A collaboration with @goatmansgoblet (or http://www.goatmansgoblet.com/)
I drew the map, Brian did this incredible writeup.
Your Uncle is on his deathbed, and though you were never the closest of companions he always respected your ambitions and encouraged you to be yourself. Though adventuring does not come kindly, nor easily, to most; he confided to you in letters that if you survived your first year you could survive anything.
The Wicked Baccahnali Fever has ravaged his frame, he lays in bed, the last of his money spent on the courier to ask you and any boon companions come to his estate on the edge of the borderlands, deep past the elder glade and far from any road. He cannot move, he can hardly speak, his bed sores leak gin-scented vapors and his jaundiced face can seldom crack a smile let alone an unkind word.
“The house is yours if you can end that wretched puckering.” He coughs out, “They’re in here, just puckering and suckering and whistling dark and deep, like low waters…” His eyes draw towards an armoire in his room, then towards the door, to the window, to the wall; panic and paranoia set in. He wheezes again. “You must do this for me, please. I cannot take the sound. It does me indignity and disrespects I do not deserve.”
He doesn’t expect to see the mid-day sun of the day to come. You will have one night to relieve him of this sound and what he thinks will produce it. You have run of the house, he needs to rest.
The first floor consists of: a butler’s pantry, an overgrown courtyard, a water closet which feeds into a septic ditch, a kitchen, and a receiving hall. None of the rooms on the first floor have seen much use in the last month, not since the wasting rendered your uncle bound to his bed and the pan within it.
The second floor consists of a personal office and a guest room which overlooks the entrance of the house. The office contains discarded drafts of many letters he had meant to send you over the years, as well as correspondence with other, perhaps more qualified, individuals who could come and relieve him of his stress. The guest room contains a large bed with a mattress as hard as stone, a locked antique armoire, and a large oval mirror covered by a sheet.
The third floor consists of a secondary water closet which feeds down into the septic ditch down a long stinking chute, a closet containing many outfits that while long out of fashion would be worth quite a bit of money, and your uncle’s bedroom wherein he sleeps between hacking fits and groans of anguish. His bed is very soft, his sheets are very fine and well-patterned, his armoire also locks, though the key remains in the hole, and his bookshelves are well-used since he’s become bedridden. The books contain all manner of manuscripts and codices on the topic of hunting, legalism, sculpting, herbalism, and moral philosophy---though primarily stoicism.
The attic contains several mouldering trunks filled with hiking equipment, old mementos from times now forgotten, a well-stocked liquor cabinet, and some old furniture in need of reupholstery. The tower room is well lit by its windows, containing several half-finished paintings of your mother, a dog you remember from your youth, and scenes of the countryside. A deck of cards and a bottle of fine wine sit in this room as well.
The Threat
Your uncle is beguiled by a Boggart who has exacerbated his sickness and brought him to death’s door. Your uncle will die by morning, his hope has long been devoured though you and your associates have rekindled a spark of it with your presence. The Boggart will attempt to turn your uncle into one of its minions if it is not properly contended with.
Your uncle is undone by the minions of the Boggart, puckering goblin-like creatures the size of cats who scramble about in the dark; often making sucking and clicking noises or popping his blisters with their obscene boney fingers.
He knows he is being tormented by these goblin-creatures, he just does not know they are aspects of the Boggart, whom he has no idea exists. The Boggart is bound to the armoires, a twin set your uncle purchased a few months before you first went adventuring. The boggart is only acting up because of your uncle’s poor health, hoping to consume a soul and haunt the house in total. It was not strong enough before.
The Boggart [As Wraith]
Where is it?
The Boggart is hiding in the locked armoire on the second floor, as it gets to be left alone here. It whispers into the wood of the armoire and its words are projected out of the one in your uncle’s room. It can teleport freely between the two, but it can only exit whichever one is unlocked. They both use the same key. It can be trapped inside, as it must return within come sunrise; being locked out will see it attempt possession or die in the sunlight.
What is it doing? [d4]
How can we stop it?
Trap the Boggart outside both armoires and get it destroyed by tricking it into entering a sunbeam. Trapping the Boggart inside an armoire, locking both, and then burning them both will also suffice; provided neither is damaged until the fire begins. Uncovering the oval mirror on the second floor and forcing the Boggart into it through force of arms will see it trapped forever in the spirit realm, unable to interact with the mortal world so long as the mirror remains covered or obscured. Breaking the mirror once the Boggart is trapped inside will destroy the creature, but will cause seven years of bad luck to the one who does the deed.
The Puckering Goblins [As Meenlock, 3d6 in Total]
Where are they?
In the shadow behind the door, atop the bookshelf, clamoring outside the house like a set of gargoyle grotesques, pooping in the garden (mainly birthing weeds, fungi, and cockroaches in doing so), or clogging up the septic ditch.
What are they?
Nasty manifestations of the Boggart’s hatred for the mortal world, they exist to make things worse. They are physical entities, born of the energy it has stolen from your uncle. They are cruel and enjoy inflicting pain; but they are also cowards and flee from any light. They like to lock and unlock the armoires in the house at night so the Boggart need not wander the halls between floors.
What are they doing? [d4]
In the Morning…
If the Boggart was destroyed, so too were the goblin-creatures: Your uncle dies peacefully in his sleep around noon, though he will wake for breakfast and wonder if you might make him a cup of tea. He’ll tell you stories of your mother’s bolder days, of how he tried to do the things you’ve done but he was often held back by fear of failure. He will offer you his home, as it seems a good idea to have a place to return to when you have the odd hour of peace in your life. He will be kind, and look less sickly for the few hours he has left in his life.
If the Boggart was not destroyed but some goblin-creatures were killed: Your uncle will be horrified by the corpses of the creatures (as they are awful to look at), but he will say he is thankful that he might finally enjoy some quiet. He knows not why they came to vex him, though he will confess that despite being a more humble type than an adventurer, he had still made many enemies. “Though I know none who’d send these...things.” He will ask that you cook him some breakfast, there is food in the pantry; but he will die before he gets a chance to eat, passing away with a pallor and a chill.
If neither the Boggart or any goblin-creatures were killed: Your uncle will wonder if it was all in his head, he’ll plead that he knows he isn’t cracked, but he has no explanation for all this recent nonsense. He says he knows the disease doesn’t cause mental wasting, then he will hack and cough. He’ll ask for help getting out of bed, he wants to put on some nice clothes. The armoire will be unlocked, either by you or by his own hand, and he’ll slump forward and die in an undignified position.
The Wicked Baccahnali Fever has ravaged his frame, he lays in bed, the last of his money spent on the courier to ask you and any boon companions come to his estate on the edge of the borderlands, deep past the elder glade and far from any road. He cannot move, he can hardly speak, his bed sores leak gin-scented vapors and his jaundiced face can seldom crack a smile let alone an unkind word.
“The house is yours if you can end that wretched puckering.” He coughs out, “They’re in here, just puckering and suckering and whistling dark and deep, like low waters…” His eyes draw towards an armoire in his room, then towards the door, to the window, to the wall; panic and paranoia set in. He wheezes again. “You must do this for me, please. I cannot take the sound. It does me indignity and disrespects I do not deserve.”
He doesn’t expect to see the mid-day sun of the day to come. You will have one night to relieve him of this sound and what he thinks will produce it. You have run of the house, he needs to rest.
The first floor consists of: a butler’s pantry, an overgrown courtyard, a water closet which feeds into a septic ditch, a kitchen, and a receiving hall. None of the rooms on the first floor have seen much use in the last month, not since the wasting rendered your uncle bound to his bed and the pan within it.
The second floor consists of a personal office and a guest room which overlooks the entrance of the house. The office contains discarded drafts of many letters he had meant to send you over the years, as well as correspondence with other, perhaps more qualified, individuals who could come and relieve him of his stress. The guest room contains a large bed with a mattress as hard as stone, a locked antique armoire, and a large oval mirror covered by a sheet.
The third floor consists of a secondary water closet which feeds down into the septic ditch down a long stinking chute, a closet containing many outfits that while long out of fashion would be worth quite a bit of money, and your uncle’s bedroom wherein he sleeps between hacking fits and groans of anguish. His bed is very soft, his sheets are very fine and well-patterned, his armoire also locks, though the key remains in the hole, and his bookshelves are well-used since he’s become bedridden. The books contain all manner of manuscripts and codices on the topic of hunting, legalism, sculpting, herbalism, and moral philosophy---though primarily stoicism.
The attic contains several mouldering trunks filled with hiking equipment, old mementos from times now forgotten, a well-stocked liquor cabinet, and some old furniture in need of reupholstery. The tower room is well lit by its windows, containing several half-finished paintings of your mother, a dog you remember from your youth, and scenes of the countryside. A deck of cards and a bottle of fine wine sit in this room as well.
The Threat
Your uncle is beguiled by a Boggart who has exacerbated his sickness and brought him to death’s door. Your uncle will die by morning, his hope has long been devoured though you and your associates have rekindled a spark of it with your presence. The Boggart will attempt to turn your uncle into one of its minions if it is not properly contended with.
Your uncle is undone by the minions of the Boggart, puckering goblin-like creatures the size of cats who scramble about in the dark; often making sucking and clicking noises or popping his blisters with their obscene boney fingers.
He knows he is being tormented by these goblin-creatures, he just does not know they are aspects of the Boggart, whom he has no idea exists. The Boggart is bound to the armoires, a twin set your uncle purchased a few months before you first went adventuring. The boggart is only acting up because of your uncle’s poor health, hoping to consume a soul and haunt the house in total. It was not strong enough before.
The Boggart [As Wraith]
Where is it?
The Boggart is hiding in the locked armoire on the second floor, as it gets to be left alone here. It whispers into the wood of the armoire and its words are projected out of the one in your uncle’s room. It can teleport freely between the two, but it can only exit whichever one is unlocked. They both use the same key. It can be trapped inside, as it must return within come sunrise; being locked out will see it attempt possession or die in the sunlight.
What is it doing? [d4]
- Calling out in your Uncle’s voice many hateful things you could believe him saying about you though not to your face. If you have found the office correspondence and read it, the voice is replaced by a raspy guttural snarl.
- Peering into windows in the form of your mother, half-formed and grotesque. If you have finished the painting of your mother in the attic or covered it up fully, it will appear instead like a “ghost” under a sheet.
- Snarling like a dog, its bark coming from rooms the creature itself is not in. If spotted, it appears as a gigantic black mastiff. If you have finished the painting of a dog you remember from the attic or covered it up, the Boggart’s voice is heard chanting “Get Out. Get OUT!” rather than proper scare tactics.
- Ordering around the puckering goblins. If witnessed on the second floor, it gets violent with them if they go close to the covered up oval mirror.
How can we stop it?
Trap the Boggart outside both armoires and get it destroyed by tricking it into entering a sunbeam. Trapping the Boggart inside an armoire, locking both, and then burning them both will also suffice; provided neither is damaged until the fire begins. Uncovering the oval mirror on the second floor and forcing the Boggart into it through force of arms will see it trapped forever in the spirit realm, unable to interact with the mortal world so long as the mirror remains covered or obscured. Breaking the mirror once the Boggart is trapped inside will destroy the creature, but will cause seven years of bad luck to the one who does the deed.
The Puckering Goblins [As Meenlock, 3d6 in Total]
Where are they?
In the shadow behind the door, atop the bookshelf, clamoring outside the house like a set of gargoyle grotesques, pooping in the garden (mainly birthing weeds, fungi, and cockroaches in doing so), or clogging up the septic ditch.
What are they?
Nasty manifestations of the Boggart’s hatred for the mortal world, they exist to make things worse. They are physical entities, born of the energy it has stolen from your uncle. They are cruel and enjoy inflicting pain; but they are also cowards and flee from any light. They like to lock and unlock the armoires in the house at night so the Boggart need not wander the halls between floors.
What are they doing? [d4]
- Tormenting your uncle, he moans and calls for aid while you hear a strange sputtering sucking sound. 75% chance of vanishing upon arriving to aid your uncle, though if spotted they will attack.
- Throwing filth everywhere, scratching at the walls, trailing ash and footprints all over the house. 75% chance that the party only encounters the aftermath, which looks like someone dipped some chickens in ink and threw them into a hallway.
- Turning the key to the armoires in the wrong direction, constantly. If spotted, 35% chance it will panic and swallow the key (easily retrieved if killed, as the creature will melt back into shadow).
- Climbing the walls of the interior of the house as though they were overgrown spiders.
In the Morning…
If the Boggart was destroyed, so too were the goblin-creatures: Your uncle dies peacefully in his sleep around noon, though he will wake for breakfast and wonder if you might make him a cup of tea. He’ll tell you stories of your mother’s bolder days, of how he tried to do the things you’ve done but he was often held back by fear of failure. He will offer you his home, as it seems a good idea to have a place to return to when you have the odd hour of peace in your life. He will be kind, and look less sickly for the few hours he has left in his life.
If the Boggart was not destroyed but some goblin-creatures were killed: Your uncle will be horrified by the corpses of the creatures (as they are awful to look at), but he will say he is thankful that he might finally enjoy some quiet. He knows not why they came to vex him, though he will confess that despite being a more humble type than an adventurer, he had still made many enemies. “Though I know none who’d send these...things.” He will ask that you cook him some breakfast, there is food in the pantry; but he will die before he gets a chance to eat, passing away with a pallor and a chill.
If neither the Boggart or any goblin-creatures were killed: Your uncle will wonder if it was all in his head, he’ll plead that he knows he isn’t cracked, but he has no explanation for all this recent nonsense. He says he knows the disease doesn’t cause mental wasting, then he will hack and cough. He’ll ask for help getting out of bed, he wants to put on some nice clothes. The armoire will be unlocked, either by you or by his own hand, and he’ll slump forward and die in an undignified position.
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