Ghost Story

[GamesMaster]

Joey shakes his head. "He doesn't believe me, I think."

[Varric]

That takes Varric aback. Wait, what? After what happened fifty years ago, I'd've assumed they'd be real twitchy about anything out of the ordinary (undead are better than sceletratis but not by much). So why not at least check? Just in case? Could be they did, found nothing but wanted to leave rumors in place (amusement? Discourage kids from broken house? Adventure tourism?) Or maybe they know what the problem is and don't care (passive/very bound ghost? Guilt or dark secret, damaging to town? Or know it's Emma and... doesn't care).

"Huh. That's a shame. Anyone else look into it?"

[GamesMaster]

"My dad threw the bones, and they said there's a real mean ghost and he'll die if he goes in there. He's got a knack, you know," boasts Roger.

"That's superstitious stuff," says Joey with a superior tone.

"Is not! It's divination, just like Bright does."

[Varric]

(No.)

"Anyone ever make any guesses on who the ghost is? Of why she-- or whatever-- became a ghost?"

[GamesMaster]

"I think there's more than one," says Joey. "A pirate captain, Lord Verbury's dead son, and the family dog, at least."

[Varric]

Varric blinks thrice, slowly. "Family dog?"

[GamesMaster]

"Yeah, I told you -- its head got chopped off and it haunts the halls looking for its head, remember?"

[Varric]

"You did," Varric allows. "Just noting how sure you on that one." The goriest one that doesn't cross the bounds of your conscience, I might note (and do). "Well, I should get back to work but thank you both for the great stories."

[GamesMaster]

"Sure, any time!"

[GamesMaster]

That night, Varric is once again awakened by unearthly, wailing screams. This time, as he investigates, when he makes it to the parlor, there's vivid flashes of light, as if a lightning storm were going off on the rug. He can almost make out the image of two little girls and a dog if he squints, but then it's gone, and all that remains are brilliant flashes of cold blue light.

[Varric]

Varric stares a moment, Bianca sweeping the room with slow arcs. "Well, that happened," he finally mutters. The fuck was that about? Still armed, he moves over the rug to start investigating.

[GamesMaster]

The rug is still now, not a hint of burn from the electricity (if that's what it was). As he skims his eyes over the couch, the table, the bookshelf, he forgets one crucial thing: to look up.

A spider drops from the ceiling onto his back, biting the back of his neck savagely. He manages to throw it off, and Bianca puts a quick end to it, but not before it manages to unload a full load of virulent poison into his system. Oh no...

[Varric]

Phase spider (small but fully formed; spiked ridges on brow, legs, dire mutation?)? The Hells is-- why is that-- gods be dammed, this is--

[GamesMaster]

The next few subjective hours are pure misery. He vomits, more than once. His body is wracked with pain and chills. Had he any warning, he could have brewed an antidote, but now the only thing for it is to hang in there, guzzle water, and hope his body is still strong enough to fight off the poison. He's not as young as he used to be, after all.

Sunlight streams through the window. A glass vial pressed to his lips, an urgent, "drink this."

[Varric]

His mouth clamps shut like a bear trap as the dwarf-- shaming my ancestors, getting this sick  (worst I've ever been) from a  poison-- forces his eyes to focus past the arm to the face whose mouth is speaking. Who? Girl. Lost girl, cast-aside girl, lonely girl, hurting girl. Emma. Emma. "Wh--" he manages to rasp without parting his lips more than a hair.