Ghost Town

A steep series of steps on the last leg of the journey, leading up to the abandoned mining town. Little more than dirt held back by wooden logs, it started Heljah off into a rant about shoddy craftsmanship, but she clambered up much more nimbly up than the rest of her companions. Every hundred yards or so they would come across little stone-mounted everbright lanterns. Many were still glowing despite more than seven years without care, but some were broken or flickering. A few were even missing, shorn straight off the sheer side of the mountain.

With the rocky peaks on to the west, darkness came early. Far out on the golden plains of Thrane they could still see the bright light of the sun, but the mountains cast long, jagged shadows.

Looking down, down at the spindly treetops and craggy rocks far below gave Han a stomach in revolt. "Kol, that's a pretty steep drop, wouldn't you say?"

"Han, I do believe it is a rather steep drop."

"I sure hope I don't stumble and oof-" Han made a big show of stumbling straight into Heljah, and then he tried to run into Valasar, though the lizardman avoided him nimbley.

"Han, stop it! You're going to throw someone off the edge!" Quinten was much grumpier than usual today.

Han continued shoving and pushing in the middle of the band. "Sorry, oh, you could have fallen their, sorry! Oh! Saved your life!" Kol rolled his eyes at his brother, and then gasped as one of Han's pranks almost pushed him off the edge. Sorn was right there behind him, pushing him back to safety, but the weight was to much for the little halfling, and he hovered for a moment on the very edge of the precipice, before cartwheeling backwards and out into open space.
Their was a moment of horrified silence, everyone looking at Han. Han's face was white, his hands cold and hot by turns.

Then with a shout the halfling, now safely mounted on his Soarial, rose up above them, his steed flapping her great wings. His laughter at his own jest sent everyone off into nervous chuckles, but Han was a little more careful after that. A somber mood hung over the company like the cloud vapor that clung to the mountainside, and they took the last steps in silence.

Finally they reached the village. Chill houses struggled up the steep sides of the narrow valley. The pitched roofs were rotting and broken. Rows of whitewashed walls and softened corners marched row by row behind a low stone wall and spindley ironwork fencing. The only sound was the growling moan of the wind.

About a quarter of the town was blackened, the charred houses mere husks or less, the streets covered in charcoal and pitch. It brought back cold memories of the War, and for a moment the party shifted aimlessly, each lost in their own thoughts. They entered one of the homes closest to the gates. The shutters were broken, the curtains in tatters and blowing like ghostly fingers. Two skeletal figures, a woman and a child to judge by the tattered clothing, were wrapped in each others arms in one corner of the room. Cobwebs and dust covered the little house in awful silence.

"Lets spread out." Quentin said after a moment, quietly. "It's already dark. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'd rather not spend any time here after night falls for true."

They broke off into groups of two, searching house by house. Each told a story of work caught midway, filled with frozen remains and old sorrows, but nothing definite. Their was a particularly fine gold necklace in one of the larger houses, a few silver coins amidst the broken pottery of another. Han left it, and Kol, left the things of the dead to the dead. They'd already seen the curse over this place at work once, and they were not eager to face that kind of a fight a second time, despite their earlier bravado.

Han noticed a little road that led up, behind the village. Just above them he could make out the well-kept entrance to a tower, built partially into the mountain, where a few everbright lanterns still flanked the heavy stone doors.

A faint sound of laughter brushed past them.

Han turned back, to look past his twin, and stared at the village below them. True night was fast falling, and with it a silvery outline tingled across the village, a misty silhouette of what the it must have been like before- whatever had happened. Misty forms rose up around the gutted buildings, and human shadows walked the streets, stopping to talk to each other, pulling phantom carts. The howling of the wind had calmed, and now took on an almost conversational quality, as if they could make out snatches of conversation if they listened hard enough.

Kol noticed something in the expression of his brother and turned to look at the village. Ghost-children tumbled past him in with squeals of delight, and he jumped out of the way, only to have a cart-wright pass straight through his body.

Heljah and Quinten hurried up to the small rise where the twins stood, ignoring as best they could the ghostly apparitions around them. Suddenly Valasar was next to them, wild eyed, tail lashing. He had out a pouch of strange trinkets he was rifling through- a few downy feathers, a green stone, a tooth, a rats paw. He mumbled something under his breath, eyes darting from side to side, bowing nervously at each ghost as they passed.Tera swooped low and Sorn jumped from her back to the ground, whistling for her to circle high overhead. The halfling stood tall with his companions, but his hands were white-knuckle clenched.

"We should not be in this haunted ground," Valasar hissed nervously, the frill of spines on his head arched and trembling with his anxiety. "We will anger these spirits, who have not had the grave-rights performed for them."

"I agree with big scaley." Heljah muttered.

Quinten's mouth was a hard line. "We'll get what we came for and leave as soon as we can. Gentlemen, is this the place?" He gestured to the imposing tower behind them.

"Looks like it," Han said. In the silvery ghostlight from the town and the flickering of the everbright lanterns, the tower crouched over them like some gluttonous monster in the gloom.

They approached the stone doors of the edifice, glancing back nervously at the suddenly 'lively' town. Two corpses seemed to be clawing at the entrance. One clutched the side of the door, while the other, clad in heavy dwarf mail, had struggled to inscribe a final message on the wall before expiring. The message was in dwarven runes, and Han tired not to think to hard about what had been used in place of ink.

"Let me see what I can do." Heljah leaned over the dead dwarf, absentmindedly tracing the symbol of the dwarven god Iluvar over his forehead before pushing him gently aside to concentrate on his last message. "It's pretty faded, but I can still out some of what it says. 'To free the dead.... circles.... lock... cursed gate.... shake.'"

"What?" Han asked, scratching his head.

"It's just nursery rhyme." Heljah said in frustration. "Dwarvish children sing it when they play skip-a-drop."

"What's the whole thing then?" Quinten asked

"If you wish to free the dead
from slavery in circles bled,
You must unlock the cursed gate,
Though it cause your knees to quake,
For only when the bound are free,
Can they find rest eternally.

Sorcery the whip, blood the key,
Darkness light, trail the ash tree.

And then you start counting how many times you can jump over the drop without falling in." Haljah finished.

"Sounds terrible." Kol commented.

"It's quite safe, as long as you tie your rope properly." Heljah said.

"No, I meant the rhyme. Why do you have a nursery rhyme about the undead?"

"Why do you humans have a nursery rhyme about the plague?"

"Okay everyone, give me a moment." Quentin looked at the rhyme, and then at the door. After another minute or two he fiddled with it--Han couldn't see what he was doing--and then the great stone doors opened with the deep grind of stone against stone.

"Wow, you figured out how to open the door just from that rhyme?" Han said, impressed.

"The key was in the lock." Quinten said. "Alright. Lets say goodbye to our ghostly friends for now, shall we?"

Involuntarily, the whole band looked back at the village. The ghostly buildings now seemed more real than the broken structures beneath them in the dark of the night. The whole village of ghosts now stood, silently watching them. The wind was gone, and not a whisper was heard. A single figure, an old dwarf with sad eyes and a scraggly beard, he waived slowly, and then the entire apparition wavered and fled. All that could be seen now were the shadowy forms of the broken buildings.

Han grabbed one of the everbright lanterns from its sconce on the wall, pealing the skeletal fingers back. Sorn grabbed the other. Together, the band crept into the tower.