((Largish update! Few Pictures! Mostly Text! Thrills!))
Kogut II was looking worried when he said, “Ishar hasn’t shown up for dinner. I should check on her, she cooked the whole meal, you’d think she would want to taste it.”
It wasn’t a comment that garnered much interest at the time. Ishar did what she liked, usually.
Once again, it was screams that brought people running down to the bedroom level. G and the Scout got there first, to find Kogut standing in the open door to his room, staring. They joined him a moment later.
The others arrived just after, so there were a few gentle hands there to lead Kogut away to somewhere... safer.
The Scout was still staring “Y’know, it’s... impressive, in a horrible sort of way.”
“You mean how something tore off her arm and used it to paint LEAVE LEAVE NOW all over the walls, in her blood?”
“Yes, that.”
...................................................
The ghost problem had clearly grown too severe to be ignored. Wilberforce decided that they would attempt the only reasonable thing, under the circumstances: They would hold a séance.
“A séance?” Remalle asked, when Wilberforce brought it up.
“Precisely, Remalle. These ghosts are trying to communicate with us, though I can’t say that I care for their methods at all. If we could get them to talk to us, calmly and like gentlemen, I’m sure we could sort out whatever it is that’s bothering them. I wanted you to lead it, as you’re the one who knew them, and so on.”
“I guess we could try it?”
“Splendid! We’ll all gather in the dining hall, as that seems to be their favorite “haunt”, as it were, and we’ll get this problem settled in no time at all.”
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If you had to hold a séance, the dining hall was the place to do it, Remalle admitted. It had been a sinister place even before they had started storing coffins in by the statues, and if you knew some of the things that had happened there...
Wilberforce had placed a large, dripping dog tallow candle in the middle of the room, where it was coating one of Aussie Evil’s more disturbing works with wax. The smoke it gave off was foul smelling and thick, which, again, really helped with the mood. Around that was a ring of chairs.
“Everyone here who can be?” There were nods and other assents from Balnash, Remalle, Kogut II, Derm and Bayar. “Good, then I suppose we can get started. You know, I did this kind of thing when I was a boy sometimes. Never had much success, but then, we weren’t being terrorized by a host of murderous spirits in those days.”
“Is that important, sir? At all?”
“No, probably not. Remalle, lead the way. We are in your capable hands.”
Remalle did so, though he only had a vague idea what he was doing. Still, the ghosts should be easy enough to summon. They had already given ample evidence of their existance. He tried a general sort of slightly irritated summoning thing, along the lines of “well, we’re here. Say what you’ve got to say, asshole.” He mentioned Zulban’s name several times (Why were all the violent woodworkers named Zulban, anyway?)
This went on a while, and so they were all taken a little bit by surprise when the smoke from the candle began to twist in the air, making rings and wreaths, moving with an eerie purposefulness.
Eventually a word could be made out among the ethereal shapes. One word.
“HATE”
Wilberforce tilted his head, and then broke the rather stunned silence. “Hm. Passionate, but not exactly helpful.”
The smoke coalesced into another word as he was speaking. “PAIN”
“Monosyllables, again. Could we get more details?”
The smoke began to change color, turning red then black, then red again. “
TRAPPED”
“See, that could mean any number of things! Is it us that are trapped, or you, or your pet pig Rocknose?”
This did not seem to sit well with the presence. “NIGHTMARE. DEATH.
TRAPPED. ALWAYS TRAPPED.
TRAPPED!”
Remalle stared at the words. There was something extraordinarily angry there, and if he was right about the way things felt, it was about to lose control.
The smoke started to curl and distort, as if being caught be a breeze, then without warning it whipped around the room with the speed of a whirlwind, knocking over chairs and throwing most of them from their feet. Briefly, Remalle saw the words “
DAMNED ALL DAMNED ALL DAMNED ALL DAMNED”. The candle flame grew long, changing color as it did, then went out.
Then there was silence.
Balnash got up off the ground, and re-lit some of the torches that had been blown out by the wind. The others also got to their feet, some shaken, others annoyed. A nervous conversation followed.
“Waste of time, that was,” Balnash muttered.
“We did learn that something is trapped, I suppose.”
“And what do we do about that? Nothin’ that I can see.”
“You’d think ghosts would be better at talking,” Wilberforce said to Derm. “They always are in stories. ‘The treasure is hidden in the forge pit, behind the secret door that you open by pulling on the special brick', 'avenge my death', and so on.”
Derm shrugged, and said nothing. He seldom spoke.
They left the room in a large group, conscious of the feeling that something was watching them. That was the problem. Something almost certainly was.
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Next: Strange Moods Abound, and a Boat Trip Begins.
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Topic: Oceanbridge - A Fortress Defense Community Fort: Reclaimed, Again! (And Again) (Read 182832 times)