Ruby's Journal - Game Session 2, Entry 1
Note - Sorry to have been so bad with this. There are 3 entries for the 2nd game session. I'm still editing 2 and working on 3 ... and there's a game session tomorrow.
Galaran 21st, 1064
I will do my best to relate the events of last night through the fog that I inflicted upon my mind. If I do not tell the tale now, I may forget to do so later. Perhaps I will come back and rewrite this when my head isn’t so diluted by drink.
Last night, we staked out the road once more, heading in the direction of the next caravan. If the ghost or bandits were going to strike, it would be tonight. Doyle ran ahead of us. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it was to notify us of any attack to the caravan.
When the moon was high in the sky, an unnatural mist rolled in. We could only see a few footsteps ahead of us. As we stopped to get our bearings, a figure out of dream and shadow appeared before us. He was exactly as McKennit described him. He was dressed in old tattered clothing, and the wind cut right through him. He held the pistol out, aiming it for my chest.
“Stand and Deliver,” he said. My attention was so focused on the apparition before me, that I barely heard Orcy’s choked cry of fear and his large feet pounding the earth as he ran in terror.
“Are you flesh, or are you spirit?” I asked, holding my hands up. Regardless of what the creature before us was, I was certain of one thing, it brought death with it.
“Does it matter? Either way, you’ll still be dead,” it replied. “Throw down your weapons.” I did without hesitation, knowing my most deadly weapon was still on me. I had a few magical tricks up my sleeves.
“I am not armed,” I heard Jorsca comment from behind me. I knew that was untrue, but mentally smiled at his cleverness. Jorsca normally kept his daggers hidden under his large red coat. I heard the others throw down their weapons. Then the apparition vanished as shouts and sounds of combat could be heard from up ahead.
I grabbed my sword and ran. The others followed, yet despite our speed, we arrived too late. The caravan had already been robbed. Doyle and the other caravan guards were nursing their wounds when we arrived.
“Whatever they are, they’re flesh and blood,” Doyle said. “I hit them, they’re solid.”
We began our search, the mist making things difficult. Since it did not move, Jorsca and I deduced that it was a magically created mist and that it would dissipate in a few more moments. In the meantime, we split up, searching for signs or tracks. It was Aislinn who found the bandits’ blood and once the mists cleared, she used her skills to track those foul men to their layer. Only it wasn’t as easy as that.
The trail Ash had found led us to the crossroads by the old inn. There, standing in the cross roads, was another figure out of dream and shadow. This one seemed different than the one before. I could see his handsome face, his old clothing, and the lost expression upon that handsome face.
“I’ve got this,” I told the others as I stepped out onto the road. The ghostly man looked at me, his face almost pleading with me. I smiled at him, almost meaning it.
“You look lost, sugar,” I said to him as I approached. He nodded. Though I had thought he was the same creature that had just appeared to us, there was something much different about him, sadness and longing that felt familiar to me.
“Yes, I’m trying to find the inn,” he replied. His voice was different. Perhaps he and the other ghost were not the same.
“Which inn?” I asked. I knew the answer, but I wanted to confirm my suspicions.
“There is only one inn,” he replied, telling me the name of the old inn. I don’t really remember the name, for the night was filled with mysteries and violence.
I’m not sure how, perhaps it was something inside of me, but through the moonlight, darkness, and mist, I led the Highwayman to the burned down inn. We all froze at the sight before us.
The inn stood once more, the white washed walls almost glowing in the pale moonlight. We all stood in shock and awe, becoming the audience to this old, wondrous tale. The Highwayman rode up to the inn. As he approached, a window on the second floor opened. A raven haired beauty looked out and smiled at him. Her smile was one of love and triumph.
“My love, I’ve been waiting for you for so long,” she said to him. My heart stirred as I watched him approach her. He stood on his horse, stretching his hands to her. She bent down and their hands touched. The scene faded into the night, leaving us in darkness and awe.
Was that what love was? Caring for someone so much, that even after death, you waited for them, in the darkness, in between time and memory.
It took us all a few moments to get over the shock of what we had just seen. We all looked at each other, attempting to confirm that we had just witnessed two spirits being united. We decided to continue on before the bandit’s trail began to get cold. If that was the ghost of the Highwayman, then what, or who, stopped us earlier.
Aislinn, using her knowledge of the wild inherited from her wise mother, discovered that the tracks did indeed lead to the old inn. Jorsca, our clever gypsy, searched the remains, combing every inch. He discovered the old ground cellar, the door hidden by dirt and fallen leaves. Doyle took hold of the handle and pulled it open. It was no match for his strength. We descended, not sure what lay beneath us.
We had only taken a few steps downward when Jorsca discovered the remains of a wire that had been attached to the door. Whoever or whatever was down here, knew we were coming. We drew our weapons and continued our descent. We reached the door, Jorsca and Doyle going ahead of us. Jorsca’s swift fingers felt around the door, checking it for any unseen traps.
“Enter my inn, and all of you will die,” said a haunting voice from behind us. We all turned and saw the apparition from before. His pistol was out and pointed at us. I stood before the group, placing myself between him and them. I still don’t know why. Perhaps because I just didn’t care about dying. No one would really miss me.
As I spoke, I heard a deafening sound. Pain and blood blossomed from my shoulder and the ghost moved through us and through the door before us. I reached up and touched my shoulder, the pain putting me into a state of shock. I looked at my hand, blood covered it.
I don’t know what happened after that. My mind, my eyes, my soul, could not look away from the blood on my hands. I could feel fire around me. I could hear Jasmin scream as the building collapsed on us. I could see the face of my master as he died beneath me.
Kamaria’s cool touch snapped me out of the memories I had hoped were buried. I felt her pouring her goddess’s power into my body. The wound in my shoulder began to close and the bleeding stopped.
“Thanks, Kami,” I said, snapping my friendly mask into place. I nodded to Doyle. He threw open the door and tossed in Jorsca’s sunrod. We cautiously entered the room, still unsure as to how many were in here, or how deadly they were.
We all entered the room carefully. It appeared that this was a cellar at one point in time. There were boxes strewn across the space, boxes that were from previous caravans. I separated from my group, staying close to the wall and making my way to the right side of the room. Doyle and Aislinn worked their way to the middle of the room and Jorsca was my mirror on the left side of the room. Kamaria stayed back, ready to come to our aid. For a moment, I felt a wave of power coming from Kamaria and felt more confident. I began to sing, believing that McKennit’s ballad was appropriate for this battle.
Before we could prepare ourselves further, the fighting began. A blossom of blood erupted from Doyle’s chest. He staggered but did not fall, his strength and endurance holding him up. A crossbow bolt shot out from the darkness, piercing Jorsca. He fell. The third bandit’s luck was not as good as his fellows. His crossbow jammed and his cursing revealed his location to us.
I trusted in Kamaria to tend to Jorsca and Doyle. I searched for the “ghost”. His smoking pistol revealed his location and I charged him, sword out. My curved short sword dug deep into his chest, coating itself with his crimson blood. I knew at that moment, that though seeming spiritual, our opponents were flesh and blood.
Doyle attacked the one who had jammed his crossbow. He knocked his opponent from the barrel he was perched one. The bandit landed on his feet, sword in hand. Aislinn let a few arrows fly. They found their mark. Kamaria went to tend Jorsca, her gentle hands touching him. I found out later that he had been faking his death to throw our attackers off.
I focused my attention on the ghostly bandit. We sparred. My anger and speed made me a match for his skill and strength. Sometimes my strikes hit true, other times they past through him as if he really were mist and shadow. His rapier nicked and scrapped me and I felt as my blood flowed out of body, my strength diminishing. He backed away, placing himself away from me and his back to a wall. He took a potion from his belt and drank. I took that moment to assess the rest of my group.
Jorsca had sprung back to life and had taken care of the hidden assailant on the left side of the celler. Doyle and Aislinn had made short work of the unlucky bandit. All that was left was our “ghost”.
Doyle charged him, swinging his sword too high. It got stuck in one of the rafters, slowing him down and opening him up to the bandit’s attack. He took out his pistol and shot Doyle. Doyle’s hand slipped from his sword and he fell.
Anger, rage, it was the first time in years that I truly felt emotion. I charged the bandit again, ignoring my wounds. I refused to let this man kill Doyle, Doyle who was Aislinn’s love, the man who had become my friend.
The end to this ordeal finally came. Jorsca threw one of his daggers at the same time I thrust with mine. Our weapons struck true and he fell before us, his blood covering the ground and my hands.
I looted the bodies, busying myself with loot and making sure the caravan cargo was all here. Much to my relief it was. Kamaria was able to tend to Doyle, Jorsca, and I using the healing potions we had found on the bandits. I also found two empty flasks labeled “Ghostly Form”. That explained how the bandits were able to fool the villagers and caravan guards.
It was Jorsca who came up with a way to carry the caravan gold. Using his magic, magic I didn’t know he possessed, he summoned a floating disc. We all loaded up the gold onto the magical disc and headed out. We left the bodies where they were. Someone else could take care of them.
Once we were outside, we were greeted by a sight that was becoming all too familiar. Standing before us were the ghosts of the Highwayman and Bess. Their arms were linked together and the looks on their faces could only be described as pure rapture.
“We wanted to thank you,” Bess said to us, her voice just as beautiful and surreal as the rest of her.
“Yes, thank you. Not only for united us but for getting rid of those men pretending to be me,” the Highwayman told us. Again, we were frozen, not sure as to what to do. They just smiled at us.
“I’ve heard about you,” the Highwayman continued. He looked at all of us. “There has been a lot of talk in the ghostly ether. Speak with the Warlocks of Northwichshire, they will set you upon your path.”
“And if you are curious as to where our gold is, ask my sister, Anne,” Bess told us. With that, they faded into the night.
We returned to Warwickshire. Upon entering the inn, we were accosted by the questions of the villagers and caravan men. After a few moments, we told our tale. I wish I had done the tale more justice, but I was so tired, in mind, body, and soul, that I just told the tale with very little passion and grace. When we were finished, we drank, attempting to get over the shock of two ghostly visions and killing three humans. Even after we washed, I could still feel their blood on my hands. I can still feel it now.
Sleep did not come last night. So I drank more until oblivion took me. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to resort to that. Passing out into a dreamless heap is better than the nightmares that usually follow. I don’t want to remember it; I don’t want to relive it in my dreams. Why can’t I just forget? Why can’t I just remain emotionless, untouched?
Today, we decided to pay Crazy Old Anne a visit. Kamaria, Jorsca, and I decided to go and leave Ash and Doyle to get some much needed rest. Thankfully, Anne was not taking a nap this time and we were able to see her right away.
“Are you friends of John?” She asked us as we walked into her sitting room. This one was different than the one we met her in before. She still wore that old style, ill fitting dress.
“Yes, but your great grandson, John,” I commented.
“He’s only 17,” she replied. We nodded. I decided to just ask her about Bess. My head was killing me and I was not in the mood for another 2 hour talk with her.
“We met Bess last night, or rather her ghost,” I began. Anne’s eyes widened a bit.
“Your sister sends her regards,” Jorsca told her. Anne sighed and looked at us once more.
“What really happened?” I asked.
“Bess was always the beautiful one,” she began, her old, loud voice rattling on. “And the Highwayman loved her. I loved him too but he wouldn’t give me a second look. His eyes were for Bess. So, I told King George’s men where to find him. They killed him and Bess too. A few years later, the Inn burned down. My father killed himself from the shame of it all. I knew where he hid his gold and used it to build this house.” She must have noted something on my face, my disgust at her actions. “There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t regret what I have done. If you want what is left of the gold, you can have it. It’s buried out back in the garden.”
“I don’t want the gold,” I told her, barely able to hide my disgust. We left her and headed back to the inn.
I can’t imagine how someone could do that. She murdered her sister and her sister’s love and for what, an emotion as petty as jealousy? I could, would, NEVER do that to Jasmin. She saved my soul, saved me from damnation and madness. She is the brightest star in my dark sky and to lose her … I can’t even fathom it. I do get jealous of the attention Derrek takes away from me. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to have someone love me. To know what and who I am and still love me. I suppose I really am not without emotion.