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

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"There are six doors that open to the cloister: three on the east wall, three on the south wall," Emmerson says, pointing. "I do not know which one could lead us to wherever the root of this problem is."

"Bear right when you get out of the dormitory, and we'll check the first door we come to," Tucker says, scratching his chin whiskers and preparing to move. "If we don't die, we'll continue on in that direction."

"Lass, slow down for a second," Bufer says, laying a hand on Hazel's arm. "I know you're frightened, but we can't go off half-cocked. We've got to be more careful than we've been, or we're all like enough to wind up like Artos. What was it that spooked you so bad?"

"The women. Nuns, they're-" Hazel clears her throat and begins again, her voice a little stronger this time. "They were in the attic with me, and they didn't want me to leave.

"It's not some parlor trick - I could feel them trying to pull me back. An' then-" She glances at Oktav and lowers her voice, hoping the frightened acolyte won't bolt. "The first floor, I didn't see it like that before. Blood everywhere.

"I seen stock butchered. I've skinned my own catches for years. But those nuns -- she bled them like hogs. Slit their throats in their beds, and the blood pooled around them and ran down to the floor, and her bloody handprints covering their faces. Some of them knew what was coming. They must have woken up, and she held them down.

"How could the church just let them suffer here so long?"

She squeezes Bufer's shoulder in thanks, and moves with group toward the south wall.

The door leading to the first room hangs in the doorway on hinges that are all but rusted away. A poke with a morningstar knocks it off its hinges, revealing long-cold stone ovens and a large stone vat.

Walking east along the south wall, the party comes to a set of double doors, which are intact and closed.

"First door is a kitchen," Emmerson says. "We can explore it, if you all want."

"Have to start somewhere if we're going to find that book," Emus nods.

"OK, let's rule out the kitchens first." Emmerson says as he heads back to the broken down door of the kitchen.

"Where did the head nun sleep?" Emus grunts as they poke around the dusty kitchen.

"Well," Oktav says, licking his bloodless lips, "Abbesses and mothers superior sleep in the same quarters as the nuns in the smaller abbeys. In one this size, she almost certainly had her own quarters, though."

"Instead of searching the kitchen for the book, how about we head our way there?" the dwarf replies, having discovered nothing of interest in the kitchen. "The day is mostly spent, already."

Oktav rubs his arms through the wool of his sweater and nods nervously.

"Unless we're looking for a cookbook, I don't care about the empty kitchen," Tucker says, heading out and to the next door along the south wall. "Come on."

"For all we know, the abbess hung herself in the kitchen," Emmerson says. "But all right, there can be time later to return to this spot. Lead on, deputy."

Tucker opens the double doors, exposing a long room stretching 100 feet or so to the south. Simple tables and benches line the east and west walls. Wooden cups still rest at some places, and a pottery ankh-crucifix lays shattered on the floor, just visible at the edge of the light streaming in from the doorway.

"Probably the dining hall," Bufer says as he leans in between Tucker and Emmerson to take a peek at the room. He glances up at his partner. "Keep going, I guess?"

"Keep going," Hazel confirms before Emmerson can answer. "If we can't find the book in the most likely spot, we'll backtrack an' search the others."

Just a little further along the south wall to the east is a small door that the humans have to duck slightly, should they enter it.

The room is small and square, with benches built into the wall along all four walls. The southwest corner of the room contains a large ceramic stove built into the wall, and the entire room is covered in tile. A door in the southeast corner seals off a room or a passage to the south.

"Let's check the last of the doors off the courtyard before we go poking further in," Tucker says. "There were three on the east wall, right? And one of them is the library? Just two more chances for something to surprise us."

"This one looks promising, with the door and all, but we should give them all a look-see first," Hazel says. "Don't want to get trapped betwixt something behind the inner door and something coming from one of the doors we ain't looked in yet."

Bufer follows along with the others, humming "Onward, Onward, Brave Soldiers" as they head for the next door.

"I've got that damned hymn stuck in my head now!" he grouses.

The purpose of the first room along the east wall is lost to history. Its door is entirely absent, only rusted hinges remaining and within, the bare square room is empty, its ceiling torn away save for the vaulted stone arches that now only hold up the black ivy.

"Don't look like a likely hiding spot for a book to me," Hazel sighs. "What's behind door number two?"

The group moves to the last unexplored door on the east wall.

Ragged tatters of holy vestments hang from wooden pegs. Like the room to the south, the roof here is long gone, and apparently enough of the elements have gotten in through the black ivy over the years to rot away what were once intricately embroidered garments.

Shining the light room into the recesses of this chamber, no doors are visible, nor are other ways out.

"OK, now we know what's what," Tucker says. "Back to the bench room and see what's beyond."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"Low ceiling," Hazel comments as the group enters the bench room. "What do yo think they used this for? It's like a warming hut, but they ain't ice fishing in an abbey."

"My father tells stories about his time in the baron's army," Tucker says. "I forget where he was, exactly. Down in the lowlands, I know that, in the west, maybe. Anyway, they met these elves, who would all gather in one tiny room and light a fire, and when they'd pass out or start seeing things from the heat, they took it as a sign from their gods. They picked leaders, dealt with problems; pretty much anything important in their society, they left up to hallucinations. It doesn't seem like a very nunly thing to do, though."

"Back when my kin first came to Wit's End, Lord Rubik sent scouting parties out into Tulgey Wood, looking for evidence of the gnomes who used to live there before Gax moved in. We couldn't make sense of everything they found, but it sounds like they had a similar sort of ritual," Bufer says, sticking his head under one of the benches curiously. "But like the deputy says, that's probably got nothing to do with anything, and I'm just running off at the mouth again, as usual. Stop talking now? Sure, OK!"

"It could be a buttery, a pantry or even the circuitor's room," Emmerson says. "We've yet to see the punishment cells, the cellar or the guest's quarters. An abbey of this size must surely have expected the visit of high level church and lay visitors."

Oktav clears his throat as he sits gingerly on a bench.

"Well, the abbey wasn't around terribly long. It could be that more construction was planned that was never completed, or that some of those buildings were outside the main structure and are now in ruins."

"Short answer, 'no magic books in here.' Got it," Tucker says, as he opens the door on the far side of the room, revealing a long dark corridor.

As Emmerson holds his lantern aloft, Hazel ducks to peer beneath his arm, looking for doors or passages leading off from the hallway. The light from the lantern disappears into the darkness. There might be a door on the west side of the hall, at the very limit of the light's range.

Having learned the hard way that open doors in this place don't tend to stay that way, Bufer makes a point of leaning on the exit door with all his weight, attempting to keep their avenue of escape open. While this might seem a futile gesture, given that gnomes are barely the height of a human toddler, it should be noted Bufer never met a pie he didn't like, or a mug of ale that he didn't want to get to know much, much better. As he leans against the door, its hinges do not so much groan in protest as they cry out for mercy.

Hazel smiles and shakes her head at Bufer. Bringing her lantern close to the exit door he leans upon, she studies the hinges and the thickness and quality of the wood for a long moment.

"With all the broke-down doors around here, don't suppose a few more would make much difference. If you hold the door open, I can cut notches out around the hinges and the muscle boys can pull it down. Maybe the inner door, too."

Hazel gets to work on the doors with her hand axe. A few moments later, Emus, Tucker and Emmerson have removed the doors and theoretically prevented whatever haunts the abbey from locking them inside.

"Now, we'd best get to finding that book," Hazel says, picking up her lantern.

Tucker moves down the hallway, trying to stay out of the path of Emmerson's lantern light. As the party advances forward, they discover a door on the west side of the hallway, and the passageway continues beyond that.

"We'll make our way to the end of this hallway, so we know the entire layout," Tucker says. "Shillelagh, stand guard by this door. Once we get the light out of your eyes, you'll be able to keep watch and give a shout if anything tries to come out it. Once we figure out where the far wall is in this place, we'll come back and open it, find out what's behind."

Emus nods to Tucker and leans against the door frame, scratching Skeeter behind one ear.

"If the nuns were slaughtered in their sleep where are their corpses?" Emmerson asks quietly.

"Oh, I know the answer to that," Oktav says. "The abbey stopped communicating with the outside world, and after a week, the bishop sent a group to see if they had fallen prey to goblins or kobolds. They discovered what had happened. The nuns were brought back to Middleborough and given a proper burial there."

"Maybe once this is over we can all go there and pay our respects," Tucker says, leading the way further down the passage.

The lantern eventually reveals the passageway coming to a dead end about 10 feet beyond the door to the west. Where it ends, there's a door in the east wall.

"East or west, lads?" Hazel asks. "One's as good as the other, no?"

"I don't want to open the east door with the west one still unexplored behind us," Tucker says, returning to Emus' side at the door they passed on the way down the hall. "You ready to see what's behind door number one, Shillelagh?"

Emus grunts in the affirmative.

Hazel stands behind Emus and raises her lantern, spilling the light into the room as Tucker pushes the door open. He finds himself at the end of a 100-foot long room. At the far northern end, past all the benches and tables, he can see the light from the double doors the group left open previously.

Tucker pulls the west door closed, and the group shuffles over to the east door to repeat the process. He and Emus exchange nods, Hazel and Emmerson raise their lanterns, and the clerics keep their aspergillums at the ready. The deputy opens the door.

Tucker gets a glimpse of a bed, a bookshelf and other elements of a well furnished, if simply done, bedroom. And then there's a flash of light as something large and very heavy strikes him in the face.

As he reels back, blood pouring down his broken nose, the statue of Lothian missing from the chapel's ankh-crucifix fills the bedroom doorway, staring at the group with its sightless painted-on eyes and raises its wooden hand to strike Tucker again.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"Oh wow," Bufer mutters, his jaw hanging open. "Somebody is definitely going to Hell for this."

"Fall back into the dining hall!" Emus' voice is like thunder in the close quarters.

Vonmora slaps her hand on Tucker's back and steadies him as she murmurs a prayer to Yurabbos.

"Ow, muddahFUH!" Tucker spits, spraying blood on the statue. His eyes water from the blow, but it's hard to miss the towering, creaking pile of lumber right in front of him.

"What is it with statues?" Hazel snaps, as she pushes Oktav ahead of her, back into the dining hall. "First, the owlheads want to zap us and now we got a god coming to life and trying to kill us."

Oktav whimpers in fear and dances from foot to foot in controlled panic behind a table as the group turns and prepares to fight.

"Stay with us this time," Flower pleads and clutches Oktav's wrist tightly.

The statue of Lothian slams its way into the dining room through the open door, and heads for Tucker. It meets Emus' waraxe and turns it aside with one massive wrist. Tucker fares no better, with the statue's other hand slapping aside his blade.

"Face the Judgment of Lothian!" Emmerson shouts.

Emmerson swings Judgment, but the blade meets only empty air; the statue has moved to attack Tucker once more, dealing a blow that almost drives him to his knees, but his shield and bones both hold.

"Lothian's judgment comes and right soon," Emmerson sings.

Hazel mouths a prayer as she sees Bufer head into the fight; the gnome seems positively tiny beside the towering image of Lothian.

She sets her lantern on the table and grips her axe in two hands, taking a stance a few feet in front of Oktav and Flower.

As Bufer darts through the statue's legs, Vonmora casts a spell, intending to put the fear of vengeful ancient dwarf spirits into whatever animates the figure, but the statue betrays no response.

The dwarf priestess grips her morningstar and prepares to put the fear of living dwarves into the statue instead.

Flower shakes his head at the futility of it and loads his sling, readying a shot at the animated Lothian figure and hoping Rogren never hears of this.

"Lothian's judgment comes and right soon," Emmerson sings.

"You going to yodel at that thing all day or are you going to kill it?" Tucker snarls.

Now behind the animated statue of Lothian, Bufer draws his short sword from his belt and thrusts with it.

"Master Barennackle is never going to believe this," he mutters.

Vonmora swings with her morningstar with a grunt but misses and Flower's sling stone goes wide as well, falling on a table somewhere in the darkness.

The statue turns Judgment away with one hard wood forearm, but that opens it up to Tucker's blow, and the blade bites deeply, sending splinters flying.

And then Emus strikes with The Skull-Cutter, dealing a devastating blow with the axe. The wood cracks as the axe cuts into a seam in the wood along the statue's abdomen and in a second, it splits the figure both up and down, the two parts shearing away from one another, the legs tumbling away as Bufer dances to get out of the way, the torso falling forward onto Vonmora and Emmerson.

The statue collapses to the floor and lays still.

"May your clan always sing your praises, Emus," Emmerson breathes, visibly impressed.

Emus holds the waraxe in front of him, eyes wide as he looks at it in a whole new light.

"Urak," he mutters. He lowers the axe and gives a satisfied grunt when he notices that nobody's guts are spilling on the floor this time.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"In any other set of circumstances, we'd have a hard time explaining to the bishop why Lothian's statue has been rendered twain," Emmerson says as he examines the statue. "Shall we go back down the corridor?"

"Yeah, I think I saw a bedroom in there before getting pounded in the face," Tucker says, taking point again and heading for the open door at the end of the hall.

The door is silently ajar as the group approaches it.

Emmerson can see Tucker walking toward the door, but as he follows, a piercing headache threatens to split his skull in two. He closes his eyes, trying to shut out the pain, but it increases every step he takes.

"That room," he winces. "The evil is almost overwhelming."

"I'd imagine," Tucker says, sniffing up a rivulet of blood back into his nose. "But after getting punched in the face by my god, not much else is going to surprise me today."

Despite Emmerson's feeling, the bedroom is unassuming. There is a wide, simply made bed, a bookcase, a large desk and worktable for the restoration of manuscripts and there's an upright clothes cabinet.

The room is dark: The small high windows leading outside are completely covered with black ivy.

"This is about as defensible as we're going to get," Emus says from the doorway, his axe in his hand. "Is it where she hanged herself?"

Looking up, Emus can see a series of wooden beams perpendicular to the floor, beneath an arched roof. It's not hard to imagine that the abbess hanged herself from one of them.

Behind him, Hazel raises her lantern over the dwarf's head, scanning the room.

"Anyone see the book?" she asks.

The group glances around at the books in the room. None of them appears to be the black book from Bufer's vision.

Behind them, Emmerson makes it to the doorway before throwing up his breakfast in the hallway, along with a few flecks of blood.

"That's good enough for me!" Emus barks. "Cast that spell, y'all!"

Bufer slips his pack off his shoulder, sets down the altar case and sets about preparing his portable altar for the ritual.

"All right, I'm going to be doing this in Gnomish, so unfortunately it's going to sound like gibberish to most of you, but I'm hoping that'll hold true for whatever I'm exorcising here, too; maybe it won't tumble to what I'm doing until it's too late. Yes, I know it's probably a vain hope, but it's better than nothing.

"Now, if I'm wrong," he says, lighting candles, "Then once I get going whatever it be holding sway here is going to show up right quick and do its best to convince me to stop, most likely by ripping my entrails out and showing them to me, and that's just to start. I need to be able to finish the ritual and that's where you lot come in."

Oktav Grosskopf nods absently at Bufer's remarks as he attempts to tug free of Flower's claws.

"Where is the book, though?"

Tucker checks the shelves, then under the mattress.

The mattress, full of long-rotten straw, yields nothing but dust and shreds of blackened straw. The bookshelves contain books that would likely have sent Katadid into fits of ecstasy, but none of them appear to be the book that Bufer described after his vision.

Bufer hesitates, and looks from Oktav to Emmerson and Vonmora.

"What do y'all think? Keep looking for the book, or start now and hope just being where the evil's strongest is enough? The book did seem pretty important, but if we can't even find the damned thing ..."

"The abbess must have had a hidden drawer or something where to store items for her eyes only," Emmerson says.

"Well, search the room, then!" Emus barks. "We're too close to be worrying about making a mess, now!"

The group throws themselves into the search, checking behind furniture, pulling themselves up to look atop the beams and looking under furnishings.

Beneath the bed, Emus finds it: A trap door, set in the stone floor. A tarnished brass ring appears to be the means of opening it. The bed turns out to be hinged, and it lifts easily up against the wall.

"Wow, I can't believe I didn't see that," Tucker says with disgust. "Can we get some light in there?"

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Hazel stares at the brass ring with concern.

"Maybe we don't need to open it. Maybe we could just cast the spell on top of it without opening it at all." From her tone, it's clear she doesn't believe that would work, as much as she'd like to.

"Nah," Emus says quietly. In contrast to Hazel, there's a gleam of anticipation in his eye.

With the bed up against the wall, He reaches for the brass ring. With a tug, the trapdoor scrapes open. A once-sturdy wooden ladder leads down into darkness, but the wood seems to be covered in a layer of black dust, as is the underside of the trapdoor.

Emus, with eyes adapted to the dark of mountain caves, can see a small room below, a small storeroom of sorts.

"Huh," he grunts. "Wish I had another bomb."

"So, who's for crawling into the nun's dirty root cellar," Tucker asks, ignoring Bufer' snickering a few feet away, "And who's for staying up here?"

Emus squats, looking at the ladder. The black substance he first thought was dust appears to be flaking off of the ladder, as though wafer-thin layers were being chipped off slowly.

Looking down into the storeroom, he can see that other objects down there also have a strangeness to them. Angles are off on a large table and it's close to falling over. The tabletop is buckled and ruined books are spilling out of a small bookcase that looks as though it has turned runny.

Atop the table there's another object, but without being closer, it's hard to figure out exactly what it is -- or what it once was.

Hazel crouches beside Emus, aiming her lantern down into the room. She shakes her head. She points a finger toward the table.

"Is that what's causing the ivy to turn black, too?"

"Let's find out!" Emus barks. Holding Emmerson's lantern in his shield hand and Urak in his other, he jumps down into the hole, ignoring Emmerson's and Bufer's cries of alarm.

If anything, the room is worse when fully lit by the lantern. Not only are the angles of the room all wrong, but the stone and earth of the cellar seem to be degrading into the black powder on the ladder. Roots that have pushed through the wall have likewise turned black and almost seethe with unnatural life.

Every surface of the room has been painted red with disturbing symbols. Emus recognizes a dagger and a crescent moon, but the symbols overlap to such a degree -- and were apparently put down with such ferocity -- that it's impossible to tell what most of the tangle of images are supposed to be.

Atop the rippled table surface is a small wooden chest. Its hinges are no longer anything but black powder and the grain of the wood is twisted into images suggestive of screaming mouths.

The room is warm and moist, like the inside of a feverish mouth.

"Oh, Hell," Bufer groans angrily. "Redshirt, get your big brain over here and take a gander down there; I want to know what it is I'm looking at. The rest of you stay back, just in case. Lil' Big'un, better get your rope ready in case we need to pull Shillelagh back up right quick."

Oktav detaches himself from Flower and edges over cautiously, trailed by the kobold. It takes him a moment to sort out any individual images. He looks flustered as he tries to work out what it is he's looking at.

"I've read descriptions of iconography like that. If it's the same thing as I read, this would be the Cult of Chaos, but that doesn't make any sense ..."

"Why not?" Emmerson asks, peering over his shoulder.

"Because this was an abbey dedicated to Lothian! These women weren't cultists! From all accounts, the abbess was a well-respected woman whose faith was unquestioned, not some mad beast! And the cult is in the west, on the frontier of the empire, not here in its heart!"

"West?" Emmerson looks at Bufer. "As in Ptolus?"

"You grow up next to an orchard, you learn pretty quick that an apple doesn't have to be brown and mushy to be rotten, and that they can grow on any tree," Tucker says with a sagely tone.

"You all right down there, partner?" Hazel calls down.

"So far, so good!" Emus shouts back with a grin. "There's a bunch of blood all over the walls! And there's a creepy chest on a table! And the room reeks with an ancient evil not meant to be understood by any sane mind! Also, it's kind of humid!"

"If I were a betting gnome, I'd lay money that someone in this Cult of Chaos was them what sent the book to the abbess in the first place, and it all went pear-shaped from there. The church is a pretty attractive target to take down a peg or two, believe you me."

Emmerson clears his throat very softly, and Bufer continues brightly.

"Misguided sons of bitches, the lot of them. I don't what the rest of the empire's like, but from where I'm sitting, the Church's got a lot to recommend her.

"Shillelagh, don't touch nothing! I'm coming down!"

With that, Bufer turns and jumps down into the hidden storeroom. Emus stretches out his arm to steady the gnome's landing, then gestures with his axe toward the chest on the table.

"I'm thinking we smash it to dust."

Above, Hazel stands near the edge of the trapdoor, the remaining rope coiled over her arm.

"Say the word and we'll haul y'all up."

"Tell us more about the Cult of Chaos," Emmerson says. "If they had a book that corrupted the abbess and turned that place into a madman's dream home, the church should have some information."

"This isn't what they do, though!" Oktav says, his voice a whine. "They like to skulk about in the sewers and sacrifice animals and poison wells and such-like. I've never heard of them doing anything like this. And a book couldn't do this, anyway! There has to be some other explanation."

"Besides books, what else do they trade in?"

"Nothing! They're not merchants, they're nihilists. Something else happened here."

Below, Emus and Bufer examine the chest without touching it. It essentially is just a pile of chest-shaped parts, at this point. It can't be opened so much as cleared away from what's inside.

"It don't look like it'll require much in the way of smashing," Bufer says, "But go ahead. Just watch you don't smash whatever might be inside in the process."

"No smashing," Emus snorts. He lifts his axe and makes a show of carefully scraping the sides of the chest away from whatever it contains. "Wouldn't want to break the pretty, evil baubles the crazy dead nun's got stashed under her bed."

As he scrapes away at the wreckage of the chest, Emus slowly exposes a black book.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"Why couldn't a book do this?" Hazel pats Skeeter's head as the dog paces beside the trapdoor. "I mean, if it had a spell on it or something to make the abbess want to turn to chaos. Or maybe after the book, they sent more gifts."

"No!" Oktav responds, fear making his response almost a scream. "Historically, they've been seen as sort of malevolent idiots, incapable of anything beyond being a nuisance. Church records don't record more than a dozen deaths caused by them in the past century. They're not considered any sort of major threat to the church or empire."

Below, Emus brushes the chest scraps off the book as best he can, and exposes a small book bound in some sort of black hide. A silver crescent moon is embossed into the cover. Looking at the book from several angles, Bufer can see what appears to be a piece of paper slipped between two of the pages jutting out the top.

With a glance at Emus, Bufer runs back to the ladder and calls up to the others above.

"I think we might have found it," he says, "But we need a way to get it back up there. I ain't none too eager to touch it, and I don't think there's room enough to do the ritual down here, and fight whatever it's gonna conjure up. Anyone got any bright ideas?"

Emus grunts and reaches into his pack. After a moment he pulls out a small cloth sack.

"We can give this a try." He casts a doubtful look around the storeroom. "Wouldn't want to trust anything for long, though. Whatever the book is, it seems to warp everything around it. I'll hold open the sack, and you use the flat of that fancy new short sword to push it into the bag."

"I ain't got any better ideas," Bufer says, then calls back up the ladder. "Scratch that -- sounds like Shillelagh might have figured it out. Get ready to pull us back out!"

Tucker his aspergillum into his belt, Bufer draws his short sword, then heads to the ruined table. As he sets the edge of his sword on its surface, the flat of the blade just a few inches behind the book, Emus stands at the end and holds his sack open.

"Just be careful not to let your thumbs brush it when you catch it," Bufer warns.

As Emus nods with a grunt, Bufer pushes his blade against the book, sliding it slowly and carefully towards the waiting sack. The book drops gently inside, its pages opening a little as it's deposited within. The piece of paper tucked between two pages becomes dislodged and almost falls out of the book. Emus can see some handwriting on it as he closes up the bag.

"All right, we've got it! Get ready to haul us back up!" Bufer calls up to the others. He examines his sword for any deformities, then tucks it back into his belt.

Hazel leans over the trapdoor and beckons.

"Start climbing, boys."

"Potentially deadly artifacts before beauty," Bufer says to Emus, gesturing toward the ladder.

"I reckon she'd skin me if you got stuck down here," the dwarf snorts, lifting Bufer with little effort. "Up you go, Fancypants. Best get to climbing."

Bufer squeals and wriggles in Emus' hands. Grabbing hold of the rope, Bufer shrugs out of Emus' grasp, and ineffectually kicks at his head.

"If you tell anybody I'm ticklish, you'll wake up one morning with your beard shaved off an tied into a neat little bundle on your chest, with your eyebrows keeping it company."

Bufer snatches the sack off of Emus' belt the second the dwarf has cleared the edge of the trapdoor, and carries it back to where he had set up his portable altar.

"All right, so we got the book," he says, setting it down next to the altar case. "Redshirt, what am I doing with it? Is it enough that it's here? Or do I need to use it as a focus for the ritual somehow?"

Oktav rubs his head, while not too subtly moving as far away from the sack as he can.

"Well, it seems to be connected to whatever happened here. Maybe try to exorcise it? Or maybe something in it ... I don't know. This isn't something that was in my books."

"We ought to look at the extra paper what's stuffed inside before you go mumbling and praying over that book." Emus scratches his chin. "Mighty fancy writing on it, in Imperial, I think. Could be it'll tell us something."

Grabbing hold of the bottom corners of the sack, Bufer lifts it up and shakes the book out onto the floor next to the altar case. Setting the empty sack down behind him, he then reaches up into one sleeve and produces one of his daggers. He uses the tip to flip open the cover, then one page after another, until he's reached the page that's bookmarked with the slip of paper.

The piece of paper is not a bookmark, per se. Instead, it appears to be a note written on extremely expensive stationery from the book's donor:

Dearest Sisters:

In distant Ptolus, I have heard of your mission and agree that the end of the Empire may be fast approaching and that Chaos and Darkness will follow in its wake. Your goal of preserving the knowledge of the Empire against that day is both wise and farsighted.

Please accept this contribution from House Vladaam's library. The Book of Ascendant Night is a rare and ancient book but it specifically discusses the coming darkness and its harbingers. I trust that you will find it enlightening.

Yours truly, Iristul Vladaam

As for the book itself, it is not written in the Imperial Common tongue.

"Westron," Oktav mumbles, looking over Bufer's shoulder. "I can't read it, but it's what a lot of the church's older books are written in."

One of the pages the book opens to also contains a woodcut of robed figures dancing under a moon hanging low in the sky.

Bufer frowns and glances up and around at the others, then reads the letter aloud for all of them to hear.

"Seems to me that the abbess got more enlightened than she bargained for," he says once he's finished.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"The title ring any bells for you?" Tucker asks, elbowing Oktav.

"No, but the church doesn't keep these sorts of books, they burn them. If there is a list of such books, it's not for the eyes of an acolyte to see."

"Is it just me, or does that look like a happy-dance?" Tucker points to the woodcut on the open page. "Who'd be happy about 'the coming darkness?'"

"This Cult of Chaos for one, I'd imagine," Bufer replies. "Member they ain't the malevolent idiots the professor's making them out to be. Or at least not any more. "How about this 'House Vladaam,' Redshirt? You think they knew what they were doing when they sent this thing?"

"I don't know anything about Palastani noble houses," the acolyte says with a shrug.

"You said they hand-delivered it, right, Fancy-tickle-gnome?" Hazel asks. "I'd say they knew what they was about."

"Seems like them as want chaos would be joyful about the chance to destroy a center of knowledge and learning," Emus nods.

"Well, what say we return the favor?" Tucker says, rolling his head around, neck joints popping loudly as he limbers up. "If you're ready to cast your spell, I'm ready to watch your back."

A cold iron fist seems to close around Bufer's heart, causing him to realize that in asking all these questions, he has merely been putting off his casting of the rite. He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, then nods soberly at Tucker.

"You're right, deputy. Let's get started." He glances up at Oktav. "You best stand back with Flower now, lad. He and the animals will take care of you. Don't be frightened: Whatever it is that's going to manifest itself is going to be coming for me. You just hang back away from the fight, and it'll be over before ye know it."

"You're coming home with us," Hazel says, cutting Bufer off before he can launch into one of his speeches. "Don't think any different. Besides, what'll I tell that pretty little minstrel lass at the Cat if I don't bring you back?" She clasps her hands over her heart with an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, the love that almost was."

Emus snorts and pulls Urak from his back. He tightens his grip on the haft and whistles to Skeeter. Pointing to Oktav, he orders the dog to guard the acolyte.

Tucker takes up a position to Bufer's left, and gives his new sword a practice swing to make sure it doesn't clang against the wall.

"Lothian is with us, friends." Emmerson unsheathes Judgment and places its tip on the ground. "And may his Judgment be kind to us."

"Listen, I'm mainly gonna be calling on Garl for this, naturally," Bufer says, "But if the rest of you want to pray to Lothian or Hanseath or whoever, and kind of ask them to help us out, I think we'd both me much obliged. Garl's an amiable sort, and not one so proud as to turn away a helping hand, as it were."

"All right, everybody ready?" Off the nods of the others, Bufer smiles what he hopes is a reassuring smile at each of them in turn. "Right, then. May Garl be with us all."

Bufer takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and begins to intone the exorcism ritual of his people, as written in The Pseudonomicon:

"Demons and devils, we chuckle at thee,
HAHAHAHA BEGONE!
Ghosts and goblins, we chortle at thee,
HAHAHAHA BEGONE!
Wights and witches, we guffaw at thee,
HAHAHAHA BEGONE!
Bodaks and boogidy-boogidies, we snicker at thee,
HAHAHAHA BEGONE!
So laugh the blessed of the Loresong Faen.

"Before me, GARL GLITTERGOLD, the watchful protector,
Behind me, CALLADURAN SMOOTHHANDS, the hidden whisperer,
At my left hand, SHEYANNA FLAXENSTRAND, fey blessed princess,
At my right hand, RILL CLEVERTHRUSH, harmonious artisan.

"For about me flames the accumulated wisdom of the FAEN LORESONG,
For above me shines the accrued whimsy of the LORESONG FAEN.

"Let us pray ..."

Over the sound of Bufer's laughing and Emmerson and Vonmora praying in their own ways, it's hard to hear at first, but everyone's attention is slowly drawn upward, where they can clearly hear the sound of a body hanging from a rope, the hemp sliding back and forth across the ceiling beam as the body twists. Although there's nothing visible there, air moves across their faces, as the mother superior's invisible body twirls to and fro.

Meanwhile, the Book of Ascendant Night slams itself shut and then open again and an invisible hand begins to furiously flip through pages, stopping on one woodcut after another, showing a quick succession of images, from the ritual sacrifice of a king, to cultists dancing beneath the moon, to the very ground tearing open and gigantic obscene figures pulling their way out of the earth and feasting on terrified mortals.

The bedroom door slams shut.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"Finally, something to hit," Emus grins wolfishly, Urak in his hand. "Show yourself!"

"Be rebuked and depart," Emmerson prays aloud. "Be afraid, come forth, and depart from the abbey, the abbess whom served the Lightbringer. Depart to your own darkness. His worthy servant commands you and all the power which work with you to remove yourself from those who have served Lothian the Lightbringer, Lothian the Protector, Lothian the Good, Lothian the Lawgiver and the Lawbringer, for he is the one True God ...

"Be gone from this place and release your victims! Evil and unclean spirits hidden and lurking. Be gone into nothingness! Spirits of error, terror, evil and idolatry! Leave this place, fiends of utter darkness or be dispelled by Lothian's Light!

"In the name of Lothian, we rebuke thee!"

Something begins to take shape above the group's heads, more of a shadow, or a series of shadows, than an actual body, but not cast by any visible body. The abbess' body twists from the noose only in silhouettes painted across the ceiling.

"Keep reading," Tucker tells Emmerson and Bufer. "We'll take care of this."

"You sure that's something we can hit?" Hazel asks skeptically.

"Let's find out." Emus swings his glowing axe at the shadows forming above him. But Urak meets only empty air. Even to his improved vision, the room is getting darker by the moment, with the shadows growing almost pitch black.

His eyes wrenched closed, his brow knit in concentration, Bufer ignores all else but his own intoning of the rite.

"Garl Glittergold, the Sparkling Wit, expose this pathetic trespasser for what it truly be.
Reveal to us its droll countenance, that we might point and laugh, and rightly so.
Make audible its feeble discourse, so that we might mock and ridicule it, as is our wont.
Proclaim its motives and intentions, that we might heap our scorn and derision upon them.
Make known to us its true name, that we might tease and taunt it with singsong rhymes that sound like naughty body parts.
For this be the way of the Loresong Faen."

Emus curses at the shadows, growing angrier as his weapon has no effect on the threatening darkness.

Hazel stiffens her shoulders, breathing slowly and deep to avoid the panic that nearly overtook her in the dormitory attic. She'll keep a watchful eye on Bufer as long as the darkness allows.

"Free those souls whom you stole from their rightful place. Be rebuked and leave this place forevermore. The power of Lothian compels you. THE POWER OF LOTHIAN COMPELS YOU! THE POWER OF LOTHIAN COMPELS YOU!"

And like the mind suddenly seeing a different image inside an optical illusion, without warning, the abbess is there.

She hangs from her noose, looking down at the adventurers, her entire body dissolving into nothingness around the edges. It is only near the center of her mass that any details are visible, whether they're the bloody and rent vestments she wears, or the crazed pale face with wide bloodshot eyes.

She drifts downward, the noose dissolving into nothingness -- although her neck still bears the rope marks -- and she opens her mouth, urgently trying to tell the adventurers something, but it comes out in a mad babble: "skinfullofpuspushingout climbingontoskintearingitaway thekingisdeadthemoonisbackwe'realldyingnow"

The babble cuts through everything else, forcing all other thoughts from the party's mind as the abbess floats down towards the group, flailing at Bufer, seemingly desperate to get him to understand.

Tucker and Hazel grow slack-jawed from the babble, trying to make sense of it.

"It's time for Judgment!" Emmerson roars, leaping up and drawing his sword.

The abbess' nearly invisible hands slap at Bufer's face, but have no substance, sliding through his skin harmlessly. But as they pass through him, a change comes over him, and his eyes begin to fill with madness.

"NNNNNGGHH!!" Bufer grunts, as he grits his teeth and struggles against the madness that threatens to consume him. Breathing in sharply through his nose, he glares wildly at the Abbess, then pulls his aspergillum from his belt and shakes it at her, spraying holy water in her direction.

"Garl ... Glittergold ... Priceless Gem ... expel this sad and ... most wretched creature ...from our midst.
Drive out its influence ... and ... i-its essence from this place.
Banish it ... to whence it came ... never to return.
For we simply ... d-do not ... find it amusing any longer.
So prays the blessed of the Loresong Faen."

Oktav tugs at the shut door of the bedroom in a panic, sobbing as it refuses to open.

Vonmora's eyes grow wide as the madness consumes Bufer and she shrinks away from the abbess. She thrusts the carved hand clutching a gemstone that is her goddess' holy symbol at the abbess, but it has no effect on the babbling vision.

Emmerson swings Judgment at the abbess as she flails at Bufer. Although her hands seem unreal as she slaps at the gnome, the greatsword strikes her as though she were fully solid.

Sweat breaks out on Bufer's forehead as his chanting takes on a manic tone. He shakes holy water at the abbess. The drops fly through her, but steams as it flies through her form.

Emus chortles with glee as he sees his axe swing a devastating blow against the abbess, but his expression turns to dismay as he can't find anything solid to connect to, despite feeling the tickling of almost-physical clothes as his axe and hand pass through her.

Tucker continues to gape.

Flower, seeing Oktav safe at the door for the time being, pulls Emmerson's aspergillum from his belt and shakes a plentiful stream of holy water at the shadowy figure, but only succeeds in drenching Emus.

Bufer swipes his forearm across his sweaty forehead, and struggles to hold on to his concentration as he continues intoning.

"Garl Glittergold, the ... uh ... the, uh ... all right, screw it, I'm gonna paraphrase here. Mainly 'cause I want you and whatever darkness you gave into to know them what finally did you in. We are the HEROES OF MAIDENSBRIDGE, the ORDER OF THE NEW DAWN. You have befouled our land and defiled our sisters for far too long. And you just don't screw with the sister of a Loresong Faen and expect to get away with it, You MURDEROUS, WEAK-WILLED LITTLE BITCH!"

Apparently losing all semblance of self-control, either to madness or some kind of divine rapture, Bufer shakes the aspergillum at the abbess furiously as he screams at her at the top of his lungs, practically frothing at the mouth.

"BY THE WILL OF GARL GLITTERGOLD, I CAST THEE OUT!
BY THE ORDER OF LOTHIAN, I CAST THEE OUT!
BY THE CONVICTION OF YURABBOS, I CAST THEE OUT!
BY THE COURAGE OF HANSEATH, I CAST THEE OUT!
BY THE WISDOM OF ESTANNA, I CAST THEE OUT!
BY THE STRENGTH OF BAHAMUT, I CAST THEE OUT!"

Eyes wild as the ghostly cleric flails at him, Bufer responds by flinging more holy water at her, but it passes through her semi-real figure harmlessly. But her unreal state works against her, as her flailing does not further erode Bufer's sanity.

Skeeter leaps at the abbess, but misses -- judging where she is and where she isn't is just as challenging for a dog as it is the adventurers. Maybe more, since his nose can't help him.

Judgment does what it was intended to do, and slashes at the abbess once more, slicing through her tattered vestments.

Once again, Flower splashes the holy water everywhere but at the abbess.

Vonmora once again thrusts the symbol of her goddess at the screaming apparition, snarling with anger, but the abbess again ignores it.

Or perhaps she doesn't: With wide, staring eyes, she sinks into the altar and then the floor beneath, murmuring to herself.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Skeeter's snarling turns into a confused whine as he scratches at the floor where the abbess sunk into the ground.

"What?" Emus explodes with frustration. "Dang it! We can't hit her if she ain't here!

Throwing himself at the trapdoor, the dwarf sticks his head down into the cellar. He spots the bottom of the abbess' form dangling through the roof by a few inches. What he presumed to be a tattered dress looks more like tentacles from this angle.

He's about to say something when the abbess' face, hand and arm emerges from the floor, and she reaches out for Bufer once more. The gnome cleric stifles a scream as a wave of suicidal despair rips through him.

"You will not claim him!" Emmerson roars, swinging his sword at her arm.

Bufer bursts into tears, his body wracked with heaving, gasping sobs, as his mind begins to buckle under the crushing weight of the utter hopelessness of his meager existence. Nothing he's ever done has mattered, nor will ever matter. He sees that now, beyond any shadow of doubt. Garl Glittergold has utterly abandoned him. His family and his people have shunned him. And Heda Littlelark will never, ever know the truth about how he really felt about her ...

He is alone. A failure. A joke, that not even the Sparkling Wit could find amusing. An empty box.

But just as he is about to drop his aspergillum, and collapse on the floor next to it to await the sweet release of death, he hears Emmerson's voice, as though from far away.

And then, from the very depths of his soul, the last little bit of defiance left within him bubbles up through the nauseating waves of despair and loneliness, and bursts to the surface. Despite the chocking sobs, he somehow breaks out into a manic grin. Gripping his aspergillum with a white-knuckled fist, he shakes it at the abbess one last time with all his might.

"YOU HEAR THAT, YOU MEALY-MOUTHED WHORE? YOU WILL. NOT. HAVE ME. I AM BEJIK-CAESIN, PEACEMAKER OF MIDWOOD, SERVANT OF THE WATCHFUL PROTECTOR AND CARETAKER TO THE HEROES OF MAIDENSBRIDGE. IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY, I CAST THEE OUT! GO BACK TO THE GLUTTON AND WEEP, YOU FEEBLE, PATHETIC WRETCH, AND NEVER, EVER RETURN!"

Emmerson slashes at the ghostly arm reaching towards Bufer. With so little of her exposed, though, it's hard for the paladin to get a clear shot at her in the crowded room, and the sword strikes only stone.

Bufer, Emus and Skeeter encounter the same problem, with the dog scrabbling at a wet floor where the abbess was a moment ago, before she pulled back further into the floor for another attack on the gnome cleric.

Flower tries one last splash of holy water before moving back in Oktav's direction. Unfortunately, Flower is no more successful than his compatriots.

Sensing Bufer may be fading fast, Vonmora begins chanting a dwarven exorcism ritual loudly.

Emmerson pulls Bufer away from the abbess and Emus and his dog leap at the shade, but she is still ensconced in the floor, and their blows meet stone and rotted rushes.

Bufer slips deeper into madness and barely notices he has moved aside, or that his aspergillum has run dry, as he continues shaking it furiously at the distant abbess.

"Skin full of pus pushing out climbing onto skin tearing it away the king is dead the moon is back we're all dying now," he intones passionately, seemingly without any awareness of what he is saying. "Skin full of pus pushing out climbing onto skin tearing it away the king is dead the moon is back we're all dying now ... Skin full of pus pushing out climbing onto skin tearing it away ..."

Moving Bufer does not keep the abbess from lashing out at him again, but it does force her further out of the floor when she lashes at him, her fingers clawing at his face. They don't leave a mark on his body, but they do have an effect: The gnome collapses to the floor, eyes staring in terror, tears running silently down his face.

The abbess turns and screams at Emmerson.

"BUFER!" Emmerson screams, whirling Judgment at the abbess.

Both Emmerson and Emus miss the abbess, but Skeeter somehow finds something in the wisps of darkness, biting down and shaking. The dog whines afterwards, its tongue covered in black dust. It will take him days to fully remove the taste from his mouth.

Flower's latest attempt with the holy water goes no better than the previous attempts. Later, others would question whether the kobold actually understood they were trying to hit the abbess with the holy water and not, as in this case, Bufer.

Emmerson climbs atop the large desk, hoping to lure the abbess out of cover.

"In the name of Lothian and St. Yessid, I cast thee out!"

On the other side of the room, Tucker blinks for the first time in he doesn't know how long. He remembers clearly everything that has happened.

The abbess appeared. Or her shadow did, at least. The party's lights seemed to throw a shadow cast by no body on the ceiling of the room. The room grew darker, and the abbess' body seemed to melt into existence from nowhere. Her head was bent to the side at a sickening angle, but she lifted it to look at him ...

... and then everything jumped. A second before, the ghostly nun was suspended in the air, descending slowly toward the group. In an instant, she was buried chest-deep in the floor. Bufer, who had been kneeling next to his portable altar, suddenly transformed into Vonmora. Or, maybe not: Vonmora popped into the spot Bufer had occupied, and he seemed to fall a few feet backwards toward Emmerson, who had somehow managed to teleport himself onto a rickety-looking desk. Skeeter had lunged forward, and Flower looked like he'd wet himself. And all this had happened in the time it took Tucker to blink once.

Tuck's not much of a thinker, but sometimes that can be a good thing: He attacks without thinking, deciding to be distracted by all the changes later. He swings his new sword low, aiming for the half-exposed abbess. The tip scrapes against the wet stones, sparking slightly as it zips toward the apparition.

Tucker connects with the abbess with his sword, slicing away at something before feeling the blade slip through her misty form once more.

Hazel's quarterstaff slides through the empty air where the abbess, it seemed, threatened just a moment before.

"Can anybody see where-" Hazel turns, confused, unsure why Flower is flailing about with an aspergillum while Emmerson shouts from a desktop. "What the-"

It takes another second for the silence to register. A hearty feminine voice calls out in Dwarvish, but the laughing gnome's chants are conspicuously absent. Grim certainty falls over Hazel.

Her staff clatters to the stones.

"Bu-!" She slides to her knees beside him, frantically searching for a wound. "Where's the blood? What hit him?"

The gnome seems oblivious to her prodding. Spying the worktable, Hazel lifts Bufer and slides him atop it, sending books and tools tumbling. She stifles a sneeze as dust drifts to the floor.

"Oktav, lantern, now!"

Dinky takes a break from the pair of the rotten old slippers he'd been enjoying and finally sees something worth attacking: The part of the abbess peeking out just above the floor. He leaps at her with a manic glee.

Emmerson clangs the sword against the side of the desk, trying to call the abbess' attention.

"Come and get me, pathetic wretch!"

He slashes at the abbess once more and she shrieks in horror as her form rips like a curtain, tatters dangling from Judgment. The paladin raises the blade in confusion, only to see the black remains of her garments fade away like smoke.

The room is silent and it's a silence that goes all the way to the bone: For the first time in 111 years, the abbey is truly at peace.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

As the abbess is torn asunder by Judgment, Tucker's sword slices down through her fading body like a hand through campfire smoke, its tip clanking against the stones. The three magical weapons fill the room with an odd light, their glows reflected in the puddles of holy water that have collected on the floor. The room feels different now, but Tucker is taking no chances: He keeps his sword at the ready, for now.

"Keep chanting, Von. Finish the exorcism, then we'll see what other secrets the ghosts were protecting."

Emmerson climbs stiffly down off the desk.

"Phantom blows that spill no blood but seem to have taken him away? I have no idea what to do for these wounds," Emmerson sighs. "The abbey is cleansed. All that remains is disposing of that book."

Hazel hardly seems to notice the changed atmosphere in the room. Small kobold claws come to rest beside hers on the unconscious gnome, and she sends a startled glance across the worktable.

"Do not worry so!" Flower gives the ranger a sunny smile. "We will find a way to make Fancypants well again."

"You know how to cure him? I can't find a wound anywhere, but he won't wake." Hazel ruffles the gnome's graying hair. "I thought maybe he got hit in the head -- Kat did once, years back, with a stone, and didn't wake up for hours -- but I can't find a lump or a soft spot.

"You give him a going over, then, and I'll grab his gear."

The ranger kneels beside the altar to Garl and carefully stows each item in the gnome's kit before tucking it into his pack. She treats everything with a special reverence. As she works, she composes a silent prayer in Gnomish.

Goodman Garl, sir? I don't reckon we've ever had occasion to speak before today, and humans ain't like to figure high in your list of folks to help, but if there's anything you can do for my friend Bejik-Caesin, I'd sure appreciate it. He's right deserving of your help, and is doing good deeds in your name most days. Other days maybe the deeds ain't good so much as, um, fun-loving and mischievous-like, but I reckon that's right and true in your service, too. So if you can, please help him heal, sir.

When she's finished, Hazel ties the gnome's pack to her own and stows her fallen quarterstaff.

"Any luck, Flower?"

"No, I fear," replies the tired, but still hopeful kobold. "Perhaps we should return to town with him and let the others continue?"

"Hazel, if you'd like to take Bufer back to Maidensbridge for ministering, I think it's safe to do so," Emmerson says. Behind him, Tucker nods in agreement. "Stay safe, friends."

Flower and Hazel lift Bufer between the two of them and begin their journey back to town.

Dinky follows, to the delight of everyone.