IABD 67: The Monk's Regret

“At the outset, it had seemed that all would go well. I recruited a band of adventurers from afar under the promise of treasure and spoils that once belonged to long dead civilizations buried under our abbey,” Matthias continued reading the monk’s grim account. “These soldiers of fortune were mighty in their own right: experienced in exploring ruins within the Wolfwood, and among their number were beast slayers and a Life Enforcement practitioner. Their equipment looked well maintained and well crafted, at least, to my amateur's eye. They conducted themselves professionally and gave me no reason to mistrust them. We entered the catacombs beneath the abbey with care, bringing plenty of provisions with us. The ghouls were soon roused by our presence in the tunnels, but the adventurers slayed them with ease. Even the bigger monsters--- ghoul trolls and ogres alike---were no match for them.” 

Matthias flipped a page. 

“We camped in the dark and in that time, learned much of each other’s story. Reshur. Uflric. Colleta. Islinth. Osefine. Fabianus. Glidal. I do not expect that you will remember those names, stranger, but it is important to me that I record them. They deserve to be immortalized. They had come from many different places across the continent and beyond, and shared tales with me that my mind had difficulty imagining. They did not deserve the fate that followed, for it was not the sword nor the spear or even the claw that felled them. It was my own carelessness. Having not ventured very deep into the tunnels beneath the abbey myself, I was unaware of the true dangers that lurked there.” 

Ellian swallowed, eyeing the abbey tensely. “True dangers…” he muttered, barely breathing. 

Matthias kept on reading, his heartbeat quickening. His mind’s eye easily summoned images of tunnels where light never reached, that were filled with a heavy miasma and the hungering undead. 

“I had grown accustomed to the miasma after having lived in the abbey for as long as I had, but the newcomers had little resistance to the stench. The adventurers resisted it for a time, but as we travelled deeper into the dark, the foulness increased. It reaches deep inside you after a time, assaulting your soul through your senses. Soon, it became difficult for them to sleep. Then even breathe. Fear crawled into our minds like worms burrowing through flesh. We began falling ill, as though our very insides were rotting away. By the time we fully understood that we needed to get out, it was too late. Glidal succumbed to the miasma first, making him attack Ulfric. They both transformed, taking the form of ghouls, and our other companions then had to put their friends down like sick dogs. At that point, we raced for the surface, but we were many days from it, and that is when we encountered the marked ghouls. They were smarter than the rest and only made their presence known when we became weakened. Their natural eyes had been burned away as if by flame and odd eye symbols were carved into their foreheads in their place. These likenesses of true eyes allowed them to see as well as, if not better, than we were able to. The creatures are cunning, and a supernatural light envelops their sword blades. I do not know if they were born from the corpses of the warriors who had attacked the abbey, or if they came from the dead already buried in the ruins beneath it. But that did not matter. No matter their genesis, they slaughtered my companions and—unlike their lesser kin—they could see me clearly. They mocked us as they tore into us, and through their unnatural eyes, I could sense something watching us. Something timeless. Fouler than a lesser ghoul. It was this intellect that engineered our ruin, I am convinced of that, and it did it very well. We stood little chance against the abominations, and I barely escaped with my life. Every brave soul that I led into the dark met their end in the dark and I beg their souls for forgiveness.” 

“This is a truly grim story.” Beggahasta said, shaking her head. 

“It is,” Matthias agreed. “And it gets worse.” He flipped the pages, skimming the words. “It looks like the monk tried three more times, recruiting different warriors and even mages and scholars to go into the ruins with him for treasure, and to try to break the curse. He’s the only one to escape with his life each time, and…oh…oh here’s his last entry.” 

“Please read it,” Polla said. 

Matthias began: 

“I can clearly see now what I was so blind to before. Eyes. Eyes. Eyes. Always watching in the deep. I believe that whatever the evil intellect is that moves these ghouls, also delights in my suffering. Every expedition ended in worse and far more vicious slaughtering of those I had called to my aid: it was as if the ghouls and whatever watches me through their eye-symbols dedicated their time to conceiving of the worst tortures to place my companions under. I feel that they watch me from nearby and listen as I weep in my quarters. Well, to them, I say no more! I am the one who created this darkness, and I shall be the one to burn it away. I have armed myself, after a fashion: a sword taken from the body of poor Reshur—” Matthias paused, looking up. “That was the name of one of the warriors who was on the monk’s first expedition. “—and I have learned to defend myself to a degree. Better yet, I have learned much about the tunnels below me and have created a map. I am resistant to the miasma and have grown more-so over the years. No more will I unwittingly lure others to their deaths. This is my responsibility. Mine alone. I will end this account here, stranger, as I gird myself to venture into the depths to find a way to destroy the festering rot that lies beneath my home. I will do this, but should I fail, there will be no more entries. If you are reading this and the abbey is still haunted by these undead, know that I have failed. If you should wish to take up my burden, stranger, then I beg you…please do not. Let Windstone rest. Let the curse continue. Perhaps that is the suffering my god would have welcomed, I do not wish for others to contract the plague that I have wrought. I will leave you now. May Jormgund forgive me. May Windstone be free. – A Cursed, Nameless Monk.” 

Matthias and the others stayed silent for a long time. 

The young greatfolk slowly closed the book as though shutting the casket of the departed at their funeral. “That poor man. It’s not his fault his words were twisted like they were. It’s not his fault his abbey was attacked. It’s not his fault those poor people died, the ghouls and whatever filthy monster that lurks under the earth caused it. It’s not fair.” 

Matthias thought on his own life; he’d suffered when his only ‘crime’ was being born. He had almost lost his brother, and—when he finally gained power—he had struck back against those who repeatedly harmed him. 

Would he have deserved to have his intent twisted, and see his family’s and other people’s lives twisted and ruined? 

An evil infests this place, the more he thought about that, the more he hated the idea. Why should the world allow these ghouls to keep living, doing whatever they wanted? From what the monk said, it seemed that a cruel entity ruled them; why should it get to torment at will? 

Why should it be rewarded for its filthy ways? 

“Intent is important,” Polla said. “But it is unfortunate that the one who recorded in that journal suffered in such a way. Such is the way of the world, though. At least we learned about the miasma, which makes his account useful.” 

Matthias winced; there was a coldness in her words that surprised him. 

“I’m wondering how well we would do against that miasma,” Bregindoure said. “Matthie, did the monk say anything about any Life Enforcement practitioners lasting longer than the others?” 

Matthias shook his head. “He included no such details. …but I wonder if I would do well going down there. I was touched by death, and am closer to it; couldn’t that mean that the miasma would not affect me as severely?” 

“Or it could be worse for you, since you are closer to death. Did you not say that the miasma affected you deeply when we first arrived in Windstone?” Polla asked him, pointedly. 

“It did, but I’ve gotten used to it,” he said. “And now, if anything, I feel better here. My soul keeps contracting, I need to think about it less and less these days.” 

“I see. Interesting, but I think it would be best if we limit our activities to the upper levels.” 

“But I thought I was supposed to go down there so I could surround myself in death’s energies?” he asked. 

“That was before I knew about this miasma actually killing others and that there is a sinister presence lurking below Windstone,” she said. “This new information will slow the process, but we have to consider your life, that’s why we should have you remain on the upper levels where it is safer.” 

“I…don’t think I like that idea.” 

“Why not?” Polla asked. “Better to do things slower, and safer.” 

“I disagree with that,” Matthias said. “I think that I could enhance my foundation if I practised Soul Breathing and Life Energy Circulation by going as deep as I can...besides, there’s something else I’m thinking about.” 

“And what would that be, Matt?” Beggahasta asked. 

He looked up at the abbey. “From the moment we came here, I’ve thought of one thing: isn’t it terrible that this once beautiful place is now reduced to nothing more than a ghoul’s nest? It doesn’t sit right with me. I think the ghouls, the curse, and whatever it is that lies in the bowels of the abbey, should be destroyed.” 

“Something else to think about is that magical weapon the old story mentioned,” Bregindoure said. “I don’t know anything about magical urns, but wouldn’t a powerful weapon be quite the prize? I know I’d want something like that.” 

“But it’s a weapon of light,” Beggahasta said. “Wouldn’t shadow be harmed by it?” 

Matthias paused.  

His mother’s words sounded right…yet also wrong in some ways. 

His mind went back to the light from the ghoul knight’s sword and his shadow tendril twisting around each other. Examining what had happened, how they’d burned and destroyed each other, on the surface, it seemed like they were harmful to each other, but there had to be more to it than that. 

He still couldn’t put his finger on what that might be, but it meant more than it seemed. 

“I think I’d like to have a look at this weapon of light,” Matthias said. “I’m curious about it, and also why that warrior couldn’t use it.” 

“But if you cannot wield that weapon, then why would you risk going down into the miasma and ghoul-infested tunnels to hunt for it? To destroy a curse?” Polla asked. “Doing that would not benefit you.”   

“It might not, but I still want to wipe the stain off this place,” he insisted. “If not me, then someone else should, but I don’t see a long line of people offering to head down there.” 

“I’d have your back,” Bregindoure assured him. 

“Me too!” Dagma agreed. 

“I would as well, though I cannot say how long we would remain safe against the miasma…” Beggahasta said. “We would have to answer that question first, and we can only learn that answer by venturing deeper into the abbey.” 

“I’d be up for that.” Bregindoure rubbed his Runed hands together. “Now this is sounding like the kind of adventure I’ve read about in books! I like this idea.” 

“I must admit, it sounds thrilling, but I would rather read about it in books rather than experience it myself,” Ellian admitted. 

“Sensible,” Polla nodded. “Matthias, I cannot see the benefit for/to you in doing this. Why aid this dead monk? He is dead, and he either bears his sorrow as a spirit, or into the after-world. It is his affair.” 

“Well, I would like to change that.” Matthias stood up, his resolve deepening. 

“Why? Why would you push to do such a thing?” 

“Why help me?” Matthias faced Polla. 

“What?” the mage startled, one of the few times he’d seen her composure slip. There was dread in her grey eyes. 

“You left your important position in the Vale of the Magi to train me, if only temporarily. You live in a ghoul-infested ruin, and that can’t be too comfortable for you. Why do all of that for me?” he asked her. 

“I wish to see you succeed,” she spoke quickly. “And I am learning much about Divine Breath by studying you.” 

“Exactly. And I will learn more about myself when I step into the miasma down there. But I also want to see the abbey freed, just like you want to see me succeed. Do you know how many times I wished that someone would have come to Barrowgate to get rid of those filthy slugs that made my life a living hell? But no one ever came, so I did it, I had to do it myself. If Altaizar—your own son—hadn’t helped me, I’d likely be dead or crippled by now. But those things didn’t happen. Instead, I got to break those gutless bastards with my own two hands, and it felt damned good. It felt good when I stuck my sword in that sneering ghoul’s face. I want to go down there and break that lurking monster…simply because I want to do it.” 

He looked up at Polla.  

“And for me, that’s enough.” 

She scoffed. “You really do sound like my son, in many ways. Very well. You are going to grow into the man you wish to be. It isn’t my business. But what have you to say about all of this, Beggahasta?” 

“If my son wants to right this wrong, then it’s my job to support him.” Beggahasta clapped Matthias on the shoulder.  

“Now, before people look at me like I’ve lost my mind. I don’t want to go down into the darkness right at this very moment, I want to get stronger first. Grow into greater strength as a man, hopefully solidify my foundation. I intend to do this, I want to do this, but I’m not mad enough to try to do it unprepared.” 

Polla sighed audibly, relieved. “I’m glad to hear you say that, and to also know there’s sense to it,” she said. 

“And to that point, I would like to keep training, solidifying my foundation, and strengthening myself against the ghouls and the miasma. Will you still help me, Mistress Polla?” 

She sighed again. “You will have my knowledge and my magic for as long as this leg of your journey takes. I promised to guide you while you solidify your foundation, and I will not break that promise.” 

“Good,” he said. “Then it’s settled. When I’m ready, I will walk into Windstone…and when I leave it, there will no longer be a curse on it. If darkness is that creature’s ally, then…” 

He looked at his shadow. 

“…I will bring a deeper darkness to it, one that will not be a friend to it.” 

As that thought played in his mind, it also returned to his tendril’s reaction to the light. 

Again, he was puzzled by it, but what it all meant, eluded him. 

### 

Like a young man possessed, Matthias threw himself into his training. 

Every day was spent preparing to reach a goal: to shatter whatever it was that lurked in the depths of Windstone Abbey. He circulated life energy constantly, joining Bregindoure and Dagma in sparring matches in the snow, and venturing into Windstone Abbey with Polla and Beggahasta backing the three of them up. 

As time passed, circulating his life energy became as constant and instinctive as his heart beating. He no longer needed to actively practise it during his waking hours or even when he was asleep, just as he did not have to manage the beating of his heart. 

And one day, Polla proudly declared that he had mastered it, and he could move on to the next stage of his training: returning to Soul Breathing. 

“Now that you are constantly circulating your energy,” she explained one early winter’s morning. “Your life channels will remain strong and will only grow stronger. So, it’s now time for you to take in some of the ambient power and Divine Breath that lays over Windstone. You will Soul Breath slowly and carefully, and I will teach you how to manipulate energy as it enters your body and soul. Remember what I said to you: your body and soul are more flexible in youth. Let’s take advantage of that flexibility by manipulating your life force, shaping it to better fuse with the energies you take in.” 

“I understand,” Matthias had said. “Just like the Way of Stone.” 

He’d said he understood, but the task was far more difficult than he’d expected: manipulating both his energies and the Divine Breath he was absorbing was a trial: it took him weeks to finally get to the point where he could do so reliably. 

Once he was able to perform the manipulation on his own, Polla simply guided him while he shifted his energies, monitoring him closely and ensuring that he didn’t create any major imbalances in his body and soul. 

The more he manipulated his energy, the more his thoughts returned to the day he saw light and shadow bend. He was still convinced that there was something he was supposed to pay attention to in that, and his mind never strayed far from that thought. 

He kept considering light and shadow, turning them over in his mind as he, Dagma and Bregindoure entered the abbey frequently, growing more self-assured each time they faced the ghouls. Their coordination sharpened, as the many battles honed their skills quicker than any sparring matches ever could. 

Weeks became months and things changed. 

Dagma turned from ten to eleven and hit a growth spurt. 

Matthias turned fifteen; his body was changing, becoming more solid, more muscular and much stronger. He could fight faster, longer and strike harder as the days went by. The youthfulness of his face was changing, he was taking on more of the features of manhood, something his brother and sister teased him about as his features became more chiseled and his facial hair thicker. 

His foundation continued to mature. With every week he practiced Soul Breathing, he discovered more stone hardening at the foot of his Towers, as well as more power filling his body. 

Progress was going nicely, and he was pleased. 

Yet the question of the ghoul knight’s light and his shadow continued to hang over him. 

He could find no answer to that question...and he would not find one… 

…until late spring. 

An answer finally came after Beggahasta declared that her three children were at last ready for their first foray beneath Windstone. 

###

Author's Note

Another time jump as he grows now with more revealed. I enjoyed writing that conversation with Polla and Matthias. It's like...as he is coming into his own, more of who he is, is establishing itself.

He's growing into the man he will become, which I always like to see in coming of age stories.

Also about to try Doom! I'll y'all how it goes! Ta-ta for now!