Campfire Stories from Arcvelt and the Humans

These will be a collection of stories from varying sources across the Mother Trees roots; tales of Spirits, the unseen, and incomprehensible.

Welcome dear readers, to the light of The Campfire.

Tonight we will journey to Arcvelt, the long-time home of Lithoterria’s most imaginative and innovative people, the Humans.

Humans are well known across Lithoterria for their ideas, with the city of New Ashen acting as the crown jewel amidst their achievements. The city stands tall, with mechanical wonders powered by steam, alchemical mastery, magical ingredients, and a strict application of method. Their strict ways also show in their forms of worship, to whichever deity a household may pledge to, whether it be one that the limited life-spanned race had for themselves, or one followed by one of the other races. It is in only one way that we see a common ground when it comes to Human religious practice across the lands, and that is within their funerary rites.

Human funeral rituals are simple, often committing the deceased to a family burial plot, or cremated and kept within an urn in a family home. Many scholars suggest that Humans are the reason for the popularization of cemeteries today. On the other hand, Humans believe that if they respect their loved ones upon their passing, that they will not return with regrets and unfinished business.

The grandiose regions of Arcvelt have seen their fair share of bloodshed, but also its own fair share of accidents. The geography of Arcvelt is littered with vast forests, canyons, and hilly regions, all of which are places that would be easy to fall and become lost in. During Humanities’ full colonization of the region, many Rangers, Scouts, and adventurers were reported missing or dead. Finding the remains of explorers would eventually become a common occurrence in modern times, with even your average hiker occasionally finding the skeleton of a lost Ranger. Many of these rediscovered people are often recorded as John Doe by the New Ashen morgue and funerary division, which in this writer’s opinion is a bureaucratic mess.

Our first story has been in circulation in New Ashen’s folktales for half a century now, the tale of the Lantern Man. The story goes that, “Fifty years ago, there was a farmer by the name of George Warren, and George would always make the trip from his humble farm in the middle of the forests down to Little Ivywood to sell his stock of eggs and cured meats. He always had a lantern that the townsfolk could recognize right away, ‘just bright enough to keep the forest at bay,’ is supposedly what he would say.”

One year, long after George’s kids had moved away, and his wife Florette had passed on, George wouldn’t make it back home. Now some in the village say he was attacked by Pirates, but even they came forward to say they bought wares from Ol’ George. Others suggested he had turned Profane, but none have found a creature that even resembled the kindly old man. It wasn’t until a year after George’s passing that some would recall seeing a light in the distance, moving along the road into the forest-, and on the night of a full moon if you visit Georges Shack you can see a light in the window.

The townsfolk all say never to enter, especially on a full moon, both out of respect for the farmer, but also to respect the man’s slumber. Older members of the community often remark “If you see a light on the road, follow it.” As a nod to how he would lend folks a hand in finding their way with his map of the area in hand.

The accounts of the Lantern Man eventually drew the attention of researchers to the town, but they were quickly shooed away by pirates passing through. One ship and its crew stating “You don’t fuck around with the Lantern Man. That’s like spitting on a man of the cloth.”

Modern accounts of the Lantern Man tell of footsteps in the night leading back and forth through town, accompanied by the light dangling above just overhead. Many who have come to the town in search of experience one of these events has recently caught the attention of grifters in search of a quick Valyon, so much so that tourists can find a “Ghost Tour of Little Ivywood,” which ends at the outskirts of George’s farmstead, where some would flee in sight of the lantern light swaying in the window before suddenly disappearing, leaving the home dark and abandoned.

For many within Little Ivywood and its surrounding forests, the Lantern Man is a good omen of safe passage, for if George visits you, he merely wishes to help you get home. Also for researchers of spirits and their studies, George’s story offers credence to the idea that a Spirit can haunt a specific object, or location, with many more asking or perhaps hoping that George will hopefully make it back home to his darling sweetheart.

This also begs the question, what if George’s spirit is haunting the road itself.

Our next story comes from New Ashen, the story of one of many Manor estates within the city. New Ashen is no stranger to people of wealth, with many more proving to be eccentrics in one fashion or another, none quite as curious as Chester Wimbley’s wife, Agatha. Guests to the Nexcorp investors estate would often recount how Chester would inform them of his wife’s most recent illness, or malady. Some were suspecting that Chester had deluded himself into believing he had a wife, others suggested it was a ploy to write off his taxes, until one evening where she attended dinner.

Chester would show off his wife the whole evening, “an expert in Botanical Science,” he would boisterously refer to her. “A marvel in the kitchen,” one guest would swear the man squawked. Agatha however was a picture of beauty, a “true lady,” many would say after the party had concluded. Unfortunately for Mr. Wimbley however, some days after the lavish event, Mrs. Wimbley would be suddenly struck ill, and pass away.

Some noblemen came forward to suggest that Chester Wimbley had poisoned his wife for the Valyons, but after close examination of the corpse, there were no traces of any poison found. Others suggested foul play, but there were no signs of attack or struggle. According to all appearances, Chester Wimbley would now be a grieving widower.

It would not be until some years later that Chester would last be found in the streets with a hastily written note tightly gripped in his hand. Unfortunately due to the retelling of this story over the years, there are many renditions of the tale with different messages on the note, and the New Ashen guard has no record of such a note. What they do have in their possession is the record of Chester Wimbley being carted off to an institution due to “Rapid Onset Instability,” but some say he was pleading for his wife to ‘leave me be,’ in the dead of night. Mixed with profuse apologies.

Today, Wimbley Manor on Autumn Road, is up for sale, with the few previous tenants who purchased the estate, having abruptly sold to the next up-and-coming New Ashenite wishful millionaire. Each owner has fled ever since, and each one has given a recounting of the woman standing in the bay window who wanders the halls.

Many researchers today have encountered the restless spirit of Mrs.Wimbley wandering the halls of her former estate, with some believing she is searching for her husband who is now long deceased, and buried within the family cemetery plot.

To this day, Wimbley Manor is still an oddity to the locals of New Ashen, and many of the young noble children will dare each other on dark nights to enter the home in search of Mrs. Wimbley, but some say “on the night of the Full Moon, you will not return.”