As you travel, you feel a shiver run down your spine. The phrase “someone walked over my grave” springs to mind for some reason. Leaves rustle in the wind. The sky darkens. Not like at twilight. The sky is not known in these parts at this time of day to be a dark turquoise. You stop to check your bearings, assuming a position of readiness, weapons drawn. A faint, sickly greenish glow floats through the trees, perhaps a hundred yards out, coming closer to your direction.
You hide. You crouch behind some trees, poking your heads out and silently watching. The glow approaches, the display of lights illuminating the area in a weird phosphorescence. Figures appear out of this glow. Translucent. Carrying candles. Walking. Or at least, they have the movement and pace and gait of a walk, but the flowing robes they all wear trail off into insubstantial nothingness before their feet touch the ground. The candles burn with a cold, green flame.
Together these specters march, hundreds of them in a line. Their otherworldly purpose is inscrutable. Where do these beings come from? Their forms are not meant for the mortal realm. From your hidden place it is not possible to identify these beings. Who knows what story the dead have to tell? Who knows what power could be found in understanding their mechanisms? Who knows how long this procession will last? That final note seems most practical, as these ghosts are blocking your path, their numbers stretching into the distance.
What do you do?
- Wait. You can observe from a distance, so long as you remain hidden.
- Outrun the spirits. Perhaps you can get ahead of the train and bypass them.
- Approach the spirits. Perhaps these deceased souls have wisdom or rewards to share.