“Agrarius has promised to take me to the Spirit Realm in a few days, on the full moon, ominous. I’ve disgraced myself before her in the past, when the backlash of my journey along the path of ecstasy overwhelmed me. As Thyrsus I hope she can understand why what happened… happened – I will need her knowledge and guidance in the days ahead. It is for that very reason that I must do what I am going to do. I’ve reached a new plateau in my mastery over the vital spark of the soul – the fierce beating of the world and the raw essence behind the shells we see with our eyes. I’ve learned what I can from Prometheus’ cryptic words, if I am to be more than some dim minded child for Agrarius to take on a field trip…I must journey into our worlds mirror, into the Shadow.”
Overman beckons to an unseen form as he makes the last few adjustments to the pattern – glancing into the darkness of the trees he nods and a shimmering of the air envelops him and with a dull pop they are gone.
“It took far longer than I expected to break the Gauntlet, even as weak as it was here…there? I suppose it would be best to head towards familiar environs to give better perspective.”
It had taken nearly half a day to find the weakness in the Gauntlet, at least one that appeared safe when peered through from Material Reality. Perhaps the spirit landscape was different before, but it is surely a hazardous place now. Nightmare Day, the deaths of a tenth of the world has effects in our world and in its Shadow. The streets have gaping rotten sores in them as empty buildings that smell of death gaze down, so far down for their impossible heights. The sky is a roiling blackness and their is a mournful howling in it. Everything touched by man is coated with a thick oil or shadow that radiates fear, remorse, confusion and death.
“The world here is rotten, the emotions that have dominated humanity since Nightmare Day. Everyone lost some one…so much sadness and fear. It has suffused the every world and all that we touch, the emotional resonance.”
Overman walks down the Shadow of the neighborhood, sees the Moneybag spirit in the yard of the wealthy banker across from the Cabal’s home. He is different here – he glares without compassion upon the world around him. His movements deft and his eyes shrewd. His coffers are filled with ill gotten rewards and his suit seems almost made of the flesh of his victims…the shadows play upon that too dark fabric throwing strange suffering faces into stark relief. A spirit of greed that also feeds on suffering and theft.
“That one,” Overman gestures, “the man across the way feeds it with his actions to the point it appears in the Realm Material. It’s crossing over and gaining power beyond the Hisil.”
Prometheus shies from the spirit even as Overman gestures. It sees them, but as its cold eyes passes us both…sees the poverty of our station. It only smiles with a mouth full of pointed teeth and in a flurry of paper and a sense of loss is gone.
Moments later other spirits appear – dark shades that smell of grave dirt and leave a trail of tears briefly in their wake. Spirits darker that the void that exude a bone aching chill even from dozens of feet away. Spirits gaze from barred windows with a thousand judging eyes and a hunted look…they are creeping closer.
Prometheus darts away and Overman makes a gesture to sense where the Gauntlet is weakest. Countless spirits of death and loss hound them as they dash back towards the place they entered. The town is alive now, full of those same shapes around their home but in a thousand thousand shapes. They taste the fear and savor it…and in an instant the terror is gone and Overman is laying with gasping breaths in the park with the sky now blindingly bright above..the moon three quarters full above.
The Greed spirit was strong, it has dined upon the suffering of thousands and the cold satisfaction of one. When it vanished, there was nothing left for the other spirits to fear.