"And what of you ladies?" Ismark asks before finishing his wine. "Could I interest the both of you in a short trip to Vallaki? Your company, and your axe would be most welcome." he says with a smile at his attempt at mirth.
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"And what of you ladies?" Ismark asks before finishing his wine. "Could I interest the both of you in a short trip to Vallaki? Your company, and your axe would be most welcome." he says with a smile at his attempt at mirth.
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A weary-looking mansion squats behind a rusting iron fence. The iron gates are twisted and torn. The right gate lies cast aside, while the left swings lazily in the wind. The stuttering squeal and clang of the gate repeats with mindless precision. Weeds choke the grounds and press with menace upon the house itself. Yet, against the walls, the growth has been tramped down to create a path all about the domain. Heavy claw markings have stripped the once-beautiful finish of the walls. Great black marks tell of the fires that have assailed the mansion. Not a pane nor a shard of glass stands in any window. All the windows are barred with planks, each one marked with stains of evil omen.
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The interior of the mansion is well furnished, yet the fixtures show signs of great wear. Noticeable oddities are the boarded-up windows and the presence of holy symbols in every room. The burgomaster is in a side drawing room on the floor-lying in a simple wooden coffin surrounded by wilting flowers and a faint odor of decay.
"That must be the most stupid pass phrase you have ever thought of, and there..." she notices the group coming inside behind her brother. "Oh, hello."