Miasmora & Wisric's Grand Meridellian Misadventure

     Sandt, the Techo cleaner who had delivered the fateful crate of Old Paper to the Rubbish Dump, had given them directions to the mostly forgotten staircase under a trapdoor under a rug in the southeast tower. He'd promised it didn't lead to the dungeons, which Miasmora still doubted, but it was the best lead they had to making sense of the mysterious markings on the sheet that she and Wisric now each possessed half of--of finding one of the ancient Ghosts of Meridell Castle, who might be able to decipher the key.

     Not that Ghosts were much better than whatever was tucked away in the dungeons. Wasn't Master Vex, the infamous mastermind, imprisoned somewhere down here, or was that in the floating Citadel? She couldn't remember, and honestly, she didn't really want to know.

     She bet Wisric knew though. She bristled at that thought, and glanced back over her shoulder, where the Spotted Ixi held high the torch they'd snatched from a sconce in the tower above.

     He was full of surprises. Trying to bribe a castle official. Actually bribing Sandt for the information that led them here. Stealing a torch from King Skarl like it was nothing. She was starting to wonder if the Ixi wasn't more than he--

     No. Wisric was the smug, insufferable Ixi who always, somehow, despite his strategies making no sense at all, managed to emerge from the piles of the Rubbish Dump with better finds than hers. She was going to stay along for this ride until they figured out what the drawing and key on that Old Paper led to, and then they were going to part ways like this had never happened. If she was lucky, she'd be rich when this was all over, and would never even set foot in the Rubbish Dump again.

     She wondered where he lived. She'd never seen him around Meridell, only ever at the--

     No.

     She focused on the steps down. She'd lost count what had to be a hundred steps ago. The stone around her felt ancient, which was as promising as it was unsettling, and the farther they descended, the faster and harder her heart beat.

     "Hello?" she called down into the darkness beneath them.

     Behind her, Wisric scoffed. "You think they're just going to pop out of the walls if you--"

     "Heelllloooooo."

     Wisric dropped his torch.

     It went out, and a spectral light appeared far below.

     Panic rose in Miasmora, faster as the light below grew larger--drifted toward them.

     Two red orbs manifested from the light.

     Eyes.

     Misasmora tried to retreat up the stairs, but Wisric was frozen in place, somehow blocking the entire width of the staircase. She turned back to the figure floating toward them, and shifted into a defensive stance. Why hadn't she gone home for her Battledome items before they came on this "adventure"?!

     "Hellllooooo," she heard again. The sound echoed against the stone around them, echoed and echoed and echoed.

     Miasmora thought she might become a Ghost herself down here, as terrified as she was of whatever this was coming toward them. She closed her eyes and tried to take deep breaths.

     Behind her, Wisric whispered, "It's just a Moehog. Just a Ghost Moehog. There's no reason for them to harm us, they're just another Neopet, like us."

     She thought he must be reassuring himself, but she found his words oddly comforting all the same. She opened her eyes, and sure enough, the figure before them had taken shape somewhat. Four hooves. A tuft of spectral gray-hair. Yellow glowing tusks, and those red eyes--they'd looked frightening before, but now the Moehog was closer, Miasmora could see excitement pulsing in that light.

     "Whoooo areeee youuuu?" the Moehog asked, stopping half a dozen steps beneath Miasmora--a respectful distance, the Skeith thought, though her heart still thundered.

     She managed, somehow, to respond in a near-even voice. "I'm Miasmora. This is Wisric. We were hoping you could help us with something."

     The Ghost Moehog's eyes gleamed. "Heeeelp! Yessss, it'ssss beeeeeeen sooooo loooong. I loooove to heeeelp, but noooooneeee has askkkkkked in soooo long."

     Miasmora offered him her half of the torn Old Paper. "Can you translate this for us? We think it's some sort of key to a map, but we don't know what it's a map of, and we can't make sense of it."

     The Ghost Moehog reached for the page, but his hoof passed through it.

     "Oh, right, sorry." Miasmora was sure she'd met Ghost Neopets before who could touch things just fine, but perhaps Meridell's oldest ghosts were bound by different rules. Instead, she held the paper up for him, hoping the spectral light from his ghostly form would be enough for him to read by.

     "Ermmmmmm nooooo, I caaaaan'tttt reaaaaaaaad thissssssss. Iiiiit isssssss Oooooold Merrrrridelllliaaaaaaann, beeeefoooooreeee myyyyyy tiiiimeeee."

     "Is-- Is there anyone else down here who might know how to read it? I mean, the cleaners upstairs told us that the oldest ghosts in the castle were down here, and we thought--"

     "Thiiiiissss isssss truuuuuueee. Weeeee arreeeeee theeee oldesssst."

     "I'm confused."

     "Amoooonnnnggg theeeeeee oldeeeeeest, anyyyyywaaaaayy. Buuut theeeereeee issss oneeee mooooreeeee. Oooldeeeeer thannn meeee. Anciiiiiieeent wheeeen Iiii waaaasssss youuuung." The Ghost Moehog tilted his head to the side, taking a closer look at the paper. "Waaaiiiiitttt. Wheeeereeee diiiid yoooou fiiiiindd thisssss?"

     "At the Rubbish Dump. That cleaner threw it out with a bunch of unused Old Paper. I noticed there was writing on it, and so we..." Miasmora trailed off. So they'd torn it in half, and Wisric hadn't let her look at his half again. "Do you recognize something about it?"

     "Iiiii thiiinkkkk Iiiii haaveeee seeeeeen thiisssss befooooreeee. Aaaa veeeerrryyyy loooongggg timmmeee agooo. Theeee laassst tiiiimeeee Iiiii waaaaas asssskeeeeed for heeeelppp."

     Miasmora's heart thrummed with excitement. "So you know what it is?"

     The Ghost Moehog shook his head. "Iiiii waaaaassss oooonlyyyy assskeeeeed to taaakeeee iiiit uuuuuppp iiiintooo the liiiight. Theeereeee aaareeeee... Oooollld thiiiingssss doooownnn heeereee. Thiiiings thaaaat doooo noot reeemeemmmbeeer."

     Miasmora did not like the sound of that. She glanced over her shoulder, looking for Wisric. The Ghost Moehog's glow illuminated enough of the Ixi's face for her to tell that he was trying to puzzle out exactly what the Moehog might mean. Trust him to see a mystery that needed investigating when she sensed danger.

     "Do you think this is something we should keep looking into?" she asked.

     "Peerrhaaaapssss. Iiii caaaanoooot sayyyyyy foooor ceeeertaaiiiin."

     Miasmora shivered. She was suddenly very sure that the Ghost Moehog was one of those ancient things down here that didn't quite remember.

     At least he didn't wrinkle his nose at her.

     "You said that there was another ghost older than you? One who might be able to read the key?"

     "Yesssssss. Heeerrrr naaaameeeee issss Iiisooooldeeeeiaaaa. Waaaasss. Heeeerrrr naaameeee waaaaass Iiisoooldeeeiaaaa."

     Wisric tapped Miasmora on the shoulder, then whispered in her ear, "I know that name."

     Of course he did.

     "Is there anything else you can--"

     A crash sounded far below. The Ghost Moehog started, then faded straight down, through the stairs on which he had been standing a moment before.

     "...I guess not," Miasmora finished.

     She stared after him for a moment, hoping her eyes would adjust to the near-perfect darkness left by the Moehog's departure.

     Another crash sounded below. This time, it was decidedly closer.

     The stones beneath Miasmora's feet began to vibrate, as though something colossal were thudding its way up the stairs.

     "Uhh, Wisric, how about that torch? Have any way to relight it?"

     "No," he said, in that smug, matter-of-fact tone.

     ...or was that a hint of a tremble in the sound?

     "We should go. Like... now," she whispered. "As fast as you can. Feel your way."

     Whatever was coming up the stairs roared.

     "Gogogogo!"

     The two of them climbed up through the darkness as fast as they could, tripping and stumbling on the uneven steps. As Miasmora's heart pounded, she wondered if the castle guards would have let her in if she had come with her Battledome equipment. Probably not. But she most certainly wanted it right then.

     A loud thud came from above. Miasmora jolted. Surely they couldn't be flanked by--

     "Found the trapdoor," Wisric said.

     Miasmora took a deep breath. She listened to him fighting with the latch and the handle--they made soft clanging sounds in the darkness, oddly perceptible above the roars from below.

     When light finally flooded the staircase, she glanced behind them, and thought she saw a shadow--the shadow of a massive Grarrl far too close behind them. It seemed frozen by the light, mercifully, and she quickly clambered up into the tower behind Wisric, and slammed the trapdoor closed behind her.

     Their appearance startled a Lenny who was, as Wisric had done a short time ago in the castle's opposite tower, scrubbing the stairs. Her Pink wings ruffled, and she opened her beak as if she were about to squawk for a guard.

     "You don't want to do that," Miasmora said quickly. "You admit you know there's a trapdoor here at all, and you'll be the one who has to go down there next. Trust me, you don't want that. There are ghosts. Also, you should start from the top, not down here. Otherwise you're just going to track mess up through what you've already cleaned. If you don't trust me, ask him."

     Wisric, much to Miasmora's satisfaction, scowled.

     They waited until the Lenny had disappeared up the bend in the stairs and the bottom landing of the tower was empty, except for her and Wisric. "Please tell me you know where we can find that other ghost."

     "I do," he said, matter-of-fact. "But there's a problem."

     "Of course there is. Are you at least going to tell me what it is this time?"

     "Isoldeia was a princess of Meridell, a very, very long time ago. At least, that's what the legends say."

     "So she might not be real?"

     "That's not the problem."

     Miasmora tapped her foot impatiently.

     Wisric sighed. "Where do you think a princess's ghost would be?"

     "In the Royal Wing, but--"

     Suddenly Misamora understood the problem.

     There was no way the guards would let them into the Royal Wing to question a princess's ghost. Even if King Skarl's personal guard could be bribed--and Miasmora highly doubted that, whatever Wisric insisted about time-honored traditions--they certainly couldn't afford it.

     "Well," she said. "I guess this is it. At least we don't have to work toge--"

     "Actually, I have an idea." Wisric said.

     Of course he did.

     "You're going to hate it."

     Of course she was.

     "Consider it payback for making me scrub stairs." Was that a playful note in his voice? "Let's go. You're going to kiss some Mortogs."

     To be continued…