I’ve since realized that ‘mudnado’ is so much better name than ‘mudstorm.’ Not that it comes up in this snippet. But it will, later.
Resolving the status of possibly-haunted Old American ruins was a solved problem by the end of the 29th Century AD. There were two ways to do it; the first was to send in somebody to look for spirits, all nice and civilized and steady, and then start talking to any that they found. If the spirits could be talked or worked around, all right. And if they couldn’t? Well, at least you tried.
Mike’s team did it the other way.
Magic might not have be as common in the Imperium as it was in the Elf-lands or Virginia, but Imperial mages were common enough to make sure that Mike’s cavalry troop had a ghostshouter. It was about the size of a satchel and heavy by human standards, so Mike had Nita hold it while he lit the fuse. It caught, even in the driving rain, thanks to chemistry, alchemy, and thaumaturgy. Imperial mages cared a lot about results, and not much about style.
Subtlety wasn’t even considered as an option. The ghostshouter exploded about twenty seconds after Nita lobbed it into the ruins, and the sound and flash came damned close to spooking all the horses. But that didn’t matter, because Mike and about half the troop were already rushing in on foot.
They had more gear good against spirits: torches with strange herbs woven in, stones that glowed in the presence of ghosts, various blessed weapons. But the important thing was that the Rangers were looking for spirits, and expecting them to show up. That many people ready to believe made it easier for incorporeal spirits to manifest themselves.
Certainly this one wasn’t shy to appear, seven feet tall, clawed, and ready to spit fire. “Assholes!” it screamed as it popped into existence on the lower level. “Get out of my place!” it screamed again.