The Chronicle, Session 4

The Ritual is Begun

The mystery of Eilleann's death had drawn the adventurers to the ill-maintained row house of Brion's parents, Onchu and Dairine. Gathering behind the ramshackle dwelling, they listened as an angry voice rose from within. A man's drunken shouting—surely Onchu's—rang through the walls, while a woman's quieter voice attempted to soothe him. Though the words could not be made out, the tone alone spoke volumes.

Saya'da, never one to stand idle while others suffered, prepared to force her way inside. Tyrm first examined a shuttered window, only to discover it was barred from within. He then checked the back door and found it locked as well.

"Does anybody have a key?" he asked.

Cire answered by producing his thieves' tools and a selection of skeleton keys. Working quickly beneath mounting tension, he attempted to open the lock, but haste betrayed him and the mechanism refused to yield. At that moment, a frightened cry from within shattered any remaining patience.

At Tyrm's urging, Saya'da drew her hand axe and struck the door with a powerful blow, splintering the wood. Instantly, all sound inside ceased. She raised the axe again, but the second strike glanced harmlessly from the damaged timber.

Before a third could fall, the door swung open.

Standing in the doorway was a large, fat, and drunk middle-aged man: clearly Onchu. Yet despite his size and bluster, the sight of the fierce berserker glowering before him caused his courage to evaporate. He backed away immediately.

The adventurers entered.

The interior proved even more miserable than the exterior suggested. Dirt and neglect stained every surface. The furnishings were sparse, and the atmosphere carried the weight of years of poverty and unhappiness.

Kildun quickly established control of the situation, directing Onchu to sit on the floor beneath the stairs. Dairine retreated silently to one of the home's few chairs. While Saya'da remained beside the frightened woman, Tyrm began searching the house. Cire suggested returning to the matter that had brought them there in the first place: Brion.

Though intimidated by the party's presence, Brion's parents offered little that was truly new. Their son had long been troubled, following too closely in his father's footsteps. Drink consumed much of his life. Dairine had once hoped that his relationship with Eilleann might reform him, but the young couple's frequent arguments suggested otherwise. Whatever promise had existed between them had ultimately failed.

Among Brion's few belongings, the party discovered a handwritten note from Eilleann hidden beneath his sleeping pallet—a small but poignant reminder of the doomed romance.

The visit revealed another truth as well.

Though Onchu denied any wrongdoing, his lies were transparent. Dairine scarcely needed to speak. Her posture, her fear, and her careful silences told the story plainly enough. The adventurers came away convinced that the old drunk regularly abused his wife.

When their questioning concluded, Tyrm surprised everyone by placing two silver pieces into Onchu's hand to compensate for the damaged door before departing the house.

Cire suggested that the party make a habit of stopping by daily to ensure Onchu behaved himself. Neither husband nor wife seemed enthusiastic about the proposal. Saya'da, however, made her feelings unmistakably clear. She warned Onchu that any future mistreatment of Dairine would carry consequences.

The threat required no elaboration.

Leaving the house behind, the adventurers discussed all they had learned. Tori shared what she knew of local customs and laws, helping the others understand how such matters might be addressed. Cire proposed taking the matter of Brion before the local lord, perhaps securing a bounty for the missing man's capture—or death. Tori, however, urged the party not to lose sight of the more immediate concern.

Eilleann's spirit still wandered. The dead girl deserved peace.

Returning to the Sheep's Rest Inn, the companions sought advice from Torla regarding an audience with the local lord. There they learned that any official business would have to wait until morning. With that settled, attention shifted fully toward the night's grim task: the Rite of Rest.

Preparations occupied much of the evening. Plans were debated at length. How should Tori be protected while she performed the ritual? Would shields even matter against an incorporeal spirit? Should archers be stationed in the trees? Could mercenaries be hired to reinforce their numbers? Eventually, a plan developed as decisions were made.

Brandulfr's silvered weapons were made available for use. Cire lent Tyrm money for the purchase of a large shield. Torches were acquired to illuminate the ritual site. Holy water was purchased to serve as a weapon against the undead. Even a wineskin was prepared, should any fallen companion require revival.

Most importantly, the party hired reinforcements.

Their efforts secured the services of two medium infantry mercenaries and a light crossbowman. Tyrm intended to join the infantrymen in forming a protective wall around Tori during the ritual. Though costly, the arrangement promised additional security.

At last, preparations were complete.

Near midnight, the company journeyed to the Trysting Glade.

Torches were planted throughout the clearing, driving back the darkness beneath the ancient trees. Mercenaries and adventurers alike took up their assigned positions. Weapons were checked one final time. Nervous glances passed between companions as the appointed hour approached.

Then the clock struck midnight. Tori stepped forward. Kneeling upon the sacred ground, she placed Eilleann's ring before her. Resting her palm above it, she began the ancient invocation.

"Eilleann, child of breath and bone, 
Taken before your days were done,
Your voice, stolen, your path, broken—
but not erased..."

The words echoed through the glade, the air suddenly grew cold... and a shriek split the night.

Before the ritual circle, Eilleann's spectral form manifested in a flash of ghostly light. Her face was twisted by pain and fury. Rather than accepting the invitation to rest, the spirit screamed and hurled herself directly toward Tori.

Violence erupted.

Both sides reacted with supernatural speed, yet the adventurers moved first. Cire loosed a silver-tipped arrow. The missile flew true with uncanny precision, and struck home.

The spirit of Eilleann shrieked in agony as the silver bit into her ethereal form. For an instant her outline flickered and wavered. Then she vanished.

Invisible once more, the restless dead stalked the torchlit glade, and the fate of the ritual remained uncertain...