Aerys nods grimly. "I agree. We may as divide up all that we found in the crypt. Perhaps Valerya is best suited for the haunt siphons, as well as for throwing vials of holy water. If we each take a curative potion, one of us could hopefully reach Venedictos with it in the event of an emergency. Who is best suited to make use of the arrows?"
Valerya would most likely be the best for that, although if I had a bow, I wouldn't be too bad either.
My... lack of discipline does not endear me to bows. I would be just as likely to shoot one of you as I would the target. My brother Frømund always had the advantage with a bow. I will take one of those potions, though. When I begin The Anger, I am not always easy to heal.
"I can do it, Aerys. I suppose my bolts aren't gonna be particularly effective if we face undead spirits. Although... I could always try attaching an appropriately-sized flask of holy water to a crossbow bolt and..."
She then trails off, writing some notes for future projects.
You spend time preparing for tomorrow's early expedition into the ruins of Harrowstone...
The morning twilight is eerie and heavy as you head out of the Lorrimor Manse. The town is quiet and the roads are empty - Ravengro is still fast asleep. The cover of darkness hides you as you pass by the homes and houses that are nestled on the road up to the great ruined prison.
You arrive at Harrowstone. A sagging wood and metal gate set between a pair of stone guard towers once barred entrance, but the gates now hang negligently open, creaking softly in what wind touches the ruined bars...
Venedictos looks up and up and up at Harrowstone. Swallowing visibly, he shrugs, and with a too-casual, "You know, I hear the Worldwound is nice this time of year," turns around and starts to march back the way they came, waiting a second for somebody to stop him.
Aerys manages a nervous laugh. "Yes, but by now it's flooded with tourists. This will be much more fun." He begins to walk towards the crumbling gates.
Viktor puts his hands behind his head in a casual sign of boredom, although he is not quite as composed as he would have you believe. "Agreed. The Worldwound is nice, but I'd much rather visit in the off-season. This place hasn't quite the charm, but I'm sure it'll have all of the personality."
Torsten snares Venedictos easily enough, gently pulling the man around to face the prison - and his fears.
Oh, no you don't, Skald. You have the ear of your goddess, and I have this...
He draws his greatsword, it's massive blade barely visible in the soft morning light.
What can stop us, if we work together? Though I must concede, this place is maddeningly unnerving.
Tors moves up to the gates, pushing them aside.
I am no jailor, but welcome to prison.
Torsten's smile is sincere, if forced.
Her face a mask of grim determination, Valerya says:
"We also have the most important asset of all: information. We know our enemies and we have the means to deal with them. What more could we ask? Grim, stay close."
The dog takes her side, sniffing the air constantly.
The gate slowly creeks open, trembling every step of the way as if prepared to crash and shatter. Several old stone towers, their wooden roofs collapsed and crumbling walls thick with ivy, extends a further ten feet above the twenty-foot-high partially crumbled walls that surround Harrowstone. A small brick manor house can be seen up ahead, overgrown with thick sheets of gray-green ivy. The roof sags ominously, and the front door hangs askew.
A two-storey stone building looms in the centre of the prison grounds. Ivy and moss cling tenaciously to the walls, while above the wooden shingles of the roof are often missing entirely, exposing the wooden rafters of the upper structure to the sky. Here and there, leering stone gargoyles perch on the eaves, once functioning as drainspouts and decorations but now seeming almost to serve a more ominous role of sentinels. Many of these stone decorations have crumbled away and lie in ruined piles on the soggy ground below. Windows in the building’s facade are narrow and blocked by grills of rusty iron bars. Stone columns support a slumping wooden balcony over the building’s wooden front doors, both of which hang askew and reveal dark glimpses of chambers within.
As you pass through the gates, Torsten is shaking...
As you walk through the gates of Harrowstone, you are overwhelmed by a sudden rush of claustrophobia, and for a split second, it feels as though your skin is afire...
As they pass through the gates, Aerys tries his best to sound positive. "See? It's really not so bad once you get past the..." His voice trails off as he glances up at the silent gargoyles staring down at him. "...oh."
Noticing his companion's reaction, his head tilts in concern. "Torsten...?
I'm...fine. Just an...odd feeling, is all. If I didn't know better, I'd guess something doesn't want me here. But I AM HERE! AND I AM STAYING!
With these last words, Torsten raises his voice and is yelling in the direction of the prison.
...it will pass, just give me a minute (literally).
"There's still the Worldwound..." Vene begins, then falls silent.
Aerys smiles at Venedictos' comment. Then he nods to Torsten. "Take all the time you need. Whatever is here has waited for decades - it can certainly give us time for a breather."
Valerya plants a light touch at Torsten's arm, trying to reassure him but unsure on what to do.
"We're all by your side. We have weapons and knowledge."
In truth, this place scares me as hell. I think it scares us everyone. I just hope I can hold it together. For Petros.
You approach the facade of Harrowstone; as you pass by the brick manor, you can see that age has not treated this old ruin well. Moss is creeping up the foundation of the now-abandoned house, and ivy vines stretch across the withered grass over to the great prison ruins...
Aerys swallows audibly as they begin to advance. The dark, empty windows of the manor house seem to stare at him like eyes in a skull. "Should we begin our search in the house? I don't think I would enjoy the feeling that whatever might be in there could be creeping up behind us as we search the prison..."
Still shaking his head, Torsten turns toward the manor house.
I deem you correct, Aerys. I doubt there is anything or anyone living there, but it would be the work of only a few moments to be sure. Time well spent, in my opinion.
Torsten begins to stride toward the manor house ruin, his sword held openly in his right hand.