In which we do battle with an unquiet spirit

Today (yesterday?) has been a strange day, and I will try to recount it as best I can, although I don't think that I as yet understand everything that I have heard and seen. What seems like an age ago, but was actually probably only around lunchtime, we got wearily to our feet and, having patched our wounds as best we could, we made ready to head out in the direction of Jenna’s home village.
 
Before we left, Jenna made her way over to the broken bodies of her three companions. They had been laid out with as much dignity, as we could give them, but even so it was a forlorn sight. She gently bent over each one in turn, taking from him or her some token by which they might be remembered. Kissing her fingertips and pressing them to each pale forehead, she bade them a final farewell, and then straightened, a determined look on her face.
 
As the others finished gathering the baggage, I tended also to the body of the packlord of the gnolls. I don’t know what his purpose here had been, and most likely it was not a good one, but I killed this man with my own blade, and in battle he was a worthy opponent, fighting bravely until his last breath. It is unknown which deity these people followed, they wore nothing I recognised as a holy symbol, but I prayed that they might receive a just reckoning beyond the veil, whichever power claimed their souls. Around his neck their leader wore a distinctive chain of animal teeth and small bones strung on a leather cord - I carefully lifted it over his head and placed it, wrapped in cloth, in my pack. It’s very unlikely that I will have the opportunity to return it to his kinfolk, but you never know what the future may bring.
 
Rested, but still moving somewhat stiffly, we shouldered our packs, and made our way further north to Bel, which is the name of Jenna’s village. It was a couple of hours walk, and the journey was thankfully uneventful. I saw Raphael hang back to speak to Zeni, who looked perhaps a little subdued, but then, the aftermath of battle can often be like that, once the adrenaline fades. I hope that their conversation offered a welcome distraction.
 
After almost two hours of walking, the stunted trees opened out and we saw a cluster of roughly built wooden and wattle houses which were raised on stilts above the swamp water, and connected by a network of wooden walkways. Calling out a greeting, Jenna stepped between the houses and was met by a striking looking human woman with a crest of stiffened hair on her head and a long braid fastened at the end with an iron band. It turned out that this woman, Rithuia, was the wife, and now widow, of Phillip, who was one of the captives killed by the gnolls. Jenna broke the bad news to Rithuia, who took it very bravely. Clearly it takes a resilient spirit to make your home in these hard lands.
 
As I looked around at our somewhat bedraggled little party, I saw that Zeni had again cast her disguising spell, and was now wearing the face of a human woman. I don’t know why, but she seems always to be very wary when we are among strangers. It wore off after a while, of course, and her sudden change in appearance caused some comment. Rithuia asked me why she would hide her face when her natural Tiefling form is so beautiful (which it is indeed, if not quite as glamorous as Wind’s), but I think that beauty has very little to do with it. The reason, whatever it is, clearly goes well beyond vanity, misplaced or otherwise. I know that Rithuia would have liked to have spoken to Zeni herself about it, but Zeni seems to have managed to avoid her so far.
 
We set up our camp just to the north of the cluster of houses, on a patch of reasonably dry ground. The villagers all came out to speak with us and hear the sad news that we had brought. They told us a little more about Barithia, the woman who had founded Bel, but who, it turns out, does not actually live here herself. She is based a couple of hours further north yet, in a dwelling that apparently stands alone. A bold, maybe even foolhardy, choice, given the dangers of the Rootgarden, but none here seemed worried for her safety. Almost everyone we spoke to described her as a kind woman, but suffering from some sort of sadness or melancholy. Apparently she is an arcane practitioner of some sort, but no-one was able to give any details of the magic which she practiced.
 
Raphael and Sabali in particular seemed very curious about the origins of the villagers, how they came to be living here and what kept them to this austere life. The stories that they told seemed reasonable enough - most commonly a lack of purpose and direction in their old lives, and sometimes the draw of romance on top of that. What was a little strange was that some of them were rather vague about some of the details, even when it came to events that had been life changing - this vagueness was something that would become a bit of a theme when speaking to the inhabitants of Bel.
 
Once we had dropped our bags, Arin and I sought out Jenna and Rithuia, to see if we could learn more about the recent deaths in the community, and offer any assistance in diagnosing or treating the problem. I explained that we were healers, and that anything they were able to tell us could be useful in determining the cause. At first they were reluctant to speak, but gradually I think that we won their trust. They described three deaths, each occurring without any prior indication of anything being wrong. These deaths had taken place recently, and with a startling regularity, one victim each week for the past three weeks, and always on the same day. The last one was a week ago today. Until we pressed them to consider the timing, I’m not sure that they had thought about it before, nor did they they seem particularly worried about it even then. Which was very strange indeed. It was almost as if someone had placed a dampener on their ability to think critically, or react appropriately, despite their more general obvious competence living out here in the wilderness. What could do that though, I have no idea.
 
After we had spoken with Jenna, Rithuia drew us aside and said that she had something else to tell us. She had seen battle, and knew the look of a person who had died in fear. She said that she had seen fear in the faces of those who had passed, despite the fact that they had apparently slipped away quietly in their sleep. I know what she meant by that look in the eyes of the dead, but as a sign of possible illness this meant nothing useful to me. I turned to Arin and I saw that his brow was furrowed in thought. He said that it sounded to him like it might be the attack of a creature called a ‘banshee’. This was not a name I had heard before, so I asked him to elaborate.
 
A banshee, apparently, is the undead soul of an elf woman who, in life, had used her beauty to control and dominate others, rather than as the gift which the gods intended it to be. Thus corrupted, her spirit cannot pass beyond the veil, and instead roams the land of the living, angry and suffering, and attacking the unwary as they sleep. She can find no gladness in this existence, and feels only distress in the presence of living souls.
 
Now, had this tale come from a less reputable source, I would have dismissed it as the bitter and rather unoriginal ramblings of some spurned lover, which, over time, had gained the status of superstition. Why would such a curse affect only women after all? Or only elves? It sounded like nothing so much as the cruel hopes of some disappointed suitor who resented that a fair elven lass had failed to bestow her beauty as a gift to him (or her).
 
And yet, Arin is a scholar, and would not repeat such a tale lightly, so there must be at least some reason to think that there is truth behind it. In any case, whatever the real origins of such an unquiet spirit might be, it sounded like a serious problem, and one that might quite likely make another appearance in the village, perhaps even tonight.
 
--
 
As the sun sank below the horizon, I spared a thought for Captain Dorienn and the Windstriker. They would no doubt be scanning the shoreline for us with increasing desperation, and I wondered how long they would wait before giving us up for dead and heading back to Drynna. Even if all else went well, the thought of the long hard trek back to town was not a pleasant one.
 
But that was something we could worry about tomorrow. Tonight, after dinner, a wake, or celebration of life, would take place for those killed in the conflict with the gnolls, and so we met beforehand in the camp to discuss what we had each learned, and have a bite to eat before joining the villagers.
 
Arin relayed his theory about the banshee, and several others spoke of rumours about the ‘Lady of the Swamp’ which sounded like they might be one and the same thing. Enessa had tried her best to detect any magical influence, and I had attempted the same thing with regard to sensing any evil creatures in the vicinity, but we had both come up with nothing. It sounded like this banshee hunts at night though, so I guessed that if it was going to come, it would be later, once full dark had fallen.
 
Orlando had had a long conversation with a gnome called Sprocksmith, who had given him some news about the spread of the technology which Bayou is based on, and which seemed to be causing him some consternation. I didn’t entirely understand what he was saying, but it had something to do with the town of Whitestone, which I don't think is that far from Drynna.
 
As we spoke, Raphael moved around the camp laying down a circle of small stones which he drew from his pack. I asked him what he was doing, and he said that a closed circle might offer some protection from his Lady. Now, I could sense no divine energy from these stones, so I don’t know what purpose exactly they were intended to serve, but he seemed to place great store in them. I saw Zeni looking on curiously as well, but she said nothing.
 
In fact, Zeni had been acting slightly strangely ever since we had arrived at the village, and now she announced that she was going to bed rather than joining the villagers' gathering in honour of their fallen neighbours. I really hope that she isn’t feeling ill, after all, this swamp is a thoroughly unwholesome place. I was also not entirely happy about leaving her on her own when we strongly suspected some sort of undead was on the prowl, but she is well able to make her own decisions on such matters and so somewhat reluctantly we left her alone in camp.
 
The villagers had gathered together in the space between the houses, and had brought out drink and food which they had clearly kept saved for a special occasion. People shared stories and memories about Philip, Yohanna and Dundar, and laughed, or were sombre, as they felt that they needed to. As Oteas had requested, I led a short memorial rite for Yohanna (they were both members of the church), remembering Bahamut’s promise that his loyal followers shall find peace and rest beyond the veil, and that we meet again and feast together in his Celestial Hall. Perhaps, in due time, Oteas, Yohanna and I will have the honour to raise a glass together in that holy place.
 
As the evening wore on, there was a call for music and merriment to chase away the sadness of the day, and so I drew my lyre from its case. The requests were eclectic, and I did my best to improvise where I didn’t know a particular tune, but soon we gravitated towards the old familiar favourites. Apparently Philip had particularly loved ‘What’s in a bottle of Elvish Wine?’, and the call and response pattern of the song was perfect to get everyone on their feet. To be honest, the lyre is not the ideal instrument for that kind of tune, a pipe or a fiddle would have been much better, but no-one seemed to mind too much. The villagers had some choice verses which I’d never heard before, and Orlando and I shared some of the Vasselheim classics as well. Sabali, Wind and Enessa had everyone in gales of laughter as they competed with one another with ever more outrageous rhymes. Arin’s contributions were less raucous perhaps, but turned on clever double meanings which delighted the more quick-witted among the revellers. It was a true cultural exchange, even if I must admit to not knowing the precise meaning of every word of some verses (although the gestures definitely helped to get the general meaning across…).
 
As we sang and made merry, the somewhat doleful atmosphere of mourning gave way to a joyful thankfulness. Sharing music and glad companionship always renews the spirit, and I was sorry that Zeni was abed and not here to be a part of this. Raphael too looked somewhat tense and guarded - he joined in readily enough, even offering a verse or two, but his eyes kept straying to scan the darkness of the water, looking, I suspect, for any hint of a banshee in the thin mist. I could not blame him, even in the midst of all the music and light a small shiver ran down my own spine when my thoughts turned to what might be hunting out there beyond the limits of the torchlight
 
It must have been around midnight when everyone began to stagger off to bed, little pockets of song still breaking out here and there as everyone said their goodnights. I watched them go with some misgivings, the banshee was very likely somewhere close by, or would be soon, and having people separated might not be the best idea. However, the last thing these people needed now was to come to fear their own homes, and so we saw people safe inside, told them to stay there should there be trouble, and then prepared to stand a watch.
 
Raphael and I volunteered to take the first shift, since I don’t think either of us would have slept in any case. We both knew well enough that the hours after midnight tend to be when undead are most active, and if the creature were to strike, that seemed like the most likely time. I suggested that we station ourselves in the village itself, but Raphael gestured to the circle he had made with the stones from his pack, and said that we would be safer to stay here. Again, I felt nothing from it, but, not wanting to watch alone, I agreed to stay in the camp if that was his preference.
 
We both sat with our hands resting on our swords, ready to act as soon as we saw anything amiss. As we waited, we spoke in low tones about the legend of the banshee - Raphael confided that he thought it might instead be some sort of hag. That made sense to me as a possibility, I know something of hags, and this did indeed sound like the sort of thing they might have done, but Arin had sounded very sure about the banshee and indeed his opinion was to be vindicated before another hour was out.
 
A light rain began to fall, with clouds gathering to cover the moons and stars, and I drew up the hood of my cloak against the chill night air. Time ticked by slowly, our conversation died away, and we just watched the darkness on the water for any change or sign of movement. I felt it before I saw it, it was a subtle presence but it made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and rise. I nudged Raphael, and we both stood, swords in hand, looking for the source of the disquiet. At first, it looked like just a thicker patch of mist, but as it moved closer the outline of a spectral figure became visible, moving swiftly across the swamp water. I let out a yell, trying to wake the camp, and pointed out to Raphael what I had seen. It was drifting rapidly towards the eastmost houses of the village, but as I called out, it seemed to hear me and to hesitate for a moment.
 
I felt my heart hammering in my chest, but drew in a deep breath, and remembered my training. I brought the prayer for protection against evil to my lips, and speaking the words aloud brought an immediate sense of calm, and readiness to face whatever this evil thing could throw at us. I expected to see Raphael follow suit, but was surprised to see that he took no such precaution, instead letting loose immediately with a magical blast which plowed harmlessly into the water, but definitely got the attention of the creature, which started to move towards us.
 
We were both shouting now, hoping to raise our companions from their sleep before the banshee was upon us. We were partially successful - apart from Wind, everyone was up and out of the tents by the time it had fully diverted from the houses to glide over towards us, hovering maybe twenty or thirty feet out over the water. Now it was closer, I could see it clearly, and there was no doubt that this was a foul spirit. If it had truly been beautiful in life, that beauty was long gone now. What was left of its face was decaying and ruined, its arms were crooked and skeletal, and the faint echo of rags hung about it in the mockery of an elegant robe.
 
As we watched it approach, the banshee threw back its head and let out a piercing shriek, a sound that seemed to go beyond the bounds of normal hearing and claw at the very inside of the mind. I was just regaining my composure when I heard a heavy sound beside me, and turned in time to see Raphael fall to his knees, hands over his ears, and then topple to the side, apparently knocked out cold by the harsh cry. Looking back at the others, I could make out that Orlando and Arin were down as well. Enessa was still on her feet, but bent over the prone form of Ussi, Wind I still couldn’t see anywhere. I exchanged a glance with Sabali and Zeni, who were still upright, supporting one another and both a bit pale (as I’m sure I was myself), but had at least survived the banshee’s unholy wailing.
 
I focused on the spirit, its eyes now locked on the bodies of my fallen friends, perhaps hoping that they would prove to be easy prey, and in my mind I formed the words of the ancient vow of enmity. As the sacred magic of the oath took shape and settled into place, I felt a great sense of purpose. But still, I knew that I could not face a powerful spirit like this without my comrades. Apart from anything else, it was still out over the water, and I certainly cannot shoot holy fire from my sword. It was ranged fighters that we needed now.
 
With this in mind, I turned my attention to Raphael and Orlando, both down. Raphael was right next to me, and so I channelled some rough and ready healing energy to bring him back to his feet. As soon as he was standing again, he let off another blast of silvery energy right at the banshee's face. How exactly he channels the Moonweaver’s power through his weapon I don’t know, and the magic still feels odd to me, but there is no denying that it is very effective. The shimmering light sliced into the spectre and briefly seemed to disrupt it’s integrity, causing a ripple to pass through its body and its unearthly glow to dim momentarily.
 
Both Sabali and Zeni meanwhile, were clearly preparing to hit it with magic of their own. Sabali was performing some of the flowing movements which I have often seen him practice in the early mornings or before sleep, but this time he varied the pattern, bringing his hands together sharply with a loud clap. Over the water a tiny point of disturbed air expanded quickly to form what seemed to be a large dome, covering the banshee and the area for some way around it completely. I have heard of such magic before - it silences and deafens anyone caught within its influence. It was quick thinking to use it against the wailing, but I feared that we had nothing with which to secure the banshee in place within the spell, so that it could easily escape the dome.
 
Zeni had once again summoned the spinning orb which I have seen her use several times now, and which seems to be shaped with the use of a tiny diamond which she keeps for this purpose. She loosed the magic into Sabali’s dome of silence and we watched as lightning flashed entirely soundlessly, reflecting on the water. It was an eerie sight, and the banshee writhed in obvious pain as the lightning bolts struck home. Zeni and Sabali both took the opportunity of its distraction to dodge away and take cover behind the tents.
 
The banshee seemed then to stare at each of us in turn, its face twisted up horribly, somehow contriving to make its appearance even more hideous than before. Wrapped securely in the cloak of my faith, I stared back at it, unmoved by this gruesome display of its corruption. Most of the others who could see it were obviously disgusted and horrified, but, if anything, they seemed renewed in their determination to take it down. Enessa on the other hand, was badly shaken by the sight. Ussi was still not moving, and she crouched beside him, trying to shield his body with her own. When she lifted her arm to place her hunter’s mark on the spectre, her hand was trembling so much that I thought she might be unable to form the spell, but all credit to her, she managed it despite the effort of will it clearly cost. More than that, she also somehow revived Arin, who looked very groggy, but least was alive.
 
A moment later I could see Arin kneeling by Orlando, doing his best to bring him round, but clearly too exhausted to summon the mental discipline needed to chanel Ioun’s divine will for a task as complex as healing through prayer. He had spent his reserves unstintingly both during and after the fight with the gnolls, and he had had almost no opportunity to rest before the banshee’s visit had disturbed our sleep. Strong as he is, I was not surprised that he was struggling now. Fortunately, I thought there might be something which I could do to help. Doubling back a few steps, I brushed my fingertips just for a second across Orlando’s brow, relying not on formal prayer but simply upon the faint echo of celestial vitality flowing in my own veins. I wasn’t sure that it would work, but it did, and better than I might have hoped.
 
To my great relief, Orlando sprang to his feet, and ran along the shoreline to get a better shot at the banshee, which had by now moved somewhat away from us and back towards the line of houses. In doing so, he passed into the silence dome, and so when he fired Bayou, only the puff of smoke from the barrel gave it away. Although we would most likely have guessed in any case, because of the way in which the fell spirit doubled over at the bullet's impact, before straightening and resuming its course towards the centre of the village
 
We needed to stop it, and fast, before it had the chance to drift through the flimsy walls and take anyone in their sleep. I heard the crackle of one of Raphael’s energy bolts, and a hiss as it struck the water. At the same time, Arin’s voice rang out, commanding the banshee to halt in the name of Ioun. I felt sure that this would work, so steady and resolute were his words, laced with Ioun’s holy power, but the banshee was not even slowed. Clearly we were dealing here with a powerful shade.
 
Looking back, Enessa was still tending to Ussi, who lay motionless on the ground. I thought that he must still be living, or she would have left him, but clearly his wounds were grave. Enessa herself was obviously very much afraid, the sight of the banshee having woken some deep and primal (and honestly very sensible) dread in her. I could not blame her, even the thought of a soul in everlasting torment, unable to find its rest, is terrifying. It should be terrifying. The fact that this one also wanted to kill us no doubt didn’t help either.
 
Finally, the banshee drifted close enough to one of the wooden walkways for us to target it directly, and Sabali ran forwards, tumbling and cartwheeling along the narrow planks. He shouted gleefully as he ran, only to be suddenly cut off in mid flow by his own silence spell. He was intending, I think, to distract the banshee, and perhaps it worked, because when it reached for him with its stick-thin arms, its claw-like hands stained with some sort of black energy, it missed him completely.
 
Raphael and I ran up close behind Sabali, although we both edged out much more carefully along the wet wood. Up close, the banshee was even more hideous, its eyes yellowish and streaked with red, the spectral memory of its flesh hanging down in strips. A visceral sense of evil was everywhere about it, tainting the air and making my stomach roil.
 
We both struck at it, hoping to finish it before it could move out of reach over the water again. I got in a reasonable enough hit, but the impact of my blows clearly paled beside the damage that the Moonweaver blade was doing - that sword truly is a mark of great and sacred favour. I was surprised that its very presence did not do more to drive back the sense of foulness emanating from the spirit, but perhaps the stink of the banshee was too strong. If anything, the sword’s presence almost seemed to intensify the chill of the night.
 
There were a few shots, both mundane and magical, from behind us which caught the banshee in the chest and flank, causing it to twist and snarl (or I think it would have been snarling were it not for the magical silence which still enveloped us). It lunged for us a couple of times, but each time we just managed to evade it’s grasp. At one point Sabali actually tried to reach out and grapple it - unsurprisingly his arms went right through, but somehow he managed to keep his balance, his hands and forearms coated with a thin sticky residue of ectoplasm.
 
Eventually Raphael broke the deadlock with a massive blow which caused the banshee to break and run. It headed south, towards the drier land, which was a serious tactical error on its part. There it could be pursued, and Sabali took off after it in a flash, covering ground so quickly that he almost became a blur. Arin and I rushed up after him, and arrived, panting, just in time to see him deliver a fierce rain of blows. Right over by the camp I could see Enessa drawing back her bow. She was clearly unwilling to come any closer to the water’s edge, and as a result the shot she was attempting was a difficult one, but it hit home nonetheless! I saw her smile with relief, obviously gaining confidence from seeing that the unnatural spirit could be struck by her arrows like any other quarry.
 
At that, the banshee took off again, this time heading out over the water, but it was too late. It was hit by attacks from Orlando and Sabali before finally succumbing to a bolt of divine energy from Raphael. The banshee’s form disintegrated over the lake, parts of its unnatural body sloughing off and dissolving as they hit the water, until there was nothing left. Raphael himself had leapt from the little jetty by the shoreline to make the line of the shot, and had ended up in the shallows himself. We fished him out before any of the ghost-ichor could contaminate him, and he seemed to be unhurt.
 
We checked on the inhabitants of each house, and everyone seemed to be okay, if a bit shaken up by what some had witnessed from their windows. Wind too, who had been felled by the wail of the banshee before she even had a chance to leave the tent, looked as though she would recover fine with some rest.
 
Before we turned in, Sabali shared a piece of information which disturbed me greatly. He was the only one to witness the demise of the banshee at relatively close quarters, and he told us that in its final moments, its face had transformed into that of Altria, the Drynnan apothecary. Which makes no sense at all.
 
I really don’t know what to make of his account - Sabali said himself that it could have been a trick of his own mind, and indeed I pray that it was, because the other possible explanations are none of them good.
 
Anyway, right now I need my sleep, tomorrow will be soon enough for speculation.