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

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Although spring is well underway in the Tulgey Wood, the weather seems colder and bleaker as the group approaches Maidensbridge Abbey. It is not really chillier, Emus assures everyone, although not even he seems to truly believe it.

The lack of animal life as the group approaches makes the forest as quiet as it would be at the dead of winter. The plants are also barer than they should be at this time of year, with stunted little leaves trembling in the wind, barely clinging to life, and no flowers to continue the cycle of life. By the time the group reaches the abbey, they are under open sky, with no canopy overhead, just the bare branches of half-dead trees.

The abbey itself was once a complex of several buildings, some built up against the walls of the main building, in the days when goblin and kobold attacks were the norm, and others built a bit further away, such as a small tannery. The buildings not erected right against the main abbey are ruins now, with only faint lines of gray stone peeking up from the mud and yellow grass showing where they once stood.

The abbey and adjacent buildings might be in better shape, but it's impossible to tell: Everything is now covered in black vines that cover almost every inch of the building, with only a bit of gray stone peeking out here or there in the dark holes where windows once let in light from the outside. The leaves of ivy sound brittle when the wind blows, clicking together like millions of teeth.

But a large ivy-covered steeple stands above the entrance to the abbey's church, forming the tallest structure of the complex, even without the tall spire, its ankh-crucifix long-ago choked with dark leaves. A dark space, wide as two men walking abreast, reveals the dark wood double doors leading inside.

As they stand in front of the ruined abbey building, Emmerson feels a chill going down his spine. He takes out his lamp from his backpack. Hazel and Tucker are near him to see that someone carved an ankh-crucifix into the lamp shutters.

"Emus, Hazel," Emmerson says as he checks his gear and weapons one more time, "Is this the west entrance?"

"Mebbe," Emus shrugs. "I guess. Who cares? Let's go."

Hazel eyes the vine-encrusted ruins with faint disgust. She stoops to light her own lantern.

"Yes, it's the west door." When she stands again, she carries her lantern in her left hand and her axe in her right. "Are you ready with the holy water sprinklers?"

"Oh, my!" comes a voice from behind a nearby tree. "Oh my goodness, hello! What do you fine people do at this terrible place?"

A nervous kobold steps out into the clearing, smiling uncertainly.

Hazel takes two quick steps to put herself beside Bufer and begins scanning the tree line for more kobolds.

"No offering yourself up like a pig at a roast this time," she whispers in Gnomish.

Tucker steps forward with his mace at the ready.

"What are you doing here, kobold?" He tries to remember if this is one of the kobolds from Pick's group, but he doesn't think so. This one is smaller, and the green of her -- or perhaps his -- skin seems less robust. Still, the deputy isn't about to take any chances. "Isn't it a little bit bright out here? Why don't you scurry off back to your caves and we'll forget we saw you skulking around our town."

"Tucker, wait a second," Bufer says quickly as he makes to step forward.

Hazel grimaces as Bufer hurries to interpose himself between the deputy and the kobold.

"Good morning," he says amiably to the strange kobold, then bows somewhat formally. "Allow me to introduce myself: Ebuferpaly Whitethatch Malpractice Bearscave Potentloins, at your service. Please excuse the big ones, here, but we've had some, uh, misunderstandings with dragonkin in the past. Totally our fault, of course."

"You mean your fault," Vonmora interjects.

Bufer looks daggers over his shoulder at her.

"What?" she asks. "You think word doesn't get around?"

Bufer takes a deep breath and exhales slowly before turning back to the kobold, all smiles.

"If I may so observe, you speak excellent Imperial Common for one of the dragonkin," he says. "Are you from the Green Mountain, or from parts elsewhere?"

The kobold is visibly frightened of Tucker, and as such it makes him nervous when Bufer addresses him. He doesn't actually need his sun-goggles yet, but for comfort's sake he fiddles with them a moment and slides them on.

"I-I do come from Green Mountain, though until recently I made my home in the Tulgey Wood. Th-thank you, sir." Slowly, timidly, the kobold meets Bufer's eyes. The glint of unexpected kindness in them instantly restores the vibrant lizard smile. He clasps his hands and prances nearer. "Oh! You're so adorable! Such pretty robes! And, oh: Look at your chubby cheeks and cute little moustache! But, Ebuferpaly, where is your hat?"

"Er," Bufer says uncertainly, quite taken aback. Never in his wildest dreams did it occur to him that a kobold might find him 'adorable.' Attractive, maybe, in the 'good enough to boil alive and eat' sense of the word, but adorable? Never. "My ... hat?"

"Yes, your gnome hat, silly! Conical-shaped with the point at the top? Like a..." the kobold pauses for a moment, clearly unsure of whether to continue. He looks down at his feet, suddenly embarrassed. "We were taught that was where the humans got the idea for the dunce cap."

"I must've left it home," Bufer says dryly.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"Oh, you!" the kobold giggles. After a moment, he becomes aware of the awkward silence and the Bridgers staring at him with a mixture of bemusement and horror. "So, what brings you all out here? And may I be of any help?"

"We're goin' in there to kill things that's already dead," Emus says, hooking his thumb over his shoulder at the abbey behind him. "How long have you been wandering around here? Have you seen anythin' goin' on in there?"

"Um," the kobold hums as he thinks, holding a finger to his mouth, "Not that I remember! This place does give me a very bad feeling, though! I would feel much better if you all didn't go in!"

"We'll not only go in there, but crawl into the maw of evil and shut it down forever," Emmerson says emphatically. "If you want to be safe, I recommend that you leave the premises until we complete our task ... I'm sorry, what is your name?"

"You can call me Flower," the kobold answers shyly. "And I'm out here gathering fungus at the behest of Heath Leach, the apothecary of Maidensbridge. And I don't want to leave. And neither does Dinky."

At the mention of Dinky's name, a nearby bush begins to flail and growl.

"If you're going to go in there, you could need our help!" Flower continues, oblivious to the fit the nearby flora seems to be experiencing.

Bufer and Hazel exchange frowns at the mention of Heath Leach's name. The gnome raises his eyebrows quizzically, to which Hazel shakes her head slightly in response. While it wasn't unheard of to trade with the Green Mountain Kobolds in Midwood --even Tosh's father had done so on occasion, albeit always through a carefully chosen neutral intermediary -- the elder Leach had never mentioned to either of them that he apparently had one in his employ.

"Not that we don't appreciate the offer, and all," Bufer says uncertainly, "But, well, not to put too fine a point on it, but are you sure that's wise? I mean, don't get me wrong, but if it got back to your people that you -- and, uh, your bush -- were helping out a stinking gnome an' his friends, particularly this stinkin' gnome, as I'm led to understand I got a bit of a reputation with your kin ..."

"Yurrabbos' stony garters!" Vonmora explodes. She turns to Emus. "Does he ever stop with the 'blah blah blah' and come to the point?"

"Eventually," Emus shrugs.

"The point," Bufer continues, louder and more emphatically, "The point being that ain't it bound to go pear-shaped on you if your kin get wind of you helping us?"

"Pear-shaped, perhaps," Flower murmurs. "Is there a fruit shape that describes when two things no longer speak? My kin is the whole of the wood. And certain others!"

"And what's a Dinky?" Hazel asks, eyeing the snarling and thrashing bush dubiously.

"Must be some local type of flailing shrub," Emmerson mutters.

"Dinky, come here, boy!" Flower chirps.

A festering and pus-oozing rat creature finally frees itself from the bush and wobbles over to everyone, drooling and panting the whole way.

"There's my baby! There he is! There's a good boy!" Flower squeals, kneeling and nuzzling. Dinky seems to enjoy the attention and the kobold is completely oblivious to the group's horrified reactions.

Emmerson blinks in confusion before finally tearing his eyes away from the disgusting Dinky and the grotesque spectacle of Flower cuddling a creature that looks half-dead and almost certainly disease-laden.

"Flower, I must warn you that we're here to cleanse the abbey and the abbey might strike back. If you want to come with us, stay close, keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary and be ready to react without warning."

"We will be accompanying you," the kobold insists.

"Bufer," Emmerson says, sighing despairingly, "Let's pass around the aspergillums and have the holy water at the ready. Are we ready to go in?"

"Good Garl, I think I liked it better when I thought it was a flailing bush," Bufer mutters, still eyeing the albino dire rat.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Bufer sets down his pack and throws open the flap. He digs out the three aspergillum -- they look like short-handled maces with heads perforated with dozens of tiny holes, which allow the internal reservoir of holy water to be sprinkled out with a vigorous shake. He hands the two larger ones to Emmerson and Vonmora while keeping the smallest of the three for himself. He then hands out flasks of holy water to the entire the company, keeping two flasks for himself.

"There's enough space for three flasks in each of these," he explains, demonstrating for the others how to fill the aspergillum's reservoir, "But I'd like to keep some in reserve, and make sure everyone has their own as we head in, just in case. Be stingy with the stuff though, folks, because it's all we got."

Bufer looks up and around at Flower, and nods to the strange kobold.

"You're welcome to tag along, but make sure you stick close tome." He glances around at the others. "In fact, I'm gonna suggest we all pair off. Everyone sticks with their buddy at all times, keeps 'em in sight, and gets their backs together if things get hairy. Last thing we need is some boogedy-boogedy sneaking up on us."

"You ain't suggesting we split up, are you?" Emus asks, aghast. "Because I can't think of a dumber strategy for going in there."

"No no no, just saying it'll be easier to keep track of everyone and keep people from wandering off or getting in to trouble if we all got someone looking out for us. I'd like to avoid a repeat of Kem touching the statue, if you follow me."

"Right, Bufer an' Emus have a point," Hazel says, nodding. "We all stick together as best we can, but pair up to make sure the strong folk have religious protection and the religious folks got bodyguards, I reckon.

"Bufer's already volunteering to partner with the kobold," she shoots him an exasperated look, "So might be Oktav sticks with Emmerson, and Tucker with Vonmora, and Emus with me, if that'll do for everyone."

"So, who wants to open the door?" Hazel asks, with a "not me" wink at the end. She moves closer to the abbey, studying the vines without touching them. The vines' texture looks eerily similar to the burned timbers in the town's stables just before they crumbled. Nothing suggests to Hazel that they're anything more than typical woodland varieties, though, other than the texture and the blackness.

Emus stalks past her with a purposeful air.

"I'll do it." He tenses up, and looks like he's about to make a sudden movement, but he pauses for a second and then relaxes. "I'm gonna kick the door in, make a loud ruckus on purpose to let 'em know we're here. They're gonna find out sooner or later, anyway, and if we have to fight, it'd be better done out here in the open."

He pauses to let everyone digest the plan.

"Double doors, Emus," Tucker says, clapping the dwarf on the back. "You kick the right one, I'll kick the left. On three: one, two ...

"THREE!"

The doors crash open, although the sound is strangely muted. Within, the church is dark, and it's hard to tell from outside in the sunlight what lies within. There is a faint, disturbing smell wafting from within, although those outside cannot immediately identify what it is.

"YOOOOO-HOOOOOO!!" Bufer yells into the darkness, startling his companions. "Boogidy-boogidies! We're here for the revival meeting!"

He listens carefully, straining to hear any reaction in the blackness beyond the threshold.

"We brought a bundt cake!" he adds a moment later.

"Don't be silly, Bufer. We Bridgers tempt our enemies with apple pie," Hazel says, tapping Emus on the shoulder. "So, partner, your eyes see anything but darkness in there?"

"Ain't nothin out of the ordinary," the dwarf says, squinting inside. "There's a mess of ivy over each of the windows, so it's plenty dark. The pews haven't rotted away, yet, so there's plenty of hiding places. That's about all I can see."

Nodding to Tucker, Emus steps through the doorway into the abbey. Behind him, Flower removes the tinted lenses that allow his sensitive eyes to see in sunlight and steps across the threshold after the dwarf.

"Steady on, Redshirt," Bufer says, patting a plainly terrified Oktav on the back as he passes. "That's good lad."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Stepping into the abbey church is like stepping from day into night. There seems to be nothing supernatural about this -- the few high clerestory windows in the church have had their stained glass depictions of saints overgrown with the black ivy outside, and light only trickles in fitfully, barely illuminating row upon row of heavy wooden pews between two rows of pillars, leading down the nave. The crossing and the apse beyond with, presumably, the high altar, are lost to the darkness.

"Where do we have to go to, again?" Emus growls. He points at two dark spots in the corners of the church. "Those are doors."

"Any place 40 to 50 feet into the abbey," Emmerson replies quietly. "Cloisters, library if we can find it."

"Well, everybody get with your partners," Tucker snaps. "Does someone with decent eyes want to go first?"

Emus cautiously moves down the left aisle, keeping the wall to his left and pews to his right.

Hazel stays close behind Emus, her lantern sweeping the area around him.

As the group spreads out into the church, they notice the floors are strangely clean -- there are no dried leaves, no dried mud, no sign that anyone has been inside for decades, not even a heavy layer of dust.

Emus discovers the door in the corner is locked and stuck fast, with no light showing below the door. He grunts as he tugs and shoves the handle a moment before giving up, then knocks on the door with the butt of his club. The door sounds solid, with no hint of a hollow space beyond it.

His lantern in his hand, Emmerson notices the pews could use a good going over with polish, and that the wood seems dark, as though it had briefly been exposed to flame at some point, but the pews are sturdy and services could resume tomorrow.

And then he shines his lantern up at the ceiling. Once, the sisters had painted scenes of Lothian ascending from the crucifix he had been nailed to by the worshippers of the false god Castain, into the heavens to rule among the stars.

Now, the heavens are some scene out of a nightmare and Lothian is now a dark prince ascending, or perhaps descending, into a Hell full of rape, murder and torture. The victims -- their faces are all painted with exquisite clarity and are meant to be portraits of someone the artist knew, perhaps the Sisters of the New Dawn -- are being degraded in almost unimaginable ways. Blood, gore, feces and more are spattered about the tableau in perfect detail. And beyond Lothian, with his black bat wings and massive bestial phallus, huge shadowy figures watch from beyond the fiery clouds of the heavens-as-Hell, hinting at even worse things waiting to unleash even greater horrors.

At the sudden sharp intake of breath behind him, Bufer spins around to see that Emmerson has stopped dead in his tracks, staring upward. Frowning in confusion, Bufer looks up, then blinks and cocks his head to one side.

That's just wrong, that is," the gnome says. "All kinds of wrong. If it weren't for the wings, I'd imagine he'd tip forward ..."

Emmerson doesn't respond to the joke. Bufer lays a hand on the young priest's forearm.

"Hey, beanpole," he says quietly. "You all right, lad?"

At last, Emmerson chuckles and smiles, looking down at the gnome.

"I thank Garl Glittergold for the humor he bestowed upon you. "

"It's a good thing Tock ran off," Tucker says dryly. "This stuff seems right up his alley, so to speak.

"Don't dwell on it, Emmerson. It's just paint, and the church employs the best artisans in the world; once we sanctify this place, they'll have an army of painters descend on the abbey to glorify our lord once more."

"Aye," Emmerson nods. "Aye."

"Emus ain't having much luck with the door," Hazel says, consciously shielding her eyes from the ceiling. "Sounds like maybe something's pressed up against it."

Hazel brings her lantern in close and looks for any locks or weak points in the wood.

"Might have to break it down. Hope the bishop's giving you a right good pile of coin for door replacement."

"Nah, I think this door, and the other across the way, just lead to the outside," Emus says, "They're for people who don't want to have to look the preacher in the eye when they walk out. There shouldn't be nothing but those damn vines on the other side.

"Let's keep moving and stick together."

Emus heads east, keeping the wall of the building to his left, and the pews to his right. Hazel follows the dwarf closely, certain each step must be the one that will reveal an end to the pews and an altar beyond.

"Could fit the whole chapel into tiny corner of this church."

The abbey church's interior was originally divided into a number of spaces, the lay sisters' nave, a pair of chapels, the retro choir for the aged and infirm nuns. Tiered wooden stands with bookstands once were home to the nuns' choirs.

As with most Lothianite abbeys of the period, Maidensbridge Abbey was designed and built with little ornamentation. It was designed with pointed barrel vaults and solid dividing walls. The aisles have rib vaults, which create an open effect. The piers are molded with an undulating outline, resembling bundles of separate shafts.

Emmerson takes all this in, breathes deeply, and aims his lantern light toward the altar. The church is too long to see all the way, but the lantern does show something large on the floor in the crosspiece of the church, just at the edge of the light.

"Have I mentioned that I got a bad feeling about this?" Bufer breathes nearby.

The building is quiet as the group approaches the crossing of the church. Emmerson's lantern eventually reveals the object to be a large ruined bronze bell that apparently fell from the tower above.

A series of steps along one wall head up to where the tower once was, but shining the lantern up, it becomes obvious that the tower collapsed years ago. Light would flood into the church if not for the black ivy that has formed an almost completely opaque net blocking out the sky.

From here, the transepts to the north and south are accessible, as well as the presbytery with the altar and three alcoves with smaller altars to each side of the main altar area. The lantern can't quite pick out the enormous crucifix of Lothian above the altar from here, but the group can see that the altar's altar cloth is missing and the stone appears to be heavily stained with something dark.

"Well, there's no way I'm going to suggest we split up," Tucker says, "But do we want to poke around these nooks and crannies or skip over them and keep looking for our more central point?"

"Probably be good to check everything out before starting the ritual," Hazel says. "Less chance of interruption then. From living things, anyway."

"Well, as long as we're sight-seeing," Bufer says, "I'd like to get a closer look at those altars, if the rest of you wouldn't mind."

"I sure hope that dark stuff over it is not Natchmann's blood," Emmerson says.

"I'm guessing it ain't sacramental wine," Bufer replies.

"Well, let's start on the left, here," Tucker says, "Then around the bell to the space on the right, and then we'll check out the altar for you, Bufer."

Seeing several nodding heads, Hazel cautiously leads the group toward the left transept.

Each transept features three small chapels beneath deep arches. Once each held statues of saints with small altars and pews. Today, the statues of the saints have been so badly vandalized that it's impossible to recognize whom they once depicted.

Tucker tries the door on the southwest wall of the south transept. It opens with a loud creak, but without noticeable resistance, affording Tucker a view of the dead grass in the cloister.

From the other end of the building, there's a loud boom. A moment later, everyone realizes the double doors they used to enter the church have slammed shut.

"Oh, my!" Flower exclaims. "That was certainly unexpected!"

Emmerson shines his lantern back toward the now-closed double doors.

"Stay alert," he says.

"Just the wind and jumpy nerves," Hazel says with a shaky smile. She takes a deep breath and begins moving toward the altar, nudging Emus lightly as she goes. "Does Skeeter smell anything coming from the stain near the altar? Hopefully it's too old and dried, but if there's a chance it's recent, I'd like to know before we get too close."

"I'm sure that there's plenty of new smells in here," Emus says, frowning. "Should've made him plenty excited. But look at him; the mutt's heeling better than I ever seen him. He's nervous just like the rest of us.

"We should move along quickly and start the ritual, before 'they' start affecting more than just our nerves."

Nodding, Hazel walks briskly to the altar, lantern shining, and stops about five feet back.

The altar cloth is gone; the bright blue and white fabric would be wildly out of place in this abbey. Whatever the altar is caked with now is old, in various shades of brown, some formerly thin and liquid, some thick and viscous, the latter painted on the altar in streaks.

The light of Hazel's lantern just barely touches the bottom of the crucifix, and Vonmora reaches over, pointing it upwards. The ankh-crucifix is as it was at the abbey's height, except for one thing: Lothian is gone. The nails used to crucify him still remain, but of the figure itself, there is no sign.

"Well, if that ain't disconcerting, I don't what is," Bufer says.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"Sins against Lothian, sins against nature, sins against the church," Emmerson recites quietly, staring at the empty crucifix. "There is much work to be done here."

Beside him, Oktav nods.

"Let us move on," Emmerson says after a moment.

The cleanliness of the place disturbs Vonmora most of all. She feels as if she's entering the home of giants while they sleep somewhere nearby. She keeps an eye out for discarded objects such as a paper, book, candleholder, what have you, anything that could be a piece to a bigger puzzle.

Her gaze falls upon the rows of candles, still neatly arrayed before the depictions of the saints.

"Hey, think you guys can light up some or all of these candles so we can get a better idea of what we're looking at around here?" she asks. "Let's see if there's another door."

She nudges Bufer ahead of her.

"Gnomes first."

The group obtains the candles from the side chapels and behind the main altar and they shed a little light, although they do nothing to dispel the darkness beyond the small circle the group stands within. It's enough to reveal that while someone has hacked the statues of the saints into unrecognizable hunks of wood. But no other doors are revealed.

"Y'all know what's weird?" Bufer asks. "Except for the tower done caving in, and the ivy on the windows, and some of the odd redecorating choices, Beanpole and I could conduct mass here this afternoon, if we wanted. Ain't this place supposed to have been abandoned for over a hundred years?"

"Maybe they reserved the truly bad things for other parts of the abbey," Emmerson says. "If they did this to the church, I can't help but wonder what they did to the books in the library."

"There ought to be dust and dead leaves and such about is my point," Bufer says. "And at least a few of these pews ought to be rotted by now, what with them being partially exposed to the open air where the tower's come down. Shouldn't they?"

He shrugs.

"All right, I guess we head for the door, then. I guess Flower an' me will go first, as long as that's all right with him ... her ... uh, as long as Flower's OK with it."

"I ain't," Emus says, his voice like a rock dropping into a quiet pond. "Me or Tucker, our buddies, and then the rest of you. The Farrin's got hefty armor; she can put it to use watchin' our backs.

"You, Emmerson, and Red Shirt stay in the middle of the group. And give your voices a rest for once. We'll need them nice and pretty when you perform that ritual."

"Just because you don't like the Farrins, rough stuff, doesn't mean you get to throw her at the end of the line by herself," Tucker says, shoving Emus. "She's either up here with us or I'm back there with her."

"Suit yourself," Emus shrugs. He extinguishes his torch and cautiously opens the door.

The door opens onto the cloister of the abbey. Although the abbey is clearly in ruin -- the black ivy dangles over the roofline, framing the entire common area -- the cloister is still open to the sky. If the grass on the green grows fitfully, with many yellow patches, there are still green blades.

The ivy-covered roof overhangs all four sides of the cloister, making it difficult to see the doors to other chambers from this angle, but aside from a bit of dirt and the vines, it all looks very similar to how it must have looked when the abbey was fully operational. It's not hard to imagine the sisters moving about their errands, going from prayers to restoration rooms to the library.

Hazel breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of open sky, but keeps a wary eye on the black ivy.

"We should scout the perimeter first," she says, as she starts moving along the wall to the left.

"I would also recommend to stay away from the dry patches of grass," Emmerson says, following her. "Lothian knows what's keeping them that way."

The party moves along the wall, and here, the effects of time and the elements are more visible: Small rooms are now guarded only by rusted hinges, their doors long since rotted away and gone, food for sickly weeds that grow between the paving stones of the walkway.

The first room the group comes to may have once been a library, as it has stone shelves which now hold unidentifiable debris that was likely once scrolls and sagging hide covers around pages turned into a gummy mess.

Oktav looks hungrily towards the ruins of the abbey library.

"If no one minds, I think I might take a look in here ..."

Hazel lays a hand on his shoulder.

"You don't go nowhere without Emmerson. Next thing you know, you and Bufer are buried in books and spouting theories and we're out here with dead nuns eating our brains."

"Oi!" Bufer barks at Hazel. "What's this about lumping me in with Redshirt here, Little Miss Big'un? As I was explaining to the young man earlier, I ain't some namby-pamby academic who puts all his apples on the book-learning cart, thank you very much!

"Although, you know, if they got a first edition of the Loresong Faen Sutra, that might be worth a look-see. Ooh, and I wonder if they got a copy of Dergunswoon's Death Rites and Practical Jokes. Say, listen, why don't you lot go on ahead, and me and Redshirt will catch up in a tick, huh?"

Oktav's eyes go large when he scans the spines of the books.

"I'd heard they collected rare works, but my word, some of these were thought to be lost entirely," he says, his tone suggesting that, in some cases, these books may still be lost, unless magic can restore them. He reaches out for one book, then pulls his hand back. "Is it safe to touch them?"

"Best to just make note of the titles," Tucker says. "Even if nothing jumps out to bite you, you don't want these things to crumble into dust before you can take a look inside."

"Overwhelming evil," Emmerson murmurs, pressing a finger to his forehead, attempting to block out a growing headache. "The books will survive the exorcism and then we will be able to tell friend from foe. I think Tucker's suggestion is a wise one."

"Hmmm, there are some strange titles here," Oktav sighs, pulling his hands back from the shelves with obvious disappointment. "The sisters were supposed to just be cataloging the knowledge of the empire, but it looks as though they began researching mystical subjects as well."

"What do you mean, brother?"

"Well, the volumes I expect to see are here," Oktav says. "There's an almost-complete set of the Fables of Burdock, although it appears they've turned to mush from exposure to the elements over the years. But there are some books that I would have expected the church would have, er, frowned upon until recently, although it seems to stop just short of actual necromancy and demonology."

He stands up, stroking his chin.

"That said, if the abbey had continued operation, I would say this was the basis for a very broad library of history, myth and arcane lore, including quite a bit of information that would get you burned at the stake in some more provincial regions, even today."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"A very good idea, Hazel," Emmerson says. "Brother Oktav, can you see a book about exorcisms and the like?"

"Oh, let's see," the acolyte says, craning his neck and squinting at the obscured titles on the spines. "Well, that looks like it'd be a copy of Thrakharaktor, the Book of Dark and Restless Souls, but I don't read Dwarven, myself."

"How about you, Emus?" Emmerson says, as Oktav hands the book back. "Could I trouble you for a reading?"

Bufer reaches up and snatches the book from Emmerson's hands before Emus has a chance to reply.

"Oi, beanpole! Given what we already suspect about what's happened, here, I'm pretty damn sure we don't want anybody reading anything subtitled The Book of Dark and Restless Souls, at least not until we've cleansed the place! That there's the quickest route to our brains being eaten, if you ask me."

And then, things get strange.

Everyone else sees Bufer go into a trance and walk out of the library, onto the yellow and green of the cloister lawn, mumbling to himself.

For Bufer, things are very different ...

"Mother Superior?" A voice calls to him. "Sister, a messenger is here with a delivery he insists on giving to you."

Bufer turns, and sees the abbey as it once was, a bustling, thriving community of scholars. The buildings are in good repair. Sisters in wimples move quietly around the abbey, fingers stained with ink from recopying texts, dust on their clothes from filing away books and scrolls into the archive.

"A messenger?" The voice comes from Bufer's mouth, but it's that of a mature human woman. He finds himself following the sister acolyte. "What book is so important that I must take it from him myself?"

Bufer finds himself walking onto the lawn, where a bedraggled dwarven courier stands with the awkward stance of one unused to life outside the saddle. In one hand, he holds out a leather-bound bundle, the dimensions of a book, bound with a leather thong.

"Damn it, Grant! Weren't you the one who said not to touch anything?" Tucker quickly leads Vonmora out the door in pursuit of the ensorcelled gnome.

Halfway across the grass, he grabs Bufer's shoulder, shaking him and saying his name loudly. Bufer merely shakes him off, and continues mumbling his way along. He tries again, only to pull his hand back in surprise.

"The little git bit me!"

Hazel follows Bufer closely.

"Oktav!" She snaps at the acolyte, thrusting her lantern at him as he approaches. "Hold this."

Bufer still mumbles to himself, and Hazel strains her ears trying to make something of it: the language, a word here and there, anything that might explain his behavior. But the book still clenched in his hand is the obvious answer. Hazel slides her quarterstaff from its loops on her pack. She lengthens her stride, moving alongside the gnome.

"Sorry about this, Bufer."

She brings the staff down on the book.

"I was told to deliver it to you by hand, Mother Superior," the dwarf tells Bufer. "A nobleman from Ptolus was donating this book to your cause. Rare it is, I'm told."

Bufer begins to unwrap the book, revealing a black leather cover ...

And the book he had held in his hand lands by his feet.

Disoriented, Bufer blinks and looks round at the others.

"How--? Where'd they go? Where'd you all come from? Wasn't I just holding a book?" He frowns in confusion as he looks from his empty hands to the faces of his friends. "Where am I? And why do I have the taste of rotten pork in my mouth?"

"Mister Ebuferpaly! Are you all right?" Flower asks, concern registering on his scaly face. "Why are you biting people?"

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

"Yeah, are you all right, Bufer?" Hazel's head slowly turns away from the gnome and her words trail off into a mumble. She looks curiously at the ivy-covered walls of the courtyard. Emus follows her gaze, half-hoping to find something staring back instead of having another person seeing things that aren't there.

He gets his wish.

Large ravens silently dot the ivy overhanging the edges of the cloister. Although it's hard for Emus to put his finger on what it is exactly, something about them seems wrong and unnatural.

"Why are they all staring at us?" Hazel whispers.

"Those birds ain't right," Emus mumbles to Hazel. "Those claws and eyes seem ... Them birds are more like wolves watching prey than ravens waiting for something to die so they can feed on it."

"I agree. They're not natural," Hazel keeps a wary on the ravens, especially those near the recovering Bufer. "I wonder if 'dark, restless souls' might be inhabiting the birds, or something else. Something definitely hostile."

"I don't like the bad birdies," Flower pipes up. "We should try to get away from them!"

"Again, I agree." Hazel raises her voice to make sure everyone can hear. "It might be best to find a room with a roof and door to put between us and this mob of angry not-animals."

The acolyte looks at the group in bafflement, then down at the book, lying on the grass.

"I can't believe you people! Treating a book of such antiquity this way!" Oktav reaches down and grabs the fallen copy of Thrakharaktor from the lawn.

"No, wait!" Bufer cries. "Don't--"

Oktav looks up angrily.

"You people have no idea of how to care for a book!" It's clear this is a huge sin in his mind. He carefully pulls open the gummed-together book. "Yes, a few pages are legible enough. Thrakharaktor is said to have been dictated by Mocharum himself, to better instruct his followers in practical measures in combating the undead."

Bufer blinks at the acolyte in confusion.

"B-but it ... when I ... why didn't it?" He looks around haltingly at the others. "It took me. Into the past, I think. There was a dwarf, with a book. And I was a nun."

He grimaces and shakes his head as though trying to clear it.

"Where's Ptolus?" he asks.

Oktav looks up at Bufer.

"Ptolus? Far end of the empire, on the Whitewind Sea. It's home to the Emperor of the Church. It's becoming famous for the ruins beneath the city and, of course, its spire. What about Ptolus?"

The birds shift on the ivy.

"That's where the dwarf said it was from when it gave it to me. Her. Whoever," Bufer says, waving his hand impatiently. "Some high mucky-muck there was donating it to the sisters. Black book, leather-bound, about yeah big. Supposed to be rare. Damn it, I wish you'd have seen it instead of me; you'd probably know it by sight."

Oktav looks at the book in his hands. Despite its age, it's clear that it was never bound with black leather. He looks up and opens his mouth to speak and a strangled squeak of terror comes out.

The ravens have left the ivy and are flying towards the party, cutting them off from the doors back into the church and library.

"Circle up," Tucker calls, pushing Vonmora behind him, readying his mace and raising his shield. "Fighters on the outside, protect your squishy buddy on the inside!"

"Not natural ravens, but they might still bleed like 'em," Hazel mutters, raising her her quarterstaff into a guard position, her hands evenly spaced along the wood. "This spot is too open! The flock will mob us. Tucker, we need to defend on the run."

She risks a glance behind her, toward the courtyard's far wall.

"Must be more rooms over there, maybe something we can use."

"Confounded ravens might be pushing us into bigger threats," Emmerson growls, as the black wings blot out the sky overhead.

"If it's a choice between that and having my eyes pecked out, I'll take the chance!" Bufer says. "Come on, let's skedaddle while we still can!"

As the group breaks for the west wall, they see a pair of double doors still intact, if somewhat worse for wear, after all these years.

The party thunders into the dark and dusty room, slamming the doors shut behind them.

"Bar the doors if you can!" Emmerson screams after he enters, throwing Oktav inside by the scruff of his neck.

As a bar is found and hastily put into place, the doors shake as the otherworldly ravens screech and pound themselves against the wood, their talons clawing furiously.

Emmerson grabs his lantern and raises it, illuminating the room.

In its heyday, this long room was the dormitory for the Sisters of the New Dawn. In death, it has different residents: Skeletons in armor and clutching weapons lay on the dusty beds, composed as though laid to rest in the room.

As the lantern light moves across them, there is a quiet clattering as the skeletons rise, raise their weapons and approach. There is a dry coughing noise that it takes the adventurers a second to realize is the dead laughing as they approach.

"Great, this again," Tucker sighs. "Do no one's bones know how to lay down and stay there?"

"No," one of the skeleton replies. A moment later, his greatsword begins to glow with a spectral blue light, and the party can see he's dressed in the armor and rotting vestments of a paladin of Lothian.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Hazel places her lantern on the dusty floor and grips her quarterstaff in two hands as she eyes the approaching skeletons.

"You served Lothian once. Why do you betray the light now?" She nods toward Emmerson and Oktav. "And why attack his servants?"

"Because he lies," the undead paladin says. "This whole world is damned and you will soon learn the truth, as we have."

The undead fan out around the group. They're a motley group, and include the remains of dwarves and kobolds along with humans: Clearly, more than a few adventurers have met their ends in the abbey.

"If the world is damned and we'll soon learn it, why not just leave us be until we do?" Tucker asks, readying his mace.

"Runecarver, preserve us." Vonmora draws her morningstar and her fingers twitch, waiting for the first swing of the blade from either side.

Emus shoulders his way past Hazel and Bufer and adopts a battle stance in front of the party, then waits for the skeletons to come to the party.

Under his breath, he begins to pray in a strange language the others do not recognize, other than Flower, who seems a bit startled to hear him speaking it.

"Those outside of creation may take no part in it," he snarls. "Those outside of creation may take no part in it."

"The dwarf speaks for us all," Bufer retorts, grabbing hold of the lacquered wooden holy symbol hanging from his neck, and presenting it to the encroaching undead like a badge of office. His eyes dart around the room as he takes a quick estimate of the odds. "Uh, I think."

There appear to be eight undead spreading out around the party, including a pair of kobolds with skeletal tails lashing, a pair of dwarves and four humans, led by what remains of Artos Nachtmann.

As Bufer looks back and forth, he sees that more than just Artos' greatsword has begun to glow.

"Artos Nachtmann, is that you among the dead?" Emmerson asks, his weapon raised in challenge.

"Put down your sword," Artos responds, "And we will make this quick."

"Put down yours and we will make it quicker. May Lothian have mercy on you, because if you attack us, I shall show you none."

Artos says a word in some vile language none of those gathered understand, and, as one, the undead attack.

Vonmora calls out to Yurabbos to protect them all, and her goddess seems to have heard her plea: The entire group feels blessed by the Runecarver.

Artos, laughing, his cloak billowing out behind him, steps forward, swinging his mighty greatsword at Emmerson, and the blade bites into the young priest's armor with a sickening sound of metal piercing armor and flesh, but remarkably, the blow is a relatively minor one. Artos was seemingly testing the paladin's defenses.

With a cry, Flower lets a sling stone fly free, but it bounces harmlessly off a far wall, ricocheting into the shadows. In response, one of the kobold skeletons darts forward, stabbing with a shortspear, but Flower ducks back, just in time.

A dwarf skeleton with a white beard still hanging from its few remaining patches of skin swings at Emus with a glowing dwarven waraxe, but the blow glances off his armor.

An undead human wizard, its spells gone along with its soul, swings at Vonomora with a quarterstaff held between bony hands, but the blow knocks loudly against her wooden shield.

A human warrior swings a glowing long sword at Tucker, and the blade bites into his shield, but does not penetrate.

Bufer first realizes that he's under attack when one of the kobold skeletons is withdrawing its short sword from his side, the gnome's blood reflecting in the lantern light.

Oktav screams in terror as a dwarf skeleton, its beard only a few stray hairs, swings a heavy mace at him. Oktav breaks and runs, the dwarf missing him as the acolyte leaps over the dead nuns' beds to avoid the attack.

Hazel opens her mouth to say something to him, but her words turn into a cry of pain as a long sword bites into her thigh.

Outside, the ravens still scream and beat themselves at the door, eager to join the battle.

Barely reacting to the pain, Emmerson grabs the ankh-crucifix dangling around his neck and screams at the top of his lungs: "FOUL BEASTS OF THE NETHERWORLD! YIELD IN THE NAME OF THE LIGHTBRINGER!"

Artos pulls back, hissing with rage, and steps back, his hand up to shield himself from the crucifix, backing his way down the dormitory. Four other skeletons simultaneously turn and flee in the same direction, breaking off their attacks on Flower, Vonmora, Tucker and Hazel.

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Dinky the rat releases her hold on the skeleton's ankle as it hobbles away. The rat spits out a chip of bone.

"Same damn leg," Hazel mutters, wincing.

A chanting Emus swings his mighty greatclub at the undead skeleton, dealing a mighty blow, shattering the skeleton, which collapses into a pile of decayed armor, whiskers and bone, its glowing waraxe sliding away beneath a bed.

Nearby, Hazel's quarterstaff whistles through the air over Bufer's head, harmlessly passing through the air near the skeleton attacking the gnome. Tucker, also attacking the same skeleton with his flail, has no better luck.

"GODS DAMN IT, THIS IS MY BEST OUTFIT!" Bufer shouts, grimacing from the pain in his side as he swings his father's mace at the undead kobold that stabbed him. The mace thwacks satisfyingly against the skeleton.

Vonmora raises her wooden shield higher to cover her head so she can briefly assess the condition of the folks around her. She sees the tuft-haired gnome resting his hand on his side, wincing as he swings away with his mace, but not before she also observes a deep wound on Hazel's thigh, thick blood dripping into her boot and the ground around her.

Trusting that Bufer knows when to tend to himself, Vonmora turns her attention towards the ranger. Once her hand reaches the injured leg, she heals Hazel.

Tucker swings his flail at the kobold skeleton once more, but with no more effect than before. This time, Bufer has a comparable lack of luck with his swing -- the kobold skeleton darts back and forth, and it may be a trick of the light, but it appears the undead creature is actually enjoying itself.

One end of Hazel's quarterstaff strikes nothing but air, but in ducking from that blow, the kobold's skull backs into the other end as it comes whistling forward, shattering its skull. The creature collapses into dozens of rotten bones, its short sword dropping point-first into the floor, vibrating slightly.

Emus tears after Oktav and his pursuer, racing across the beds, sending up huge clouds of dust as he goes, followed closely by Emmerson. But he's unable to reach the skeleton before its heavy mace connects with the back of the weeping acolyte with a crunch of breaking bone. Oktav collapses across one bed and lays still.

Emus' greatclub smashes the knob off the bedpost, sending it flying, but he misses the dwarf skeleton with the bloody mace. The creature turns just as Emmerson arrives and stabs the skeleton. But skeletons are made of bone, not flesh, and the blade does little damage.

Flower's sling stone also goes wide, thunking into one of the wooden ceiling beams, embedding itself there. Likewise, Dinky's fangs meet only empty air.

Back near the door, Vonmora's hand lands on Hazel's wound, and she channels the power of her goddess into the body of the ranger.

Artos and the other skeletons disappear together into the darkness.

"Son of a bitch!" Bufer snarls as he eyes the limp form of the acolyte. He glances up and around at his companions. "Dog pile on that mother-loving skeleton. Then we go after the others."

Without waiting for an acknowledgement from the others, Bufer turns and charges towards the dwarf skeleton, brandishing his father's mace, intent on knocking the ever-present grin clear off its skull.

"FOR REDSHIRT!" he shouts at the top of his lungs.

Hazel flashes Vonmora a smile and a nod of thanks as the bleeding slows to a trickle and the pain eases. Then she follows Bufer, limping slightly.

As Emmerson drops his sword and pulls his warhammer, the dwarf skeleton attacks, swinging its own mace at him, but it thunks loudly off the paladin's shield. Emmerson fares no better, as the undead dwarf parries his blow.

Tucker doesn't miss, though, and his flail shatters the dwarf into small bits.

Emus drops his greatclub to the floor, just narrowly missing Bufer's toes, and hops across the bed, looking to the fallen acolyte Oktav. Murmuring a spell, there's the sound of at least one rib snapping back into place, and the boy's ragged breathing is a little easier, but no color returns to his face and he does not wake up.

Hazel slows her rush as the skeleton collapses. She leans on her quarterstaff and carefully stretches her injured leg, satisfied that it will bear her weight. As Emus works on the acolyte, she straightens up and taps Tucker's shoulder with her quarterstaff.

"Ought to let the healers take care of him and get on with our business before the skeletons find a spot for ambushing. Care to take a little walk?"

"Work to be done," Tucker says, wiping his forehead and raises his flail once more. "Let's get to it."

 

[Whizbang Dustyboots]

Hazel heads further into the room, snatching her lantern from the floor and moving about 30 feet from the injured acolyte.

Tucker gives a sharp whistle, and nods toward the far end of the dormitory.

"Emmerson. We've still got more skeletons to smash."

Satisfied that the skeleton has been dealt with, Oktav has been stabilized and Hazel's injury mended, Emmerson heeds Tucker's words and follows.

"We can't let our superior numbers fool us," the priest murmurs. "Artos is a threat all by himself."

"If we can take out his friends first, we'll be able to take him down together," Hazel says, eyeing the darkness. "Keep him off-balance and fight him on all sides, like a wolf pack."

Bufer watches Hazel and the others walk off, torn, but finally turns away towards the unconscious Oktav. Laying his mace on the bed, he crouches down and palpitates the acolyte's head, attempting to determine the extent of his injuries.

"Well, at least he's still breathing," he says to Emus. "That's half the battle right there. You did good, lad. Real good."

He nods in the direction of Hazel and the others.

"Flower and me can take it from here, if you want to catch up with your partner, there. Although, uh, if you'd be willing to leave Skeeter with us to stand guard until we can join you, I'd be much obliged."

"Sure thing, son," Emus places on emphasis on the word "son" before turning to Skeeter. He points at Oktav and says a word in Dwarvish. "Guard."

The hound thumps his tail against the floor once in acknowledgement and Emus rubs the dog's head before departing.

"Hmph," Bufer snorts to Flower. "Try to pay him a compliment, and he gets all tetchy about it. Somebody needs to pull the shillelagh out of his butt, I think."

Hazel moves forward another 20 feet and looks toward the far end of the dormitory as Emus joins them.

"Emus, if I cover my lantern a moment, can you see anything moving down there?" she asks.

"Try it, and I'll tell ya what I can see."

Hazel turns to face the opposite direction and shields her lantern with her cloak.

"You'd think with the laughing and the glowing, they'd be easy to spot," she snorts.

Emus squints down through the dusty dormitory, then motions for Hazel to uncover her lantern.

"They ain't there. They're either hiding under the beds, or they've left the room. I don't see any ... hold on. There's something on the ceiling. Maybe a hole or a trapdoor they could've gotten through."

"Under the beds?" Tucker looks uneasily at the floor around them. "I don't like the idea of that."

Hazel uncovers the lantern, glad for the light but discomfited by the thought of the skeletons lying in wait somewhere ahead.

"Ought to be certain there ain't nothing else here, and then hunt down the bones an' send them to their gods," she says, shining her lantern around the dormitory, including under the beds.

For the most part, the beds are in good repair, with even the bedbugs and ticks dying off long ago, with no warm bodies to feed upon. The chests at the foot of each bed feature simple belongings: Prayer books, wooden crucifixes, changes of clothes and so on.

The axe that skidded under one of the beds has dimmed, its glow all but a memory.

"Ain't nothing under the beds but an axe one of them dropped."

Back by the door, Oktav spits up some bloody saliva and sits up with a groan. He's bruised, but alive, and he smiles weakly at Bufer, pale lips still unable to form words of thanks at the moment.

"Ah, there's a good lad," Bufer smiles as he helps Oktav sit up. "Of course, you do realize that being healed by the cleric of a heathen god means you're going straight to Hell now, right?"

"Or it means that the light of Lothian can shine even through surprising vessels," Oktav whispers hoarsely.

Bufer blinks in surprise at this response, then chuckles.

"Well played, Redshirt, well played," he says as he helps the acolyte to his feet. "C'mon, let's get you up and get caught back up with the others. I don't think it's a good idea for us to be split up in this place."

"Skeletons should be returning any second now," Emmerson says, as they arrive. "Let's hear your idea, Flower."

"Well," Flower says quietly, walking quickly to meet the others at the end of the room, "I have this, um, thing I can do with plants. And I can do it at range. Provided nobody from our side steps into it -- that would just be dumb -- I can keep the bad guys all tied up for us to clobber on one by one!"

"Hmm," Bufer says, scratching his chin with the top of his father's mace. "It's a good idea, but frankly I don't know if I can be counted on not to do something dumb."

He glances up at Oktav.

"Hey, you still got Thrakharaktor handy? You said it was some kinda undead-fightin' manual, right?"

Oktav nods, fumbling around with his belongings until he is able to fish out the book from his bag.

"The Grailwarden dwarves have fought many undead trying to steal the White Grail from them and compiled practical methods for battling the undead in this book." He carefully pulls apart two gummed-together pages. "The book is somewhat worse for wear, but perhaps someone who can read Dwarven runes can find something of use here."

"Give it here," Bufer says, reaching up for the damaged tome. Bufer frowns at it as, puzzled, Oktav drops the book into the gnome's hands.

"I hope this thing has an index," Bufer mutters, then closes his eyes and mutters another prayer.

The book begins to knit itself back into shape in Bufer's hands, water oozing from the pages as they dry out and shed the mold and mildew of the years. Although Thrakharaktor doesn't appear quite as new, it does appear readable for the most part.

"There," Bufer says as he shakes off the newly restored book. "If nothing else, at least we've got ourselves a dwarven relic to take back with us, although the two of you are going to have to arm wrestle to see which clan gets first dibs on it."

He holds the book out to Emus and Vonmora.

"Either of you inclined to take a peek? We might find something useful. I'd do it myself, but as I was explaining to Vonmora yesterday, I thought it better if I didn't understand what certain dwarves were saying about my parentage."

"She's more the book learning type, I reckon," Emus says, jerking his head towards Vonmora.

Vonmora snorts as she accepts the book from Bufer. She licks her thumb and scans through the pages quickly for major points of interest first. Then she rereads sections that caught her eye, muttering half-sentences to herself. The passages were filled with no-nonsense practical advice about hunting down and killing the undead.

"Hoo-kay!" Vonmora raises the open book higher, indicating that she was now ready to translate.

"This is what we need to know about them and what they can do. First of all, the undead can see in the total darkness. However, they are vulnerable to holy water.

"Secondly, the skeletons are mindless and easily controlled by other beings, living or undead. Blunt weapons work best on 'em. However, a word of caution: Not all bony creatures are actually skeletons. It says here that sometimes a great evil can create even more powerful skeletal creatures."

Vonmora looks up, glancing around for bored or confused expressions. Finding none, she continues on.

"Third, there are also ghostly creatures that only partially exist in the physical world. They will be a little more difficult to fight as only spells or magical weapons can touch them. But even so, magical weapons can only do so much. The ghostly creatures will not feel their full impact unless the weapons are specially created with transmutation magic, which will touch the ghosts every time."

Vonmora hands the open book over to Emus.

"Just in case I didn't read it properly, you probably should double check, too."

She then shrugs at Bufer.

"There's some more stuff about killing different breeds of vampires and ghouls if we wanted to delve into that some more or just deal with it as it comes."

Bufer considers the new information for a moment as the gears turn in his head.

"Wait," Bufer cocks an eyebrow, "Vampires have different breeds?"

Emus grunts, stroking his hairy chin, finding the section Vonmora indicated.

"Aye. Apparently, dwarves, gnomes, elves, halflings, and humans all create their own breeds of vampires."

Flower blinks as he briefly entertains an absurd notion.

"What are the gnome vampires going to do? Bite us in the ankles?"

Bufer turns and narrows his eyes at Flower.

"Maybe they just stab you with their pointy hats," he says dryly.