GM_Vesorianna Hawkran's page

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."

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..."

"The dungeons... there must be another way to reach them..." The ghostly woman rests an ethereal hand on the rubble of the room. "...He Who Writes in Blood... how is he writing beyond this prison?..."
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So, where are you going?

"The remaining spirits..." Mrs. Hawkran looks down at the floor for a while before meeting the party's eyes again. "...truth be told, I do not know where, exactly, all of them are."

"The Lopper and Marauder were consigned to the dungeons of Harrowstone... as was He Who Writes In Blood." She shakes her head. "The Piper and the Charlatan, however, were kept close to the guards' quarters--for reasons I cannot remember."

"Shatter them, break their forms, and I will keep them from rising anew."

"Once the four are dispatched for good, what will become of you, Mistress Hawkran?"

Her expression turns mournful. "Then I... I shall wait for my Lyvar in Pharasma's court. As long as I am here--"

She suddenly winces and doubles over in pain. "--AAAAGH!"

Her ghostly form becomes horrendously burned once again, and the smell of blood and burning flesh fills the room. When the smell fades, and she looks up at you, she seems... partially gone, somehow.

"He Who Writes In Blood... even now, he seeks to complete my name. He cannot walk beyond the walls of this place... how is he succeeding?"

"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."

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."

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..."

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.

Sorry for the delay in updating!

"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 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?"

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?"