Rolf avoids looking at Sadim, though the gesture seems to have little meaning as the other walks quickly from the Library, departing through the main doors after only a few minutes.

As for Alma, she opens her mouth as if to speak, but stops herself before a single word, looking over her shoulder and finding a chair a few steps away, which she pulls a few feet from the desk Rolf is working at, flopping down on it with gusto.

"I'm sorry, it's been a long day."  Alma's voice is light, though throaty and hollow as if from overuse... perhaps another clue to her distress.  "This is the third time I'll go through this today, and I'm not sure I have the strength for it, but if it ends up helping Vunik, I suppose it will all be worth it."

Alma brings her eyes up to meet Rolf's, punctuating the unasked question, though Rolf is patient and waits for the whole story before interjecting.  Alma sighs and rests her head on the chair back as she slouches, her eyes going up towards the ceiling as she continues.

"He's my uncle actually.  He used to be quite active in this guild from the stories he's told, though it has been some time.  He's getting along in years and to be quite honest, his grip on reality has been slipping for years..."  She pauses, sitting up a little straighter for a moment as she makes eye contact again with Rolf.

"He's not crazy or anything, he is quite smart and observant even in his old age.  He just sometimes has a little trouble making connections that seem obvious to everyone else around him or otherwise makes connections that seem unlikely to everyone else.  There seem to be little gaps in his mind that are hard to reconcile and can become quite tedious to argue with him over.  Eccentric is probably the best description..."

Alma tips her head back again, and as she continues her voice quickens into almost a rehearsed style.

"It all started maybe seven months ago.  Vunik was walking home alone after drinking at the Barred Blade, quite drunk.  He detoured somewhere through the more affluent districts and accosted some nobles, running out in front of their horses spooking the animals and then berating them, Duke Bran, and others...  Needless to say he ended his night in the city prisons, though he didn't seem to calm down or sleep and continued to argue and pester the guards..."

"Well, I beseeched the Magistrate for clemency, and at first I had thought the plea had been heard, though in hindsight perhaps the punishment was much worse...  He was sent to Witten Asylum for treatment and I suppose at first you could even say he was improving, his mind engaged like it hadn't been for some time.  But before long his condition seemed to worsen again.  He became irrational, boastful, he ranted about his long unfulfilled promise and some great responsibility he had been given, a 'crowning achievement' he called it."

"Of course I have seen turns like that before so I hardly thought anything of it at the time... but the last time I went to see Vunik he told me he had a great secret.  He was animated... I didn't press him on it, I thought it more of the same and the visit wasn't long.  I went again the next day to see him and I was told he was 'unavailable'.  The next day I had the same response and again every day that week.  This was over a month ago.  I wrote letters asking for updates to his condition, pleading to be allowed to visit him again, but all of them were returned to me unopened."

"So I appealed to Doctor Heraladus himself...  I had thought he would give me the same treatment, but he responded to me this morning.  His message was short and said that Vunik was under strict doctor supervision, that his visitation privileges had been suspended indefinitely..."

Alma pushes herself up on her seat, her hand reaching up to her face as she wipes her lower eye, though her voice does not break.

"I feel foolish for not realizing there was something wrong when Vunik's condition changed.  He has never been self important or pompous...  But I will not abide another moment where nothing is done.  I know that Vunik is in danger and that this great secret no doubt is what is keeping him in isolation.  He has paid any debt he owes to society, and now his only chance is to be freed from Witten Asylum.  I implore you to help him.  To free him from that place."
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:18, Tue 24 Dec 2019.

Rolf sits back and listens to Alma, quietly and with his full attention.  It is clear the poor woman really cares for her Uncle and is concerned for his safety.

As she speaks, Rolf ponders the situation and attempts to visualize how Vunik would come across to a casual observer, and in his case a worker at the Witten Asylum.

Finishing her tale she stands and wipes a tear from her eye.

"Please sit. I insist." Rolf says as he motions her to her chair and stands himself.  Attempting to calm her he begins to pace and go through a mental exercise of assessing the situation.

"You love your Uncle dearly, that much is plain.  He sounds like he is a smart and wise man, but is getting old and his mind is not always in the present moment."

"I have heard it is common for the aged to lose themselves in bygone era's and not be aware of what is happening in the here and now.  They can become more and more oblivious to their surroundings."

He stops his pacing for a moment and adds as he pats her on her shoulder, "I'm sorry this is happening to your Uncle.  It's not fair and I wish there were a cure."

Changing gears he says as he continues to pace, "Have you heard of the term Novacula Occami?  It means when there is more than one explanation for something, the least complicated one is usually correct."

He pauses a moment to let that concept sink in.  Before he continues he moves his chair closer to Alma and places a hand softly on her forearm.

Mustering up as much sympathy he can in his voice he says, "It is possible that the workers at the asylum are part of some plot to prevent him from achieving some outcome, but there is a more plausible explanation.  Since he was a member of this guild for some time, it is a fair assumption he can weave magic.  Combine this with a weak hold on reality, and you have a very dangerous person."

Sitting back Rolf puts his arms behind his head and looks upwards.  "Despite his age I suspect he could still be a threat to those around him, including yourself.  Still, it would be worth a visit to the asylum and see if some sort of arrangement can be met with Doctor Heraladus where you can check on him and make sure he's okay."

Clasping his hands together he adds, "Are you free to visit him this very moment?  I could use a break from my studies and a breath of fresh air."

Alma is quiet while Rolf speaks, though as his purpose becomes clear, Alma's face drains of most of the splotchy pink, her eyes widen, and her head begins to shake back and forth in an emphatic 'no'.

"Oh, no you mustn't think that sir...  My uncle is eccentric perhaps but he has never been out of control... just difficult and certainly never violent."

Alma looks into Rolf's eyes, her own narrowing just slightly.  "You would know that if you saw him on your own or even if you saw Witten!"  Alma seems to be getting more and more animated, though her motions are sluggish and the shadows of the dark library at nighttime cast deep circles of exhaustion under her eyes.  "The place is just awful, most spend all their time there alone, or shouting across the room at people who aren't even there...  And most of the workers there are armed, carrying out awful things when any of the patients get out of hand!"

Alma slumps back, a hand rising to her face, hiding one eye and the bridge of her nose as her face droops.  For several moments she is quiet, though eventually she looks back up, her face set in stubbornness, though the tract of a single tear shines in the dim light of the lanterns.  "I'm sorry."  Alma breaths.  "Like I said it's been a long day.  I would go with you but I don't think I'll be of any help.  They know me there, quite well by now I'm afraid, and they won't even let me in the building at this point with all the fuss I've caused.  Visiting hours are over now anyway.  Go and look yourself, and if you still wish me to come after that I will be happy to accompany you, though I can't imagine what it will help."

OOC:  Visiting hours are 0800 to 2000 at the asylum and the current time is still about 2230.  Unless you plan to break in on the place, you'll have to wait until the morning.  Alma is also convinced that her presence will only hinder you.

Rolf thinks some more.  He sits backs and listens to Alma.  It is clear to him she will undersell any potential threat her Uncle may be, and likely the Witten asylum the opposite.  With the truth somewhere in the middle.

"Perhaps it is best if you stay away for now.  I will go first thing in the morning and pay your Uncle a visit.  I'll push hard to see him directly so I can see how is he doing overall health wise." he says as he stands.

"It is unlikely they will want to release him though, but I will do my best."

Considering their options he adds, "Do you know how the asylum is funded?  It may be that a sizable bribe will be needed to ultimately get him home."

"If the topic of payment is brought up should I pursue it?  Is that an avenue you don't mind taking?"

OOC:  I will go to the Witten asylum first thing, 0800, on the following morning.

"How is it funded?"  The question is obviously something of a surprise to Alma, who is caught aback, thinking for a moment before she responds.  "I'm not entirely sure...  I remember hearing that some of the patients were drug addicts back when my uncle was admitted, though I tried not to pry into anyone else's personal life when I visited.  I can't imagine that anyone would pay to stay there if they had the option to leave..."

When Rolf finishes the question, asking if a bribe may be appropriate, Alma teeters for a moment, her expression unsure as if she is deciding what to say, or deciding whether to say something at all.  Her eyes peer towards Rolf's, the dark brown irises flickering back the dim light of the lanterns.  In the end however, she gives one ardent nod of her head, standing up from her chair again.

"I cannot claim to have limitless funds, but I have no small sum of my own making and what Vunik has left me."  Her smile is paper thin as she turns to leave the library.  "But I would give all of it to get him out of there...  If a bribe is called for, then I will pay it and gladly."

---

His mind somewhat rattled by the conversation of the previous evening, Rolf walks down the streets, deep in thought as he pays only sparse attention to his surroundings.  Overhead, a low, thick layer of cloud hangs like a corpse across the early morning sky, trapping in the cold and gloom of the night.  Rolf's breath hovers in front of him, a thin, white cloud which dissipates into nothingness as he breathes in.  Looking left, Rolf notices a wooden sign standing in front of a sunken-looking building of dirty masonry, the sign showing a nicked and rusting broadsword.  Checking his direction, Rolf looks ahead, and as he expects, finds an aging street sign, Trobley R.  Rolf quickens his pace, turning left and going on towards the asylum.

He had been somewhat surprised when he had asked for directions this morning, that they had included the landmark of The Barred Blade, a tavern of little remark.  It had even taken Rolf a moment to place where he had heard the name (for surely he avoided this part of Craine as oft as was possible) before he had realized it was the very establishment Vunik had been drinking on the night of his arrest.

Rolf walks on, his thoughts on Alma's expressions and her hesitance of the night prior, he had pressed her for more information, for whatever it was she had not said, though the woman had merely smiled and wished him luck, and to let her know if there was anything she could do to help.

Rolf is stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes finally glancing ahead again, expecting to see the edges of the grounds of the asylum on his right...  Instead his attention is hijacked by another sign, this one hanging off a larger, two story building to his left.  Painted in horrifying detail, the sign depicts the face of an aging man, his hair and beard tattered and unkept, his skin marred, and his eyes unfocused and wild.  For a moment, Rolf thinks he must have found his asylum... though after a closer look at the building, he lets go of the impulse, for many of the shutters, and even some of the windows are open wide, hardly the sort of security one would expect from an institution for the insane.

After only a few more minutes though, the asylum comes into view.  The massive, 30-foot-high brown and red brick building stands in stark contrast to the grey sky above.   Tangled vines climb their way up the whole face of the building, strangling much of the brick and weaving their way onto the roof above.  Three rows of windows climb up the sides as well, with those on the ground floor small, high, and spaced widely apart while those on the second and third level are larger and fitted with glass. The third floor appears barely half the size of the first two, a short and stout tower of brick and vine climbing out of the lower level roof.  At the center of the base, two heavy wooden doors on the asylum’s south wall break the red and brown facade.

Rolf observes all this from behind a wrought iron fence which wraps around the structure, a stone's throw back from the walls of the building in each direction.  The fence's shafts are an inch thick and square in shape.  Spaced some four inches apart the shafts themselves rise up to almost three times Rolf's height where the iron tapers off to jagged points. Two large, swinging gates are built into the fence some several yards ahead, hanging from thick and rusted hinges.  Leading from the gate, a chipped stone path winds its way to the doors, bordered on either side by thick tufts of grass and overgrowth.

For now at least, it appears the gates are closed, and the building itself and the yard in front appear quiet.

OOC:  it is 0755 on the 28th of October.  I stopped to give you a chance to react and also, because I'm going to have to put this down for the night anyway - I might as well let it go up.


Image on the hanging sign
This message had punctuation tweaked by the GM at 05:14, Wed 01 Jan 2020.

Even as Rolf asked Alma how the asylum was funded, he suspects he knows the answer.  Likely it is mostly by the state, but he is sure they will accept monies on the side to ensure better care or even possibly release someone if the pay is high enough.  He can't imagine those that work there are paid what they should be.  In truth no matter how high the pay Rolf would never want to have that job.  He can't imagine the toll it would take on a person's mental health.

Of course they may be reluctant to release a dangerous inmate.  Especially if they might hurt someone and they are found out to have had them in their custody.  Certainly questions would be asked as to why they released a threat to society which would cause them problems to say the least.

However it is not clear how much Alma's uncle is a threat.  Rolf suspects he's not as harmless as Alma suggests.  A delusional mage is threat no matter the age, but being out of touch with reality does not necessarily mean they are defacto violent.  There's no way to tell without meeting him.

The following morning he wakes up early and washes up for the day before having a light breakfast of oatmeal and cows milk.  A bit bland as he has no spice to add, nonetheless it sticks to ones ribs fairly well and should hold off hunger till well past midday at the minimum.

He walks with purpose along the streets of Craine and pulls his cloak in tighter to ward off the cold.  He shivers a bit in response to the cold damp chill that invades ones bones.  But soon enough he warms up from the walking and the cold bothers him less.

He notes the Barred Blade tavern is along the way and wonders if a visit around the dinner hour might a good idea.  "Perhaps I might get an unvarnished opinion of the man if I speak to the patrons there." he mutters to himself as he keeps walking.

The mage stops dead in his tracks at the sight of the crazed man depicted in the sign.   He thinks that perhaps he has found Witten, but the open windows tells Rolf there is no way it houses deranged individuals. He looks the sign over carefully before moving on.  It may not be the place he seeks, yet he wonders what that building might be.

Before too much longer he finds himself at his destination.  He's a bit early and it appears they are not open for business yet.

He looks over the gate and decides to look around as he waits.

OOC:  Rolf will take a walk around the perimeter and note its layout and defenses.  He'll check the gate to see if it's locked.  And if there's time he'll look for a place to wait where he can watch the front door for activity.  Also, he will try to remember if he knows (area knowledge check) what the building with the crazed man is.

Rolf continues his walk along the high fence-line, slowly making his way towards the thick iron gates.  He eyes the thick, weeded lawn of the asylum and the exterior walls, looking for any previously unseen defenses, though apart from the large and heavy looking doors, and the prison-work of vines that surround the building, it does not seem there are any specific defenses, or defensive positions to speak of.  Though overgrown, the lawn is short enough to keep anything larger than a squirrel from being hidden, and apart from the building itself only a few shrubberies along the fence provide any significant cover.

On the opposite side of the gate, Rolf walks up towards a wide plaza, some fifty feet across of worn stone.  On the other side, Rolf notes an old street sign which marks each way as Trobley R.  and Van Gowen W.  On each side of the plaza the street is packed with small shops and stores with only narrow alleyways in between.  Even now some of the merchants are opening their storefronts and setting up their wares, though Rolf notices that more of the buildings have their windows and doors boarded shut.

Rolf steps up to the massive iron gates, which reach just as high as the fence on either side.  Their construction is solid, though old, with intricate latticework of the thick, black iron.  The hinges themselves run five high and each is as thick as a pair hands, stacked one on top of the other.  Set in the center of the gate, an intricate-looking key lock sets a thick bolt across the narrow space between the two portals... and Rolf has the immediate impression that the whole of the outer fenceline was built specifically to keep things from getting through or climbing over... not that it would do a very good job of stopping him.

As Rolf completes the thought, his eyes glance upwards towards the hefty wooden doors of the asylum opening inward, and two men walk down the stone path towards the iron gates.

Each of them seems armed for mercenary work, with mail shirts that cover down to their wrists and thick leather pants and boots over the rest of them.  Each of them wears a light mace at their hip, which hangs off a belt wrapped around the chain links.

One of the men goes towards the center of the gate, taking a small key ring off his hip which he uses to unlock the iron clasp, pulling one side of the portal open with the grinding sound of squealing rust.  The other man however, a thick muscled northerner with black hair and scars streaked across his face, walks straight towards Rolf, putting his face nearly directly into the bars as he stares the smaller mage down.

"An what are you doin standing here then?"

As Rolf takes a walk along the length of the Witten Asylum he notices the surrounding shops and the empty buildings peppered in and amongst the merchant businesses like missing teeth in a man who practices poor dental care.  It is plain economic activity is not going so well here.  But poor foot traffic and struggling shops are likely to be expected being so close to an aslyum for the insane.

He wonders what he's doing here and what, if anything, he may be able to accomplish.  Uncle Vunik was sentenced to be here, be it fairly so or not, by a justly appointed Magistrate.  And Witten is well within it's right to dictate an inmates care.

The mage lazily lets his hand brush the side of the thick, cold, wrought iron gate.  Only broken by equally stout gate set before a chipped stone path leading to the Witten's main doors.

As he drifts, two armed men approach and unlock the gate.  In response to their query Rolf smiles.

"My name is Rolf Erikson and I represent the Templar's college.  I wish to speak to a Doctor Heraladus.  Is he available?"

The guard goggles Rolf for a moment, his flat smile broken by several black gaps where teeth had previously been.  His eyebrow ruffle in a look of confusion that lasts for just a moment before his face softens and he answers back with a raucous laugh.  "An I be wanting to see the Archbishop!"  The man arches his back as the laughter echoes skyward.  "Ron, an this one's lookin to see Dr. Heraladus!  Asks if he's available!"

The other guard looks towards Rolf, though he rolls his eyes in annoyance rather than make any real answer as he opens the other face of the gate, the entire pathway now open up towards the asylum.

"Listen kid, ain't no appointments to be had..."  The first guard looks back at Rolf, his demeanor hardening slightly as he puts a light hand on the mace hanging from his belt... though he does not make any maneuver to draw it free.

"An we don't much care for trespassers so ye just best be on your way."

OOC:  Make a reaction roll, or if you would rather, a roll against the social skill of your choice in lieu of a reaction roll (diplomacy, fast talk, sex appeal, etc.)

Rolf stays placid as the men clearly don't want to deal with him.  In truth, Rolf doesn't really want to be here either and would rather be studying, or doing anything else really.

He smiles.  "I'm afraid I really should speak to...the Archbishop?  My what a wonderful title.  I'm sure he's busy so I won't take much of his time."

Deciding a direct approach may be best.  He lays some of his cards at least on the table.

"I'm here in regards to a Lord Vunik.  Members of his family are pulling any lever they can to see him.  If I leave more will simply come, with each step becoming more precarious."

"I hope to broker some peace treaty and not let this get out of hand.  Are you sure the Doctor won't want to see me?"

OOC: I crit rolled on a diplomacy check.

The guard is somewhat taken aback by Rolf answer and quiet confidence.  His arrogant smirk flattens in a moment as he looks back to his mate, then back to Rolf.

After a moment of indecision, the guard walks over to the other at the head of the gate and whispers a few words before the other answers, loudly enough for Rolf to hear, "Let 'em in then, let Mr. Strogg deal with 'em."

Smiling despite himself, Rolf walks along, entering the gateway and starting up the slightly rising, chipped stone path towards the asylum.  The first guard falls in lockstep with him, his chain armor clinking softly as he murmurs inaudibly to himself.  Together, the two step through the open doorway and into the dimly lit room beyond.

Rolf's first impression of the facility is similar to what he felt as he looked at the outside of the building... though perhaps deep down Rolf knew that any business that would allow its exterior to be choked by weeds and vines probably did not care much more for the state of the inside.  The room is small, perhaps only twenty feet square, with iron, gated bars that lead to long corridors which stretch away on both the left and right wall.  Two torches along the back wall are lighted, augmenting the natural light spilling in from the open doorways and filling the room with the musky stench of smoke.

Towards the back of the room, a small wooden desk is the only furniture, splotchy with black and nicked and marred with various cuts and bruises.  On top of the desk, a small ledger sits with an inkwell and pen.

Behind the desk, a man sits, more muscular even than Rolf, who has used a significant portion of his recent free time working on his own fitness and lifting.  The man is completely bald, and his right forearm is tattooed with a coiled serpent with its head terminating just below the man's wrist, its mouth open and fangs exposed, waiting to strike...

On the floor around the desk, three mastiff sized rottweilers lay, one snoring lazily in a corner, though the other two pick their head up in interest as Rolf walks in the door.  The guard walks towards the man at the desk, and each says something to the other that Rolf misses entirely, for he is far too distracted by the screams that suddenly pulse from the corridor to the right.

"Get off me!  STOP!  STOP!  Get off!"  It is a woman's voice which starts with horror and slowly shifts to choked sobs...

"Well."  The muscled man says, loud enough to be heard over the strangled screams and sobs which go on and on.  "That's Marba..."  The muscled man, which Rolf takes to be Mr. Strogg, explains.  "We are treated to this several times a day..."  His smile is thin and impatient and he quickly continues in the same loud voice.

"I hear you represent the mage's guild...  What can I do to be of service?"

OOC:  Nice work on the crit success!  You earn one hero point in addition to the fruits of the roll.  The guard is still standing by Mr. Strogg, who seems to want his own explanation.  One more roll for reaction or social skill.  Also, if you wish to look at the ledger without Mr. Strogg noticing, roll vs. Observation, or IQ-5.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:22, Mon 06 Jan 2020.

Rolf stands at the gate, unsure if his plea to see the Archbishop will fall on deaf ears.  To his delight, if one can suppose to use that word at the prospect of entering an asylum for the insane, the men beckon him to follow them inside.  He walks along with the two guards, one in front, the other to his side, along the stone path.

He wonders how many poor souls have passed this way.  How many times has this run down exterior and worn path been the last they saw of the outside world?  But the mage has no alternatives to the ethical dillema before him.  Mental illness is something he knows little of.  And certainly at some point if one's mental faculty becomes so warped and poor that they can't take care of themselves then something has to be done.  He just wishes they had a better place to exist.

He sighs.  Maybe it doesn't matter.  Maybe most wouldn't know the difference. he thinks sourly as he passes through the Witten's front doors.

Rolf's eyes take a moment to adjust to the dimly torch lit interior.  He spots two barred hallways and three large menacing looking dogs next to a battle scarred desk.  Behind said desk sits a thickly limbed bald man, of indeterminate age and sporting an impressive serpent tattoo on his right arm.

For whatever reason he likes Strogg almost immediately.  At least more so than the two guards who greeted him.

"Marba sounds like a handful." he states plainly as he does his best to remain calm around the dogs.  Undoubtedly the dogs are not there for petting.  When trouble arises the mage is sure that they will attack on Strogg's word.  Rolf is not generally afraid of, or has any phobia of dogs, but they are a threat.  He also knows dogs can sense fear so he mantains a calm demeanor.

Repeating himself he says, "Yes.  I am Rolf and I'm here on behalf of the mages guild, in regards to a Lord Vunik.  I was hoping to both see him and the Archbishop if he is available."

"Relatives of Vunik wish for his release and I suspect will keep pulling every lever they can to get their way.  I'm hoping to broker a truce that will mollify them."

"Can you...' he adds as his voice trails off before saying "help me?"

OOC: The Persuasion spell was successful.  But the diplomacy check even with the bonus was not.  I use a hero point to reroll (twice) the diplomacy skill check and was successful on the 2cd reroll.  Though I was able to make it without needed the spell...

Rolf, hoping to get the best results he can with a straight-forward approach, comes right out with his intentions to Mr. Strogg.  Rolf does this despite the distraction of Marba, who screams, "STOP!  Stop!  GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!" through most of Rolf's words, causing the young man to speak a little louder than he had intended.  Somewhere along the way, something seems to go astray for almost as soon as Rolf begins speaking for Mr. Strogg furrows his brow, his expression plainly confused and perhaps bristling with a slight annoyance...  Rolf continues right along however, putting the full weight of his magic behind his argument, and with the simple phrase, "Help me..." casts a spell to pull the administrator's disposition in his favor.  Luckily, by this point, Marba has seemed to break down into only moderately intrusive sobs.

As Rolf releases his spell, Mr. Strogg winces slightly, the single guard still standing by his side glances back and forth between Strogg and Rolf, though Mr. Strogg shakes it off in a moment and puts his face towards the ledger sitting on the desk in front of him.

"Vunik... Vunik... Vunik..."

The man's voice has a rich and deep timbre, though his hands are callused and hardened and his face bears various small scars.  His eyes scroll down the page, apparently some sort of list of names...

"No... I'm afraid I don't have a Vunik here...  If he is here, he is not allowed visitors at this time."

Mr. Strogg Looks up at Rolf, a single eyebrow raised.

"I'm afraid I must check with Dr. Heraladus before letting anyone see anyone other than those allowed visitors...  As for the Archbishop..."  Mr. Strogg pauses, his eyes locking with Rolf's for a moment as if waiting for some cue but the moment passes.  "The nearest Archbishop is in Raphael... so I can't help you there."

Mr. Strogg sits back in his chair for a moment and glances up at the guard beside him.

"Though I think I know of the lady you are talking about, very persistent...  How's this?"  Strogg glances up at the guard beside him.  "Kendrick, go up and see if Dr. Heraladus will allow this man to see Vunik, in the meantime, please come and take a look at the open wing of the facility.  I hope you will find that we take the care and security of the patients quite seriously, and thusly return to the Mage's guild satisfied enough to put this issue down once and for all."

OOC:  Sorry for the time it took for the response.  I have a couple of notes here.  The guard mentioned earlier the archbishop, this was meant as a sort of joke...  You asked to see Dr. Heraladus, who is generally busy and hard to get a hold of, the guard responded with 'and I want to see the archbishop!' basically taking the inaccessibility to the extreme while poking fun at you.  It was akin to saying to someone at a fast food restaurant "I want to talk to your boss!" and them responding, "and I want to talk to the queen of England!"  It doesn't seem that came across.  There is no Archbishop in Craine and your character would know that.  Also, a note on mind control magic.  Most, if not all of it, can be resisted.  In this case, your spell was resisted which means you spent the full fatigue and got no effect out of it - that being said you still managed a good diplomacy roll, and Mr. Strogg didn't recognize the fact that you were trying to influence him with magic.  That is a dangerous game to play however when you find yourself up against more powerful people or other mages.  Just fair warning.

There's a lot going on in the room and Rolf finds it hard to focus.  His mind shifts from the scary looking dogs, to the hardened, rough hewn Strogg, to the shrieking woman, and back again.  By the gods how do they put up with her screaming?

His brain struggles keeping an even keel and not being distracted.  It may be why the guards earlier jest has whooshed over his head and stayed there.  Usually he'd have caught up by now and realized his gaffe, but even the smartest can sometimes not follow a conversation and make a mistake.  And this is one of those times.

Rolf shrugs and shakes his head at his folly once Strogg points it out, "Oh, I'm sorry.  I meant the good Doctor.  I'm not sure what I was thinking there..." he says wistfully.

He recoils slightly as Strogg says he has no Vunik here, but realizes it's likely he is here, but isn't in the list to be available for visitors.  Just like Alma said.

He brightens at the sound that Doctor Heraldus will be notified he's here and that possibly he will be allowed to see Alma's uncle.

Agreeing to see the open wing he say, "Sounds good.  I would like that.  The more I see and can report on the better."

"I would love no better than to put this matter to bed and not have to return.  Vunik's relatives are persistent to say the least."

OOC:  I misread the Archbishop line, but it still works I think.  Using the spell was a calculated risk.  I thought Strogg might not resist, but the Doctor certainly would.

Rolf feels a little frazzled, what with all the screaming drowning out his thoughts, though he is pleasantly surprised by the favorable reaction by Mr. Strogg.  With any luck, he will only need to wait a short while in order to get his appointment after all...

In a matter of moments, Mr. Strogg has plucked his own keyring off his belt and walked over towards the doorway to Rolf's right, inserting one of the keys and turning back the heavy bolt.  The Rotweillers, even those that had been sleeping previously, seem to key in on the movement, their heads perking up and following the thickly built man as he moves about the room.

"Baccus!"  Strogg barks through the iron doorway even before the thing is open.  Before even the doorway is pulled back, another of the guards, laden in thick chainmail and carrying a mace at his hip like the others, arrives in the doorway.  "See Master Rolf around the east wing...  He's from the Mage's Guild."  Mr. Strogg looks back at Rolf for a moment, then leans in to Baccus, whispering something that the mage cannot manage to hear.  Baccus nods and Rolf, trying not to make too much of the moment, merely smiles and walks towards the open archway.

It takes Rolf a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light of the corridor.  The little natural light seems to come only from within the cells on the right side of the hallway, tiny barred windows which spill only the thinnest bit of light into the corridor beyond.  Providing most of the real light here, three ensconced torches line the left wall, one every twenty feet or so, which send plumes of oily smoke wallowing upward towards the arched stone ceiling.  Though the smell of burned oil and smoke lies thick in the room, it is far from unwelcome, for lingering underneath the odor of the smoke Rolf can smell the musk of dead, wet air and something else with a putrid tang that he tries not to dwell on.

Floor, ceiling and walls are all made of cut stone and masonry, though various, large green patches of pungent mildew speckle the low walls and thin, cloudy puddles of water decorate the floor of the narrow corridor.  There seem to be a total of seven cells on the right, each some ten feet wide and deep, with the corridor ending in a large, wooden door, though it seems to turn sharply left and continue on.

Rolf's entry seems to have caused a bit of a stir with the residents, for immediately as he steps in, Marba wails again from immediately to the right, and somewhere less discernible farther down the hall a man's voice screams "Get them off me!"  In the cell just ahead and to the right, a man with thick and greying, unkempt hair steps forward, gesturing wildly for Rolf to come closer.

Somewhere behind him, Rolf hears the bolt of the iron door slide home and he glances backwards, seeing Mr. Strogg step away from the iron portal to proceed back to his desk, with Kendrick, the other of the guards, walking through the doorway on the other side of the office, presumably fetching Dr. Heraladus.

Rolf puts his attention back ahead, glancing in towards the cell to his right.  Spartanly decorated, the room has only a wooden slab, a small trunk in the far corner, and a privy that lurks in the shadows of the other corner.  The single window, perhaps only a foot wide and tall, has two sets of two sturdy bars an inch thick which cross, leaving a total of nine openings barely big enough to fit through a hand.  A woman, presumably Marba, is kneeled down on the slab, a thin and ragged blanket draped over her body, with only the top of her head and her thin hair exposed.  She moans as she rocks lightly back and forth, though it seems that her screaming fit has been put off for the moment...

At the end of the hallway, another of the guards turns the corner, a leather sap in his hand, which he smacks loudly against the wall.

"They are all completely insane."  Baccus leans in to Rolf's ear before the mage has a chance to move on.  "Some of them don't say anything at all, but most of em you can't keep quiet.  They'll say anything that pops into their heads."

Though Rolf has little experience with mental illness, he thinks he can understand what Baccus is talking about... especially given the scraggly man just ahead whose thin arms are now so far out of the cell that his chin and cheeks are pressed all the way against the bars, stretching the skin near his nose and mouth.  All the while his hands gesture more and more expressively, beckoning Rolf closer.

As Strogg moves to open the right hand doorway, Rolf notes the dog's ears perk up.  He wonders what would happen if any of the mentally ill patients tried to escape this way and they encountered the Rotweillers.  He doesn't think anyone would last long in their powerful jaws.

A heavily armored guard named Baccus appears at Stroggs beck and call and takes him to see the east wing.  Strogg whispered something to the guard that he was unable to hear and he ponders briefly if he could be walking into a trap, but shakes off the thought quickly.  There's no reason to suspect anything afoul, at least not yet.  Plus he can defend himself if he needs to.

Inside the doorway the light is low and his eyes take a few seconds to adjust, though his nostrils recoil at the scent within.  A mix of burnt oil, smoke, dank wetness, and what he suspects is unwashed bodies permeate every corner of the east wing.

Seeing better after a few brief seconds, what lay before him is grim, grim indeed.  A hallway pocked with puddles of stagnant water leads the way ahead.  Mold covered stone and masonry houses seven spartan cells, each with their own tortured souls therein.

He looks at Marba and pity's her.  The poor creature's mind is totally wracked with madness.  He wonders if there might be some way to learn how to cure insanity permanently.  Such magic would be powerful and he suspects difficult to learn.  But worthwhile indeed if he can ease the suffering of even a handful of individuals.

Another guard appears with a sap, which he pounds on the wall in way he presumes to get the denizens to quiet down.  He suspects this may cow some of them, but likely not for long.

"I agree they are all greatly disturbed." he says in reply to Baccus.  "Whatever you get paid to work here everyday is not enough."

Thinking philosophically he adds, "A wise man once said when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you.  But what of the man who watches over the one doing said gazing?  Is he too affected?  I would hope not."

As he speaks Rolf hedges closer to the scraggly beckoning man.  Standing well clear of his long reach he says "Dear man.  What would you have of me?"

Rolf steps closer to the old man, who waves all the more frantically the closer Rolf comes.  The mage stops however, an arms reach and more away from the cell, not trusting anyone so animated in an institution of the insane.  The man continues to gesture for a moment, though as it becomes apparent Rolf will step no closer, he gives a wide-eyed look at Baccus, before turning his attention back to Rolf and whispering in a harsh voice.

"I'm innocent!"  The man's face sags into an expression of despair.  "You have to get me out of here!  The horrors of this place...  I fear the night... this place changes you!"

The man becomes animated again, gesturing for Rolf to come closer.

"You have to help me!  Anything!"

Down the hall, another scream rips through the tense moment, "Get them off of me!"  Cutting across the old man's last words and Marba's soft moaning.

They all say they are innocent.  But who is truly is.

Rolf stands in front of the man and feels deep pity. He seems far more lucid than the others here.  But looks can be deceiving so he is not so sure.

The mage ponders what it must be like here when sun sets.  He can only imagine what this place is like then.  Literally your own nightmares come true.

He wonders too how anyone would ever able to truly rest, or get a good nights sleep, with all the constant screaming.  Even just the stink alone would keep you awake.

Any time spent here must change a man, and not for the better.

"What is your name?" the mage asks.  "If I can see Doctor Heraladus I will ask him about you." he says as he shifts his weight in preparation of leaving.

There is more to see of the East wing he is sure and honestly he just wants to keep moving.  The place is rough on ones sensibilities and is worse than what he was expecting.  Which wasn't much.

"Max.  Max Orwelian."  The man answers, though when Rolf mentions that he will mention his name to Dr. Heraladus, the man winces, stepping away from the bars.  Rolf takes it as a sign to move on and begins walking down the long hallway, looking through the cell doors on the right.

In the next cell on, a middle aged woman with long, tattered hair and worn and stained clothes stands in the middle of her cell, staring at her hands which she turns over one at a time, watching with intent both palm side and the back, each one seemingly just as impressive each time she turns it over.  She does not seem to notice or pays no attention to Rolf and Baccus.

Another cell on, and another of the inmates presses his face against the bars, as Rolf approaches, holding onto the bars on either side.  "Hey!"  the man whispers harshly as Rolf passes.  "Greenwort, I need it!"  Rolf continues on walking, barely the man cursory attention but not coming too close.  "I can't take it anymore!  I need Greenwort!"

"Addict."  Baccus explains with a single word, grabbing his sap which he bangs on the stone wall, making a loud slapping noise. The man shrinks back from the bars of the cell instantly quieting... though after a moment he returns back to watching with his faced pressed against the bars, eyeing Rolf with hungry eyes.

The next cell is empty with its thick iron door ajar.  It does still have all the same features of the other cells, the small slate, the wooden chest, and the privy in the corner, though this one also has a wide, brownish red stain that spreads three feet or so in a wide circle across the middle of the cell.

In the next cell, a man is on hands and knees, seemingly searching for something...  Rolf takes a moment to watch as the man cranes his head around the edges of his slate and reaches down with his hand, grabbing something small off the floor which he quickly lifts to his mouth and eats.

His stomach churning with distaste, Rolf moves on, walking up to the corner of the long corridor, the large wooden door ahead of him.  In the last cell on the right, a massive specimen of a man, likely seven feet tall and barrel chested sits on his slate, his hand running up the brim of his forehead and into his thick but short red hair.  The man is murmuring soft words to himself, ignoring Rolf who notices that an old scar runs up the crest of his crown, cleanly splitting his hair for a quarter inch or more right where the massive man's fingers seem to be messing.

Where the corridor turns to the left, there appear to be another four cells on the right, in addition to the wooden door just ahead of him.  Baccus and the other guard nod to each other as they pass, the other walking down the long hallway toward Marba's end of the wing.

"Get them off of me!"  The scream rips through the corridor again, and this time Rolf can tell who is making it.  Another man in the first cell after the turn is laying on his slate, itching himself feverishly as he contorts with jerky spasms.  After a moment, his face and body relax, his hands drooping back to the floor in exhaustion, his visible skin red and raw from the apparent repetition of this compulsion.

Rolf paces the cells to the end, passing two more empty cells, the first seemingly normal empty but for a pair of rats that scurry out of sight as soon as Rolf gets close, though the second has had its privy torn apart, possibly some sort ongoing work, which leaves a gaping, dark hole in the floor that leads to whatever sewage or septic lays underneath.

The last cell however, has another man, this one entirely nude, with thick tufts of curly black hair that cover nearly all of his body.  The man paces back and forth, his eyes wide and intense, though he does not seem to pay particular attention to Rolf.

Across from this last cell, another large wooden doorway stands on the stone wall to the left, leading on to some other area of the asylum.

OOC:  I figured I'd give you the down and dirty of all the cells and let you talk or interact with the patients as you see fit.  The East Wing is essentially an L shape, with the long leg starting where Rolf entered.  Seven cells are on that part of the wing, all of which are on the right hand side of the hallway.  The short leg of the L has the wooden door on the right side first, followed by another four cells.  There is also the large wooden doorway at the end on the left hand side of the corridor.

Rolf notes the wince Max emits at the sound of the Doctors name as the man shrinks back into his cell.  The moment sticks in the mages mind as he wanders from cell to cell.  He passes by a woman that stares intently at her hands.  Seems harmless enough to him, but certainly strange.

Another begs him for some drug called Greenwort.  He's never heard of the stuff, but it must be highly addictive for a man to still crave it after an indeterminate amount of time in an insane asylum.  One would think the desire would wear off after one night staying here.  He hopes the high was worth it.  He doubts that it was.  He nods to Baccus's assessment that he is an addict.  "Certainly." he says plainly and without emotion.

The next cell is empty sans a chilling stain he is sure is blood.  He thinks to ask what happened there, but he's not sure he wants to know.

The next houses a man with some sort of eating disorder, and in the last cell on the right is a massive man seemingly oblivious to his presence.

He turns the corner and finds the one suffering from the delusion that something is crawling over his skin and is forever scratching and shouting over it.  Plus another completely in the nude and continually and intensely pacing.  For some reason he suspects he may be the worst one to deal with.

Doing his best to maintain an even keel as he waits for the guard to open the large wooden doorway leading onward, Rolf turns to Baccus and says, "What's the issue with Max.  Seems normal enough, but looks can be deceiving.  As for the rest, it's a varied group.  They must keep you on your toes.  Especially the naked one.  For some reason I would think he would be the hardest one.  No pun intended."

OOC: Seeing as how crazy they all are I opted to not speak to them, sans Max who oddly seems very lucid.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:42, Wed 22 Jan 2020.

Rolf merely meanders down the cell blocks, watching the patients in various stages of mental decay.  It seemed that all of them were bad however, with perhaps the exception of Max, the only one who had approached Rolf wanting anything other than drugs.  In fact it's such a stark difference, Rolf makes a point of it to Baccus.

"Max?.."  The guard screws up his face in concentration.  "As I remember it, 'es a criminal of some sort, thief I think.  Tried to kill hisself a few times.  The doctors have some pretty strict orders on what he can have - though I guess none of them have much."

Rolf pauses a moment at the end of the hall, looking at the large wooden door on the left wall, Baccus however turns around to head back down the corridor.  It doesn't take long for Baccus to get Rolf's intent.

"It's just the mess area and the kitchens back there.  No visitor's I'm afraid."

Rolf makes another remark about the prisoners to which Baccus snorts in laughter.  "Most of them are just loud, yelling and hollering all day and night.  That one..."  Baccus points at the naked man, who now stands looking at Rolf, his teeth exposed in an odd snarl, "He seems to think he is some sort of animal, doesn't make a noise most of the time except for growling most of the time.  But some nights he's off and howling in his cell all night.  He's bitten a few of us too, though he learns well enough after he does that..."  Baccus lifts the sap in his hand slightly, displaying it for Rolf to see.

Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.

As Rolf strolls with Baccus, it becomes apparent to the mage that the guard missed the meaning of his earlier statement about staring into the abyss.  With each pat of his sap Rolf finds it likely the man has crossed the line from necessary physical restrainment to outright beatings.  Perhaps even done so out of perverse pleasure.

And he bets the dark brown stain he saw in the empty cell was the result of an inmate getting more than they deserved.

Still, it's just his opinion.  Without seeing it directly he can't say for sure.  But it is possible.  It's also possible Alma's uncle received such a beating and is quarantined until he heals up.

However the conditions here are clearly deplorable and that he can say with certainty.

He nods occasionally to Baccus as he speaks.  "Thief.  That's too bad.  It's likely he can't help himself and steals out of some uncontrollable compulsion."

At the door to the kitchen the mage replies simply "Ok." and follows the guard back from whence they came.

When conversation turns to the undressed man he says "Might be a wolf I would bet...Very strange."  Lost in thought he adds "Strange indeed."

OOC:  I assume we have seen the entirety of the east wing?  Rolf will go as he's lead.

Every step in Witten asylum seems to cement its appalling situation.  The cells and hallways are rancid with disrepair and the guards seem little more than mere thugs.  Whatever horrors these patients have experienced prior to entering these walls, there is little doubt in Rolf's mind that here, they have found little respite.

"Ef'n you ask me."  Rolf is barely paying attention as Baccus responds, already having judged the man as a little more than a paid goon, instead he focuses his attention on the patients, their pacing, their confusion, their odd individualities of madness.

"He's gotten way better here than he should expect.  Compulsion or not, thieving is good for transportation, or worse.  Here he's got little more than..."

But whatever Max had here, Rolf may never know.  For mid sentence, Rolf has his breath sucked out of him by what feel like the percussion blast of a thousand base drums which rattle his inner organs and groin, making his knees weak as he staggers backwards a single step.

All at once, the cries and screams of the ward crescendo en mass, a symphony of dread and fear.

"Please, stop!  Get off me!"

"GET THEM OFF ME!"

"Aaaaaaoooooooouuuuuuurrrrrrrrrr!"

"Take the pain away!"

"Everything they touch is ruin!"

"They can see you!"

Rolf couldn't even separate the voices if he tried, but he is still too struck by the blast to do anything much other than attempt to keep his feet.  Baccus for his part, doesn't seem to take much heed to the event, but immediately slaps his sap against the wall with a loud thwap! "That's enough!  Keep it down!"

Reeling, Rolf puts a hand on the wall, attempting to catch his breath, gaping in wonderment for a moment at Baccus's non-reaction to whatever explosion has just happened.  It is in that thought, that Rolf realizes the truth, for indeed, there had been no sound at all... just shockwave.  For that had been no percussion blast at all, but a single, great blast of magical energy...

Rolf rights himself, pushing up on the corner when he hears the great wooden door behind him open and close, he can just whirl around in time to see another two guards pushing their way through the door, one of which calls out at the top of his voice.

"Visiting hours are over.  Visiting hours are over.  Please make your way back to the front entrance."

Noting Rolf, the two guards head directly toward him, as Baccus tries in vain to quiet the wailing masses with more threats of violence.

Rolf is only half listening to Baccus speak as he is lost in thought.  He mulls over what his report to his superiors will be when he returns to the guild.  He finds it highly likely Alma's uncle has been beaten badly, so badly that he's been shut away to heal.  To hide his signs of injury.  It could take months before he's healed up enough to be presentable and who knows if one of the guards might not simply beat him once more.  Alma might not ever see her uncle alive again.

About to turn to acknowledge Baccus, Rolf is slammed with an extremely powerful shockwave that weakens his knees, jostles his organs and rattles his teeth!

"What...in...the...world...was...that?" he asks Baccus, the concern clear in his voice.

As he regains his feet he sees and hears the two new guards coming towards him, demanding him to leave.  Steeling himself for a verbal confrontation he says loudly to show he's serious and to make himself heard over the din emanating from the inmates, "This cannot stand!  Take me to the source of that wave now!"

OOC: There's more Rolf could say, but I figured I should keep it short.

Recovering as best he can from the blast, Rolf's immediate reaction is to ask the guard beside him what the hell happened.  Baccus barely seems to hear the question for a moment, smacking his sap against the wall with a loud thwap! that barely seems audible over the cacophony of screams and moans that pour out of the cells.

"Sometimes they just go on like this."  Baccus shouts eventually, smacking his sap against the wall again.  "One of 'em sets off the rest, and they all get to screaming their heads off."

But before Rolf can respond (for certainly they had started screaming all at the same time) he finds the more urgent confrontation of the two new guards, and demands to be taken to the source of the disturbance.  Before he gets an answer, Rolf notices the two guards going on either side of him, and he quick-steps backwards to keep the both of them on the same side.  The closer of the guards has a ruffled brow and a particularly squared jaw, his hands lurching forward to get a hold of Rolf's arm though through Rolf's quick action the attempt is foiled.

"Look."  The other guard, just a step or two farther away continues stepping forward, his own face set in consternation.  "There's nothing for it.  There's been a... we got a bit of a problem we're sorting out.  We need you to leave while we do."

OOC:  For the moment, let's keep from long conversations.  One of the guards made an attempt to grapple you, though that attempt was foiled.  Both of the new guards are on the same side (in front of you) while Baccus is a few yards behind, still trying to calm down some of the patients.