The Eye of Anubis: Book Five
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Nathan of the FoS
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"It looks like it may be a quintet, actually," Charles says, nodding to where Khalil is talking with the Richemuloise professor and Lessard. "I'll go alert them to our coming while you two talk shop."yalenusveler wrote:Andre highlighted his point by making a face which suggested that he'd find that situation about as pleasant as eating a lemon. "So you coming along will give me a blessed respite from the smug. A quartet it is."
Suiting deeds to words, Charles wanders over to where Marchand-Renier, Lessard, and Khalil are still examining the inscription that had caught their attention. "Did someone say, library?" he says. "We had such a wonderful time at the last one I would be loathe to miss another opportunity..." This with the slightest hint of an ironic twinkle. "And I believe Professor Theroux is interested in joining us, too."
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
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yalenusveler
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"Excellent Affendi, any exploration into the unknown will be far safer in numbers. Especially considering our rather fine ability to find and attract trouble." He adds with a wink to Charles.
"I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space..."
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space..."
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NeoTiamat
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- Location: Boston, Massachusetts, USA
The Armory, Level Four, Keep
May 26th, 761, 11:11 AM; Day 70 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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The first place that the two Lamordians and Ishaq arrived was a place that the Pharazian bodyguard had noticed the night before, a short, single-story building opposite the barracks. A defensible blockhouse like most of the others in the keep, the old door of pitted iron swung open at Otto's faintest touch, though it screamed like a thousand demons from hell.
It was dark inside, the few arrow slits in the outer wall doing more to give the voluminous shadows a texture and a depth than to actually get rid of them. Something about the darkness seemed alive, and for a few seconds you fancied you could hear breathing within, a warm, soft breath from the depths of the cavernous building. It was with relief that you lit the torches and peered inside.
The relief was short-lived.
The building was an armory, logical enough seeing how close to the barrack it was. Racks of weaponry stood in disheveled rows throughout the armory. Sharp spears stood like metal lightning, their rusted blades gleaming bloodily in the torchlight. Scimitars and Falchions were hung up on the wall, their blades angled down, reminding you of nothing so much as the claws of some great beast. Scale mail and shirts of chain were folded haphazardly about armory, and everywhere you looked, there was rust.
And death, for not only were the tools of death here, but so was its handiwork. At least a dozen skeletons lay sprawled within the circle of light your torches cast, their yellowed, bleached bones bespeaking their age. Most were still in their armor, and some clenched bony fists around broken scimitars and bent spears. One skull had rolled away from its attendant body with time, but somehow, the chain coif around its head remained, even as its leering and empty eyes gazed out at Tomas and Otto and Ishaq.
Once more, you thought you heard the sound of breathing.
The Kitchens, Level Five, Keep
May 26th, 761, 11:11 AM; Day 70 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"If this dust-strewn wreck of a ruin has any knowledge worth preserving, it will be on the upper levels." Professor Sebastian Marchand-Renier strode forth across the courtyard like a symbol of all things scholarly and skeptical. And cynical, the small, nasty voice in the back of your mind said. "Why is that Remy?"
"Um... because that's where.... the noblemen would live? And only the.... noblemen would keep... a library?" The young student grunted out his answer in between carrying Professor Marchand-Renier's kit, a collection of dictionaries and thesauruses that would've made Ishaq bow his legs a little.
"Correct." The Richemuloise professor granted a thin smile to his student, which was about as much approval as he ever gave. "Ergo, we seek the highest levels of the keep. So look for some stairs."
At the upper end of the courtyard, past the well, you were confronted with three doors, leading off to various parts of the keep. Casting a cursory glance about, Professor Marchand-Renier opened one of them more or less at random, snarling in disgust at his find.
Looking past the linguist, you saw it was a kitchen, and quite a large one at that. Dozens of large block tables stood in the room, and several firepits, some of which still had cooking spits and pots hanging from them. The kitchen was obviously deserted, at least if the four foot wide spiderweb in one corner was anything to go by.
"Nothing." Professor Marchand-Renier grumbled, starting to pull the door shut and stepping back. "Check the other doors."
"Professor...!?" Remy's voice ended in a somewhat undignified squeak as he pointed at something at a bad angle for the rest of you. Stepping inside, you saw just what had frightened the student.
Up against the near wall of the kitchen, a trio of old skeletons rested against the wood-paneled walls of the kitchen. Sparse patches of mummified skin still hunt to them in places, and you could see shreds of clothing upon them, old jackets, breechs, a rotted tricorn. But somehow, even the skeletons couldn't hold your attention as well as all that.
The knives did.
Properly speaking, they weren't all knives. There were a few cleavers mixed in, but mostly they were a wide array of knives embedded in the wall behind the skeletons, and in some cases, in the skeletons themselves. Large, broad knives for cutting steak, small little knives for the paring of vegetables, long, thin knives for fileting. And unlike every other bit of metal work in the keep, there was no rust on the steel blades.
Rather, they shone like mirrors, and you could see your reflection in every gleaming blade.
The Barracks, Level Four, Keep
May 26th, 761, 11:11 AM; Day 70 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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"There, happy now?" Michel grumbled as he scooped the last bits of bacon off the skillet and gave them to Loup. "Chalisse! You are worse than a Chateafaux street beggar."
The dog ignored Michel with a dignified sniff, then set to eat the bacon as though Guy had forgotten to feed him for a few weeks.
Michel de Angelis muttered something pungent under his breath, then leaned back against one of the giant packs, letting his eyes wander around the inside of the barrack. "So what do you want to do now? I have cards..."
"And you have all of our money too." Dieter complained, the young Lamordian polishing his rifle and sitting across from Michel. "I think I'm in debt for a month's pay."
"You should learn to be better at cards then, mon ami." The former nobleman grinned. "Well then, perhaps a story? If this old castle does not call for a ghost story, nothing does."
"Sure, why not?" Dieter answered, curiosity piqued. No one could doubt that Michel was the Expedition's best raconteur.
"Well... I'm reminded of another old tale, back in the day. There was this nobleman in Gundarak, I think, who was, as Gundarkites tend to be, something of a lecher. But a rich lecher, for he also had seven small statues of gold and ivory, his most prized possessions."
"Now, after he'd debauched his way through half the castle staff, he turned his sights to the head cook's daughter. But no matter what he said or what he did, the cook's daughter wouldn't accompany him to his chambers, being a devout young girl, and hoping to join a convent."
"Will, this Gundarak noble was a smart enough fellow, so he made the girl the keeper of his seven golden statues. And one night, a few weeks later, he stole one of the statues. The cook's daughter was understandably in a panic, so the Gundarak noble made her a deal. Herself for a night, and he'll forgive her lapse."
"She killed herself instead. Ran up to the highest wall of the Gundarak's castle and plunged right off. Well, for a few months, the nobleman just gave it up as a bad job, but soon, he started hearing her in his sleep. She'd be counting, 'One, two, three, four, five, six...' and then there was the long, agonizing scream as she plunged off the wall. And this happened for every hour of every night, so the man could never sleep again. This was the girl's vengeance. He started to go mad."
"What happened?" Dieter asked as Michel fell silent. The Dementlieuse man let a slightly evil smile cross his lips, enjoying the old story, and continued.
"Well, he never got a chance to go quite mad. A few months after that, the cook carved him up with a steak knife. They hung the cook."
There was a brief silence at the end of this tale, as Michel leaned back, the challenge clear in his eyes. "Who else has a story?"
May 26th, 761, 11:11 AM; Day 70 of the Menetnashte Expedition
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The first place that the two Lamordians and Ishaq arrived was a place that the Pharazian bodyguard had noticed the night before, a short, single-story building opposite the barracks. A defensible blockhouse like most of the others in the keep, the old door of pitted iron swung open at Otto's faintest touch, though it screamed like a thousand demons from hell.
It was dark inside, the few arrow slits in the outer wall doing more to give the voluminous shadows a texture and a depth than to actually get rid of them. Something about the darkness seemed alive, and for a few seconds you fancied you could hear breathing within, a warm, soft breath from the depths of the cavernous building. It was with relief that you lit the torches and peered inside.
The relief was short-lived.
The building was an armory, logical enough seeing how close to the barrack it was. Racks of weaponry stood in disheveled rows throughout the armory. Sharp spears stood like metal lightning, their rusted blades gleaming bloodily in the torchlight. Scimitars and Falchions were hung up on the wall, their blades angled down, reminding you of nothing so much as the claws of some great beast. Scale mail and shirts of chain were folded haphazardly about armory, and everywhere you looked, there was rust.
And death, for not only were the tools of death here, but so was its handiwork. At least a dozen skeletons lay sprawled within the circle of light your torches cast, their yellowed, bleached bones bespeaking their age. Most were still in their armor, and some clenched bony fists around broken scimitars and bent spears. One skull had rolled away from its attendant body with time, but somehow, the chain coif around its head remained, even as its leering and empty eyes gazed out at Tomas and Otto and Ishaq.
Once more, you thought you heard the sound of breathing.
The Kitchens, Level Five, Keep
May 26th, 761, 11:11 AM; Day 70 of the Menetnashte Expedition
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"If this dust-strewn wreck of a ruin has any knowledge worth preserving, it will be on the upper levels." Professor Sebastian Marchand-Renier strode forth across the courtyard like a symbol of all things scholarly and skeptical. And cynical, the small, nasty voice in the back of your mind said. "Why is that Remy?"
"Um... because that's where.... the noblemen would live? And only the.... noblemen would keep... a library?" The young student grunted out his answer in between carrying Professor Marchand-Renier's kit, a collection of dictionaries and thesauruses that would've made Ishaq bow his legs a little.
"Correct." The Richemuloise professor granted a thin smile to his student, which was about as much approval as he ever gave. "Ergo, we seek the highest levels of the keep. So look for some stairs."
At the upper end of the courtyard, past the well, you were confronted with three doors, leading off to various parts of the keep. Casting a cursory glance about, Professor Marchand-Renier opened one of them more or less at random, snarling in disgust at his find.
Looking past the linguist, you saw it was a kitchen, and quite a large one at that. Dozens of large block tables stood in the room, and several firepits, some of which still had cooking spits and pots hanging from them. The kitchen was obviously deserted, at least if the four foot wide spiderweb in one corner was anything to go by.
"Nothing." Professor Marchand-Renier grumbled, starting to pull the door shut and stepping back. "Check the other doors."
"Professor...!?" Remy's voice ended in a somewhat undignified squeak as he pointed at something at a bad angle for the rest of you. Stepping inside, you saw just what had frightened the student.
Up against the near wall of the kitchen, a trio of old skeletons rested against the wood-paneled walls of the kitchen. Sparse patches of mummified skin still hunt to them in places, and you could see shreds of clothing upon them, old jackets, breechs, a rotted tricorn. But somehow, even the skeletons couldn't hold your attention as well as all that.
The knives did.
Properly speaking, they weren't all knives. There were a few cleavers mixed in, but mostly they were a wide array of knives embedded in the wall behind the skeletons, and in some cases, in the skeletons themselves. Large, broad knives for cutting steak, small little knives for the paring of vegetables, long, thin knives for fileting. And unlike every other bit of metal work in the keep, there was no rust on the steel blades.
Rather, they shone like mirrors, and you could see your reflection in every gleaming blade.
The Barracks, Level Four, Keep
May 26th, 761, 11:11 AM; Day 70 of the Menetnashte Expedition
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"There, happy now?" Michel grumbled as he scooped the last bits of bacon off the skillet and gave them to Loup. "Chalisse! You are worse than a Chateafaux street beggar."
The dog ignored Michel with a dignified sniff, then set to eat the bacon as though Guy had forgotten to feed him for a few weeks.
Michel de Angelis muttered something pungent under his breath, then leaned back against one of the giant packs, letting his eyes wander around the inside of the barrack. "So what do you want to do now? I have cards..."
"And you have all of our money too." Dieter complained, the young Lamordian polishing his rifle and sitting across from Michel. "I think I'm in debt for a month's pay."
"You should learn to be better at cards then, mon ami." The former nobleman grinned. "Well then, perhaps a story? If this old castle does not call for a ghost story, nothing does."
"Sure, why not?" Dieter answered, curiosity piqued. No one could doubt that Michel was the Expedition's best raconteur.
"Well... I'm reminded of another old tale, back in the day. There was this nobleman in Gundarak, I think, who was, as Gundarkites tend to be, something of a lecher. But a rich lecher, for he also had seven small statues of gold and ivory, his most prized possessions."
"Now, after he'd debauched his way through half the castle staff, he turned his sights to the head cook's daughter. But no matter what he said or what he did, the cook's daughter wouldn't accompany him to his chambers, being a devout young girl, and hoping to join a convent."
"Will, this Gundarak noble was a smart enough fellow, so he made the girl the keeper of his seven golden statues. And one night, a few weeks later, he stole one of the statues. The cook's daughter was understandably in a panic, so the Gundarak noble made her a deal. Herself for a night, and he'll forgive her lapse."
"She killed herself instead. Ran up to the highest wall of the Gundarak's castle and plunged right off. Well, for a few months, the nobleman just gave it up as a bad job, but soon, he started hearing her in his sleep. She'd be counting, 'One, two, three, four, five, six...' and then there was the long, agonizing scream as she plunged off the wall. And this happened for every hour of every night, so the man could never sleep again. This was the girl's vengeance. He started to go mad."
"What happened?" Dieter asked as Michel fell silent. The Dementlieuse man let a slightly evil smile cross his lips, enjoying the old story, and continued.
"Well, he never got a chance to go quite mad. A few months after that, the cook carved him up with a steak knife. They hung the cook."
There was a brief silence at the end of this tale, as Michel leaned back, the challenge clear in his eyes. "Who else has a story?"
Ravenloft GM: Eye of Anubis, Shattered City, and Prof. Lupescu's Traveling Ghost Show
Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24
Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing
Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24
Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing
The hair on the back of Ishaq's neck raised like hackles on a dog. The ancient armory was impressive. That was besides the point. The skeletons unnerved him. And the lone skull was almost looking at them, making Ishaq uneasy to say the least. Who's breathing?....... I don't think we are alone......
Whispering, Ishaq asks both Otto and Tomas "Do you hear the breathing, Effendi's? I for one feel very uncomfortable in this place. Let us be alert and on our feet, so to speak." Ishaq's hand doesn't wander far from his greatclub. Eyes nervously scanning the area, darting from right to left.
Whispering, Ishaq asks both Otto and Tomas "Do you hear the breathing, Effendi's? I for one feel very uncomfortable in this place. Let us be alert and on our feet, so to speak." Ishaq's hand doesn't wander far from his greatclub. Eyes nervously scanning the area, darting from right to left.
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yalenusveler
- Evil Genius
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- Joined: Thu Nov 29, 2007 10:44 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania...or Baator
Andre was ready to write this off as a sign of some horrid tribal conflict that had occurred long ago, that was untill he saw the rather pristine condition of the blades that made for such an unpleasant scene.
"And Tomas' ramblings...now make a bit more sense." Andre offered, before starting into a short prayer, aligning his sight with the perception of magic.
OOC:Casting Detect Magic
"And Tomas' ramblings...now make a bit more sense." Andre offered, before starting into a short prayer, aligning his sight with the perception of magic.
OOC:Casting Detect Magic
"Sometimes, Mr.Liquor cabinet is my only friend"
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The Whistler
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- Location: Southshore
Otto exhaled grimly through his teeth, surveying the scene.
"Likely, it is being a draft of some sort..."
In the past three months, you've faced off against militant arsonists from beyond the grave, unnatural soul-stealing abominations, and a sadistic, spell-spewing man-beast. You do NOT get to SAY things like "I'm sure it's nothing" anymore.
"...Yes. Rather...yes. But...interesting that there should have been an attack here, so long ago... Who was owning this place? Who was aggressing it?" The gunsmith cast his eyes about the room, attempting to shed lantern light on the far walls, while "coincidentally" not having very much of his body in the room at any one time.
OOC: Apparently, the new dice server doesn't actually *tell* you what you've rolled on the webpage, and I sent the results email to Neo and not myself. Anyway, I rolled a Spot check (just looking for anything out of the ordinary), so Neo can tell me what I got, I suppose.
"Likely, it is being a draft of some sort..."
In the past three months, you've faced off against militant arsonists from beyond the grave, unnatural soul-stealing abominations, and a sadistic, spell-spewing man-beast. You do NOT get to SAY things like "I'm sure it's nothing" anymore.
"...Yes. Rather...yes. But...interesting that there should have been an attack here, so long ago... Who was owning this place? Who was aggressing it?" The gunsmith cast his eyes about the room, attempting to shed lantern light on the far walls, while "coincidentally" not having very much of his body in the room at any one time.
OOC: Apparently, the new dice server doesn't actually *tell* you what you've rolled on the webpage, and I sent the results email to Neo and not myself. Anyway, I rolled a Spot check (just looking for anything out of the ordinary), so Neo can tell me what I got, I suppose.
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Nathan of the FoS
- Fiendish Enforcer
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- Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
- Location: San Francisco CA
"...can't be of much help in that department..." Tomas trails off, feeling a bit uncomfortable, like he always did when he couldn't hide in a crowd behind the boisterous, cheerful personality he held most of the time. The effects of this...place weren't helping.
Ishaq's words are answered by Tomas quietly drawing his sword, looking around him. "...and I'll tell you what you wanted to know after we get out of here, Otto." Tomas answers, finally. "When some time in the sun gives me perspective."
Come on then, Tomas can't help but think as he looks at the faceless coiff, if you're doing this...come on.
Ishaq's words are answered by Tomas quietly drawing his sword, looking around him. "...and I'll tell you what you wanted to know after we get out of here, Otto." Tomas answers, finally. "When some time in the sun gives me perspective."
Come on then, Tomas can't help but think as he looks at the faceless coiff, if you're doing this...come on.
OOC: Spot 5 yay! I see whatever! Listen 29 however I hope this helps some.
Ishaq upon seeing Tomas remove his sword, moves his hand from his greatclub to the pommel of his great sword strapped to his back. He moves his other hand to the pommel and slides it out of it's sheath, holding it now in front of him. Whispering still, in a nervous voice no less "This place unnerves me, Effendi Otto and Tomas. As Tomas says, the open space and hot sun beating down on us will be most welcome, I'm sure you agree Effendi Otto. Let us not tarry here too long, please."
Ishaq's eyes dart from left to right, his body tight. Otto and Tomas can tell Ishaq is very uncomfortable in this place. The big burly barbarian might be rather a large hulk of a man but he is still a man after all.
Ishaq upon seeing Tomas remove his sword, moves his hand from his greatclub to the pommel of his great sword strapped to his back. He moves his other hand to the pommel and slides it out of it's sheath, holding it now in front of him. Whispering still, in a nervous voice no less "This place unnerves me, Effendi Otto and Tomas. As Tomas says, the open space and hot sun beating down on us will be most welcome, I'm sure you agree Effendi Otto. Let us not tarry here too long, please."
Ishaq's eyes dart from left to right, his body tight. Otto and Tomas can tell Ishaq is very uncomfortable in this place. The big burly barbarian might be rather a large hulk of a man but he is still a man after all.
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yalenusveler
- Evil Genius
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- Joined: Thu Nov 29, 2007 10:44 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania...or Baator
"No magic...or it's just so long ago it faded." Andre said, heading over to the curious cutlery...and trying to figure out If he could think of anything about this particular fortress..something he had picked up in his studies..that would make all the particular signs of "This is someplace BAD" actually make sense.
"This..doesn't seem right. It's a border keep..the sort for holding nomads and bandits at bay. But from my admittedly meager knowledge of Pharazian architecture, the style is slightly..off and..oh no." Andre winced, as something finally hit home. "There was a keep on the Pharazia and Sebua border, reputed to be haunted due to an incident in which everyone inside died. It was a complete slaughter of the pharazian soldiers within...and quick." Andre looked at the embedded knives, and the reflection of the group within.
"I can't quite remember the name, but if we find the name of this keep, that problem will be most likely solved. If...we don't end up like them." He pointed to the skeletons. "Wrong type of clothing. They were likely from the mainland. The knives...similar to what Stefan did to Thomas with the undead and gardening tools at Marilena's, I'd wager."
"This..doesn't seem right. It's a border keep..the sort for holding nomads and bandits at bay. But from my admittedly meager knowledge of Pharazian architecture, the style is slightly..off and..oh no." Andre winced, as something finally hit home. "There was a keep on the Pharazia and Sebua border, reputed to be haunted due to an incident in which everyone inside died. It was a complete slaughter of the pharazian soldiers within...and quick." Andre looked at the embedded knives, and the reflection of the group within.
"I can't quite remember the name, but if we find the name of this keep, that problem will be most likely solved. If...we don't end up like them." He pointed to the skeletons. "Wrong type of clothing. They were likely from the mainland. The knives...similar to what Stefan did to Thomas with the undead and gardening tools at Marilena's, I'd wager."
Last edited by yalenusveler on Wed Apr 16, 2008 8:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Sometimes, Mr.Liquor cabinet is my only friend"
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The Whistler
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 1454
- Joined: Thu Jun 07, 2007 7:38 pm
- Location: Southshore
"I too am not liking to linger in such a dismal place, ja? Let us go. There are other areas to explore."
A bit nervously, Otto motions for the two men to follow him. Once they're out of line of sight from the doorway and thirty or so paces away, however, he keeps walking, but turns around to face them.
Finger to the lips. Then, mouthing the words, exaggeratedly: Something in there.
Holds up two fingers, then points to his eyes. Mouthing: Two eyes.
Makes his hand a horizontal plane, a couple of inches lower than the top of his head. This high.
Hesitates for a moment, then makes a "clawing" gesture with one hand. Like a cat.
Exaggerated shrug, looking more nervous by the moment. What do we do?
Bluff 16 to make it look (to whatever was in there) as if I didn't *see* whatever was in there, while I was still close to the doorway. Maybe that's enough to pull it off?
A bit nervously, Otto motions for the two men to follow him. Once they're out of line of sight from the doorway and thirty or so paces away, however, he keeps walking, but turns around to face them.
Finger to the lips. Then, mouthing the words, exaggeratedly: Something in there.
Holds up two fingers, then points to his eyes. Mouthing: Two eyes.
Makes his hand a horizontal plane, a couple of inches lower than the top of his head. This high.
Hesitates for a moment, then makes a "clawing" gesture with one hand. Like a cat.
Exaggerated shrug, looking more nervous by the moment. What do we do?
Bluff 16 to make it look (to whatever was in there) as if I didn't *see* whatever was in there, while I was still close to the doorway. Maybe that's enough to pull it off?
Ishaq aknowledges Otto's hand motions and nods. Frowning he tries to relay what he thinks they should do.
Putting his hand out and in a stop gesture, he looks to Otto and Tomas. Wait a moment.
He holds his hand out again but this time he holds his forefinger up as if a in a One gesture.
Pointing to himself, he then holds out his left hand and he places the forefinger and index finger of his right hand on top of his open palmed left hand. He makes a walking motion with this right hand, then points again to himself.
I'll go first
Then he points to his eyes and his body and makes like he is looking around. He makes the same hand motion Otto did to show he'd seen the cat being, then makes as if he is ignoring the cat.
I'll pretend I didn't see it and walk in.
Then he points to Otto and Tomas and to their weapons. Then makes attacking motions for them.
It will attack me, so you attack it from behind.
He looks at both men inquisitively with a hopeful nod.
Putting his hand out and in a stop gesture, he looks to Otto and Tomas. Wait a moment.
He holds his hand out again but this time he holds his forefinger up as if a in a One gesture.
Pointing to himself, he then holds out his left hand and he places the forefinger and index finger of his right hand on top of his open palmed left hand. He makes a walking motion with this right hand, then points again to himself.
I'll go first
Then he points to his eyes and his body and makes like he is looking around. He makes the same hand motion Otto did to show he'd seen the cat being, then makes as if he is ignoring the cat.
I'll pretend I didn't see it and walk in.
Then he points to Otto and Tomas and to their weapons. Then makes attacking motions for them.
It will attack me, so you attack it from behind.
He looks at both men inquisitively with a hopeful nod.
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Rock of the Fraternity
- Evil Genius
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"Do you people," Lia says without looking up from her book, "really want to start telling ghost stories in a building which, if not haunted, might at least be corrupted?
Rather reminds me of the story of old man Harris, which was sometimes told in my home town. He loved ghost stories, loved telling and hearing them. He'd arrange whole evenings of frightful tales, securing the finest locations. One evening, he gathered all his storytelling friends at Gladstone Tower, a ruined tower that used to belong to the great prankster wizard. His servants said he took in a big book of horrible stories, all full of horrors perpetrated against the living by the dead.
When none of those rich and noble storytellers came out next morning, their servants finally scraped up enough courage to go inside. They found their masters, scattered throughout the tower, each of them with a few pages from old man Harris's book pinned to their clothes. Each of them carrying a story. And all the stories had come true."
Lia lets this last sentence hang in the air for a bit, then shakes her head and continues studying.
Rather reminds me of the story of old man Harris, which was sometimes told in my home town. He loved ghost stories, loved telling and hearing them. He'd arrange whole evenings of frightful tales, securing the finest locations. One evening, he gathered all his storytelling friends at Gladstone Tower, a ruined tower that used to belong to the great prankster wizard. His servants said he took in a big book of horrible stories, all full of horrors perpetrated against the living by the dead.
When none of those rich and noble storytellers came out next morning, their servants finally scraped up enough courage to go inside. They found their masters, scattered throughout the tower, each of them with a few pages from old man Harris's book pinned to their clothes. Each of them carrying a story. And all the stories had come true."
Lia lets this last sentence hang in the air for a bit, then shakes her head and continues studying.