IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

SESSION 20F: THE GHOST APPEARS

April 27th, 2008
The 9th Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

Heading back out into the hallway they went to the last door on the second level. This was another iron door and it led into one of the small towers that flanked the front gate. A ladder bolted to the wall led up to the next level of the tower.

Tee and Tor climbed up the ladder. Tor headed through another iron door, this one leading to the gatehouse immediately above the entrance to the house: They could see where a large stone block had been levered out of the floor and pushed to one side, revealing the murder hole the ratlings had attacked them through.  A narrow wooden table off to one side held the decrepit remains of four crossbows and three quivers of rotten quarrels, all covered with cobwebs and dust. An iron pot filled to the brim with rusty caltrops was shoved into a far corner. There was a matching door directly opposite.

Tor proceeded cautiously into the gatehouse. He hadn’t gone more than a few steps, however, before the door suddenly slammed shut behind him. Tee jumped for it and easily got it open again. She turned and called over her shoulder, “Get up here! Something’s happening!”

The trapdoor slammed shut.

“Tee?” Elestra called. “What’s happening?”

Tee whirled back towards Tor… just in time to see the ghost materialize between them.

The spirit wore the robes of an Imperial priest, but its face was contorted with fury. “Leave this place! The curse will claim your souls!”

Tee hesitated for a moment and then leapt for the trap door, yanking it open. “Agnarr! The ghost is right here!”

Tor, meanwhile, had drawn his sword and – with a single quick swing – sliced it through the ghost’s ethereal form. Although the blade crackled and its electrical arcs flashed as it passed through the ghost, the apparition appeared unphased.

Agnarr began clambering up the tower ladder. Dominic, thinking quickly, ran back around the hall to a window looking out over the courtyard. Through this he was able to look up through one of the inner arrow slits of the gatehouse and see the ghost moving menacingly towards Tor.

Dominic raised his holy symbol and called out a prayer to Athor. But whether it was the distance, the thick stone walls, or the sheer tenacity of the spirit the prayer had no effect. Frowning, Dominic ran back around towards the ladder.

Tor swung his sword again… again to little effect. But at the blow the ghost’s face was transformed into a black maw of rage “YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!”

Every object in the gatehouse began to shake violently, and then handfuls of the sharp, rusty caltrops came flying out of their cauldron – pelting Tor viciously.

Agnarr leapt out of the trapdoor and drew his sword, bounding towards the door leading to the gatehouse. “FOR THE GLORY!”

The spirit whirled: “LEAVE THIS PLACE.”

Agnarr grunted and swung his flaming sword. It ripped through the ghost, and Agnarr could feel it catching and tearing.

The ghost moaned in pain and rushed away from Agnarr… passing straight into Tor’s body.

Tor jerked spasmodically, and then a clearly alien intellect took possession of his limbs and spoke through his lips: “Leave this place or your friend will die.”

Agnarr paused. “I’ll only give you once chance: Get out of his body.”

“LEAVE THIS PLACE!”

Agnarr attacked. The spirit clumsily raised Tor’s sword and parried the attack. Agnarr moved to attack again, but the ruined crossbows were swept off their table and hurled at Agnarr by invisible hands.

Agnarr stumbled under the assault, and barely got his sword back into a defensive position as “Tor” attacked him. Agnarr parried several more attacks, trying to figure out some way of getting rid of the ghost without harming Tor. But there didn’t seem to be any way around it.

“I’m sorry, Tor! Dominic will heal you later!” Agnarr got ready to swing away with all his strength, which would surely sweep aside the ghost’s clumsy defense—

When Dominic, having ascended the ladder behind him, raised his holy symbol and with a shouted prayer focused his faith upon Tor’s body. The ghost was blasted back, forcibly ripped from Tor’s soul, and then faded into wispy nothingness…

“Is it gone?” Tee asked.

Dominic gasped. “I think so.”

LOOKING AROUND

Tee cautiously crossed the gatehouse and opened the iron door on the far side. It led to a tower nearly identical to the one they had climbed up. Tee flipped up the trapdoor in the floor, revealing a lower level filled with some badly rotten straw and little else. She shrugged and slammed it shut again.

On this side, however, there was also a trapdoor in the ceiling. Tee swung it open and climbed out onto the tower’s parapet.

From here Tee could look down onto an outdoor terrace surrounding three-quarters of the courtyard. Half of this terrace had, at some point in the past, been turned into a rooftop garden. Various boxes and pots – most in disrepair and many spilling their dirt out onto the stone roof – lay here and there. Many of the plants were still alive, although most of the garden had been overrun with weeds.

Almost directly across from Tee – on the wall near the door leading to this terrace – she could see a strange face that had been carved into the wall. Something glinted in the eyesocket of the carving, glittering like a gemstone.

Tee toyed with the idea of trying to jump down to the terrace, but decided against it. She climbed back down to where the others were waiting in the gatehouse and they decided to return to the spiral staircase and climb up to the third level of the house that way.

COOKING RATS

Tee went first, emerging into a room overrun with garbage and debris – tables, chairs, divans, and overturned furniture of all kinds; broken bits of crockery and various utensils.

But what immediately caught her eye were several huge rats – each the size of a large dog and some with blood-red, pupil-less eyes. They seemed to be chewing on a pile of fresh-looking garbage that had been dumped on the far side of the room, near a heavy purple curtain blanketed with mold and mildew covering the far exit.

Tee thought briefly about calling for Agnarr, but then she shook her head: She wasn’t going to be scared off by a couple rodents, even if they were of unusual size. She vaulted over the railing of the stair and pulled out one of the tainted dragon rifles.

The rats raised their head from their sickly meal and began scurrying across the room towards her – their long, grime-encrusted claws scrabbling through the debris.

Tee pulled the trigger. Flame gushed out of the rifle’s end, catching the rats as they charged.

Then, off to her left, the debris exploded as another of the huge rats – along with dozens of other rats – burst forth and rushed towards her. She swung the rifle towards them, pulling the trigger again and bathing them in flame.

Agnarr came charging up behind her and vaulted over the railing… but by the time he got there the battle was already over. He desultorily plunged his sword into one of the rats which still squirmed with lingering life.

A DEAD PROPHET

After quickly poking around the worthless garbage (and making sure that they hadn’t just started another fire in the house), Tee crossed over to the purple curtain and shoved it aside. The next room was largely empty. A large, circular depression in the center of the room held several silken pillows. It was surrounded by four-foot-tall iron candlesticks screwed into the floor and holding the stubs of white candles.

All of these were horribly weather-worn because, off to Tee’s right, an archway opened onto the outside of the castle, in midair, about twenty-five feet above the ground.

On the opposite side of the room, however, was a curiously well-preserved human skeleton clad in black robes. The skeletal remains were stretched out across the floor, with one hand flung out towards the wall. Large letters upon the wall, written in charcoal, read:

The Saint of Chaos shall return and the Banewarrens shall ope their maw. And the name of doom shall be Tavan Zith.

Tee kept her distance from the body and went to check out the archway. Directly below the opening was a tangled mass of broken wood. It looked as if there had once been a wooden balcony here that had completely collapsed at some point.

Ranthir, meanwhile, had crossed towards the body and the prophetic scrawl. It looked like gold thread had once been used to embroider strange runes along the robe’s hem, but age and weather-wear had destroyed these.

COOKING RATS, PART 2

Tee rifled the ruined pillows in the room’s central depression, but didn’t find anything of interest. Then she headed over to the far door in the room and made sure it wasn’t trapped. She stepped aside and let Agnarr step up to it.

Agnarr opened the door. The next room was almost entirely empty… except for two of the ogre-sized ratmen mounted on rats nearly the size of small ponies. They had clearly been waiting for them (probably having overheard their loud conversation), and as soon as the door swung open they spurred their rat-mounts and charged with lances lowered.

Agnarr was struck by both lances, spun around, and knocked to the ground. Tor stepped forward, but the ratmen leaped from their mounts. The rat-mounts continued on, their slavering jaw biting and tearing at any exposed skin they could find. Tor was overwhelmed by them and, for a moment, it appeared that their position was going to be completely routed.

But Ranthir, seeing the eminent catastrophe, lowered his hand and muttered arcane syllables. A thick, fibrous mass of web instantly filled the room – leaping from the walls and completely enshrouding the ratlings. Tor, recovering his feet, quickly dispatched the half-trapped rat-mounts.

Ranthir stepped forward and, with a strike of flint and steel, set the web alight. The ratlings, trapped in the cocoon-like webs, screamed in agonizing pain as they were roasted alive.

THE DAY’S CODA

After a few minutes more, the webbing had burned away completely with an acrid stench of the arcane (mixed with more than a hint of burnt rat fur).

Able to take a closer look at the room now they could see that holes in the walls and discolored places in the floor gave a vague suggestion that the room had once been more fully accoutered, but whatever furnishings had once been there were long gone now.

Ranthir’s eye, however, was immediately captured by what appeared to be runes written in various places on the floor and walls. It looked as if they had been written in blood, but age – coupled with the burning web – had eradicated most of the details.

In the corner of the room there was another spiral staircase leading up to the fourth floor. Climbing this they reached a once-opulent bedroom: Red carpets covered the floor and a large bed made up with red and gold silks jutted out from one wall. There was even a porcelain bathtub.

A heavy green curtain, moth-eaten and grimy, hung across the center of the room, dividing it roughly in half. On that end of the room there was a wooden bureau, a writing desk of dark wood, and a wooden chair. Ranthir’s attention was immediately attracted to the books lined up across the top of the writing desk.

Flipping through these, Ranthir discovered that one of these was a ledger which appeared to show all of the brothel’s business from five years ago until two years ago. He tucked that away and turned his attention to the other volume of interest: A journal written by someone named Maquent.

The room was also filled with a variety of chests and drawers. In fact, the more Tee looked the more it seemed that every nook, cranny, and corner was stuffed full of knick-knacks or clothing or something of the like.

As Tee ransacked the room, Ranthir began reading the journal:

MAQUENT’S JOURNAL

In a beautiful, flowing script, this journal relates details regarding the operation of Pythoness House from 786 YD to as recently as 788 YD. Maquent Dellisaria was a seer and prophetess expelled from a group she refers to as the “Fate Weavers”. She and her partner, Radanna Scalth, operated the house as a brothel. An ardent follower of chaos, Radanna insisted that the two allow the house to be used as a front for a chaos cult known as the Crimson Coil. Some of the more interesting entries include:

Ulanseyl 18, 786

Urieth says that all of the girls believe the gatehouse towers to be haunted by a lost spirit.

Ulanseyl 22, 786

Urieth has been attempting to communicate with the gatehouse ghost. She says that, in life, it was a priest named Taunell. She has been telling the others girls that he has the ability to see anywhere in the house, but that one can only speak with him in the gatehouse towers.

Ulanseyl 29, 786

No one shall go into the gatehouse towers. I shall lock the door myself. The unwelcome spirit is quite tenacious, and not a little dangerous. We attempted to put it to rest, but it made the process far too difficult, so we shall simply leave it there forevermore. (Which is fine with me—I have no liking for holy men and did not relish the thought of bringing one here for an exorcism when Urieth’s attempts failed.)

Duelsayl 10, 786

There is another spirit within this house. At first I thought it was our old friend Taunell, but this is different. It has something to do with the statue of that horrid man. This is Radanna’s doing. She smiles slyly whenever I mention it. She keeps so many secrets from me now…

Siythtural 10, 786

Radanna and her friends have become obsessed with the “Night of Dissolution”. They will speak of almost nothing else. They are convinced that the “coming changes have arrived.”

Thoral 1, 787

The spirit in this house now has the ability to keep out those it does not want, and keep in those whom it does not wish to leave. Only while it sleeps are we truly free to come and go. At other times, I have become a prisoner in my own home. Though, in truth, I rarely wish to leave any more. Where would I go? The filthy city has little for me. I see mostly darkness in its future, with just one possible ray of light. And even then, the light will never reach me. I shall end in darkness, and soon.

Siltarsal 15, 787

Radanna’s cultists have hidden some great weapons of power and items of chaotic magic in the cellars beneath the house and used the enchanted statue to seal the entrance. Only the spiral contrivance can move the statue, and it is broken in two halves – one for me, and one for Radanna. She says we are to keep them hidden and safe until the time when they are needed.

The cultists say the hidden weapons will strike down their enemies on the Night of Dissolution. I no longer care. Their true future is too entwined with chaos to foretell with any accuracy. Perhaps what they say is true. I do sense great changes coming in the next few years.

Noctural 14, 787

I have somewhat befriended the Cobbledman. He grows more mad with each day, however. I hid my half of the spiral contrivance in his tower with him. I shall not even tell Radanna. Of course, she will not tell me where she keeps her half, either, but there’s only one place it could be. Certainly no one could sneak a ladder up to that secret door without her knowing about it.

Essaseyl, 788

Not a favored day for those in my profession. Radanna and her friends have brought forth a goat-headed demon to live in the high tower. Its presence disrupts my ability to foretell the future. Radanna refers to it as a “servitor of the Gods of Change” and an “earthbound demon”. To me, a demon is a demon. I do not care for the way it looks at us—as if we were domesticated animals. I can also feel its oppressive age. Every fiber of my being screams with it. It is so very old.

Taranal 10, 788

The goat-headed thing has called demons from the Dark Reliquary to it here. They join the horrible menagerie of rat-things the cultists already hide in our house. And, of course, the Cobbledman. Soon, it seems, demons will walk the streets of this city, and no one will give it a second thought. I have had a dream of death.

Taranal 18, 788

The name of this month means nothing to Ptolus now. No sun shall shine here again, although strange new stars haunt my vatic dreams.

Ildeial 2, 788

Thabitha lost the key to the square tower. Radanna is furious. I shall have to protect the girl, or Radanna will certainly hand her over as a sacrifice to her terrible friends. Thabitha says that she was on the rooftop garden when she last had the key.

Ildeial 15, 788

It is over now. Urieth says the Knights of the Pale are on their way. The cultists flee. Radanna is slaying the girls one by one. I cannot stop her. The spirit keeps anyone else from leaving. My end comes in darkness.

LEAVING PYTHONESS HOUSE

“I MUST FEED…”

The booming voice echoed through the empty halls of Pythoness House, seeming to come from all around them. Ranthir’s reading of the journal trailed off and Tee, her ransacking of the room almost complete (having turned up little of interest or value), stopped and looked up.

“I don’t really like this place very much,” Agnarr said.

The day was drawing to a close. They didn’t want to particularly stay here through the night and, in any case, Dominic had commitments to keep in the morning. They were also growing worried by the statements in Maquent’s journal suggesting that they might not be able to leave the house.

They retreated back to the first floor. The courtyard had become very dark. Looking up they could see that dark clouds had swept across the sky from the north – a storm coming in from the plains. The low, rumbling growl of thunder could be heard from somewhere in the unseen distance.

Tee led them across the courtyard… and ran straight into a wall of invisible force stretched across the front gate.

They were trapped.

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