IABD 48: The Anatomy of an Abbey

The rain began falling, pounding on the carriage just as it reached the outer edges of the Windwood.

One moment they were flying in comfortable silence, and the next they were caught in a deafening drumming. The downpour battered the roof, sounding like it would break it apart as moonlight was swallowed by heavy clouds, plunging the entire mountain range into darkness.

As the nightlight dimmed, colour faded from the murals on the carriage walls—turning them to shades of black and grey—while still revealing the outside world regardless of the lack of moon or starlight.

The trees in the Windwood soon resembled grey towers, rising from the dark earth below them, broken occasionally by an ancient burial mound or rough encampment among the pines.

‘Bandits, maybe,’ Matthias thought. ‘They must be desperate if they’re making their home in these woods. This place is not natural.’

Even in the safety of the carriage, Matthias felt uneasy in his spirit; the further they flew to the northeast, the more a sense of wrongness touched him. His shadow was twitching as they went.

“I don’t feel right,” he said. “Like…some evil mist lies heavy around here.”

Polla’s eyes never turned to look at him. “The curse of Windstone perverts barriers between life and death. You are touched by death, so it would only be natural for you to feel something is wrong near the presence of such magic.”

“Are you alright?” Beggahasta asked softly.

“I guess so,” Matthias’ eyes fixed on the murals.

The Windwood forest grew thicker, but now there were no more camps hidden among the trees. Minutes passed and the downpour’s thunderous drumming faded, leaving an air of eerie silence.

Matthis and his siblings huddled closer together.

That wrongness spread, growing until…

“Look there.” Polla pointed to a deep valley ahead of the carriage. “We’ve reached Windstone.”

The Stonebreaker siblings jumped up from their seats, rushing to the front of the carriage and getting a closer look at what was ahead. Ellian joined them.

Beggahasta slowly stood, carefully taking in the view of the valley.

The rain had ended minutes earlier, but the thick clouds had endured, blotting out the moonlight, yet enough light was still present, revealing massive stone ruins gradually materialising from the darkness in the valley below.

Windstone Abbey rose from the valley floor like the remains of a long dead creature. Its tallest towers were striking, and the chapel seemed large enough to fit most of Barrowgate’s entire town square inside it. In its day, the abbey must have been breathtaking, the stonemason in Matthias couldn’t help but admire the structure; he wanted a closer look, and that would have to wait until daylight.

But, as magnificent as the abbey might have been in the distant past, it had long fallen into ruin.

Much of the outer walls had been shattered by the ancient warlord’s siege, and rubble lay tumbled and jagged throughout the courtyard, peppered with broken cobblestones. 

Dozens of catapult stones still lay where they had fallen ages ago, shattered from the impact of striking the abbey walls. They were strewn about the courtyard like hulking gravestones, rainwater gathering around them in growing pools.

Great holes, torn open by the siege engines, yawned in the chapel’s walls like wounds struck by a starving beast. Much of the roof had collapsed either from the elements, the passage of time, or the trebuchet stones hurled at it long ago.

In front of the chapel lay a titanic statue of Jormgund.

Jormgund, the god of life community and martyrs, was always depicted as a tall god, average in build with horns rising from his skull and scales covering his body. He was always portrayed in the plain and simple robes of a monk who had taken a vow of poverty. His hands were always clasped in prayer, slash marks would crisscross them, telling of the god’s suffering.

Those hands were now shattered.

The statue had fallen, likely pulled from its pedestal and vandalised with rough tools like pickaxes, sledgehammers or other implements of destruction, leaving the image in shattered pieces.

The sight of that bothered Matthias; at one time, this place would have been a holy one, dedicated to the god of life and community. It would have been home to gentle women and men who’d chosen a life of contemplation and service; a place where a traveler could expect to receive food if they were hungry, and healing if they were sick. 

Now though, Matthias couldn’t help but stare at the ruin, imagining that something unnatural and old was looking back. His mind kept conjuring gaunt forms moving through the shadows, just at the corners of his vision.

No…no wait.

It wasn’t his imagination.

“What’s that?” He pointed to different shapes in the courtyard.

“Ghouls,” Polla said. “They are most active at night.”

Matthias and his siblings peered down at the courtyard; man-sized grey shapes moved around, some stood in place, spread out among the broken rock and toppled stone. Some moved slowly, with shambling steps, picking their way around the ancient catapult stones, wandering through the ruins of the abbey.

From his distance, Matthias could tell little more.

“Do not be fooled by their slow gait; they simply have not scented any quarry yet,” Beggahasta warned her children, her tone grim. “Many of the lesser forms of undead become aimless without something to hunt or kill; they have no will, no mind, or life to direct them. But once a ghoul has the scent of prey, they are fast…and relentless.”

“I’ll watch for that,” Matthias said, Bregindoure and Dagma nodded.

He remembered fighting the gnoles in the forest; the beasts didn’t have much of a chance against him, no matter how many had swarmed him.

But they had bled and breathed and thought. 

They could feel pain. They could feel fear.

Could the same be said for the dead? Ghouls would never tire…and would the dead be afraid of anything at all?

He would make sure not to underestimate them.

“There’s a lot of buildings down there,” Dagma noted. “This place is bigger than Eklund’s castle.”

“Windstone was one of the greatest abbeys of its time,” Ellian said. “It needed a lot of buildings to support the many monks and others who lived inside its walls. I learned what I could about Windstone’s history, so I might support Mistress Polla properly.”

“What are all those buildings for?” Dagma asked him.

Polla’s apprentice pointed at different structures as the carriage circled above them. “The largest building is the chapel: that was where both the monks and the layfolk that supported them, met and prayed when the abbot and the priests performed different services. That tall tower on top of the abbey is the belfry—it's a bell tower—where they would sound the alarm or call everyone to service. The Chamber of Suffering is connected to the chapel, that was where monks would strengthen their faith using self-inflicted trials like sticking nails in their skin, going without food, water, or sleep for long periods of time, or even gripping hot coals.”

“Gripping hot coals sounds like suffering, alright,” said Bregindoure.

Ellian’s finger traced the different parts of the main building, pausing in the centre, “That is the cloister, it surrounds an inner courtyard, and was the main building used by the monks to perform chores, discuss matters of faith and philosophy and do other works. Near there is the monk’s dormitory, and beside it is the refectory—where the monks ate—and that large, separate building beside it? The kitchen.”

“Why was the kitchen separate?” Dagma asked.

“Because it needed to take up a very large space, with a lot of fireplaces to be able to cook for so many people. If a fire started, it could spread very quickly, so some abbeys and castles still have their kitchen in its own separate building, so if a fire starts and gets out of control, it wouldn’t be able to destroy the entire complex. That part of the building is called the chapter house, where the abbot would hold meetings and make announcements to all the abbey’s residents. But what excites me most about the whole place is the library, and that’s in the middle of the main building; I wonder what old books can be found there?” He pointed; eyes sparkling.

“I would not get too excited, Ellian,” Polla warned him. “Many of Windstone’s books were burned by the horde; I doubt if there would be much, or anything at all left there to interest you.”

“Nothing wrong in hoping, mistress!” he said.

“Yes, I agree; even if there are only a few books left, I would be fascinated to see what they are.” Bregindoure stroked his moustache. “Ellian, what are those out-buildings?” He pointed at some stone buildings clustered throughout the courtyard, some were near the abbey’s main structure and others were closer to the damaged walls. “There’s quite a few of them.”

“Hmmm, that large one is the dormitory for the layfolk who did the abbey’s many chores with the monks. The other buildings—those closest to the cloister—are houses for those monks who lived in hermitage or retreat. They gave up as much contact with the outside world as they could, living in isolation in those houses.”

“They look better than a lot of the houses in Barrowgate,” Matthias noted.

“Windstone Abbey’s houses of hermitage came equipped with a fireplace, a living chamber, study, kitchen, workshop, and a washroom with a water tap. They also had small walled gardens for growing vegetables and herbs in,” Ellian noted.

“And those houses will be our first destination,” Polla said, drawing the others’ attention to her. “Come daylight, the ghouls should retreat out of the courtyard and go back into the abbey and the tunnels leading to the Old Abbey Roads. We shall choose a pair of those hermit-houses—one for myself and Ellian, and another for your family—but we’ll have to clear them of any ghouls that remain inside. Once that is done, I will use The Gift to ward them against intrusions by ghouls: the air and the stone itself will strike down any that try to enter. Concentrating my power on two smaller houses will ensure that my command lasts while drawing less of my energy.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Beggahasta said. “Then, we’ll need to choose the houses carefully; they will be serving as our homes for the next while. But, for tonight, sleep well, children. We will have a fight ahead of us tomorrow morning.”

“Right,” Matthias said quickly, turning to Mistress Polla. “I have a couple of things that I need to tell you about, and I haven’t really had the chance before.”

“Oh?” Mistress Polla raised a silver eyebrow, turning her owlish gaze on the young greatfolk. “And what might they be?”

He glanced at Ellian. “Um...could we talk a little more privately?”

“Of course,” Polla said. “Ellian, would you be a dear and go start getting ready for bed.”

The small apprentice bowed. “Of course, mistress.” Ellian moved to the other side of the carriage, fetching a washing kit.

Polla ‘s eyes grew unfocused for a moment. “I command the air not to carry our words to my apprentice’s ears.”

There was a sound as though someone was sucking in a breath, and the carriage became unnaturally quiet.

“We have our privacy.” Polla nodded. “You may speak.”

“Well, I noticed that after I killed a living creature for the first time...” Matthias thought about the gnoles. “Something flowed from its shadow and into mine. Then, the next strange thing was when I entered the Realm in Dream, there’ve been times when I would feel like I was being watched. Like something was hidden in the mist and darkness at the edges of my dream.”

Polla’s face was unreadable. “I see. And have you ever seen any sign of what might be hiding there?”

Matthias shook his head. “I’ve looked, but there’s never any living thing in my dream-realm apart from me. Not a single thing. Have you ever heard of that before? Do you have an idea what could be happening?”

She frowned. “Possibly. Do you find that there are any points in time where you have lapses in your memory. Blackouts, gaps in your memory or anything of that nature?”

“No,” Matthias said.

“Good, then you’re likely not possessed. Hmmmmm,” Polla mused. “And you have tried calling out to these presences with no response?”

“None.”

“Interesting. Well, there are certain creatures that absorb the life force of living beings or even eat the ectoplasm of the dead...but to take some sort of essence from shadow and have that manifest in your dreams. That is very odd. I will consult my books, but there are some things we could try. Cairnsweed, for instance, prevents all dreams when chewed. But, if it’s processed properly and combined with something like Soul’s Lace, it can induce lucid dreaming. You already have full control of your dreams, but I wonder if that concoction would allow you to go deeper. Let me think on it, though. Cairnsweed and Soul’s Lace are a dangerous combination; we would only use them if certain other techniques do not work. It’s also possible that more will become clear once you solidify your foundation. Since these presences haven’t harmed you so far, I’d be reluctant to try anything drastic unless things turn dangerous.”

“That makes sense to me,” Matthias agreed. “There’s something else that I wanted to talk to you about. When we passed a group of elves in Dagger Rock, I started feeling strange near them, for lack of a better description...like there was something unnatural about them. Do you have any idea why that would have happened?”

“You might be responding to the magic that grants the elves their immortality. They are...an affront to the cycle of life and death, in many ways. Did they react to you?”

Matthias shook his head. “It didn’t look like it.”

“I see, then yes, it’s likely that you were reacting to their magic, just as you are reacting to the curse of Windstone. Perhaps exploring this place will yield more answers. I will give you some books on elven physiology as well; learning about them might provide you with more clues as to the source of the change that has come upon you. But, for now, it is time to turn in. We will have a full day ahead of us tomorrow.”

###

Matthias awoke at the crack of dawn.

The carriage had been resting on a cliff high on a peak near the Windwood overnight, and the young greatfolk had spent much of it practising moving one finger while circulating life energy.

Today, however, would bring far more vigorous trials.

The carriage soared from the mountain and down to the valley as Matthias checked his weapons and chainmail.

Everything was in good order, there were no chips on his blades, nor any broken chain links in his armour.

On the opposite side of the carriage, Beggahasta was talking to Bregindoure. “Are you sure you want to do this? You have not been trained yet, so you have no obligation to do this now. You can wait here until we are finished.”

Her hulking eldest son shook his head. “No. I do not wish to be left behind while my little sister and younger brother go into danger. I can handle myself. I will protect them.”

“No,” she said. “Each one of you keeps speaking of protecting the other two. That is the wrong perspective. You are not three individuals protecting your siblings separately: you are a team and a family. You can all rely on each other and protect one another as a single unit. Also, never forget that we are a family: I will be nearby, and I will protect you. Do you all understand?”

“Yes, mother!” all three siblings said as one.

“Very good.” Beggahasta went to her supplies, retrieving a large mace. To most, this would require two hands to wield.”

But Bregindoure could easily wield it in one.

“Here.” She handed him the weapon. “You don’t have the training to align the edge of an axe or blade when you swing, so a bludgeoning weapon will suit you best for now.”

“Got it, I hit them with the heavy part, right?” Bregindoure grinned, his eyes sparkling.

“Smart boy. I also brought along a shield for you and sewed you a gambeson. The shield is a little small, but it was the largest I could find before we left home.”

“Thank you, mother,” he lowered his head.

She clapped him on the arm, then went to Dagma, who was inspecting her spear.

Beggahasta touched the point on the spear tip and checked the sword at Dagma’s waist. “Stay close to your brothers; you’re not ready to fight ghouls on your own, yet. By the time we leave here, you will be. But for now, your strategy should be to step in and help put down the ghouls they fell. You can’t cut them down yet, but you can make sure that they don’t get back up.”

“Yes, mother.” Dagma nodded. “I’ll stick them with my spear, then chop their heads off with my sword.”

“Very good.” Beggahasta clapped her on the arm.

The warrior-woman went to Matthias next.

“I’ve already checked my weapons and armour, mother,” he said quickly.

“You can never have too many eyes,” she said, examining his weapons. When she was satisfied, she rested a hand on his shoulder. “Remember, you are strong but not invincible. Be careful.”

“I will.” Matthias clapped her on the shoulder just as the wagon landed in the forest outside Windstone.

Beggahasta drew Tallis, making her way toward the door. “I will watch over you, my children.”

“I will follow you. Remember, this is training. I will not aid you unless you are about to lose your lives,” Polla warned.

Beside her, little Ellian was dressed for travelling. He carried no weapons, but—as a Gift Wielder—the boy needed none.

"Open.” Polla commanded the door.

The carriage door opened, revealing the forest outside.

Matthias waved to his siblings. “Come on.”

Together, they stepped into the morning light.

The ruins of Windstone Abbey loomed before them, looking very much like a haunted castle from an old story.

That uneasy feeling washed over him again.

He could feel something below him.

Something terrible, deep beneath the earth.

He shook the feeling away, gripping his weapons, then marching toward his first trial at the old abbey.

###

Author's Note

So, I'm going to teach you all a lesson on web serialisation's strengths and weaknesses.

When I started this chapter, I originally intended for them to get further into the abbey but-and this always happens, at least when I'm writing-I wanted and needed to go into detail about how Windstone was put together in order to give the proper image of it, since you know, it's a site-based adventure.

Site-based adventures being like in D&D where there's an adventure based on a single location. You need an overview of it.

That combined with the preparations and Matthias talking to Polla about his dream stuff and you get a 3k chapter where they haven't entered the abbey yet.

Now, if I were just writing the book without serialising, I would probably make this into like a 6k chapter or something like that. But at this schedule...there would be no chapter today.

So, keep that in mind folks if you choose to serialise yourself! Sometimes you need to play around with lengths.

When we go down to 3x a week, I'd probably make the chapter longer but also who knows. It depends one when a thought ends, and this did finish off the thought of 'the build up and information about Windstone'.

TL;DR Writing is complicated, lol.

Cya tomorrow!