The Dread Haunting of the Myrken Wood Mill

[Glenn]

There was a path. It had been overgrown, the forest retaking what was once its over the span of a number of years, but such a process would always be a sort of ebb and flow until each and every human being in Myrken Wood had been wiped from the face of the planet. Then the wood would take back the land and a wild harmony would exist once more. For now, though, even an overgrown path could be cut back, restored, trod upon anew. Horses, carts, the weight of goods, of grain both unground and ground. It was a perfectly functional trail, a thing of utility and worth, something that would have led anyone with an interest, commercial or otherwise, right up to the mill.

So of course, the two companions were trudging through the woods instead. The mill, located in a fairly remote valley was accessible, like anything else in the forest, from all angles; accessible, here, was a relative term. Young Elliot Brown, once a squire, now something far less respectable, refused to allow his companion to assist him physically. It meant that the boy had been trekking through difficult terrain, grunting and swearing, and occasionally mumbling something or another about whoring. It had been worth it, however. It would just be a steep walk down a tree-encrusted hill and their target would be in front of them. After that it'd just be making it over a less than threatening fence, past a garden and an even less threatening scarecrow, and that would be that.

Elliot's holocaust cloak (which, was probably not a holocaust cloak at all, but that's what he demanded the black, extensive but unskillfully knitted piece of clothing to be called) had mostly survived through the branches and brambles of the wood. It had taken him weeks to track down just where this mill was located amongst all of his other studies and responsibilities, and now, with his unlikely companion, they were about to terrorize and disrupt. There was just one little, tiny problem.

"The mill.." Elliot swallowed, breaking a finally agreed to silence that he had been challenging for quite a while now, "seems to be closed at night." What had he been expecting? Hissing iron and the nighttime creation of weapons of war?

[Pantha]

He found the silence as they made the trek through the woods instead of the road a relief. The terrain choice doesn’t seem to bother him all that much. He loved the forest! Elliot would not have to worry about the fae outright helping him in any way. True, sometimes he would just plow ahead, leaving an open area in his wake for Elliot to follow but he never once took to wing. Now and then he would fall behind as he became distracted by picking burrs out of his clothing and hair. He acted as if the whole march there were some giant pain in his ass while he physically looked barely bothered by the convoluted chosen path. The darkness hardly bothered him at all. Now and then he would stop and stare at the boy as he struggled over something or showed off. In those moments the moonlight would reflect in his wide, weird eyes and they almost seemed to look like those of some nocturnal predator. When they come creeping up on the mill, his preening stops and he looks over at Elliot with a smirk. “Where do they sleep?” Wasn’t that obvious?

[Waldemar]

There, hunched silent and dark against the earthen dam that spanned the small valley, windows shuttered for the night, stood the mill; a barn-like structure with a stubby tower at one end, crooked timbers used in its construction and irregular shingles on the roof gave it a ramshackle look for all that it was newly built. Plenty of places the mill workers might sleep - perhaps in an attic above, perhaps in a cellar below, perhaps in that squat tower that barely cleared the roofline of the main building. The bustle of daytime was gone, no rush of water or dull growl of machinery to mar the stillness of the woods; even the trees around the millpond were silent, no breeze to stir the branches, the mobs of raucous crows gone to roost for the night.

Closer to the mill the terrain was more open, recently-hewn stumps scattered here and there showing how close the forest had come to engulfing the building entirely. Now it was an island of enforced order, the ground cleared and the wilderness driven back, at least for a couple of dozen paces. Untidy piles of brushwood were heaped irregularly just inside the treeline, fallen sticks and branches dragged only far enough to be out of the way; the fence of hazel hurdles around the vegetable garden was meant more to keep wildlife from the crops, and would certainly pose no challenge at all to such determined intruders, even if they didn't opt to use the gate; and there, beyond the neat rows of onions, cabbages and turnips, beyond scarecrow creaking gently back and forth on its pole, lay their goal - the back door of the mill.

[Glenn]

"Uh." The brilliant emanations that came out of the mouth of Elliot Brown. "Usually we stake out a place first." Then, with some hesitation. "But usually I don't have someone like you with me." Rationalization was one of his many skills. He wore it well, obscured as he was by the black cloak. Mainly, he didn't want to walk all the way back, try to convince Zilliah to come back out with him again, and to start all this over. "They probably sleep inside, I guess? Or in that tower? I guess some could live nearby, but from what I heard from the Allgood nephew (he was in town to sell three of his pa's sheep and ... you don't care, do you?) there haven't been any new houses made around here. Not yet at least." The boy let out a deep breath as he stared down at the mill. He took a moment to gather a rare thought. "No one would risk it, would risk being late for old man Waldy. They're in there."

How well could the fae see in the dark? Perfectly Elliot figured, and maybe then that was why the grin that came over his face was so bright and defined. "They're in there. It's nighttime. I have a holocaust cloak. I have a guy out of a storybook with wings." He pulled the cloak over his head just a bit more tightly, covering up that grin. "Let's go find out if they're in there or not."

[Pantha]

He only let Elliot ramble on aloud when they were in the perceived safety of the woods. He listened but did not answer to any of the remarks, especially the last one about his wings. It did make him smirk a little to think the boy would think of his wings as anything but a hindrance in such a situation. Shouldn't he be more excited about his third eye? It is glowing now if Elliot cares to notice but he is not yet reaching out into the boy's mind.

He is listening elsewhere. He can hear them now, dreaming fretfully inside. As the cloaked boy broke away and started to scramble over the piles of branches and reeds that buffered them from the edge of the clearing, Zilliah grabs hold of his cloak and drags him back. There he is then, in the boy's mind, sharing the knowledge and nonsensical whispers in their dreamlike state. The boys of the mill sleeping scattered. And just as the knowledge begins to flow through them, as locations are determined, the link is broken with them.

Had the children awaken? Had Elliot spoken too loudly? No, no something else had happened. HE has given them away! Sure, he had felt the lingering hints of magic here and there around the building, but he had not expected it to be able to recognize him. Was it any wonder the fae had almost gotten himself killed in the traps inside Drache's cavern home? He chuckles lowly and let's go of Elliot. His voice is inside his mind now. -Someone knows that we are here. Looks like it will be an old fashioned haunting then. Go on! Quickly! Before they wake up completely and find you out!- Elliot is given a rough shove to get him going over the barrier!

[Waldemar]

Despite the quiet exchange of words and scuffle at the treeline, despite the fey's warning, there was little indication that the mill had taken any notice of the interlopers at all; still dark, still quiet, not a breath of air; no sign of life at all save a brief stirring in the underbrush as some small creature of the woodland was startled from its nocturnal rounds. Even the scarecrow ceased its slow twisting, its blank sackcloth face turned sightlessly towards the woods.

The mill waited.

[Glenn]

Elliot's best reasoning, his strongest deduction, all made moot and pointless by the fae and his third eye. Was it any wonder that magic was so reviled in Myrken? It wasn't about fear, not really, not ultimately. No, it was about ego. Anything that could be done with human ingenuity and hard work, the very pinnacle of what they could manage, could be done far more easily with a bit of magic. All they had was their hard work. Of course, Elliot wasn't thinking that way. Working out that people were probably sleeping there was a full time job and he'd need a bit of a recharge before surmising anything else.

First you stake out the place and then you go in slowly deliberately, at your own pace and on your own terms. Elliot Brown had taken off the ring that protected him from Zilliah. That was one of the terms for this but he hadn't done it for the fae's support so much for the fae's solidarity, as an attempt to bridge the gap, a sign of good faith, a boyish, naive attempt at brotherhood. Now, it meant that the voice in his head was heart when otherwise it would be ignored, but it wasn't too late for the rogueling to choose to hold back, to pick another night.

He really never was one for common sense, was he? The push takes him the rest of the way down the hill, and from there it is a leap over the fence and on towards the mill itself. His steps are surprisingly deft, light, trained, the weight shifted this way and that to leave minimal tracks. His heart may be racing but his body was conditioned to move a certain way. It meant when he landed on the bottom rung of the water wheel and began to climb, there was little noise, little sign of it to anyone not paying very close attention. A second story window was his ultimate target and he would move without hesitation, without delay, one motion leading to the very next, in order to reach it.

[Pantha]

Half the fun of it was spoiling it for Elliot. Or making an ass out of him. Whichever. His laughter at the sight of Elliot making for the mill is delayed. The excitement had been tinged with fear, all of it shared with the boy. His prediction of someone waking is proven wrong. No lights shine in the windows, no footfalls in the wooden and stone halls. Something still wasn’t right but now was not the time to act. He follows after Elliot, but not to scale the building. The laughter comes and he pauses to watch the would be ghost climb to the second story window.

Carved jade jewelry is tucked under is collar and removed from his hair to be stowed away in pockets so they cannot make so much noise and give away their approach. The back door of the mill is inspected before he reaches out to take hold of the handle. He hesitates before trying to turn it and his hand draws back. No, walking right in the back door would be no fun at all! A wicked grin seizes him and he back peddles a little before taking off after Elliot. He finds his own footholds in the building’s exterior instead of using the wheel.

[Waldemar]

It was the miller's practice to close the sluice gate at night, allowing the millpond to refill ahead of the next day's work - sensible, frugal, a reluctance to let power run to waste when it could be stored and usefully harnessed. To reach the wheel meant rounding the tower, picking a path along the dam between the millpond and the mill itself. Still no lights from inside the silent building, their intrusion seemingly unnoticed, unremarked.

Elliot is stealthy, of course, and the great wheel's slats provide an obvious way up. He's light, certainly compared to the rush of water that usually powers the mill. But the boy is by no means weightless, and the thing about wheels is that they are made to move.

The operation of a waterwheel is a simple matter of balance, of weight on one side - usually provided by the falling water, but in this case by the tread of an entirely substantial ghost - exceeding that on the other, rendering the wheel unstable such that it seeks a new point of balance. Increase the size of the wheel and it increases the effect of that weight in accordance with the principles of leverage. The mill's architect had paid close attention to such principles, had spent time and chalk on copious calculations, had spent effort and diligence on ensuring the efficiency of his machinery.

It was slow at first, but the wheel shifted under Elliot's weight, a low groan as the miller's work was vindicated by thousands of pounds of timber being set into reluctant motion by mere dozens of pounds of boy. The window was reachable - shuttered, latched, but with a broad sill - but it would mean outpacing the turning wheel, with the risk of being crushed between wheel and wall in the pit below.

Zilliah's route was by far the more sensible, or at least less adventurous, with plenty of handholds to be found on the half-timbered wall, leaving only the matter of the window shutters to contend with. A thin blade would be enough to lift the latch and gain access to the interior.

At last, on the far side of the building dim candlelight gleamed behind the tower's shutters. As if in answer the forest stirred under the touch of an unfelt breeze.

[Glenn]

There was very little that was sensible about Elliot Brown, very little indeed. Quick? Yes. Deft? Yes. Sensible? No. And weightless, of course not, but thankfully quickness and deftness were enough to see him up that water wheel despite its movement. And certainly, this sort of thing must happen now and again. A.. particularly heavy bird? Or the wind picking up just so? Or maybe not; truthfully Elliot had no idea. Any farmboy who cared enough about how mills worked and who knew them in and out would probably not be the sort to run away from home to become a knight.

It REALLY didn't matter. They were already caught. Magical barriers? Is that what Zilliah said? It wasn't until Elliot was half perched upon the sill, foot balanced preciously with another pressed at an angle just so into the outer wall, that he really let that sink in; sink in but not throw him. Ninety percent of this was nerve. So long as his angle was correct (math; who knew that math was so useful?) and his balance honed, he could have perched up there for ages, far less time than he needed to quietly work open that shutter.

Magical barrier? One could never be too safe in Myrken Wood. The boy himself seemed to be proof of that. He had dragooned a legendary creature into assisting him in breaking in, after all, but really, what in a MILL would warrant such protections? Where did the weathered old man obtain the MEANS for such a thing? Oh the ornery old coot was hiding SOMETHING and it was down to the daring young rogue to work out just what. Along with his pet fairy. No, that wasn't quite it. It made him sound like a kid searching for fairy rings amongst mushrooms and he had enough of that sort of thing due to the drugged chocolate. With his elvish companion dragged out of a cursed drunken stupor in order to help discover the truth. That sounded better.

He probably shouldn't let his mind drift so while working, but it was better than focusing on the spiraling ground below. After a good number of those long, distracted seconds, Elliot popped the latch and slipped inside.

[Pantha]

It was all very mundane climbing up the side of a building like that and the ease with which he did so made it look even more boring. Now Elliot’s approach, that just went over the top a bit and he was certain the boy was trying to show off! The expected groan of wood as the wheel turned made the fae grin ever so conspiratorially at the Brown boy. –Sounds like the ghost has arrived!-


The enjoyment of it is spoiled a little when the boy’s mind is given chance to wonder. His ears fold back a bit and he looks away from the blade in the sill to just stare strangely at Elliot. He should have taken the opportunity of Elliot not being able to speak aloud and had him left the ring on. Was it really all that surprising that the young man thought such things? He is torn between laughing aloud and kicking the boy right off the roof. Both snap desires would be keenly felt by the human and he gives him a knowing grin as he helps lift the window open for Elliot to climb in first.

[Waldemar]

The wheel had drifted to a standstill by the time the would-be ghosts slipped inside, little more than a patch of wan starlight from the window illuminating the space within; did they notice the marks carefully carved into the inside edge of the window frame? Perhaps, perhaps not; either way their purpose was served. Did they pay attention to the subtle rustlings from the treeline, the brief crackle of twigs amid the underbrush? Countless small creatures roam the night woods, so it might not even be worthy of note.

There in the centre of the room stood a well-scrubbed table, a handful of chairs around it, all very basic but functional; a similarly plain cupboard to one side, a couple of pots and pans and a tin washtub hanging from nails in the wall, bunches of wild herbs drying from the rafters, a squat brick hearth set into the wall directly ahead of them, nothing but barely-warm ashes in the grate. A kitchen. No infants on roasting spits, no cauldrons bubbling with dreadful potions, not a whiff of brimstone or charring bones.

The floorboards were perhaps the greatest obstacle, uneven planks that squeaked and creaked under the slightest pressure, a product of the rough materials used in the building's construction. Still, now that they were inside the mill wasn't quite as silent as it seemed from without; the building groaned now and then as timber still settled in the cool of the night, perhaps prompted by that brief turning of the machinery.

Barely visible in the pitch darkness of the interior, the way to the rest of the mill lay ahead and to the left, an alcove with a door in each of its three sides. The rightmost door most likely led to the tower, while either of the others might give access to the workings of the mill proper.

From somewhere in the room directly below them a board squeaked, at odds with the deeper tone of the building's shifting fabric, but the sound was not repeated.

[Glenn]

Hours straining into the darkness. Special exercises which he thought would make him blind. And the first few days? The first few days he was SURE they would make him blind, but then something strange happened over the weeks; slowly but surely his vision improved until he could see much better at night than ever before. Oh, he wasn't some sort of elf or owl or whatever else, nothing like that, but he was a damn sight better than the average person.

It meant he could at least partially manage and maneuver. This wasn't the first creaky old dark building he had to sneak his way through. Granted, most of the others actually had something of value in them. That it was personal only focused him more. Granted, that he had a weirdo magic fairy as back up only made him more uncomfortable. He was used to Niall. Zilliah couldn't be farther from the scarred girl. No one could be.

So, carefully shifting his weight over multiple floorboards at once to minimize the noise had brought him well within the room. Now, however, he stopped, stopped and paused, pulling the cloak over his face once more. And with a concealed frown he thought out to Zilliah. ~Now what should we do?~ He had blanked. Getting in was one thing, but he was struggling to figure out his next move.

[Pantha]

He follows Elliot in through the open window and he does not stray far from it. He kneels down on the floor just before the windowsill. His ever open eyes scan the room in a flash before he just closes his eyes completely. He could see well enough with them shut anyway. He shakes his head as Elliot asks his questions and his lips pull up into a mischievous grin. In response to the mental message there is only a shared sensation of wickedness. Around the room, Elliot would hear objects beginning to move around on their own in the darkness. Bowls slide off tables and shatter, a broom begins to float in the air. The fae leans forward and gives Elliot a shove towards the soon to rouse boy sleeping nearby. It would soon be very noisy with the clatter of kitchen wares around the room.

[Waldemar]

It was the crashing of crockery that prompted the first real sign of life from within the mill, in the form of a door banging somewhere upstairs in the tower, followed by the creaking of stairs as one of the mill's occupants descended. From the mill itself more floorboards creaked from a couple of places, close by and further off, though somewhat hard to make out amid Zilliah's racket of dishes and pans.

From outside the wind seemed to be picking up, a growing sussuration in the undergrowth punctuated by the groan and crackle of shifting branches.