Solo A Ghastly State of Affairs

[Keene Ward]

The sixteenth day of fall, 514 AV.

"So yer sayin' ya don't know who Wander is?" Boswell's voice, as always, was saturated with mirth. Something Keene found disconcerting, though not enough so to turn the man away when he knocked on his door with fresh cooked "thorn hare". The meat tasted exactly like rabbit, which Keene had stated the first time he'd had it and had received a bout of laughter from his gregarious companion. That had been a few days ago, and when Boswell had knocked on his door with meat in hand once more, Keene graciously accepted, eating in silence. Their conversation, which usually consisted of Boswell talking and Keene interjecting with the occasional monosyllabic response, had meandered its way onto the subject of the courtyard.

When Keene had arrived, the disturbing aura of the graveyard had been entirely mitigated by the novelty of his experience. However, upon exiting the Gug Andjak after losing his backpack to Risabel, the full reality of the space had hit him like a spectral clutch at his face. Literally. Keene had never had much of an opinion on spirits. Mella had mentioned ghosts in passing, but they were entities Keene had spent little time worrying about. Sahova, however, seemed to be filled with them. Having been so engrossed in his own musings and investigations, Keene had managed to block out any specific details of the courtyard until it became relevant. In actuality, the space between the buildings within the citadel was a dark, foggy gravesite that housed (according to Boswell) "a whole lotta see-throughs".

"Yes."

Boswell frowned, scrunching his brow in an attempt to better discern Keene's meaning. "Yes ya don't know who Wander is... Or yes ya do?"

Keene blinked. "Yes I don't."

"...Don't know who Wander is?"

"...Yes."

The two sat in the cramped space that had served simultaneously as both Keene's sleeping quarters and a torture room (through the same devices). The nights had become progressively less awful, though Keene doubted his body would ever truly feel free of soreness for the next several years. As for their current state of affairs, Keene stared at Boswell, who returned the gaze with a half smile, unsure of whether Keene had made his first joke or not. "Arright, ya don't know her?"

"No." Boswell returned Keene's blank stare for several beats. "I don't know her."

Satisfied with Keene's final definitive statement, Boswell continued, rubbing his nose with the excitement of information to share. "Well, she'sa real spook, ya know?" Keene raised a brow. Boswell sidled closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. "They say she's the one what put all them see-throughs here'n the first place." Keene, tilted his head slightly, munching on a piece of the hare in contemplation. Unable to ask if ghosts were really able to be moved around at the whim of a "spook", he frowned as Boswell continued. "But she's also the one that keeps 'em all in check." Letting his voice rise to a natural level once more, Boswell popped a chunk of meat into his mouth, barely chewing before he swallowed. "Those little fences? They're'a barrier." He nodded, as if to emphasize the "barrierness" of it. "Protects against them see-throughs."

Aware of what a barrier was, Keene allowed Boswell his explanation. The man took a strange sort of pride in the act, and Keene found little reason to rob him of such satisfaction. Sahova was, if nothing else, a taxing place for a living creature to reside. Whatever kind of joy Boswell could gain from his interaction was Keene only served to make him all the more likely to assist him when the time called for it. Having thoroughly pulverize his bite of meat, Keene swallowed, freeing up his mouth for a question. "What happens if you cross the barrier?"

Boswell had started into another mouthful of meat and had been in the process of swallowing when Keene posited his hypothetical scenario. Spluttering out a few choking coughs, Boswell was able to finally swallow before rubbing some of the tears from his eyes. Evidently crossing the barrier was bad. "Then the see-throughs get all moanin' and wailin'!" He waved his hands in front of his face, shaking his head. "Don't nobody wanna see that. Stay on the paths and you'll be just peachy."

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[Keene Ward]

Boswell stayed on for several more chimes, chattering about the last hunt he'd gone on with Thomas and the others before there was a knock on Keene's door, followed by an order for Boswell's attendance elsewhere. Giving Keene a wink, the other man took his leave. Watching the door close behind the mousy haired man, Keene thoughtfully chewed on the tough meat of the hare, leaning back against the chilly stone of the wall. One thing he could not figure out was how everyone one the island seemed to know where everyone and thing was. The citadel wasn't very large (of course, the multi-layered Quarters and Gug Andjak were deceptively so), so he supposed it wasn't that unlikely for those well versed in the geography of the island paired with an understanding of the social rules and regulations made for a fairly quick way to pinpoint the locations of those on the island. It was something currently beyond his reach, however, as he'd been unable to locate Risabel anywhere after having lost his bag to her (attempting to enter private laboratories without permission resulted in the same magical repercussions as attempting to access the Palsa Hydrasa - a spectacle that had earned him the disdainful looks of many a researcher). He figured she was locked away in the lab, but it was entirely possible he was wrong.

Swallowing the last of the meat, Keene stood up, brushing himself off before unlacing the string that keep the collar of his shirt tight and snug against his neck. While the interior of the buildings in Sahova was unnaturally chilly, the true environment was warm and humid, two things Keene found to be low on his list of "things he found enjoyable". Having learned his lesson from his trek down to the Prairie, Keene removed his gloves, setting them on the bed mat before exiting the room and heading towards the stairs. His mind found itself focused on the idea of ghosts. The dead who had returned for whatever reason or another. They were the things of stories, but Keene had not imagined those stories to be based too close to truth.

Pushing open the door to the courtyard, Keene slipped out from the building, leaning against the heavy wood as he pressed it shut with his back. Staring out into the bleak, misty scene that was the courtyard, the domain of the once living returned to the ethereal plane, Keene sighed. The details of the stones and warped, gnarled trees had entirely escaped him the first two days he'd been on the island. Too distracted to notice the strange, swirling vapors that seemed to tug and pull at the air as it ran contrary to the soft breeze that than through the area, Keene's memory only replayed an empty yard, void of life that could potentially be of use to him. Now, however, the headstones that dotted the area were more than evident. The fog obscured his vision, hiding within it even more untold details he had yet to discover.

Glancing down at the wrought iron fence that lined the path he had started onto, Keene found it hard to believe the flimsy looking metal served as a barrier to ward off the spirits of the dead. Leaning towards the edge of the path, Keene moved his arm, preparing to stick it out over the fence's "protection". Before he did so, however, movement caught the corner of his eye. As he turned to get a better view of the rustle of black fabric he thought he'd seen, nothing but the empty, swirling mists were to be found. Keene started forward once more, this time his movements were cautious and deliberate. Whatever he had seen should have been within his line of sight, assuming he'd seen it at all. There was a soft whisper to his right, to which Keene responded with a twitch of the nose. Whispers were whispers. The courtyard had stone walls on each side, it was not unheard of for there to be echoes of voices in such an area.

Again, a swath of black moved, this time it was just barely out of sight and gone by the time Keene turned to stare in its direction. While he was not the most superstitious of individuals, Keene had little reason to doubt there were forces and beings beyond his understanding. A lack of evidence did not a falsity make. Stopping his advance, Keene crossed his arm, frowning at the mist around him. He'd come to rest beneath a gnarled, twisted tree, one of the few that spotted the area. There were several tombstones nearby, though their inscriptions were too difficult for Keene to make out in the shifting fog (and they seemed much less relevant than the identity of the being in the black fabric).

He waited beneath the tree, examining the limited detail of his surroundings. No sign of the figure in black, which wasn't surprising given he'd been unable to locate it before. There was a slight tug at his hair, which Keene brushed off, taking a few steps forward to remove himself from the influence of the tree's branches. The writing on the gravestones had become clearer with the shifting of the fog, and Keene found they lay outside the flimsy looking fence. Confidently, Keene strode over to the edge of the barrier, loosing steam immediately upon being faced with the prospect of a loss of protection. He stared down at the forlorn looking metal, weighing his options. If Boswell were correct, it was a mistake to leave the safety of the path. If he were wrong, however, Keene had only one way of knowing.

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[Keene Ward]

Taking a deep breath, Keene calmed himself, scratching at a tickle on his side. His foot rose into the air, hovered for a moment above the fence, before he placed it squarely on the ground on the other side. Expecting some sort of large, flashy metaphysical event, Keene found he was disappointed when there was nothing but a faint cry of birds in the distance. Sighing, though this time the breath was the type of a man whose expectations had been shot down, Keene pulled it other foot over, shuffling over to the tombs stones and squatting down to better read their inscriptions. The mist had moved back in, obscuring his vision to the point of where little could be seen beyond a foot in front of him. As he squinted at the faded cravings, there was the distinct sound of mucus being forcefully retained through inhalation via the nose.

Turning round and he stood up, a translucent child floated several feet off of the ground so as to be eye level with Keene. Startled, Keene blinked several times, his eyes following the strange, glowing mist that swirled within the blurred confines of the ghosts body apart from its surroundings. The child returned his stare, gazing with large, shimmering eyes and a small pout. His first conversation with his first ghost, Keene decided to do what was usually expected during a new meeting. Extending his hand, Keene offered a polite, "Hello."

The child looked at Keene's had and back to his face before a wobbling whine bubbled from between his lips. "Play?"

Letting his hand fall to his side after the child's obvious refusal of the gesture, Keene wondered if ghosts were even able to shake hands. The child had a distinctly ethereal quality to him, similar in appearance to res. While curious about the ghost's physical properties, Keene quickly realized he was no longer within the boundary provided by the fences. It was unwise to anger the being by taking a swipe at it to see if it would connect or pass through. Instead, Keene addressed its question. "'Play?' What do you want to play?"

The ghost's face immediately illuminated into a full cheeked smile, a giggle escaping as it did a quick flip in the air. "Play! Let's play!" With a single, swift movement, the ghost dashed straight through Keene's chest. The sensation was similar to being splashed with icy water, only there were no saturation as a result and he could feel the sensation on his Djed rather than merely his skin. Shivers running down his spine as he whirled to face the child. Despite the heat of the day, Keene felt decidedly chilly after the ghost's little stunt. Once he'd rounded on where the boy had dashed to, Keene frowned. There was nothing but the empty air and swirling mists. Unsure what was expected of him by the diminutive being, Keene took several steps back before turning to leave. He had little idea how the barrier worked, but he doubted standing on the other side of it did him any good.

As he neared the fence, a sharp, angry shout erupted from behind him. "No!" Freezing hands latched onto his shoulders, wrenching him off of his feet and tumbling onto the ground behind him. His head slammed into the earth, a hair's width from the sharp edge of a tombstone. The wind was forced from his lungs as his body collided with the ground, sending several lights off dancing about his vision. Coughing, Keene sat up, rubbing the back of his head. He was far too disoriented to consider the situation properly. Instead of jumping up and dashing away from where he believed the ghost to be by the sharp drop in temperature to his left, Keene turned to face the irate child, who had several tears trickling down his round, swirling cheeks. "Play!"

"If you do not explain the rules, how am I to follow them?" Despite the soft pounding at the back of his head, Keene's voice remained calm. There was little point in yelling at the child. If anything, it would have been even more detrimental to his health. If the ghost wanted to play, Keene thought it only logical to explain the game. It was quite obvious at least one of the rules read something like "Thou shalt not leave lest harm befall ye."

The child's storm of emotion calmed some, the swirling glow of his mist darkening in its intensity. "Running's not allowed." Keene nodded, slowly standing up and brushing himself off. The throb in the back of his head had lessened some, a promising indication it had been merely the result of the force of landing and not the beginnings of a bruise. "And..." The child held the "a" out for several beats, rolling its eyes back in thought. "You have to play." Clapping it hands together, the ghost giggled, bobbing up and down in the air. "Ready?!"

Keene shook his head, which earned him a frustrated pout. "How do I play?"

"You..." Again, the vowel was extended as it thought. Unable to come to an explainable conclusion, the child's eyes began to well up once more. "You- You..." As the child attempted to explain just how exactly Keene was supposed to fulfill the role of "play", Keene had begun to take small, incremental steps towards the edge of the barrier, keeping sure to only move when the child seemed too distressed to notice. The whining stopped once an epiphany had been reached. "You run! I chase!" Clapping its hands together with excited glee, the ghost once more charged at Keene. This time, however, he was much better prepared, ducking down as the spirit swooped harmlessly over his head trailing a harmless tail of cold behind him. A fit of laughter burst fourth somewhere higher up in the fog before the shimmering glow of the ghost dove out of the sky towards him once more. Wasting no time, Keene dashed towards the fence, making an awkward leap over the iron that sent him stumbling several steps forward and almost back out of the area before he stopped, waving his arms to gain balance.

From behind him, there was a frustrated shout as the ghost was stopped short of entering the area. "Not fair! Not fair!" The child's temper had risen once more. "You're cheating!"

Cautiously, Keene moved forward, keeping a good distance between himself and the irate child's spirit. "You chased, I ran. I didn't break any rules." There was a pause in the howling as the child considered the statement. Disliking the message, the child returned to its shouting. "Shall we play another game next time?"

Again, the child paused, its wide eyes staring at Keene with a perplexed tearfulness. "N-next time?"

Keene nodded, "I believe it's called 'Hide-and-Seek'."

Perking up, the ghost rose several more inches off of the ground in excitement. "Hide-and-Seek? How do we play? How?"

Lifting a finger that elicited yet another pause in the child's stream of noise indicating its various moods, Keene shook his head. "I will explain next time."

"No! Explain now!"

"I will explain next time, or I will not explain at all."

Considering its options, the ghost's inner mist stilled from its raging turmoil, sluggishly twisting behind the child's dejected frown. "Fine."

Nodding in agreement to their spoken contract, Keene extended a had towards the ghost, though he kept his hand within the barrier's line. "I'm Keene. What should I call you?"

Slowly, the child began to fade, a little smile crossing his face. "Oscar." Until only the sound of his giggling remained.

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[Keene Ward]

With the departure of the spirit, Keene felt the air around him warm considerably. So too did the jelly in his legs. He stumbled towards the tree, falling into it as he sank down to the ground to regain his bearings. Steadying his hands by placing them firmly on the ground, Keene leaned his head against the tree and took several deep breaths, slowly exhaling as Mella had once explained the art of meditation. She had always said meditation was a way to still the body and calm the mind, but Keene had always found himself too busy to sit down and take the time for it. Now, however, he found it incredibly soothing. The gentle flow of air in and out of his lungs helped distract him from his unnaturally chilled body. The encounter with the ghost had been far more taxing than he could have anticipated. He lay still for a while, ignoring the faint cries in the distance and the occasional tug at his clothing. It had been awhile since he'd been so shaken, though his mind had yet to fully process it.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring at the hem of a black robe with small leather boots beneath. Immediately, Keene's head flicked upwards, his eyes quickly scanning for the figure's face. His quick, paranoid gesture was received by the all too familiar sneer of none other than Risabel Timpel. She snorted, yet another pig-like quality that never stopped being surprising given her slight frame and typically innocent appearance. "Ghost got your tongue, Ward?" Chuckling, she extended out a hand to help him up. Warily, Keene took hold, pulling himself to his feet with the assistance of the maledictor. "Did you step over the line?" She made a vague wave of the hand in the direction of "Wander's" fence. Feeling as though the act had been far more foolish than he had at first anticipated, Keene responded with a tight lipped nod. Risabel was not the person he wanted to discover him, under a tree shaken up from a supernatural encounter. Instead of taking further jest, she just shrugged, her wild mass of hair bouncing from the movement.

Keene stared blankly at the woman, squinting a slight touch in appraisal. "You're not making jokes."

"I did it too." She seemed rather smug that Keene had followed in her footsteps. "I mean, look at that." Her hand moved in a low slow arc to better illustrate her point. "No way that flimsy thing is the only way the ghosts aren't running around like mad." Chuckling, Risabel let out a blissful sigh. "That little one, Oscar? He was the first to greet me. Just about pissed myself." Keene's frown twitched at the corners. He knew the feeling. "And after we played his little 'game', a whole bunch more showed up." She shook her head, rolling her eyes at the experience. "Gods, I was almost certain was done for." Turning to stare out over the barrier's boarder, a little smile curved her lips. "That little cherub had chased me all over the courtyard, but when the others showed up, I was right at the edge." Facing Keene once more, Risabel's tone took on a cautionary tone (however steeped in sarcasm it may have been). "Don't think that little one won't tear your Djed apart the minute you piss him off. Only reason he saved me is because he thought I was fun." On a more serious note, Risabel finished the little lecture with a bit of advice Keene found he'd keep in mind. "Ghosts are a mess. The tick you forget that?" Risabel clapped her hands together, "Pop! You're ghost food."

"Ghosts eat?"

"...I don't know." An exasperated huff followed the bitter statement. "You're missing the point."

"Don't forget ghosts are a mess."

"Well yes..." Risabel rubbed her forehead in frustration, pressing two of her fingers into an aggressive massage. "Just be wary of them. That's the point." Keene moved to ask another question, to which Risabel threw up a hand to stop him. "No, I don't know if the ghosts can hear us. Yes they can go invisible. No, I don't know how exactly you're supposed to be 'wary'." The word "wary" was given special attention by Risabel's pointer and middle fingers. "And how many are there?" A puff of air was forcefully ejected from between tight lips. "Hai if I know. Maybe thousands."

Keene waited until the rant had ended before speaking his original question, though the information provided had answered some of his questions regarding the ethereal race. "I was wondering if you're finished with my backpack. I'd like it back soon."

"No." The response was rather haughty and irritated, something Keene found to be the common way with Risabel. "And I won't be done with it until I'm done with the bones, like I told you before." Her adamant refusal to return the pack seemed illogical to Keene. There were plenty of places in the lab she worked in to put the pieces she wasn't using. It was simply a matter of emptying. He decided the woman was too lazy to do so, resulting in her frustrations coming to the surface every time he asked about it: she was ashamed of her weakness. Seemingly insulted by Keene's request, Risabel had turned tail and was heading back toward the Gug Andjak. Having to reason to go after her, he merely waved when she checked over her shoulder. The gesture seemed to give even greater speed to her stomping as she departed.

Having regained his composure in part due to Risabel's interruption, Keene gazed out into the swirling mist of the courtyard once more. The movement of the smoky substance that seemed to defy the laws of nature had a new meaning to his understanding. Ghosts were certainly very real. And the mist that danced and twisted in the distance, all over; it was entirely likely each was a separate spirit. A small bubble of laughter bounced around in the distance, and Keene was quick to remember his agreement with the child Oscar. Risabel's advice, however jovial, seemed to be as valid as Boswell's; this time, however, Keene felt little reason to test her theories' fallibility. He found himself content to merely remain wary when dealing with ghosts.

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[Ink]

Fate has dictated the conclusion to your journey...

...And now, only Fortune awaits you.

I am Ink, Mistress of Sahova; and it is my pleasure to award you with this bounty of XP and Lore. If you have any questions regarding this Grade, please do not hesitate to send me a PM. Fret not, I tend not to smite...often.

 

Keene

XP

• Pending

LORES

• Stealth 1
• Meditation 1
• Observation 2
• Socialization 3
• Rhetoric 1

MISCELLANEOUS

• 'Wander's' Fence
• Barriers, keeps in the ‘see-throughs’
• Meeting A Ghost
• Oscar the ‘Playful’ Ghost
• Dont Forget Ghosts Are a Mess

With Regards,
Ink