---------

  Treasure

  ---------

  ---

  Staff of Spectral Enslavement

  ---

  Alignment: Bond, Death.

  ---

  Capacity: 0/12

  ---

  ---------

  Abilities Imbued

  ---------

  ---

  Bond Spectral Undead (Minor)

  Spectre, spirit, wraith or ghost, you'll serve now, where I need most.

  This Treasure bonds a minor spectral undead.

  Alignment: Bond, Death.

  Cost: Twelve.

  Duration: One day.

  Refresh: Thirty minutes.

  ---

  ---------

  Fritz read the Know-note, brow furrowed, then let out a thoughtful, "Hmm."

  "What? What does the staff do?" Mel asked.

  "Yeah, stop bein' mysterious and tell us," Bucket said irritably.

  Fritz sighed, then flicked the card to Mel, who read it quickly.

  "Huh, doesn't say much," Mel said, handing the slip of paper to Reed next.

  "Yes, the explanation is quite concise," Fritz agreed.

  "The staff gives you a pet ghost?" Reed summarised with some incredulity. "That's fearsome. Too fearsome. I don't think I can sleep again knowin' there's powers like this in Epsa. Not without another of those lanterns." He paused for a moment. "You wouldn't have a spare, would you?"

  "A pet ghost!?" Bucket blurted.

  "Ghost?" Clover shivered. Her eyes widened with terror and darted around the stone chamber. She had awoken only six minutes ago and was still weak, afraid and shaky.

  "Read it again, carefully," Fritz said patiently. "It will bond a ghost, or rather a 'spectral undead', not summon one. So you'll need to find a way to create or conjure a ghost if you want to make any use of the staff."

  Clover exhaled slowly and relaxed a hair. Fritz was glad he had ordered the necromancer's spirit to remain hidden.

  "Huh," Reed said. "That's less fearsome by at least a third."

  "Yeah, never want to fight a ghost again," Clover agreed.

  "Didn't do much fightin'," Bucket said. "You just rolled over when the ghost touched you. You weren't even awake when the second one showed up and we killed it."

  A shadow fell over Clover's face, and she hung her head.

  "We? We didn't kill it, the lantern did," Reed stated. "You didn't do anythin' either, so stop bein' a prick, Bucket."

  "Piss off, bootlicker," Bucket growled.

  "Be silent," Fritz ordered.

  Bucket glared at the floor, but obeyed.

  The brief stretch of quiet that followed was broken by Mel when she asked, "Did you find anything else in the necromancer's lair?"

  "A few things," Fritz revealed. "Some jewellery, though none of it is magical, alas. That and a bag of gold triads. About twenty if I guess rightly."

  There was more; he'd found an entire sack of unrefined ores and rough gems, still contained in chunks of coarse stone. Those raw, precious materials were now hidden in his Pouch of Many Stones.

  It had been a curious experience using the storage Treasure. It wouldn't open unless Activated, and when he did activate it, the pouch's seams had glowed a soft silver. Flipping over the lid revealed a dark hole, pitch black and rippling like recently disturbed tar.

  He had put his hand into it warily, and found its dark interior cold with a slight pressure, like his hand was surrounded by dry water. There was also a sensation, it shared the knowledge that the 'repository' was empty. It was odd, but not unpleasant.

  Without further delay, knowing that the pouch's portal only had a minute duration, he had stuffed all he could into it, indiscriminate of the relative worth of each glittering hunk. He had worried the size of the space opened by its Imbued Ability was only the size of the pouch itself, a foot wide and half as tall, but that fear was soon, gladly, proved wrong.

  The space within the repository was at least three times as large as the bag itself, and all the gems and ores fit in easily. The real trouble, it turned out, was the weight. While the repository's magic reduced it considerably, by nearly a third, it was also true that metal was heavy, as were stones.

  Fritz had originally belted the bag behind his sheathed dagger, but the unusual weight threw off his balance considerably. He moved it to a more central location, right over the belt buckle, for his return trip.

  Now, though, the pouch was safely secured in his pack, away from prying eyes or grasping hands.

  Fritz smiled.

  "Can we see them?" Barge asked.

  "Hmm?" Fritz answered, lost in his own musings.

  "The rings?" Bucket reminded.

  "Oh, no, you may not," Fritz said blandly. "The loot will be sorted and split before we leave. No point in handing it out now."

  There were some frowns and some expressions that plainly said they believed he was going to hoard all the wealth for himself. They were mostly correct, but he still made an effort to look offended.

  "Now don't you go thinking I'm going to cheat you," Fritz warned. "I'm a fair man, just, gallant, some have even called me heroic. And I'm certain they're closest to the truth. Isn't that right, Clover?"

  "A real hero," she agreed with a weary, though genuine smile.

  Toby rolled his eyes, as did Mel. Reed chuckled and Trudge smiled.

  The last three had dark faces, but held back any biting remarks.

  "We should head to the Stairway, the next Well awaits. Clover, are you well enough to walk?" Fritz asked.

  "Not really," Clover said. "I don't think I'll be any good in a fight either. My whole body aches. And my Sanctum hurts horribly."

  "Your Sanctum hurts?" Trudge asked worriedly.

  "Yeah, feels both numb and raw at the same time. Cold too," Clover explained uneasily. "Is that normal for a ghost's touch?"

  "Yes," Fritz said.

  His tutor had taught him that wraiths and ghosts had the capacity to harm one's Sanctum. It was this, on top of their insubstantial nature, that made them such dreadful foes. Adam had also explained that they drained the spirit along with Stamina and life itself. Though he didn't elaborate on what spirit truly was, retreating to his old and oft-repeated refrain of: Go speak to a scholar about it.

  "Will it get better?" she asked.

  "Yes, over time or with a Well's help," Fritz comforted.

  Clover sighed with relief.

  "I'll lend you a shoulder then, this time," Mel offered. "But you gotta stop gettin' hurt every Floor."

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  "Thanks, I'll do my best."

  "Right, speaking of Wells, let us continue on. Pick up those packs," Fritz ordered.

  Soon they were moving. The tunnels, dark and winding, were easier to navigate now that the skeletons lay in unmoving piles of bones. Without their master, they had fallen apart and now littered the passages grimly, but harmlessly.

  Fritz led the crew, allowing his Door Sense and his lingering impressions of the Floor's layout to guide him to the Stairway.

  He didn't rush, taking the time to investigate the many side-rooms and rough-hewn chambers they passed by. Most were barren and bare, though a few did have some metal veined stones tucked away in crates or handcarts. Those stones were mostly comprised of the base ores of iron, copper and tin. There were, however, some that were flecked with gold and silver and some that glinted with petty gems, amethyst, quartz, malachite, jet and citrine, most among them.

  Surprisingly, they discovered one that contained a shard of Rainstone. Fritz had thought that they only appeared within the Floors of the Rain Spire. Apparently, he had been mistaken.

  "That diamond?" Bucket asked greedily.

  "No," Fritz said, holding it up to his eye and shining his lantern's light through it. "It's just especially clear quartz."

  "Looks like diamonds," Mel contradicted.

  "To the untrained eye, maybe," Fritz said. "Though, see this clouding and discolouration? The dull refraction and blue-grey hues?"

  Mel squinted. "Uhh...yeah."

  "Quartz, not diamond," Fritz stated confidently.

  "Refraction? What does that mean? Does it even matter?" Bucket asked, unconvinced.

  "A jeweller will tell you it matters," Fritz said.

  "You some sort of expert now, are you?" Bucket pressed. "You wear an awful lot of hats, captain. Scout, swordsman, tutor, assassin and now a jeweller."

  "What can I say? I'm something of a dabbler. And a man must have hobbies," Fritz declared.

  "Spoken like a noble," Toby groused.

  Fritz frowned slightly.

  "A pretty boy likes his pretty stones," Mel added teasingly.

  Fritz allowed a smug smile to stretch up one side of his face. "If only they shined as bright. That being said, I won't argue the stone's nature with amateurs. We can have it appraised later. Bring out the sack."

  Nail, who was carrying the sack, came forth and opened it. Fritz, with a small flourish, threw a glittering rock in. It clacked against the ores. This stone was, of course, not the same stone as the one he'd been holding. He had swapped out the Rainstone with a piece of quartz he had secreted upon his person just for this possible purpose.

  Fritz swiftly swept the lantern away, its light illuminating the tunnel ahead instead of the sack behind. He knew the crew would likely want to peek at the stone and make sure he hadn't pulled some sleight-of-hand, as he had, they were all too used to such tricks.

  He could tell they suspected him of that duplicity; he didn't blame them, mistrust, once learned, was hard to forget.

  Fritz didn't linger any longer in that room, and unless they wanted to be lost in the dark, or light their own lanterns and lose sight of their Scout, they had no choice but to follow.

  Hours passed, and now that they felt no peril in the tight passages, yawns abounded. Fritz himself stifled one, too. His eyes felt gritty, and his limbs were tired. He wanted nothing more than to find a place to rest.

  Unfortunately, all the crooks and crevices they passed were too cramped for any comfort, and cold enough that a campfire would be needed if they were to sleep without shivering themselves awake. They scavenged the dry wood of the crates and carts at Fritz's command; it would serve them well for when they needed it.

  Eventually, Fritz found the right path to the Stairway, and after another nine minutes, they were before it. He motioned for the crew to climb up the stairs.

  "Go on ahead, I have something I want to look at," Fritz said benevolently.

  Again, his words were met with suspicion. He gestured up the stairs with the Treasure staff a second time, the lantern in his hand swaying and casting ominous shadows. "Go on, this is an order."

  All except Clover and Toby reluctantly obeyed.

  When they were out of sight, Fritz slumped, then unslung his pack and put his back to the wall.

  Sitting heavily, he sighed, though the sound soon stretched into a yawn. He closed his eyes, resting for a minute or two, before calling on his bonded ghost.

  "Come out and stand before me," Fritz commanded.

  The necromancer's spirit floated through the opposite wall, then hovered in front of him, silent and glaring. The brand of bright red was still glowing on its chest, though it had already lost some of its bloody lustre. That must have signified its potency was waning. Slowly, but surely.

  Fritz stared at the scarlet glyph, then opened his pack and dug through it for the small journal Jess had gifted him. He flipped over the pages he'd already written in, stopping at his sketch of the necromancer's ritual circle. The runes and lines were rough, though they were the best he could draw currently.

  He didn't know if the ritual was really replicable without the man-alike's strange magic, but it wasn't worth wasting the chance that it was. Unlikely as that may be. Fritz compared the brand to the circle, finding a few similarities, though much more discrepancies. If there was a grammar to be found or any true runes to be learned, he didn't discover any. They were insane, irregular and incomprehensible. Hard to picture in one's mind's eye and harder to reproduce by hand.

  Still, turning to a blank page, he etched the symbols down carefully.

  When he had finished, he closed his journal and placed it back in his pack. He rubbed tired eyes, yawning again.

  "Now, what should I do with you?" he asked the hovering spirit. "Can I bring you with me?"

  The necromancer glared.

  "Not very helpful," Fritz taunted. He pondered for a moment, attempting to remember what he had read about beast bonds and anything Bert had told him on the subject.

  He did recall that a bonded beast should be able to follow him up the stairs and even out of the Spire itself. Though he was also doubtful that the same rules applied to the staff and the ghost bound to it.

  He sat there, resting, thinking. Absently, he wielded his ever-present Awareness, allowing it to slip through the wood of the staff, then up the bond between him and the necromancer.

  Fritz felt something, a resonant hum.

  On closer listening, it sounded like the whisper of many hissing mouths. He attempted to listen deeper, pulsing his Awareness down the bond. There, he found there was a wall of alien will denying him.

  A warning.

  His head spun, but he didn't retreat. His curiosity and greed pushed him, as well as stubborn pride, and he pressed harder against the rejection, desiring to find what was being hidden. His head ached, but he held firm.

  Awareness splashed against the will, like rushing rain water down a blocked gutter.

  With one last effort, Fritz pulsed as powerfully as he knew how. Like a crossbow bolt piercing armour, he punctured the clawing veil.

  The staff let out a splintering crack.

  Then Fritz screamed.

  Pain. Hate. The agony, the rage. A shard of shattered glass. Missing, broken, jagged, cut by its own edges and the emptiness of the air.

  Fritz's mind fled from the impression, the countless, seeping, scrambled pictures and fissured, infinite thoughts both too grand and slight to hold for even a moment. It was torment and horror. And absolutely too much for any mortal mind.

  He clutched his head, drawing his Awareness close, as if it were a burned limb being pulled away from an inferno.

  He lost the contents of his stomach and he almost lost control completely.

  Fritz, reeling, closed his eyes and covered his ears, then tried desperately to smother the chaos storming in his mind. There he crouched, breathing slowly, each exhalation was the roar of a waterfall, each movement a great upheaval of land and sea.

  Minutes passed, and eventually the sensations faded, the world falling silent again, and his thoughts, finally his own, simple and small, slowed to a stream. Muddy, thick, warm.

  He took his hands from his ears, finding the quiet caves too loud to bear. Still, he bore it, and some minutes later the pressure receded. Opening his eyes, he reached for his waterflask. He drank a few sips, soothing his raw throat.

  Even through his blurry vision, he noticed the blood under his fingernails, then felt the scratches over his face and around his ears. Fritz realised he had clawed at himself madly while under the tempest's sway.

  He briefly considered the healing potion in his Slim Pocket, then discarded the thought. There was a Well right above him, and it would restore him without wasting such a precious thing.

  Fritz rested for a few minutes longer before he rose to his feet. His body was fine, but he staggered anyway. His sense of direction was mangled and his balance ruined, though it was coming back, gradually. Too gradually.

  He didn't want to wait for that; the quicker he was at the Well, the quicker his nausea and splitting headache would be remedied.

  Fritz seized himself with threads of Grace, shouldered his pack and began a torturous ascent, leaning on the Treasure staff for support.

  He bade his ghost follow, and it obeyed.

  When he reached the Well room, it was to a muddle of questions. Concern rang most prominently, though there was an undertone of scornful grumbles.

  Fritz ignored them, heading straight for the Well. It was a simple pond of still water in the centre of the room.

  He drank and felt the restorative power flow into him. With an effort of Control, he guided it to his mind and Sanctum, hoping to heal any intangible wounds that had been inflicted.

  Fritz's vision cleared quickly, and his eyes regained their clarity. The dull droning in his ears dissipated, and his thoughts lost their viscosity, their vigour and vibrancy renewed.

  He sighed, then leapt back from the pond as he saw what lay in its depths. Bones and a leering skull, staring out from the clear water. He dropped his staff and grasped Quicksilver's hilt. He was about to draw it, but swiftly realised the bones were unmoving.

  Dead.

  There was a guffawing, and some stifled giggles.

  "It's just some bones," Nail said, grinning.

  "Yeah, nothin' scary," Bucket said.

  Fritz swept an icy gaze over the two, and they fell silent.

  He smiled pointedly, picking up the staff. He was about to whisper a command to it, instructing his minion to scare them, exposing his ghost in a delightful trick. But he thought better of it immediately. Instead, while the eyes were all upon himself, he grumbled an order to enter the Well Room then to hide within the walls or floor.

  It floated ominously up the stairs before fading into the stone below. It glared hatefully the whole time.

  Mel, the closest to the Stairway, shivered, then spun to stare at the disappearing Door behind.

  "What was that?" she blurted.

  "What was what?" Clover asked.

  "It was really cold for a bit," Mel said.

  "I didn't feel anything, but if you've got the chills, come here, and I'll warm you up plenty," Bucket suggested.

  "Go drown yourself, skulg-sucker," Mel replied.

  Bucket scowled and was about to retort when Reed interrupted. "I felt it too. It felt like one of those wraiths."

  "Wraith?" Clover quailed.

  "Beasts can't roam up floors," Fritz stated surely. "Nor down them for that matter. The only way for them to escape is through a Spire break, you should all have heard this."

  "Just cause we heard it don't mean it's true," Bucket argued.

  "Correct. Though I have witnessed this particular rumour's veracity," Fritz stated.

  "Have you?" Barge asked.

  "Yes. I watched Hounds, trapped and howling, prevented from entering a stairway as they were crushed by a falling moon," Fritz elaborated.

  "Falling moon?" Trudge mumbled.

  Fritz nodded solemnly. He let the crew mull over or scoff at the words, depending on their dispositions, then he sighed and said, "I'll never forget the sight."

  That much was true; he'd had a few nightmares of that same silver moon, and its terrible weight pressing down on him, squeezing the breath from his lungs, then the blood from his body.

  Shaking his head, Fritz continued, "However, that's not an important matter. We're safe in here."

  "Like we were in the last one?" Nail groused.

  Fritz kept a frown from his face, then unfurled his Awareness slowly, carefully. He had been worried that his Advanced Attribute would still be sore, or worse, numb. Thankfully, it only stung a little, a prickle in the back of his mind and a needling on the back of his neck.

  He wove his Pattern and pulsed. The lights, oil lanterns set into the room's walls, blared bright, filling his vision, and a whine shrieked into his ears. Impressions, loud and muddled, poured in, causing a sharp pain in the middle of his brain.

  After a few long moments, all those sensations dimmed, then dissolved, leaving him shaken, but clear-headed.

  "No danger," Fritz said, his voice hoarse. "Nothing amiss, you can set up to rest. I know I need to."

  There were no arguments there, and soon most of the crew were bustling about, finding places to sleep.

  Toby signed a question. "Are you well? Injured?"

  "Fine," Fritz replied.

  Toby stared at him a moment longer before shrugging and claiming a spot to put down his pack and bedroll.

  Fritz followed suit, finding a small nook in one of the stone walls; there were many of them, enough for each member of the crew, and they were quickly filled.

  Before laying down his staff by his bedroll, Fritz inspected it for any cracks or fissures. He remembered keenly the splintering sound it had made and worried that his Awareness had damaged it, as absurd as the possibility was. He found nothing on the surface, and when he tapped it on the wall, it rapped hollowly, just as it had before.

  There was nothing to be seen with the naked eye, and he didn't dare wield his Awareness on it again, so he set it down with a long breath.

  He then took to the task of washing his face and applying healing grease to any of the scratches that hadn't healed as well as he'd liked. Fritz used his flask for this, not wanting to drink any more of the pond's water. He ate a sparse meal, his stomach still uneasy, then made sure his things were in order and his pack was fastened tightly, tucked away safe in the very back of the nook.

  Fritz lay down, resting his head and his eyes. Usually, he would have at least peeked at the Doors, but in his current condition, he decided it was best to put off until he had fully recovered his Senses.

  His thoughts soon grew heavy, and he reached out to the staff beside him and murmured an order.

  Then he allowed himself to sleep.

  His dreams were not pleasant.

  Happy Holidays! Hope you all have a great time with family and friends for any holiday celebrations you have planned. Sorry to say, I'm going to take another small, week-and-a-bit long break to recharge. Chapter releases will return on 04/01/2026. (AEST)

  Thanks for reading! :)