatively lifts one of the brands. "We could throw them in the lake."
Now that he's in here without flying brands, Petyr takes a closer look around.
Park looks at the brands, now non-threatening, and shakes his head. "The irons were just laying on the floor, nothing to heat them. If we toss them out of here that might free them to randomly attack people. We have to put whatever is animating them to rest."
Nothing else of interest an be found in the branding room.
It appears the door to S11 is locked from the outside, but the door has degraded so much in the many years since it was last used it is a trivial matter to push the door open.
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.
Even as you enter the room, a woman rises out of the chair. Not the skeleton, but a beautiful near-translucent young woman dressed in a tattered but lovely blue dress. In fact, much about the figure is blue, including her hair, the tears that run from her pale blue eyes, and the clouds of smoke that drift from her lips when she speaks.
"Ah, greetings. I was wondering when you'd visit me. My name is Vesorianna."
Park steps in to the room cautiously, weapon ready. None of the other haunts has spoken. "Vesorianna? And what are you doing here? This place is in terrible shape. Shouldn't you be at your home?"
Petyr blinks several times, staring over at Park and scrutinizing his reaction. Did he think she didn't know she was dead? "This was her home, Park," he says. "Or at least the house outside was."
Petyr tentatively sheathes his blade and bows his head with a hand to his chest as he begins putting a few things together. This was Vesorianna Hawkran, the wife of the late warden. And it was still just a theory, but the V-E on the monument certainly suggested that all this had something to do with the ghost standing in front of them. Her husband Lyvar had almost certainly been caught up in it all as well, if the runes outside had any indication. "Vesorianna Hawkran, I presume?" he asks. "My name is Petyr Kindler. You seem to have us at an advantage in knowing we were here." He gestures at Park and Andrei--hoping that Andrei wouldn't let his hatred for undead drive him to do something foolish here. "I suppose we've been looking for you, though we didn't know it until now."
The ghost, for that's what she is rather than a haunt, seems to understand Park's confusion.
"Don't worry, I know I am dead. That..." she says, pointing to the skeletal hand poking out from the remains of her dress in the chair. "Is my body."
"I visited my husband here in the prison, to see why he was late for dinner. Unfortunately it was the day of the horrendous fire and the guards locked me in here. As you can see, I didn't manage to make it out." Her ghost shudders and you notice a few extra blue tinted tears leave her eyes as she remembers.
"With that unpleasantness out of the way, before I continue, what are your intentions here? Have you come to plunder the prison? Or can you perhaps be convinced to help me in my mission here?"
Park looks on in.... shock? as Petyr seems to recognize the spirit of a woman. He sheaths his own weapon accepting the story that she starts with.
"Plunder? Hardly. Your town has been attacked by a group of evil, necromancers. They seem to be focused on this prison so we are here to try and understand more about them. We've faced a number of haunts and are trying to figure out how to get rid of them." He glances over to Petyr for more detail.
Petyr gives a wink at Park, as if to say "This is what I do," the this being investigate. If Park were to see the string boards he had in his apartment back in Lepidstadt...
Well, he had some cockamamie ideas about what had really happened to Aroden a hundred years ago, but that was something he had no good way of investigating.
"It's as my friend here said. Depending on the precise nature of your mission, I believe we may already be aligned."
Whatever Petyr thought of the practices of the prison that this woman's husband ran, she wasn't responsible for all that.
But he relates the broad strokes of what he had told the rest of the town at the Town Hall before it nearly burned to the ground, to flesh out the details of what they had found so far. "We also saw runes around the prison with your husband's name. And someone has been slowly painting what we think is your name on a monument in the center of town dedicated to those who died here in the fire." Once he has told her all that he knows, Petyr waits a beat. "So what's your mission?"
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Vesorianna listens patiently as Petyr explains the story of their investigations so far, nodding along at key points.
"That seems to match up with what I've experienced in the prison so far. My mission, as it were, is to keep the vengeful spirits of the prisoner of Harrowstone contained within these walls. If I could have found a way to destroy them I would have, but I cannot leave this room."
"I know a few things about how the riot and the fire started, and I can tell you should you wish to know. The more immediate information I should share is that up until recently, the only thing keeping those same spirits in check was the spirit of my long-departed husband. I could feel his presence in the prison until the day those unsettling visitors, men and women in dark robes who spoke only in whispers, arrived at the prison." She looks towards the northwest walls as if she could see straight through them.
"They were out there when they started their little...ritual. Strange magic in a language I could not understand, and then the runes etched in the side of the prison walls. I think I watched them kill this 'Professor' of yours, unfortunately. He stumbled upon them during their ritual and was killed by the leaders' foul magic from. I could only watch helplessly as they desecrated his body with a piece of a gargoyle from the top of the roof and made it look like an accident. I am so, so sorry for the loss of your friend." she says, her face pouring even more tears as she speaks.
"Later that night, after they murdered the man, the black-robed cultists finished their ritual. Whatever they did, they did so out of sight of my view through the walls, but I felt the repercussions immediately. It felt like a horrific storm, yet one with no wind that chilled the flesh. This windstorm chilled tmy soul—it felt to me as if my very being was being pulled apart. Yet the horrific sensation passed in an instant... and when it had, the presence of my husband’s spirit was gone. I can only assume that the black-robed cultists somehow managed to abduct his spirit, for since that hateful day I've felt no sign of either her husband or the black-robed cultists."
Park listens and nods at the description of the ritual as it occurred. "The glyphs. They had his name, Lyvar Hawkran, over and over. And Petyr, you said there were runes of abjuration and necromancy. So maybe they broke his link to the prison and somehow imprisoned his spirit to take him away? If we can find them we need to demand the release of his spirit."
"But what do you know about the active spirits in the prison. You say that you've been containing them. What can you tell about them, and possibly how they can be destroyed? The haunts and such that we've encountered so far were dangerous, but relatively easy to stop once we knew of them. But even these easy ones have mostly just been stopped for a short time. We know many of them will reset until we can figure out how to fully break the evil of this place."
Petyr definitely had sympathy for creatures like Vesorianna and the poltergeist in the infirmary. They had no say in what they had become. There were just...certain things in the world that, when they happened, led to this sort of thing.
Yes, of course--she was stuck here until the reason for her persistence was settled. And even after all these years, she remained cogent enough to be able to articulate her desires. Even if she couldn't act on them.
Petyr hangs on Vesorianna's details. She was one of the few liv...well, aware people who they could actually talk to who knew what was going on here.
"If it's possible, I agree with Park. Putting the spirits to final rest seems better than merely keeping them at bay, if we can manage it. It might help you rest as well." Your husband, though, might be a lost cause... Petyr thinks.
"To that end, yes--any knowledge of what came before and let to the current situation will be helpful." We'll have to deal with the Way later...
"There are five ring-leaders of the ghosts, for lack of a better word. I knew of them in life, murderers and convicts all. Each of them are distinct and powerful personalities now, though I don't know what forms their spirits take. Father Charlatan, the Lopper, the Mosswater Marauder, the Piper of Illmarsh, and the Splatter Man; those were the titles commonly assigned to them before their death.
As far as what happened leading up to the fire...it's tough to talk about, but it needs to be told. You need to know what happened here in order to have the best chance at stopping what might yet occur. "
Her form visibly shudders as she remembers her past life and memories.
"I entered the prison the night of the disaster, as I said, looking for my husband as he was late for dinner. I found it strangely empty, and followed the sound of shouting I came to the training room where the remaining guards were gathered near the lift shaft to the dungeon. I think you know of it, I was able to exert my influence over the building to direct you to me before you dove too deep into the prison below.
The increasingly frantic guards informed me that my husband and several other guards were trapped in the lower level of the prison, attempting to put down a riot led by the ringleaders. My husband activated an emergency deadfall that sealed the lower levels away from rest of the prison. I admit I lost my mind here momentarily and acted out of panic: I begged the guards to stage a resuce by using the supply lift to stage a rescue. When they refused, I broke free of their holds and threw the lift's relase."
Her tears flow freely now, her head turned down to let the deep blue droplets fall to the floor in a cascade of sorrow.
"The heavy wooden platform plummeted into the dungeon level and crushed most of the guards holding the prisoners at bay. I do not know if my husband was among them, for in my shock they dragged me into this workshop and locked me here to prevent me from doing more harm. They must have forgotten me in their panic when whatver caused the fire to start happened, as I remember a long painful death. The smoke...it was too much, and I couldn't get out."
She is practically sobbing at this point, her head in her hands and the tears flowing around her fingers. After a few moments, she finally raises her head again.
"So now you know. I don't know what happened after they took me away, nor do I know what caused the fire. But I most certainly killed my husband."
She takes a breath, or whatever ghosts do to calm down before continuing.
"I know for a fact that if you can confront and defeat the unquiet spirits of the five key prisoners, I'll be able to keep them contained and prevent them from manifesting again. If you can put all five to rest, however temporarily, and bring me a symbol of my husband's office as warden, I know that I will be able to banish all of the spirits of Harrowstone permanently."
"I am tired of existing like this, and wish for the entire ordeal to be put to rest. I imagine his warden's badge will work the best for this, and to get that I think you will have to find his remains in the lower level. Before you head down into the dungeon, however, I ask that you head to the level above and handle the Piper of Illmarsh's spirit. It has migrated from the bottom level of the prison over the many years, and has only grown in power in the days since the robed men took my husband's spirits."
She points towards the items you took from the secret vault in the property room.
"Those items will certainly aid you in combat against the spirits, but they are likely also cursed by the unholy link to the long-dead criminals and that care should be taken when using them."
Park pulls the flute from his bag. "You mention the Piper of Illmarsh. Was this his then? I wanted to play it once I touched it, but it just seemed wrong. Is he somehow linked to this thing? Should I destroy it? It would be a shame to do that, but if he hurts anyone that plays it...." He sadly tucks it away again.
Father Charlatan, the Lopper, the Mosswater Marauder, the Piper of Illmarsh, and the Splatter Man. Well, names were quite useful. Names made searching through records easier, even if these were merely titles rather than given names. Were they stronger, divination magic might be able to be used to reveal many things. But for now, they had access to something that might be better than magic: research. Good old-fashioned paper. The documents that they had found would inevitably be useful in trying to understand who they were dealing with. And if there was anything lacking here in the prison, then they might be able to find something else back in town.
Petyr listens carefully to Vesorianna's tale, smiling faintly when she reveals that she was the one to prevent them from descending. But the smile falls when she claims responsibility for things getting worse. As she cries, Petyr looks at Park and Andrei. Could they try to calm a ghost? Provide comfort? She was distraught, but anything Petyr could think of to say felt trite: the sort of empty nonsense that did nothing concrete for the hearer. But would she appreciate it? Ah, it would probably sound better coming from one of the others.
And she has a particular problem spirit that she wants them to deal with first? Petyr smirks over at Park. "Destroying it seems short-sighted," he says. "It might do the opposite. Hold onto it for now."
Having already tucked the flute safely back in his pack Park slings it in place on his back. "Right. So let's go up and put this piper back where he belongs. Maybe once all of the nasties are finished I'll have a nice instrument that I can safely play."
"I believe that was his, yes. I don't know if destroying it would help or harm you, but it might be best to leave it alone until you have destroyed this incarnation of his spirit." she says, taking a closer look at the flute.
"You've been dealing with the haunts of this place for quite a while now, no? A few hours at least. Maybe head back to town and do some more research on the spirits and their previous crimes. The town hall should have info on the prisoners, even if they are old and out of date."
She says this confidently to start, but you hear a hint of desperation towards the end of the sentence.
"You need to be prepared for anything."
Park glances at the ghost lady. "I think we can shut down the Piper's haunt first. Then head back to town for some research."
Petyr gives Park the side eye. "Discretion is the better part of valor. I appreciate the confidence, but the poltergeist earlier shut us down. I'd rather have a better sense of who we're dealing with instead of going in blind."
He glances at Andrei as well. The man had gone quiet--more so than usual. Was he reticent about helping out the ghost of Vesorianna? Or was it something else?
"I think it's good advice. Let's head back. It won't take long, but I think we'll be better off with a bit more preparedness."
Petyr bows his head. "Thank you, Mrs. Hawkran. You have my word that we'll return posthaste."
If he needs to drag the other two out, he does, wanting more than anything to banish the feeling of his hair sticking up on end all over his body, even if only for an hour or two.