Library of Rain

Ghost Stories

The Comub was a busy place where people came for all kinds of reasons. Some came to drink and forget the misery of the day, others came to eat and talk among friends, and others still arrived to delay returning home to their spouse. Whatever the reason, there was always space and a cheerful atmosphere to protect against the cruel realities of the outside world. Chent loved this place and always made a note to eat here when his trading brought him to Tineak. 

Chent weaved his way towards his table, dodging around patrons and waitresses alike, taking care not to spill a drop of his rye beer. The chaotic liveliness of this place was exactly what he needed, and it was with a wide smile on his face that he set his tusk of beer on the table. 

“Welcome back, Chant, and for Agro's sake, take that ash-cursed hat off! Do you want the Merchant Killer to attack you?”

Chant grinned at the large man and removed the offending cap. 

“What’s this about a Merchant Killer?”

“There’s been an evil spirit roaming the streets of Tineak for well on six months now, killing merchants. No one has so much as seen it in all this time. As the story goes, the Merchant Killer is the ghost of a woman who was forced to watch her family starve due to the rising cost of food. Now she’s being strengthened by the combined resentment of the poor as she roams the city, bringing punishment to the greedy merchants who are raising prices to fill their own pockets.”

There was a round of snorts at the end of the tale - everyone here was a merchant or businessman; they knew that it wasn’t the merchants' fault that prices were rising. Between the famines and plagues, there wasn't enough food to go around. Chant pitied the retches in places like the Tineak Low Ring, but he couldn’t buy grain at two ver a sack and sell it at one. 

However, this wasn’t a place to drown in the problems of the outside world, so he decided to throw out a ghost story of his own.

“Have you heard of the phantom army of Terom?”

The men shook their heads and reclined in their chairs, their tusks and tankards of booze in hand, ready for another story. Chant took a long pull on his own tusk before telling his tale.

“A few months back, I was on Terom Island when an old man spun me a yarn about a haunted forest. The man said that an army had once tried to attack the lord of Terom by landing behind the cover of the forest and marching their forces through to surprise the good lord's men. However, because the lord was an upright and honorable man, Agro cursed the army never to find the way out. To this day, you can sometimes spot their spirits roaming the woods at night, looking for an escape, unable to find the path to the afterlife.

I was skeptical of the story, but my business kept me out late that night, and as I was returning to my inn, I saw a flash of moonlight off bronze coming from the forest. When I looked closer, I could see three soldiers wandering through the woods. I ran the rest of the way to my inn and barred the door to my room. The next day, I walked to the edge of the woods to see if I could find any trace of the wandering soldiers, but I didn’t see so much as a footprint in the snow.”

They all took a drink at the end of the tale before the next man took up the mantle of storyteller.

“Deep in the ocean, there is a lone rock that juts out of the depths. If you sail past it, you can hear the moaning of dying sailors carried on the wind. I’ve heard many tales about that rock, but the one I chose to believe is that the moans come from the crew of a shipwrecked trade vessel. 

When the boat went down, and the men made it to the rock, rather than fighting over the little food they had left, they shared it among their brothers. When the food and water were gone, all the men slowly died together as brothers and equals. To this day, the rock remembers their loyalty and repeats their dying moans to passing ships to forever remind them of those truest of friends.”

Chant knew that one, though he preferred the version of the story where mutineers had been stranded on that island as punishment for their crimes, and the moans were to remind sailors never to betray their ship. 

The group of men ordered some food from a waitress. Chant couldn't remember what her face looked like, but he did remember her fantastic chest. The way her serving uniform displayed her goods was top-notch. With that sight in his mind, he tucked into his food while the next local told a story.

“My wife refuses to use the well lately because of the Drowner; the story is that a young girl was brutally drowned in that well, and sometimes, when the night is dark, you can hear her calling up from its depths, ‘Help me! Help me!’ but if you lower a bucket to pull her up, she will grab you and pull you down to keep her company in the watery darkness.”

The men continued in that manner, eating, drinking, and telling stories as the night went on. Eventually, a newcomer arrived: a young man with gray hair peeking out from under a floppy hat.

“I heard your conversation. My name is Mirage. Do you mind if I join you and tell a tale of my own?”

The men naturally agreed to the free entertainment and made way for the newcomer.

“Let me tell you about Lady Tyix, the Fate-changer…”