The asylum rose from the mist like a grim sentinel, its weathered stones whispering dark secrets to the frigid night. Charenton, its ancient grandeur now little more than a shell concealing decay, loomed over the investigators, casting its shadow deep into their souls. The chill that crawled across their skin was not solely from the Parisian air; something within those walls reached out, unseen but tangibly malevolent.
Their guide, the reluctant nurse Paul Mandrin, led them cautiously, muttering vague warnings and regrets under his breath. The echoes of his words wove through the corridors, merging with faint, disjointed cries from deeper within the asylum, voices of the forgotten and the lost.
Descending into the bowels of Charenton, the oppressive air grew heavier, dense with rot and despair. Each shadow flickered in the sputtering gaslight, forming grotesque shapes that tugged at the corner of Arthur’s eye, recalling phantom horrors that danced at the edge of memory. Mandrin halted abruptly, pointing to a section of wall crudely opened, a dark maw yawning hungrily into an unknown space beyond.
The investigators peered through the ragged opening into an abandoned chamber, suffused with the musk of stale air and something coppery—blood, old and congealed, smeared across the stones. Arthur moved first, boots crunching softly on the scattered debris, eyes drawn to the scratching marks etched chaotically into the walls, frantic, as if desperate hands had clawed their way towards some unreachable freedom. Walter approached slowly, his practiced gaze studying the masonry, noting its age and the violence of its recent breach.
Per lingered near Mandrin, observing him closely, suspicion flickering behind his scholarly demeanor. “What brought you down here that night?” he inquired quietly, watching for any betrayal in Mandrin’s eyes. The nurse’s hesitation was brief, his explanation vague—a missing colleague, nothing more—but Per sensed deeper implications left unspoken, and Mandrin’s haunted expression suggested truths too terrible to recount.
Arthur’s searching gaze returned to the bloodstain on the floor, vivid and stark in the dimness, an unanswered testament to violence enacted and hidden within these walls. Viola moved cautiously around the room, her careful steps echoing softly. Each corner she examined yielded nothing but dust and silence, yet her eyes remained watchful, alert to subtler, less tangible threats.
At length, they left the claustrophobic confines of the hidden chamber, following Mandrin upwards to the notorious Room 13. The corridor stretched endlessly, its monotony broken only by distant, muted whispers behind locked doors. The number itself seemed innocuous—a simple brass plate—yet Arthur felt unease ripple through him as he gripped the cold handle and pushed the door inward.
Inside lay Martin Guimart, the orderly who had been found mutilated and catatonic beside an unknown, nearly dead stranger in the depths below. Guimart slept fitfully, his form twisted beneath bandages, wounded arm neatly bound but trembling subtly beneath the gauze. Arthur and Per approached gently, coaxing him awake with practiced patience.
Guimart’s eyes fluttered open, glazed with confusion and drugged exhaustion. His speech emerged disjointed, a river of fractured memories flowing unsteadily into the present. “Gold,” he murmured dreamily, voice faint but fevered with recollection. “I saw gold, rings on a corpse. A dead man who bit me when I tried to take them.” His fingers twitched involuntarily, haunted by remembered sensations, and fear flickered briefly in his gaze.
Mandrin’s expression tightened at Guimart’s words, recognition mingling with resignation—a silent acknowledgment of deeper moral decay festering within the institution. Viola watched him closely, noting his distress but saying nothing, allowing the shadows around her to conceal her judgment.
Per leaned in, his voice steady, reassuring. “Who was this woman you spoke of, Martin? The blonde one you returned to her ward?” Guimart’s brow furrowed, confusion threading through his dreamy recollection. “She… needed returning. They always do,” he muttered vaguely, the implication hanging heavy between them, painting an ugly portrait of the asylum’s hidden sins. Arthur’s jaw tightened, the revulsion palpable, though he maintained a soldier’s discipline, swallowing his disgust to press further.
Walter interjected softly, “Does the name Fenalik mean anything to you?” At this, Guimart remained impassive, no flicker of recognition crossing his troubled features, merely sinking deeper into his pillow, lost again to dreams that bordered upon nightmares.
Before they left, Per, drawing on years of arcane study, guided Arthur to translate soothing techniques into French, gently coaching Guimart through a ritual intended to ward off the horrors of his dreams. Guimart’s breathing slowed, his agitation melting away, granting temporary respite within the madness that engulfed him.
They departed quietly, Mandrin guiding them onward, the darkness behind each door seeming to deepen as they moved through corridors towards the private wing. Though none spoke openly, each investigator carried an unspoken dread, sensing the ancient evil that lurked hidden within Charenton, slumbering but not unaware.
As they approached their next destination, Arthur Zorba reflected inwardly, troubled by the asylum’s unspoken horrors that mirrored his own wartime nightmares. Walter Lake’s silent prayers intensified, the exorcist keenly sensing the spiritual corruption around him. Viola Sutcliffe observed quietly, her timeless eyes hinting at memories of similar darkness from her distant past. Per’s scholarly detachment faltered briefly, the eerie parallels between history and their current ordeal tightening a knot of anxiety deep in his chest, while Claire’s curiosity shifted inexorably towards foreboding caution, her youthful enthusiasm dampened by the oppressive weight of dread that clung to every stone and shadow.
As they followed Mandrin deeper into Charenton’s heart, the silent corridors whispered promises of revelations still hidden, truths more terrible than any had yet dared imagine, waiting patiently within the asylum’s endless night.
Session Opening & Recap Keeper Luke shares a narrative recap: Investigators stand before Charenton Asylum in cold Parisian air. Arthur Zorba bears his facial shrapnel scars while Per Oskarson clutches a letter from University College London. The asylum’s corridors echo with indistinct cries; newer wings cannot mask the malevolence of the old stone. Arthur discreetly steals Dr. Delplace’s journal from an open crate of the late doctor’s effects. Meeting with new director Dr. Leroux ends poorly; he refuses archive access. Ejected, the group translates Delplace’s final entries describing: Arthur and Walter Lake coax Mandrin to a café; with wine and sympathy, he agrees to smuggle them in that night. Pre-Infiltration Planning (Late Afternoon, Paris) Group discusses preparation for night infiltration. Ben/Per asks about uniforms; Brian confirms plain white nursing attire exists. Decision points: Discussion on alternative covers (patients, washerwomen) and risks. Zorba leads procurement of appropriate clothing; Mandrin indicates clean aprons, caps, etc. can be gathered once inside. The party bribes Mandrin (coin comparable to Remi’s pay) to guide them through the asylum despite his unease. Night Entry (≈ 1 a.m.) Mandrin escorts investigators through a side staff entrance. Basement Exploration Description: large service level spanning the building; not intended for patients; cluttered storage. Mandrin shows the broken, once-mortar-sealed doorway where he found Guimart and the stranger. Examination of the breach: Debris mostly inside the cell ⇒ wall smashed inward from outside. Walter Lake’s Idea roll (hard success): Arthur Zorba’s Idea roll (success): Inside the cell: Guimart was discovered here beside the stranger; Mandrin confirms he had previously sought Guimart who often shirked duties in the cellar. Transit to Ward & Room 13 Mandrin guides party via northern stairs to avoid staff. Arrival at Room 13, currently housing Martin Guimart. Interview with Martin Guimart Per Oskarson coaches Arthur Zorba on gentle patient awakening using psychology. Sequential questioning (Zorba translating into French): Guimart recounts: Guimart now suffers recurring nightmares of the attacker seeking fear and pain. He claims the man still “haunts” him in dreams. Further points: Per Oskarson’s occult-based relaxation technique (success): Mandrin’s Observations & Reactions Session ConclusionSession Notes