Re: Book 2, Chapter #1: Murder Most Foul
“That’s settled, then.” Alergast selected a parchment from a stack on his desk and began writing. “This,” he informed them as he carefully dipped his quill in an ink jar that sat not far away, “is a letter of introduction to Habe. The man can be . . . particular about people showing up unannounced at his facility.”
Alergast sighed as he wrote. “There were a couple of incidents when he first opened a couple of years ago. Farmboys thinking it would be good fun to torment a home full of crazy people. Bandits unaware that such people don’t, as a rule, have much gold.” He paused, reading the note, then nodded and scribbled a signature at the bottom. “We put a stop to that in short order, partially because of Habe’s precautions, and partially because of, well . . . .” The lieutenant held the paper up, eying his handiwork critically. “He trusts me, though, after I helped him out,” he thrust the letter towards Kellan, “so this should smooth things over with him at the beginning. Still, the man can be prickly, so,” he looked at Pisca, “please at least try to be on your best behavior.”
Shortly thereafter, the group found itself ahorse, cantering their way out of Sandpoint towards Habe’s Sanatorium. It was a pleasant few miles trotting through the mid-afternoon sun; the shady trees weren’t quite dense enough to block a cool, frolicsome breeze. The conversation and the company made it easy to forget the horrible threat besetting Sandpoint.
Before long, with some guidance from Kellan, the group arrived at their destination. The sanatorium—from the outside, at least—looked like an ideal location for the mentally ill to deal with their problems. A soft, green carpet of grass led up to a squat, stone building. It was three stories tall, with a stout, stone-flagged roof, located just in the lee of the limestone escarpment known as the Ashen Rise. It had solid, well-made oaken doors and narrow windows, no more than 4 inches wide, large enough to permit air circulation but far too small to allow access inside.
The building itself—if observed from the north—resembled nothing so much as the letter “F.” Stairs on the structure’s indented northwest side led up to a homey-looking veranda, equipped with several comfortable-looking chairs facing out towards the normally sun-dappled woods. The veranda itself stretched ten feet out in front of the Sanatorium’s front door, located in the southernmost side of the bottom of the “F” shape. The porch ran around the entirety of the northwest side of the building.
There didn’t seem to be any outside activity at the moment, but that could have been because the weather was turning cooler and the sky threatening rain. Billows of gray crowded the heavens, their dusty-charcoal wisps touching down on Ashen Rise until it was difficult to tell where the one ended and the other began. A chill wind picked up, carrying a sharp, tangy smell that hinted at incipient precipitation.
A simple horizontal pole for the tethering of horses sat to north of the sanatorium, on the very bottom of the “F” shape. The pole was supported by two thick wooden posts. It currently had no occupants.
“So,” said Kerr, sliding off his horse with very little difficulty. Well, not much difficulty. He smiled at Liseth; her horsemanship lessons seemed to be taking. “Here we are.” He looked at his longbow with some consternation. “Um, given what Lieutenant Barett said, should we take our weapons in or not?”
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:57, Fri 09 Oct 2015.