The elderly priest had said it would be at least a three day journey from Kirai’an to Songxi, so the group set out in the early morning of 12 Byan. They had only taken a day to prepare after Edain had shared the sad tale of Zun Zhe Yi, every one feeling the urgency of old man’s situation. 

“He assures me he isn’t quite on death’s door,” Edain had said upon finishing the story the evening after his visit to the Kohan-yen hospice. “I can’t help but feel he’s not very far from it, though. The sooner we can accomplish this task for him, the better.”

“Assuming it can be accomplished,” Snow Crow had said, looking doubtful. He’d been as moved as the others by the tragic fate of the village and the old man’s dilemma, but the intimation of the uncanny left him frankly a bit nervous.

“We won’t know until we try,” Khatia had shrugged, apparently not worried in the slightest by the possibility of supernatural forces at work. “Best we get a good night’s sleep and start out first thing in the morning!”

Unfortunately, it had taken the better part of the next day to get everything arranged – supplies purchased, the pack mule loaded, maps consulted. By the time everything was ready it was mid-afternoon, and everyone agreed that it would be better get an early start the next morning.

The first leg of the journey was along a well-traveled and well-maintained Imperial road – not a major highway like the Seven Bridges Road, but an important secondary byway connecting the provincial capital with its northern and western neighbors. They made good time, even after turning off that road onto a narrower, unpaved, but still well-maintained path that wound up into the  hills north of the river valley.

The sun was low in the west when the road crested a last ridge and they saw spread out before them the famed Bamboo Sea. A restless, ever-shifting canopy of green, tinted with gold in the evening light, blanketed every hill and valley to the horizon, north, west, and east.

“By the Immortals, it’s beautiful,” Snow Crow breathed after a moment. “I can see why they name it a sea – the hills are like great waves, the sunlight shimmering on the leaves as it does on water… I feel like I should compose a song!”

“I’ve never seen the ocean,” Sujia offered, as the others also murmured over the view. “But if it’s as beautiful as this, I hope to do so one day.”

“Stick with me, and you just might,” Edain said with a smile. “Now, what does everyone think about making camp here? I know there’s at least another hour of daylight left, but I’m not sure it’s wise to enter the forest so close to dusk.”

There was general agreement, and tents and bedrolls were soon set up, while Khatia took her bow to the edges of the forest to hunt fresh meat for supper. By the time the sun vanished behind the western highlands two coneys were roasting over the fire and the wine skin was being passed around.

The next morning the group was on the narrow track winding down the hill into the great bamboo forest just an hour after dawn. The morning light, filtered through ten thousand leaves, made it seem as if they walked through a flickering green sea in truth, while the wind soughing through the towering trees hissed like waves on a strand, strengthening the impression.

“They say the Bamboo Sea is the largest bamboo forest in the world,” Viroj offered as they moved through the emerald dimness. “It covers 27 mountains and more than 500 peaks, and scholars have counted over 400 different kinds of bamboo species within it.”

“I thought bamboo was just bamboo,” Edain said, surprised. “These bamboo trees all look much the same to me, certainly…”

“Well, mostly they are,” the bearded monk said with a smile. “The majority of the bamboo here is of the turtleback variety, also called Nan… it’s by far the most useful of the bamboos. Its shoots are delicious, the young bamboo can be used to make paper, and the older culms and branches are excellent for furniture-making — and a dozen other crafts. It’s how this village we’re headed to supported its people, from what I read in the town archives yesterday.

“But there are many other species mixed in with the Nan – just over there, you see that largish clump? That’s fishscale bamboo. And coming up there, just ahead of us, is some purple bamboo… I had a small chest made of that once, it was quite beautiful.”

“There is more than just bamboo here,” Sujia added, stepping suddenly off the path and drawing her dagger. She bent down to cut something from the ground near a particularly large clump of the purple bamboo. Standing, she held up a large, fan-shaped fungus, a shiny reddish-brown in color. “See, this is the Lingzhi mushroom – very useful in many medicines, and said to bestow long life if ingested regularly.”

She tucked the mushroom into her pack, then pointed to several tall fern trees deeper in the shadows of the forest. “And those are flying spider-monkey fern trees! The stems are starchy, and quite delicious when cooked properly.”

“We called those brush pot trees when I was a girl,” Khatia said. “And yes, they were very tasty, at least the way our cook prepared them.”

“Good to know we won’t go hungry,” Snow Crow laughed. “Although I’ve seen plenty of animals this morning, so with Khatia’s archery skills I hope we won’t have to rely on just vegetables.”

Indeed, the Bamboo Sea appeared to be full of life and activity, with red pandas, several species of monkeys, and numerous foxes easily spotted as the group moved through the forest. A cacophony of birdsong filled the air as well, with glimpses of colorful plumage a common sight.

Just as an emerald dusk was settling over the forest the companions came to a small hamlet, consisting of half a dozen homes and as many outbuildings. Yaohima [yow-HEE-ma]  it was called, and it sat at a fork in the road – the wider track led off to the left, northwest, while a narrower, partially overgrown track lay to the right, northeastward. A small but merry creek brabbled down past the hamlet to join the larger river they’d been following half a mile on.

The people of the small settlement were friendly, and the companions were invited to spend the night. This common courtesy became more sincere when the travelers began to pitch their tents between two houses, and downright enthusiastic when Khatia offered up for the common pot the two pheasants she had shot that afternoon.

Edain had not bothered with Snow Crow’s disguise-creating skills on this journey, not foreseeing many people on their path to a dead and supposedly haunted village. It proved not to have been needed in any case – the twenty or so inhabitants didn’t recognize him, or even seem aware of the existence of a Pona Hanni, simply accepting him as a strange but interesting-looking visitor from foreign parts. Although one young boy had asked his mother, in a very loud whisper, if the hulking man wasn’t the Ogre of Yanduvai [YAHN-doo-vie] Gorge. The woman had shushed the child, assuring him their guest was much too pretty to be an ogre, even if he looked as strong as one.

Once the dinner was eaten and the younger children put to bed, most of the adults returned to their seats around the low fire in the central common area, and clay bottles of rice beer were produced and passed around. 

“Now we have eaten together and drunk beer,” Fa-Huan said, once the bottles had made a first round. He appeared to be the hamlet’s headman, although he claimed no formal title, and had acted as their putative host so far. “At last it is proper to speak of what brings you into the Bamboo Sea. Do you travel to Mom-chi, or is your destination still farther west?” 

Khatia had taken the lead in interacting with the locals in the face of Edain’s sudden reticence (he’d taken that crack about being an ogre a bit too much to heart, she thought), and she’d answered truthfully. She explained about the old priest and his desire to know the fate of his family and friends, but was vague about the sword and didn’t mention the possible curse at all.

Her reticence on the latter point proved moot, as the news that their destination was Songxi elicited cries of dismay from several of the locals, and mutterings about curses and ill luck. Fa-Huan sternly quieted them, although he looked rather disturbed himself.

“It would be most unwise to continue down the road to Songxi,” he said, murmurs of agreement rising from his neighbors. “For five years it has been a place accursed, and none who have ventured there have ever returned.”

“Well, we know the village was destroyed in the flood when the new Imperial damn collapsed,” Viroj said, stroking his beard as he always did when focused on a puzzle or an interesting conversation. “And that other before us have not returned to Kirai’an, certainly… but can you be sure that they didn’t leave the ruins of Songxi by another road, having found… whatever they might have sought?”

“We are certain, for there is no road beyond Songxi save the one that passes beneath Loushang Mountain and the lair of its terrible guardian, a golden dragon of great magic and power. And after what she did that terrible night, and the curse she has laid on Songxi, it is unlikely that any mortal would survive her attention.”

“Yes, I have heard of the Guardian of the Loushang Mountain,” Snow Crow replied. “Her name is… Jin-Zhi, yes? But she’s one of the minor dragons, if I remember correctly…”

“If you are even half-wise, troubadour, you will never say such a thing within her hearing,” Fa-Huan said drily. “She may not be one of the Three Celestial Dragons, nor one of the Dragons of the Four Quarters, but she is still a dragon and quite powerful enough for the likes of you or me. A lesson we here learned five years ago, at a great cost – the life of my only son.”

“I am sorry for your loss, sir,” Sujia said into the sudden, uncomfortable silence. “But can you tell us about it, and why you think this dragon destroyed and cursed that poor village?”

Fa-Huan hesitated, clearly having little taste for opening old wounds, but after a moment he sighed and nodded. “If it will dissuade you from this course of folly, I will share the story…

“When the Imperials began to build the dam across the Zhú Zu river, it was not popular with many people here in the Great Green. In fact, given how close the lake it would create would come to her home, it was hoped she would not allow it. But they say the Emperor himself sent a formal envoy to Jin-Zhi to seek her blessing before construction began. He must have been persuasive, for the project proceeded with no action from the Guardian of Loushang Mountain.

“The dam caused some disruption in Songxi, as the waters of the river were for a time blocked, but it was a temporary inconvenience and the river flowed again soon enough. But then, a month after the Zhú Zu returned to normal, our own small stream suddenly dried up, overnight. We soon learned that the growing lake behind the dam had swallowed the spring from which Xiǎo xī mèi [sh-oww-she-MEE] (Little Sister Creek) flowed.

“We hoped that, like her larger sister, our water would return… but as the days passed the bamboo along our vanished creek began to suffer, and the modest crops we grew were withering. It was decided that we should send our own envoy to Jin-Zhi at Loushang Mountain, for it is well known that she cares for all this land and its people, and in the past has sometimes granted humble petitions for rain or other relief from besetting troubles. My son, Fa-Zhon, volunteered to go, and set out on the three day journey to the north.

“It was on the fourth night after his departure that the sound of thunder came from the north… distant, and yet in my heart I felt a dread I could not explain. Hours later the flood came, and the terrible fate of Songxi. We were lucky, for our homes sit on this slope, not in a great sunken vale like Songxi… even still, the waters came very close to our own homes…”

The older man trailed off, looking weary and sad. After a moment his wife took up what was left of the story.

“Our son never returned, and though my husband and two of the others sought him after the waters had returned to their natural state, they found no sign he had survived the flood. When the birds of the forest, with whom young Rei can sometimes speak, cried out that it had been the dragon herself who summoned the storm and the earthquakes that destroyed the dam, they feared to go further, and despaired. Was it our request that had enraged the golden dragon? Had she devoured poor Fa-Zhon, or had he perished in the flood?

“From the ridge above the ruins of the dam, as close as they dared approach, they saw the raw mud of what had been the lake, the collapsed terraces of farmland, and no sign of the village that had sat upon the lakeshore. Loushang Mountain was wreathed in clouds even still, with no sign of Jin-Zhi, thankfully. The men returned, following the course of Xiǎo xī mèi, which was flowing once again…

“After their return, when everyone who visited the ruins of Songxi began to vanish, and even the birds and animals had forsaken the place, we knew the dragon must have placed a fearsome curse upon that place. It’s been two years or more since the last person approached those ruins close enough to feel the grief and horror… and see the ghosts that haunt them now! Please believe us, it is your lives you will cast away if persist in this folly!”

Only Fa-huan came out to see the travelers off early the next morning. He said no more to try and discourage them in their purpose, but it was obvious he thought he was speaking to the dead, even as he blessed them. He watched from the edge of the hamlet until he was lost to sight in the heavy morning mists that shrouded the bamboo forest.

As the morning wore on, it became clear the residents of Yaohima had not been exaggerating when they said all bird and animal life had abandoned the area surrounding Songxi. Not even the sound of insects broke the eerie green silence that surrounded and oppressed the companions. No one was much inclined to speech as a feeling of great melancholy began to weigh them down, even Snow Crow’s usual exuberance subdued to silence.

Viroj was the first to break the gloomy silence in over an hour when suddenly veered off the overgrown, but still clearly visible road. “Look, do you see over there? It looks like a horse…”

The others joined him as he stood several yards into the edge of the forest, staring down at what was, indeed, the corpse of a horse. It lay mostly on its side, its legs turned beneath it, and several dark feathered shafts sticking from its rump and neck. The beast looked strange, its flesh withered and almost mummified, which seemed impossible in such a humid place, but there was little smell or other sign of decay.

“It looks to be a draft animal,” Khatia said, crouching down to more closely examine the arrows. “It was shot from behind, and at a gallop if the position of its legs is any indication. And by Imperial Rangers! Or at least archers using the distinctive arrows of the Rangers. But why would—“

At that moment Sujia, who had moved around to the far side of the felled animal, let out a sharp cry and dropped to her knees. Half hidden beneath the horse and curled up along its neck was the body of a child. Preserved in the same strange way as the animal, it was impossible to be sure if it was a boy or a girl… and it was sporting its own arrow, jutting from its small back. 

“Surely these can’t be directly related to the flood,” Snow Crow muttered, looking a bit pale. “I don’t see how… I mean, there’s no way these bodies are five years old, right?”

“It’s… very hard to say,” Viroj replied, still studying the remains. “I’ve never seen, or even heard, of anything quite like this… but I think these bodies may really be that old. If so, there is some powerfully magic at work here.”

“As we had already suspected,” Edain sighed. “Let’s all keep alert, I think we must be very close to the site of village now.”

Indeed, only a hundred yards further on the road rose up a gentle incline, at the top of which the group saw their destination at last. A dozen yards beyond the crest where they stood the road sloped down again, vanishing into the dark waters of the small lake that now filled the vale of Songxi. Remnants of the mornings mists rose up from those waters… along with the roofs of maybe two score buildings and numerous thick clusters of lush bamboo. Floating lily pads, with a rainbow of flowering blooms atop them, drifted thickly through the wisps of vapor.

Just before it dipped into the water the road passed through the triple gates of a tall tori arch, its cross beam painted the traditional red, somewhat faded by sun and weather. A few yards to the gate’s right the river flowed sluggishly out of the lake between shallow banks 20 feet apart. To the left of the gate a long bamboo boat was drawn up on the shore. 

“This must be the River Gate which old Zun Zhe Yi spoke of,” Edain said, looking up at the arch. “Which means the village shrine must be off to the left there, beyond that bunch of roofs and large stand of bamboo.”

“And here’s a convenient way to get there,” Snow Crow laughed, examining the nearby boat. It looked sturdy enough, even if a bit crudely made, and would easily accommodate the five of them. “Well, except there doesn’t seem to be any way to paddle the thing about…”

With a snort of derision and some muttered words that sounded something like “useless civilians,” Khatia stalked off toward the nearest large stand of bamboo, drawing her blade. In just a few minutes she had cut and fashioned a 10’ long pole of the material, whirling it about in what Snow Crow thought a very martial manner as she strode back to the boat. Motioning at the troubadour to help, the two of them pushed the craft out into the water, then she hopped aboard, using the pole to hold it in place.

Sujia tied the mule to a post on the tori arch while the others climbed aboard the boat, with various expressions of doubt in evidence. She was the last aboard, and almost fell into Viroj’s lap as Khatia poled them away from the shore and out onto the dark waters. Through the the crowding lily pads Sujia caught flashing glimpses of golden fish darting about them.

“Well, I suppose not all life has fled the area after all ,” the Moon Monk said when she pointed them out to him. “But there’s also more than carp in these waters,” he added, nodding toward two shadowy forms caught in tangles of flood debris several feet beneath the boat.

Khatia peered over, and raised an eyebrow. While the water looked dark from a distance, it was actually quite clear up close, and she could see enough to recognize the two shapes as the bodies of Imperial Rangers. “And they look as oddly preserved as the horse and child,” she added after identifying them for her companions. “Even odder, actually, if they’ve been submerged for any time… a little bloated, but not nearly as much as you’d expect…”

“When it comes to all things war-like, Khatia knows everything,” Sujia murmured when no one else offered a comment on this news. Khatia sighed and renewed her poling.

Most of the buildings they were passing through seemed to have been private homes, the ones closest to the new shore only half-submerged – one could have waded into them, had one been so inclined. No one seemed to be so inclined… perhaps it was seeing the cobblestones of streets, the small fences around yards, the little signs of domestic life so eerily preserved, but the feeling of melancholy and horror seemed to grow as they poled on toward the center of the drowned village.

The water was deeper as they went, and the buildings more nearly submerged, most with only  thatched roofs rising above the water. Beneath the rippling surface they could see debris from the flood piled up in many places, sometimes against a building, other times intruding into a building through smashed walls. In a few places this had collapsed a structure, but for the most part Songxi seemed surprisingly intact in its watery grave. 

As they came out into a wide open expanse of water, with only the ever-present clusters of lily pads visible  above, Edain realized they must have reached the village common, once the heart of the small community. Below he could see an elegant bridge arching over what must have been the bed of the Zhú Zu River where it wound through the settlement. Across the water to his right he could see a large stone building rising out of the water, the elegantly curved and tiled roofs of two towers marking the Songxi shrine complex.

“That is likely our ultimate destination,” he told his companions, “but this nearer building must be the Ancestors’ House which Zhe Yi spoke of. Since he thought that if his grandson was able to retrieve the sword he would bring both it and his wife here, and since we’re so close, I think we should visit it first. Maybe we’ll be lucky and not have to travel further in this creepy place…”

Like most of the buildings in the village, Ancestors’ House was built of wood, but was both larger than them and possessed of a red tile roof, rather than one of thatch. It also sat atop a high foundation of stone, with wide paved terraces surrounding it on all sides. A grand stone staircase led up to the terrace and the large front doors in the buildings long eastern face, the water lapping less than a foot from their top. Khatia poled them up to the stirs and braced the boat as the others disembarked.

Only Sujia, still uncertain and wary about being on the water, had trouble, stumbling as she crawled out of the boat and soaking her sandals and six inches of her robes. With a muttered aphorism that Khatia couldn’t quite make out, the young monk sat on one of the stone benches placed around the terrace and began to wring out her half-sodden garment.

The others made their way through the two large red lacquered doors, which stood half-open, into the cool dimness of the communal gathering spot. High, grated windows beneath the eaves let in enough of the gray, misty daylight to eliminate the need for torches. The interior of Ancestors’ House was one open room, sixty feet long and forty wide, with very high arched ceilings. Along  the short northern wall hung four silk banners, displaying the sigils and history of the village’s founding families, with life-size statues of their founding ancestors standing beneath them. To the south, just beyond a cooking hearth, several beautiful silk screens visually closed off that end of the space.

Their first impression, that the building’s high foundation had entirely saved it from the flood, was quickly shown to be mistaken. A line of mud stained the wall at a height of about four feet all the way around the room, and the statues had been turned askew, one toppled over altogether. A dozen or so kneeling cushions had been scattered about by the rising and then receding water, but beyond that the space seemed remarkably undamaged – even the silk screens had somehow remained upright, if with stained lower panels. A large ceremonial gong stood in an ornate frame in the center of the long western wall, the line of the high water mark less than halfway up its bronze face.

They companions spread out to search the room. Edain headed to the back wall to examine the great gong, which he found to be a magnificent piece of metalwork. After admiring its craftsmanship in detail, he cast about until he found its striker, wedged down between one of the frame posts and the wall. Pulling it free, he struck the metal disc a firm blow. The resulting deep, resonate sound reminded him of the the gongs of Tahara-Li, calling the monks to prayer or meditation… he was surprised at how strong the sudden pang of nostalgia was in him.

Viroj and Khatia first examined the ancestor effigies, made of carved and painted wood and inset with ivory and colored glass, before drifting off to other spots. Khatia drifted to the southern end of the room to explore behind the screens, while Vorij took closer look at the two enormous ceramic vases that were set the side of the entrance doors. He considered himself a bit of an aficionado of pottery, and found both pieces to be of exceptional quality for such a small, out-of-the-way place as Songxi had been.

Snow Crow saw the wood in the fire pit, gathered and ready to be lit, well dried out in the years since the flood, and decided to try his hand at lighting a fire. The day was cool and damp, and the oppressive atmosphere of sadness and dread could really use something to heat it up. Flint and steel were not his strong suit, but with a little diligence… after a minute it suddenly occurred to him that he was traveling with a fire mage and –

As if the thought had summoned her, Khatia’s head peaked out from behind one of the silk screens. “Snow Crow, you’re rather clever with locks, are you not? Could you come lend me a hand back here?”

He manfully avoided voicing the obvious double entendre, although by the narrowing of her eyes he suspected the archer had seen it in his own. Making his way past the screen himself he saw that she had already opened and quickly rifled through two tall wardrobes that sat against the southern wall.

“Nothing of much interest there,” she said, following his gaze. “Linens, ceremonial robes, incense, that sort of thing. What’s more interesting, I suspect, is this.” She gestured at a large, gilded chest, low slung and rather elegant-looking, which sat between the wardrobes. It sported a very serous-looking bronze lock, and he knelt down to examine it more closely. Pulling some specialized bits of metal from an inner pocket of his robe, he quickly became immersed in the effort to defeat the lock. He hardly looked up when he heard the gong ring out, nor noticed Khatia moving to investigate.

What did break his concentration a moment later were the shouts of alarm from beyond the screens,  Edain’s deep voice urgently invoking his Peace of Inspiration ritual, and Suija crying out for someone to “look out, it’s right behind you!” Snow Crow surged to his feet and moved to join the others, but was brought up short at the eerie sight before him.

Near the center of the room, two translucent shapes, shimmering as if made of water, were shambling forward. The female-looking one was almost on top of Viroj, the other, male, form seems to be angling toward Edain. As Snow Crow watched, Khatia made a dramatic gesture at that male figure, ending with one finger pointed straight at it – there was a spark from the fingertip, and a wisp of smoke curling up to quickly dissipate in the damp air. By the expression on her face, he thought she had expected rather more of an effect…

Suija was beginning to chant as it became obvious that Edain’s invocation was having no effect on the liquid horrors. Snow Crow recognized the words as an invocation of the Song of Defense ritual. Unfortunately, the watery shapes continued to move forward, slowly but inexorably, their eyes agog and mouths gaping as though trying to breathe. The female one reached out an arm toward Viroj, who stumbled hastily back, his own eyes going suddenly wide. His hands moved to his throat, and he hacked once, twice, and then shook his head as if shaking off some attack.

Khatia drew her sword and moved to place herself between Edain and the male apparition, even as the Pona Hanni stumbled back, his left elbow solidly striking the gong behind him. A mellow “bong” rang out, and for just an instant both ghostly figures seemed to pause. Kahtia took advantage of this fleeting hesitation to leap forward and cut her blade clean through the creature’s torso. Without out a sound – the things had been utterly silent so far – the apparition fell apart, suddenly no more than a human-sized blob of water, which splashed to the gray planks of the floor.

Snow Crow’s elation at this seemingly simple defeat of one of their foes was short lived. Within seconds of its dissolution the water that had formed the creature began to move and gather itself together. Another dozen seconds saw it rising up, a pillar of water, and then coalescing back into the form of the same tortured-looking man. With a curse, Khatia drove in again, and again slicied her blade through the things substance, but this time to little effect. 

Snow Crow glanced toward the pile of logs he’s been trying to light, wishing now that he’d been more diligent at the task… perhaps flaming brands might drive them back? On the other hand, if Khatia’s fire magics weren’t doing the trick… his own skills were neither particularly martial nor arcane, but if there was any weapon in this place to fight these monstrous things, he thought it must be in that locked golden chest. He whirled back and dropped to his knees again, and began working the lock picks…

•••••

Edain racked his brain for some way to fight, or at least hold off, these watery ghosts – and he was certain they were ghosts, of a man and a woman drowned in the flood no doubt – but if his most potent ritual was useless what could he do? Physical weapons, as Khatia was demonstrating, might disincorporate them briefly but seemed to do no lasting harm. Then he remembered the spirits’ brief hesitation when he’d jammed his elbow into the gong… he picked up the striker.

“They seemed to respond to the sound of the gong,” he called to Sujia, who now stood between him and Khatia (and the ghost, he realized). “Maybe it can control them!”

“Or summon two more of them,” the monk muttered darkly. But she made no move to stop him.

He struck the bronze disc a powerful blow, and the deep sound it made echoed and reverberated around the room. The two tortured spirits stopped, and turned to stare at Edain and the still-vibrating gong. But as soon as the last echo died out, they began to move again, reaching out toward Khatia and Viroj.

“Blessed One,” Sujia called out urgently. “Remember the regular, constant rhythm of the call-to-mediation back home – perhaps that is what is needed?”

“Brilliant! Thanks Sujia,” Edain replied, and he began to beat out the steady, familiar rhythms of Tahara-Li’s ancient summons…

•••••

Khatia’s opponent reached out toward her, she experiences the echos of their drowning, as had Viroj earlier, and like him wards off its full effect. Leaves her shaken though. While the spirits seem held at bay by the steady beat of the gong, she moves to retrieve four bells she sees on a shelve next other the gong.

Viroj has retreated to the others, she hands him and Sujia bells, and they attempt to make music to drive back the haunts – gong, bells and singing, while Sujia chants verses from the Heart Sutra, but she is unnerved by the ghosts, and her own heart isn’t in it. Unfortunately, they are uncoordinated and discordant, and serve rather to break the spell Edain had been weaving, not reinforce it.

“Can NONE of you keep a beat?!” he cried in frustration.

“Sorry, no,” Suija replied. “The space between notes makes music… but I can find no space.”

The two ghosts move forward again, the gong no longer seeming to affect them. The female again attacks Viroj, who this time succumbs to the drowning curse – he begins to experience the ghosts death by drowning as if it was his own and collapses, gasping, to the floor.. The male attacks Edain, who easily wards off the same attack.

At this point Snow Crow bursts forth from behind the screens with the wand he has discovered in the golden chest. He had grown frustrated with his failure to open the locks and had finally said “fuck it” and used a nearly wood axe to smash the lock open.

Now he aims the rod, mutters the control word (he hopes) whose sigil was etched into its base, and sends a freezing blast of cold into the male ghost. It solidifies, Khatia drops her bell and cleaves the specter in two with her blade – and this time it doesn’t reform. 

While Khatia is busy dispatching her consort, the female ghost moves on, leaving the flopping, “drowning” Viroj to go after Edain. Suija summons her inner chi and channels it into her fist, smashing the ghost in her chest, causing a flare of blue-white light to blow it apart.

It begins to reform, but Edain is there with his staff to knock it apart again. Unfortunately, a flailing pseudopod of water hits him in the throat, leaving him on his knees, gasping for air. But before the ghost can fully reform and take advantage of his vulnerability, Khatia has nocked an arrow and sent it flying. It bursts into flame midair, strikes the ghost, and blows it apart in a cloud of steam.

Viroj is on the verge of death, until Edain uses his Voice to command him to BREATHE! Everyone takes an involuntary deep breathe, including the Moon Monk.

They raft over to the temple, examining the watch tower in passing but not stopping there. On the temple, whose entrance is blocked by flood debris, they see a beautiful, sorrowful woman pacing and muttering to herself.

Edain Haryx

“Was the sword worth your life?”

Mekha Viroj

“I’m waiting for you my love. I’m waiting, come back to me!”

Snow Crow

“My love, look what devotion has brought us.”

Everyone except Sujia makes Willx3 save vs. sorrow.

Nong Suija Will Roll Target: 50

Roll: 55

Critical Failure -She is overcome by inconsolable grief and uncontrollable weeping.

“One must be deeply aware of the impermanence of the world.”

“Times of luxury do not last long, but pass away very quickly; nothing in this world can be long enjoyed.”

“Grief is just love with no place to go.”

TO BE COMPLETED SOON