Islug Halloween Scare-Written by Sir Teckel-Narrated by Lord Baldrith
Hello Everyone: Here is a new and wonderful story by Sir Teckel just in time for Halloween! I decided to keep with the original Islug stories and have no background music…Hope you enjoy!
Here is the text:
Islug Halloween Scare
Minstril looks at the large Keep from the street and turns to Eldrik saying “Well, Eldirk, I think that does it. You sure this is going to work?”.
The very corner of Eldirk’s lip turns up on one side. His equivalent of a smile as he says “Trust me. It will be perfect.”.
Later that night, Islug is sleeping in a canopy bed. Or rather he is passed out with empty bottles surrounding him. A chill breeze blows through the large cavernous room causing the flames in the fireplace to flicker more quickly.
Candles with short flames are quickly lit in strategic places around the room to create the proper effect of darkness and shadows in the desired places. Figures cloaked in black move around the room making preparations until just one is left standing at the end of the bed.
Loud explosions and bangs begin reverberating around the room and Islug is suddenly standing on the bed with a scream and yells “WHa… Who.. What is going on??” His arm cocked back holding a slipper in a threating manner as his eyes dart around the room and land on the figure standing at the end of the bed. “WHO ARE YOU??!” He yells at the figure.
The figure responds in a voice that seems unhuman and as if it is disembodied “I am the Halloween ghost of Treats. You do not appreciate the things you have and as such it has come time you learn some tricks”.
Islug’s eyes start seriously at the figure for a few moments as silence descends in the room. The slipper poised in mid-air ready to be thrown. Suddenly Islug drops to the bed..in a fit of laughter and gasping words. “Halloween… Ghost.. TREATS?”..
This laughter continues as Islug turns red and he is waving his hand at the shadow form. His eyes get a bit bigger as the figure pulls out a small hand-held dart cross-bow and red plumage is suddenly sticking out of his leg. The figure punctuates the dart with his words “Very well, we will do this the hard way.”.
A little later, Islug wakes up rubbing his head in the middle of a large room on a carpet. He realizes he can’t reach his head very well and that the room is spinning a little. “Whaaa.. What is going on? Where am I?” Looking around the room he notices many hazy and fuzzy apparitions walking around him in a large circle and he starts to address them “Look, I’m done doing these fraternity hazing things.. Tell”..
A crack echoes through the room and a voice yells at him “Silence!”.
Islug’s eye’s get very large as they are drawn to the sound that made the crack as he clearly sees “My.. My Fishing pole! That is a 3rd generation master crafted yew pole! Limited one of a kind with inlays using..”
Another voice yells from the other side of the room “Silence! Tonight we will show you that the treats you value mean nothing. That how you treat others is all that matters. You will make a separation from the material items you have come to value and tomorrow you will treat those whom you treat poorly, better, or we will visit you again next year!”
Islug starts getting angry and yells back “What did you shoot into me? Why are you doing this? Im going to..Mhmmfmhmm.” He is quickly silenced as a slipper is shoved into his mouth.
A figure moves forward pushing along a small keg of rare ale. Islug begins thrashing about unable to move being chained to the floor his eyes wide starting at the ale and shaking his head. The figure brings an axe down onto it cracking it open to let it poor at Islug’s feet.
Next another walks forward with Islugs favorite Ledger book. A tear rolls down Islug’s cheek as they set it on fire.
Hours continue like this as Islug watches fishing poles, bottles of rare alcohol, books, illicit drugs, jewelry, clothes, games, and even his gambling log destroyed before him.
He falls into a thrashing sleep as if pushed there by a giant hand after the exhaustion of his muffled screams and sodden cheeks of tears pull him into slumber.
The next day he awakes and finds himself in his bed, nothing seeming to be out of place. He jumps up screaming “My pole! My ale!!!”. He runs out of the room screaming darting about his house looking at things. The only thing he found different then the night before..holes in his floor as if drilled for chains and scrapes around them. The rest of the day he can be heard rocking back and forth in the middle of the floor, his arm around a keg, a fishing pole across his wrap, as he rocks back and forth sobbing holding his favorite fuzzy slippers moaning “It wasn’t real.. It wasn’t real..everything’s ok..”
Later that evening his voice is heard in the local Tavern. “That’s right, stupid ghosts picked on the wrong person they did. Thought they would destroy my stuff! Once they realized they were in trouble they made everything the way it was and put it back. Even Ghost’s know better then to..”
He is interrupted as a servant comes over to speak “Sir, I finished..” Islug quickly interrupts him “Err, that’s alright lad. All good and perfect. Take the next couple of days off, and get your self-something nice.”. Islug holds out a small bag that jingles with coin to the servant. The Servant not one to look a gift horse in the mouth quickly grabs the bag and runs off.
Islug turns back to his fellow drinkers to continue his story but stops with his mouth opening and changes what he was going to say “What? What is it? Why are you all staring at me like that??”
In another house where many are working hard you hear Eldirk and Minstril whispering.
Eldirk says “Well, that did it. Last thing cleaned and put away. They are loading it back up on the last wagon now.”
Minstril says “That was costly. Even borrowing props from the New Britannia Theater Troupe we had to destroy a lot of replicas. Why didn’t we just really destroy his stuff?”.
Eldirk responds “You kidding? He would have suicided and then we would have been out of an employer. You know anywhere else we can find someone as rich and gullible as Islug even if he doesn’t bathe and requires a push now and then?”
Minstirl nods in thought as she mutters “Yeah, I suppose so. This will keep him in-line for a few weeks if not a month or two. Suppose wed better start thinking about how to reign him in next time he gets out of hand.”
Back at the Stone Mug underground Tavern, all eyes in the place are looking over balconies onto the Arena floor where a very drunk Islug is dancing and singing.. “If there’s something strange in your neighborhood,Who ya gonna call?” A bunch of tavern wenches look a bit sad as they sing out “Islug..”
Spinning in a circle and grabbing a couple of torches off the wall he belts out another verse “If there’s something weird and it don’t look goodWho ya gonna call?” The various tavern wenches sigh and yell out around the Tavern “Islug”.
Lighting both torches and swirling and swinging them through the air Islug yells “I ain’t afraid of no ghosts, I ain’t afraid of no ghosts”