Inside the Tower

An accounting from Bryn.

Bryn was waiting for the warlock and the half-orc to recover from their encounter with the nasty giant centipedes and looking idly out the tower window. There wasn’t much to see, just a man she didn’t recognise riding by on horseback. He was finely dressed and she wondered, for a moment, what he might be carrying on him. Suddenly, a gigantic raven ridden by what looked like a smaller raven swooped down and snatched the man from his horse. It flew swiftly away south over the Darkwood, carrying the dangling figure in its claws. 

“Whoa! Did anyone else see that?!” She babbled out a nearly coherent description of what had happened. Thibault rushed over but wasn't quick enough to see anything. He looked at her doubtfully.

 

Mistle didn’t get up to look, but she spoke dreamily from the corner she’d been resting in. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard tell of raven folk who live in the Darkwood in a giant hollow oak tree. Didn’t think they much messed about with stealing humanfolk away, though.”

 

"But it left the horse. Seems odd, don't you think?" Bryn repressed a shudder. Giant bugs. Creepy bird folk stealing unsuspecting travellers. Probable ghosts. She just wanted to get the treasure Vrena had promised and get out of this broken down tower. "If it were just looking for a meal, you'd think it would take the horse as well.”

 

Thibault still looked doubtful that she'd even seen what she claimed. “Look, there,” she said, pointing, “there’s the horse.”

 

“Oh, I see,” he said.

 

"Have some faith.” She turned away from the window. “I may be a thief, but I'm not a liar." She muttered the last to herself. She wasn't entirely sure she trusted the blonde Adonis. He looked too noble by half.

 

"Nowt as queer as Ravenfolk!" said Greeba cheerfully.

 

They rested a while longer until Gorlock suddenly sprang to his feet, all spry after his little nap. “I’m feeling better. Let’s explore the rest of the tower!”

 

"Vrena, will you please lead?” asked Greeba. Bryn wondered where the half-orc had come from, to be so polite. The thief reluctantly complied, the half-orc following after.

 

They all made their way to the top of the tower with nothing to show for it – the only thing Bryn had found so far worth taking was a chess set. That, and the barrels of oil in a storage room just below the top of the tower. She was starting to wonder if Vrena was setting them up in some elaborate scheme. But, at the top of the tower, they found the ghost of Brecos.

 

Wind whipped across the battlements, buffeting them. A stack of wood, taller than an average human, sat in the center, unlit and rotting. The last beacon, never lit. A pair of struts and pulleys were affixed to one ledge, old ropes descending from them to the ground.

 

But it was the old, yellowed, skeleton in an oilskin coat propped against the woodpile that drew their eyes. A translucent form appeared above the remains.

 

Thibault dropped to his knees and began to pray. Bryn shifted farther away, taking up a spot near the wall.

"Who are you? Do you need help?" asked Greeba, clutching her sturdy Warhammer.

 

Gorlock, seemingly unsurprised, bowed to the apparition. “How can we be of service?” Perhaps the warlock had secrets yet?

 

The ghost opened it’s mouth and for a moment they heard nothing, then a faint voice. "Hello there.... I've waited a long time for you."

 

"For us personally?" Bryn looks at Vrena. "Or just anyone?"

 

The ghost ignored her, turning to Gorlock and Greeba. “Aye, help is what I need.”

 

"What can we do? What do you need?" The warlock and berserker spoke almost in unison.

 

"She... she is down below, waiting for you. She controls the vermin, like she controlled me. You need to stop her!"

 

"Ah, the evil below. Of course." Bryn’s hand dropped to the hilt of her rapier. Figures they should have gone below first. But, maybe they could get some useful information out of the old man’s ghost.

 

"The woman... she came here... beautiful. She charmed me... made me do things...Bad things. But I'm no murderer! I found a moment of lucidity, came up here and took the rat poison. But even now I'm not free..."

 

"How can we free you? If we kill her, the magic will end?" Gorlock and Greeba both had moved closer to the ghost, so intent were they on hearing his story.

 

The ghost looked to Gorlock. "There is a trapdoor in the entry hall, down to the cellar. There, a hidden door behind the wine rack leads to the caves... You must defeat her, then I can be free...” His voice was a mere wisp.

 

“Did you ingest all of the rat poison?” asked Thibault, almost to himself, his prayer finished. He fumbled among the wreckage and found an empty vial of poison by the body and held it up.

The ghost looked thoughtful, but ignored the vial. He only seemed to have eyes for Gorlock and Greeba. "Aye, surely... but her vermin will seek to overwhelm you. I must give you my strength...”

 

"What were the things she made you do? What was her purpose?" asked Bryn. The ghost was rambling. He hadn’t told them much that was useful as yet. But he ignored her too.

 

"Her vermin? You mean the centipedes?" asked Greeba, shuddering in revulsion.

 

"Centipedes, rats, bats..." The ghost beckoned to Gorlock, and floated towards him. He reached into his own chest, pulled out a wisp of ectoplasm, and reached for Gorlock's heart.

 

"Gorlock, look out!” shouted Greeba. They all as one stepped forwards, but Bryn didn’t detect any malice in the ghost.

 

"I don't think he's lying, at least, for what it’s worth,” said Bryn. But still, he was a ghost.

 

Gorlock was poised to run. The ghost stopped. "You must take my gift willingly, or not at all."

 

“Are you…lending us your strength?” asked Greeba.

 

The ghost nodded and reached again for Gorlock. The warlock braced himself, but stayed steady.

 

"His name was Brecos," said Vrena, softly.

 

“You knew him?” asked Greeba.

 

"He was still alive when I was young... during the war... the last watchman... a smuggler, they said."

 

"Was the talk of treasure a ruse to get us to come to the tower, Vrena?" Bryn took a hard look at the thief. Had she had an ulterior motive? Had she known that it was his ghost that dwelt here? Perhaps there was no treasure at all, and this was merely revenge. For what, who knew.

 

Vrena glared at Bryn. "Don't be foolish."

 

Bryn shrugged. "Just asking. We've seen naught but barrels of oil so far."

 

Meanwhile, the ghost’s cold hand entered Gorlock’s chest, meeting no resistance. The warlock shivered, but stood taller after, almost shining with good health. But Brecos had faded and grown more insubstantial.

 

“Thank you, my friend,” said the warlock to the ghost.

 

"I can aid all of you... though there will be little of me left when it's done. The strength will only last an hour or so, you must be quick."

 

“Then let us not waste time,” said Bryn, stepping forwards. Quickly, they all lined up to receive the ghost’s blessing. By the last, he was barely a memory, his voice the barest of whispers.

 

“Thank you, good Sir,” said Thibault. “Would you like to receive the last rites? Before you pass away?”

 

He nodded to Thibault. "Do it once she's gone and my tower is free."

 

"Thank you, boosted with your strength the just will surely prevail,” said Greeba.

 

"Good luck..." said Brecos, and vanished, leaving behind only old bones.

 

They quickly descended, grabbing a few barrels of the oil as they went. So long as the evil below wasn’t a ghost, surely fire would help tame it.

 

At the bottom of the tower, Bryn noticed a door they had not entered before. Would there be anything of interest there? Perhaps, even, something that would help them? Or something shiny and gold? Either would be good.

 

Mistle and Greeba had noticed it as well. As one, they opened the door and crept into the room, the door creaking. It held only a bunk bed a couple of chests, and a small table with a chipped stoneware basin and ewer. Hardly something to write home about. Mistle, eagle-eyed, pointed out the water damage to the floor. “The floor could be treacherous here where it's rotten...be careful!”

 

Bryn weighed her options. So far, this little adventure had brought them nothing but trouble. She couldn’t leave the chests unopened. She nodded to Greeba and Mistle and then leapt to the closest chest on her tiptoes, landing so lightly it wouldn’t have disturbed a fly. She opened the chest. Unlocked and deservedly so – it was empty even of cobwebs. She shook her head at Greeba, who deflated.

 

Bryn swiftly and gracefully moved on to the other chest, harkening back to her days of interminable dance lessons. At least they had proved useful, just not in the way her father had intended. She opened the last chest and made a face. Nothing.

 

“Ah, fie! Let’s go sort this hag out!”

 

“Greeba, help me get this trap door open,” said Vrena, straining to lift it by the iron handle. The half-orc easily prised it open and they descended into the darkness of the cellar. A pervasive odor of rot and mold fouled the air. Bags of roots and tubers hung from the ceiling

overhead, having sprouted roots through the cloth and withered in their time here. A stack of moldy sacks were piled to the side of the stairs. A pair of wine racks sat against one wall.

 

One of the racks has suffered a partial collapse, leaving bottles and broken glass on the floor. Skittering could be heard from the dark corners of the room that were not reached by the torch Vrena was holding.

 

"I rather wish I'd brought my cat," said Bryn, taking a look around. Ah! But there, behind one of the wine racks, she could see the outline of a hidden door. She pointed at it and nodded to Greeba.

 

“Shall I kick the door?” asked the half-orc.

 

“How about I’ll try opening it first?” asked Bryn. The half-orc was eager, that was certain.

 

“Yes, I think silence is of the essence here!” whispered Mistle.

 

“But be ready with the barrel. Vrena, you have the torch handy? Thibault, by me?” As Bryn approached the wine rack, swarms of red-eyed rats erupted from the piles of sacking, squeaking angrily.

 

They headed straight towards Mistle. Vrena drew her hand crossbow and shot at them and then retreated up the stairs, leaving the halfling below. Mistle slashed at the approaching horde with her short sword as they swarmed over her legs.

 

Bryn muttered the only elf cantrip she knew, poison spray, at them, but they seemed immune to the attack. At the very least, they ignored it.

 

"Burn the little buggers!" yelled Greeba.

 

Xarius, the half-elf sorcerer broke his long silence. “Fire? Acid? Ah, poison!” A puff of poisonous gas wafted over the rats nearest him, but they shook it off.

 

Gorlock, stumbling to back away, fired an eldritch blast, but it barely signed the fur on one rat. Eamon, the even quieter monk, danced in with his scabbarded sword and laid about him. Two rats fell dead. He kicked about and two more lay squashed upon the ground.

 

"I do believe your nickname is going to be Exterminator, Eamon," said Bryn.

 

“I'm far too weak for a title like that,” he muttered, scraping some blood off his shoe.

 

Thibault moved swiftly forwards to protect Mistle and threw the barrel of oil he’d been lugging right into the midst of the swarm. Some were immediately crushed. Then the barrel burst open and drenched the remaining rats in slick oil. The squeaked in rodent-y rage and moved in to attack Mistle and Eamon.

 

Oily rats swarmed the halfling ranger, even managing to get under her armour, and biting as they went. The ones that went after Eamon were not as lucky. He shook them off with sweeping kicks and they went flying.

 

Greeba roared. She grabbed the rat-covered halfling and pulled her up the stairs, still covered in oily rats.

 

Mistle managed to fend off nine of the distracted critters, her face screwed up in disgust. You could barely see her under the rats.

 

“Stand back!” yelled Bryn, and tossed her torch on the remaining oil-covered rats on the cellar floor. She pulled Eamon back, hoping not to singe the monk. WHOOMF. The oil went up, the sacking helping to fuel the fire. It was an inferno filled with screaming rats. Xarius cast poison spray at them again, but the flames burn it away before it can do any damage.

 

Gorlock, perhaps shaken by the flames, again attempted an eldritch blast, but it missed the rats and hit a nearby wall. Eamon, unperturbed, punches and kicks at anything near him, killing some of the half-singed rats. Thibault weighed in with his blade, taking out even more of the foul creatures. Small corpses littered the ground.

 

But on the stairs, Mistle was still covered in angry vermin. They bit and scratched at her, making a godawful noise. Greeba managed to scrape some of them off with her hand axe. Below, Vrena’s aim was true, and with one shot she killed all five of the rats near Thibault. Mistle laid about her with a flurry of swipes with her short sword, remarkably calm considering the amount of rodents still upon her.

 

Bryn bounded up the stairs and aided her with her rapier, managing to kill the last of the rats clinging to the halfling. She wiped her blade to get the rat blood off. The smell was unimaginable in the cellar. Foul smoke, singed fur, the stink of the rats’ nest.

 

They all took a deep breath, regretting it immediately.

 

“My, my, I'll be needing a swig of wine or better yet, brandy after that!” Mistle headed towards the wine rack, but Thibault grabbed her and cast cure wounds to get rid of the worst of the bites and scrapes.

 

Vrena moved the wine rack. "This secret door should open easy enough. Ready?" She seemed anxious to continue, but time was short. The door did indeed open quickly, but with a creak. They followed her down a limestone tunnel as it descended ever deeper. There was a flutter of leathery wings above them.

 

“Bats,” said Vrena.

 

“Rats with wings,” said Bryn, gritting her teeth and feeling grimy already.

 

“Finally, something I can shoot!” Mistle patted her bow.

 

The path opened into a tall, cathedral-like room. The floor was white with guano and crawling with beetles. It seemed as if the entire ceiling was seething with bats. They stirred as the group walked below them and then dropped down to attack with no warning.

 

Xarius put his hands to the sky and cast burning hands upon the bats above him. Fire erupted from his fingertips and a score of bats fell to the ground dead. But even more were waiting to swoop down upon them...