Paul Kemp - Shadow witness

Wooden pews lined the room from the back wall up to the altar. Ghouls filled those in the rear. Rocking gently and growling low, they held their hands clasped as though in prayer, a macabre mockery of piety. They watched him sidelong out of slitted eyes. They licked their fangs hungrily but kept their seats.

Already holding his long sword at the ready, he filled his other hand with a dagger. At that, the ghouls began to growl and rock faster but still remained seated. He walked straight down the center aisle, through and past the ghouls, halfway to the altar. He kept his eyes locked on the masked face of the Righteous Man.

That's right, I've-come," he said. "What in the name of the gods have you done here?"

The Righteous Man stepped out from behind the altar and spoke in a soft, menacing tone "You've come to do Mask's bidding, perhaps?"

"Maaasssk," the ghouls in the pews echoed. "Masssk." They rocked and rocked.

The guildmaster's voice sounded different, Gale noted, but he attributed it to the guildmaster's obvious insanity. Only then did the Righteous Man's question strike him-Mask's bidding? What does that mean?

He shook his head and forced himself to stay focused.

"I've come to do my bidding, not a god's. I'm here for you, old man. It ends tonight, all of it. You hear me?"

Stall rocking in their pews, the ghouls gave a soft, prolonged hiss. Gale attuned his hearing behind him but kept his eyes locked on the Righteous Man. Casually, he pulled the explosive globe from his necklace and cupped it in his dagger hand. If bad went to worse, he'd blow the whole place immediately.

Favoring his leg, the Righteous Man stepped down from the dais. He stood only a dagger toss away. Gale could feel the intensity of his stare even through the black felt of the mask. He looked normal beneath his velvet robes-tall, thin, slightly stooped-but some-tiling about his mannerisms struck Gale as odd. He moved stiffly, herky-jerky, like a marionette. Palpably radiating contempt, he seemed to have more… presence. His ominous silence made Gale uncomfortable.

asked you a question, old man!" He gripped the dagger and globe in his now sweaty hand.

At his harsh tone, a cacophony of hisses sounded from the ghouls. Gale heard their leathery skin rasping against the wood of the pews as they rocked faster and faster. "Mask," they whispered, "Mask."

"I heard you, Erevis Gale," said the Righteous Man, and again Gale noticed the odd inflection and cadence. The guildmaster limped forward a step. Involuntarily, Gale found himself backing up. The hissing of the ghouls grew louder. The rasping of their skin on the pews sounded like a carpenter's plane on wood..

"You enter my guild and utter bold words. Bold words indeed for but a pre-incarnate Champion of Mask." He fairly spat the name of the Shadowlord, and when he did the ghouls hissed their echo.

"Maaasssk."

Pre-what? Gale took another step back as the Righteous Man approached. Seized with an inexplicable fear, Cale struggled to keep it out of his voice.

"You're the servant of Mask, priest, not me. And he can't save you from me. It's over." He held forth, his blades to demonstrate a defiance he didn't feel.

When the Righteous Man replied, his voice sounded oddly distant, and Gale realized that he was speaking to someone who existed only within the realm of his madness.

"No, he isn't going to save you now, is he Krollir?" the Righteous Man whispered to himself, and began to laugh. The sound was so thick with evil that it sent shudders along Gale's spine. After a moment, the guildmaster returned his attention from wherever it had gone and refocused on Gale. "Nor will he save you. I sent servants to seek you out, Erevis Gale, to draw you forth and bring you here, you and the other. He knew that one of you would become the chosen of Mask, if not him. He feared and hated you accordingly." The guildmaster took another step toward Gale.

With difficulty, Gale held his ground. -/"I do not share his concern. You cannot stop me. You or the other, paltry servants of a paltry god." The Righteous Man raised his hands to the ceiling. "I will feed!"

Gale stood stupefied. Who is he? he wondered. Me and the other? The Righteous Man had admitted to the attack on Stormweather. But to draw Gale out? What was going Oil here?

Even as he wondered, the answer began to crystallize-the shadow demon, the ghouls, the corpses, the warping of reality. No man could have done this, not even a priest with the power of the Righteous Man. No human could live in this pit.

He suddenly realized that the real Righteous Man was dead and the thing that now looked upon him was not human, couldn't be human. The realization multiplied his growing fear. His resolve to avenge the attack on Stormweather melted. He wanted nothing else but to get out of here, and get out of here now.

The… thing apparently sensed Gale's fear, for it inhaled deeply, sniffed the air as though searching for spoor. "Ah, you know now, don't you?" It inhaled again. "You do-I smell your fear."

The ghouls fell silent. Gale heard only his own breathing and the voice in his head screaming for him to run,' The thing took a step closer and the ghouls rose as one. Gale tried to fight off a wave of supernatural fear that rooted him to the floor.

"What are you?" he managed to mouth, but wasn't sure if he said it or merely thought it.

"Not what," the thing responded. "Who. I am Yrsil-lar, master of Belistor, keeper of the Void, Lord of the Nothing. Now the avatar of Mask as well. Would you see his face and mine?"

His face and mine. A demon had possessed the Righteous Man. Gale's knees went weak. His tongue felt too dry to form an answer.

The thing reached up and peeled off the black felt mask. Gale recoiled in anticipation of a nightmare, but the face was merely the drawn, wrinkled visage of an old man. Except for the eyes. The sockets looked empty. Not merely without eyeballs, but empty, a pair of holes that opened onto nothingness. Their gaze hit Gale like an ogre's club. Gasping for breath, he staggered backward, suddenly free from the paralyzing fear that the demon projected.

Yrsillar began to laugh, and behind the thin body of the old man Gale sensed a towering, awful shadow- the demon Yrsillar, lord of the nothing.

"His soul for me and his flesh for you," Yrsillar said to the ghouls. "Mask commands you." He began to laugh, loud and long.

"Massk," the ghouls snarled through drooling fangs, and leaped over the pews to reach him. At that exact instant, the doors to the shrine burst open and the ghouls from the hallway streamed in.

Without thinking, Gale threw the explosive globe at their feet. The room exploded in a ball of fire and scorching heat. Ghouls shrieked. Flesh and wood blew apart and sprayed the room. Too close to fully avoid the blast himself, the explosion blew Gale backward into the pews and painfully charred his exposed skin. Throughout, Yrsillar's laughter boomed loudly in his ears.

Though wounded, Gale regained his feet in an instant. He refused to go down easily. The blast had caused his vision to go gray and blurry, as though he peered through light fog. Corpses, fire, and rampaging ghouls tore about the room. Screams, growls, moans, and Yrsillar's haunting laughter resounded off the walls. The ghouls ran about and clawed wildly at the air, growling and snarling confusedly, as though blind. Some walked right into the blazing fires and leaped back with a scream. Gale did not understand it, but then he did not understand most of what had happened already tonight.

A ghoul prowled forward in a crouch and stood beside him, probing the area before it with its claws, but unable to see him. Without a thought, he used his dagger to gut it. The chaos in the room drowned out its dying screams.

Drawn by Yrsillar's voice, Gale turned to see the demon now standing atop the altar.