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As Tural shares what he knows about demons, Helga describes the creature. Its an emaciated figure that looks like a horned human skeleton smothered within a bone-tight hide of slimy leather. It happens to be one that Tural studied in his younger years, a babau.
"How did it happen, Helga? How were you drained? How were you cursed? …will you remain here, or will you roam the countryside, looking for sustenance?” ”I would roam the countryside looking for a cure. Or maybe you could show me a way?” she replies with large, imploring eyes. ”To be fair, I am the cause of my own fate. I came here, to the castle, willingly. My family thought to gain influence with the count. When I learned the truth I still didn’t resist, the worst choice of my life and death. I believe I’m the last vampire that Strahd created and that was nearly 60 years ago.”
Helga points out a room in the larder. ”These are the demon’s chambers, but he roams the castle and dungeon at odd times.” "Can Gertruda be approached without alerting the Count?” ”If the Count is near his chambers, then no. And if he found her missing, he would be furious.”
Helga is visibly relieved when you promise to take her with you. She can leave the castle, but she can’t escape Strahd she explains. He’s always able to track her. From your research in Kolyan’s library, you remember the only path back from being undead is being killed and resurrected. Its a magic unavailable to anyone you’ve met yet in Barovia. At Mimi’s suggestion she smiles shyly again. ”You may always rest here if you need. I can’t promise the Count won’t find you here, but he rarely visits.” When Borracho inquires about the witches, she looks frightened. ”I never set foot in their area. Don’t disturb them unless you must, but if you must, there is a door next to the bookcase behind that stinky accountant across the hall, it opens into the tower staircase. That staircase extends up past the Count’s chambers to the witches. The whole tower is theirs. Their creature is to be feared as well, the demon keeps his quarters in the larder.” She nods at Tural’s request. ”There are few living souls left, Cyrus in the larders and Gertruda in the count’s chambers are both good people that are trapped. We never feed on them. The accountant nearby is a selfish, repulsive man, Strahd decided we should feed on him for as long as we can, he said a person that had been taking their entire life should do some giving at the end. Nearly all of the others are dead, like me. There’s a wonderful ghoul couple on the balcony overlooking the chapel. And a sweet little boy ghost that is always bored and curious. I never go to the catacombs, Cyrus is terrified to go down there. You can’t leave the castle by the front doors unless Strahd wills it, but you can fly away from here if you have such magic.”
"Who might you be?” ”I’m Helga. It’s very nice to meet you all.” She mentions the group, but her eyes stay on Borracho. Flemming clearly sees the tension in the woman and realizes that something’s distressing her greatly.
"...we're here to see to it this reign of terror ends…” "We trust in the light of the Dawnflower. The evil within this castle will not prevail.” At your words, her lips tremble and she hastily shuts the door with all of you in the room. ”Oh please! Save me from this! You don’t understand what evil is here.” Large tears slide down her cheeks and she clasps her hands to her face, then removes them to reveal sharp fangs. Yet she doesn’t recoil at all from the holy symbol and the tears keep flowing from her big eyes. ”I hate this curse. I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed and wake to sunshine pouring through the window. Please, take me with you when you leave this dreadful place.” She holds her hands in front of her in a praying manner. DC 20 Sense Motive: She seems completely sincere and you believe she honestly wants to leave with you
"I am Borracho. You have heard of me. And I wish to make your acquaintance.” ”Oh, ah, Borracho, yes, yes of course I’ve heard of you.” DC 15 Sense Motive: ”Please, do make yourself welcome.” She curtsies with a shy smile.
she’s never heard of you "No need young lady. The Count is aware of us. We thank you for your efforts. Are there multiple guest rooms or multiple beds in this room?” ”This is the only guest room we maintain in these years, but it does have multiple beds and I try to keep it as clean and fresh as I may.” You notice the room has been well tended and the beds are made, although the bedding and canopies appear to be very old. You also notice the maid has a very pale complexion. She appears to be human, although her long brunette hair covers the tips of her ears and her large brown eyes hint at elven heritage. "Are you injured, young lady? We just visited with Lief, and he mentioned that he's a little tender around his collar.” ”I’m fine, ma’am, thank you for your concern.” DC 15 Sense Motive: You catch the slight strain in her neck muscles and a barely noticeable flex at the edge of her mouth. No, everything is not fine with her, not at all.
After a moment the door opens and an attractive woman in a modest maid’s outfit stares at you with wide eyes. ”Oh! The Count didn’t tell me we had guests arriving. Please, come in, I’ve all the beds prepared. Shall I let him know you’re settled?” She holds the door open for you.
Stained yellow lace hangs from the canopies of eight beds that fill this room. A single lithe figure of a woman moves about the far end of the room, her back to you as she makes a bed. It seems like she isn’t aware of Flemming looking through the open door.
"Lief sweetie, if you don't mind me asking- what does that rope do?” ”Oh, I rang that if I need something, or it’s an emergency. I think it’s connected to a bell upstairs somewhere, but don’t touch it unless you want the Count breathing down your neck.” As Mimi considers the new option for finding the Count, the troupe opens the large double doors to the hallway. Before she can join them, Borracho is lifting the hand of a skeleton in an alcove causing a secret door to crack open. Behind the secret door is another hallway with a single door and a stairway climbing upwards.
Massive double doors open into this quiet 10’ wide section of dark corridor from the east and west. From both sides of the corridor, deep alcoves of darkness face each other with death like silence. Almost beyond sight, seeming to float within the alcove’s blackness, human figures can be made out. Upon investigation, the human figures in the alcoves are skeletons impaled on spears and mounted on the walls. Tural detects no magic in the alcoves and a closer inspection proves them to be nothing more than grim decorations. Another massive set of double doors is directly ahead of you. Tural notices a very slight draft from the alcove to the left.
The thick cobwebs burn away again with Tural’s application of fire. The hallway mirrors the floor below and connects to the same circular stairs and a corner room with arrow slits. The only difference is the room above the ‘puppet count’, here the arrow slits have not been bricked over and it provides a place for archers to defend the castle. The courtyard is visible through the slits and it’s still early afternoon.
”I don’t know anything about witches. They definitely aren’t being accounted for, in the literal sense.” He gestures at the scattered papers on the desk. ”If you aren’t leaving the castle just yet, then maybe I’ll wait here for you. I don’t want the count catching us and thinking I’m trying to escape.” DC 15 Sense Motive:
Lief doesn’t seem like he’s being honest about waiting for you, you suspect the man plans to seek the golden chest
”Who locked me up? The Count, who else? That’s not the worst part.” He pulls down the collar of his shirt revealing two sets of fang wounds on either side of his neck. ”The count and his vampire girlfriend both feed on me. Drain me just enough for a meal, but never enough to kill me. I’d probably have killed myself, but look…” Lief hops from the stool and grabs a book from a nearby shelf that has a group of markers protruding from it. ”The count wants me accounting for the basics. He doesn’t tell me anything of his real treasures. Yet in all these books there are forgotten mentions of some of them. This one in particular.” He turns the book to the troupe to see for themselves. …they are foolish to play with such magics. The Deck of Many Things can take your life, or your soul. Worse things occur in the room with the golden chest, those cards are just one of the awful possibilities… ”A Deck of Many Things, you see that! I could, I mean We could, purchase our own castle with the right buyer for an artifact. So, have you seen a golden chest anywhere?” Lief looks at you with a greed that’s triumphed his despair.
Removing the shackle is easy work for Mimi. Lief is grateful, though his enthusiasm is dampened by the knowledge that he can’t leave without the count’s blessing. ”Just my luck. How are you planning to leave then? Can I leave with you?”
Flemming is sure the man is telling the truth.
"And who might you be? Are you in the employ of the Count?”…"You poor dear. Why on earth are you chained to that desk?” After a moment of shock, he collects himself and puts down the dry quill. ”Lief Lipsiege, accountant, and sometimes lunch, for the count, who is not accountable, let me tell you! I've been chained in this room for years now. My family probably thinks me dead.” He flaps his arms at the mess. ”This doesn’t even make sense, what's he accounting? There’s piles of coins everywhere, no chests, and why all the copper? Who collects coppers? This can’t be his real treasure. And no expenses, what’s the point even of accounting when you don’t spend anything.” Then he squints his eyes at you with a crafty look. ”You don’t look like his minions, and you don’t smell like the dead. Can you get me out of here before you do some foolish adventuring and get yourselves turned to toads.”
Mimi investigates, and finding no traps she opens the unlocked door. Dusty scrolls and tomes line the walls of this room and are scattered across the floor. In the center of all this cluster stands a huge accountant’s desk. A figure crouches atop a tall stool, scratching a seemingly endless scroll of paper with a dry quill pen. A rope hangs next to the creature from a hole in the ceiling. You notice that a chain shackles the man’s leg to the desk. Piles of coins of all types are stacked around the room. In the back corner appears to be a nest made of torn out pages. The man stops his scratching on the parchment and stares at the troupe in frozen shock.
The troupe proceeds cautiously toward the throne with Borracho’s keen eyes searching ahead. The dancing lights jump through the rafters and around the walls confirming Tural’s speculation that the room hasn’t been used in a long time. As you approach the turned throne, you notice a gap in the wall behind it where a secret door has been left open. Cobwebs hang from the edges showing it’s been open for some time. The hallway behind the secret door is filled with cobwebs, much like the similar hall below it where you burned away the webs earlier. The finely carved throne is thick with dust, including the seat. A brief investigation shows the throne and dais appear to have rotated as part of the mechanism that opened the secret door.
With a bit of guidance, Mimi is able to disable the statue’s connection to the pressure plates. With the landing safe to pass, the troupe advances, climbing the steps to a large chamber as Borracho’s dancing lanterns illuminate the way. Dim light from the courtyard falls into this room in jagged shafts through the broken glass and iron frames of a large window in the west wall. This immense room stands in chilly, brooding darkness. Hundreds of dust-thick cobwebs drape the room, hiding the ceiling from view. Directly across from the window are double doors in the east wall. Ornate door carvings are obscured by a thick layer of dust. Further south, a single door also leads from the east wall. At the far southern end of the hall, a huge throne stands atop a raised platform. The back of the throne is turned to the room.
Borracho’s dancing lights and keen eyes find the pressure plates on the floor before the troupe walks into the trap. With dramatic arm waves he holds back Tural and Flemming, then points to thin scratches in the floor from the suits of armor. The troupe takes a few minutes to study the trap carefully, and you feel confident that you can bypass the pressure plates and make it to the stairways continuing upward if you wish.
The troupe is unable to determine if the chapel is still sacred. Making your back to the entry hall you approach the wide stairs to the north. Massive stairs rise to a landing 20’ wide by 40’ long. Stone arches support a ceiling covered with frescos. The frescos faded lines depict the stone mountain atop which Ravenloft stands, being taken by armored forces on horseback. The faces of the characters in the fresco are scratched beyond decoration. Dust floats in the air here making it difficult to see fine details. There is a staircase on each side of the south wall. There are two alcoves between the staircases. Torch light filtering through the dust shows two suits of armor covered with dark stains, one standing in each alcove. Each suit of armor holds a mace designed like a curved dragon head. Engraved words on the arches above the alcoves are scratched out.
Half Elf Rogue, core build
A bookshop owner in Westcrown could make a few extra coins creating flyers and notices. Some of those flyers didn’t sit well with the officials, and maybe some made them angry, but those troubles should be a matter for the person posting them, not for the simple shop owner that produced them. Corran believed this very firmly as he stood outside his bookshop watching it burn. He vanished from the neighborhood before morning, before anyone could add his ashes to the ashes of the bookshop. Corran: Corran Male half-elf rogue 1 CG Medium humanoid (elf, human) Init +4; Senses low-light vision; Perception +7 -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC 16, touch 14, flat-footed 12 (+2 armor, +4 Dex) hp 9 (1d8+1) Fort +0, Ref +6, Will +0; +1 trait bonus vs. illusion effects, +2 vs. enchantments Immune sleep -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 30 ft. Melee cold iron dagger +4 (1d4+1/19-20) or . . rapier +4 (1d6+1/18-20) Ranged sling +4 (1d4+1) Special Attacks sneak attack +1d6 -------------------- Statistics -------------------- Str 12, Dex 18, Con 10, Int 13, Wis 10, Cha 13 Base Atk +0; CMB +1; CMD 15 Feats Skill Focus (Disable Device), Weapon Finesse Traits pattern seeker, savannah child Skills Craft (bookbinding) +3, Craft (calligraphy) +3, Disable Device +14, Escape Artist +8, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +5, Knowledge (local) +5, Linguistics +5, Perception +7, Ride +9, Sleight of Hand +8, Stealth +8; Racial Modifiers +2 Perception Languages Common, Dwarven, Elven, Halfling SQ elf blood, trapfinding +1 Other Gear leather armor, cold iron dagger, rapier, sling, sling bullets (20), backpack, bedroll, blanket[APG], masterwork thieves' tools, signal whistle, 2 gp, 4 sp -------------------- Special Abilities -------------------- Elf Blood Half-elves count as both elves and humans for any effect related to race. Elven Immunities - Sleep You are immune to magic sleep effects. Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in dim light, distinguishing color and detail. Sneak Attack +1d6 Attacks deal extra dam if flank foe or if foe is flat-footed. Trapfinding +1 Gain a bonus to find or disable traps, including magical ones.
Thinking a classic rogue, like 3.5 style
The statues prove to be just statues, though also of excellent craftsmanship like the previous ones encountered in the hallway leading to the chapel. ”Igo and Brinhild”, the ghouls respond to Mimi, ”and I think those foul witches have taken over one of the towers. We do wish you luck, and thank you for the splendid performance! May Desna be with you.” The ghouls wave cheerfully as you depart.
Both of the small rooms leading from the chapel are similar, and both lead to different types of stairways. This arched room opens from the chapel and leads to a rising staircase to the west. Alcoves in the north and south walls open into this room. Within the dark confines of the alcoves lurk eight foot tall shadowy figures. Their stone forms show mighty muscled arms and legs. A black shadow falls across the features of their faces. This arched room opens from the chapel and leads to a huge circular staircase to the west. There are alcoves in the north and south walls of this room. Eight foot tall shadowy figures lurk in the cold, dark confines of both alcoves. The figures’ muscular stone arms hold bright blades. Black shadows fall across the features of their faces.
"Can you tell us anything more? What do you know of the Count …” ”The count was always a good man, we liked him very much.” The other ghoul in the yellow dress nods in agreement. ”Being the older brother, Strahd had all of the responsibility, of course, and that didn’t make him a popular man, but he was good and just. He led his father’s armies as young warrior and thundered across the land like the wrath of a just god. Evil fell beneath his boots, but the war years and the killing years wore down his soul as wind wears the stone into sand. There was a sadness already in him when he settled at Ravenloft.” The ghoul in the yellow dress chimes in, ”It’s a shame his younger brother got all of the adoration. Sergei was a rascal. Liked to wear his shiny armor and be celebrated, but nothing noble about that one.” The gentleman ghoul nods, ”Rumors told of him doing horrible things in secret, but in public he was the golden boy that couldn’t do wrong.” "You say you're imprisoned in some way. How are you trapped up there?” "It’s a strange curse. We can walk away from the balcony, but somehow we get turned around and walk right back into it. No matter how we try, walking backwards, closing our eyes, holding hands, the curse redirects us back to this location.” Flemming’s question provides a valuable clue. It’s impossible for the troupe to miss the similarity between the ghoul’s situation and that of Barovia.
"You two speak so well for what you appear to be. When you look down on us, do you see your next meal? Will you take offense when we fight back? Are you even the kind of undead that mindlessly attacks the living for daring to live in their presence? Oh, you make me think so many questions.” ”To be fair, this isn’t a fate of our choosing. And next meal, heavens no! We’ve found that aged meat is a superior culinary delight. The tissue starts to break down and the flavor is exquisite at about a week after death. I dare say we may get thrown a leg or two from you yet, those spindly arms don’t seem strong enough to deal with the witches, but we will be the very image of hospitality until then, no mindless attacks or even well thought out assaults.” As Borracho performs the scenes from Act 2 of the Fell Night of Winter the ghouls watch with fascination. When he finishes a pouch of coins drops from the balcony and lands with a heavy clink at the base of the altar. ”Splendid performance! Worth every coin! We do hope you prevail against the witches, it would be grand to see you on a fine stage.”
"Sarenrae, Beloved Dawnflower.…” ”Oh, that was nice! I do love Sarenrae, she’s my next favorite beside Desna.” The ghoul in the yellow dress claps politely. "Perhaps you could tell us more about the witches?” ”Make sure they don’t get a bit of you, hair, toenails, anything they can use for a curse. Keep all your bits to yourselves. Nasty curses, that coven, look at us. And don’t be fooled, there’s more than three of them, probably twice that number.” Borracho clears the altar and climbs upon it where the single shaft of sunlight that had been illuminating the Icon of Ravenloft now serves as a perfect spotlight for his sonorous oration of 'Pemsworth's Lament’ Act 2 from Fell Night of Winter.
“It’s just my wife and I up here. The witches thought it a bit of fun to keep us trapped, though I suppose they’ve forgotten us by now. We’d love to leave the castle, but presently we can’t even leave this balcony. We’d very much enjoy hearing about this Pemsworth and Tsin. All I’ve got in my coin pouch is ten platinum, surely prices haven’t risen that much in the last century.” The ghoul gentleman looks at you hopefully from the balcony.
”Did he say we have to pay for a church service?” The ghoul with the high necked dress looks at her companion with concern, but he dismisses her worries. ”No, dear, I think they’re the type to perform a bawdy play, see the kilt and hairy chest. Yes, lad, we’ll pay two platinum, one each, what play will you be performing?”
Borracho’s lights dance upward, illuminating a hideous ghoulish face peering down at you. It has long, sharp teeth, and its pallid flesh stretches tightly over its starved frame. A well combed weft of silver hair clings to its head and it wears a fine, clean jacket of dark blue with a pressed white collar. You’re positive it’s a ghoul, but not like one you’ve ever seen or heard of existing. ”I say, the lot of you are much more interesting than that chap. He hasn’t done anything in years", the ghoul calls down to you. "It’s been dreadfully boring. Not even a hymn or a sermon, just sunrises and sunsets. And the meals are far too scarce.” A second hideous face joins the first, gaudy makeup highlighting the same pallid skin and curled white hair dropping to a high necked dress of yellow. ”Oh, it has been so dreadful! We would love a good hymn, or a passionate sermon, oh, even a bawdy play would be splendid, if I’m being honest.”
Borracho detects for the presence of undead and finds two strong auras directly above the troupe on the balcony that overlooks the chapel. You can just discern two shadowy shapes peeking out over the edge of the balcony 50 feet above you.
Tural investigates the silver Raven and after a minute it occurs to him that it may be a magical holy symbol that aligns to its owner. He cautiously brushes his fingers over the surface and the knowledge of the item flows through him like the gift of prayers in the morning from Sarenrae.
The small statue detects as strong magic. Its an intricately carved raven of pure silver, about a foot high and half as wide. The chapel had once been dedicated to Desna, it takes you several minutes of piecing together the images in the broken stain glass windows to determine it was the goddess of freedom and luck. The figure draped over the altar is the skeletal remains of a priest, but it’s impossible to tell from the remains what role it played in the chapel.
Borracho’s keen eyes admire the work of the sculpter that created the statues, truly a master. For a moment you wonder if the statues are too good and magics were involved, but you find the small nicks and angles that show a chisel completed the works and not the gaze of a basilisk or something similar. At the end of the hall another set of bronze doors stand before you. Unlike the first set, these creak open with the sound of neglect. Dim, colored light filters through broken and boarded up stain glass windows, illuminating the ancient chapel of Ravenloft. Pews and benches lie about the floor in jumbled disarray, coated with dust. Beyond this debris, lit by a single, piercing shaft of light, an altar stands upon the platform. The light falls directly on a small statue. A figure is draped over the altar. This room seems as though nothing has disturbed it in a century, and that nothing ever could.
The high ceiling of the chapel stretches above you, the once magnificent stain glass windows reaching over 50 feet in height. A small half circle balcony protrudes near the top offering a view over the chapel below.
Tural looks up and down the circular stairwell. You notice the dusty steps show no signs of recent footsteps. You also notice that the thick cobwebs you just burned from the hall are absent from the stairwell. The troupe heads back to the great entry hall and approaches the large bronze doors to the east. After a brief investigation shows no obvious threats, you open the doors easily. A long dusty hall leads eastward into the dark heart of Ravenloft. Statues line the hallway on both sides, their eyes seeming to watch you.
Tural's idea proves wise. The thick webs catch fire and burn in a flash, clearing the hallway except for some acrid smoke that dissipates quickly. At the end of the hallway you find a spiral staircase of gray, dusty stones. The hidden stairs lead both up and down into the fortress, offering access to the hidden rooms without passing through the main floor.
Tural applies ash to the puppet as the troupe planned, a carefully indiscrete mark from years of practice applying makeup for the stage. Mimi picks at the roast beast and is glad to find that the food is authentic and has been cooked well. The troupe has no pains from the meal, to the contrary it was both filling and delicious. Then you remember the tale of witches that fattened those they were about to eat and your enthusiasm is tempered. Flemming explores to the south of the hidden room. A high domed ceiling caps the 30 foot diameter room before you. Frescos, faded with age adorn the ceiling, but are impossible to make out. Tall, thin arrow slits look out over the courtyard. You realize this is where the movement of air was from, which prompts an additional thought and you confirm the arrow slits in the mirror room are indeed bricked over. It’s curious that the slits are exposed in one room and covered in the other and Tural’s question of a vampire being active in the day is brought back to mind. There are no windows in the halls or dining room that would allow sunlight to enter. From the room with arrow slits, a long, narrow corridor runs east and west. Cobwebs fill the hall and obstruct sight beyond a few feet.
Tural detects for magic and is rewarded with a response from both the floating figure, and strangely, the mirrors and the walls as well. A brief investigation finds that the panels facing the room fold back to reveal the mirrors in the dining hall are magical and function as two way mirrors. It doesn’t take the troupe long to work out the magical mirrors in the hidden room combined with the two way mirrors and the figure can create a sort of optical illusion in the dining room. It’s a neat trick, one you could use in future performances if you could remove the mirrors from the castle. A few trials and errors later, you’re able to create the image of the count in the dining room, complete with reflection in the mirrors for any hapless viewers sitting at the table.
The initial concern at the dark figure in the center of the room is eased when Flemming notices that strings hanging from the ceiling support the thing and it’s nothing more than a prop, the type of which you’ve used in dozens of plays. Though why it would be here in a secret room is a mystery.
The count turns slowly from the organ. ”They’ve told you I’m a monster, yes? Does a monster send a fine carriage for his guests, no. It is comforting to hear your appreciation, it has been some time since kind words have been said to me.” His accent is thick and his demeanor is that of learned nobility. The count rises from the bench, standing to his full, considerable height. ”Please, you must be hungry after your journey, you would honor my table. Unfortunately I cannot dine with you, my diet is severely restricted by a condition from which I suffer. Have no worries, it is not contagious.” He waves his hand dismissing any concerns. ”You are strangers to this land. I’m sure many of our ways seem bizarre to you. The villagers are a superstitious people, but in their hearts they are of good intentions.” He gestures to the seats at the table and the feast before you.
As the troupe moves forward you hear the thud of the front doors closing behind you. You move south and torchlight flutters against the walls of this vaulted hall. To the east a dark and forbidding hallway runs into darkness, the outline of a circular stairway barely visible in the deep shadows. Beside that opening, a suit of armor, oiled and glistening, stands at attention in a shallow alcove. To the west, large double doors hang slightly open, a steady bright light escaping through the opening. Swells of organ music come from behind the doors, spilling their melody of power and defeat into the hall. You peek through the opening in the doors to the west and see a magnificent 40 foot square room, brilliantly lit by three massive crystal chandeliers. Pillars of stone stand against dull white marble walls, supporting the ceiling. In the center of the room, a long, heavy table stands covered with a fine white satin cloth. The table is laden with delectable foods of every type: roasted beast basted in a savory sauce, roots and herbs of every taste, and sweet fruits and vegetables. Places are set for each of you with fine delicate dishes and silver. At each place there is a crystal goblet filled with an amber liquid. At the center of the far west wall, between floor to ceiling length mirrors, stands a massive organ. Its pipes blare out a thunderous melody that offers in its tone greatness and despair. Seated before the keys, its back toward you, a single caped figure pounds the keys in raptured ecstasy. The figure suddenly stops and a deep silence fall sover the dining hall.
The ornate massive doors hang open. Fluttering torches cast dim yellow flickers of light from the entry way. As the troupe enters, glad to be out of the rain, twenty feet into the castle a second set of doors suddenly swings open effortlessly and the sounds of organ music flow out. Overhead, in the entry way, four statues of dragons glare down, their eyes flickering in the torchlight. You glance through the second set of doors and see that cobwebs hang from dust covered columns of this great hall, illuminated by torches fluttering in iron sconces. The dust and webs cast strange, moving shadows acros the faces of stone gargoyles squatting motionlessly on the rim of the domed ceiling. Cracked and faded ceiling frescoes are covered by a century of decay. Two doors of bronze stand closed to the east. To the north, a wide staircase climbs into the darkness. All the while, sad and majestic organ tones float about you from a lit hallway to the south.
I'm very interested as well if you're considering a second new player. I can maintain the daily posting rate and have finished APs that spanned over 7 years in PbP. I'll post a rough build and background this evening if you're still open to a 2nd player.
We're near K1, right? And if we move into the castle we'll be in K7?
The front doors are open, inviting you to get out of the rain. The maps from the little ghost also showed you the balcony in the back of the castle overhangs windows in the cliff below that lead into the catacombs. There also appears to be a single door into the castle near the balcony in the back. A quick exploration of the courtyard shows that the rusty iron portcullis’ in the curtain wall that would normally restrict access to the rear of the castle are unlocked. They’re sure to make a frightful noise if moved, but the hinges appear to be intact and functioning.
The campfire bead burns cheerily despite the wet weather and it’s effective against the slime burning it quickly when the flames make contact. Within minutes you’re able to calm the fire and reclaim the bead as the ashes of the slime are washed away in the rain. The courtyard of the castle is open before you. The large curtain wall has gates in either side that lead to the rear of the castle and the front doors remain open with their inviting light.
The wood beams of the drawbridge creak ominously as you cross and you’re glad the carriage stopped short at the guardhouse. As you move towards the rich warm light spilling from the open doors of the castle, the green growth clinging to the stones above the portcullis detaches and drops to envelop Flemming.
The monk easily avoids the green slime with a quick leap. The spongy mass creeps slowly back to the wall seeking to regain it's vantage point.
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