Things That Go Bump [Auldwin]

[Zeal Aldercraft]

3rd of Winter, 507 A.V. Location: Aldercraft Pavilion “Don’t make your father crazy, even in his absence,” Zeal’s mother said as she shook his shoulder, trying to wake him up. “You have things to do, Zeal.” He swatted her hand and mumbled, but she persisted and finally won. “Get out of bed and come eat. I have pancakes for you.” He could smell them on the fire, but her voice was driving him crazy. It was too early for her to be so gleeful. “I’m coming.” He cracked open an eyelid. Instantly, his eyes began to water from the bright sun shining in through the open tent flaps. Zeal winced and slammed his burning eyes shut. He tried to pull the blanket up over his head, but his mother yanked it right back down, shooting him a wry look from his bedside. “Don’t make me come back here again to get you.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead, then walked away towards the cooking fires. He turned over and stretched the kinks out of his spine. Last night had been amazing; he was on fire! It was like the dice had been stacked in his favor and no one could touch him. They’d even accused him of cheating at one point. Of course he hadn’t, but he might have if he’d known how. In the end, he’d won a ton of mizas from the game they’d played behind Rikkar’s tent. The ale they drank until the sun came up may have fueled their arguments, but it wasn’t until Rikkar’s sister came out to do her chores and scattered them, that Zeal had stumbled home a richer man. This morning, the small high he had left from winning wasn’t enough to block out the pounding in his head. Finally peeling his eyes the rest of the way open, he realized the smells in the tent weren’t exactly doing good things to his stomach and he wondered how he was going to make it through breakfast. Slowly, Zeal got to his feet and waited for the room to stop spinning. As he clutched his stomach, trying to calm the brewing storm, he walked towards the eating area. He swore that last night was going to be the last time he ever went out drinking like that. It wasn’t worth it. He waved his mother off as she tried to hand him a plate of pancakes and she eyed him with a sigh. “You shouldn’t go to work on an empty stomach; it’ll make you feel worse.” He groaned. “I don’t think that’s possible. I gotta go. I’m already late for my cobweb cleaning duties.” “Don’t be smart, Zeal. Your father wouldn’t ask you to do anything that he didn’t think was important, even if you don’t see it that way yet.” She shoved the plate at him. “At least take it with you. You can eat it when you’re feeling better. And try to drink some water. I’ll be out to the tent to check on you later.” As he ducked under the open flap, he nodded and headed towards another boring day in the empty Healing Tent. Since his father was off at another pavilion picking up supplies, Zeal had the luxury of goofing off until he came back. Instead of picking up a broom like he should have, he settled down into one of the cots. The reek of antiseptic herbs stung his nose, but thankfully, the Healing Tent was dark; the flap had been down all night and, despite the smell, it was a welcome relief to his throbbing head. The cot was hard, but lying down felt much better than standing up. He should be up, cleaning the tent. If his father came in, he’d be in a lot of trouble. But he reasoned that if his mother hadn’t woken him up so early, he wouldn’t feel as bad as he did and he would have been able to perform the way he was supposed to. Zeal closed his eyes once more and the relief was immense. A few more minutes. That was all he needed. A few more minutes of sleep…

[Auldwin]

Getting dead took a lot of getting used to. Nothing was the same. Sight, sound, touch, taste, none of it was as Auldwin remembered it. How much time had it taken him to understand the feeling of being without the wind? Or the rain? Or even gravity? Reflexively he would close his eyes when a dust storm whipped across a drying landscape, but for what? That sand couldn't get in his eyes anymore. He didn't even truly have eyes anymore, yet still he saw. Auldwin saw everything because he had time. Sleep wasn't required anymore. Work wasn't required anymore. He didn't even need to take time from his day to sit down and eat. This 'life' was as different as different could be, and it was maddening. Days would become nights and time held very little meaning. Auldwin used to be able to tell how much time during a day had passed as he grew more tired, but now he had no muscles to exhaust. Unless he used those talents. All that time gave him plenty of opportunity to understand his new existance, even as minor as his understanding was. He wasn't the only one afterall. One just like him had caused all of this. That Ghost, that damned Ghost took everything, and Auldwin didn't even have that much to take. That damned Ghost wasn't alone however, Auldwin's memory was still sharp. His memory wasn't clouded with all the major life incidents others may have had. Instead it focused on those days leading up to his death. Now it focused on the man that was supposed to help him. That man failed. "Zeal..." Auldwin whispered to himself, his blurred image moving into the tent. He could feel the binds of his Soulmist tightening, as he imagined his fist or jaw would have when he saw the man. Was this anger? He barely remembered such an emotion from his time with the living. A soft wind shifted through the air, blowing the flap slightly. Supernatural phenomena was common when a ghost appeared, although Auldwin's was minor given his inexperience. On a desk he noticed a small inkwell, probably used to jot down notes or take names. This was the hard part. It took concentration. When a Ghost wanted to get his point across that was when it felt like he had run a mile. He could travel the entire region and not even feel weary, but this part took real effort. Focusing on that anger Auldwin put his finger into the ink. He had to imagine touching it, as if he was alive. He had to believe in his own solidity, that was what it took. His Soulmist had to respond to his wish, it had to take the shape of what his finger would have been like. Once done he lifted it out of the ink, some of the blackness dripping onto the desk and began writing in Pavi, as limited as the language was. The message was simple, all it said was... You Failed It was a strain to do it, but it worked. Afterward Auldwin focused again, as much as he could muster, and pushed the entire inkwell off of the desk, causing it to go clamoring onto the ground before coming to a rolling stop. "I'll be seeing you. Plenty. We'll see if you continue to be a failure." Auldwin said to himself before blinking out of Zeal's sight if his eyes opened. He could be anywhere, even beneath Zeal's cot as getting used to one thing in particular was the hardest. Worldly things did not limit Auldwin anymore.

[Zeal Aldercraft]

Thud. Zeal heard it clearly in his sleep. He bolted upright, neck straining as he twisted his head towards the entrance of the tent. Everything was blurry. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he blinked and tried again. The room slowly swam into focus. He expected to see his father standing there, hands on his hips, admonishing him from the front flap, having dropped one of his packages onto the still-dirty floor. But Pivl wasn’t there. There was no one there. Then why did he feel so uneasy? Another look around the dimly lit tent revealed nothing out of the ordinary. There was still no one there but him. He tried to shake it off. It must have been some kind of bad dream, but somehow, that didn’t seem right. The hair on his arm was standing on end, buzzing with a kind of energy. There had to be some sort of lingering effects from the massive amounts of ale he’d drunk the night before. He was still paying the price for his good time. That was probably it. He looked towards the front corner of the tent, the one most deeply stained with shadow, and felt his eyes begin to cross from looking too hard. If he kept that up, he’d be seeing things soon. It had to be afternoon by now. Maybe his mother had come to serve him lunch and had found him sleeping. No. That couldn’t be it. If she’d caught him, she’d have given him her wrath. And where was she now if it had been her? Shaking his head, he got to his feet. “Enough. Stop being a fool.” Zeal tried to clear his thoughts. Inside his mind, things were still murky from sleep and drinking, but he was feeling much better than he had been, except for the sensation of something crawling on his skin. Driven by a need he didn’t understand, he fumbled towards the entrance to the tent and rolled up the flap. Light flooded the large room and Zeal peered into the remaining corners. There was nothing there. He must have been having a bad dream that he didn’t remember. It was the only reason he could think of for being so edgy. His panic passing, he realized that he’d forgotten to do his daily tasks. He grabbed a rag from the pile on one of the folding tables and went around the tent wiping down every surface with fresh water and more antiseptic herb. His father was meticulous about keeping things as hygienic as possible. With all the traveling and dust collecting, that was hard to do, so he made sure the healing tent got a thorough wipe down twice a day. He’d be able to tell as soon as he walked in if Zeal hadn’t done it. Glazing over things he should have spent his time on, he sped through the task. If his father looked closely he’d be able to tell that Zeal hadn’t tried very hard, but he was short on time and had a long list of things still to be done. As he finished wiping down the last cot, his stomach started to growl, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten breakfast and it was probably close to dinner time. He still felt a little off, but staying busy kept his mind distracted. As soon as he was done he’d go and eat. He tossed the dirty rag into a bowl of water and set the bowl by the tent flap so he could grab it as he left. Snatching the broom leaning up against the side of the tent, he went to work on his last chore, looking forward to an excuse to get out of the tent whose walls seemed to be closing in on him. He felt uncomfortable with his back to the exit, so he hurried to finish. When the floor was as clean as it was getting, he replaced the broom by his father’s writing table. In his hurry to finish, he knocked the broom onto the ground with a clatter and it skipped across the floor, landing by the first cot. He crouched down to pick it up. It was then that he noticed his father’s inkwell underneath it. He reached in and pulled it out. That must have been what caused the noise he’d heard earlier. He laughed to himself. As the tents never stayed in one place for long, things were often rolling off uneven surfaces and getting lost. Feeling much better, he stood up, replaced the broom with more care, and turned to put the inkwell back on his father’s table. Then he saw it...There was something smudged across the desk. Ink! He'd missed it. His father would know he’d been fooling around. Zeal took another rag from the pile, wet it and came back to clean it up. Where those letters on the table? Words? He squinted. It said, "You Failed." He failed? He groaned into the silence of the tent. Borin! That ass. His brother had caught him sleeping. He should have known. Ruining his father’s table to taunt him? Was that really something he would do? Yes! Borin was a dead man.

[Auldwin]

Moving through objects was surprisingly difficult. Not due to any actual resistance, but due to the difficulty in training the mind to realize that there wasn't any resistance. It was like going into the water and trying to hold your breath. Auldwin didn't have any breath, and he certainly couldn't drown. Ah, the various quirks of death. Auldwin was positioned in quite an unusual position. He was indeed beneath Zeal's cot, but in such a way that only part of his body would have been visible if it was spotted. The rest was somewhere beneath, fading into the floor. It was the perfect position to watch the reaction of Zeal, finally spotting the message. So he blamed his brother? Perfect. Often the supernatural was rationalized, and through that rationalization various character elements and weaknesses could be observed. Apparently there was at least some distrustful link to Zeal's brother. The Ghost could feel his tension rising, the desire to become more and more overt in his actions. He had to remain patient though, he had plenty of time. The Ghost that had tortured him certainly had quite the flair for psychological torture. It took time as well as a history of events. Even the smallest thing could drive a man up the wall. Blinking behind Zeal as he looked over the writing Auldwin braced himself for more effort. Each time he did something like this it felt like a piece of him was being burned away, but such was the price of interacting with things he shouldn't even be able to effect. Reaching out with his hand he stared at that bowl, filled with it's water. He pictured what it would have felt like if he was alive, what it would look like as it tipped, and how much effort he would have utilized to perform such an action. When he touched it the bowl felt as if it was made of lead, but it was moveable. Truth be told, Auldwin probably couldn't have picked the thing up even if he placed all of his effort into it, but he had enough within him to at least, knock it over. Splash The water flowed out quickly as Zeal's personal spectral menace blinked out of the tent entirely, the bowl rolling on it's side in a circular pattern before eventually coming to a stop. More drastic measures would need to be taken, although they would require a certain amount of finesse to achieve a desired effect. Auldwin had just the idea, and that was to use Zeal's mother against him.

[Zeal Aldercraft]

Zeal was working hard, trying to get the ink stain off the table when he heard one of the bowls tip over behind him. He whipped around to see water spilling out onto the floor and cursed under his breath. When he got the rag from the bowl, he must have left it too close to the edge of the table. The entire day had been wasted cleaning inside the Healing Tent and he hadn’t even finished rubbing down the writing table. Now he’d have to clean up the floor too. What had he done to deserve such a terrible day? As he stared out the open tent flap into the world of warmth, sunshine and the living, they began to call him, begging him to leave behind his chores and the dark tent to go outside and rejoin them. In vivid detail, he plotted his escape. The only thing holding him back was… What was holding him back? Nothing. There wasn’t anything stopping him from leaving but his own mind. With a new determination, Zeal dropped the rag in his hand to the floor. Using the toe of his boot, he pushed it around the water, cleaning up the puddle. He dropped the dirty rag into the now empty bowl, and picked up another from the pile. This time he got down on all fours and used his hands to be sure that every drop of water that had been spilled was wiped up. The mess on the counter was a quick cleanup when he’d finished the floor. Once there was no more water left, he turned his attention to his the desk. There was nothing he could do about the ink spilled across the top. It wasn’t coming out and he’d already passed the point of working too hard. His brother would never admit to having done it and he knew his father wouldn’t believe that he hand’t, but he had done everything that he could. He’d leave it and tell his father the truth about it. Whether or not he believed him, was up to his father. Picking up the bowl filled with dirty rags and the one he’d left by the front flap, Zeal headed out into the sunshine. The warm rays felt amazing on his face, chasing away the lingering shadows in his spirit. He felt renewed in the fresh air. On the wind, he caught a whiff of whatever glorious thing his mother was creating for their evening meal. Genari outdid herself with everything she made. As he walked further away from the Healing Tent, the crawling sensation on his skin that had been plaguing him since he’d woken up, inched backward, out of his system, so that he began to feel whole again. It seemed the feeling was tethered to the Healing Tent, or to cleaning. He dropped the bowls outside of the dusty wash tent with a clatter, leaving them for his sister to take care of. His steps became lighter as he neared the main tent. He couldn’t wait to get inside and get a bellyful of whatever was on the fire.

[Auldwin]

Auldwin learned a few things about Possession during his season as a Ghost. First was, if such a thing was even possible, he had a natural talent for it. Perhaps it was because he died from the very same ability, and it's workings were somehow imprinted in his agonized mind? Whatever the reason was, ever since the day he began walking, or rather floating upon the land in this cursed form he understood the basic premise of Possession. It was vastly easier to perform on those whom were oblivious to his presence. Getting a person sleeping was most likely the easiest way he had determined, as even if met with failure the slumbering state was often unable to process what had happened. Getting them while they were concentrating on something else was the next best scenario. Possessing a person whom knew he existed and actively tried to resist was the most difficult. In fact it was only recently that the Ghost was able to contest another person's resistance to his presence. Controlling a body that wasn't yours was something indescribable, but if Auldwin had to do it he would have said it was like wearing a large overcoat made of snakes. Possessed bodies had a tendency to never quite work exactly the way you wanted them to, often walking or talking improperly. Lately he had gotten rid of some of the lethargy anything he possessed seemed to have, but he knew he was still far from perfecting the technique. Whatever had possessed him did it with such skill, such finesse that it was impossible to even tell he was being possessed. The movements, even his own voice was exactly as he would have used them, and resisting was completely impossible. Possessing was like a dark cloud slowly taking over, as if you were slowly fading away into a daydream. Focus and consciousness lingered, but began to slip, until finally the Ghost was in control. This was completely unlike the possession that had overtaken him, it was instant, and he couldn't even tell it had occurred. Nothing felt out of the ordinary, but for Zeal's mother it may have. Auldwin took a few moments, getting used to the woman's body, how her weight shifted, the way her gait walked. He flexed her vocal chords, not bad. Not bad at all. He was definitely improving. Not only that he could maintain his link with another for much longer than he could just starting out, but it still was difficult. Possession was like flexing a muscle, it began to burn and hurt, and eventually you had to relax. Projecting his Soulmist was much more an explosive use of his essence, while possession was a slow degradation. Either way he could feel his Soulmist melting away, and more than likely this would be the finale for the day. He would need to rest and come back at another time. Auldwin exited the main tent wearing Genari's body. She carried a blank expression. Getting the expressions right was difficult, usually they were overdone, or too muted. He saw Zeal walking up and stood there staring at him through the man's mother. He wouldn't harm her of course, there was no reason to. The bone he had to pick was with Zeal after all, but there was no better way to get at a man than through those they loved. Just thinking about it made Auldwin smile, with Genari's face following suit. It was a slightly lopsided smile, and quite disturbing to look at. "Zeal. Have you been practicing...your Spiritism?" Auldwin asked through her. Her voice sounded exactly as it would have, he was using her voice box, although Auldwin's Pavi wasn't exactly perfect. Just from lingering in the area for so many hours of the day he managed to pick up quite a bit, but it's fluidity was no where near his native Common tongue.

[Zeal Aldercraft]

Zeal was ready to get some food in his stomach and call it a day. All the warm sun had been wasted in the Healing Tent. After he got in a hot meal, he could go in search of something to relax him. What could his father say? As far as he was concerned, his work for the day was done. As he neared the sleeping tent, he saw his mother standing outside. The unease that he thought he’d left behind, came flooding back, swamping his senses. The usual sparkle in his mother’s green eyes was absent. She looked like she might be getting sick. If whatever was making him feel so out of his skin was an illness, there was a chance his mother had it too. That would explain the way she looked, but it didn’t explain the way she acted. She didn’t reach out for him when he came within hugging range. That was the strangest part; his mother never missed a chance to draw any of her children into a warm embrace, and slather a kiss on them whether they wanted it or not. It was one of those things that was ingrained in her. He couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever been so ill that she’d kept her arms to herself. She must have been feeling worse than she looked. It was also possible she felt so sick that she didn’t want to give him anything. He looked into her flat eyes and any smile on his lips disappeared. It was like looking into a lake and seeing only your own reflection, like there was nothing of his mother there. The strange sensation sent a chill shuddering through his body. She didn’t seem to notice it. His eyes were so transfixed by hers that he didn’t realize her lips were moving until he heard her speak. The question was out of place. Since when did she worry about his Spiritism skills? Even though she accepted that part of him, she hated the idea of him travelling to use his gifts. She didn’t encourage him to use them. What was going on? “Did you fall and hit your head? Are you feeling all right?”

[Auldwin]

It seemed he still hadn't worked on his instincts yet, the very basics of Spiritism. By now Auldwin knew he was being meddling enough to where any competent Spiritist would have known him to be in control of a person's shell. Spiritist practitioners were quite annoying that way. Ever since Auldwin had gone to Black Rock to learn about the basics of this new state of existence he had to participate in, he learned that Spiritists were as valuable to a Ghost as they were dangerous. They could create Soulmist after all, real Soulmist that a Ghost could consume and use to heal themselves, or even boost their capabilities. A Ghost and Spiritist could even reach a symbiotic Possession where both sets of skills could be used in unison. Zeal was far away from that point, Auldwin could tell. "That man you saw some time ago, toward the beginning of last season. He's dead." she replied to Zeal, her hand coming up and resting on his shoulder lightly. Zeal needed to get better, Auldwin had decided. His own death made him devalue life, however, which meant that if Zeal did not progress there was no use keeping him around. No use at all. Auldwin had to think to himself, were these the same thoughts the Ghost that killed him had? Was it all because Auldwin could not heed warnings? Was the Ghost just terrorizing him, or was it trying to tell him something? "That which Possessed him, killed him. I understand it was a horrible death, there was nothing left." Auldwin commented through the woman, he could feel a strong twinge winding down upon his Soulmist. It seemed as competent as he was there were still limits to his abilities. He had to take his leave soon and continue there conversation at another time. "I'm not feeling well. I should go lay down." This was true for both Auldwin and the woman. Possessing someone was quite an effort, and being Possessed was difficult for the host as well. It was probably due to some unconscious mental effort to constantly expel that which was controlling you.

[Zeal Aldercraft]

He was shocked to learn that the man he thought he’d helped save the life of, had died. He had trouble processing it. There was only one man she could be referring to. He’d come to visit Zeal in his father’s absence. The man had been so bad off...so desperate, he’d caved and helped him, despite his better judgment. At the time, he’d worried that something would go wrong during the act of making Soulmist since it was the first time Zeal had tried to do it himself. The concentration he needed to pull it off had given him a headache for a week. It had been a difficult thing, but his relief and pride were immense when it worked. “That which possessed him? Are you talking about the Ghost? How could you know that? I convinced that Ghost to leave, whe he left here, he was whole again. Are you sure it was him?” He could only create the smallest amount of Soulmist and it had been much harder for him to do it than watching his father. Making the dough using his own blood was the easy part, it turned out. Ingesting it had made him very sick. The cramps in his stomach were so painful when he threw up; he thought he’d done it wrong and poisoned himself. His father had never thrown up and it scared him, but when it came back out of Zeal’s system, he started to ooze small amounts of the off-white gel from his skin. He used the Soulmist to convince the Ghost to give the man back his body. The tent in front of them cast long shadows across his mother's face and blocked out what little sun was left. There was something sad in her hollow stare. Whatever sickness she was battling was winning. He watched as she swayed on her feet and a doubled edged sword of guilt sliced through him. If she was right, and the man was dead, it couldn’t have been his fault, he tried to console himself, but it had little effect on the sadness of the situation. He felt swamped by grief, completely overcome from it. The longer he stayed close to his mother, the worse the feeling got. It was like she was projecting it. When she told him she needed to lie down, he shook away the feeling that threatened to drown him and scrambled to hold her upright. “I’ll help you into the tent. Lean your weight into me.” He hooked his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him. The electricity that jolted his body when he touched her, shook him. His arm recoiled and he stepped back, shaking the sting out of it.

[Auldwin]

How did she know? Well she didn't. But Auldwin did, and he lived his time through her now. He knew all too well. The memories of his life weren't so jumbled as he would have wanted them to be, especially those last few moments. The vision of those deadly creatures coming down upon him, his muscles helpless to do anything about it. Even when he was given reign upon his body there was no way to stop that which was already in motion. Auldwin's death had been decided and nothing short of a miracle would have saved him. That miracle never came. "Ghosts are quite a tricky bunch. There's n--..." damn Auldwin thought, the hold over the woman's body was fading. Picking up her muscular tensions were becoming more and more difficult, and it was an effort to keep her standing now. Of course when Zeal moved in to touch her, Auldwin couldn't step away within the woman's body fast enough. In the end he received that pained prickling feeling, like a tiny storm of lightning dancing across his fingers. "...no telling where...they might be. They could be close...to you, and you might not even know it. Ahaha...HAHAHAHA!" he just couldn't help laughing through her. Her head came back, mouth pointed toward the sky, her fingers curling and spasming slightly as her arms hung at her sides. How ironic it all was, and yet this Zeal couldn't help but drive Auldwin absolutely crazy. Already his feelings were bundled up considering his death, but the boy's disregard for the truth drove him to madness. Finally he couldn't handle it anymore, he had to release the woman and blink himself down into the earth, away from the direct prying eyes of Zeal. Of course this wouldn't be the last time they would meet. The woman slunk down to her knees just before Auldwin released her completely. She would be tired from the overall experience, but there would be no physical injury. That wasn't meant for her after all, just for Zeal.