IABD 66: The Monk's Account

It was all there, laid out in black ink on yellowed parchment: a testament to a man’s suffering and his accounting of a supernatural grudge. With shaking hands Matthias picked the book up. 

“Some of the language is very old.” he whispered. “And judging from the words, I believe they were written by the monk who cursed Windstone.” 

The otherwise quiet room abruptly came to life as his companions rapidly approached him. 

They crowded around the journal. 

“Lower it! Lower it!” Ellian pleaded. “I want to see.” 

“Careful how you handle it,” Bregindoure warned. “You don’t want the oils from your hands ruining the parchment.” 

“I would not worry about that.” Polla ran a finger across the top of a page. “Something has preserved this book through the centuries, and I can feel magic infusing it: as surely as the monk’s curse lies over Windstone, I believe these pages will always be preserved. I would be surprised if even burning it could destroy them.” 

“This entire room looks like it’s been preserved.” Bregindoure looked around, his grip tightening on his weapons. The Rune of Clarity burned on his left hand, as though trying to steady his nerves. “This is surely a phantom’s den, and I don’t know if it would want us in here.” 

“You don’t hear that weeping now, do you, Matt?” Beggahasta made for the window and looked through the stained glass. 

“No.” he slowly flipped the journal pages. “There’s not even a whimper. I don’t know if the spirit was in here or what’s going on…but if it was, it’s gone now, seems it’s not interested in stopping us from looking at the journal.” 

“You think it wanted us to find it?” Dagma asked. 

“For what purpose?” Ellian asked. 

“I don’t know…maybe we’ll find out when we read some more,” Matthias focused on the first entry then cleared his throat. “This isn’t dated.” 

He began reading: 

“In my haste and in my rage, I brought hell onto this place.  

To curse the invaders, I cursed us all.  

To punish my enemies, I punished my brothers and sisters.  

Now we all pay, and I am the only living being left to know our sorrow.  

Oh, Jormgund, what have I done?  

To anyone unfortunate enough to lay eyes upon this grim document, know now that you read a testament of sin. You hold in your hands an account of the vilest twisting of rage and hatred unleashed, so destructive that it violates the very sanctity of death itself. 

Seek not my name within these pages, for I have forsaken it.  

I am a Brother of Sin, and do not deserve the name that my parents granted me with hope in their hearts. Not when I have come to this. 

This testament is to serve as a confession, a record and a meditation to steady my heart so that I may have the nerve to do what must be done. 

But most of all, its greatest purpose is to serve as a warning: it is too late for me, stranger from across the ages, but if these entries stop even a single soul from making the same mistakes as I, then it will be worth it.” 

“It continues,” Matthias flipped the pages with hesitation. “There’s a lot here. Too much to read all at once.” 

“I can speed read.” Ellian raised his hand as though calling a teacher’s attention to himself. “But, only if I read to myself, not out loud.” 

“We don’t know when the ghouls will make their way up here so it would be better if we take the book and go. That is, if the book can leave the room.” Beggahasta reasoned. “I must admit to knowing very little about strange old magics and ancient curses.” 

“Let’s find out if we can take it.” Matthias gently closed the book, walking to the door. 

He gingerly stepped across the threshold, suddenly feeling like he’d stepped through a curtain of ice water. His body shuddered, but no force assailed him, stopping him from leaving the room or forcing the book from his hands. 

“I can take it with us,” he announced, relieved. 

“Excellent.” Polla floated from the room. “Let’s close the door. If whatever sealed this room is gone, I will lay my own magics into it. There are plenty of books in there for us to examine when time permits.” For the first time since he’d met her, Matthias could see her grey eyes sparking with excitement. “We could learn much of Windstone’s history and perhaps even find mystical knowledge in those books.” 

He nodded at that, his attention quickly returning to the monk’s journal, as he burned with curiosity about the man who’d called down a curse upon Windstone Abbey. 

With any hope, within the pages of the monk’s chronicle, they might learn how to break the curse. 

### 

The rest of their time, such as it was, spent exploring that part of the abbey, passed without incident. 

 They moved quickly, below them they could hear muffled screeching coming through the stone. Passing the stairway Beggahasta had sealed, cracks were now visible in the wall, running through the stone barrier where ghouls had been attacking it.  A few quick commands from Beggahasta strengthened the seal, but they knew it would be wiser to stop exploring and retreat for the day. With the monk’s journal in hand, Matthias and his companions made their way out of the ruin and into the snowy courtyard. By the time they reached their hermit houses, ghouls were visible in the abbey’s windows, glaring down at the retreating intruders. 

But they did not follow those intruders. 

At least, not yet. 

Whether because of caution, fear, or something else, the Stonebreakers, Polla and Ellian could not say. What the group did come to learn, however, was that the ghouls’ behaviour changed that night. 

It seemed the mortals had shattered the uneasy peace between them and the undead the moment they’d entered their den and destroyed one of their leaders. Now, the monsters were no longer willing to silently tolerate their presence. 

Polla’s wards didn’t allow any of the foul creatures to enter the hermit houses, so the undead adopted a new tactic: once night had fallen, they gathered near the hermit houses in massive numbers. 

Together, they inhaled. 

And screamed. 

All night, they shrieked from the depths of their lungs and the bottom of their throats as though they were the mourning dead, wailing at their own passing in the netherworld.  

Their harsh voices pierced the ear and hammered the mind, leaving the Stonebreakers curled up beneath their blankets with their hands pressed to the sides of their heads. They did what they could to fight the torment, desperate to sleep, but even Matthias, seeking escape in the Realm in Dream could not escape into unconsciousness with the unrelenting screeching. 

It went on and on, completely uninterrupted until Beggahasta, outraged by their boldness, took up Tallis and stepped into the snow, determined to put an end to the provocation like the angry parent of a newborn who finally got their child to sleep, only to hear the incessant howling of a neighbourhood dog in heat. 

When she appeared outside the hermit house, they immediately scattered, fleeing back to the abbey or to the woods, disappearing into the night. 

She waited for a time in case they returned, eventually assuming they’d been scared off. Minutes after going back inside, the ghouls returned, quickly gathering around the hermit houses. The warrior woman hadn’t even managed to tuck into her bedroll when the screaming started up again. 

Beggahasta rushed outside, Tallis in hand, only to find the ghouls scattering like leaves. 

The third time the creatures came back and resumed their assault, the warrior woman was ready. She burst from the hermit house in a blur and was among the ghouls before they could even turn to flee. 

Her sword cleaved ruinous arcs through the monsters, leaving dozens cut down and twitching in the snow. When the rest began fleeing, a voice rang out across the courtyard. 

Polla was commanding the elements. 

Before the undead could escape, lightning streaked from the sky, striking the fleeing ghouls. Snow formed constructs; rising from the courtyard, grabbing and crushing scattering ghouls like paste. Fire exploded through the air, burning the grey-skinned creatures to ash. 

In moments, the ghouls were gone, their numbers obliterated. 

The frustrated warrior and irritated mage nodded to each other, both more than a little satisfied with their work. Before returning to their beds, Polla modified the wards to prevent any screeching from being heard inside the hermit houses.  

If the monsters came back to shriek through the night, the inhabitants of the hermit houses would neither know nor care. 

### 

In the following days, Matthias spent most of his time reading as much of the nameless monk’s journal as he could, while also circulating life energy. Training was put on hold for Dagma and Bregindoure, so they could hear the contents of the journal. 

The monk’s tale…was a depressing one. 

The young monk detailed some of his life before he came to the service of Jormgund: he’d been born in the mountains not far from Windstone, and had lived a simple life as a shepherd until his older brother’s death. 

Together, the siblings had been carrying provisions from the market one afternoon when a mountain troll had bounded into their path, half-starved from a long winter. His older brother had saved his life, quickly pushing him into a ravine then throwing himself at the giant, though he knew he didn’t stand a chance. 

The tragic event had left the monk with a permanent limp and a dead older sibling; grieving deeply, he’d reflected on his brother’s act of sacrifice and was moved to a higher purpose. 

He migrated down to the valley to join Windstone Abbey, planning to dedicate his life to community, service and self-sacrifice. The monk spoke of his years at Windstone as happy, but hard ones. 

Toil under the God of Community and Suffering was not easy, but it was rewarding, and the monk had never gone hungry or thirsty. 

Things, however, turned dark when Windstone was attacked. 

“Oh, I don’t think I’m going to like this,” Ellian said. “Does he describe the attack in great detail?” 

“Oddly enough…no,” Matthias said, clearing his throat. “The raiders came upon us swiftly and with terrible force. We had defenders among us, but we were not equipped to fend off an army of bloodthirsty killers, giants and other monsters. It did not take them long to destroy our proud abbey with their siege engines and then breach the outer walls. To my shame, I hid when they broke through the abbey doors, and I do not know if it was mercy or cruelty that let the slayers miss me when they rounded up my brothers and sisters. Reader, I will spare you the details of what followed: the sounds and sights of what they did still haunt my dreams every night and even plague me in my waking hours. I will not pass such evil images unto you.” 

Matthias kept reading: 

“What matters most is what came next. After a time, the cowardice bled from me and I found enough will to move from my hiding place to…well, reader, I cannot be sure what I originally intended. I am no fighter. I am no Gift Wielder or Life Enforcement practitioner or mage or anything so wondrous. I could not lay one of them low, let alone the many thousands that camped in our courtyard and the forest beyond. Upon reflection, I can only conclude that I intended to die with the rest of those who had become my family in faith. And yet…when I slipped into the courtyard and saw the horrors done there, I was incensed. My wrath was even greater than my sorrow from my brother’s passing. Words fail me, stranger, for I cannot tell you truly the force with which hate gripped me in those moments. Hate and I were one, murder was my father, and vengeance my son. I spoke as they jeered and laughed and went to pull me down, but when they heard my words, they laughed no more.” 

Matthias paused: what came next was written in script much larger than the rest. 

“You who bring death shall not know it. You who eat life shall hunger. You who cause suffering will suffer. You who have raided this place shall never leave it. Let your pain seep into the very bones of the earth and let the earth reach up and swallow you.” 

“Chilling words,” Bregindoure said. 

“Made all the worse by the fact that they came true,” Beggahasta added. “What came next?” 

“I think he’s getting to that part,” Matthias said, reading the monk’s next words. “What I was unaware of at the time was that there were…strange things beneath Windstone. I knew that the ruins of past civilizations lay beneath the foundation of our abbey, buried by wind and rock and time, but I was unaware that something dwelt down there. Something that responded to my hate.” 

Chills began running through Matthias’ body. He remembered that strange energy emanating from below Windstone Abbey. 

“Perhaps I can guess at what it might be: the tale of the Nightslayer, which took place in this valley before Windstone was built.”  

Matthias leaned closer to the book. “Long ago, before the Gods returned to strangle the Wolfwood, there was said to be a warrior. This warrior was one of some repute, known for his speed and skill. He opposed a creature of some power. A creature of darkness and night, that proved to be impervious to all mortal weapons. The warrior could fight it but had no way to slay it and stop its plague. As their battles continued, so did his hate grow until he found an artefact of terrible magic. Or perhaps it found him.” 

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. 

“The stories say it was an urn forged of old magic from the Age of Wonder, but others say it came from further afield; its genesis had been on another plane or beyond. What is clear, however, is that this strange, magic urn granted power to those who seek it. The warrior requested a weapon of light to vanquish the darkness, and it is said that the weapon was granted…yet for some unknown reason, he could not use it. He was set upon by the creature while he struggled with his new weapon and he could not defeat it. In their final battle, he was slain, but in that last act, he sealed the monster with him deep beneath the earth. The creature was one of darkness, and so in the dark it would remain. I believe that the magic of the warrior’s ill-worded wish and the creature’s power mingled down there, turning into something worse. No, in truth, I do not merely believe this. I know it: I felt something touch me when I spoke my words of hate, and the dark below answered my call. The army withered, becoming ghouls—undead of never-ending hunger—that are trapped here forever. That was a horror in and of itself, but to make matters worse, the bodies of my brothers and sisters took the form of ghouls as well. Now here they remain, stalking through this abbey, feasting mindlessly and looking for ways to venture from their prison.” 

 “This is horrible,” Dagma cringed. “There’s a monster down there that caused all this?” 

“And a weapon,” Bregindoure noted. “One that was never used.” 

“A creature of darkness could easily have powers over death,” Polla said grimly. “The curse likely stems from this monster, if the monk’s theory is correct.” 

“Then wouldn’t killing this creature be the way to break the curse? Sounds rather straight forward,” Beggahasta said. 

“Some curses have called for strange things like true love’s first kiss, the light of the reflected moon, or the egg of a wingless dove,” Ellian added. “But if this monk knew the entire story, then it does sound like the way to lift the curse is to kill the source.” 

“Then why didn’t he get warriors to lift the curse by killing the monster?” Dagma asked. 

Matthias winced at what he read next. “It seems he tried: Since I am responsible for the curse that plagues our home and my brothers and sisters in faith, it falls to me to lift it. By some strange mercy, the ghouls do not harm me: it is as if I am invisible to them. I will use that to my advantage. But I will need help to break the curse. I am no warrior, and I cannot slay the beast below alone, so, I will find adventurers to aid me in destroying it. Together, we will free my kin.” 

“I have never heard of such an expedition,” Polla said. 

“There’s a reason why,” Matthias reported. “The next entry begins with: The miasma…I did not know. And the eyes. Eyes in the deep.” 

He paused, thinking about the eyes carved into the ghoul knights’ skull. “I wonder…” 

His mind drifted back to the prismatic smoke around its sword…when it touched his shadow, smoke and shadow nearly ripped each other apart. They bent and twisted and broke, and his shadow did the same. 

There was something in that. 

Below this accursed place was a creature of darkness and a weapon of light, and the monk said that they could have affected each other. 

There was definitely something in that. 

Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

“What happened next?” Polla asked. 

Matthias looked back down. “It says: I failed. I got them killed. All of them.” 

###

Author's Note

And so we get Windstone's backstory. It's always fun for me getting those backstory notes in adventures when I'm playing D&D. Just pulls me in.

Or like, remember when they found the book in the Mines of Moria? "We cannot get out" still gives me chills.

Love that shit, haha.

Also I think Doom's out tomorrow and I'm so damn pumped. I promise I'll still write, lmao!