Keep on the Borderlands
North Basement
Far Spring

It had taken lot of work, but Glinsael thinks maybe she finally understands.

In the months following the party securing the keep, her primary pre-occupation  has been the ghost. The ghost retained its (her) position as guardian of the library behind her. And Glinsael's every attempt to talk or wheedle or logic her way past has failed. Always the same. OUT. And REMEMBER ME. And always that horrid painful telepathic whisper. And Glinsael thinks she easily has the power to kill anyone who got too close, or got her too angry.

However, after some research, and some conversations with the Duke (who, among other things, is an absolute storehouse or lore about her family), Glinsael thinks she knows who the ghost is. Was. Is.

Whichever.

Shortly before the realm fell to chaos, there was a ducal daughter named Elbereth. The official history, what the Duke had been told, says that she forsook her family and her duties and spent her life travelling and pleasure-seeking in a kind of endless vacation before retiring to curate the Keep's library

Glin found an old first-hand account of an encounter with Elbereth, however, that tells a very different story. This account says that she didn't leave her family, but rather accepted the post of Legal Magistrate in Extraordinary, and spent her life wandering the realm, mediating disputes, dispensing justice, and upholding the Duke's laws in places where the Throne's soldiers were seldom seen. And (claims the writer of this book) she offered tax-exemptions to anyone who donated a book to the Throne, so long as they could prove their children could read it.

And in that way she built the library with her own hands, over the course of decades, and fostered literacy throughout the realm.

Her death is not recorded. Nor is the fate of her library. It is assumed to have been looted, destroyed, or rotted away to mould and dust, in the centuries since.

Glinsael sat on this information until Ayanna returned to the Keep with one of the caravans. At which point she explained her theory. And the two decided to go down and put it to the test.

---

Once again, standing outside the antechamber, the air feels heavy and pregnant with menace. There's a chill deeper and sharper than the rest of the basement.

Three or four steps in and the temperature once again plummets. That horrible frigid cold sinks into the bones and skin and hair and clothing form a fine film of frost.

Two or three more steps and she appears. Just inside the doorway as always. Dressed in a fine gown. Clutching a knife. Massive wounds visible on her face and neck and body.

Her face, always, is filled with rage. Anger and fear roll out from her. And as always: the painful shocking mental hiss, like a fish-hook in the brain.

OUT!
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:46, Thu 15 June 2023.

Ayanna's previous visits had the same results.  OUT and REMEMBER ME had haunted her dreams as they hadn't been able to make any progress.  It had seemed like the ghost didn't remember their previous visits and they were starting over each time.  Once the Duke arrived and their new information came to light.  She had hope that things would be different this time.

"Elbereth, we remember."  Ayanna commented to the ghost.  She had learned exactly how far she could step and stayed at that distance.

Tears welled up in Glinsael's eyes when she read the story. This was a sister in spirit. However, the family legends told a different story.  As a scholar she couldn't let her feeling obscure her duty to the truth.

In the basement, Glisael stood beside Ayanna, clutching the book to her chest like a talisman, and spoke, "Lady Elbereth, we have heard the oral story, and we have this book that speaks well of you. I too am a lover of knowledge."

"... and I understand anger.  Tell us your story so we can avenge you."  That someone would cut down this woman made Ayanna angry.  She had done such good in her life.

The name Elbereth echoes through the cavernous silence and the cold air ripples and its razor-edge dulls and lessens. In its place is a oppressive feeling of danger and an electric charge of anger and rage. Hairs on the skin stand on edge. It is suddenly hard to swallow.

The ghost takes a step out of the shadows and into the anteroom and stops right over the gowned woman's body.

MINE.

The word is feels angry. Defiant. Less a claim or a fact and more a warning.

Ayanna held her ground and narrowed her eyes.  They had made some progress, but didn’t seem to be out of the woods yet.  She hoped they were speaking to the original Elbereth and not some malevolent possessing spirit.

“Yes.  Do you wish to be laid to rest?  What can we do to help?”  She asked hoping to get more out of the spirit.

The cycle of wounds and blood speeds up and the air fills with a crackle of tension. It is clearly difficult for the ghost (Elbereth) to communicate in this way and her frustration and anger are clear (and growing).

NO REST.

And she steps back into the shadows of the library and moves her arms slightly, as though gesturing to it.

MINE.

(And is there a note of sadness in the word that time? A note of fatigue? Of resignation?)

The air starts to chill again. And the room fills with that dissonant mental buzzing that precludes her psychic attacks.

Glinsael realized that they are hitting a communication wall. "This must be very difficult for you.  Our wish is to help if we can, but it seems we are causing you distress. Perhaps, there is some way to help you in here, if we have your permission to look."

In reply Elbereth steps back into the shadows of the door way. And suddenly her form flickers and her wounds vanish and she appears whole and alive again (still ghostly, but alive). The cold bleeds away and ghostly sounds of conflict and yelling and screaming echo all around.

And Elbereth steps from the library, a dagger held anxiously in each hand. She looks terrified. Several ghostly voices call out...

The Keep is overrun!

We're lost!

Run! Everyone run!

But Elbereth stands, daggers ready.

And into the room (through Ayanna and Glinsael) run the ghostly images of massive, muscular, savage-looking men wearing loincloths, their bodies slathered in thick grey mud. Three of them enter the room and grunt...

Run. Now. Go.

Elbereth does not go.

Two attack her at once. She stabs one in the eye and it stumbles back. She strikes a second across the throat. That one falls. The third comes and strikes her across the chest with a long, wide, rough-looking blade. She sinks her dagger into its chest.

The one with one eye screams out in pain. Another trio of mud-caked men appear in the doorway at the sound.

It speaks:

Last chance. Run. Or die.

Elbereth does not go.

They fall on her. She manages to wound two or three more (at least one fatally) but they overcome her and savagely hack her body. Seeing her dead, they move toward the library. But the room fills with a thick black mist and from the mist steps ghostly-Elbereth and with a scream of rage the remaining men crumble into dust.

She stops. Looks at Ayanna and Glinsael. The mental speech is now tinged with urgency rather than anger, as though she is trying desperately to be understood.

NO REST.

She gestures to the library.

MINE. TO PROTECT. SAVE. KEEP.

She pauses, her voice strained.

NO REST...

IF...

MINE.

It seems she cannot let go of her pained existence so long as she feels defending her library is her responsibility.

"Elbereth, you have protected your library admirably.  We have reclaimed the keep.  The mudmen were driven away.  The library is intact.  Soon there will be children.  Children that will need to be taught.  I will help you guard it.  You can continue your work."

Ayanna made her pitch.  Sure, she wasn't sure how well a ghost would go over teaching children, but there might be a way.  Maybe if it was used for that purpose she would be satisfied.

Protecting the library was the truth.  Already steps had been taken to improve the defenses.  The walls would have to be repaired, but patrols and watches were setup.  Men were being trained.  A plan was in place.  If they could somehow get through to the ghost of such.

Glinsael was torn. On one hand, she wanted to pledge her dedication to protecting the library. On the other hand, there was so much to explore in this land. There was a missing stronghold that she could rediscover! She came to a compromise in her mind, and nodded in agreement with Ayanna, "places of knowledge are sacred to me. I will help you in the protection of this library, and the Duke will be informed of it's importance."

Both Ayanna and Glinsael feel the change in the air. The anger and hate still fills the room, but with comes a deep and terrible longing. A yearning for rest battling with a yearning for revenge and a dedication to duty so broad and deep that it saps the will and exhausts the mind.

NOT MINE? She whispers. NOT MINE?

And then her dark ragged eyes meet the half-elf's and bore deep, deep into the depths of her soul.

OURS?

Glinsael can feel the impact of massive ragged blades on her chest, face, arm. She can feel the wounds, the pain, the shock, her life fading from her body, the world go dark, and again.

Blood spatters to the tiled floor from wounds that appear on her body. The wounds are deep and jagged and painful.

OURS?

She seems to asking if Glinsael will defend her great work to her last breath. To give all  in its care, if necessary.

And she looks down at herself, watches as the wounds appear and disappear and cycle on her ghostly form in sync with Glinsael's.

IF ME... NOT HERE... THEN WHERE?

It seems she wants to go, but is not ready to go on to whatever is next.

Glinsael cried out in pain from the horrible vision. She fell to her knees, still clutching the book to her. "ours!" she gasped in answer.

"Hey!  She's here to help you!"  Ayanna burst out and scolded at the ghost.

"If you treat would be friends like enemies, you won't have any friends."  Sure, she couldn't do anything to back it up and reasoning with the ghost had been difficult so far.  But she wasn't going to stand by and watch Glinsael take this assault without trying to intervene.

Glinsael knew of ancient oath rites in which the participants took wounds in the course of the ritual. She held up a hand to Ayanna. The pain was great, but she could keep her wits about her enough to speak. "No! do not be alarmed. This is a promise written in blood. I will bare this as a sign of our bond."

Ayanna bowed her head in respect to Glinsael.  The elf looked frail, but she earned some respect with her actions that day.

The warrior stood back and bore witness to the events.

For the first time, the thick rage in the air drains away and is replaced with a lurking watchful tension. The cold remains, but its soul-biting intensity is reduced.

Elbereth's form wavers and vanishes and appears next to Glinsael. She looks down and her face is a still, stoic mask, with a deep respect in her cavernous eyes.

She wavers and blinks again, this time next to Ayanna. She stares at the warrior-woman for what seems like a long, long time. Eventually she reaches out and her hand slides along the haft of the shining dwarven spear.

OURS., she whispers.

The battle is ours, she seems to mean. The war. The quest to deliver violence and justice upon those who would destroy civilization.

All of that. Ours. Hers. And Ayanna's.

OURS.

Less a question than an offer. A promise.

And then she looks back at Glinsael, whose ghostly wounds are already fading (although the sense-memory of the pain and shock would remain sharp and visceral and immediate for a long, long time after).

YOURS, she whispers, and gestures to the library.

And as she gestures, the air warms (although it would forever remain colder than the rooms beyond, and would need a fire to be comfortable) and the thick shadows in the rooms within fade and disperse (although they would always remain, and even the brightest torch or lantern would never dispel them completely).

YOURS.

And then to Ayanna.

OURS.

And her face breaks into a small, quiet smile, and she disperses. As she does, she leaves behind a simple leather scrollcase inlaid with silver dwarven script. Inside is a rolled piece of parchment that looks to be hundreds of years old. It is thin and dry and almost crumbling.

Upon slow, careful reading, it is a formal Writ naming Glinsael High-Eleven the Ducal Curator of the Lorehold of Almiraj Keep, her and her issue, for so long her line shall last.

And it is signed Elbereth Al'Mira, Magistrate-in-Extraordinary to the Ducal Seat of Almiraj.

And as Glinsael investigates, Ayanna can feel Elbereth's presence: her intelligence, her intensity, her desire for justice, her ferocity, her tenacity. And the warrior knows she need only call upon Elbereth and she will answer.

OOC: Ayanna, you may now call upon Elbereth as part of your Echo Knight Class Abilities.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:39, Sat 08 July 2023.

It wasn't how she thought things would turn out when they had first encountered the ghost, but this seemed a much better result than purging the ghost or ending up dead.  A much better result indeed.

The room already felt better, even though it would carry the scars of the events here.  Ayanna smiled and offered Glinsael a nod and a handshake at a job well done.

Glinsaeel took her hand, and smiled back.