8th of Winter, Cemetery, Evening
He got warned about doing his job better. Running a tight ship, they called it. Funny. The exhibitions with Annie distracted him from his real goal – information. They would need a new deal where she provided him with more information in return for his side of it. The bang on the cobbles reminded him of last night. As he nudged in that direction, the movement was too quick for a hunched man with a bad leg. He would need to pay more attention. The sound repeated. It became rhythmic. Drew closer.
tk tk tk tk tk tk tk
Then he could finally see it, the small rock as it moved towards him – almost invisible. There was mist on it, but he couldn’t trace where it came from exactly. A visitor wanted his attention and got it. It was always hard to feel ghosts in this place. You started to know they were here when coming up the road to the cemetery, and the feeling never left you. It reminded him of his situation. The voice that came was next to him “I saw you yesterday” as he turned towards the voice, he was met with a horribly disfigured face. The translucent shape suggested that the deformities of the head were produced by blunt force. The neck looked unnaturally cooked and several of the fingers on the right hand were squished. You always had to be wary of ghosts who chose forms that were unpleasant to be around. Most often they just reveled in the terror of it.
“I don’t want to repeat myself!” and the stone that had since stopped banging flew close enough to his head that there was no mistaking its intention. Pulled out of his thoughts, Gormyr realized he’d been appraising the spirit a bit longer. Common. Bob. “Mean no ill” he hunched a bit lower in an awkward play at a bow, but the spirit seemed unamused “Don’t play dumb” another banging sound, as the onceface pulled closer to his own. “I am more than able to make us look as brothers”. That hit a nerve, and Vantha looked up at him, eyes betraying resentment. Pulling his hand up, he jabbed his index towards the ghost, just shy of touching him. “Could fight. Could win”. That gave the ghost a good laugh “There is no need for us to struggle. Even if you win, I can make sure you die. I need but make noise. The Wave will come. They will come” it felt like he feared them somewhat. “Your eyes betray you” and an index of his own, crossed together almost like swords “and I can make sure they look hard enough” tone mocking.
“What you want?” they were past polite of any shape “I want you to get it back!” even in the disfigured state he was in, the remainder of his lip still twitched up. “My life’s work” and there he became quieter, as if he was worried about the other specters knowing. “Why not you take it? Is yours, no?” the spirit seemed taken aback “Cause I’d rather not be dusted of course” dusted? Gormyr was just barely able not to ask. It would serve him better if he pretended to know. Either his eyes were on his side for the moment, or the newcomer was distracted – but he was able to hide his inexperience.
“Why I do it?” the spirit seemed to ponder that one a bit. “Are you not afraid of death, boy?” shoulders rolled in resignation “Very scared, but more world than you”. This stopped the ghost in its tracks “What you do for me?”
“Ah, a man after my own heart” the ghost was having fun “If you get my work back from the traitors, I will share it with you. Such marvels!” the ghost paused, and added “If we work together well here, there is always more work to be done”.
“What is your work?” ghostly hands clapped together soundless. He could feel the Vantha on his hook. “How would you like to be one of them?” he looked with contempt at the city “How would you like to hide in things other than grime?” when the Vantha cocked his head in confusion “Grime, dirt, mud, shyke, grime!” each word louder than the last, but his message got across.
“I like that”
He got warned about doing his job better. Running a tight ship, they called it. Funny. The exhibitions with Annie distracted him from his real goal – information. They would need a new deal where she provided him with more information in return for his side of it. The bang on the cobbles reminded him of last night. As he nudged in that direction, the movement was too quick for a hunched man with a bad leg. He would need to pay more attention. The sound repeated. It became rhythmic. Drew closer.
tk tk tk tk tk tk tk
Then he could finally see it, the small rock as it moved towards him – almost invisible. There was mist on it, but he couldn’t trace where it came from exactly. A visitor wanted his attention and got it. It was always hard to feel ghosts in this place. You started to know they were here when coming up the road to the cemetery, and the feeling never left you. It reminded him of his situation. The voice that came was next to him “I saw you yesterday” as he turned towards the voice, he was met with a horribly disfigured face. The translucent shape suggested that the deformities of the head were produced by blunt force. The neck looked unnaturally cooked and several of the fingers on the right hand were squished. You always had to be wary of ghosts who chose forms that were unpleasant to be around. Most often they just reveled in the terror of it.
“I don’t want to repeat myself!” and the stone that had since stopped banging flew close enough to his head that there was no mistaking its intention. Pulled out of his thoughts, Gormyr realized he’d been appraising the spirit a bit longer. Common. Bob. “Mean no ill” he hunched a bit lower in an awkward play at a bow, but the spirit seemed unamused “Don’t play dumb” another banging sound, as the onceface pulled closer to his own. “I am more than able to make us look as brothers”. That hit a nerve, and Vantha looked up at him, eyes betraying resentment. Pulling his hand up, he jabbed his index towards the ghost, just shy of touching him. “Could fight. Could win”. That gave the ghost a good laugh “There is no need for us to struggle. Even if you win, I can make sure you die. I need but make noise. The Wave will come. They will come” it felt like he feared them somewhat. “Your eyes betray you” and an index of his own, crossed together almost like swords “and I can make sure they look hard enough” tone mocking.
“What you want?” they were past polite of any shape “I want you to get it back!” even in the disfigured state he was in, the remainder of his lip still twitched up. “My life’s work” and there he became quieter, as if he was worried about the other specters knowing. “Why not you take it? Is yours, no?” the spirit seemed taken aback “Cause I’d rather not be dusted of course” dusted? Gormyr was just barely able not to ask. It would serve him better if he pretended to know. Either his eyes were on his side for the moment, or the newcomer was distracted – but he was able to hide his inexperience.
“Why I do it?” the spirit seemed to ponder that one a bit. “Are you not afraid of death, boy?” shoulders rolled in resignation “Very scared, but more world than you”. This stopped the ghost in its tracks “What you do for me?”
“Ah, a man after my own heart” the ghost was having fun “If you get my work back from the traitors, I will share it with you. Such marvels!” the ghost paused, and added “If we work together well here, there is always more work to be done”.
“What is your work?” ghostly hands clapped together soundless. He could feel the Vantha on his hook. “How would you like to be one of them?” he looked with contempt at the city “How would you like to hide in things other than grime?” when the Vantha cocked his head in confusion “Grime, dirt, mud, shyke, grime!” each word louder than the last, but his message got across.
“I like that”