Downstairs Was a Mistake

(Filed under: Ghouls, Ghosts, and Getting Bit. This is still not a journal.)
 
The Wind Rose was empty when we boarded—empty in the way a haunted bottle is empty: something had clearly spilled out. Deck was wrecked. Blood everywhere. Bits of crates, scattered tools, smashed barrels, and not a single sailor in sight. Not a good sign unless you’re into ghosts. Or breakfast.
We checked the captain’s quarters first. Standard noble mess—big desk, decent furniture, nothing too fancy unless you count the blood. Found a map and a manifest, which I took, obviously. Kord provides, but He appreciates good cartography.
Kapher—who was a cat the first time I saw him and is now only cat-shaped—took a hat. Looked pleased about it. I said nothing. A man’s got to have his mysteries.
The manifest listed foodstuffs, reagents, and the usual shipping nonsense. But then there it was: “Duke’s cargo – x6,” crossed out in angry ink, and a note—“DO NOT OPEN.” Which, as we all know, is fancy noble code for extremely worth opening later.
 
Then we went below.
 
That’s where we met our first ghoul. Slouched over a crate like it had just finished vomiting evil. Pale skin, bad posture, the whole rotting package. I tossed a light hammer before introductions. Hit solid. It snarled. I smote it. Hammer got lodged in its spine, but the damn thing kept crawling, twitching like a drunk crab on holy ground.
 
John finished it with Toll the Dead. Efficient. Creepy. Nice reverb.
Then the others came.
Kapher peeked through a door and hissed. Zardic, always the showman, blasted a hole straight through with eldritch flair. Two more ghouls came rushing out, limbs flailing, teeth like regret.
 
It all gets a bit messy from there.
 
I smashed one in the face, then got bit on the wrist. Didn’t hurt. More annoying than anything, like being nibbled by a sin. One of the ghouls—I swear this is true—tried to chew on my shin. Zardic cleaved into another one like he was chopping firewood made of meat. Kapher summoned an ice knife, which looked impressive, even if it missed.
 
Then we met Eric—the ghoul we arbitrarily named mid-fight for no reason at all. Gets up like he’s got something to prove, charges in, and makes a mess of the moment. I hit him so hard with my warhammer he exploded into the wall. Whole room lit up. Radiant flash, big boom, bits of Eric all over the place. That one felt personal.
Then we heard the banging.
 
Heavy slams against the big door on the far side of the hold. Wood cracking, metal groaning. Something was coming. Something big.
Door burst open at the top, stayed sealed at the bottom—real dramatic. That’s when the real trouble showed up. A towering wight, part-giant by the look of her, wearing the tattered coat and insignia of a captain, with a longbow and a long list of grievances.
She put an arrow in me. Rude.
John dropped a blessing on me, good lad, and I returned fire—with a hammer. I think it hit something. Might’ve been the wall. Maybe a ghoul. Not picky.
Kapher summoned a flaming sphere. Rolled it into the hallway like a flaming bowling ball of divine intent. Wight walked right through it like it was Tuesday, still flaming, still shooting.
We all focused fire. Zardic landed a critical with his greatsword—split a ghoul in half like it owed him money. John kept his ghost bell ringing, and Kapher kept the fire rolling like it was a party trick.
 
The wight didn’t stop.
 
She drew twin blades after dropping her bow, still aflame, half-frozen, and moving with grim purpose. Hit Zardic hard. Real hard. Blood-on-the-floor hard. But Zardic took it like a champ and returned the favor.
John, gods bless him, tried to stop me from delivering the killing blow. Said we might want to “talk” to it.
I made a formal counterargument by flipping him off and turning the wight’s skull into radiant confetti. Big boom. Satisfying thud. Final words were probably static.
And that was that.
 
No more ghouls. No more arrows. No more undead with opinions.
Just us. Covered in blood, surrounded by smoke, blessedly alive.
Thinking about taking a nap on some crates. If they bite, I’ll smite them.
 
(Still not a journal. This is faith-based documentation. With style.)
 
Inventory (Post Ghoul Removal)
 
On-Person