“Precious… Precious love,” echoed the voices in the night.
Moonbeams shone faintly off the dull, paint cracked floor. The only other light in the room was the acrid, crackling cherry at the end of a thin cigar hanging loosely from the attendant’s lips.
“Who needs it he says? And why. Ha.” Called a grating, nasal, shrewlike voice from the corner cell, before erupting suddenly into uncontrollable sobbing.
The guard took a long, slow pull from his cigar, and sighed it out his nose, shaking his head. His mustache swayed comically as he looked up at me from his seat, eyebrows hanging so low in compassion as to assume the look of an anxious lab.
“Thanks for coming, sir,” he said to me. “Don’t touch anyone or you’ll catch it too.”
As if to punctuate his warning, he gestured to the two closest prisoners, who were self-consciously shuffling about their cages, attempting to appear farther away from the bars than they actually were.
I cast a few bars of light across the ceiling to give some better illumination, and saw the same gooey eruptions you described seeing on the man who fled the clearing two weeks ago.
Half of the victims had no goo at all, but were still as white as ghosts. They looked older than their hair and dress would imply, and seemed distant and withdrawn. It was difficult for any of them to focus, and some of them were unable to even take directions. All of them had a developed and potent attachment to something, but none of them could name what.
Its the Farplane alright, and I don’t think you should return. The ectoplasm is like a residue of the plane, like plasma might be the residue of the fire plane. What is new to me is the way its spreading. This is the fourth town I’ve visited with a group of guards that have come down insane, but I’ve received no reports from within cities of anything (considering) out of the ordinary.
And when the day comes when your family tells you its time, please come see me. Thank you for all your help,