IABD 59: The Ghoul Trap

Ignite,” Mistress Polla commanded. “And burn long.”

Inside the derelict hermit house, a towering pile of wood hissed, steam rising, abruptly bursting into flame. Flickering firelight and shadow danced across the home’s inner walls, casting light over thick branches—ends wrapped in rags—shoved into the ground like wooden stakes encircling the flame.

Matthias squinted against the heat of the bonfire.

“I will leave you for the night, young Matthias.” Polla turned. “Remember, the stone on your belt is your lifeline. Do not lose it. Do not hesitate to use it. Keep your soul pumping. If you do not, then the exercise is pointless.”

“I understand.” Matthias lowered his head to Polla. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good hunting,” she said.

A strange look crossed her face as she looked between him and the fire.

“...and most of all, be careful.”

Without another word, the mage departed for her and Ellian’s home.

Nearby, Beggahasta crouched in the hermit house, her back to a wall and a blanket over her. “I shall stay low and quiet; if I reveal myself, the ghouls will avoid this place. I will only interfere if it seems you’re being overwhelmed…and I warn you, if it is necessary for me to step in, we’ll have to delay your entry to Windstone. You cannot show these creatures any vulnerability. You must be ready.”

“Don’t worry, if it looks like the ghouls are going to overwhelm me, I won’t hesitate to use the stone, whether I use my hand or the tendril.” He tapped the stone hanging from his belt. “You won’t have to step in, either way.”

“I believe you can do this.” She pointed to the tree branches protruding from the ground near the fire. “Remember, use the fire, make sure you burn any ghoul troll corpses, otherwise, they will regenerate.”

“I understand.” Matthias looked up to the sky, watching the failing light through a hole in the tattered roof. Vocalisations from the undead caught his attention as they stirred in the abbey.

Looking down, he checked his weapons one more time, adjusting his new sword. His heart pounded, matching the same rhythm as his soul’s contractions, both sending a blend of fear, anticipation, blood and life energy flooding through him.

His heart soared; the rush of the battles he’d fought with his siblings coming to mind, and he smiled, gripping his warhammer tighter.

He and his mother waited in silence, the fire blazing at his back.

The sun sank lower, shadows deepening; his tendril stirred in his shadow.

Daylight faded, ghouls began emerging from Windstone Abbey.

He could clearly make out their grey forms outlined against the white snow, entering the courtyard in clusters; their attention now quickly drawn to the bonfire blazing in one of their nighttime haunts.

Matthias took a deep breath and stepped forward; the gap through the ward was marked by a space in the outer wall, an area where the stone had fallen away, leaving a gap in the rampart.

Judging by the multitude of ghoul tracks covering the snow, the gap was a common access point to this particular hermit house; it was the preferred spot for them to come and go.

And in the center of that very spot, Matthias stood, tiger skin cloak billowing in the winter wind. With the fire blazing at his back, his towering silhouette was clear for every ghoul to see.

And it did not take long for them to notice him.

At first, they paused, watching him with caution, possibly trying to discern who he was, or if he was Beggahasta or Polla.

He could almost imagine their simple thoughts and instincts: ‘Is that a threat or is it food?’

They quickly decided he was the latter.

One screamed, pointing a clawed finger and calling to the others. The other voices joined the first one’s, screeching spreading through the courtyard.

“Here we go!” Matthias drew his sword, his tendril rising from his shadow.

As one, the ghoul horde charged, dribble running from gaping jaws, dead eyes shining in dancing firelight.

Raising his sword and hammer, Matthias dropped into a fighting crouch, blade extended.

His heart pounded, pumping blood through his veins.

His soul contracted, sending life energy coursing through his life channels.

The first ghoul leapt.

He cut it down with a single push cut, splitting its head in two. Its body went limp mid-jump, and his tendril batted it away, sending the corpse tumbling into the group behind it.

As they fell in a tangle of limbs, their kin wasted no time in clambering over them, claws extended; determined to pull Matthias down.

Sword and warhammer blurred around him, dealing powerful blows to the oncoming ghouls. His large blade split their flesh like butter, lobbing limbs, severing heads with every stroke. Heads pulped from warhammer blows or flew free each time the massive weapon connected.

His shadow-tendril attacked from below, pulling ghouls off bony feet then wrapping around their skulls. As his foundation had solidified over the months, his body had grown stronger.

As had his shadow-tendril.

When it squeezed the ghouls’ skulls...

…they popped like overripe berries.

In very little time, a pile of dead ghouls lined the path in front of the greatfolk warrior, growing taller as a ruin of severed limbs and skulls joined them.

Matthias smiled, his satisfaction was clear.

Ghouls were snarling, vocalising, many moving away from the gap, trying to climb the walls to flank their opponent…and there, they discovered the wards.

In an instant, wind swept over grey bodies, stone impaling them, screeching rising then fading, flame reducing them to ash.

The heat was intense, but the magical properties of his tigerskin cloak shielded him. His satisfied smile grew wider; by his own hand, he had earned this cloak and now it was protecting him from the sting of flame.

It felt good, damned good.

The ghouls, however, were not feeling the same.

They retreated from the raging flames, pulling back into the courtyard and watching from a distance. Their dead eyes shone in the flickering light of the wards and bonfire.

“Come on!” Matthias taunted, his weapons clashing. “There’s a free meal right here! Just for you! Dinner’s waiting! Or do you only take your meals when they don’t fight back?”

The creatures snarled at him, inching forward. He had no idea if they understood him or not, but from their increased snarling, it was clear they didn’t like his tone.

Or perhaps they simply could not stand the idea of prey being so close at hand—prey they had overwhelmed with numbers before—yet now they could not feast on it.

But that soon would not matter.

Hunger defeated caution and they rushed in, leaving sense behind, trying to use cunning instead. They avoided touching the walls, coming at Matthias head on as he stood anchored in place.

“Yes!” he shouted, laughing harshly, turning his might on the ghouls once more.

He became lost in the rush of battle; every true clash he’d ever been involved in in his young life had been under dire circumstances.

Fighting his tormenters and Haakon was to save his future. His fight with the gnoles and demonic-beast tiger had been to gain the skill he needed to save his brother. His fight in his brother’s dream had been to save his soul.

This fight?

This one was against a horde of starving ghouls, devised to test his growth; there were no grand life-altering stakes here, the biggest risk was that a ghoul’s slippery claw or fang could slip through his guard.

And that was a risk he was learning he truly enjoyed.

As the creatures clambered over each other, they appeared frantic, desperate, looking to tackle him, fighting to pull him down with the weight of numbers. He gave ground step by step, leaving dead ghouls in his wake as he retreated toward the hermit house.

More bore down on him, trying to smother him in masses of undead bodies, but his blows never faltered—and neither did his soul—contracting as he gave ground. Using the shadow-tendril, he reached for the persistent monsters—the tentacle wrapping around their legs then flinging each one at the wards, letting stone, wind and flame take them to their end.

He nodded at the spectacle, backing away from the gap as the undead rushed him like a river, spreading through the yard of the hermit house, looking to surround him. He allowed five through the gap, then the tentacle squeezed the stone, trapping his prey.

A spark of magic struck the air, the wards roared to life, closing the gap.

Onrushing ghouls met piercing stone and rushing wind, immolated by raging flame. The rest of the horde skidded in the snow, halting if they could, screaming at the flames.

Meanwhile, the five that had slipped through the gap came at him, trying to surround him from all sides. To his Divine Breath enhanced senses, their movements seemed no quicker than those of an arthritic turtle.

With a single swing of his sword, he cleaved one’s head from its shoulders and sliced deep into the torso of another, coming close to splitting the hapless creature in two. A third sprang forward while he drew back his sword, the massive warhammer stopped it mid-jump, striking the creature’s chest, shattering its bones. It flew backwards, landing in a snow drift where the shadow-tendril waited; wrapping around the broken creature and tossing it to the wards.

Matthias pounced on the last two ghouls while they tried to flank him, piercing the skull of one and smashing the head of the other.

Undead corpses dropped at his feet, collapsing in the snow.

He turned to the wards, watching frenzied ghouls screaming and hissing outside the magical boundary. His tendril gripped the stone at his belt, and—once again—the wards extinguished, opening the gap.

Flames instantly died away and undead bolted ahead.

Matthias let six through before squeezing the stone again.

The wards reengaged and the six immediately separated, trying to flank him.

He wouldn’t allow them to have their way. The young greatfolk pounced, laying into them with both weapons. His warhammer smashed, his sword cleaved, and his tendril grabbed and crushed.

The creatures went from being ravening aggressors, to hapless casualties, destroyed by his superior strength and skill. It took mere seconds for him to turn them into twitching ruins in the snow.

His breath was coming hard now; the rush of combat singing in his veins and soul.

“Again!” he shouted, gripping the stone with his tendril.

This time, he let seven through and was already attacking them before all seven made their way through the gap.

He was learning their patterns; the ghouls, despite their numbers and aggression, fought in the same way. They threw themselves at their prey, recklessly, always seeking to surround them and rip them apart like starving wolves on a doe.

But that way of doing things did not work very well when their prey was just as aggressive; he surged into them, weapons smashing and slicing. His tendril threw them around like they weighed nothing, while his massive body bowled them over; trampling their heads and necks beneath his boots.

On occasion, their claws slipped through his guard, but the tiger skin pelt deflected their swipes as well as an oil slick cloak repelling rain would. 

Again and again, he destroyed groups of these attackers, then each time letting more through the gap, eight, then nine, then ten…then more.

The more he learned about how they fought, the easier it was for him to dispatch them; the situation was a far cry from when he’d first entered Windstone.

Still though, he knew his limits; after reaching a dozen, he began to struggle. Even his newly honed reflexes couldn’t quite keep up with that number of ghouls attacking him from all sides.

More claws began slipping through his guard, a ghoul came close to knocking him off balance—jaws snapped near his face—before the shadow-tendril ripped the creature away and tossed it into the wards.

But he was not disappointed.

Even against a dozen vicious opponents, his control over his soul had not slipped, not even once. It still pumped his Divine Breath-enhanced life force between his spirit and body, flooding his life channels with power.

Many would have been satisfied with that level of success…but for him, there was one more test he wanted to attempt.

And he knew he would get his opportunity in due course.

As he disposed of the last of the latest pack of ghouls allowed through the gap, his eyes fell on those gathered outside the burning ward. In their eyes, what looked like actual hatred burned.

Perhaps the creatures could not stand yet another of their dens being taken from them; up to this point, an uneasy tolerance had existed between the intruders and the undead, but now this mortal—one who should be vulnerable, unlike the mage and the warrior woman—was taking another of their haunts away.

Even the instinct-driven, near-mindless ghouls seemed enraged by this, now one of them had emerged to punish this upstart young warrior.

Looming above the rest, the figure of a ghoul troll towered. The thing’s hard eyes shone in the firelight; its rictus grin displaying rotted fangs. A long tongue licked cracked lips, as it strode toward the burning ward, cautious of the fire, but eager to reach the warrior standing beyond the flames.

Matthias set his jaw; the first and only time he’d faced a ghoul troll; he’d nearly been overwhelmed by the creature.

Now, however, he would get his chance to see if things would be different.

As the creature approached the wards, Matthias gripped the stone.

The ward vanished from between the gap, and the monster’s dead eyes lit up as the flames died. Alongside the tide of lesser ghouls, the undead giant strode ahead, its long strides carrying it faster than its smaller kin.

“Let’s see if I’m truly ready for Windstone Abbey.” he raised his weapons, jaw clenched.

With a fierce battle cry, the young giant surged toward the undead titan.


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Author's Note

Bro, I had so much fun writing this hahha. It was crazy. One thing I wish D&D did a bit better was horde fights. I LOVE Dynasty warriors, but TTRPGs struggle with that many combatants on the field.

Cya Wednesday!