Ptolus: Midwood - "The Dark Waters of Moss Pond"

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

The room remains quiet.

Emmerson points the beam of his bullseye lamp to the ceiling, where Emus said he saw a dark spot. His lantern illuminates an open trapdoor in the dorm ceiling. Two brass grooves look as though they held a ladder at some point.

"The undead went up a ladder?" Emmerson says. "I've heard of folks getting spry in their old age, but that's ridiculous."

"Nimble enough to swing a sword, ain't they?" Hazel grins, shaking her head. "Before this year, I wouldn't have thought dead folk could do anything at all. Now if you told me they could grow wings and fly out the ceiling, I'd have to at least consider it."

Chuckling, Emmerson crouches by the beds, shining his lantern beneath them, looking for the axe Hazel said she saw beneath one of them. Reaching down, he pulls out the dwarven waraxe dropped by one of the skeletons.

The axe is unwieldy and clearly made for a dwarf's wider hands. Emmerson knows the axe would likely sprain his wrist if he used it to any great extent. The blade begins to glow, subtly at first, and then as brightly as a torch, albeit a soft blue light.

"Emus, I believe this should be wielded by you."

Emus takes the axe. He holds it with a familiarity that implies he's used one before, but is visibly wary of its enchantment. He looks down at the greatclub he set down to carry the axe.

"I hate to leave it behind. It's just as good as a waraxe, and I can cast a spell on it. Do we have any idea what this glow actually does?"

"I don't see a need to put down your club now," Emmerson says. "Blunt weapons are needed now and you can use yours for the time being. We'll carry the axe with us."

"That kobold skeleton dropped a weapon, too." Hazel waves her hand in the direction of the bone pile. "Short sword. Bufer or Flower maybe could use it."

"Sure, I'll be happy to take the pigsticker," Bufer says. "Unless, of course Flower wants it for hi-- her-- I mean, unless Flower wants it."

The kobold shakes his head and Bufer smiles and bobs his head in thanks as he scoops up the short sword dropped by the kobold skeleton.

Hazel stoops and begins digging through her backpack, frowning.

"Y'all think we can tempt those things back down?" she asks. "I got a rope we could maybe climb up with and drop the ladder down, if there's even a working ladder up there, but I got to have something to tie the rope off with, and I ain't carrying a grappling hook."

Tucker stares at the ceiling and then at the beds.

"How high would you say that hole is? Ten feet? Twelve?"

"Beats me," offers Emus, taking a few practice swings with his new axe, "Anything over four feet is wasted, I say."

"Yeah, anyway. Ceiling's about twice as tall as we are. Even a basic bed's longer than a man, right? If we tip one of these bed frames up on end, I could probably stand on it and see what's upstairs. Of course, I'd have to borrow a lantern, or lift someone who can see in the dark up with me."

Vonmora clears her throat and holds a finger in front of her lips, another finger pointing at her ear and then the ceiling: There's a soft scraping sound above them, like bone on wood floor.

It's difficult to tell exactly where the sound is coming from: right above them or further away. The entire dormitory serves as an echo chamber for the soft sounds.

Outside, the ravens have finally gone quiet.

Sighing, Hazel crouches down next to Flower and points toward the trapdoor.

"You think you could hit something as it's coming down? Figure a skeleton can't really be dodging stones and still concentrating on not breaking a leg falling, can it?" She looks up, as though trying to stare a hole through the ceiling. "Let's hope they don't got a mess of bows up there, eh?"

Bufer reaches up and grabs hold of Oktav's cloak. The acolyte lets out a small squawk as Bufer tugs him back with him away from the trapdoor.

"C'mon, dragonkin," Bufer says to Flower, "Let's the three of us get out of the way. You can ping them off from range as they drop down, and I can keep a proper eye on the professor, here."

From above their heads, the party can hear Artos ordering the skeletons in whatever debased language he's speaking. There's a great deal of shuffling of bony feet in response.

Bufer points up at Oktav sternly.

"Now you listen good, Redshirt: Anything untoward happens this time, you stay put! No screaming and running like a stuck pig; you stick with me and Flower, got it? Ain't nothing getting through the two of us. We might be small, but we're damned cagey."

"My boyfriend's a Lothianite, too, Oktav," Flower reassures him as he loads his sling. "No harm can come to us, when we bathe ourselves in his luminous splendor."

"'Your boy--?'" Bufer says, smiling brightly. "Ah ha, so you are a girl! I thought so, but I wasn't altogether sure. I ain't had a lot of experience with dragonkin females, excepting this one time that ended up with her slashing my throat, so I think it's fair to say I had other things on my mind at the time. Well, that's certainly a relief. Dancing around the pronouns was starting to chafe me something fierce!"

"No, silly!" Flower says. "I'm obviously a boy! I'd tell you why it's obvious, but that would be highly untoward!"

"A boy, eh?" Bufer says, scratching his head and reconsidering everything he thought he knew about Heath Leach. "Now I've seen everything."

Something pale moves past the open trapdoor. Below, Tucker grips his mace and shield more tightly, running his tongue across his dry lips and Emmerson shifts the lantern he's set up on a nearby bed to better illuminate the trapdoor.

"ARTOS NACHTMANN, COME DOWN FROM YOUR HIDING HOLE," Emmerson bellows, "OR HAS UNDEATH ROBBED YOU OF YOUR COURAGE?"

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Emmerson's challenge is met with the sound of Artos laughing somewhere above them. The undead knight says a few words and there's the sound of something scraping across the floor. A moment later, a pile of moth-eaten old blankets drops to the floor below the trapdoor, a cloud of dust exploding from it.

As the dust clears, the adventurers can see a bony figure dropping onto the blanket, and rising back up, coming toward them, glowing long sword at the ready, as another skeleton appears at the trapdoor, ready to follow.

The skeleton slashes at Emmerson, as it approaches, cutting him deeply.

Tucker's flail goes wide, but Emmerson's warhammer does not, and it shatters the skeleton, just as the next skeleton tumbles down and approaches, banging its long sword against its wooden shield as it comes at Emmerson.

Another pale figure appears at the trap door, apparently preparing to drop.

"Tucker, watch the line," Emmerson says, hissing between his teeth. Eyeing his wound and steps back, reaching for the ankh-crucifix around his neck with a bloody hand and murmuring a prayer.

"If I keep swinging wide like this, 'watching' the line is about all I can do," Tucker snaps.

He and Hazel move toward the next skeleton as it lands on the pile of blankets and advances on them.

Tucker lashes out with his flail, catching one of the approaching skeleton's leg bones before it can reach Emmerson. He yanks the skeleton off its feet with a clatter of bone on stone floor.

Hazel makes a wordless grunt, lashing out at the skeleton with one end of her quarterstaff, and then the other, each blow slamming against the helpless skeleton. Whatever it was that animated the long-dead adventurer dissipates, and shatters into a mass of bone and semi-decayed gear.

A third skeleton drops to the floor and as it rises, it feints with both ends of its quarterstaff, as though mocking Hazel as it moves towards Emmerson.

Over by the door, Bufer, Vonmora, Flower and Oktav all look up as they hear something thump loudly, like a door that has not been opened in a very long time being slammed open.

"Well, that can't be good!" Bufer observes.

"NACHTMANN, WILL ROTTED UNDERLINGS DO YOUR DIRTY WORK?" Emmerson roars, reinvigorated by his prayer. "COME DOWN AND FACE ME!"

"AND IF YOU HAPPEN TO NOTICE A BLACK LEATHER BOOK WHILE YOU'RE UP THERE, BRING IT WITH YOU!" Bufer adds.

Oktav forgets to be frightened just long enough to look down at Bufer in surprise.

"What?" Bufer shrugs. "It can't hurt to try!"

"They're going to come in the door," Flower says nervously.

Tucker kicks at the bones on the floor, scattering them around a bit. Since the approaching skeleton has a longer reach than he does, he makes sure his shield is up as he again strikes at its ankles.

"There must be an exit on the second floor! Emmerson, push one of those beds across the door!"

"This one-at-a-time crap is just a distraction!" Emus barks, heading for the door. "The kobold just saved us an ambush, I'm betting."

"Well done, lad," Bufer smiles grimly at Flower. "If we get out of this alive, I owe you an ale. Keep an eye on the professor. And you," he jabs a finger at Oktav, "Don't go nowhere!"

Back at the trapdoor, Tucker neatly sweeps the advancing skeleton off its feet with his flail, just as he did the last skeleton.

Flower's sling stone spins to a stop harmlessly between the deputy's feet. The kobold's filthy dire rat darts through his legs a moment after, biting frantically at an exposed bone. Amazingly, this seems to have some small effect on the undead wizard.

Hazel finishes off the skeleton with another one-two blow from her quarterstaff.

Over at the door, the group can see a thin-bladed steel dagger sliding up between the double doors where Artos is trying to pry off the bar. His bony shadow is visible beneath the door and in the crack between the two doors and the very air around the entrance seems to radiate despair and hopelessness.

"Emus, you got your flask of holy water handy?" Bufer asks as he watches the dagger blade sliding up the seam between the doors, a sudden idea coming to him. "There's a variation on an old practical joke I want try!"

"Not so brave now, little paladin?" Artos growls through the door. "I had no idea there was a window in the attic until you sent me and my servants up the ladder with your trick. But there was."

Outside, there's a renewed sound of the ravens flapping and cawing again, but this time, the sound is carrying through the trapdoor at the end of the dormitory as well.

"Oh, look at that: The birds have spotted the open window."

"Oh, damn!" Emus yells, throwing his backpack off of his shoulders and starts digging around inside. "Emmerson! Tucker! Hazel! Close the trapdoor!

"Get all the birds in one place, and then see how they like this!" Emus pulls a small bomb out of his backpack. "I told you gunpowder was a good idea!"

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Emmerson and Tucker move one wooden bed frame across the doorway. Tucker draws his sword and, following the paladin's lead, jabs it into the wood of the door above the cross bar, hopefully preventing Artos' blade from lifting it from the other side.

"Those damnable birds aren't inside yet, but they will be soon," Tucker says. "And it won't be long after that until they're coming down that trapdoor. We need to be ready. Emus, can I see that gunpowder boomer of yours?"

Emus tosses the bomb to Tucker, who turns it over in his hands.

"This is just a tiny little thing. Shouldn't be too bad, but it might do the trick for those birds. Still, better safe than sorry. Em, help me turn a few of these beds on their sides."

Meanwhile, Hazel studies the trapdoor and the landing pad below it.

"Don't think I can close it, but I got another idea." Dropping to her knees, she digs through her backpack, triumphantly pulling out an extra pint of oil. The sound of the flapping birds carries through the open trap door, and she peers upward, heart hammering, before dousing the blankets with oil. She quickly cuts a thin strip of cloth with her hand axe for a wick, and darts 10 feet back to her lantern.

"C'mon, c'mon," she mutters, her fingers fumbling to lift the hood. She lights the wick with the exposed flame, carrying it carefully back to the blankets. With a prayer to Estanna - it may not be a hearth, goddess, but I need it to burn - she casts the burning cloth atop the oily blankets.

The flame springs up quickly, and Hazel tumbles back with a giddy smile. She hoists her pack onto her back and sends her quarterstaff skidding across the floor toward the group at the barricade, scrambling amid the bones to grab any weapons or other gear the skeletons dropped.

As Hazel throws the dropped weapons, including the glowing long sword, ahead of her, from the corner of her eye, she spots a faint bit of movement between two beds near the end of the room.

The ladder to the attic, which had apparently fallen after the skeletons had escaped up it, is moving. At least, most of the skeletons had made it up the ladder. A small kobold skeleton is attempting to lift the ladder off him, but given the way the ladder (and apparently the skeleton itself) fell, it's partially hooked beneath one bed and the skeleton was pinned in such a way that it can only lift one arm.

With the heat growing, and sweat trickling down her back, Hazel picks up her lantern and heads for the beds piled near the door.

"Hope the smoke will slow 'em down some." She glances around at the group, noting the careful grip Tucker has on a small object. "What you got there?"

"Emus wants to see something explode," Tucker replies. "I was a bit worried about lighting the fuse, but I don't think that'll be an issue any more, thanks to your cookout over there. Now we just need to hope the ravens come inside before it burns itself out."

Tucker moves as close to the fire as he can without inhaling the smoke that is pooling against the ceiling before it flows up through the open flap. He watches for any sign of movement - winged or otherwise.

And then the sound of wings goes from a quiet whisper to overwhelming in a second. Through the thick smoke, ravens explode into the room like a black cloud, screaming with rage at the smoke and the deputy nearest the trap door.

Tucker throws the bomb into the burning blankets and runs, dragging Hazel with him as they race for the far door.

The explosion is almost deafening in the enclosed space. There's a blast of black feathers and kobold bones, and the nearby beds and bits of flaming blankets are blown in all directions.

The birds, smoky, fewer in number, but now undeniably angry, race after Hazel and Tucker.

Hazel dives for her quarterstaff, hoping to grab it and roll to face the ravens before they swarm her.

From the other direction, Emus screams and charges at the ravens with his greatclub, Emmerson and Vonmora on his heels. Emmerson leans down and grabs a glowing long sword tossed toward the door by Hazel a moment before, and carries it into the swarm of black feathers.

The world goes black around the adventurers other than those at the door. They see several ravens go hurtling from the swarm, Vonmora's morning star batting them away like toys.

Hazel lashes out at the ravens as they engulf her. But despite feathers and talons everywhere, they somehow seem to elude the blows from her quarterstaff. Emus fares no better, feeling the birds tug at his beard and their feathers beating against the thin hair of his scalp.

Tucker, though, feels his flail connect against something, and the squawks of outrage suggest that it's multiple ravens.

Unable to even see the glowing long sword through the dark mass of feathers, Emmerson strikes nothing, and just swings through empty air.

Meanwhile, the four engulfed have the horrifying feeling of the ravens crawling over them for brief seconds as wings and beaks and claws batter at them. What's worse is that the birds seem to know of the frailties of their species, and soon their faces are a mass of bleeding cuts as the birds seemingly attempt to pluck out their eyes.

The others hear Vonmora, Tucker and Emmerson scream as claws and beaks pierce the soft flesh of their eyes. Blood runs down their faces as they scream in horror.

The birds disperse in a panic, the survivors flapping their way back up the trap door and away, the sounds of their flight now nothing beyond the normal sound of a flock of birds.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"Friends!" Emmerson calls out, blood pouring out of his eye sockets. "Is everyone all right?"

Vonmora hears the sudden quiet of the fading birds and her hands go to her eyes, wincing. She places her hands over the squishy goo where her eye sockets are begins to pray. The faintest of her scratches begin to close but, more importantly, her slashed retinas knit back together. Blinking the blood from her eyes, she can see again.

Beside her, Emmerson mutters a prayer to Lothian, blinks away the blood and torn bits of eyelid and can see again.

Hazel wipes her arm across her face, leaving streaks of blood behind but clearing her vision. She shudders at the sight of her companions' faces and lays a hand on Tucker's arm as the others' eyesight returns.

"Stay calm, Tuck, we'll get your eyes fixed right up." Louder, she adds, "Bufer, is the door holding? We might need you over here."

"Uh, yeah -- ow -- I don't think I'm going anywhere," Tucker says, trying to keep his voice steady. He's cheered by what he can hear and feel, though: The mangled corpses of the unholy swarm of ravens crunch under his boots like large pinecones.

"Coming, coming!" Bufer calls as he rushes over, still grinning widely despite the horror of the last few moments. "I tell you, I wish Tosh or Heda were here!"

"Why?" Hazel asks, aghast. "So they could have their eyes plucked out, too?"

"What? No no no, so they could see the brilliance of the joke I'm about to spring on that boogedy-boogedy out there! Even with all your eyes mended, none of you big'uns are like to appreciate it! Oh, tsk, I'll bet that smarts, don't it? Come here, Gallaway. Bend over, would you? I ain't about to climb you like a tree."

He's silent a moment, bowing his head in prayer, his hands on the deputy's ravaged face.

"I'll tell you, Gallaway," he says, patting Tucker on the cheek, "I'm a comedic genius unappreciated in my own time."

Tucker blinks rapidly, rubs his face, and looks at the bloody goo on his hands.

"Thank you, Bufer. I'm glad Garl doesn't hold grudges against unbelievers."

"Shhh!" Emus hisses, over by the door. "Can anyone hear Artos on the other side of the door?"

"Emus, we missed a ladder and a kobold hitting the ground on an enclosed space," Emmerson says dryly. "I don't think we'd hear Natchmann even if he was singing 'Onward, Onward, Brave Soldiers' at the top of his lungs."

"Yes," a voice says from the far side of the door, "Open the door. I've seen the error of my ways and want to embrace the truth path of Lothian again."

"Hey Artos!" Bufer yells back. "Pull the other one, why don't ya? It's got bells on!"

"Cut it off and slide it under the door and I'll pull it all you like," Artos replies through the door. "I know a secret about gnome souls. Put your ear to the door and I'll tell you."

"Oh ho, an ambling corpse with a sense of humor, eh?" Bufer shouts back. "I'll have to remember to keep your funny bone as a souvenir after we've smashed the rest of you into dust!"

"I'm sorry, Bufer, but you won't get to keep it," Emmerson says, sheathing his newly acquired long sword and taking out his warhammer once more. "Once we have defeated him, I have plans for Artos Nachtmann."

"Let him in so we can beat him down," Emus whispers.

"Sounds like a plan to me!" Bufer grins, brandishing his sword with relish. "Let's play along, let him in, and --"

The gnome cleric breaks off and blinks as a sudden thought occurs to him. Twisting around, he looks up over his shoulder at the open trapdoor, and frowns.

"You know, it suddenly occurs to me that we don't rightly know what else might been up there in that attic ..."

"I'll give it a look-see," Hazel says. "Y'all don't need me to hold the door shut."

At the other end of the room, Emmerson finds he can slide the ladder into the trapdoor grooves with little difficulty. The ladder itself, as well as the mouth of the trapdoor, is somewhat worse for wear from the bomb, and the ladder is a little wobbly as he puts it back in place.

Hazel stows her quarterstaff on her pack and carries her lantern over to Emmerson and the ladder. She tests each rung on the ladder before setting her weight on it, pausing at the top to cautiously peer over the edge into the attic.

"Just a bunch of dusty boxes so far," she calls down softly. "Gonna take a closer look."

She vanishes up the ladder, Emus at watching up as she goes.

Artos lowers his voice, all but whispering through the door.

"Bufer, I will make you a deal."

"Don't," Emmerson says, grabbing Bufer's shoulder.

Artos continues whispering, too quietly for any ears but a gnome's.

Judging where Artos's head could be, Emmerson slams his warhammer against the door.

Laughter echoes from beyond the door.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Climbing into the attic, Hazel hauls herself over the edge with a grunt and holds the lantern aloft in her left hand. With the right she eases her axe from her belt.

Moving as silently as she can, alert for the faintest hint of a threat, she slips across the attic floor toward the open window. She sets the lantern down before its circle of light can spill outside and walks the last 20 feet without it, pausing beside the window. As quietly as she can, she peeks her head around the window frame and peers into the courtyard.

She finds her view of the door -- and presumably the thing that was once Artos Nachtmann -- obstructed by the overhanging roof. Hazel frowns and eyes the area around the window, studying the thick ivy and nodding to herself.

As she turns to remove her pack, the surrounding darkness gives her reason to reconsider. Stepping lightly, she returns to her lantern and carries it back to the trap door. Emus lifts his head at her approach, and she grins down at him.

"You weren't worried about me, now were you?" Hazel gestures for him to come upstairs. "Come here, I could use a hand with something."

As Emus climbs up, Hazel pulls a section of rope from her pack and loops it around her legs and waist, knotting it to create a secure seat and leaving several feet of rope free.

"Take a quick look around, would you?" she asks as she makes a pile of her pack, quarterstaff and cloak by the trap door. "And then come on over to the window, quiet as you can."

She heads over to the window with her lantern as before, trusting Emus's dwarf eyes to help him follow. She carefully tests the windowsill and motions the dwarf to stay silent. She hands him the free end of the rope and mimes him holding it tight as she descends.

As Hazel pulls out a flask of holy water, Emus grimaces and mimics placing a bar across the window and then points down through the floor to the area where he thinks Bufer and Emmerson are talking to Artos through the door.

And then the trap door slams shut.

"Oh, my," Flower gasps downstairs. "I should've seen that coming."

Emmerson leaves the door and Artos' almost inaudible whispers and climbs the ladder, slamming his shoulder against the trapdoor from beneath. It doesn't budge, and it feels as though something heavy is resting on top of it.

Even as Emmerson slams against the trapdoor again, there's a matching boom as Artos thunders against the front door.

"Give me your answer, Bufer; I'm coming in!"

"You gonna flirt with every evil son of a bitch we run into, Bufer?" Tucker snarls. "What's he saying out there?"

"Something is blocking the trap door," Emmerson calls from the ladder. "I need your help."

Bufer turns toward Tucker, his face ashen. Then he breaks into a humorless smile, turning toward Oktav.

"Hey Redshirt," he says conversationally, loud enough for Artos to hear through the door. "Artos here has oh-so-charitably offered to let one of you go free while he slaughters the rest of us. You want I should give him your name, or do we tell him we true vessels of Lothian don't make deals with rutting no-skin has-beens?"

"HE DID WHAT?" Emmerson roars from the ladder, half-climbing, half-tumbling to the floor. "OPEN THE DOOR, SO I CAN SHOW THAT TRUMPED-UP SKELETON WHAT BEING A PALADIN OF LOTHIAN REALLY MEANS!"

No one would have thought it possible, but Oktav goes even paler than before. He looks from Bufer to Vonmora to Skeeter and back.

"Well, I ..." he starts. Then he turns and vomits his breakfast up onto the floor by the nearest bed.

Bufer slowly closes his eyes, and waits for the retching to stop.

"Should I take that as a 'no?'" he asks patiently.

Before Oktav can answer, the double doors thunder against the bar, the swords wedged in to further block entry vibrating a moment afterward.

"Make your choice, gnome!" Artos calls. "I'm going to keep my end of the bargain in a moment!"

"You'll have my choice when I'm using your moldy skull for a chamber pot, you festering bastard," Bufer growls back. He grabs hold of one of the swords barricading the door, and nods for Tucker to do the same.

"Beanpole, priestess, get up here! Dragonkin, take the professor and the animals and find a shady spot you can ping him from!" He glances up at Tucker. "Pull 'em and back off on the ready, lad. On three, now. One ... two ..."

He locks eyes with Emmerson, now standing behind him, warhammer and shield at the ready, staring at the door with one eye angrily twitching.

From the other side of the door, the group hears Hazel and Emus yelling, their voices descending suddenly to ground level. There's a sound of glass or pottery shattering against the door.

"DIE!" Artos yells.

Tucker and Bufer finally open the door and Emmerson races out.

Hazel lays on the ground beneath a swaying end of rope, half on the walkway, half in the yellowing grass, unconscious, blood pooling in the mud. She has been cut almost in half.

Artos whirls and his bloody greatsword meets Emmerson's warhammer just in time, and Emmerson's blow slides away harmlessly, although Artos is now flanked between the paladin and an enraged Emus.

"I hope you weren't going to choose her, gnome!" Artos yells at Bufer, seeing the gnome's face fall. "Choose quickly now!"

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

With a pained glance at Hazel, Bufer hesitates a moment, then raises his sword and saunters towards Artos as if he has all the time in the world.

"Just how stupid do ye think I am, Nachtmann?" he growls, almost nonchalantly. "Shove your deal, you poor damned fool. As far as I'm concerned, you and whatever fell abomination you're serving now can suck it."

Flower's sling stone pings off Artos' greatsword as the undead knight's armor blocks Dinky's filthy mouth from locking on bone.

Emus's greatclub slams into Artos' armor with a loud crash, but fails to knock him off his feet.

Alas, Emmerson's divinely powered swing of his warhammer goes wide, as does Bufer's sword thrust, prompting more laughter from Artos.

"St. Daris is waiting to meet you, Artos." Tucker swings his flail menacingly, while keeping his shield held high. "And he's going to crack your head in two!"

The undead knight meets Tucker's blow with his sword, shoving him back.

"Then Daris should have chosen a better vessel than you fools!" Releasing his sword with his left hand, he lashes out, touching exposed flesh through a gap in Emmerson's armor. "DIE!"

Searing pain rips through Emmerson, but he manages to shrug most of it off through willpower.

Standing at a reasonable distance behind Tucker to avoid the swing of his flail, Vonmora retrieves a silver chain tucked away in her belt. From it dangles a silver hand clutching a gemstone, and thrusts the symbol at the undead paladin.

"By the light of Yurabbos, be purged!"

Presented with Vonmora's holy symbol, Artos pauses a moment, but does not break and run.

"That's not enough to work against me, you filthy groundhog!"

There's a noise behind the adventurers and Skeeter woofs a warning: Oktav has panicked and runs past the group, running for the cloister door, tears rolling down his face.

The moment seems to last an eternity: Artos turns from Vonmora, both hands on his greatsword, and swings his blade at the fleeing acolyte. His sword continues cleanly on through, blood and bits of organ spraying across the yellow grass of the cloister. The acolyte goes down in a wet heap.

Tucker's flail lashes around Artos' shin, but the fallen knight is stronger than the deputy. Artos jerks his leg back and the flail shoots out of Tucker's hand.

"I'm killing you next, boy," he snarls, meeting Emus' greatclub with his sword, and turning the blow away. Skeeter attempts to get underfoot on Artos and trip him up, but succeeds only in having his big paws stepped on by heavy-soled boots.

Flower, aghast at the fate of his charge, conjures up a wolf, his dire rat companion attacks, but Dinky's teeth close on boot leather and nothing more. The conjured wolf's attempt to trip Artos also fails, but its teeth close on a bony elbow and the wolf shakes with vigor, before fading back to whence it came.

Seeing Vonmora's outthrust holy symbol, Emmerson does the same with his silver ankh-crucifix.

"FALL IN THE NAME OF THE LIGHTBRINGER!"

"The spirit of Yurabbos compels you! BE PURGED!"

And Artos catches fire, a burst of flame dancing across his body a moment, his ancient tabard burning off like a dry autumn leaf in the bonfire.

"I told you to DIE, boy!"

The undead knight's bony hand closes over Emmerson's, and the young paladin shrieks in pain. Emmerson collapses to the ground, his eyes staring at nothing, his face a ghastly gray.

"TWO CAN PLAY THAT GAME, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Bufer's voice echoes across the cloister as he reaches for the skeleton's arm with his free hand.

With a yell, Bufer grabs the undead knight's wrist and Artos yells in pain and -- for the first time -- fear.

The gnome jerks back as Vonmora and Tucker press the attack, but both Vonmora's morningstar and Tucker's shield go wide.

With a grunt of satisfaction at Nachtmann's scream, Bufer does his best to avoid the skeleton's greatsword as he charges past him toward the dying Oktav.

Emus sheds his self-control and flies into a rage, lashing out with his club and screaming wordlessly.

As Bufer darts past Artos toward the fallen acolyte, the knight raises his greatsword to slice the gnome in half, just as he did Oktav, when Emus' club hits him.

Only Artos' armor keeps the skeletal figure from totally exploding when the greatclub hits. As it is, his skull goes flying and the rest of him collapses into a heap of bone and metal.

At long last, the abbey is quiet again, except for the sounds of the Bridgers' heavy breathing.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Swaying with exhaustion and the ebb of adrenaline, Bufer glares at the fallen array of bone and metal. It takes him a moment to work up a properly contemptuous glob of saliva and mucus, and then he spits it squarely at Artos' skull.

He wobbles over to Hazel and digs out his medical kit, dropping his sword into the yellow grass, and falls to his knees beside her, tending her wounds in silence.

The club tumbles from Emus' hand and he drops to his knees by Emmerson. It takes a moment before the haze clears from his eyes and he realizes his friend is injured. Placing a hand on Emmerson's chest, Emus closes his eyes and prays quietly in Dwarvish and Emmerson's wounds no longer seep blood.

Bufer flinches as he sees an unfamiliar pair of hands reach for the bandages he's wrapping around Hazel. He looks up in surprise as Flower sets about assisting him in earnest, his reptilian eyes filled with concern. The confidence with which his claws move demonstrate the kobold to be easily as capable a healer as Bufer has trained to be, if not more so.

Despite his somber mood, the corner of Bufer's mouth twitches upward as he reflects that it may be the first time in recorded history that a gnome and a kobold have ever willingly cooperated in anything. The unselfconscious ease with which Flower initiates it amazes even him, and buoys his heart a little.

As Flower looks up to pass the bandages back to him, Bufer holds his gaze a moment, then nods once in silent thanks and appreciation.

As Emmerson returns to consciousness, the group examines the belongings of the skeletons for anything that might help.

The skeletons all had armor, in tatters, and most of their weapons are in lousy shape, but in addition to the glowing long sword and dwarven war axe, the short sword Bufer was using has held up well, and was clearly made by a master kobold craftsman.

The long sword glows with a yellow-white light when held. Although finely built, it is simple in design and decoration, other than the imperial seal being molded into its cross-piece.

The dwarven war axe doesn't glow at all until Emus reads the weapon's name, written in runes along the haft: Urak, "the Skull-Cutter." Then it glows with a redly, like a forge.

Artos, in life, had come well prepared to the abbey. His half-plate armor was likewise made by a master craftsman, as was his dagger. A loaded dragon pistol is still in a boot holster, although time and damp weather have made a mess of the gun's workings.

Untouched by the flames of Emmerson's turning is a fine cloak that feels vaguely warm to the touch, keeping out the chill when Flower runs his hand along it. Flower also finds a flask marked with the ankh-crucifix of Lothian. When he uncorks it, though, it's not holy water or something meant to be drank, but an oil that smells like metal.

Finally, Emmerson and Tucker examine Artos' greatsword. Its bluish glow has stopped for now. The blade of the fine sword is decorated like a church steeple and St. Yessid stands before the door. Emmerson has to turn the blade around to read it, but the sword's name is spelled out in Celestial on the blade, woven into the pattern of the church steeple.

"What does it say?" ask Tucker, vaguely irritated at being unable to translate the runes.

"Judgment."

"'Judgment?'" Tucker echoes, and the blade begins to glow. Tucker eyes the sword, then turns it around and offers the hilt to Emmerson. "I think it likes you."

"This sword has been tainted, it must be cleansed," Emmerson says. The full color has still not returned to his cheeks after Artos' attack. "I hope that I'm Lothian's worthy vessel and bring honor to this weapon once again."

"Yeah, sure, fine, keep it," Tucker shrugs. "You might need it, because we still ain't alone in here. We need to get everyone to a safe place, 'though I dunno where in this hell hole that could be."

"When Hazel and I was up there," Emus jerks his head toward the attic window, "I saw one of them damned nuns, or the ghost of her, anyway. She closed the trapdoor, and from the sounds of the pounding on it, I reckon she was keeping y'all out.

"We need rest, but I don't reckon we want to rest in here. Didn't this one hear voices when he tried to bed down for the night?" He aims a kick at Artos' remains.

"Artos ain't the worst thing we're gonna find in here, not by a long shot," Bufer says, the creases in his brow deepening as he looks on what was once Artos Nachtmann. "If anything, he was just the opening act."

"I was thinking we should just leave the abbey for today, and come back tomorrow," Emus replies. "Of course, they seem to be good at locking us into places, so that may not be an option. We should also decide on the safest place inside of here to rest up."

"If we're forced to stay here, I think the library's our best bet at a safe haven," Bufer says. "Aside from that book that possessing me, it seemed relatively safe."

Finishing her prayers over them, Vonmora steps away from Oktav and Hazel, washing her face with water from a skin.

Oktav looks at the brutal slash across his sweater and the bare flesh beneath in shock. Looking around, he sees his own blood all over the grass as well as pieces of flesh that were once parts of his internal organs. If he had anything left in his stomach, he would be losing it now, but as it is, he merely dry heaves a bit before weakly thanking Vonmora and heading into the middle of the group, huddling between the armored warriors.

"Brother, do not be afraid," Emmerson says with as much confidence as he can muster. "Yes, we are a bit worse for wear, but watching each other's backs and fighting when the other is unable to has kept us alive."

"Where are the skeletons that attempted to undo Lothian's work?" Emmerson points at the ground. "We are currently divvying up their former possessions."

"Where is the blackguard that threatened us? I currently hold his sword. They are deciding who will wear his armor." He tries a winning smile.

"Breathe deeply, trust in Lothian and relax. We shall see this through. But next time, stay between us."

Hazel's recovery is gentler than Oktav's, and is a transition from dream to waking. The pale yellow grass and nearly white sky seem less real than her dreams, and it takes a long moment before she's fully back with the adventurers once again.

"Did we win?"

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"No," Emus says, offering her a beefy hand. "Not yet, anyway. Artos is down for good, but we know that there's more than just him to deal with. Sorry to ask this of you, girly, but we need to keep moving. Can you stand?"

Hazel grabs Emus' forearm and grits her teeth as he hauls her up. She leans on him for a moment until the lightheadedness abates.

"Looks like."

Flower is still playing around in the newly acquired cloak when Tucker approaches him.

"I don't think that fits you, Tiny. Can I see it?"

Tucker spreads it on the ground, piles the loot on it and begin to drag the whole thing over toward the library.

Behind him, Emmerson clears his throat in what he intends to be an indignant manner.

"And leave partially complete skeletons, so they can raise them again? I don't think so. Everyone, pick up a hip bone."

Carrying strategically chosen bones, the group makes its way across the dry yellow grass toward the library. Bufer catches up to them a moment later, tossing away Artos' helmet having liberated the fallen paladin's skull from inside it.

"Told the bastard I was going to use his skull for a chamber pot," the gnome says simply. "I mean to keep my promise."

Inside the library, they spread out the cloak and pick through the gear. Hazel tugs at the cloak, sending the haul rolling slowly off one side, clanking as it goes.

"Think I can borrow this one?" Her cheeks warm as she sheepishly smiles at Tucker. "I kind of left mine in the attic."

Hazel pulls the cloak tightly around herself, feeling warm and comfortable inside it. She curls up under the cloak with her back to a shelf full of crumbling parchment and is asleep within moments.

"Try the armor on, Tucker, and take one of the glowing weapons," Emmerson says. "I have nothing else left to do. I hope we can take a few hours' rest and pray that on Godsday, our strength is renewed. I suggest those of us in more need take some rest and impose upon those who are hale and hearty to watch over us."

"I'm not touching anything until someone can guarantee that it's not going to possess me," Tucker mutters. "I feel pretty good, so I'll take the first watch."

The sun continues to rise in the sky as he stands watch over the others, although it's lost behind a hazy sky.

As the day wears on, the silence grows oppressive. There are no sounds of birds, no chirp of insects, only the sound of a light breeze rattling the brittle leaves of the black ivy together.

The deputy becomes convinced there's a woman in the library with him, but no matter how he whips his head around, he can never spot her. He practically jumps out of his skin when the others finally begin to awake.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Tucker's unease doesn't wane as he watches Bufer, Emmerson, Emus and Oktav praying after they wake.

"Thanks for the nap time," Hazel says quietly as she joins him. "So, all quiet?"

"I ... don't know. Emus said he saw a nun in the attic over there, right? Do you think they're likely to be on our side, what with their Mother Superior going nuts and murdering them? That they might want revenge on her?"

"She closed the attic door to keep y'all out!" Emus snaps, as he climbs to his feet. His tone suggests Tucker has taken one too many blows to the head.

"Maybe that was the abbess herself," Hazel muses out loud. "Did you get a good look at her, Emus?"

"Yep, sure did," Emus says, counting off on his thick fingers. "She looked like a human female; she was dressed like a nun; and she slammed the attic door shut and DISAPPEARED!

Now finished with their prayers, Bufer watches as Emmerson casts a spell over their collected booty.

He stares at the pile of loot collected from Artos and his minions a long moment before pushing the cloak, greatsword, long sword and dwarven war axe aside.

"Not the oil?" Bufer asks, uncorking it and sniffing it.

"No. The long sword and war axe are the same sort of magic. The cloak and the greatsword are different, but I'm not sure how."

"Well, I hope the girlie-ghosts don't get offended, but ..." Tucker pulls off his studded leather armor and picks up the half plate. "I'd say it's nothing they hadn't seen before, but they were nuns, after all, so there's a whole bunch they'd never seen before."

Re-armored, he compares his antique longsword to the magical one claimed from the skeletons, and chooses the latter.

"Let me see that stuff, Bu-"

"No names, Deputy," Bufer chides. "We dunno who -- or what -- might be listening. I think Shillelagh's right: We ain't likely to find ourselves any allies in this godsforsaken place.

"Listen, I've been thinking and praying on what I saw when that book took hold of me yesterday, and what I keep coming up with is this: Somebody from Ptolus sent that black book to the Mother Superior knowing it woud corrupt her. That's what led her to kill the others, and that's what drove Artos and them what attacked us yesterday, even after death. Whatever taint holds sway here, I'm betting that's the source of it, and if we really want to cleanse this place for good, we gotta find it, and cast the spell right there, where it's taint is strongest."

He looks up at Oktav, who sits across from him on the library floor, hugging his knees tightly and rocking slowly back and forth, his face pale, his eyes wide and wild.

"That sound about right to you, Redshirt?" Bufer asks.

"That sounds right to me," Oktav sighs. He looks 10 years older since the morning. "Do you see the book anywhere in the library?"

"You said it was black leather, right?" Hazel says, searching the shelves. "If we don't see one here, it might be in one of the boxes in the attic. Didn't get a chance to go peeking about in them."

"I doubt it's either, to be honest," Bufer says, even as he joins Hazel in scanning the shelves for the volume he saw in his vision. "If I were a betting gnome, I'd lay money that the Mother Superior kept it close, or more accurately, it kept her close, if you catch my meaning.

"I think we're more likely to find it where she bided most of her time, or where she'd feel the most safe." He glances up at Oktav again. "Where do you think that'd be, if ye had to harbor a guess, lad?"

"The church?" Oktav rubs his forehead viciously. "The library? Her quarters?"

"Well, that narrows it down, some," Bufer sighs. "Well, we've been in the church, and we been in the library. How about it, beanpole? Did Artos' journal give you any directions? Could we find the Mother Superior's quarters and make a beeline for it, if we wanted to? Or are we going to have to blaze our own trail, here?"

"We need to collect the gear Ha-- Lumberjill and Shillelagh left in the attic across the way before we move on," Tucker interjects. "It's going to be dark soon, and even if we move fast we're going to need that lantern."

He starts walking across the open grass toward the dormitory.

"Artos's notes are maddeningly sparse," Emmerson says, following. "But if abbeys are like priories, the abbess could have very well had her quarters away from the nuns' dormitory. We'll need to carve our own path."

The rest of the group follows them across the cloisters, peering into the shadowed halls overhung by the black ivy.

Although the shadows are dark, it looks as though there are at least six doorways or doors tucked into the shadows of the east and south walls, three in each wall.

The black ivy conceals the roof of the abbey completely, but guessing from the height of the ivy, it seems likely that, at one time, every wing of the abbey once had an attic area.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Hazel misses a step as they pass the bloodstained ground near the dormitory and catches herself on Tucker's pack as the deputy stops.

"Sorry."

Tucker holds up a hand for silence and draws his flail, listening at the doors standing open in the late afternoon sun. Hazel joins him and listens as well. After a moment, she turns and waves the group on, pantomiming lighting a torch.

"Just need a moment to snag my gear," she whispers, "If the trap door will open. But it'd be nice to have someone holding it open, just in case. Don't think I'd care to repeat that leap."

The dormitory is dark and quiet as the group steps inside. As the daylight begins to wane, it's colder than it was, but is otherwise is as the Bridgers left it; at the far end of the room, the ladder still leads to a closed trapdoor.

"It ought to be one of us priestly types," Bufer says, as he brings up the rear, leading Oktav along by one arm while Flower holds the other. "If there is some kind of oogedy-boogedy up there, we can at least try to chase her off long enough for you to grab your stuff and scurry back down. And if not, there's always the holy water sprinklers."

He lets go of Oktav's arm, and with a meaningful glance at Flower, steps forward and unhitches his aspergillum from his belt.

"Trap door can't be that heavy. I'd be happy to tag along, unless somebody's got a better idea."

Hazel follows Tucker over to the ladder, with Emmerson's lantern lighting the way. Eyeing the closed trap door, she begins climbing the ladder and stops at the top to listen, pushing lightly against the door. The creak of it opening is loud in the quiet dormitory.

Hazel pushes the trapdoor open with a thump and stretches her arm out, feeling for the gear she left beside the door.

"Heads up, deputy," she says, tossing it down.

She takes the lantern from Tucker and shines it around the attic, then sets the lantern beside the trapdoor and pulls herself up.

"Come on up, Fancypants." The name almost makes her chuckle, despite her fear of the attic. "Hold this open while I grab my lantern."

Leaving Emmerson's lantern next to Bufer, Hazel aims the light toward her own lantern and darts across the attic to retrieve it.

The room seems longer than she remembers it being as she races through the darkness, and the sound of the group behind her grows quieter and quieter. When she reaches the lantern in the dim pool of light from the open window, she finds she's reluctant to run back through that black expanse back to the trapdoor.

She is gripped by knowledge that someone is going to slam the trapdoor on her and trap her alone in the dark with them. Heart racing, Hazel stares across the attic at the open trapdoor.

"Hello? Buf-ancypants? Are you still there? M-maybe the deputy should help you with the door. Anyone for a rousing verse of 'Onward, Onward Brave Soldiers?'"

She's here, I know she's here.

Hazel grips her lantern with white knuckles.

"I'm right here, Lil' Big'un," Bufer says as he leans on the open trap door. Hazel's voice sounds strangely far away, but the fear in her voice is palpable. "Just follow my --"

At that moment, Emmerson bursts out singing.

"Though the sky be black as coal,
Though still hours 'til break of day,
Still we march towards our goal,
Lothian's truth shall light our way.

"Onward, Onward, Brave Soldiers
Onward 'til the break of dawn!
Onward, Onward, Brave Soldiers,
For the glory of Lothian ...

"Now, EVERYBODY!"

"Oh, good Garl, not this again," Bufer mutters. "Next time we camp, remind me to teach y'all The Pantsing of Mithra. At least there's a decent pie-fight in that one!"

Hazel takes a deep breath and adds her voice to the song in a jarring, staccato rhythm as she runs toward the trapdoor. The light and the awful, awful singing seems a very long way away, even after she is sure she's more than run the distance between the window and the door.

Then, she feels it: Women's fingers, clutching at her arms and legs, unseen fingernails clawing at her as she yanks herself away from their grasp.

And then something dark comes between her and the trapdoor.

She's about to scream when she barrels into Bufer and Emmerson, half-falling down the ladder with them.

"Easy there, Lumberjill," Emmerson says, clutching at her. "You can't risk the fall."

Hazel nods as she gulps in air and shakily descends the ladder. But for Emmerson's steadying hand, she would have missed the last rung entirely. As she turns to thank him, her eyes sweep the room and her whole body shudders.

"Like hogs on butchering day." She swallows rapidly to stop the bile rising in her throat. "Those poor women."

Hazel kneels and relights her lantern, grateful for its warm glow. She silently rolls her old cloak into a bundle and tucks it into her pack before slinging it across her back. With her lantern in her left hand and her quarterstaff in her right, she heads for the door to the courtyard.

"We should hurry."