IABD 65: The Wailing Path

Searing pain flooded Matthias Stonebreaker’s being. 

Before his horrified eyes, his shadow tendril abruptly bent then twisted, the prismatic light doing the same, bending then collapsing onto itself, rupturing in pops of radiance brighter than the noonday sun.  

The ghoul knight’s anguished scream matched Matthias’, its clawed hand covering its eye symbol. Matthias tried to fight the pain; all the while the ghoul knight’s prismatic light fragmented. Sections of the tendril cracked then shattered, transforming to a black mist. 

That mist of darkness writhed from Matthias’ shadow tendril, reaching for the multihued light coming from the ghoul knight’s sword, wrapping around it while light and shadow grappled in the air. 

Light and shadow writhed, warping around each other—coming together before tearing apart—flashes of radiance growing brighter. 

The ghoul knight kept screaming, pulling away from the light. 

This was Matthias’ chance. 

Squinting against the blinding explosions, the young giant forced himself down the stairs, sword clenched before him. Agony tore through him---though the pain was not nearly as severe as the soul-searing pain of his Awakening---it still hurt as radiance and tendril twisted around each other, battling like a pit of snakes. 

“What’s happening?” Bregindoure shouted. 

“Matthie!” Dagma screamed.  

“Can you see the ghoul?” Matthias said through gritted teeth. “It’s been blinded! Follow my lead!” 

The light appeared to have damaged the monster’s vision far more than it had Matthias’ or his siblings’. He would take advantage of that. 

Roaring, he kept racing down the steps until he finally reached the ghoul knight. He jabbed his sword in its eye symbol, dealing it a shallow wound, piercing the skull merely a few inches. It screeched, struggling to escape. 

The eye symbol’s surface was far from pliable, resisting the sharp blade as it would solid stone. 

Matthias understood the nature of rock however, being a trained stone mason who knew ways to shatter it. 

Holding the hilt of his sword, he drew back his hammer and slammed it against the pommel as though driving a chisel through slate. The blade rang, sinking into the ghoul knight’s skull, cleaving through to the back. 

The monster collapsed, then Dagma and Bregindoure were on it. 

Her sword lashed out, striking its face beside where Matthias’ blade still protruded, nearly splitting its skull in two. 

Bregindoure swung his mace repeatedly, crumpling fine armour, smashing its body to pulp.  

As the ghoul knight died forever, prismatic smoke faded from its blade, peeling away from Matthias’ shadow tendril. Slowly, pain running through his body eased, fading to a memory. 

“Get back up here!” Beggahasta shouted from the top of the stairs. “More are on their way!” 

As Matthias’ vision settled, he looked through the dying flame and smoke, spotting more ghouls coming into view. These, however, were moving cautiously, not charging at them recklessly. 

They remained on the stairs down below, spears, javelins and stones in hand. 

“Shit! Run!” Bregindoure shouted. 

Matthias cursed, scooping up his little sister and starting up the staircase two at a time…he was suddenly intercepted by Bregindoure who picked the two of them up, tucking them under his arm like sacks of potatoes. 

“What are you doi–Aaaaah!” Matthias cried. 

The Rune of Sprinting flashed on Bregindoure’s back, he shot up the stairs in a blink, reaching the top as ghouls began hurling spears, stones and javelins. 

The volley struck his raised shield. 

“Shut yourself!” Beggahasta’s voice rang out. 

Stone lining the passageway rippled, locking together, blocking the staircase. Matthias could hear dull thudding sounds coming from behind the wall as rocks and spear-tips banged against it. 

He sighed, relieved, as Bregindoure released him then set Dagma down in front of him. 

“Matt!” Beggahasta spun him around. “Are you alright?” 

The young greatfolk’s breathing was heavy. “I…don’t know.” 

Beside him, the shadow-tendril stung as though burnt by hot metal; parts of it looked withered, though the pain was fading. 

“I think I’ll be alright,” he said. “I can’t say what happened, but that strange brightness around the ghoul knight’s sword…it reacted to my shadow. Damnit! If only I’d thought to grab his weapon before we got out of there.” 

“Do you mean this weapon?” Dagma tugged at his sleeve, all smiles. 

His sister was holding the ghoul knight’s sword in one hand, its fine blade gleaming. 

Matthias’ heart leapt. “I think you’re my most favourite person in the whole world right now!” He picked her up, squeezing her tight. “Quick thinking!” 

“Gah, let me go!” she said, struggling. “I have two swords now so I can stab you twice…and I should, since you tried to make me believe I was losing my mind—” 

Something heavy slammed against the stone wall Beggahasta had warped to close off the stairwell. Something heavy enough to shake the wall. It shook it again. And again. 

“Trolls?” Bregindoure wondered aloud. “Trolls striking the rock?” 

“Or perhaps something worse…  “Harden.” Beggahasta commanded. 

Under her command, the rock shimmered and the thudding grew muffled. 

“We should leave soon,” she said. “My magic will keep them from breaking through for a time, but there are likely more passages leading from the Old Abbey Roads.” 

“Can we go upstairs first?” Matthias asked, cocking his ear toward the ceiling. 

From above, he could still hear someone wailing. 

Polla listened as the ghouls pounded on the stone. “I believe we should figure out what the source of that wailing is before we do anything else.” 

“Yes, I agree,” Beggahasta said. “But let’s move quickly. Here, give the ghoul’s sword to me, Dagma.” 

Her daughter handed it over. 

“Good.” Matthias gave the longsword a final once over. “Let’s see what’s happening.” 

He led his companions back to the staircase leading up to the next level, following the sound of the wailing, The second floor of the cloister was made up of a series of rooms and workshops that the monks had used for various tasks. Now they lay mostly empty, except for assorted piles of filth. 

After looking around and finding no one there, either weeping or otherwise, Matthias led everyone up to the next level.  

On the third floor, he paused, listening intently. 

“It’s coming from somewhere up here,” he announced. “But I can’t tell exactly where it’s coming from.” 

The crying was louder now; it seemed to be echoing from all directions; he felt an unusual energy coming from down the hallway to their left, feeling similar to the presence of death and the miasma that hung over Windstone Abbey in general, yet also strangely different. 

Here, its presence was not quite as foul and stomach turning; it seemed less like a perversion of life and death and more like…well, he couldn’t quite put into words what it was more like. 

“The crying is close,” he said. “Can anyone else hear it?” 

His companions all shook their heads. 

“Perhaps it is a spirit,” Ellian said, his young voice unsteady. “And no spirit dwelling here would be a friendly one. Should we turn back?” 

“We have come this far,” Polla said. “And I have ways to deal with spirits and phantoms.” 

Matthias said nothing, simply exchanging glances with Dagma and Bregindoure before quietly moving down the hall. As they came closer to the source of that strange energy, the wailing noise increased, growing almost deafening.  

The depth of grief the voice contained came close to buckling Matthias’ knees. Although the pain from his shadow-tendril grappling with the ghoul knight’s prismatic light was almost gone, a sense of despair was worming its way into his mind, threatening to make him lose control of his contracting soul. 

He pushed through as they came closer to the source of the wailing; his mind raced with questions. ‘What is it?’ he wondered. ‘How will it react when we get to it?’ 

The group rounded a corner, reaching a long hall that had no doors on either side; but a single door at the end of the hallway, reinforced with iron, brass and bronze. 

Along the centre of it the symbol Jormgund had been engraved. 

“What’s that room?” he asked, frowning. 

“I think it’s the abbot’s office,” Ellian guessed. “Judging by its location and the opulence of the door.” 

“Look at the scratches on it,” Dagma murmured. 

The wooden door was covered in deep gashes running from top to bottom and from side to side.  

“Ghoul claws,” Matthias guessed. “Looks like they’ve been trying to get inside the room.” 

“And it seems they haven’t succeeded in how many centuries?” Bregindoure raised an eyebrow. “If those ghoul trolls are strong enough to shake a stone wall, they’re definitely strong enough to break through a wooden door, especially with all the time they have on their hands. And they’ve had a lot of time. Hundreds of years, actually.” 

“That’s true…” Matthias clenched his jaw. “So, I wonder what ‘s been stopping them?” 

The wailing had turned deafening, the sorrow emanating from it raked across his senses, reaching deep into his core. 

He approached cautiously, weapons at the ready, his wounded shadow-tendril trailing beside him. 

Stopping and facing the door, he paused, examining it from top to bottom. 

That unique feeling—that sense of death’s energy differing from that of the rest of the abbey—pulled at him. The miasma hanging over Windstone seemed absent from the room ahead. 

Matthias knocked on the door. “Hello?” 

The wailing stopped. 

After a heartbeat, that strange energy vanished. 

“What the? The wailing’s stopped. Just like that.” he said. “I wonder what happened to it? And the energy behind the door feels different now.” 

He put his palm against the door. 

It was cold to the touch. 

“It doesn’t stink nearly as bad by this door,” Dagma said, sniffing the air. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Bregindoure agreed, reaching out and touching the door.  

He suddenly hissed, pulling his hand away. “It’s cold! Like ice!” 

“Really?” Matthias rubbed his hand along the wood. “It doesn’t feel that cold to me; maybe a little cool, but not frigid like winter or anything.” 

“Gah! You must be joking. It feels like ice!” Dagma complained, touching the door then pulling her hand away as though she’d been stung. 

“Interesting,” Polla said. “There might be a spiritual presence on the other side, keeping out intruders.” 

“Why isn’t it bothering me?” Matthias asked. 

“Death has touched you, but you are not undead,” Polla said. “Care to try the door handle?” 

Matthias glanced at the handle, not knowing if the door was locked or not.  

Gingerly, he reached down, wrapped his fingers around the handle and pulled, he was met with resistance, as though something was on the other side, holding onto the door handle. He put more effort into it; it still would not budge. 

“Is it locked?” Bregindoure wondered.  

“No! Well, I don’t know but it feels like something’s resisting me! I…wait,” he paused. “Death and shadow are kin…let me try something.” 

He took his hand away from the door handle and wrapped his tendril around it instead. 

The tentacle pulled and—with a sucking sound—the door opened. 

A large office was on the other side, but unlike the rest of the abbey, its condition was almost pristine. A thick layer of dust was all that showed its lack of use, no foul stench hung in the air inside the room, no ghouls, no bits of refuse or remains of victims were to be found anywhere. 

The fireplace was clean and looked ready to host a welcoming flame at any moment, stained glass windows were unmarred by a single crack, the carpet appeared soft and clean, and the colours of the heavy curtains were still vibrant. 

A large bookcase ran along the back wall, full to bursting with leatherbound volumes, and beside it, a small but opulent personal shrine to Jormgund, stood. In the centre of the shrine, a statue of the scaled and scarred deity was positioned, in front of it was a bowl that likely held incense or scented oils for burning at one time. A small cushion was on the floor in front of the shrine, something soft to kneel on when in prayer or contemplation.  

Candle sticks burned down to stubs framed the statue, and from a hook above the figure of Jormgund, a leather switch for self-flagellation, dangled. 

The centre of the room was dominated by an immense oak desk, carved into it were different scenes depicting Jormgund, his divine servants and champions. 

“This room was purposefully preserved,” Polla said. “Protected from both invading armies, ghouls, or other intruders.” 

She floated into the room. 

“Look at all those books!” Ellian said excitedly, rushing in after his master. “They, must be so old, I wonder how rare they are!” 

“Careful,” Bregindoure warned him. “We will need to wear clean gloves to preserve the parchment.” 

The companions crowded into the room, bursting with curiosity. 

Matthias’ eyes fell on a single book lying closed on the desk, a quill sitting in a dried inkwell was beside it. He stepped around the desk, hand running over the high-backed chair.  

Reaching down, he flipped the book open, neat script drawing his attention. 

He read the first lines. 

And gasped. 

“What is it?” Beggahasta asked. 

“This book…it’s a journal.”  

“The abbot’s?” Bregindoure asked. 

“No…” Matthias read the first words out loud: 

In my haste and in my rage, I brought hell onto this place. 

To curse the invaders, I cursed us all. 

To punish my enemies, I punished my brothers and sisters. 

Now we all pay, and I am the only living being left to know our sorrow. 

Oh, Jormgund, what have I done? 

Matthias looked up at the others, eyes wide. “I think this journal belonged to the monk who cursed Windstone.” 

###

Author's Note

Welcome back! It's always fun to get the slip of documents in D&D.

And I'm looking forward to pulling the trigger on some things that were set up earlier in the chapter, hehehe.

Also Doom's out soon! So excited. BTW, if anyone's playing monster hunter wilds I JUST got A rank on Arch-tempered rey dau with a bunch of buddies so that's exciting.

Also been rereading one of my other books (which will be pubbed on Amazon in sept) and man I have been enjoying it haha. I can't wait to show it to y'all. Working on book 2 of that RN.

Busy, but good life.

And my health continues to improve! :D

Good news all around. Cya Wednesday, folks!