IABD 47: The Curse of Windstone

“But it’s only a coin,” Dagma pointed out. “Coins are just meant to be spent.”

“I know of several collectors who would spit blood if they heard such a statement, but more importantly, it is not a coin: that, my friends is a shield. When wielded, its magic can shrink it down to the size of a coin, grow it to the size of a large shield or even let it become big enough to cover one’s entire body and those of several companions. The shield itself is nearly impenetrable and can even stand against magic. So far, no one has been able to afford my asking price for it...or if they could, they haven’t passed my tests to become a customer of mine. Perhaps one of you four will.”

“How much is it?” Matthias asked.

“Two hundred thousand gold coins,” Ecaris said.

Matthias could almost feel his soul escape his body.

“Oh...well maybe it can be a goal for later,” he said.

Ecaris nodded. “I like your ambition. For now, let me get started on your cloak.”

“For now, that’s more than good enough,” Matthias nodded back.

A cloak that could guard against fire and impacts sounded legendary, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still intrigued by that shield; a powerful item that could be carried around in a pouch, yet could swell to a size that would protect someone against an entire swarm of arrows?

He didn’t use shields in his fighting style very often, but perhaps...

Matthias looked down at his shadow.

He had wielded a knife using the tentacle in the past, and it was even stronger now; but what if he used it to carry a shield to cover his blind spots or pummel opponents with?

‘That could give me a real advantage,’ he thought. ‘I wouldn’t be able to use the shadow tendril for grappling if it’s holding a shield, but the trade-off might be worth it. Using a shield with the shadow-tendril is something I should start practicing with later.’

As he thought about magical shields and new fighting styles, he watched Ecaris prepare their payment. Bregindoure and Dagma were happy, chatting about how they’d never seen that much gold before.

Their mother was quieter about their good fortune, but Matthias could see relief relaxing her face; twelve-hundred gold coins would take care of their family for years; she wouldn’t have to worry about where their meals, clothing, and comfort would be coming from.

Hopefully, it would last them long enough for him to finish solidifying his foundation.

As Ecaris returned to the table, bearing a small box holding the payment, Matthias’ mind turned to considering what was about to come next for their lives. Now that their trip to the market was almost done and had been so successful—and they were now flush with coin, had commissioned a magical cloak for him, gained new insights into Divine Breath and cultivation—it would soon be time to continue on their journey to the place where Polla was going to help him solidify his foundation...

...a task that would take years.

He wasn’t going to lie to himself, but the amount of time he was facing sounded daunting; being only fourteen, a multi years-long trial seemed like forever to him. He tried to imagine what it would be like? Would she be taking him to some cave behind a waterfall—like at Blood’s Drop—or have him sit in meditation for a half a decade?

Maybe she might put him in a deep hole and seal it with a boulder or put him to sleep and make him train in the dream world until he was a full-grown man.

Everything he was imagining was daunting, and since he had no true answers, he let his attention drift back to Ecaris’ shelves, focusing on the creations sitting on them. Tiny statues were neatly lined up, watching the shop with stone eyes.

He recognized some as being tiny carvings of the Ascended Pantheon, and others as ancient Evalmeran heroes. His eyes rested on the fully-armoured and cloaked form of Amon Koth and the shadowy, winged figure of Lykosion.

Matthias had passed their shrines on the street earlier—and he’d also worked on their temples in Barrowgate—and neither had called to him. No Divine Breath of any deity he knew of had ever called to him.

But there were statues lining Ecaris’ shelves that he didn’t recognise.

“Hey, what are those statues?” Matthias asked, pointing. “Are they deities among them?”

“Oh, those are from the Wolfwood.” Ecaris admired them. “I didn’t carve them myself; they were chiseled by a hand long lost to the rivers of history. Who they depict? Your guess is as good as mine. There is a wealth of dead heroes and ancient deities, their names long lost, if one is looking back through the mists of time.”

Matthias’ eyes narrowed on the carved figures.

Statues of ancient deities, their names long lost to time; perhaps his patrol of the Wolfwood would yield him more revelations about his Towers.

Though, that was a quite a long way off, and only time would tell.

###

“I trust you had a successful time at the market?” Mistress Polla asked as the Stonebreaker family entered her carriage.

Both moons were rising high in the sky, and in the distance, Dagger Rock was alive with firelights. Polla’s carriage had returned to their meeting place as agreed, keeping low and unseen in the fading light.

The door had opened, and both Polla and Ellian were waiting for their passengers inside.

“We did.” Beggahasta took a seat. “Did you have an enjoyable day with your friend?”

“Oh yes, it’s always good to see him,” Polla said, her voice light. She patted her apprentice on one of his narrow shoulders. “And I was able to introduce my new apprentice to him at long last. So, are we ready to depart?”

“Um, actually.” Matthias remained standing. “Would we be able to make a quick trip back to Dagger Rock in a couple of days?”

He explained about his cloak, and the crafter and when he’d said it would be finished.

“Certainly. Returning here will not be difficult,” Polla agreed. “If you had wanted to return for something frivolous, I would have informed you that I am a mage, not some personal carriage driver but—where we are going—certain protections can only benefit you. So good, have a seat and we’ll be off.”

With a single command word, the carriage soared into the sky, leaving Dagger Rock, the marketplace and the Sea of Knives behind. At great speed, it flew between the peaks.

“So, where are we going now?” Dagma asked.

“To an area roughly about three weeks’ travel over mountains to the northeast on foot, but only about an hour in my carriage,” she said. “Are you familiar with the Windwood forest?”

Bregindoure let out a hiss. “I have read about that place, and nothing I read about it was good.”

“What did you read?” Matthias asked his older brother.

“It’s a place just north of the hills of Barren’s Hold, and it reaches deep into the Gods’ Shield,” Bregindoure said. “It used to be a haven for bandits—”

“Still is, from what I have heard.” Beggahasta gripped her sword.

“Oh, good,” Bregindoure said, his voice flat. “But from what I read; the bandits are not what make the Windwood so dangerous.” His tone grew dark, and deep. “There are times there when the dead rise and seek to gorge themselves on the flesh of the living. That does not happen very often outside the Wolfwood…but it does seem to occur more often around Windstone Abbey, because of the curse.”

“Curse? What curse?” Matthias asked.

Bregindoure looked at him, grinning like a storyteller about to scare children around a campfire. “They say that Windstone Abbey was once a temple of Jormgund, the god of life and community, lord of martyrs and son of Khazak. That was in the times before our realm’s five kingdoms had formed; Windstone was built shortly after Gods’ Return at the end of the Age of Wolves. It was a place of quiet contemplation, service and sanctuary for monks of Jormgund and others seeking peace away from the hardships of the outside world.”

“That doesn’t sound very cursed to me,” Matthias said.

“Because it wasn’t cursed at that time. There was a warlord back then who demanded that Windstone be given to him to serve as his northernmost castle and a defense against the barbarians at his northern border. Our ancestors were those barbarians, by the way. When the monks refused him, he had his army break down the outer walls and slaughter every last one of them like herds of pigs before a harvest festival.”

Dagma gasped. “Then what happened?”

Ellian had gone quiet, listening intently to Bregindoure; the boy’s face was nearly as pale as chalk.

“Well, what our warlord didn’t know was that he’d missed one of the monks,” he continued. “A young acolyte who’d recently joined the order had hidden among clothing in a garment chest; while the other monks and layfolk of the abbey were being slain, he was well hidden. When he finally crept out, he found the warlord and his army feasting around the burning bodies of everyone he’d known and loved. They say that his rage was so great that his pain reached the gods, and he called down a curse so vile, that the land shook beneath his words.”

Bregindoure raised his hands. “His curse touched the dead slaughtered by this warlord, and every rotting corpse buried beneath the abbey, including those in its catacombs. All the dead rose with a hunger for the flesh of the living. Ghouls, they had become; undead that ate the living to fill the dark magic boiling in their bellies and satisfy their rage against those who still breathed. That monk’s curse raised hundreds of dead all at once, but the thing with ghouls is that their bite carries an affliction that kills. Those with both strong wills and physical fortitude can resist it. When one dies from that affliction? They are cursed to become a ghoul themselves the very next night. The warlord and his warriors were set upon while they slept, their throats torn out and their flesh devoured. By the next night, the ghouls had chased the army deep into the Windwood and feasted on those they caught; the undead doubled, then tripled in number. Soon, the undead greatly outnumbered the living.”

“That’s a lovely story,” Matthias gave an uncomfortable laugh. “What happened to the ghouls after that? Did our ancestors destroy them?”

“They are supposedly still at the Abbey to this day,” Bregindoure said. “Waiting. The strong will of that monk bound them to Windstone, though they sometimes stalk the forests and the Old Abbey Roads under the mountains. One of those roads apparently reaches all the way into the Wolfwood; some old civilizations would use them to travel beneath the peaks. Now, only the ghouls travel them.”

“Well,” Matthias laughed. “Curses and thousands of ghouls...I suppose, we’ll be avoiding that place, right Mistress Polla?”

“Quite the opposite,” she said. “Windstone is our destination.”

“What?” Beggahasta cried. “You’re taking us into a den of ghouls?”

“We might need to clear out the upper levels when we arrive, yes,” she said. “But there is no better place in all of Evalmera for a cultivator of Divine Breath to solidify their foundation: young Bregindoure, your story was well told, but not entirely complete. What your books did not mention is that Windstone Abbey was built upon countless ruins that lay beneath the mountains, even deeper than the Old Abbey Road. Civilization after civilization have built places of great importance in that location: temples, castles, churches, grand shrines. There’s a reason why it’s such a good conductor of Divine Breath; Windstone’s area has served as a holy place for dozens of deities over the millennia.”

“Why would so many build there?” Matthias asked.

“Is it because of the ley lines, mistress?” Ellian asked.

“Very good, Ellian. Would you like to explain what ley lines are to our companions?”

The boy nodded. “Ley lines are like large veins underneath the surface of the world, where pure and raw magic travels. Not like the magic we use with The Gift—that comes from within our bodies, souls and minds—but rather the Old Magic used in the Age of Wonder; the same magic that creatures like dragons and fae still have in them. Where many ley lines converge, that is called a nexus, and it’s a place of powerful mysticism. Even if one does not practise the forbidden, heretical spells of Old Magic, such power can create phenomena of incredible interest to mages. It can even strengthen items crafted using The Gift, improve the speed at which one can empower their body through Life Enforcement and...”

“...increase the effectiveness of Awakening, or of solidifying one’s Tower’s foundation,” Polla finished. “The reason so many civilizations’ wonders are buried—layer upon layer—beneath the abbey is the same reason why we go there now: the magic of that place will aid you. It will not be easy. It will be dangerous, but it can also be most beneficial: I plan to use the ghouls in your training.”

“How?” Matthias asked, increasingly wondering if Polla was actually mad.

“Eventually, I want you to be able to perform Life Energy Circulation in battle; it will be the most vigorous test of your mastery of the skill. If you can circulate your energy while in a physical contest where your life and health are on the line? You can do it at any time, under any circumstance. In addition, ghouls are creatures of death; having you become familiar with the undead might help you reach another enlightenment. It is a perfect fit.”

“Wait, you want me to circulate my life energy while battling monstrous ghouls?” he asked. “Mother, how tough are ghouls?”

Beggahasta frowned. “They are dangerous; especially if they bite you while you are physically weak or when your willpower has ebbed. They also vary in how dangerous they are; some ghouls grow stronger and faster as they age, and can even use strange, innate sorceries of death. Then there’s the miasma.”

“Oh good, a miasma,” Matthias said sarcastically. “What is that?”

“As ghouls age, they start stinking terribly. Like rot,” Polla cut in. “And the older they become, the more that stench becomes a magical allergen to the living, causing the body all sorts of nasty reactions. That miasma in the lower levels of Windstone will be incredibly strong; even I wouldn’t be able to travel deep into the Old Abbey Roads. For you, though Matthias, I think you might be able to explore deeper. Which would be an excellent test of how you have been touched by dreams, shadow and death. Who knows, if you go deep enough, perhaps you will find lost treasure down there.”

“I see...” Matthias said. “Well, it does sound like a challenge.”

“Yes, it does.” Beggahasta eyed her other children. “If we keep to the upper levels...Polla, how many ghouls do you think lie beneath Windstone?”

“Tens of thousands,” the mage said. “The warlord in Bregindoure’s story commanded a vast army, and that does not include those corpses from the many civilizations’ lost structures buried under the abbey.”

“Good,” Beggahasta said. “Unlimited opponents to train against. Dagma, Bregindoure: we will be able to stay here for just under two years before Breg’s Blood Duty begins; this will serve as the perfect place for me to train you both. There’s also Duvik’s Pass to the west of the Windwood; for a hundred miles, it’s the largest settlement in this part of the mountains. We can get supplies there when we need them.”

“Oooo, killing ghouls almost sounds like a competition,” Dagma said. “Except for the part where they stink.”

“Wait, what about the part where they eat the flesh of the living?” Bregindoure asked.

“They can’t eat us if we kill them first,” Dagma grinned.

Her brother grinned back. “You have a good point; I’ll finally get to test myself in battle. What do you think, brother? Excited?”

Matthias thought about that.

His home for the next three to five years would be in a cursed abbey, built on ghoul-infested ruins in a bandit-ridden forest. He would be spending his dreams training his spirit while his days would likely be spent fighting an endless tide of the hungry undead.

Yet, the more he thought about it...the more his misgivings began to fall away.

There was an opportunity here: for excitement, thrilling battles, possible treasure, insights into his own power and ways to test his growing skills in combat.

And he was going to be headed to the Wolfwood in a few years.

What did he have to fear from some walking corpses in some old ruins?

Besides, maybe Polla was right; maybe there would be treasure to find.

He gave a smile that was a half snarl. “I think I’m looking forward to it too.”

Polla’s chuckle was dark. “I do love enthusiastic students. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

She urged the carriage on toward the ruins of Windstone.

Toward the darkness that lay beneath the old Abbey.

There, Matthias Stonebreaker would go from boy to man...

...and possibly even more.

###

Author's Note

Yessss, I've been waiting to get to Windstone for awhile. Fun fact, things in writing often take you longer than anticipated! And so we begin the process of solidifying the foundation. There's lots I want to explore here, haha.

Also, had a health appointment that went quite well! Apparently my progress is good, which I like to here.

IRL Health Progression Fantasy, lmao


Cya tomorrow!