The Washington House: Balthazar’s Great Mystery
<img src="washington-house.png" alt="Washington House in the rain" width="50%">
You are a weary traveler, soaked to the bone.
The year is 1876. You’ve spent the better part of a week journeying from Fond du Lac toward Milwaukee, by way of rutted trails and unforgiving weather. A brutal spring storm now pounds the countryside—rain drumming on the roof of the stagecoach, thunder echoing through the hills like distant cannon fire.
As dusk falls, your coach rattles into a small but bustling town: West Bend.
The driver calls out over the storm, "Stage stop’s here for the night. Washington House! You’ll find hot food, a dry bed, and maybe even a ghost story or two if you’re lucky."
The stage pulls up beside a grand old inn, its lanterns glowing warmly in the downpour.
A wooden sign swings above the porch, reading:
“The Washington House – Est. 1855”
You gather your belongings and step down into the rain, boots splashing on the cobbled road.
Through the haze, you spot a stable boy leading the horses away, and a tall figure in a heavy coat watching silently from the shadows near the door.
You don’t know it yet—but what awaits beyond that threshold is not just shelter from the storm…
It is a mystery woven in time, soaked in secrets, and shadowed by a name spoken only in whispers:
Balthazar...
[[Begin your Adventure!!]]Page 2 - Stepping into the Washington House
<img src="inn-keeper.png" alt="Washington House in the rain" width="50%">
You push open the heavy wooden door, stepping into a wash of warm, amber light.
The air smells of wood smoke, damp coats, and roasted meat, with a faint trace of something sweeter—lavender, perhaps? Candles flicker on every wall. The polished floor creaks beneath your boots as you step inside.
Behind a carved mahogany desk stands a tall man with a silver-streaked beard and a coat too fine for a mere innkeeper. His piercing eyes scan you with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
"Evenin’, traveler," he says, voice smooth as aged whiskey. "Storm like this’ll soak the soul. Welcome to the Washington House."
You nod, breathless from the cold. He continues:
"I'm afraid the rooms are all full for the night…"
He pauses, his gaze lingering just a second too long.
"…Well, all but one."
He reaches beneath the desk and pulls out a large brass key with a faint tarnish to it.
"Room 13. It’s... rarely requested. Some say it’s just superstition. Others—"
He stops himself, eyes narrowing. Then with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes:
"Let’s not trouble your night with stories. You’ll be dry and safe, I promise you that. Why don’t you take a seat at the bar while I have your luggage brought up?"
He gestures toward a warmly lit parlor to your right, where voices murmur and the clink of glass drifts on the air.
[[Enter the Bar →|Page 3]]Page 3 – The Bar at the Washington House
<img src="bar-scene.png" alt="Bar Scene" width="50%">
You step into the tavern, letting the warmth wrap around you like a wool cloak. The crackling hearth breathes amber light across the walls. The room is carved of dark wood, old but lovingly kept. Candles flicker in iron sconces. Everything smells of oak barrels, lemon oil, and time.
Patrons speak in hushed tones, as if not to wake the spirits lingering in the corners.
A bartender polishes a glass behind the counter. He looks up—eyes sharp, smile slow.
"Take any seat you like," he says. "We serve stories before drinks."
You glance around the room.
🕯️ At the far end of the bar sits a monk-like figure, slowly sipping wine as if partaking in sacrament. His tattered cloak and solemn gaze suggest a man once holy… but now hiding something behind silence.
♠️ Near the fire, a well-dressed gambler shuffles a deck with alarming grace. His suit is finely pressed, yet his eyes carry the weight of debts unpaid—both in coin and in conscience.
🌸 A graceful barmaid glides between tables, her tray steady despite the creaking floorboards. Her smile is soft, but her glances are sharp. She sees everything—and forgets nothing.
🕵️ In the corner, a man in a dark coat sips his drink with care. His hat rests low, casting shadow over eyes that search the room like a hound with a scent. He holds himself like a man waiting for something—or someone.
🧸 Near the hearth, a child kneels on the floor, pencil in hand, drawing strange shapes on a crumpled page. No one speaks to him. No one seems to see him. Yet you feel his gaze before you ever meet it.
You settle onto a stool. The bartender sets a drink before you.
"You’ll be safe here," he says, drying his hands. "At least until sunrise."
[[Speak to the Barmaid →|Page 4]]
[[Speak to the Bartender →|Page 5]]
[[Sit silently and observe →|Page 6]]Page 4 – Speak to the Barmaid
<img src="bar-maid.png" alt="Bar Maid" width="40%">
You raise your hand, and within moments she drifts toward you, like a candle flame drawn to breath. Her eyes sparkle beneath the dim glow, not with flirtation, but with recognition—like she already knows why you’re here.
"Evenin’, stranger," she says, setting a fresh cloth on the bar. "You look like you’ve traveled through all four seasons just to end up here."
Her voice is warm, with a slight accent you can’t quite place—like someone who’s been in many towns, but never truly from any of them.
"I’m just passin’ through," you offer.
"Aren’t we all?" she replies. "But no one ends up at the Washington House by accident. Not anymore."
She pours you a glass of water and sets it gently before you.
"You’ll be wantin’ a warm meal soon. The stew’s good tonight. Don’t ask what’s in it."
She leans slightly closer, her voice lowering.
"Bit of an odd bunch tonight…"
She nods subtly toward the end of the bar.
"That one there? Quiet. Wears a look like he’s seen the other side of a confession booth and didn’t come out clean."
Her eyes drift to the man near the hearth.
"The gentleman with the cards? He wins too often. I’ve seen him cheat and charm in the same breath. Trouble wrapped in velvet."
Finally, her gaze narrows toward the far corner.
"And the man in the coat? Doesn’t talk. Just watches. Never touches his drink. Been comin’ around the past few nights… always asks who’s in town."
She straightens, brushing her apron smooth.
"Anyway, if you’re hungry, now’s the time. And if you’re curious… well, I suppose I can indulge you."
[[Ask more about the monk-like figure →|Page 7]]
[[Ask about the gambler →|Page 8]]
[[Ask about the man in the corner →|Page 9]]
[[Order the stew →|Page 10]]
[[Sit and observe the room →|Page 6]]