The haunted puppets delight to Aurelia's performance! Rather than attack you, they dance and caper along with the bard. A sense of joy and exultation replaces their sorrow and rage. At the end of the dance, the puppets go limp, the hateful spirits that had animated them finally departing this plane of existence.
A brief search of the puppets reveals one wears a
greater ventriloquist's ring.
The exit from this room leads to a long hallway set with alcoves along the north and south wall that ends in an old wooden door at the far end. Decaying piles of old theatrical supplies clutter each alcove, save for the furthest alcove to the northeast. The north wall of that alcove bears a message in gray paint that reads,
"Have you seen Him?"
Smears of blood and signs of a recent struggle are readily apparent in the middle of the room. Studying the signs, Bekassine confirms that a half dozen or so humanoids left the blood trail, but the trail seems to end here. A thorough search reveals a secret door in the wall that the message is written on.
Past the secret door, this room’s north and south walls have been divided into smaller cell-like alcoves by wooden partitions. Those to the north appear to have been converted into cells, while to the south, the walls have been knocked down to make a larger offset sleeping area, complete with bedroll and small bookshelf. To the west, a collapse of rubble blocks a passageway further beyond. The middle of the room features a low table, and with a few rocking chairs, it might have once been a comfortable place to relax between acts, but today, this furniture is moldering and decaying. Dozens of short messages scrawled in gray paint adorn the walls throughout.
The messages on the wall repeat the two messages you saw earlier, as well as other phrases such as
"Your hearth is cold," "These skies are dead," "Time eats us all," and
"Will you find the Ashen Man?"
Six bloodied and bruised people are in the cells, tightly bound and gagged. They squirm and begin to whimper to get your attention. Sitting comfortably in one of the rocking chairs is a ragged, imposing woman. She dresses the part of a vagabond, her thick layers of mismatched furs, strips of leather, and layered filthy clothing functioning as hide armor that she’s enhanced with runes. An executioner's axe rests across her lap, its haft stained red with blood. A tiny bat nestles in her hair under her hood. She's attended by four awful monstrosities tangles of floating nerves dangling from human brains.
"Welcome to my boudoir," the woman says.
"I am the Final Herald. Explain your intrusion here."
