The last planet is the place of exile. From its inception, Pluto is a place of both majesty and darkness. Few go there willingly, for it was distant from the centers of power, and arguably as desolate a place as the exterior of the Dungeon.
Whereas most planets orbit the sun in nearly circular paths, Pluto’s path is the most elliptical and most steeply inclined (17 degrees) to the planetary plane. Pluto rotates in a direction opposite that of most of the planets, and, like Uranus, is tipped sideways, with its polar axis nearly in its orbital plane. Pluto’s unique highly elliptical orbit finds it sometimes closer to the sun than Neptune.
Pluto is smaller than Caspia’s moons, having a diameter about one-fifth Earth’s diameter and a mass of about 1/500 of that of Caspia. Pluto has bright polar caps of frozen methane. Its rotational period is 6.4 days. It has a single moon that is between 5 and 10 percent of the mass of Pluto. This moon also has a period of 6.4 days, so it appears above the same location on Pluto’s surface.
It sits atop a 200-foot high crag rising up from the shore of a great lunar sea. Below the crag are a series docking ports for void ships. A worn path skirts along the west side of the cliffs; to the west is an ashy plain, and far beyond that a scraggly forest of fungi.
The path runs inland and then climbs back up the rising headland toward the Mansion of Exile. A half-circle of slender 50-foot high crystals encloses the Mansion from a desolate plain that extends to the north. These crystals are set about 20 feet, and if anyone approaches within 10 feet of one it sets off a weird wordless singing voice; each crystal has a different such voice, so that intruders can be pinpointed according to the pitch of the singing crystal’s voice.
After passing through the circle of crystal, the path takes a sudden turn to the east, and the starling awesome presence of the mansion towers above. Twin guardhouses of turreted stone.
There is a large courtyard on the north side of the mansion, and the south side is within scant yards of the edge of the cliff. A broad set of steps flanked by pitted columns climbs to the main entrance of the house, on the west side.
The Mansion is an irregular construction with two full stories, a partial third, and a spike-roofed tower nearly six stories high. The mansion's architecture is haphazard: whatever basic symmetry it might once have had is lost under a profusion of additions and modifications. Its six Doric columns of whitewashed stone stand two stories tall, but on a modern building with lower ceilings they would be at least four floors high. A two-story portico stretches across the entire width of the mansion, and white wooden balustrades surrounds the exposed sides of the porches on both levels. A wide wooden stairway leads down to the path from the first floor veranda, curving gracefully outward on both sides as it reaches the ground. The overall style is Greek revival; the fluted columns are clear enough of that. But above the columns, stretching across their entire width, there is a roof that is a jumbled collision of angles and spires, jutting turrets and sinister oubliettes.
The porch roof is flat on top, and above it, almost as if added by afterthought, there is a third story to the building. Above the front windows of that floor there is a second shingled roof, and set into that are four colonial-style gables that look like little doghouses. Glass lanterns mounted with chains hung behind them from the portico ceiling, spilling their light dimly across three narrow archways.
The mixture of architecture styles and periods do not end there. In the dark shadows behind the mansion's six great columns, they can see two tall gothic windows flanking a white door. The door and the windows are all of equal size and are all topped off with fluted fanlights. There are also narrow sidelights of ruby-colored glass on each side of the door. But the strange combination of styles does work somehow. There are only two things that spoil the whole effect. Not all of the embellishments had been arranged at strict right angles to their neighbors, and the style and apparent age of the house varies jarringly from place to place. The steps up to the wide front porch are so warped and weathered that they looked downright unsafe. The white pain on the magnificent columns are peeling and flaking, and there are shingles missing from the roof of the portico, and probably from the higher roof of the mansion as well. The appearance of the mansion is further marred by a one-story wing on the left side that has been added by some tasteless owner with an even worse architect. The wing is made of stones---not flagstone, just the kind of large and small rocks that anyone can find on the ground---piled one on top of the other and bonded together with gray cement mortar. The wing is about a story and a half high, compared with the rest of the house, and it has a roof of modern dark-red asphalt shingles that clash horribly with the rest of the elegant old house, even in the pale moonlight. The rest of the mansion has a forbidding aspect, the paleness of its stone, the irregularity of its construction and the darkness of its many windows suggesting a pile of skulls.
There is one entrance only, sealed by a portcullis and a pair of enormous studded doors. Water is drawn up from a great central well by a complicated wooden pump contraption. Gargoyles sprout like toadstools in every exposed corner.
As the visitors ascend the dangerous-looking, almost rotting stairs with thirteen steps, they look at the tall windows on each side of the wide veranda, and see no lights shining behind them. If they peer into the sidelights that flank the door, they can make out nothing through them, even if they press noses to the ruby red glass.
But it is the bronze letters assembled across the frontal façade of the gable’s intricate trim that stands out the most to them.
Each of the doors is fully five feet wide, with doorknockers made from the skulls of humans (pull the lower jaw to knock).
Entry: The ornate, massive doors stand open, revealing a small foyer with matching antique sideboards on each side wall, and rows of fluttering torches cast dim yellow flickers of light out from the entryway, as well as candles in silver holders standing under each one. Overhead there is a delicate crystal chandelier with a circle of unlit white candles around the rim. The wallpaper in the foyer is brown and faded, but the little room does look dusted and cleaned. There are many small pictures on the walls and they are all in silver frames. Twenty feet into the house, a second set of doors suddenly swings open effortlessly and the sounds of organ music flow out. Overhead, in the entryway, four statues of horned and winged monstrosities glare down, their eyes flickering in their eyes flickering in the torchlight.
It is more open area straight ahead. Past the entryway is a vast hall and rotunda that extends. In the flickering light they slowly turn around in a full circle and stare in awe at the room in which they are now standing.
The rotunda is three stories high, and its huge dome far up above them, is made of metal-reinforced stained glass. It looks for all the world like an enormous, curved rose window out of a French cathedral of the Middle Ages. The graceful lines of the dome converge in the center in a giant silver rosette, and suspended from the rosette is an enormous chandelier whose multifaceted, teardrop-shaped crystals sparkle in the lamplight with all the colors of the rainbow. Straight ahead is an arched cathedral doorway with a pair of massive wooden doors that stand open. The archway leads to a wide corridor that apparently runs the full length of the house.
On each side of the doorway there is a graceful free-hanging staircase leading to a second-story balcony. The balcony, or gallery really, completely encircled the rotunda high overhead. It has a balustrade of polished rosewood, behind which are large fruitwood doors, one on the left and one on the right, corresponding to the ones on the ground floor. At the top of the two staircases, just behind the second-floor landing which they share, there is another gothic archway, slightly smaller than the one on the ground flood, and behind it there is another long corridor.
The PCs are standing on a thick, round oriental rug. Its colors are predominantly blue and ivory-white, with incredibly detailed designs that led to a huge round rosette in the center, which is placed with mathematical exactness directly below the rosette on the ceiling that supports the chandelier. Thick blue carpeting leads up to the double staircase, and at the foot of the stairs on each side, tall marble statues of nudes---a man on the right, a woman on the left—stand vigil, towering over visitors. Enormous faded medieval tapestries hang on the walls, and gold-leaf cornices circle the room beneath the balcony and the dome.
To the left and right, on the first-floor level, there are two more cathedral doors, both made of highly polished rosewood, and both are closed.
Cobwebs hang from dust-covered columns of this great hall, illuminated by torches fluttering in iron sconces. The dust and webs cast strange, moving shadows across the faces of stone gargoyles squatting motionlessly on the rim of the domed ceiling. Cracked and faded ceiling frescoes are covered by centuries of decay. Two doors of bronze stand closed to the east. To the north, a wide staircase climbs into darkness. All the while, sad and majestic organ tones float about from a lit hallway to the south The ceiling is high overhead, and a balcony runs above the entry and hall. Smaller corridors run north to French doors opening onto the courtyard outside.
First Meeting:
The exiled Vandalier is standing in the dark shadow of one of the entrayway’s tall columns. The PCs can barely discern his face.
His voice is a mournful tenor voice, almost as smooth as a woman’s, yet so icy and cutting that it has to be man’s.
Guest Hall: Torchlight flutters against the walls of this vaulted hall. In the pale gold light of the torches, they can see that the hallway is papered in pale blue, and the ceiling is white plaster with molded panels. The cornice is gold leaf, just as in the rotunda, and the wallpaper is highlighted with delicate silver floral designs. There are eight rosewood doors along the corridor, four on each side, spaced at regular intervals, and their polished surfaces sparkle in the dim lamplight. On the wall space between the doors six large paintings are hung. They are all exactly the same size, and their ornate gilt frames are all identical. Each one is placed in the exact center of the space between the doors that flank it. All are hung at exactly the same height. And all have the same theme.
The PCs stop at each painting and examine it as they slowly make their way up the corridor. The pictures appear to depict various scenes from Greek mythology. There are nymphs, satyrs, fairies and cherubs cavorting in forests, on shores of lakes, alongside white-columned gazebos, and under waterfalls. They are so entranced by the peaceful, happy scenes in the paintings that they actually little sad when they realize that they have viewed the last two in the set and have reached the arched doorway that leads to the gallery of the rotunda. But their spirits pick up again when they walk through the archway and see, that the doorway to the dining room is standing open, casting a beam of comforting white light out into the vast rotunda. To the east, a dark and forbidding hallway runs into darkness. Slowly, awestruck once more over the beauty of this giant round chamber, they walk as if in a dream along the curved gallery that leads to the room. The marble floor of the rotunda and the huge round oriental carpet that lays in its exact center are so far below them that they feel dizzy when they look down over the hand-carved balustrade. Overhead, the magnificent dome is as far away as the floor is below.
Beside that opening, a suit of armor, oiled and glistening, stands at attention in a shallow alcove. To the west, large double doors hang slightly open, a steady bright light escaping through the opening. Swells of organ music come from behind the doors, spilling their melody of power and defeat into the hall. The hallway lies in darkness. Double doors open to the west. To the east, a single arched corridor of stone masonry is lit by light from the circular stairs now visible some 20 feet away. The light is coming from up the staircase. The staircase also descends into a terrible darkness. Standing beside the archway to the stairs, a suit of armor resembling a seven-foot tall man-shaped knight in blue and grey armor composed of baroque bronze, swirls, curves, piping and framework, stands in a shallow alcove, a dark shadow falling across its pointed faceplate.
The armor described is a Black Knight.
Bathroom: The doorknob, a sphere of cracked white porcelain, is mounted on a flat, square cast-iron plate about half an inch thick, that is screwed onto the surface of door. There is also a thunbscrew on the plate, just below the doorknob, and when they turn that, they hear a bolt slide into place. An old-fashioned hook-and-eye lock is mounted on the door just about at eye level. The room is paneled in narrow, beveled strips of wood with ornamental grooves, running up and down from ceiling to floor and painted light green with white-trimmed moldings and cornices. The door is also painted white, and so is the window frame. The bathtub is an antique in its own right, standing high on four claw feet, its finish veined with hairline cracks of blue and gray. A white linen shower curtain hangs over the tub, suspended from an oval-shaped pipe rack, and there is an assortment of valves down near the faucet that can apparently be used to turn on the shower. In one corner of the room stands an ancient toilet with a wooden tank overhead. The tank is mounted on the wall just below the ceiling and has long pull chain. A sink of equally great age stands in another corner, with an oak medicine cabinet with a mirrored front hanging over it on the wall. The room has a ceiling of ornamental tin panels painted white, and the floor is of gray linoleum. There are white chintz cafe curtains on the window, embroidered with tiny green and red leaves and flowers. The austere, down-home design of the bathroom décor – if it could be dignified by such a term – is hardly a match for the lavish elegance seen downstairs, in the rotunda.
Armory: The armory/storage room is kept locked, and the imprisoned Vandalier has the only keys. It is a large, high-ceilinged room with flagstones of shimmering obsidian carved from the sides of undersea volcanoes keeps the chamber dark, and glass cabinets of war trophies and weapons stand as silent sentinels over the Vandalier's most private moments. It has the musty smell of ancient iron. Antique weaponry is mounted on all four walls, arranged in menacing though somehow eye-pleasing symmetry. Old British Army flintlock pistols are displayed in two circles, one set of guns inside the second, while other obsolete weapons are held on wooden mountings. A lattice on the left-hand wall is made up of cut and shaped sword hilts. Full swords hang horizontally over a second entrance to the room, while more sword blades are arranged in crisscross patterns; a circular arrangement of pistols and swords grace the wall over the fireplace mantle, and miniature polished cannons occupy a space before a incongruously white fireplace itself, its grate filled with rough-hewn logs. It is all immensely impressive and leaves a visitor in open-mouthed in admiration. Inside are dozens of the large spears wielded by the Black Knights, along with several of the swords and regular-sized spears. There are a few other varieties of swords, lances, shields, and even a few suits of metal armor of various kinds. Any weapons confiscated from prisoners are also stored here. Then something on the far side of the armory catches the PCs’ attention. They are sure they had seen a slight movement among what must have been the most venerable of the room's weapons: long pikes, iron axes and claymores fill one particular wall, among them halberds and lethal iron maces, longbows and deadly crossbows. While the rest of the chilling collection looks pristine, the last miscellany of weapons is made even more fearsome by being so obviously time-worn, the blades of the claymores and the halberds dark-stained and dented, the crossbows and pikes scratched and scarred.
You are sure that whatever had caught your attention has come from this area of the room. But now everything is still, motionless, just historical icons that have outlasted their use. But then it comes again. A sudden vibration, as though something live among the ancient armory, perhaps an echo of its violent past.
Then you see it.
It is the solid iron mace, with its evil-looking spiked, round head. Your eyes were drawn to it, although it is now still. You were about to give up, telling yourself it had been an illusion, that the mace is firmly mounted on its brackets and what you'd seen was merely a trick of the light. But then it comes again. A slight twitching of its length and spiked head. And as you stare, aghast, it twitches once more. Then again, and again, until it is vibrating on its mounting, scratching the wall behind.
It seems infectious, for the other weapons – the pikes, the halberds, the bows – now are all vibrating so that they make a rattling sound against the stone wall on which they hang. You stare, and retreat backwards as if the lethal implements of old wars could fly across the room to impale you.
Dining Hall: This is a magnificent 40-foot-square room, brilliantly lit by three massive crystal chandeliers. A large room walled in plush red velvet and supported by pillars of white marble. There is a malachite escritoire, a number of well-stocked bookcases, three smaller candelabra and two fireplaces of distinctly gothic appearance, in one of which roars an actual fire. But the room's central feature is a long, heavy mahogany table covered with a fine white satin cloth. The table is laden with delectable foods of every type: roasted beast basted in a savory sauce, roots and herbs of every taste, and sweet fruits and vegetables. The dining hall is cavernous, yet the long narrow table has only one sitting, set with fine delicate china and silver, with a single crystal goblet filled with an amber liquid whose delicate fragrance tantalizes the senses. At the center of the far west wall, between floor-to-ceiling length mirrors, stands a massive musical instrument fashioned to look like a particularly sublime pipe organ. The cabinet is a great horseshoe arc with three full sets of keys; one of ivory and obsidian, one of jade and lapis, and the third of steel and brass. Arranged in three banks, one to each side and another across the front, are the organ's ivory stops, nine to a bank, 27 in all. Nine rosewood pedals sound the deepest of the bass notes. Made of gold and silver, some of its pipes are only inches in height while others stretch three stories high, almost to the ceiling. A book of sheet music is spread open above the keyboard. Those pipes blare out a thunderous melody that offers in its tone greatness and despair. Seated before the keys, its back toward you, a single caped figure pounds the keys in raptured ecstasy. The figure suddenly stops and a deep silence falls over the dining hall. The figure slowly turns toward you.
The Vandalier is more interested in talking to the PCs than in fighting them in this encounter. He wants to learn what he can about the PCs know and what they have figured out concerning his plans and goals. If they have gotten his plans and goals figured out correctly, he knows that they might be worthy opponents. If they have figured out wrong, he recognizes them as insignificant intruders that he will delight in destroying. For the most part, the Vandalier is proud, boastful, and unrepentant. He invites the visitors to eat and drink with him, knowing that the wine will dull their wits. Like any arrogant villain, he has few qualms about sharing at least the broad outlines of his plan with the PCs, with certain exceptions:
The table houses an holo-projection system.
South Ground Archer’s Post: The only notable feature of this room is the secret door leading to the dining hall. The secret door is hidden by the organ.
Turret Post: A high, domed ceiling caps the three-foot-diamter room before you. Frescoes, faded with age, adorn the ceiling but are impossible to make out. Thin arrow slits, 2 feet tall and 4 inches wide, peer out over the courtyard.
Turret Post Access Hall:
This long, narrow corridor runs east and west. Cobwebs fill the hall and obstruct sight beyond a few feet.
Hall of Faith: This long, dusty hall leads eastward into the dark heart of the castle. Statues line the hallway on both sides, their eyes seeming to watch you as you pass.
The statues are harmless. Their drifting eyes are a simple optical illusion.
Chapel: The opening chords of an unearthly-sounding chorus reverberates through the chapel as the PCs enter. The west wing is many times larger inside than it looks from the outside – an optical illusion perhaps. Another odd feature is that it has tall gothic stained-glass windows which one isn't able to detect from outside. The west wing – which, obviously judging from its architecture has been added to the manor more recently. As hideous as it looks from outside, is breathtaking within – a huge, cavernous chamber with high stone walls, an arched ceiling of almost incredible height, and dark-hued stained-glass windows that almost give the appearance of a vast cathedral. And it is, in fact, a cathedral – but not designated for the worship of Caspian. The god of the west wing, is the Vandalier himself. Glowing, multicolored figures of demons and devils cavort across the panes of the stained-glass windows, and statues of nymphs, satyrs, demons and monsters of all descriptions – some of them in lewd postures or obscene groupings – stand in niches. There are no pews in this bizarre chapel; there are a few long tables with benches, though, on the right side of the vast room as one walks in. Most of the stone floor is nothing but empty space. At the far end of the cathedral, beneath a large round ruby-glass window bearing the image of an inverted five-pointed star, stands a high, stagelike platform. On the platform are three thrones, the middle one a little higher and considerably more ornate than the other two. Below the stage and against the right-hand wall of the room is an organ console, and its huge golden pipes cover most of the rear wall. Above the pipes there is a choir loft, which is filled with singers during attendance. The organist, who wears a long black robe even in rehearsal, is a master of his art, the choir members are endowed with glorious voices. Their hymns and chants are also beautiful, although weird and haunting and somewhat dissonant, but the PCs doesn't recognize anything or understand the words they sing. (Note: The choir and the organist are mechanical mannequins, enhanced by illusion spells). Below the three thrones at the far end of the room there is a long altar, covered with a black cloth, and in the center of the altar, is a black tabernacle, similar to the one which, in a Catholic church, would hold the ciborium, the sacred golden receptacle for the consecrated wafers. Above the altar, suspended from the ceiling, is a large inverted cross. The walls of the chapel are decorated with a number of huge tapestries depicting all kinds of weird frolicking by beasts, witches and naked humans. Suspended from the high ceiling, mounted against the rear walls of the chapel, and standing on racks in corners are arranged lights – spotlights and floodlights, big lights and small ones – in countless places around the room. The altar is back-lit and so are the three thrones. And the lights of all colors and intensities, does not brighten this cathedral, but only makes the shadows more eerie and terrifying.
The PCs see, to their utter amazement, a room full of hundreds of people in strange clothing; women in tall conical hats and peasant dresses, others in hooded robes and still others in fancy, wing-neck dresses; and men in pantaloons and point-toed cloth shoes or else in monk-like robes. Other male congregants are wearing tunics over black trousers tucked into black boots, and some of the female members of the group wear diaphanous fabrics of muted hues, which fall about them like misty veils. Some people standing in the groups are completely naked.
On the long tables to the right are huge pots and bowls full of what look like meats, soups and stews, but they can see from the diners' clean plates that the meal has not yet begun. A large black cauldron on the left has a fire under it now and a column of foul-smelling steam rises from it. Further to the left, and closer to the front altar, a group of naked men and women are dancing in a circle, back to back, not moving fast but keeping time with the slow and haunting chants now being played on the great organ and sung by the choir, and reverberating endlessly off the stone walls.
The ceremony appears to be led by a robed man holding a thurible, a silver incense holder on a chain, in front of him and above his head, and swinging it from side to side as he walked. Blue smoke billows from the perforation in the silver.
There are many rows of black candles burning in little glasses on each side of the altar, and many tall black candles burn on tall candelabra around the altar and the three high thrones. One lone white candle, the only one of its kind, stands burning on a tall silver stand.
On the altar, which is at least ten feet long, stands a number of artifacts. In the center on a large purple pillow is a yellowed human skull. A small silver bell stands beside the skull, and near the ends of the altar are many other items, including two more tall black candles, both burning: a long sword; a silver flask; a foot-long silver rod; a large brazier; a small silver vial, and two large sheets of parchment. Behind the skull, the doors to the black tabernacles holding the ciborium are closed. The altar cloth bears yet another inverted-star five-side symbol.
Throne Room: The room is long and wide, a huge barrel of a space with broad, high arches, like giant ribs, supporting the walls and ceiling. The room appears to be paneled in a yellowing brown stone, an amber-colored substance that admits very little light. No matter the time of day or night, it is always twilight in the Vandalier's throne room.
Midmost in the chamber is an immense table of black metal shaped like a broken circle, or a tossed horseshoe. The floor plates under that table are tuned to black, but able upon command, to put the images of the solar system and any of its planets below the Vandalier’s feet, or spin out the mathematical trees and twigs of scenarios of predictive statistics, that he might plot by which means to return and conquer the planet he was exiled from. The illusion of equality a nearly round table might create is broken, for looming between the open horsehoe is a granite dais. At one time, the round table had been whole, but Kavan has commanded artisans to cut away the length of table where once sat those of his order who dared raised objections to his current designs.
Upon the elevated dais is black iron throne. The high and arching backrest is adorned with the dark, triangular visage of a bull in rage. The armrests, oddly, are carved in the shapes of friars in kirtles, so that the fingertips of one seated there would rest on the down-bent hoods, who bear the armrests on their heads like monkish versions of caryatides. The carved images of the kirtle friars carry long swords in their hands, points upright, blades mirror-bright. Below, the footstool is a tortoise made of iron.
The throne sits foursquare, and before the footstool descends six steps broad and shallowed. Nineteen, life-size lions hewn of black marble stand rampant in pairs, one to either side of each step, frozen in mid-lunge. Scribed into the surface of each stair and set with star-sapphires, a different creature of emblem representing the Shining Court or the zodialogical figures they belong to: the throne almost seems a chariot trampling the other constellations underfoot.
Master Bedroom: Kavan's chambers are just as ostentatious and opulent as the Dark Lord himself. Replete with rare and precious jewels, lavish tapestries, and wonderfully constructed statuettes, and more adorning the room that is his sanctuary. Golden furniture is placed throughout the chamber that is more plush and luxurious than anything created by the hands of man. Covering the entire wall over the bronze and gold fireplace is an enormous fresco depicting souls lost and condemned. The unique thing about this painting is that it moves as if it were alive, and the image is known to moan a soft, yet disheartening groan of anguish. The sound caresses his ears like the soft breath of a lover whispering amorous vows of adoration in his ears. In the center of the room is a colossal bed covered with silk, mink, and ermine bedding that sits upon a raised dais. The room is made complete with a giant painting of Kavan entitled, “Kavanus Rex.” Here, he is depicted as sovereign over the worlds holding a golden scepter and standing over the broken body of Caspian.
Trophy Room: Next to the Master Bedroom is a locked storage room. Inside are
Indoor Garden: An open veranda leads outside to a two-story indoor garden In the northwest corner of the mansion. It is filled with swooningly-fragrant orchids and lotus-flowers, crawling on vines that strangle the small trees that give them support. It is octagonal, and it is crowded with numerous incredibly life-like statues are scattered throughout the garden, most depicting children or beautiful young women, along with beasts and animals of all varieties. Although the orangery has a glass roof, it is so overgrown by creeper that hardly any light penetrates it at all.
Kavan has been restricted in the number of servants he is allowed at any one time. Petty and treacherous, turning some of them to stone is the means by which he attempts to circumvent this rule. An attractive lover or concubine may be added to this collection of “statues,” with Kavan restoring them to flesh and blood whenever the Vandalier desires her.
Kitchen & Pantry:
A horrible odor of decay assaults your senses as you enter this steam-filled room. It is clearly a kitchen, although dust, cobwebs, and mold cover all surfaces, including the rusted cookware. A huge pot bubbles over a blazing fire in the center of the floor, its green, muddy contents rolling over and over.
The kitchen is foul-smelling, with baskets of pungent mushrooms, jars of insects, and hunks of meat crowding the floor and shelves and hanging from hooks overhead. The pantry contains more of thee, while the cold-storage locker holds larger hunks of meat; most of the latter are easily identifiable as human.
Living Room: A large living room in the southwest corner contains several upholstered chairs and couches. Most of the furnishings here and throughout the rest of the house are built from bones and various types of fungi. Above the mantle is a large portrait of ____, looking quite demure and utterly innocent.
Library: It has a ceiling more than three stories high. Tall iron ladders, their base rungs connected to a central rail, shift along the book-clad walls. Certain shelves nearest the great vaulted ceiling have gold-leafed bars locked over them to keep their contents away from prying eyes. Regardless of what is contained within, the bindings themselves are frequently studded with precious and semi-precious jewels, bound in gold-leaf and green leather, and in one case what suspiciously appears to be human skin.
Third Floor: The third floor consists primarily of several empty rooms used by infrequent guests or prisoners of the Mansion of Exile. These rooms are sparsely furnished, usually containing only a couch or a bed, a couple of chairs, and a table or dresser; most are clearly not intended to be bedrooms, but are nonetheless used as such. If the visitors are civilized guests, they are allowed to stay in these rooms. The “guest wing” even has its own bathroom.
Guest Bedroom: The walls of the guest bedroom are paneled in oak all the way up to the ceiling. Across the room, even further away from the PCs, stands a massive four-poster bed draped with dark brown curtains and hung with dusty gold tassels. On each side of the bed there is a tall, many-paned French door. The bedspread, the canopy and the window drapes are all made of deep red antique velvet, almost wine-colored, with black tassels and black trim. The room is furnished in almost perfect symmetry. Except for the massive bed, and a huge, highly polished cedar chest that stands at its foot, every piece of furniture in the room has a perfect double standing in the exact same spot on the other side of the vast, gleaming parquet floor. There are matching rosewood wardrobes in each of the two far corners of the room, and to the left and right there are also matching marble-topped dressers – with matching golden-framed pier mirrors above them – and twin pairs of chests, small tables, and delicate antique chairs. In the wall to the right, there are two tall glass doors that leads out to the veranda. They stand directly opposite two equally tall wooden doors, both painted white, on the left side of the room. For the next few moments they sit in silence, still in a state of suspended belief, doing nothing but gaping wide-eyed and open-mouthed in total wonderment at the elegant decadence around them. It is just as the size of the room, and its obviously priceless furnishings that astounds them, but also its accouterments: the matched silver jewel boxes on the paired dressers, and the silver-backed combs and brushes portraits and photographs on the walls, the exquisite oriental rugs placed in symmetrical positions on the gleaming parquet floor. The crazy corners on each side of the curved wall are hidden by ornately decorated three-paneled screens that stand about neck-high. In front of each screen there is a blue loveseat, a low table and two blue-upholstered chairs, each set forming a kind of miniature sitting room within the huge bedroom. The furniture is French provincial, painted white, and almost doll-like in its antique delicacy. The two mini-parlors are perfectly matched, of course, and they make the far end of the room a lovely setting, but one has no idea how they could conceivably be of any use whatsoever.
There is a huge tapestry on the wall over the bed. Even in the dim lamplight, the colors on the tapestry are so bright that they can clearly see the design. A figure that seems to be half-man, half-goat, sits on a golden throne in the center, leering out them with a hideous grin. There are five horns on its head, and the one that is standing straight up on top is burning like a candle flame. The rest of the tapestry is crowded with little scenes, vignettes of action, that covers every inch of its surface. To the left and right of the strange throned creature sits two figures on smaller thrones. The one to its right wears a crown on her head; the other does not. The woman's hands are stretched out to their sides, hands pointing upward, in the same pose as statues of the Immaculate Virgin Mary. Lower down in the tapestry is woven a scene of several persons and strange-looking creatures seated at a table, feasting. To their right stands some other figures, staring at the diners in what looks like hunger and envy. At the lower left side, some women are stirring something in a huge cauldron, and the smoke that rises from the pot extends all the way up to the top of the cloth. In the smoke, human bodies, horribly contorted and disfigured, are falling through the air. All around the edges of the tapestry are little groups of figures dancing in circles, all naked, male and female, with their backs to each other. And above the head of the goat-like creature on the throne, embroidered in silver thread, is a symbol: a circle within a circle, and within the inner circle, an inverted, five-pointed star.
There is a concealed private torture chamber behind one of the eastern walls. It is a large room which has a simple throne carved from stone situated near the eastern end. Bits of chain and iron rings hammered int stone unleash a sense of dread. It is unclear who altered this room and used it for evil, but prisoners are tortured here for the viewing pleasure of whosoever sat upon the throne.
Hallway:
Fourth Floor: Towering high above the rest of the Mansion is the observatory. Great leaded windows with shutters line all four walls, and on the main floor two ancient brass telescopes are set up facing the northwest and south. The observatory has not been used for scry the stars for a long time. Ancient orreries and astrariums clutter the corners, unused, most of them covered with heavy tarpaulins. Rosewood cabinets are locked. The dust on the bookcases is a finger-width thick.
The northwestern view looks out across the desolate plain toward a vast crater.
The south-facing telescope looks out across the Great Methane Sea. where a monstrous cataract—well over a mile across—plunges into the depths of Pluto.
Above the floor is a platform with a massive telescope craning out an aperture in the spired roof. An Astronomy or Physics roll suggests that there is something very wrong with the oddly-curving shaft of the telescope: it must possess an incredibly intricate system of mirrors to operate with such curvature. This is how Kavan spies on those who speak his name on Earth, and how he plots his forays there.
This is Kavan at his weakest.
He is unable to use the following abilities:
* Alter Matter or Reshape Matter: Kavan cannot use these powers to effortlessly reshape his prison environment in order to make his exile more tolerable.
Teleport, Open Gate, Reshape Self or Poly-Morph.
Current Sketch: But it is the character of the Vandalier himself that provides the mansion with its most singular feature, a pervading sense of loss and loneliness that would penetrate the bravest heart and break it if admitted.
He is only allowed two Automatic Servants and six Black Knights as his personal bodyguards and 12 human servants. However, they are meant to watch him for Caspian as much as they are meant to be his servants. The automatic servants are humanoid household robots, of the kind anyone would have felt comfortable with in the Citadel proper - but they have been reworked to resemble skeletal ghouls or headless knights. Their mechanisms had been sabotaged so that they limp and creak, and they have had all their voice boxes disabled.