Utterly Mad

There were lights. Small multicolored lights floating in the darkness. By the dim light of the moon Ferret could see it. A huge serpentine form composed of bone, metal, and those dancing lights. Lydia was no where to be seen. Ferret wondered in split moment she had whether she had evaded this thing or if it had noticed her. The question was answered as it struck out like a serpent, smashing through the column as if it were little more than delicate glass and throwing Ferret aside like a paper doll. The balcony the pillar had supported collapsed and gave Ferret a moment to regain her footing as the greater demon tried to withdraw from the pile of rubble. She stumbled once and it saved her life as it pounced, soaring mere inches above her. She could see the entrance was clear now, but this thing would never allow her to reach it. Ferret stood again and held her sword before her, ready for it's next strike, and searched frantically for any sign of her friend. All she saw was a dim mist near the gate. A very dull white thing, sad in a way. It vaguely resembled human form, but there was very little substance to it. It was certainly her. Ferret knew very little of ghosts, but she guessed that they shouldn't appear so... drained. It angered her, and that anger she had been taught to take hold of. To temper, to forge into something useful, and to show her foe what she had wrought with it.

She was only out for a few minutes. The demon worried that it had killed its prey too quickly. A very short caesura of beauteous music, and then nothing. It had gone limp. He watched it for many long minutes, lashing out at any undead that drew too near. By the time she had awoken, almost all of the walking corpses were scattered across the chapel floor. It was when she did awake, that it realized it had made a terrible mistake. In it's worry over whether or not she was dead, it had neglected to divest her of her weapon. More over, it had drawn very close to her. Her eyes shot open, she blinked, winced, and then with a quick movement she lashed out. The swing was weak in the extreme, but there was fury in that attack and the steel blade bit deep into the skull with a blessing the girl had never known. The candle engraving above it's hilt flashed a bright white while a black fire wreathed the length of the blade starting from the deer skull engraved on it's inverse and continued it's arc through the demon's skull. Bone splinters flew, black fire licked at the demons very being, and a sort of sucking sensation filled Ferrets senses. The sword had taken something from the demon and had given it to her. Her back seemed no longer ablaze with hot fury, and when the demon attempted to pull away from the girl with the accursed sword, it pulled her up with it. It seemed that the demon could do nothing to dislodge the blade, but Ferret could. She pulled it free effortlessly and struck again. What was left of the skull fell away along with a mass of black vapor. The black fire did not emerge again, but it didn't have to. It hadn't healed her but it had dulled the pain. The demon attempted to flee but Ferret struck again, this time taking a large slice of plate metal and leather. She stabbed and slashed at the demon, and it screamed it's agony and rage. It could not match that weapon whose makers had intended it for just this purpose. It couldn't see. It couldn't feel. The urge to escape had left it. With a final groan, the colored lights within it's form winked out, it's body dispersed, and the suit of scraps it had accumulated collapsed to the chapel floor. There was no time to dwell on what had just happened and what she had just accomplished. Ferret scanned the dark for the vaguely glowing vapor she had seen before. She spotted Lydia right away, she had moved to a sitting position against the door. "Are you alright?" Ferret asked as she approached, putting her hand to her back. Lydia slowly looked up in her direction, not quiet seeing her. Her lips moved, Ferret nearly missed what she said. It came like a voice caught on a distant breeze. "I'm... fine. Slipped ... grasp... will be..." She had to get quiet close to hear much of anything from her. From what she could gather the demon had been hiding, tucked away in the darkness above. It had noticed them and used the commotion to get close, then struck when they had separated. Lydia had been drained of a huge measure of her essence, but had somehow managed to slip away. "We have to get out of here Lydia. I think my back might be done for. My sword did... something. I can't feel a thing. I don't think I can carry you, but I'll do what I can." Lydia mumbled something, and when Ferret asked her to repeat herself and leaned closer the ghost grabbed her by the shoulder. There was a terrible cold sensation that ran from her shoulder and into her chest. Her back flared to life for a moment, but Lydia seemed to regain a bit of herself. "I'm sorry. I'll not take much." Ferret nearly recoiled, but realized what Lydia was doing. Of all the strange beliefs about the undead, none was less disputed than a spirits ability to steal the strength of the living. Her back ached and her ankle felt sore. Lydia had regained a bit of color. "I don't know... How long your boon will last Ferret." She said, pushing against the door to regain her footing. "I'm sorry about that." Ferret rubbed her back and also stood. "It's fine. Let's just find a place to rest. We're both hurt and we need time to recover."

Ferret had only just started to squeeze through the doors she had forced open only that morning what something grabbed her by the wrist of her right arm and wrenched her from the doorway. Her confusion gave way to terror as she recognized the tall porclain clad figure and it's needle filled hole of a face lifting her high into the air. "Ferret? what's-" Lydia had emerged and saw what was happening. What was about to happen. "It's ours!" came the many voices from that hole, "Such a quarry never gave us such trouble, but it's ours now!" Ferret felt the last whisps of demon essence being sucked away by this monster, and the strange sickening feeling of the flesh in her wrist softening. She reached for her sword with her left hand, but the draw was clumsy. Regardless the elf saw the move and slapped her hard, releasing his iron grip and sending her tumbling to the ground and her sword sailing into some dark pool nearby. Her bag split and the contents spilled out. Lydia screamed something, but Ferret didn't hear it. All her attention was focused on the elf stooping to pick something out of her collection of artifacts. It had taken a long curved dagger which seemed to fit it's hand wonderfully. She saw it examine the knife with what must have been recognition. Lydia screamed again and Ferret realized she was calling for help. A hopeless call to any that could hear. The elf stooped again and this time wrapped it's long, wicked fingers around her throat and raised her to eye level. Her breath burned, more over, it choked her. The monster holding her didn't need to strangle her, it just needed to hold her. The foul vapor of decay filled her lungs and stopped her breath. The elf held the knife before her eyes. She couldn't hear Lydia anymore, she couldn't hear anything anymore. The knife moved forward in a practiced movement carried out by hands whose alacrity had not been diminished by time and madness. Fortunately for Ferret, she saw and felt none of it. Fortunately for Ferret, she had passed out.

A dream. Here she was just 'Nora.' At home, no one called her Ferret. She was lying awake in her bed, listening to her father and her tutor discussing the goings on in the world. "The hollow legion has gathered and is on the move, hard to tell what's rallying them. For now, they seem content to harass the ratkind that venture too far towards the ruins of the central kingdom." Explained Stam, "To make matters worse, the Zantian military is in shambles after the recent civil war and the Iron lich has seized the fifth spire. Not that there was anyone to stop him." Nora could smell the smoke of her fathers pipe and the acrid smell of burning pine resin. She could imagine him staring deep into the fireplace, working out in his head the implication of what his old friend had told him. He would take a long draw from his pipe and then blow the smoke out in a long stream through his greying mustache. "What will happen do you think?" He asked. Stam responded immediately, "The hollow legion will stay where it is unless whatever is driving it decides it needs to guide it in this direction, the Zantian city states will divide up the country along pretty much the same border lines as before, and the Iron lich... The Iron lich will almost certainly turn his eye towards either towards Il-wooch, Sunken Gulgatha, or Bright Point. Any way it goes, it would be a disaster." It was the first time she had heard the name of the sunken city. She rolled it around in her head. "Gulgatha." She would ask Stam about it later. Even though she had never heard the name before, it had grabbed her. The name alone fascinated her, called to her. "Gulgatha." Her father was speaking again. "I need to go to Gulgatha then." Stam raised his voice, "Out of the question. You'll do little more than make your wife a widow and deprive your daughter of her father." Her father had probably shaken his head. She heard him start to explain that he had his grandfathers things, many notes. She would have heard him try to reason that if their heirloom wasn't reclaimed, it might never be. Would have heard Stams argument against it, against even bothering to stir up that place, but the dream had begun to grow hazy and distant. Her father had finally relented to staying away from that place. "Gulgatha." Nora thought, the name ringing in her mind.

"Out of the question." said the unfamiliar voice, clearly dismayed. "I am against it, it is out of the question." "Really?" said her tutor, "Really? You were fine with genocide but not this? I agree that it is entirely distasteful, but she has volunteered. You can't flood Nora's body with enough magic to power it without killing her. What do you think is better for this spirit? Slowly fading into oblivion, or..."

The colors faded and all was dark for a time more, and then suddenly, they were back.
"Good, the tab is in place, as are the rods and stints. The... power source is in place. I think we can put her back now."
"She braved the depths for these." said the familiar voice of Stam. "It is strange coincidence in no positive way that she will now use them as her ancestors did. They don't... go in... before you put her back?"
"They don't have to, but if I put them in now they might disrupt the siphon. Set them aside a moment and help me with..."

"...until she is well enough to travel on her own. As for you though, you are to leave Gulgatha as soon as she can travel." An argument. "I'll sing in the court of the elven kings if you think I am going to leave you here in possession of-" Cut off with a shout "MY FREEDOM!" There was an aggressive triumph in that voice, "Aye, you were the bard, and still are, but for the time being you are no longer welcome here. I have my freedom! I have my city! Above all, I have had time. Time to think, and long did I think. Who else could it have been that disassembled the automaton and sealed it against me? Who else but the man who built it?" The unfamiliar voice calmed suddenly, "You are my friend, but your betrayal gives me pause. I will take my freedom. I will think on what you have done a bit longer. Surely, I will find it in my withered heart to forgive, but I cannot forget. Perhaps you will be called back. I think..."

You have suffered serious, near fatal, injury. It is due to the care and expediency with which our mutual 'friend' brought you to me that your life was saved. Unfortunately, the marks of your injuries are ones that will never fade. It can be very difficult getting used to a prosthetic. Fortunately, yours is particularly fine and we managed to attach and integrate it with some ease. Take your time and get used to it. Try tossing something from one hand to the other, touching your thumb to each finger in sequence, or simply experimenting with gestures. A final warning, DO NOT ALLOW PLATINUM TO COME INTO CONTACT WITH YOUR PROSTHETIC. The properties of platinum will damage your prosthetic in a way that cannot easily be repaired.

The rest of the note was nonsense. Even that which wasn't nonsense seemed absurd. She sifted through the others, looking more carefully, and found that a majority of the terribly written pages were of much the same ramblings.