The Thousand Isles - Seeing a Lady about a ghost

 

"Did you bring the chicken?" asked Mambo Grace.

Wordlessly Dakhir produced the gilded cage containing one (1) live and extremely unhappy chicken. The cage had originally held a songbird of some kind, but Dakhir had been in a hurry for something to put the chicken in to make it stop pecking him, so the songbird had been granted freedom. His family had prepared him for many things, mostly exceedingly dark things, but poultry transportation was not one them. Not exactly their forte.

Mambo Grace didn't ask questions about the cage  though, she just placed it on her worktable next to a wicked looking dagger, on a grooved stone counter. Those grooves were clearly designed to prevent liquid from spilling over the floor. Dakhir had seen grooves like that before. He also noted the stone washbowl full of clean water next to the worktable. The pattern fell into place. He did not give the chicken high odds of surviving the night.

The upstairs at Mambo Grace's house was packed, quite a change from the previous evening. The voodoo community had come out enthusiastically and in numbers. A squadron of drummers were drumming furiously, dancers were dancing, and from the smell of the heavy incense, it was at least half ganja.

Freddy took a long, appreciative breath and grinned.

"Now that we hav da chicken, the rum and the tobac, all is ready. So soon we will begin the ritual and I will call my ancestor Mambo Claire into my body. First we must give an offering to Papa Legba, to open the gateways."

Mambo Grace looked at the party suspiciously.

"There anything goin' on between you lot and Papa? Why do I got a feeling about that, then?"

"We may have met him once, far away from here, but it was only a chance meeting in passing, cordial 'hello and goodbye'" assured Whisperleaf quickly. "No bargains were struck." Dakhir affirmed.

"Well I hope you didn't piss him off or this will be pretty short." groused Grace. She turned to the other practitioners. 

"All right lets get to it!"

Mambo Grace took a huge swig of rum and blew it over the lighted lantern on her table. The lantern burned blue. Then she plucked the chicken out of the cage and with a practiced slash of the knife she slit the chicken's throat and wrung it dry on to her stone altar.

The rest of the night became gradually hazier as the contact high from the burning ganja built up. The flow of the dancing, the rhythm of the drums, the smell of incense, ganja and clean sweat drowned out all other sensations, and not even The Sturg was entirely immune to falling into the trance.

However at some undefined point somewhere around midnight the tempo seemed to change. The drumming became faster, more furious, the gyrations of the dancers more frantic. Then suddenly Mambo Grace's entire body convulsed, snapping her to attention.

For Ricmo that moment rippled across his entire body, electric, almost like the moment when you dive into deep cold water. The whole room....changed. The lights dimmed the shadows lengthened and the other figures around him became somehow shadowy and indistinct.

And where Mambo Grace had stood alone at the center of the room, now two figures stood, somehow intermingled and overlapping as if sharing the same physical space. One was Mambo Grace, but the other was strange, slight, wrapped from head to foot in a red death shroud. However through the open hood he could see glimpses of a skeletal face.

The drumming thrummed even faster, the beat reverberating through Ricmo's body. Both Mambo Grace and the ghostly figure, in concert, took a huge swig from the bottle of rum Grace held in her hand.

"Ahh that hits the spot, it does!".

 

The voice was not the voice of Grace, though it appeared to come from her mouth, more gravelly, harsher somehow.

Ricmo looked around the room. While most of the figures were indistinct and shadowy, Dakhir, The Strug, Whisperleaf and Tello looked normal. As did their hougan friend Jean Pierre. A look of shock was on the Tortle's face, clearly he was seeing the same confusing vision that Ricmo was. Jean Pierre just winked at the halfling.

"It's ok" said Ricmo to the Tortle. "It's just the Land of the Dead. You get used to it."

Mambo Claire I presume?" asked Whisperleaf. 

“Aye I be Mambo Claire. I sees you can see me true not just through my girl here?"

Dakhir nodded.

Yes you all be shadow marked. You have spent time on the other side and it’s left its mark on ye. You especially, Warlock, something in yer blood calls out to the Other Side. You lot will never be free of it now, always have one foot in the light and one in the darkness. Power comes with that but also great suffering. I thank thee for the rum and for the blood, what can I do for ye?”

"Oh mighty Mambo Claire, we seek knowledge of Black Alice." said Dakhir carefully. "We have been sent on a quest to seek her out and hope you may know her whereabouts?"

“Aye, I counted Black Alice among my friends when I walked among the living. She were a good women. But I don’t know where she’s got off to, she left quick like without telling me. She ain’t on this side at least, I’d know if someone like her crossed over. "

The red cloaked figure and Mambo Grace in perfect synchronicity, expertly pulled out a pipe, loaded it, lit it and took a long drag. Ricmo's eyes watered as he tried to process the double image.

"Ahh that hits the spot too, it does, she's a good girl, my Gracie." said Claire contentedly. "Hard as dickens to get good baccy over her on ta' other side."

Dakhir looked disappointed, an expression Mambo Claire quickly picked up on.

But SOME things I know so ya ain't wasted yer baccy and rum. Nor your chicken. It weren’t no accident she came to these lands, she was looking for something. Of what I know not, but there were books here she wanted to read, both in the Wizards big library and in the Governor's personal one. Books about old Annwyn, journals of Madrigal, the first ruling Governor. She read ‘em and said it were useful but it didn’t make her feel any easier.

She also came here to talk to the Loa. She spent many a day walking the groves of the jungle highlands, talking with Papa Bois. There were many things that Loa told her, many secrets he shared.

Whisperleaf nodded. "That makes sense, matches up with the other information we've gathered.  But we still can't make much sense out of her travels or what she was after?”

She went whenever she thought she could find whatever she was searching fer I reckon. She has a singular will on her, once she sets her mind to a thing". said the shade.

Mambo Grace convulsed a bit, and wiped some foam from her mouth.

"Ack my time is short here, my girl can't endure much more. But one last thing I’ll say is this. Black Alice was the bravest person I ever met, and yet she were also the most afeared.  Something happened to her back in the day. Something  that scared her so bad it made her leave old Valoria. She wouldn’t never talk about it, but she’d have nightmares about it, time to  time. What could scare that old coot that bad, well I am glad I never met it. Keep that in mind”

And slowly the red figure faded away. Suddenly Mambo Grace collapsed on the floor..

"Well that was underwhelm..." Ricmo started to stay only to be interrupted by a shriek of agony from Mambo Grace. Her collapsed form writhed in sudden pain. And then, she lithely jumped to her feet. However in the Halfling's vision there was now a new form superimposed over her.

This form was dark, sinister wrapped in grave clothes as well, but this time black and gray. A gold crown adorned it's brow. While the face of the figure was cloaked, an imperious smile spread over Mambo Grace's figures, arrogant and triumphant.

"Got you, you old bitch." it murmured smiling, and again the voice was not that of Grace, this time a male voice, cold and arrogant.

"What the fuck is that?" said Rimco.

"She's possessed." said Dakhir, quickly putting two and two together. "She must have left herself vulnerable somehow with the summoning. Sturg, restrain her!"

The Sturg was a little high. Ok more than a little. This was not a state of being he was used to. He didn't like it. The light trails were pretty, sure but in general he felt off, vulnerable, not a sensation he relished. It made him paranoid, well more paranoid than usual, which was pretty paranoid. And for some reason he was extremely hungry. So it was something of a relief when Dakhir called him to action.

He considered his target. There seemed to be two people in the same spot, which was odd. He wasn't sure if that was just his inebriation or some weird magic, but regardless, the solution was pleasiongly simple. Grab them both. The Sturg sturg'ed forward, quickly, and only a trifle unsteadily.

Things had been going pretty well up until then for whoever was currently residing inside Mambo Grace's body. The plan had been going swimmingly. Whoever he was, had clearly not factored in 300 pounds of Sturg though. As the Sturg surged toward him, a surprised and panicked expression passed over Grace's features, she/he tried to cast a spell, but too slow, and the resulting impact knocked the breath and the spell right out of him.

The Sturg wrapped his mighty arms around Mambo Grace's body and even though she was not a small women, she might as well have been entombed in stone for all the good her struggling did.

"Help help!" she screamed to her congregation, this time in Grace's voice. "These folk done gone mad. Get them off me!". Several large muscular men stopped their dance, looked over confusedly, and then started walking over in growing anger.

"No, no" countered Jean Pierre quickly. "She's not herself boys. She got a bad juju in her. A Bokhor got her!".

"Radiant, some help here please?" asked Whisperleaf, watching the standoff between Jean Pierre and an increasingly irate Voodoo congregation. Lightbringer, had been ignoring the entire sequence of events, utterly engrossed by the flame burning in a nearby lantern. However, once Whisperleaf shook him, he started and swung around.

"No problem my brothers, the light of Mithras shall drive forth this evil!" He started to chant a prayer, bright light welling up from between his hands.

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

Half an hour later, the party ministered to an exhausted Mambo Grace in the now empty temple.

"That little fucker. How DARE he. Oh he gonna pay now, oh yes. By the time I dun with that little shit his sufferin' gonna be a legend" Mambo Grace muttered to herself.

"But who is he Grace?" asked Jean Pierre. "whoever he is, he pretty strong, took everything my friend here and I could do to kick him outcha."

"I got my suspicions" said Grace darkly. "But yes, he almost got me. That woulda been bad. Real bad" She considered the party and then nodded. "I thank ye. I am yer debt."

"No, not at all my good lady" said Radiant cheerfully, not noticing Dakhir silently cursing his response in the background. "Anytime! Mithras loves you and only wants to keep you safe from the darkness."

"Yes, think nothing of it" Whisperleaf agreed. "Your ancestor, though not able to provide exactly what we needed was extremely helpful. It was the least we could do."

Dakhir shook his head ruefully and made a mental note to have a chat with both of them on the subject of 'Not Letting Powerful Supernatural Entities Who Owe You Favors Off The Hook'."

"So where to now?" asked Ricmo. "We still don't know where Black Alice went."

"No, but the story continues to gradually fill in" said Whisperleaf. "Seems like the next step is still to stick with the plan and continue to the Northern Reach and Skull River Bay, whatever that is."

"Excellent" said Ricmo. "I have been absent from my ship for too long anyway. I am sure my crew misses my guidance."