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Vestosia: The Ghost of the Klowolskies

by Ethereal_Whispers

Ethereal_Whispers Recently I've just had the need to write, so I'm writing up some stories of characters, legends, and stories of my D&D world Vestosia. Any feedback would be valuable.
A dark night of storms, a crack of thunder, heavy rainfall. Horrible weather for those who were not sheltered. Sullivan Klowolski despite being within his household was terrified of the weather, as it represented doom for him and those of his family name. This weather was one that something hunted them down to kill.
A few weeks prior Sullivan's uncle, Philip, was out in the market during this type of storm, and out in the open a crack was heard, but not of thunder, and a hole in Philip's chest blood pouring out soaking into his clothing the rain unable to wash it away. Days after that George, Sullivan's father, was killed after a roaring crack was heard from within his quarters, and he too a corpse with half a head. As the weeks passed each night a storm was present a member of the Klowolski family was killed, a loud crack at each. His sisters, his mother, his two younger brothers. Till all that remained was him, the sole survivor of the slow massacre.
He sat in his father's old study, which laid on the third floor, every door within the house locked, and the windows, with the exception of the window within the study, barred. A fireplace lit near him keeping him warm, he looked out the open window of the study to see the rain starting to fade. A sigh of relief was let out as a glimmer of hope was instilled in him, perhaps he'd be the one to get away. He was interrupted from his thoughts by a loud crack of thunder, startling him. The night, and by extension the storm, was not yet done.
A shiver ran down his spine as a small creak had passed his ears. His blood ran cold. He forced himself to turn around from the window to face the noise, nothing. Not a single thing out of place. Yet another sigh of relief, he fixed the glasses upon his face and turned to face the open window once more. He leaned on the frame looking out over the nearby buildings of the town. He let his head lower and closed in relaxation, the sun was soon to start shining.
He opened his eyes as his head was lowered, and to his horror, a figure encased in shadow at the base of the manor, waiting, staring up at him. Sullivan felt his heart drop as he backed away from the window. Panic had overtaken him, he unlocked the studies door and ran down the hallway to another room, that of his deceased uncle, where he fumbled around in the dark trying to find one of the swords his uncle once kept. At last, he found one, a standard short sword, and hid to the best of his abilities.
One footstep, two, three. Sullivan realized in his panic he left not only the studies door and window open, but the one to his current spot open as well. Footsteps slowly made their way towards the door, each step causing the fear within him to grow, and grow. He watched the figure enter the door from his hiding spot, as soon as he saw the figure, he recognized it, his long-estranged older brother, Fredrick. A feeling of joy overcame him, and he exited his spot and made himself known. A grave mistake, as Fredrick turned and pointed something at him, a weapon of strange design, five barrels, a handle on the back. At that moment, fear entered Sullivan's heart and his life flashed as only a single word left his lips as the trigger was pulled, "Why?"
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