Lost Anchorage - Interpreting Dreams

"You! You stood me up!". The waitress, whose name turned out to be Ellen, was angry. Freddy looked apologetic. Normally words dripped from Freddy's tongue like honey from  a beehive, but for once he was at a bit of a loss. How to explain to an angry (ghostly) barmaid that he had not intentionally missed the scheduled tête-à-tête, but had unexpectedly found himself reading the journal of a long dead mage, inside a ghostly tower where time evidentially moved differently? Not exactly a plausible excuse. He tapped his cloven hooves together nervously. The old sailor at the table next to him, who was watching the exchange with some enjoyment, gave him a sympathetic shrug.

"It was my Captain's fault" Freddy decided that some abridging of the truth and blaming someone else was probably warranted in this case. "He called us all back to the ship unexpectedly and we just now were released from duty." 

He smiled his most winning smile. "And the first thing I did when he let us go was come here looking for you."

Ellen was not won over. She set her tray down, crossed her arms disapprovingly and glared. "And you never thought to even send word? I waited, you know"

From over in the corner, Ozraeline watched Freddy crashing and burning. Normally she would be amused, she didn't exactly approve of his womanizing streak, even though he was mostly harmless. However this particular interest of Freddy's potentially had information they needed. Information on what exactly was going on around here. She sauntered over.

 "He's legit, love" she said. "we were all called back, me too, the whole lot of us. No chance to even send word. Our Captain can be a real dick". Ellen glared at the attempted wingman, unappeased. 

"See, I wouldn't lie to you." said Freddy. "Let me buy you a drink to make it up to you?" 

"Still fuming, Ellen allowed herself to be led to the bar. Oz smiled to herself. The only way to win with Freddy was to not let him talk. Or sing.  As soon as you let him open his mouth, he was unbeatable. Whatever information the ghost had, was as good as gotten. 

She walked back to the table where the rest of the party was discussing the strange dream they had all shared the previous night. 

"My interpretation" said Whisperleaf. "The old man (probably the Admiral) takes the young woman to wife. The young mage, Darcy, is not so pleased. And given the fact that Darcy is a powerful wizard, displeasing him may have turned out to be bad thing to do. Perhaps he was responsible in some way for the ruin of this place?"

"Humans are weird." said Dakhir. "They take that kind of thing ridiculously seriously. Perhaps Darcy  was trying to delay their departure? Worried about being separated from Ophelia? It also could be that there was some uncertainty over the parentage of Ophelia’s child?"

Oz snorted internally. Based on her memory of Darcy vs The Admiral, Oz was willing to bet money who was the father. And the smart money was on the dashing lieutenant in the sharp uniform, not the old man."

"You're right" she agreed with Dakhir "Humans are pretty sensitive to that kind of thing. That could have been big trouble for them both if it was found out."

At that moment Freddy returned from his information gathering. "So yeah, she told me we'd probably find the Lady White over at Darcy's tower. That they were having an affair and pretty much the entire town knew. Except the Admiral."   

"Hard to keep anything secret in a small town" said Whisperleaf. 

"I think our next move needs to be the lighthouse." said Ricmo. "that was the only other building that really survived the tsunami, that's where Darcy found Ophelia, seems reasonable to  investigate it."

The lighthouse was built atop a small rocky island at the entrance to the quay, accessible only from the sea via a dilapidated pier. While it had survived the earthquake and tsunami relatively intact, the years and the inexorable march of nature had taken a toll on it, there were rents in the walls and loose stone littered the approach. It was dark and cold and more then a little foreboding. The party instinctively fell into their standard marching order, as the Sturg swung the door open. 

The first two floors were empty and abandoned, whatever clues may have once been found here were lost in the detritus of the years. The third floor was more interesting though. The single room showed signs of repair and occupancy. A small bed, a desk and chair, a bookcase, old and rickety but still intact. 

"These were books once I think." said Dakhir looking through some moldering piles of mold soaked parchment. "It's very cold over here."

"I hear the sound of pen on parchment" said Marus. "I think Darcy is here, but we cannot see him."

"Perhaps we should come back during the night, the day is waning anyway?" said Ricmo.

"Probably" said Whisperleaf. "We mostly only see him during the night. There is something different about his ghost from the others we've seen, while the other spirits on the island appear solid and can be touched, he is always translucent and insubstantial, like fog. I think for whatever reason he has a harder time manifesting."

"Lets go ahead and explore the rest of the lighthouse" said Ricmo. "Might as well since we are here. Might be something valuable, like this". Ricmo displayed a silver amulet.

"Where did you find that!!!" said Dakhir.

"Oh just going through the desk over here" said Ricmo "there was a secret compartment, not very secret really. Hardly worthy of being called 'secret'" 

Whisperleaf turned the medallion over in his hands. "looks like mithril. And the same eight pointed star we've seen at the Cathedral, and in the dreams. The Star That Guides, that Annwyn north-star cult. Better hold on to it" he said handing it back to Ricmo.

The fourth floor had once been the chamber of a noble lady. The rotted remnants of fine dresses hung in the wardrobe, a vanity with a still intact mirror stood to one side of what had once been an opulent canopy bed.

Ozraeline yelped and whirled around looking behind her, drawing her two handed scimitar. "In the MIRROR. I saw her in the MIRROR BEHIND ME" she gasped. 

Ricmo thanked his stars he was short as Oz’s frantically drawn sword waved around over his head.

The Sturg smoothly drew his sword, raised his shield and assumed his combat pose with his back to Oz.  Marus just as quickly unlimbered her bow, knocked an arrow and also fell into formation.

Nothing happened 

 

"Who, Ophelia?" asked Dakhir. 

"YES" Oz replied. "Scared the crap out of me". 

Whisperleaf carefully looked into the mirror. "I don't see her, but this reflection is odd. Notice how everything I do is a tiny bit delayed? And there are some inconsistencies, like the third button on my robe is grey, but in the mirror it's blue. Very strange."

"She is here" said Marius. "We cannot see her, but she is here".

After a few moments with no further manifestations apparent, the party continued their search.

At the top of the lighthouse the hero's stopped.

"I saw this balcony in my dream" said Whisperleaf. 

"So did I" said Freddy. 

They all had

"Something bad happened here" said Oz. "Something very bad".

"Hey guys I found something." said Ricmo.

The lighthouse was lit by some kind of massive oil lamp, ancient but still serviceable. And next to the oil lamp, was a large oilskin, perfectly preserved and full to bursting. Ricmo picked it up.

"Man it's cold. Like a block of ice, yet it's supple, not frozen". he said. 

"Interesting" said Dakhir. "May I?" He took the oilskin from the halfling and carefully unstoppered it, let a little oil dribble  out onto a section of balcony. "Looks like oil, but very cold, and very dark." 

"We should light the lighthouse lamp with it" said Ricmo.

Carefully, Dakhir filled the pan of the large lamp. The Strurg reached out, and summoned flame in his palm. Dakhir grinned. "You always use any excuse to do that, don't you?" he laughed. "Sure, light it."

Even a small amount of the oil made a surprisingly large and long lasting flame. However the flame was...odd. It burned cleanly, without smoke, yet it gave off almost as much shadow as light and more cold then heat. It was almost like it was casting shadows and darkness when it burned.

"Shadowoil" said Dakhir. "I've heard of this, very rare, very powerful. Used for summoning the dead and other, darker magics " 

"I wonder if it has done anything to this tower?" said Ricmo. "Lets go look at the other rooms". 

And the rooms of the lighthouse had changed. Decayed no longer, restored to their pristine condition. The Lady's chamber was still unoccupied, though the mirror looked even stranger and more delayed then before. But there in the chair before the desk of the third floor room, Darcy sat, writing in his journal once more. 

"Let's read it" said Freddy.

--------------------------------------

Springate 9th, IY 723

Ophelia, the Lady White recovers somewhat, though her grief is ever with her. However she is of Royal blood so she masters it. We have decided to relocate us both permanently to the lighthouse. While the lighthouse keepers quarters are humble, the building itself is sound and spacious. It was built on bedrock, strong enough to survive the frequent storms and is mostly undamaged. There are several suites of floors and  rooms which will provide the Lady with the privacy that decorum demands, but also allow me to be close at hand if needed. Best of all, the lighthouse still stands well above the sea. There have been several aftershocks today and the risk of another great earthquake is still with us 

I spent the day outfitting the lighthouse with supplies and such comforts as I could salvage from the town, it is hardly a palace but it will do. Another reason for choosing the lighthouse which I did not share with the Lady is that the smell of decay and corruption from all the unburied dead is starting to become overwhelming on the main island. Alas that I cannot give the dead proper rites but most are buried under tons of stone. I must admit I do not relish walking these ruined streets searching for supplies and other needful things. Death holds no fear for me, I am no stranger to the aftermath of battlefields, but pawing through the corpses of friends and acquaintances is not pleasant. 

Lady Ophelia begins to confide in me. Her time of birth is nearly upon her and she fears the outcome (as did her physician, the pregnancy is her first and has been hard). She looks to me to be midwife to her and I must admit the prospect terrified me more than did the charge of the demon princes during the last Martal War. 

Springate 10th-15th, IY 723

I do not have much to report today. I visited The Lady Jezebel and attempted to assume authority over the Jacks there, as I suspected, my efforts were fruitless. Thrice damn the Navy!

Otherwise we are somewhat aimless but relatively comfortable. I continually wrack my brains for a way off this rock. I have always been one of not inconsiderable power and authority I confess to be so helpless is not something I accustomed to 

I have found some scrolls on child birthing in the medical wing of the ruins of the Bastion. I study them but I do not feel at all prepared for this. 

Springate 16th, IY 723

Lady Ophelia, the wife of the Admiral of the White is dead. The birth pains came quickly, in the middle watch after the second bell, while she was walking the balcony as was her want. While I did all that I could, the child was stillborn. I thought the Lady took the blow well, not shedding any tears, but only asking to hold the still body of her daughter (whom she named Vangeline after a relation). I turned away from her, for but for an instant, to clean myself somewhat and she threw herself over the balcony, child and all and vanished beneath the sea.

She is gone. And once more I am alone on this cursed island. Perhaps she had the wisdom of it and I would do well to join her.

Springate 20th, IY 723

After some days of despondency I have regrouped and gathered my resolve once more to quit this place no matter the obstacles in my way. The Lady Jezebel is the key, of this I have no doubt. If I can bend her Jack Tars to my will I can escape easily. 

They refuse my orders but they must obey their Captains Daughter, the final resort of our mastery over their kind. That spell is woven into the fabric of their very being of this I am sure. If I can find that, I can escape. Alas their captain was ashore at the time of the disaster and must have perished but surely I can find his remains and surely he has his Daughter with him? It is not on the ship I made sure of that.  This is my best hope, so I fix my mind to achieving this goal. 

First I will search the town above the waves and then if I fail to find my prize I must determine a way to search below the sea. 

I try not to think of the many ways the Daughter might be lost forever. Swept out to sea, buried in the muck of the sea bed, broken by falling masonry. I will choose to hope. It must be here somewhere and I will find it . 

SpringRising 6th, IY 723

For two weeks I have searched to no avail and my hope is fading. I have no words for the wretchedness of pawing through bloated, decayed corpses day after day. My gorge rises even thinking of that fetid smell.  I do my best to bury the poor wretches, say the words of safe travel as best I remember them.

This labor is not only physically exhausting but mentally taxing as well. At times I feel my sanity slipping, my mind imagining things. Motion out of the corner of my eye. A voice, a fragment of song. 

Clearly I have been alone too long.