Clair
“Should one wonder what subtlety and nuances these fanatics possess, one need not look further than their weapon of choice: a chunk of metal with a handle.
– Cult of the Eleven member speaking about clerics of The Three.
Positioned as she was, Clair was the first to see the ghost. To her mind, it looked like the faded memory of a person, an invisible wind blowing the blurred form through the air, as it appeared through the wall right next to Tommy. For a second, she tensed, unsure of what to do.
Several things happened at once. Garok’s eyes snapped open and he grabbed his giant blade, heaving himself off the ground and into a combat position in a heartbeat. The strength and speed needed to move a veritable mountain of muscle and fur would have given Clair something to think about at any other time, but not right now. Golden light burst into existence around him, and pressure began to roll off of him. Not crushing, but noticeable enough that her own response was somewhat slowed. Like moving against a stiff breeze.
Tommy woke up.
As in, he yawned loudly, stretched the arm he had been sleeping on upwards and shook it, trying to get some feeling back into it, then flopped over. That proved to be a mistake. His hand passed through the ghost and he screamed, a sound Clair would remember for a long time. He had the good sense not to sit upright and submerge his head in the ghost’s being, but used his feet to shove himself away from the ghastly grey form, hitting the wall in his haste.
His hand, Clair noticed, had gone albino white. And it was spreading.
All that happened in under ten seconds. Her mind whirled between two options: Fight the ghost or help Tommy.
While he was an asshole and she couldn’t claim to be his friend without lying through her teeth, his life was priority one in the near future. She made the decision as Garok stood, waiting for the ghost to strike.
“You. Over here. Help me, now!” she shouted as she burst across the room. Grabbing him by one trembling leg, she grunted and dragged him away from the spectre with all due haste, hoping the the lumbering mountain of fur didn’t do something stupid. Like, start swinging that sword or throwing around magic inside this suddenly tight classroom.
The hand that relieved her of Tommy’s weight meant that he possessed some modicum of common sense and foresight. Or just took orders a lot. Still, she had to admit he was fast and efficient. And obviously not bothered by screaming high-pitched enough to shatter glass. One hand came down, ripping off part of Tommy’s long sleeve, revealing the sickness was already at his elbow.
Clair, having scooped her shotgun off the floor and aimed it in the general direction of the ghost – which still hadn’t moved an inch after meeting Tommy’s open-palm grope – watched as the minotaur clamped his hand down over the arm, pouring golden light into the flesh. The infection visibly stopped, its creeping advance halted cold. It didn’t, however, recede.
A knife, big enough to be a short sword in her hands, was pulled from the minotaur’s waist. His head tilted down and looked Tommy directly in the eye.
“Choose. Your arm or your life. I can’t hold the rot forever.”
Tommy just looked back blankly, probably in shock. When he failed to respond, she stepped in.
“Do it.” Clair snapped. “He’s in no condition to make a decision.”
The blade came down, sliding right through the arm, right on the border of the white flesh. More golden light followed it through, sealing off the wound before it bled.
And just like that, Tommy had lost an arm. He wasn’t screaming, wasn’t yelling, just sitting silently in shock, back propped against the wall. Garok punted the wrinkling limb across the floor, sending it away from all of them. A glance showed it was little more than cracked flesh pulled over bone. No blood, no muscles.
Now, both of them were wary and very much focused on the spectre. It still hung in place, head tilted forward and arms hanging at it’s sides. Something niggled at the back of her mind. Trying to get a closer look at it’s features brought up a knot in her stomach. Still, she needed to know more from Garok before she acted.
“Bad time to ask, but is that a ghost?”
“Yes.”
“Is it a monster?”
“Yes and no.”
“What can we do about it?”
“Our options are quite limited, I am afraid. Physical attacks are useless against it. I possess a single damaging combat spell, and unleashing in this wood-filled room would be a supremely unwise idea. Our only other viable plans would be to help it on it’s way, or avoid it altogether.”
“Okay. Wait, ‘help it on it’s way?'”
“Yes. It lingered here for a purpose. If we fulfilled that, it would move on. If not, it will drift here and become someone else’s problem.”
Clair weighed her options on that. They had no concrete clue as to what that purpose was, although she had a few hints. Garok might have an idea of how to fulfil it. Leaving it here to be someone else’s problem was a tempting idea, but she just wasn’t that kind of person. Tommy though…
Turning to Garok, she asked.
“Can I talk to it?”
The minotaur shrugged, armoured shoulders heaving. “Anyone can, depending on the type of ghost. Just don’t touch it.”
Getting a bit closer, Clair peered at the hazy form, trying to make out features through the blur. It looked like.. Yeah, definitely her.
“Jenna?”
It – no, her – head snapped up, two lifeless orbs staring at Clair. She whispered, a voice like shifting leaves echoing through the room.
“What do you want?”
*****
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Clair questioned.
“Being knocked out.”
Sighing, Clair pinched the bridge of her nose. “How were you knocked out?”
“Why do you want to know?” The shade snapped.
“For the simple reason it will show us how and where you might have died. Once we know that, we can help you pass on.”
“…Okay.”
This was frustrating. Really. Oh, introductions had gone well enough, once she had managed to wrangle some information out of Garok concerning what he knew about ghosts in general. He had cautioned her that his information might not be too accurate, with world jumping and all that. Once that was out of the way, Clair had gotten right to the chase. Digging for details on Jenna’s murder. That was when the shade had decided to clam up. She still gave answers, but practically bit off the sentence and used as few words as possible.
And she still hadn’t moved. Aside from looking like she was flapping in the breeze. Clair shifted on the desk she sat on and glanced over her shoulder. Garok was busy tending to a very shell-shocked Tommy, trying to ease him through some of the trauma. Clair winced when she glanced at his elbow. Losing an arm was going to royally f*** up his life. Despite neither of them really giving a s*** about each other, she still felt sorry for him.
“Again. How were you knocked out?”
“Someone hit me over the head.”
“No chloroform rags, no chokeholds, just getting beaned upsides?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Did you see what hit you?”
“Yes.”
“The suspense is killing me, really. Could you tell me what hit you?”
“Sure.”
“..Tell me what hit you already.”
“Something long and wooden.”
From behind a very exasperated Clair, Garok spoke up.
“A cudgel?” He inquired. “A favored weapon of thugs and amateur thieves. That should narrow down the list of suspects.”
Clair sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose again.
“No, this is something much more insidious, Garok.”
“Oh?” He grumbled.
“A baseball bat.”
“A what now?”
“A bat. Used to hit balls.”
The minotaur mulled that over for a bit. After a while, he shrugged.
“I am not sure of the practicalities involved with using a presumably dead animal as such a gender-reliant weapon, but I am sure you humans have your reasons. That said, how is she certain it really has a ‘bat’?”
Good question, that. Clair repeated it to Jenna, the ghost having zoned out with no one addressing her. Was that something ghosty or a remaining character trait? The shade thought for a second, then whispered back.
“I saw it.”
“Did you, by any chance, happen to see WHO hit you?”
“Yes.”
“God, why me?” Clair intoned, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. This whole debacle of a conversation was her trying to figure out who killed Jenna, if they were still alive for her to exact necrotic vengeance on, and where the hell her body was so she could trot off to the big party in the sky already. She really should have felt more pity for the girl, and had before. But her (inadvertently) near-killing Tommy, apathetic attitude, and lack of cooperation were grinding away at Clair’s sympathy. Try as she might, the young woman was still only human, with all the associated perks and drawbacks. Endless patience, she did not have.
Heaving up a suppressed sigh of frustration, she continued, tone carefully guarded.
“Jenna, who killed you?”
“Dunno.”
“Jenna, who hit you over the head with a wooden bat, likely leading to brain damage and eventual death?”
“Mr. Taggert.”
“The same Mr. Taggert whose son you reported to the police for harassment?”
“Yes.”
“What a surprise.” Clair crossed her arms, shifting a little on the desk.
“So, next question. Is he still alive for you to inflict horrible, necrotic vengeance on?”
“No.”
“How did he die, Jenna?”
“He was in the gas station when it blew up.”
“How did the gas station blow up?”
“Monster.”
Okay, well, that was out of the way. Also solved the mystery of why the town was a ruin. Some of the higher level monsters out there were plain nasty.
“Do you know where your body is, then?”
“Yes.”
“Great! All we have to do is get you back there and you’ll be on your hopefully happy way.”
“..Don’t wanna.”
“I take that back. Not so great. Why don’t you want to go back to your body and head for the endless feast upstairs?”
“There’s something out there.”
THAT opened a whole new can of worms. And disturbing ones at that. After spending another hour prying the answers out of Jenna with a metaphorical crowbar, Clair had some answers. She shared them with Garok and an now-lucid Tommy.
“Okay, bad news. Big, bad monster on the prowl out there. Something freaky. Didn’t get her to spill anything concrete, but anything scary enough to freak out a ghost is bad news. According to her, she felt it follow her around, but it didn’t come into town. We could try to drag her along, but she’s scared shitless of it. Ideas?”
Garok patted his mace in what might have been an inconspicuous manner, to him.
“We could still try exorcism. Lure her outside and send her into the light.”
“NOPE! I already told you, no forcefully banishing her. Poor girl’s been through enough s*** already. Being murdered is apparently very traumatic. Who woulda thought?”
The minotaur just shrugged. “I stand by my suggestion. Leaving her here will cause her to transition into a [Wraith] over time, and that will end poorly for anyone involved. Best to put her out of her misery. It would be a mercy.”
“Again, no. You said we have to get her to her own body in order for her to pass on, just to clarify?”
He nodded, and she continued on.
“Well, we can’t get her to leave town, so there’s one thing to do.”
“Exorcise her?”
“NO, for f***’s sake! We bring the body back to her. Easy-Peasy.”
“Huh.”
*****
Clair hated liars. She also despised trolls. That meant that any combination of the two held a special place of hatred in her heart. Really, though, she should have known better than to trust some random asshole’s internet assurances that you could fix vehicles by inserting imaginary money into thin air. Turns out, that wasn’t all that true. Car’s didn’t really have their own status screens, and you couldn’t buy repairs from thin air.
“Well, that was a bust.” She stared at the wreck of the pickup she and Tommy had driven into town with. Now back upright, thanks to Garok, it looked to be going nowhere but the scrapyard. One big dent was the first thought that came to mind when looking at it. Trying to explain how this had once been a functional means of transportation to Garok had been… fun. She had eventually settled on ‘horseless carriage’.
So, they were going to have to walk. Out into the desert. The monster-infested desert, to be clear. Their destination was only a few miles, and should be rather obvious. Still, not her idea of a picnic. Thankfully, most of the haze had lifted overnight, with reddit claiming some new Weather Mage was responsible for it. If they really were, they couldn’t have sent a gloomier sky Clair’s way. Overcast, with grey, low hanging clouds threatening rain, a chilly wind that whipped through her short hair and brought up goosebumps on her exposed forearms, and thunderheads on the horizon.
Well, they had a job to do, and a little bit of wind and wet wasn’t going to stop her and her new minotaur companion from dragging a body all the way back to town.
With a grumble from Garok, they did just that, the two of them making a very unlikely sight as they tromped out of town, past ruined houses and burnt buildings, walking down a dust-blown gravel road, heading for a gas plant a few miles away. She had opted to leave Tommy behind, with a pistol for protection. He was keeping an eye on Jenna, hopefully. He wasn’t taking being disarmed all that well and the sight of him trying to eat with one hand, his stump flailing around, trying to go through the motions had gotten some pity from her. Not enough that she’d go and feed him herself, but she had been nice to him. No hidden barbs or sniggers during her quick drill of trying to fire the pistol one-handed. Garok had pulled his weight more than a few times during the night, wordlessly removing the pain whenever it got too bad.
Clair had given serious consideration on buying some painkillers but in the end, having Tommy drugged up and dazed in an potential monster zone was a really f****** bad idea. She’d only given him some lightweight stuff, just enough to take the edge off the pain. Surprisingly, he was handling it far better than she had expected, earning him some grudging respect from Clair.
She shifted the shotgun, pointing it at the ground while she tromped along, newly brought army boots sifting through piling sand on the highway. Strange. On the town and for a mile-wide area around it, the roads stayed clean. Further out than that, and sand started covering them. She had some inkling of what might be going on, but it wasn’t on the Megathread of known purchases in the Wiki.
One other thing was listed there. A significant recoil reduction for firearms. Looking through that and the date it was added, suddenly had her feeling just a wee bit stupid. Considering the force each round hit with, the recoil for the shotgun should have broken her wrists and anything she had it braced against. That purchase by some random guy was the only reason she wasn’t limping around with her chest cavity caved in right now. Saved by – not luck, she didn’t believe in that – but by someone who likely actually thought of the drawbacks of an overpowered gun.
Not wanting to think about that any longer, she briefly turned her head to Garok, addressing him.
“Curious about something. No offense meant or anything.”
“Yes?” He rumbled.
“I never really gave it much thought, but I always thought minotaurs would be bigger than you.”
He didn’t break stride, just increased the pace a little, a quick flick of his tail the only sign of emotion.
“They are. Most of my species are a full head taller than me. Other variants like the Ashen Minotaurs dwarf them as well.”
“So, you’re not fully grown, then?”
Another flick of the tail. “I am a runt.”
Oh. Now she felt stupid for pressing him. People never liked to be reminded of literal shortcomings.
“Sorry bout that, then.”
“You are confusing my silence for being uncomfortable. I am not. My being born a runt has forged me into who I am today. I would have it no other way. I consider myself far more advanced and civilised than the rest of my race.”
“Really? How’s that?” She genuinely interested now, turning to face him a little more. One eye running over the rather flatish desert, the other eyeing the Cleric’s armoured form.
“My attire should speak for itself. Among other things, I can legibly speak, am not attempting to kill you at the moment, have no desire to build or hack out my own subterranean maze, and serve The Three.” There was some note of satisfaction in his voice when mentioning the last one, Clair noted.
“And how did all the happ-“
A blur appeared in the corner of her eye, a small black ball whipping towards her. Head snapping around, she brought up the shotgun, firing directly at it.
Only to hit empty air. When she looked again, there was nothing there. No tracks disturbing the sand, only far-off indents where the spray of pellets had impacted.
Garok was by her side, towering over her, sword ready and shield up, assuming a guarded stance.
“Where is the monster?”
Shaking her head, Clair tried to explain. “I think I’m seeing things.” she finished, feeling somewhat frustrated.
“I doubt that. I’ve dealt with enough monsters to know that if you think something is wrong, it absolutely is. Be on your guard.”
Despite that warning, and many tension-filled moments, they got to their destination safely. A single small shack, if it could even be called that, surrounded by a leaning chain link fence. A few rusted pipes and valves jutted out from the ground behind it, before turning and plunging into the earth again. All alone in the vast, flat desert, it looked old and dingy, ready to collapse if a particularly stiff breeze from the thunderheads above hit the unpainted wood.
Clair wiped some sand from her face, and nodded soundlessly. The whipping wind and errant bursts of sand carried with it made talking a stupid idea, but none was required.
Garok wrapped one hand around the lock and squeezed, crushing it with ease. With a creek that was audible even over the vicious wind, the gate swung open. They stepped in, Clair taking the lead. No such lock was on the shack, and Clair yanked the door open.
She wished she hadn’t, a second later.
The smell, even the faint trace of it, nearly made her gag and the half-rotted corpse didn’t help much either. God, but she was decomposing fast. Backing out, she shut the door and waved off Garok.
Over the wind, she had to get closer and shout in his ears.
“She’s half rotted. Probably fall apart if we’re going to carry or pull her back! Give me a minute.”
Said minute later, she had two earplugs shoved up her nose, newly bought disposable gloves and allegedly smell-proof bodybag, courtesy of her screen. Leaving Garok outside (It was far too cramped for him in there), she yanked open the door, tossed the bodybag inside, and grabbed the knife Garok handed her.
The knife went through Jenna’s neck (to prevent zombification, which she was taking very seriously after some stories from Garok), Jenna went in the bodybag, and Mr. Taggert’s gas pipeline shack and all the tools inside got handed over to the System for Krolls.
Grabbing the bodybag with both hands, she boosted it up, handing the weight over to Garok. He would carry it back to town, while she would be running interference. If they wanted to send Jenna on peacefully, the body had to get back without being destroyed. If it was, well, they failed, big time.
But, hey, they were out in the open desert, nothing in sight for miles. They hadn’t encountered anything on the way here. What could go wrong, other than everything?
