Party 6

Benson marches into the room, expecting to finally find someone to question about the house. Instead he finds another empty room with an empty fireplace.

He circles like a prowling cat, looking below the chairs and in the fireplace -- any place that a poor pianist might be hiding.

At last with a frustrated grunt he flips his spear around and jams the butt if it into one of the windows. Amazingly it holds.

Benson looks appalled. Slowly, he says to himself, "What is this place?"
 
Varïs quickly moves past the sets of armor and into the room. Looking around he happens upon some figurines on the mantle of yet another fireplace. "This seems rather creepy." Looking around he breaks it in half and tosses it into the fireplace. "I'm not sure what's going on here but I don't like it."
 
"Should we continue on? I'm at a bit of a loss... And I don't like being kept in the dark without knowing anything about who is doing it, or why. Do you think it might have had to do with the curse the Vistani talked about? That dread prince?

Benson turns and looks back to the landing beyond the double doors. "I feel sure that someone is here, but then I felt sure that someone would be in this room also. This place seems to resist giving up the truth."

With that he crosses the landing and opens the next set of doors.
 
Library:

You open the other set of double doors on the second floor, and are greeted by the dark interior of a grand library. A wealth of knowledge sits on floor-to-ceiling bookshelves: weighty tomes of seemingly everything -- novels, treatises, encyclopedias, poetry, histories, just from a glance at the titles through what little light pours into the room. A sturdy rolling ladder is installed for the higher shelves, set neatly at the right edge of the room. An exquisite desk faces the hearth, upon the mantelpiece thereof hangs a framed portrait of a windmill perched atop a rocky crag. Two reading chairs flank the dark fireplace -- which, considering the massive size of this house and the gloomy mist in the surrounding region, you are beginning to suspect they needed a lot of them to keep this entire place from freezing during the winters.
 
Varïs follows Benson close behind as he goes into the next room. Making sure to still keep watch over the odd suits of armor on his path through the hallway. "Yes, it appears that this house is hiding more than it is showing. I fear finding out what is yet to be revealed."

As the doors open Varïs' eyes grow wide as he sees all of the books. Quickly checking the room for enemies he runs to the bookshelf peering at all the names, feeling the spines under his fingers. Looking for books about magic or warewolves/other unnatural creatures to see if it may give some insight into what is here. "The gods have given us a great gift, hopefully we can find something that can help us solve this mystery."
 
"I agree," Benson replies as he flips through a few books of passing interest. "Though I wish there were someone here we could get information from."

When Benson tries to pull a fourth book down from the shelf, he finds that it is affixed to the held by a hinge. There is a click as he pulls it, and the whole bookshelf slides away, revealing another room.
 
Varïs looks through the titles not finding much of interest. Looking to his left he sees Benson pull out an untitled book and as the book clicks the shelf slides, Varïs quickly pulls his hands away as not to get caught in between the books. Smiling to Benson, "Seems you've solved the case."
 
Hazel, who had been inspecting the weird alabaster figures, gestures for everyone to stand back. "I don't know what's back there but it would be best if I went in first. Just in case. Y'all stay close behind me though." She takes a deep breath and walks into the revealed room.
 
Library:

The bookshelf swings open at the touch, hidden hinges squealing in the gloom to reveal a dark, glum room meant to hide away from prying eyes. Dusty shelves line the room, similar in build to the outside but much more cramped and damp, packed with tomes decorated in eldritch runes and ominous symbols. There's a heavy chest at the end of the short hall, looming out of the darkness as if it harbored some coveted secret -- a secret worth dying for, apparently, as the skeleton slumped next to it may suggest to some.
 
With his spear, Benson gingerly opens the chest, revealing the remains of a spent tripwire for a type of dart trap. The skeleton in the room makes much more sense now.

Inside the chest he reveals some notebooks, but instantly sets them aside as he recognizes numerous divine spell scrolls. As he rifles through the other things, he says to the group, "Well, we know there are traps set around. One more thing to be on the lookout for. Oh hey, wow. This is the deed to this house, and more. A windmill? Maybe that's related to the motifs from downstairs. And this? It's a will. Interesting stuff, it seems we found the owner's private cache."

Benson passes the different documents around. "Here, let's spread out. Reppip, here's the will. Varïs, do you want to look over the deed to the windmill? Hazel, are you interested in any of these scrolls? I'd like to hang onto this one - it's to protect against poison. Try to find anything related to who owns the place, what's going on here, or maybe even how to get out."
 
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"Oh my. What an awful way to die. Glad it wasn't you or I..."
Reppip does his best to lighten up the darkening mood, but take off and begins to read the will.
 
Varïs checks around as Benson rifles through the chest. Not seeing much he turns and gets handed a deed, "not sure how much help I can be looking this over, I don't remember any windmills around. Maybe once we get out of here we should try to find it. Don't think I've ever been in a windmill before."

Varïs folds the deed gently and puts it in his pocket tapping it once it's inside. He resumes checking out the room.
 
Letter:

Clutched in the fallen skeleton's hand is a crumpled up letter, as if it was the last thing they had read before succumbing to the poison from the dart trap. It is written in a fine, elegant script, the high-quality parchment taking well to the deep black inks. It is stained slightly with drops of old, dried blood smeared across the words -- as well as a few tears.


------------------------------------------------------------------------

My most pathetic servant,


I am not a messiah sent to you by the Dark Powers of this land. I have not come to lead you on a path to immortality. However many souls you have bled on your hidden altar, however many visitors you have tortured in your dungeon, know that you are not the ones who brought me to this beautiful land. You are but worms writhing in my earth, blind to the reality of things.

You say that you are cursed, your fortunes spent. What are you cursed with but your own wickedness and sin? You abandoned love for madness, took solace in the bosom of another woman, and sired a stillborn son -- and yet you have the gall to ask for redemption. If you were ever deserving of redemption, it would not be in this lifetime, nor five lifetimes from now.

Cursed by darkness? Of that I have no doubt, for it is what makes up your shrunken black imitation of a heart. Save you from your wretchedness? I think not. I much prefer you as you are.

Your dread lord and master,

Strahd von Zarovich

------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Hazel reads the note aloud to the group. When she finishes she gives everyone a confused look, "Strahd von Zarovich? Anyone have any idea who that guy is? It's weird he's calling himself 'Dread Lord and Master'. Must have a high opinion of himself. Though it sounds like he definitely didn't have a high opinion of the people who lived here. Why would anyone be seeking redemption at this guy's hands? And by doing sacrifices of some kind? There's some shady stuff goin' on here. I don't really know what to make of any of it. Though I'm more convinced than ever that these people are dead or worse."
 
Benson looks over the other books on the shelves. "Strange. Just... how odd. It seems that whoever amassed these books was deeply interested in summoning, necromancy, and more. There's something about a cult of Osybus. That together with the note makes me think someone might have been desperate and seeking outside help seeking life after death. But... these rituals don't seem legitimately magical, either divine or profane. They're just nonsense. Wait, the note says something about them squandering their fortune, perhaps they spent it on these charlatans?"

"I suggest we close this back off and continue on."
Benson pulls the darts from the corpse and wraps them in a bit of cloth before sticking them in his pack. "I shudder to think what we'll find as we continue further, but again I don't see what choice we have." The priest's jaw sets determinedly, as he returns to the library and beyond.
 
Varïs looks through the books on the shelf, disgusted by the magics and rituals they present. "I feel like we should burn these in the event someone else finds them, I'd rather not have them even try some of these things. Even if they don't work."

Varïs rummages around trying to find something to write with whether it be charcoal or chalk. Managing to find a small piece he draws a crude Raven figure on the floor. "This Strahd character doesn't know true darkness and evils, the Shadowfell holds things much darker that shouldn't be released upon this realm."

With a nod off satisfaction, Varïs tries to grab the books and bring them to a nearby fireplace before heading to the next room or floor.
 
"I agree. I think it's time to put one of these fireplaces to use." Benson takes a tinderbox out of his backpack. "Keep your eyes on the stairs and the doors... just in case."
 
Library:

The books burn with relative ease once you get a fire burning, the parchment quickly crumbling to ashes as while the cloth or leather covers take a bit longer -- but eventually turning black and illegible over time. Once its fuel runs out the flame dies down as quickly as it sparked to life, and you are left to your own devices.

Servant's Room:

The last door is quite a bit smaller than the large, grand mahogany doors that you've already investigated on this floor; taking a more careful look at it, this door is instead completely average. Upon opening it, you find what appears to be a servant's room, dusty and undecorated; two lumpy straw mattresses lay bare on the floor, while an open closet nearby showcases a couple sets of maids uniforms neatly set aside. In the corner, a small dumbwaiter hangs open, presumably leading down to the kitchen you saw earlier.
 
"I see nothing of note in here. Let's continue on. Are we all ready?" Benson waits for nods or acknowledgement from everyone in the group. "Keep your wits about you. I know that keeping vigilant for this long can take its toll, but we cannot slack off now. Hazel and I will take the front."
 
Varïs peaks around in the servants room checking the straw mattresses for any notes. Not seeing anything he nods, "Yup, hopefully we can find the end of this too."
 
Balcony:

Finished with the current floor, apparent spoils in hand, you take one last stride across the empty main hall and continue to the staircase, onto to the third floor of this strange house. As you ascend you start to head the soft, yet unmistakable wailing of a young baby, followed by the sound of echoing footsteps on the wood above and a door creaking open (or is it closing?). You quicken your pace, suspicious of the strange machinations of this house. It couldn't be real... could it? Only one way to find out.

After another curve the red marble staircase delivers you to its full height, seemingly the pinnacle (though there is still ceiling above you). The air up here is choked with dust, barely visible except by your own carried light. Oil lamps along the walls are unlit, albeit partially filled, and between them autumn woodland scenes are carved into the wood itself. The infant's cries, seeming to source to your left are muffled by closed doors and poor insulation.

As you reach the very top of the staircase, you're greeted by the cold visage of a suit of armor, tangled in ancient cobwebs and far larger than even the ones you saw earlier -- truly this belonged to a giant of a man, perhaps a legend in the family. Despite its seeming abandonment it remains standing vigilant, facing the balcony railing from its stoic position along the wall. Facing you.
 
Balcony:

When Benson approaches the armor and starts to inspect it, it rattles slightly from the creaking of the floorboards underneath though not nearly as much as he would expect of a loosely hanging decoration. Perhaps there was some more structure underneath?

Suddenly there is a soft creaking of metal to his side, and when Benson looks to the armor's hands he notices that they're balled up into tight fists, the arms still posed firmly to each side of the body. Were they like that when the had come up the stairs? Before he can even consider the answer to that question the metallic fist flies forward in a blur, and he only just barely manages to get out of the way just in time.

Having sensed intruders in the house the armor releases itself, paying no mind to the now flying dust and cobwebs as a few heavy footfalls takes it off the stand, looming ominously over the group. Without skipping a beat it prepares for another swing.
 
Benson dodges one strike, then a second. He's struck hard in the jaw, and forced to give up ground. As he step back, the glass orb around his neck flashes with light so bright that it can nearly be felt. It's enough to send the next strike wide, and Benson returns with an attack of his own. He puts a hand up and calls searing radiance down onto the haunted armor. The construct deftly dodges aside, out of the area of the the spell.

Benson continues to barrage the metal armor with divine radiant blasts that come down from above its head. The steel glows hot, and the heavily armored creature keeps pressing forward. As it shifts its focus to Hazel, Benson casts a spell that jumps from his hand to Hazel's armor that causes the paladin's outline to glow a soft orange hue.
 
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Varïs is slow to act against the suit of armor as it towers over the group. Seeing it strike Benson and Hazel, Varïs keeps firing fire bolts while maintaining his distance. im glad I'm not up there I'd be down in one hit!

As Hazel strikes the armor and it starts to wobble Varïs knows he has to finish this now while his friends have managed to hold this monster off long enough. Casting magic missile he nods and says, "That will be a sure hit to kill this pile of metal. Are you all ok?" As he runs up to the rest of his party.
 
Reppip steps back, allowing those with more strength and bodily mass to do the majority of the tousling, though the little bard is proud to get a successful sticking in with his rapier. He singes out encouragements to the bravery of those who are actually making more contact.
 

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