After the Storytelling at the Crossroads...

[RollinsCat]

*A man strolls to the fountain on a windy evening in Port Hempstead.  He's tall, well over six feet, slender but not skinny with walnut-dark skin.  His long black hair rustles in the gathering breeze as he hops on a bench facing out toward the massive wooden gates.  His strong tenor carries over the stone-paved square.*

Ladies, Gentlemen, I bid you to sit so that I, Andrew Reid, might bring you a tale, both spoken and sung, from oceans away.  A tale of greed, murder, and comeuppance, but no less horrible for that.  This is the story of a Hi no Tana, what you call a will o' wisp.

*He gestures, and a small group of people gather -- a few shopkeepers and market women, heads cocked in skeptic anticipation; several giggling children; and two finely dressed elven men.*

I share this as I've just earned a prize in a contest *he holds aloft a lantern of a carved pumpkin, the cut-out smile either warm and vaguely frightening depending on the viewer* and I'm feeling rather good about it. So perhaps my simple joy will spread to you.

*He clears his throat softly*. Once, years before even you children of Voltrex *nods to the elves* were laid for the first time into your mother's arms, there was a bog, a little bog, skirting the shores near a port city far, far away.

The legends spoke of a chest fully as long as a man and twice as wide *he gestures a double-wide coffin shape with his hands*, full of stolen diamonds and emeralds, deep in the center of this little bog. A clever raider had supposedly stolen these gems from the dark elves of the Deep and buried them in the bog while under pursuit so he could get them when the commotion died down.

But that unnamed pirate of old never returned for them; at least, he was never seen or heard from again. *He bends a little toward the audience, gesturing as he speaks*

What that pirate didn't know?  That everyone avoided this place.  The bog trembled, shook as a sleeping man does when he's having a nightmare; little tremors, hither and thither *he quivers his hand across the air*.  The ground would feel solid as wood, make a confident tap-tap under one's boots, until it SUDDENLY *he ducks into a crouch* would give way, dousing one into the stinking muck, and sucking at boots, feet and legs as if it didn't want to let go.  And the bog was haunted -- haunted by the spirits of every man, woman, and child that had ever been sucked beneath the slimy surface.

Time passed, and by and by locals started speaking of a globe of light moving over the marshy ground and hearing a thready voice singing on bleak, dark nights in the haunted bog.  They spoke of a song of treasure untold...

*He begins to sing, his deep tenor restrained to a hoarse whisper.*

"Come see my treasure, come over here...buried 'neath the quaking earth...glimmer, glitter, sparkle, shimmer...free me and it's yours...

Search beneath, down, under...deep they came and deep you plunder...rich beyond your wildest dreams...free me and it's yours..."

Well.  Word of this song got around town, spreading like only a rumor -- or a bad rash -- can.  Most sane folks continued to avoid the area.  Fear of spirits and the evil they can say and do is strong, and for good reason.

But.  There is always a but, isn't there? But, there were two men who were skeptical, desperate, and poor enough to start planning liberation of the captive gems.  They acquired shovels, rope, gaffes, prying bars, staves, planks, and lanterns *motions as if he were packing things*; and one chill winter night, under the black blanket of a new moon, they set off to lay claim to the reputed treasure.

It was not a long trek, but the walk left them numb with cold.  

The battered sand road that ran parallel to the beach seemed normal enough; but as they drew closer to the bog, icy tendrils of wind like cold little breaths came at them, whispering down their cloaks and around their gloves. *He shivers, rubbing his arms.*

After quite a time, lugging all their equipment, they reached the marshy area.  The two men immediately began to lay a path to the center with the planks.  When they reached the center of the bog, and only then, did they hear the singing.

*His voice once again drops, now an eerie whisper that still manages to echo in the square.*

"Seekers, brave, here you are, but only one will leave...riches great but greed is greater, one sets to deceive...who will win the prize, my seekers?  Who will set me free?...And who will bleed in this wet grave, to join the rotting debris?"

*He looks around, pantomiming fear*

Nervous though they were, still the desire for wealth without work won the day.  Giving each other suspicious glances, they set to probing for the chest.  The moment the gaffe dipped into the slime and muck, the song continued, and from behind them there was light...

"Who wishes to see someone dying, who wishes to sees someone dead?  Who has even now, a heavy wood bough, to crack over someone's ripe head?"

The men stopped, turned, and stared at each other.  One had the wooden-handled gaffe; the other held a wooden stave.  Behind them, a circular light about the size of a fist was darting back and forth.  *He reaches behind him, mumbling a spell, and brings his hands around -- there is a clear stone in his hand, surrounded by a nimbus of light.  He holds the stone, weaving it before him as if the light were bobbing about*  

But the men didn't seem to notice.

The men held up their weapons, eyes locked together.  Again the thin, reedy whisper *he swings the light-spelled rock in excited circles and again sings in a ghostly voice*:

"Only one can live, but two want riches...who will strike first?  Whose weapon twitches?"

The man holding the staff swung, but the gaffe hit first - dead center in the other man's chest.  *He falls back, clutching his chest*.  The man with the staff flew back into the mire, sinking ever so slowly as the light flared and throbbed.  *He murmurs some arcane words and the bobbing light bursts into a brief but eye-searing ball of light, streaks of it leaving trails in the eyes of the audience.*

The man with the gaffe turned and sunk deep in the center, sparing not a moment to look at his still-breathing former friend dying by degrees behind him.  His eyes gleamed, and still he did not seem to notice the light.  His gaffe hooked something -- he tugged, eager, leaning forward to hook whatever heavy object he'd found.  *The bard kneels on the bench and makes pulling motions.*

But the object was heavy -- and in his blind desire, he fell into the muck.  Struggling to hold the gaffe and his treasure, kicking and reaching for something solid, his panicked eyes finally alighted on the aura of light --

"Take hold now, grab on, and preserved you'll be -- reach for the light, reach for me..."

He thrust up his hand, but as his fingers touched the nimbus, he screamed, for the light now seemed to suck on his fingertips with a vampiric force. *He moans, holding out the glowing stone up toward the sky with a shaking hand.*  His eyes sunk back, his teeth rattled, and slowly the light shifted color -- the white lifting, dissipating, while a sickly yellow crept in.

And as the white light faded into the coal dark sky, one last song was heard...

"You preserved and I am free and bound no more because of greed...you now guard a treasure clutch of gems and baubles you may not touch..."

And the last sound heard was of soft, mad laughter drifting on the swamp breezes.

The ochre-yellow light remained, frantically dashing about, here, there, stopping to buzz over the dead companion, then returning to the single arm still reaching out of the bog water, fingers reaching skyward in a supplicating plea....

*He dashes the lighted stone around, here, there, as a scared child looking for its mother.*

But the bodies sank, both of them.  And children in the town of my birth know to stay away from that bog...and to keep avarice and greed from their hearts, so not to be seduced by the song of evil.

*He bows to scattered applause, more from the children than the adults, and juggles the glowing stone (badly) for the little knot of eager young faces. He then drops the stone into the hand of a girl no more than eight years old and closes her fingers over it.*  The light will fade in a few hours, lovely litte one, but until then...*She squeals her delight and the children run off after making sure he had no more glowing rocks, playing with the light-spelled stone and pretending to be wisps in the evening dusk.*

[darkstorme]

Elsewhere in Hempstead, in a small tavern near Allurial's Tribute, a slender elven bard takes the stage.  She plucks out an old elven lament on the harp she carries, but stills the strings on the penultimate chord, leaving the pattern unresolved.  Then she begins a recitation in a cool, clean alto:

Long years ago, I went to sea;
With four companions - four and me.
We sought to find a treasure hidden - bidden by my bardic lore.
For I had read of this great treasure,
And my friends, possessed of leisure,
Thought it a tremendous pleasure to explore a distant shore.
So we paid a merchant captain - for to take us to that shore.
This in fourteen twenty-four.

My four companions, brave and true,
I'll introduce them all to you -
For all that follows takes its tone - alone, but for these valiant four.
I'd met them during the Dark Ages
Before I'd read those fateful pages
And in that endless winter's rages saw these worthies grant succour
Surely 'twas a sign that they were Good, and righteous, this succour
As a means to aid the poor.

Richard was a mighty lion
Rofi's flag on his breast flyin'
Defender of the just and lawful - awful to those less than pure.
Still, he warded well the weak
Backed up the righteous, helped the meek
And was a trusty blade to have when trav'ling where few had before.
And so accompanied our party, as I've told you all before.
As we set out to explore.

Allarial, an elven ranger,
Always had a nose for danger,
And always dove in headlong, heedless, needless save a taste for war.
But her skills with bow and blade
Of her a good companion made
Particularly when facing creatures that might bite, and claw, and roar
While defending long-lost treasure - Allarial could stop that roar
With her bow and blade, and more.

Gatalin, now, he was a mage.
With power fitting to his age.
No archmage yet, but spellwork growing, glowing, learning more and more.
Always there to lend a hand
Or spell - for instance, firebrand,
His combat prowess granted - granted, by the tomes o'er which he'd pore.
His power valued still in combat, from the tomes o'er which he'd pore.
When we set out to explore.

Finally, we come to Kleef,
Let's not mince words - he was a thief.
His morals bound him from abusing, using those who needed more.
Those, instead, he chose to aid
From ill-got gains their needs were paid
A friend to those in times of need, and friend also to me therefore.
For any who will aid the poor and starving gain my aid forevermore.
This, at last, completes the four.

We set out to a lonely cave
Our hearts were high, our spirits brave
With confidence we'd find the gold, enboldened did our spirits soar.
So deep into the cave we trod
To find the place below the sod
Where gems and gold and filigree would wealth into our coffers pour.
But little did we know that red the floors would run - as blood would pour.
And spill our lives upon the floor.

Into the dark we four did go
To test our mettle 'gainst the foe
But opposition all was missing, hissing from the dark'ning hoar
Grouped together, still we travelled
While our plans all came unravelled
We reached a doorway - archway? - that was lower than the ones before
And there lay, upon a plinith, riches, jewels by the score
All that we had hoped, and more.

And yet, from in the darkness 'round
There came a sudden, ghastly sound
Of moans and groans and clat'ring bones, and something not heard heretofore.
A howling, done in vicious reds
That tore one's very mind to shreds
And left one gibb'ring, terrified, knees buck'ling, pitching to the floor
No spell or song could come to mind, all wiped out by that hideous roar.
Then Richard cried out "Bar the door!"

Galvanized, our limbs unfroze
And woke us from our scared repose
We slammed the grating down, and found some skeletons'd slipped in before
But as they fell beneath our blades
True darkness, inky ebon shades
Slid through the grating, blotting out the lights although we cried for more
And from deep within that darkness came again that ghastly roar.
Then it hissed "Open the door."

As though a toy, I felt my hand
Start to comply with the demand
But Richard grabbed my hand and hissed, "Resist, or we are all done for!"
I felt the urge begin to drain
The creature moaned, as if in pain
And then the call came forth again, with more force than it had before.
In the same inhuman rumble, the voice inside our heads did roar
Demanding now "Open the door!"

Not e'en facing walking dead
Had I before e'er felt such dread
And yet my hands kept flying, trying still to lift the door.
Again, my hands were knocked aside
And that was how poor Richard died
For Gatalin a spell had cried that left him gasping on the floor
And Gatalin stepped over him, his eyes a sleepwalker's stupor.
And then he opened up the door.

Then darkness fell, and though I tried
To cast a spell, 'twas then I died.
And though the bindstone whisked me off, my mind will dwell there evermore
For as the bindstone took its toll,
I felt the *creature* grasp my soul
And if it had but seconds longer, stronger wills would tumble o'er.
So I beg you, if you venture to seek treasure on a distant shore
Never open you the door.
My friends will venture nevermore.