Castle Maladil - RPG

[TheLadyAerowen]

The ghost stood in front of Aislan and Alearindu, and bowed cheerfully. Aislan
and Alearindu returned the gesture. Aislan looked on in astonishment as it tried
to pat the horses, to no avail. His hand vanished through Mornen’s black coat
and Eruntale’s muzzle. Whinny breathed with difficulty, and her steps faltered
with the wound to her thigh.

“Calimiel … know … herb?” the ghost had turned to Aislan and said. Alearindu
heard nothing, but could make out a kind of heat-wave form standing near the
horses. After the ghost had spoken, Aislan translated for Alearindu what she
could.

“Who is Calimiel? Whinny,” Aislan went to the horse and examined the wound.
“Whinny is poisoned in some way.” Aislan felt ridiculous. She was talking to a
ghost! Could he even hear her? Or did he hear her the way she heard him?

“Herbs…yes! We need to clean the wound. Can you help?" Alearindu wished she
could somehow see this ghost-form that Aislan was speaking with. It’d make it
that much easier for her to try to communicate with it. But instead, she relied on Aislan who could actually see the ghost better than she could.

Alearindu walked over to Mornen’s side, and put a hand on his neck. She then
whispered to Aislan, “If I had to guess, Calimiel would be another ghost around
this Castle that your ghost knows. What I figure, is that this ghost is at least
nice to us, so maybe this Calimiel would be; therefore Calimiel could help us
heal Whinny...” Alearindu shrugged and withrew her hand from the wound in her side that had been reopened by the Orc arrow. She frowned slightly, but figured it would heal a bit quicker since the wound had been reopened; but she would like to re-bandage and clean
it, if she could find the time.

"Calimiel ... knows ... herb lore," came the reply from the ghost. He looked
meaningfully at Whinny, and the horse grunted. They'd need to clean the wound.
Not only that, they'd have to do something about Alearindu's opened wound.
Aislan's thoughts were interrupted as she heard a gasp from Alearindu next to
Mornen.

"Aislan! Look! There," Alearindu pointed to a haystack, and it seemed the hay
had been freshly laid, as though the ghost stable lad expected new live horses
to visit. The haystack seemed ordinary in every way, except for the pitchfork
sticking out of the middle of the mound of hay. The pitchfork was firmly lodged
in the chest cavity of a complete skeleton.
Aislan looked to Alearindu, complete surprise covering her face. Then she
motioned towards the stable ghost they had met. Alearindu nodded.

"How-how old do you think it is?" Aislan wondered aloud, though her voice was a
barely audible whisper. The two women tiptoed closer to the haystack; as if they
were afraid moving loudly would cause it to go away. Daerohil still floated near
Whinny behind them. They came to the haystack, and kneeled down in front of the
pitchfork and skeleton.

Alearindu studied the bones with her eyes, and then to her dismay, got curious
as to how old it was. Aislan noted this, and handed Alearindu her dagger. Aislan
watched as Alearindu tapped the bones of the ribcage lightly. The part of the
bone that was touched turned to dust, falling into the spaces of the hay and
leaving a space from one edge of the rib to the other. Handing the dagger back
to Aislan, Alearindu stood back up and turned away from the bones.

"Well, I guess it's safe to say he died a long time ago," Aislan said weakly as
she stood back up. "Anyways, I can clean Whinny's wound, but she might be
poisoned and I need more than water, a cleaner and a rag to get poison out of a horse's bloodstream." Alearindu nodded, still thinking about the misfortune of the stable hand. She glanced towards the heat-wave form, which she guessed to be the ghost of the boy, and tears threatened to fall from her eyes. She bowed her head and sighed softly. So much mystery lied just in the stables. What would the rest of the castle be like? Aislan returned to stand next to Eruntale and the floating Daerohil, and could feel her stomach turn at the thought of the bones belonging to the ghost next to her. Poor thing, stabbed with a pitchfork. No wonder Maladil had called them marauders.

[ February 25, 2003: Message edited by: TheLadyAerowen ]