"Mercy Warren was a healer, an herbalist with a mastery of her craft. From simple cuts to major poisons, she had a poultice or a salve for pretty much anything. But fifty years ago, the people of Misery were ignorant of how the world worked. Many thought she was a dark sorceress, as despite being well into her sixties, she still appeared at best to be forty years younger. It didn't take long for people to put two and two together and come to the wrong conclusion."
"They didn't..." Hope closes her eyes.
"Mercy was dragged from her house, her face scarred with cuts and hot brands, and then they sent her out into exile. She died of her wounds, alone in the wild. Now her spirit comes every night, seeking indisciminate vengeance. No man or woman, not even children are safe. If you encounter her spirit at night, you're usually a goner. Very few have managed to escape. And if you've the good sense to be home, keep your doors locked and don't open them no matter how bad the chorus of voices gets, or you'll be found the next day with your face scarred as if by fire. It was around the time Mercy's ghost began to haunt us that the elders changed the name of the village from Hallowfield to Misery, since that's what she brings with her."
"And you choose to live there?!" Anna asks incredulously.
"Most don't have a choice. Packing up and leaving your livelihood behind is hard, especially for a bunch of farmers. We wouldn't be able to compete with others in larger towns. We've had richer folks come and go, but the poorer of us stay. And with the ghost haunting us, we can't be out after dark. Then come to find out, on top of the phyical threat she represents to a life, her presence also rots crops, so we aren't making back nearly what we spend. She's cursed the village and all who live there. My folks are also stubborn and refuse to leave, ghost or not ghost."
"So what's with studying spirits then? Can't just purify it with holy men?" Tyrion suggests, but Amadeo rubs his thumb together with his fore and middle fingers.
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"That costs money, and we don't have priests locally. I started studying ghosts to see what could be done. In some cases, you can reason with them or give them something they want, but any attempt at communication with her falls apart."
"I've known alot of girls like that." Tyrion jests, and Hope rolls her eyes. "Explains why you're still single."
"I happen to like single life. Better than being tied down to one person you can learn to hate for the rest of your life." Tyrion shoots back with a sigh. "I have no intention of going through that-...Nevermind. Continue, lad."
"I studied ghosts to see if there were reliable methods of stopping them that didn't involve money. The easiest method is simply destroying the spirit, but they're tough; nonmagical attacks barely faze them, and most elements do little to no damage at all. You can, again, try appealing to them somehow. It's different based on the ghost in question, but like I said, she doesn't give you much time to talk."
"So...we may end up fighting an ornery ghost with no concept of personal space." Tyrion chuckles.
"No change there from all our other enemies, then." Hope chews on a baked bar of nuts, oats, and honey.
"I'm not worried about her right now. What's got my mind tied up is my folks and those thugs. I can only hope we get there in time." Amadeo sighs, watching the road ahead. They soon approach the gibbets, rusted and less frightening, though Anna avoids looking at them as they pass. "Three hours more to Mysthaven. I'd like to keep going, but these horses have to rest at some point. They've got twelve hours in them at most, so we should reach town with another six left."
"So we go till they need to rest. Don't stop in town, we'll just breeze right on by and head south. Camping outside again, ya know?" Anna yawns, fishing some dried fruit from her pocket and popping some in her mouth.
"Yes, because traveling after dark has worked so well for us in the past." Tyrion responds sarcastically.
Hope nudges him with her boot. "Bah, we'll be fine. We're stronger than we were before."
"She's got a point. Long as it's not wisps again, we should be ok." Anna grins, the cart rising over the ridge that turns west.