“Somethings is here, Chods,” Limery whispers.
I peer around the decaying castle. Everything is empty and desolate, except for the faint green light that glows from behind the furthest windows of the keep.
“That’s where we need to go.” I point to the keep.
We step into the gatehouse, where murder holes remain from long ago, though they are now mossed over. I’m sure that this castle was magnificent once, full of life and bustling activity, but now it is nothing more than a skeleton. And more than that, a graveyard. Along the battlements, several of the stone walls are still scorched from the battle long ago. I can only imagine the force it must have taken to wipe this place off the map.
The other trolls seem somewhat in awe as they take the castle in. Sure, they have had battles, but they’ve never experienced anything like this. To be able to tear down one of the greatest human structures on the island on a whim is not the same as winning a battle in the forest. I’m sure it just reminds them of how far the trolls have fallen.
“Let’s find the wyrm and then leave,” says Tormara.
Suddenly, there’s a flash of silver behind the murder holes and I swear for a moment an arrow is pointed in our direction. As quick as it appears, it is gone.
“Did anyone else see that?” I look deeper into the murder hole, but nothing is there.
“See what?” Ismora faces me, always the first one on alert.
They all look around, but whatever I saw has disappeared. Goosebumps erupt along my arms, and the hair on the back of my neck reaches for the stars. This place is really giving me the creeps.
“Nothing, let’s just get through here.” Before this turns into a horror movie and we all die.
A cloud passes in front of the moon, and I’m struck with a shooting pain in my shoulder. Yells of anguish ring out around me, and I turn to see a shimmering ethereal arrow protruding from my right shoulder. An angry silver face shouts at me from behind a slat in the wall.
Ghost. Level 12. The haunting remains of those unable to pass into the next world.
Limery slings a fireball at the ghost but before it connects, the silver man vanishes once more. I reach to pull out the arrow, but it is no longer there either, only the bloody wound where it had entered.
“They were right. This place is haunted.” Blood continues to stream down my arm.
Gord, Tormara, and Ismora all have blood streaming from various spectral injuries.
That’s when I notice the courtyard is bathed in the light of the moon once more. It doesn’t take a genius to see the connection.
“It’s the moonlight. Whenever it disappears, that’s when the ghosts come out. Let’s get out of this gatehouse before they return and we’re sitting ducks.”
“Sitting what?” asks Ismora, not understanding the reference.
“Nothing. Before we’re dead.”
As soon as we are out of the gatehouse, I find the moon. It’s a cloudy night and they shuffle across the sky, able to blot out the moon at any point. There’s no way to know if there are ghosts everywhere or just outside the castle until we make our way inside.
“Get moving before the clouds come out. We need to make it to the keep.”
Before we are even halfway across the courtyard, an army of silver foot soldiers erupts before us. One rushes at me, sword raised, and I use my staff to block its attack, but the blade passes through my weapon and cuts into my skin. I cast a Horror of Finesse and attempt to use heal, but my attack goes straight through his translucent body. The horror wanders around, unable to attack until the ghosts bludgeon it to death.
The strained cries of my teammates surround me as archers fire a volley of spectral arrows down upon us, dropping our health in droves.
“We can’t attack. We can’t defend,” yells Gord. “What the hell are we supposed to do?”
“Take thats!” screams Limery, tossing a fireball at a nearby soldier. When the fireball hits him, the ghost goes up in a puff of smoke. He follows up with another fireball just as I’m hit in the chest with an arrow. I reach to pull the arrow out, but my hands pass through it and then suddenly, it vanishes.
Everyone breathes heavily as they try to patch their wounds as best they can. I continue to cast my horrors. Even if they can’t attack, the bonus health might just save my life.
“Yashi, the potions. Pass them out.” Her small frame has left her unscathed so far. “Magical attacks are all that work against the ghosts. Limery, we’re going to make a run for the keep. If the ghosts appear again, I want you to cast a wall of fire on both sides of our group. It’s the only way to keep the ghosts off of us. Can you do that?”
He nods and flies in the air. “Limmy is ons it!”
The rest of the group downs health potions and we take off running towards the keep. The clouds blot out the moon, and once again the courtyard becomes a battlefield. I can’t even count how many soldiers surround us before flaming walls rise on both sides of me. The heat is uncomfortable, but it beats the alternative. Arrows sizzle into nothingness as they enter Limery’s wall of flame and several ghosts vanish trying to rush through it. Yashi and Ismora race ahead of me, and the entrance to the castle keep comes into view.
The door is closed when we arrive, but with our strength combined, Gord and I are able to force the rusted hinges.
The door shuts with a thud and we all take a moment to gather ourselves.
“That…was intense,” says Ismora. Her normally neat ox-horn buns are messy, with strands falling over her pointed ears. Our entire team looks like they just went through hell.
Then I notice a hulking black figure cloaked in darkness on the other side of the room. Several more figures spread out along the first floor of the keep, none of them moving. I rise to my feet, ready to fight, but the cloaked figures stand pat.
Wraith. Level 13. Although unable to attack while being looked upon, wraiths are deadly to those who pass by unaware. They shroud their victims in darkness, draining the life from them.
The creature wears a black hood of tattered fabric, obscuring the face that lies underneath in total darkness that even my night vision can’t see through. For most races, the inside of the castle would prove foreboding, the lack of light allowing the wraiths to swoop down upon their enemies before they were ever spotted.
We’re not that unfortunate.
“We need to get to the glowing door,” I say, pointing across the hallway. “Keep your eyes out for wraiths and make sure we are always focused on them. If you turn your back, they will move forward and attack, but if we stay aware, we should be able to pass through without incident. There is rubble all along the floor, so be careful where you step.”
A set of staircases on each side of the entrance spiral up to what I imagine are the living quarters and a long, wide hallway extends forward to a set of massive doors where green light emits from underneath. I’m certain it is the throne room and that is where we need to be.
I take the lead, keeping my eyes focused on the wraiths before us. They hover in the air ominously, but aside from the swish of their cloaks, they don’t move. Footsteps tell me my party is behind me, but I can’t look to confirm.
“Is someone watching the rear?” I ask.
“I am,” Gord replies.
“Limery, if any of the wraiths start moving, I want you to let us know.”
“Limmy can do it.”
We pass by a wraith that towers above us, hovering a dozen feet off the ground. Its tattered clothing sways ominously as we pass, and its cold raspy breath chills me to the bone.
We’re a few yards from the door when a firm body plows into my back, knocking me to the floor.
“Oh no, I slipped!” says Tormara as we scramble back to our feet.
I turn my head and a wraith comes to an abrupt halt a foot from my face. Its arms are spread wide, opening the cloak and displaying the infernal darkness that resides within. The emptiness inside threatens to swallow me whole if I will only give in. It�
��s mesmerizing, almost welcoming.
Peace surrounds me as I let the pull take over.
“Chod!” Ismora’s hand grasps me on the shoulder, bringing me back to the world. “We’re at the door.”
I’m lost for a moment as I reacclimate.
“Okay, keep your eyes on the wraith, and when I give the order, we all rush inside.”
The handle of the door is ice cold with a small streak of green light escaping through the keyhole. Whatever is on the other side, I pray there is a wyrm with it. My fingers wrap around the cold bronze handle and I pull. The door opens with ease, and we are all bathed in green light.
30. Ghost Stories
We hurry into the room, and the door slams behind us. Immediately, I feel my HP begin to drain. We’re all bathed in a neon glow from the other side of the room, and I look up to see a decrepit man sitting on a rusted throne. His body radiates spectral energy, every part of him an opaque neon green. A crown sits lopsided on his head, displaying a wide gash that cuts from ear to nose. The other side of his face is covered in burn marks. An old robe lays curled around his feet.
To his side, three knights, all the same greenish hue, stand watch with their swords displayed in front of them, point down while their hands rest on the hilts. They’re not quite ghosts, but also not quite living, caught somewhere in the middle.
King Bartholemy. Specter. Level 16. A specter is a ghost gone mad. Their very presence depletes the life of anyone around them.
What Tormara said appears to be true. The king did go mad. He is level sixteen, and the three knights are each level fourteen. He leans one arm against the side of his throne, oblivious or uncaring to our presence.
My HP drops to ninety percent and I notice that everyone else’s is doing the same.
“Yashi, we need the health potions. Just being in this room is draining our life!”
“What do we do?” asks Tormara, eyes wide.
“We fight!” Gord thrusts his axe forward, “Instead of standing around and dying.”
The king lifts his head, his pupil-less eyes finally noticing us.
“You will all die soon enough.” He leans back against the throne. “They always die.”
The robe around his feet moves and I realize that it is not a robe at all. Two blue eyes stare at me before falling back to the floor. This wyrm looks nothing like the others. It’s deflated and shriveled, like it had the life sucked out of it.
Because it has.
The specter’s ability must be constantly draining the wyrms HP while the mana source is enough to keep it barely alive at the king’s feet.
“The wyrm,” I say. “It’s the priority. How do we bond it to one of you?”
Limery’s claws dig into my shoulder just before he falls from it. I’m quick enough to catch him before he hits the ground, but his HP is nearly gone.
“Quick, health potions, now!” I shout, and Yashi places one in my hand. I pour it in the tiny imp’s mouth and his bulbous eyes open, though he still looks a little dazed. All of the female trolls’ health bars are dropping dramatically faster than mine and Gord’s. It must be a flat decay and not a percentage. “Keep the potions for you all. Gord and I have higher regen.”
I just hope we figure out what to do before we all die. I pass Limery to Yashi and she continues to nurture him back to health.
“There’s no point in fighting it.” The king stares forward blankly. “You will all die eventually.”
He stands up from the throne, leaving the wyrm wrapped around its base, and steps forward. His knights lift their swords and follow him. There is something sinister about the way they walk, like they are puppets on a string.
“If we can keep them distracted, can you bond with the wyrm? He’s already at low health.”
Tormara and Ismora nod before rushing off to the wyrm.
“Alright, Gord, are you ready to fuck some shit up?”
He gives me a wicked snarl and lets out a roar so powerful it echoes off the walls.
The king unsheathes his own sword, the blade the same spectral green as his body, as we race across the throne room. My horrors follow me, nearly twenty in total, but they seem lost on what to attack. Our health is already over a quarter gone when we reach our opponents.
I fire one of my ranged attacks and it shoots straight through the specter king.
Gord charges two knights with his shield like a battering ram, but he passes through their armored bodies just the same. They turn to slash through him, drawing blood and taking a chunk of Gord’s health.
The king slashes at me and I jump to the side, barely avoiding the attack. There’s no way for us to fight them as my horrors run back and forth, unable to attack yet dying to the attacks of the king and knights.
“I’s better now, Chods.” Limery hovers next to me, his leathery wings flapping like sails, holding a fireball in one hand and a potion in the other. He tosses the fireball at the king and it explodes against his disfigured face, dropping his health for the first time. How in the hell are we supposed to defeat them without magic?
“You’re the only one who can hurt them,” I say. “Gord and I will distract them, but you need to deal the damage.”
He takes a sip of his potion and slings another fireball.
I check my own health and realize it has dropped below fifty percent. “Gord, I’m going to need you to get real angry real soon or you are going to die.”
The ladies need the health potions, and I’m certain we will run out before all of this is over. For Gord and myself, our only hope is to use Berserker Rage and counteract the decay so that we can bond the wyrm and leave.
I dodge a swing from the knight who isn’t chasing Gord. His greatsword moves with ease and he follows up with another swing as if the weapon weighs nothing. Which, apparently, it doesn’t. The blade connects with my chest, ripping flesh and spilling blood.
“You no hurts Chods!” screams Limery as he tosses another fireball that bursts against the knight.
Gord’s health is down to thirty percent, but at least Tormara, Ismora, and Yashi have managed to get to the wyrm. They lean over it, Ismora and Yashi holding it down, belly-up, while Tormara cuts it open with her dagger.
Limery’s attacks are not doing nearly enough damage, and Gord and I continue to lose health at a rapid rate. I cast horrors to try and counteract the effect, but they die quicker than I would like. With every bit of health we lose, the specters grow more powerful, replenishing their lost health with our own.
As our health continues to deplete, I don’t see any way we make it out of this. Even if we bond with the wyrm, we’re still locked in here.
Gord’s health drops below ten percent. By the throne, the wyrm thrashes as it fights against its bonds even in its decrepit state.
Gord is going to die if he takes much more damage, so I do the only thing I can think of: I sacrifice myself. Running in front of Gord, I take the brunt of the attacks that were meant for him until my own health drops below ten percent. Using the same trick that saved my life with the first wyrm I encountered, I trigger Berserker Rage and use my rapid regeneration in conjunction with my bonus healing. My health spikes like it took a shot of adrenaline to the chest. Beside us, Limery continues his assault, but it’s evident he can’t do much against these creatures.
There’s a violent roar behind me and I turn to see Gord’s health increasing just like mine, steam radiating from his green skin.
Thank God.
The king’s health has already replenished. The damage Limery deals is simply not enough and the horrors that I cast to raise my own health feed the specters just the same as we do. It feels like we are caught in a riptide, being pulled out to sea, and no matter what we do, we are destined to be pulled under.
A stream of flame sprays across the throne room and I turn to Limery to see what the hell just happened. He’s just as shocked as I am.
Tormara steps down from the throne, the wyrm at her side. It’s no longer shrivele
d and weak, but rises up proud and strong like a cobra, several feet taller than Tormara. It tilts it head back and a shrieking roar cuts through the room. The specters bend over as if in pain. The shriek actually deals a small amount of damage.
While they are distracted, the wyrm lets out another spout of flame, dropping their health even further.
Limery doesn’t waste any time getting in on the action, peppering the specters in a blast of miniature fireballs. The specters seem panicked for once and slash out at anything and everything around them. I let my horrors fall and cast no more. It means I have less health, but I’ll no longer be replenishing the HP of our enemies.
“Limery, box them in with a flame wall,” I shout.
Two walls of fire form to one side of the specters, forming an ‘L’ shape and preventing them from escaping the wyrm. Another blast of fire pushes the specters back into the fiery corner and their health drops even further as they are assaulted on both sides.
Right now, I’m feeling about as useful as nipples on a breastplate as I bark orders, unable to actually fight.
“Okayy, Limery, it’s time for the big guns.”
The wyrm shrieks, momentarily immobilizing the specters while Limery lifts his hands over his head and a swirling ball of flame grows ever larger.
The specters recover from the shriek and the last thing I hear is the king’s colorful curses as the mega-fireball swallows him whole. There is a clank as his crown falls to the floor, no longer a spectral image. Another fire blast from the wyrm finishes off the knights, and the green glow fades from the room. I push the notifications to the side to check on my party members.
Everyone’s health begins to tick up with the specters gone. Tormara, Yashi, and Ismora’s health bars are below twenty percent.
“Do we have any potions left?” I ask.
“That was the last of them, I’m afraid,” says Yashi. “And not a minute too soon.”
Tormara runs her fingers down the back of the wyrm, the toxic sludge it creates just beginning to seep through its scales.
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