Fable - Ask [Phorasmos] To Wake in the Night

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Tristan Locke

Somber Slayer
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Cold mist clung to everything like a child to its mother. Had they not seen the waning light of day before leaving the quiet village of Parumora, it would have been impossible for anyone in the group to have known what time of day it was. Pale light filtered softly through the dense trees of the Twilight Pines, falling like flowing curtains onto the treacherous, rolling forest floor below. The wind moaned its phantom presence through the pines, its chill biting at whatever skin it could touch. Night time had fallen, and the somber environs of the woods of Phorasmos were anything but quiet.

Beyond the muffled trudging of boots on moss, dirt, and fallen foliage, the group walked along side a creek that burbled away, uncaring of any need to sleep. Branches cracked and nocturnal fauna made their presences known, always just out of sight.

"Did we really need to do this in the dark, Master Ensis?" an uncertain voice piped up, the neophyte among the group making his discomfort known for perhaps the fourth or fifth time. An elven boy, fairly young in appearance, though with elves it was always hard to tell. "Surely first light would have been safer."

"Hardly so, but it matters not. The ritual we need perform can only be done beneath the light of the crescent moon, neophyte. It is of great importance that it be done, and an important lesson in your path to becoming fully fledged," Ensis replied, the old spiritsmith making good time despite his need for a gnarled walking staff. "Even so, you need not worry for fear of revenants. They rarely wander this far from the Charnel City, and even less so do they traipse this deep into the pines."

The boy visibly relaxed, the paranoia wracking his heart relenting somewhat.

"Don't let your guard down too much, Arlen. There's plenty else in these woods that would see us all dead if we were to falter," Tristan warned. It was a lesson he'd learned the hard way only a few years prior, when the Mourners had finally allowed him to start training in their ways. A chill ran along the lining of his armor, though a comforting one. Fane...likely agreeing, or at least attempting to elicit confidence. Tristan would never get used to that.

"Right..." Arlen hazarded, stiffening up once more, his eyes searching in the darkness for signs of danger. "Just where is it we're headed, anyways?"

"One of the warding monuments that protects the Pool of Remembrance. The enchantment which projects the ward must be renewed every so often, lest it lose its effect and the pool become exposed to corruption, or worse,"
Ensis answered plainly.

Tristan knew this. He looked over the ragtag group that had been chosen to accompany the elder spiritsmith. He imagined that most of them understood. Only time would tell how necessary such an entourage would be. Traveling in numbers always carried its own risk on the isle of Phorasmos...
 
She wore her helm that day.

After a night of restlessness and sudden despair, it had been difficult for her to find a moment to sleep and not be haunted by the images that played without her intention, but still, she had 'woken' this morning and came to realise dawn came and gone and the sun was reaching it's highest point that day. None bothered to question her when she finally left her dark room.

Throughout the course of the day, she had been in a fog, unaware of time slipping by her until she heard one of the neophytes complain about the lack of warmth as the sun began it's descent behind the horizon.

Silversale wore her helm to hide the dread she felt all day before this expedition. Today was a day she would be unable to hide her emotions, her true expression, and that would only make the newer Mourners worry. Of course, she was not the only one to have suffered, but she felt alone in her grief after all this time.

That's what survivor's guilt did to one's mind. How blame and grief rotted the light until it too became heavy with darkness.

"Did your mum never tell you stories about the Twilight Pines, Arlen?" Her voice was almost chipper, giving someone the impression she was grinning behind the helm. "They weren't stories to make children go to bed early."
 
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The ground crunched underfoot. The dim whisperings of the trees crawled around them. Long, slow breaths drawn in and released. A threshold approaching. The scent of the dead in the air. Forgotten things twisting and turning. The eye of an old god judging all.

The figure was tall. Cloaked in a fabric as dark as the deepest caverns. Their armour covered them in its entirety. Solid black steel overlapping to reduce any weakness. Silver chain slid within the open gaps, and dark cloth separated metal from skin. A long blade hung from their left hip, the tip a scant couple inches from the ground. Long locks of platinum hair trailed down from their shadowed hood. The ghost of a face hidden in shade. Bright, blue eyes pierced from a half burnt face. Blackened char scaled across the right side of her face.

As she walked, her colors shifted ever so bit. Spots of glowing white, like stars, began to appear and dance across the plates of her armor. As they approached these places of the dead the changes would grow. Her blue eyes drained of color and became grey. Though they were no less distinct. Her hair lightened until it became a stark white, and her skin turned ashen.

This was a normal shift that her fellow Mourners were already aware of. Only a couple of the younger members of their number continued to flinch at her appearance. It was a mark of her particularly broken soul. A discovery that she had made some time ago with the help of a travelling necromancer. Then that knowledge had been reaffirmed here. In this land of the dead.

She mumbled, words of a song half-remembered came unbidden.

"I am dead
I am hollow
I am lost
Yet I follow
And I fight the endless night"


The fragment of a song, sung with the voice of the half-burnt, echoed quietly. It merged and moved with the deafening fog that encroached upon them. Some of the Mourners repeated in mumbles. Some stayed silent. It was a song that many of them knew, but not one that many liked to sing. It was, is, a sad song. Of a duty done in the service of those that will never know. Done in service of the dead that they all truly wished to rejoin.

Again, her steps crunched against the dead ground. Pain shot through her left leg with every step. It was a constant companion. A reminder of what she truly was even if her armour hid it. A cripple, broken and dependent on those around her. That is until they enter the Charnel City.

Her left hand gripped the pommel of her once-familiar blade. In her own journey through the pines, the creation had changed. An implement of brutish death constructed in the grand forges of Molthal was refined. Its purpose changed from orcish dominance to an implement of her will. It was an extension of her, in a way that was more intimate than any blade she ever held before. But maybe that was because of the armour.

They whispered to her. Her companions, 99 in total. They whispered warnings and opportunity. Of how to step, and how to fight. How to dodge and defend. But sometimes, they were loud. Thankfully they remained as whispers tonight.

The veterans thought she was well on her way to the final death. To the madness that awaited them all. She knew she was. But it would not take her yet. There were things that she needed to do. Reasons to take one more step. Then she heard a living voice.

Turning back to look at the front of their procession she watched Ensis lead the young Hopeful. No, that was what squires were called. Ensis led the Damned. He knew it too. The boy was unlikely to live for long. Few did. Tristan walked close by. He offered words of guidance. He had been here for some time. Longer than her, though he didn't have the same wealth of experience she did. And that was without her armour whispering the knowledge of warcraft into her.

Then Aeris spoke and Sarah smiled softly. Her relationship with the girl was strange. Something akin to a facsimile of a sister? They weren't quite friends. Then again, no one amongst them were friends. It was too dangerous. None of them wanted to feel their hearts crack again.

"Careful Aeris," She breathed as she stepped up next to the younger woman. Her domineering height casting a shadow over the girl. "Few of us are from the island, and less know of the tales. The Neophyte forgets because the stories are yet to be ingrained." Her voice came out with an air of authority and ease. A relic of her past paired with the freeing ability to be able to move correctly once more.
 
Growing up on Phorasmos, this had been her life’s calling. Becoming a mourner… Though she hadn’t expected to take up the mantle quite as early as she had, her mother did her utmost to prepare her for any possible scenario. Even her unexpected death. Perhaps it was that or having lived the entirety of her life surrounded by it all that she was more resilient to the affects the gloom and doom of death had on most others.

Even now as their group somewhat somberly traversed the Twilight Pines, Jin bore the mood of one taking a stroll in their personal garden. With her expertly fitted ghost mail adorning her petite figure, she felt the warmth of her mother’s embrace soothe any potential doubts. Despite her leisure and easygoing gait, her eyes were sharply pointed ahead for any unsuspected signs of movement. The fog made her task significantly more difficult visually, however with all the moisture in the air, sensing any disturbance through it would be straightforward so long as she remained focused. Only the slight twinkle of pink in her pupils distinguished the usage of her powers.

No, we aren’t speaking at the moment…,” she said quietly to herself. “Yes, but he’s being incredibly stubborn about it… Okay… Maybe. Wait, shh.

In her distraction, she faintly heard the others speaking in the short distance behind her. Stopping briefly, she turned to take a peek back at them. Old Ensis giving the youth of their party some reassurance, she nearly immediately started walking again until Tristan found it in him to dislodge that momentary comfort. She snorted involuntarily, though she knew he spoke truthfully. Why she found amusement in the terror, she couldn’t explain. But at Aeris’ mention of stories, a smile pulled at the corner of her lips. Perhaps it was just in her nature to find intrigue in such horrors.

“I doubt one could so easily forget such stories,” she called back to them. Her fleeting smile had disappeared and a more nonchalant ease had replaced it as her gaze roamed over the serious, ashen-faced warrior. The multitude of burn scars and her crippled form jammed into her ghost mail might warn others that she was not one to be trifled with, but Jin was typically candid. There was curiosity there, as well as compassion. For the woman who seemingly carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“Do you have a favorite Aeris? Perhaps regale the tale as we make this slow journey forward,” she asked before turning on her heel again. Sometimes people needed a good diversion. Perhaps storytime could keep the greener of their lot preoccupied from thinking of death.
 
Ensis smiled as the group exchanged banter, as jovial as ever despite his grim duty. Tristan often found the elder smith's attitude and outlook to be jarring in comparison to that of the Mourners, or even his Phorasi kin. It was almost enviable.

Arlen, on the other hand, looked like he'd been attached to a yo-yo the way his expression shifted with each passing moment of conversation. Tristan understood. The horrors of reality on Phorasmos were difficult to take in, and the Mourners weren't exactly the most amicable bunch, usually. Tristan still found himself trying to fully take in the others as being real, and not just figments of a psyche demented by the isle's curse.

Aeris was oddly cocky. Perhaps it was because she was fairly young (though really not much younger than Tristan), yet no longer a neophyte that she carried herself with the swagger that she did. Perhaps she hadn't seen enough horrors for herself--or perhaps she'd seen too many. Difficult to say.

"Quite," Tristan agreed with Jin, though his thoughts were still elsewhere. "A tale or two would make for a good pastime."

Jin was an interesting case. One could argue that there was no other Mourner whom had ever been so purposely born and raised to suit the role. She wore the armor with a natural familiarity and what could easily have been pride. If anyone could one day match Ensis' beaming positivity, it likely would've been her.

Tristan trudged onwards, a few yards behind Sarah. Just a few years older than Tristan, yet she'd been through so much more. It was hard to feel pity towards a fellow Mourner--graves, it was even discouraged--but if there was anyone who Tristan couldn't help but feel pity for, it was her. It was wrong to, of course. Sarah was strong and relentlessly dutiful...but she fit the stereotype that mainlanders and travelers had for Mourners to a tee. Tristan doubted anyone on the isle had been made to suffer more than her.

"What a fine idea, you lot. Why not aid in young Arlen's initiation? Pass on to him your wisdoms, and let him be better prepared for what he may face," Ensis chimed in, a spring in his step.
 
"Few of us are from the island, and less know of the tales."

“Do you have a favorite Aeris?"


She grinned, far easier than any in this group, but she had become good at masking herself with falsities. Born and raised here on this island, the life of a Mourner was the only thing she knew better than her late mother's trade of being a seamstress.


"My favourite would have to be the tale of Haunted Reflections." Her eyes looked blue out here, but still, Aer found time to smile still. "It happened to a Mourner when I was a girl. We all thought he just passed, but we did not understand the trauma he went through before his end."

A cautionary tale, the sort told to her by a Mourner no longer with them when Silversale joined the thinning ranks.


"A Mourner came into this very forest and heard the voice of his lost child. The voice called to him, enough to make him wonder if he indeed was going mad. He followed, finally coming up to the small pond that froze over. Beneath the ice, his son, called out to him. Banging against the ice."

She needed a moment to let that imagery stick with their minds before moving on.
 
Ensis always was enjoyable company on any mission. She was glad for his shared enthusiasm, though it seemed Arlen was less keen. The clear worry written in his brows almost made her feel sorry for the youth, almost. He would have to learn sooner or later, however better sooner rather than later. Their dwindling number needed mentally strong recruits, not those that would flutter with fear at every turn of the unknown.

An easy smile found Jin’s lips as the others concurred to the idea of story time. Each firm step against the cold ground came in time with Aeris’ rhythm of speech, her words a beating drum that was simple to march to. Though it was a story she’d heard many times in her youth, she listened intently and in silence.

Her hand found the hilt of her sword to idle upon. The ominous flow of mist gave her pause for only a second, in time with a moment of rest in the story. It was almost as though their surroundings were also keenly listening. It felt much like holding one’s breath.
 
"I admit, I'm unfamiliar with this one..." Tristan chimed in. There was never any shortage of horrors on the isle, many of which he'd experienced for himself. Yet somehow Aeris still maintained a knack for making his skin crawl. He glanced around him to gauge the reactions of some of the others.

Jin and Ensis were both thoroughly unbothered, of course. In fact, Ensis actually seemed to have a bit of spring in his step to match the unfailing grin he wore. The ability of smiths and veteran Mourners alike to keep themselves level or even positive at most times was eternally impressive.

Arlen, meanwhile, seemed like he was trying to place himself somewhere very far away in his mind's eye. The boy's jaw was set forward and his eyes had thoroughly glassed over. Tristan elbowed him in the ribs. Arlen glared and waved a hand to ward Tristan away, not particularly appreciative and being brought back to focus.

Still others walked on in pregnant silence, either out of reverence for a tale they knew well or out of interest in one they hadn't.
 
"Madness... that's what a lot of the locals call it, but such a story has been repeated by other witnesses. Their accounts were similar... Loved ones lost..." Aeris, who had grown up in Parumora, had heard every tale there was to tell. Granted, she may have been young to hear the stories, but they always travelled around. Her childhood sweetheart heard them from his family, spiritsmiths, and in turn would tell Aeris. He had been all she had since fourteen years, but now, Aeris had these stories to remember him by.

"The Mourner's son cried for his father, and the Mourner could not break the ice no matter what. He wore down his tools, clawed at the surface with his hands that the nails were ripped off, but no amount of pain could stop him." Her voice was loud enough to be heard from the group, but despite the easy going smile plastered upon her facade, that same happiness was not fully present in her tone. She was recounting a story, the person that told it to her soon fading from memory.


"He had been reported missing after three days, and five days since he had left, a patrol found him. His hands were ruined, his face bloodied and infected and some of his teeth missing. Some Mourners think he resorted to trying to chew his way through like a beast... but that ice never let go. There was no sign there was anything beneath that ice either. When it melted, all that was in there was mud and small animal bones."

"But what caused it?"

Aeris looked to Arlen, that haunted smile gracing her pretty face again. "An Aberrant, of course."

There was not much known about the entities, but whispers and stories had been told for centuries about the slow-cursed. "They say there is one that exists to play at our minds. If you are weak willed, it likes to taunt and play. So, best keep your wits about you!"
 
Iruna hardly saw the point of sending such an entourage to reinforce a simple ward. She stayed silent though, face expressionless. If she had any qualms, she kept them to herself. Grumbling wouldn't accomplish anything, and she wasn't enough of a senior to have the right to grumble anyhow. Still, it seemed as if they were asking for trouble sending over a half dozen able bodied mourners. It made Iruna wonder if it was just a few revenants they were worried about, or if they really were just running out of things to do.

The stories seemed good for morale though, and morale was the most important thing. Maybe she would share a story too. Iruna decided to speak for the first time since she was assigned to join the group, even though her eyes did not betray any significance as to why she broke her silence now.

"A classic. I will go next. This one is about a merchant ship that once brought a strange artifact to Parumora."

Iruna's face barely changed, and her voice stayed mostly serious though not stagnant in tone.

"It was called the Tiger Eye, and hailed from Amol Kalit. It came all the way from below the spear and was making one final stop before heading on home. The ship was laden with goods traded from cities all over Liadan, so this was an especially fortunate stop for our small town. Most items traded were normal, but a boy caught sight of something strange. Strange and shiny. It was a silver bell, embossed with an eye, and two hands wrapped around on either side of it."

Iruna decided she would imitate Aeris and pause for effect. That way, curiosity would be built, and the payoff would be more cathartic. This would achieve the morale boosting effect she was looking for.
 
"Gods, how ghastly. Note to self: strengthen my will. However one does that." Arlen concluded at the end of Aeris' tale. Ensis chuckled.

"Meditation and training, my boy. You will come to realize the method, in time," the old man answered.

"Let us hope sooner rather than later," Tristan pitched in. Arlen shot him a dirty look, and Tristan smiled grimly back.

Aberrants...horrifying beings, they were. Tristan had not come across one yet, and for that he was thankful. Revenants were simple creatures; they swarmed, they persisted, they sought life to extinguish. A revenant was a terrible thing, but at least you knew what it wanted, and its grisly work was over quickly.

An Aberrant, though? There was no telling what rhyme or reason drove them, what they might try, what defilements they might wreak upon one's essence. Tristan shuddered at the thought of it, and was happy that another of their group was quick to move the conversation along.

Iruna. Tristan didn't know much of her. She was dutiful and stoic, and he was fairly certain this was the most he'd ever heard her speak.

"I didn't know the Kaliti sent ships this far southward..." Arlen thought aloud.

"Nor I," Tristan admitted. In fact, he knew almost nothing of the place, other than that it was supposedly a vast, dry desert. The very concept seemed alien to Tristan. A place that nearly never rained? A scorching sea of sand as far as the eye could see? Preposterous. "What was the nature of this artifact?"
 
Aeris was more than happy to listen to Iruna speak after she had told her story. The grin never left her face, although her fellow Mourners would not be able to tell under her helm.

Tristan and Arlen were right that ships from the other continents rarely made it this far down, especially to the island, but stories traveled to all sorts of places in this world called Arethil. Aeris' mother hailed from a place called Cerak At'Thul, found in the west. Many storms claimed ships to ruin, but the lucky ones would end up drifting to the continent called Malakath.


"Which one is Amol Kalit?" She asked. There was no point in pointing it out on the map either. Aeris was terrible at reading, becoming so frustrated with some words or pronunciations that she gave up entirely. "Is that the lands of snow?"
 
Good. They were interested. Advance. Iruna turned to address Aeris since her question was easy to answer before continuing.

"No. They're the lands of sand."

Efficient and informative. She turned her head to Tristan.

"It's very rare, yes. It made the trinket all the more enticing. The boy bought it with all his savings, ringing it the whole way home. It was only when he got home that he realized the bell had no clapper. He realized the bell must be magic, and found he had gotten an amazing deal considering this. It wasn't until later when he found out just what the bell was calling..."

Iruna stewed in the silence once more.

"Revenants. A horde of them. Almost more than the wards could handle. The mysterious horror of Aberrants often draws us in so much that we can forget the overwhelming terror of Revenants in number. Our people deliberated in perpetual anxiety in the face of this nightmare, wondering what could have drawn them, and wondering how long they could hold out like this. It continued on for two days and two nights, their numbers reinforced from Obelus every hour."

Her eyes closed as she walked and recanted the tale her mother told her, the one that had kept her up at night imagining the dozens of horrible spirits tearing their wards like paper with sheer numbers.

"In the end, the boy knew what he had to do. On the dawn of the third day, when the Revenants thinned out once more, he ventured out into the heart of Obelus and rung his new bell all the way. It worked, and the horde followed him. They say he ended up as an Aberrant himself, and he wanders the whole island, ringing his bell to draw the spirits away from our little town forevermore."

She frowned a bit. Her father's flair for the dramatic slipped through into her speech again. Maybe for the best here, but it didn't mean she had to like it.
 
A long silence followed the conclusion of Iruna's story, perhaps a sign of solemnity from some, and nerves from others.

"Is...that true? Can Revenants truly wander so far from the Charnel City in such great numbers?" Arlen asked, the fear in his voice palpable. He looked to Ensis for an answer, but the old smith simply kept his eyes forward as the group walked, a serene smile that revealed nothing of his inner thoughts permanently stretched across his lips.

More silence filled the air, only the ambience of the Pines and the footsteps of the Mourners to be heard.
"Gods...this world...this island is full of horrors," Tristan said at last. Grim resolve washed over his mien. "All the more important that we hold them back."

Ensis laughed cheerfully.
"You all understand better than most. And you, young Tristan? Do you have a tale for us?"

Tristan thought a long moment. He'd never been good at memorizing the old parables. There were but a few stories he could recall and...well, they weren't fables.

"I do. I don't know that I can do it justice, but I--"

"Sshhh! Hold that thought, Tristan. Ghiran?" Ensis waved to get the attention of Ghiran, one of the more veteran members of the group. Shifting, heavy plates became muffled as the large man's armor was wreathed in spectral aura. Ghiran caught up to Enis, and Ensis pointed forward. "Up ahead. Something wicked. I hear it...I feel it."

Tristan moved up quietly behind both, whilst Arlen hesitantly hung back.
"What is it?"

"I am not wholly sure, but...we are very close to the warding monument. It, too, should be shortly ahead," the old man turned back to look at the group. "This bodes poorly."
 
She was glad for her helm.

It hid her true emotions, her genuine reaction to hearing Ensis put the traveling group on alert.

Aeris was quick to stifle that fear, that dread that weighed upon her. She put on a determined smile, convincing herself that this change in energy was to be welcomed.

She too could feel the unease, the evil. Her own spirited gear warned her of it, and Aeris' hand lifted to withdraw both her swords from her back.


"We mourn those that we have lost."


It was an almost prayer the older generations used to say, but hearing it nowadays was rare. But even as a whisper, even as her helm muffled her low voice, it sent shivers down the backs of the seasoned Mourners.
 
Two stories! Two whole stories, meant to scare the up-and-coming neophyte Arlen! But Arlen had a heart of finest hewn stone and molten lava for blood, and he was as modest as he was unshakeable! Iruna and Aeris had each in their turn set their whetstones to sharpening his wisdom, and Tristan was set to go next. Haka couldn't wait for his turn! Tristan's own whetstone was sure to be one much like Iruna's and Aeris's, putting the capable Arlen's wits to the test. As for Haka, why not tell Arlen a fair tale? A tale that would come like a warm drink after such chills? True, true, Haka might get carried away, carried away like raft on frothing, roiling seas, his regaling rising in boisterous air as the tale progressed—it was his wont! Now a booming voice carrying through the Twilight Pines in the night was not what any of their company wanted. It had a tendency to summon a nasty host!

But a nasty host may be what they wandered into, regardless. Master Ensis had a sense for danger, keen as the eye of an eagle.

Ah, but Haka's story would have to wait!

Taiaha in one hand, helm in the other, Haka let out a big belly-born HUUU!, tossed his helm up and caught it by its top, and then in a smooth motion dunked it onto his head and skullcap. That familiar rush of vibrant energy passed over his body like a cool breeze on a sweltering summer noon, and the seal of his Ghost Mail quietly came to be.

"Papa," Haka would with untarnished joy say to himself. "We go again!"

Traveling more in the rear of the loose formation, Haka came up then to Arlen. With a playful nudge, shoulder against shoulder, he said to Arlen, "Paompa! Those beasties better come from the front, eh? Otherwise you and I would break them like a volcano breaks the earth!"

Haka's eyes through his visor held all the smile of his unseen mouth below.

Tristan Locke Aeris Silversale Iruna Reverio
 
Iruna took the helm at her side and placed it firmly on her head. She didn't feel much, but she trusted Ghiran's instinct. She heeded her senior's caution. There was reason to be cautious, after all. No telling what could be waiting for them. If it were revenants, the spirits would stand little chance, but an aberrant? It could certainly be another story.

She pushed to the front of the group in her engraved armor. She was best suited for taking point after all. Head-on was her way of handling most any situation. Iruna was glad to have Haka bringing up the rear guard, it made her feel a lot safer that he was in the role, especially with his nearly unshakable morale.

As they approached the warding monument, Iruna felt a slight chill and drew her greatsword, holding it near her left leg in a low guard. She rarely found herself hoping for revenants, but it might be the better scenario here.
 
Ihaka...well, he didn't exude that air of quiet confidence that several of the others did, but the lad certainly did wonders for uplifting the average person's spirits. He didn't have that eerie dourness about him either, which always took Tristan aback given the environment they found themselves in. Tristan smiled and gave the man a nod. Everything would be fine, he knew. Arlen didn't seem so confident, if the boy's rigidity was anything to go off of.

The group drew closer, until Master Ensis drew to a halt. Silently, the Mourners split into two groups; one would remain with Ensis for his protection, and the other would scout ahead and deal with whatever awaited them.

In total, it was Aeris, Iruna, Ihaka, Tristan, and Arlen that would move on ahead of the others. Tristan followed suit with the others, donning his helmet to complete the circuit of spiritual protection the ghost mail offered. Here went nothing...

Trees and brush soon began to give way to the clearing that housed the warding monument. A great stone spire it was, etched in runic carvings that gave it a simultaneous sense of safety and foreboding. It was old, impossibly so, but well maintained for something so manmade left to time and nature's wrath. And speaking of nature, what came to fill Tristan's vision as the monument came into sight was not at all what he expected.

A quartet of disparate entities stood in front of the ward taking turns scratching and clawing at its surfaces. A wolf, an elk, a great owl, and a man. Each twitched unnaturally, their bodies distorted and wrong, a pale and ghoulish light filtering from their eyes and mouths into the fog of the forest. The man wore naught but tatters, and by the state of his decaying flesh it was clear that he was nothing but a corpse, bloated and half-chewed apart.

Tristan froze, and whispered among the group.
"Are those...Possessed?"

He had only heard tales and rumors. Revenants that seemed to suffer in and abhor their ethereal state. A revenant could not touch a person without killing them, but an animal could be made to bend and fall. A corpse was a fleeting, temporary shell, but it too could be puppeteered by a sufficiently determined revenant.

"The ward should not have weakened so greatly that revenants could draw this close to it. Could they be using these poor creatures as shields?"
 
Unease teased along Aeris' spine the moment her eyes spied the unnatural vision of animals and man. She felt something twist in her stomach, felt a heaviness press at her chest, and that breath she did not mean to gasp out warmed her helm.


Tristan spoke the question she had just been forming in her mind.

She did not turn to her brothers and sisters, did not dare move another muscle until she could be brave enough to say something. The usual lightheartedness of Silversale was her usual front for a situation like this, but she knew a moment like this was too important. A first love's presence filled her, the boy that loved and protected her in the ghost mail she donned. Be brave. A reminder that she could still be real, even now.


"So what is our priority here?"
She asked as soon as Locke finished speaking. Aeris spoke to them all. "Investigate, or bolster the wards?"
 
The scout group encountered something very strange. And that, ilani, was a bold statement indeed upon the isle of Phorasmos.

Haka squinted more out of incredulousness than for any benefit to his sight. As Tristan speculated and Aeris asked the tactical question, Haka had come up alongside them all from the rear of their party. He bent over slightly, staring ahead, one hand on his knee and the other holding his taiaha upright ("Never let the spearpoint touch the ground," Papa would say of his own taiaha, "It brings bad fortune"). Haka marveled quietly at the sight of the Possessed.

"Oohhhhh, look at thaaaat, paompa," Haka said, speaking in general to the lot of them. "I didn't think they were real."

Haka had been on forays to many of the bends and twists and corners and folds of Phorasmos, fighting Revenants, of course, fighting other creatures sometimes, but never those two things mashed together in the form of a Possessed. Sometimes arguments would break out among Mourners in Parumora or Majule or any of the other locales for relaxation. I swear I've seen one! one might say. You need a new helm with a better visor, one might counter. No animal acts like that, would come another in defense of the tale. On and on it would go! Haka didn't mind the arguments too much, so long as they stayed friendly and in good spirit. With such things as Revenants and Possessed, what need was there to turn Requiem weapons on the living?

Fortunately, it never got that far. Maybe a fist fueled by a fiery belly, but not so far as that. And all the better! Because now Haka, now Tristan, now Aeris, now Iruna, all of them would speak in vigorous defense of what their eyes plainly saw!

Tristan Locke Iruna Reverio Aeris Silversale
 
Iruna's eyes narrowed at the sight of the possessed animals as well as the corpse of the man. It was not anyone she recognized. They were clearly trying to destroy the ward, however weak their attempts were. They had to be dispatched of before any repair would be able to be done to the ward. She wasn't entirely sure if any of them were able to do such a thing, she would think Master Ensis the only qualified one. Iruna readied her sword, pointing it toward the group.

"We will need to take care of them before any repairs or investigation can be done. I will take the Elk since I believe I'm the sturdiest. Choose your targets as you see fit."

The Mourner glanced back at the Elf that accompanied them.

"It might be best if you hang back in case you need to get help, Arlen."

She also thought it was elegant if they all challenged one each, and Arlen made one too many for that. The thought was nonsensical though, so she kept it to herself.
 
"A fight, then. Wonderful..." Tristan thought aloud, still hushed. He drew a sword, a leftover requiem weapon from another, long dead Mourner. "Well...if there really are Revenants inside these things, then destroying their bodies will give them no choice but to flee, right?"

It was worth a shot. The Revenants shouldn't have been able to withstand the repelling magic of the warding monument...as long as it wasn't too damaged already.

"R...right..." Arlen replied to Iruna, looking equally parts relieved and terrified. On one hand, hanging back meant he had no stake in the fight to come. On the other, it meant he would be separated from both groups. Regardless, he did as he was told and hunkered down into a bush to remain out of sight.

Meanwhile, Tristan pulled a hand crossbow from his belt and pulled it across an apparatus at his side, locking the string across the nock, bolt in place. It was a holdover from his scavenging days, no good at dealing with spirits but handy in a pinch against the odd bandit or animal.
"I'll take the owl, I suppose. Move on the same signal? Who's leading?"

Tristan's eyes naturally fell on Ihaka. The lad always seemed to have such gusto for getting stuck in.
 
Wolf. Aeris had been about to claim her kill but the words never left her lips.

She swallowed, surveying again. Wolves had always been a part of her life here, and her fascination for them would only get in the way when she knew she would be slitting the throat of an innocent wolf. No matter the possession, Aeris could not afford anything that will weigh on her choices.


"I'll take the unfortunate soul of a man." She reached up behind her, hands curling around the hilts of her dual swords and pulling them free with expert ease. Aeris rolled her wrists, twirling her blades and feeling their weight. There were no qualms with her to putting a blade against a lost one's throat. "So that leaves the wolf to you, Haka."

She tried to smile, but with her helm, they wouldn't witness the shit job she had at convincing herself this was a normal day of a Mourner's work.
 
...if there really are Revenants inside these things...

Haka gazed at Tristan in wonder. That was a good point, the Revs inside the bodies being forced to flee. Oohhhhh, but what if they were to encounter some Possessed out in the wild sometime? Away from a warding monument? Now that would be something. A nasty present wrapped inside a nasty package. Ilani! It would be double the work, too! Haka didn't think he'd be getting too fond of these Possessed.

Now Iruna had chosen the Elk for her foe, Tristan the owl, and Aeris the man. And so the beastie left for Haka was as Aeris said, the wolf. Couldn't be bad. Right? A wolf was an animal to be feared and respected, but its bite couldn't penetrate the sturdiness of anyone's Ghost Mail. If anything, Iruna had it the worst; an elk in the fullness of age was big and strong, enough to give anyone a good battering, Ghost Mail or not.

"Ai, leave it to me," said Haka to Aeris. And then in part reply to Tristan and in part general to all, "On three, we charge, all together. We go like fire, but we flow like water."

Go fast and fierce, but be flexible, so to speak. They had called their targets, but you could never count on your enemies being polite to your plan.

Haka came in line with the rest of his fellow Mourners. "One."

He clasped now his taiaha with both hands. "Two."

And with a great stomp of his foot he said, "Three!"

From the cover of the trees and shaded gloom he sprang, propelled forth at a stride incapable of a man lacking the power of the Ghost Mail. The fearsome pumping of his legs soon brought him to the vicinity of the wolf, the beast still standing on its hind legs, front paws clawing away at the monument, its head only now having turned to see the assault of the Mourners.

And with an efficient overhead swing Haka's blade cleaved into the back of the wolf's neck.

Iruna Reverio Tristan Locke Aeris Silversale
 
On Haka's signal, Iruna rushed toward her opponent. The slight delay between the death of the wolf and her approach allowed the elk to react, dropping from it's elevated position onto the Mourner. The massive horns grew closer, and Iruna barely locked her sword in with them in time, putting both hands on it to brace. She dug her heels into the dirt as the massive creature pushed against her. Anyone without ghost mail would be trampled in an instant, but she was more stable than just anyone. First she was pushed back, then brought to a standstill, then slowly she began to step forward against the great beast.

The Elk's eyes glowed blue and it frothed at the mouth. It looked more rabid than dead. Still she pushed forward. She had seen more terrifying things before. As the Elk pushed with all its might, Iruna let it go all at once, swinging her whole body under it as its momentum pushed it forward. She swung her blade almost instantly after, lopping the thing's head straight off.

She was not done though, and followed through to another swing to catch the escaping Revenant. Her requiem weapon tore the spirit in two with a terrible scream. Iruna quickly looked to the others to see if they needed any help with their opponents.