There are many who wonder why I spend most of the warmer months of the year living in one of the towers of Candlekeep, even though I have a rather impressive lair of my own, located off the coast near Mintarn island, the Highhand spire is strictly off limits and contains artifacts and knowledge forbidden and incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands. I like to catch up with friends of mine from across the Realms in a location known by one and all for many decades, so, you could say, I have an office at Candlekeep, and also, that is where a thriving colony of Pseudodragons live and I have been studying their social dynamics for quite some time, so, I miss them when I am away. Another reason is that Candlekeep is a lot more interesting and dangerous than many people know, particularly the lower levels and the catacombs where the most dangerous books are locked away, often rattling at the chains that keep them secured to the shelves. Wizards who animate spellbooks to float or flutter around them or come to them when called, I really wish they wouldn't do that, or it was not such a fashionable trend in places like Halruaa, because the enchantment invariably goes a bit rogue and those heavy spellbooks pack quite a bite.
It was a couple of years ago when a large number of powerful spellbooks got loose and we had a devil of a time rounding them up, thanks to the culprit responsible for their escape in the first place.
Today, I thought I would collect my notes and relate all I know about the Poltergeist, so grab yourself a tasty beverage, and settle back, it's time to get deeply nerdy.
The term "poltergeist" derives from the German words "poltern" (to make noise) and "geist" (spirit), literally translating to "noisy ghost." As early as 94 A.D., historians like Flavius Josephus noted exorcisms involving unusual phenomena that could be attributed to such disruptive forces. The classic description of a poltergeist involves the manifestation of a spirit capable of producing loud noises, physical disturbances such as moving or levitating objects, and even interacting physically through pinches and slaps.
In German folklore, poltergeists have been primarily associated with mischief rather than outright malice. They are often seen as agents of chaos, causing unexplained noises, flickering lights, and objects being displaced. Some traditional narratives even link poltergeist activity to communal and familial crises, with disturbances sometimes correlated with the presence of emotionally charged individuals, particularly troubled adolescents and primarily young women by most accounts.
The standard investigative practice would be to take any young people away from an area reporting such activity, if there are no further incidents while the youngsters are elsewhere, then it's a pretty easy solution to the problem.
Written accounts of poltergeists may go back to the late sixth century, there is definitely one from 856AD in Bingen, Germany, in latin it refers to stones coming from no visible source, falling from nowhere, furniture moving, and loud noises, and there are well-known accounts from the Drummer of Tedworth in 1681 to the Bell Witch of 1817, all of which share very similar descriptions of observed events. Across the globe, in Japan, entities like the Ikiryō are believed to be manifestations of a living individual’s disturbed spirit and you could say the mythologies from Mesopotamian to Egyptian empires have elements of object-centric hauntings or vengeful ancestral spirits that share characteristics with the modern poltergeist.
But of course, we are here to discuss fantasy roleplaying. In that regard the Poltergeist arrived in the pages of the original Fiend Folio published in 1981, clearly drawing on traditional folklore it is usually a location-locked haunting undead spirit, naturally invisible and intangible, it can still be harmed by silver or enchanted weapons, and spraying holy water around the area or confidently brandishing your holy symbol will drive it back, but doesn't harm it.
The poltergeist, as described, is a being who died in that specific location and is most potent when within that area, but it can roam around, just in a weaker state. It attacks by hurling an object no heavier than a normal person could easily throw. When the object strikes a living being, they must deal with a sudden and irrational, supernatural fear effect. If they fail to resist it, they sprint off in a random direction and have a good chance of dropping what they are carrying somewhere along the way. Once they recover from the effect, they don't need to worry about it again, so it's a one-trick pony as far as actual combat is concerned. Or is it?
Now, this is where I put all sorts of evil ideas into your head, so grab yourself a tasty beverage. Its time to get deeply nerdy.
An important part of poltergeist folklore, which we see in many movies, is that adolescents and their strong emotions tend to feed the poltergeist, which becomes like a magnet for other spirit entities and sometimes something worse. So here are some ideas on how this aspect can really enhance what is otherwise a bit of a simplistic undead spirit.
Picture this: your adventuring party steps into a shadowed ruin, a dungeon carved into the earth, or a forgotten keep swallowed by time. The air feels wrong—heavy, restless—and then it starts. A candlestick flies from a corner, a brick tumbles from a wall, and a disembodied cackle echoes through the stones. You’ve stumbled into the domain of a poltergeist, a spirit of spite and chaos, ready to turn your exploration into a nightmare. Let’s explore how these encounters unfold, first as a standalone terror, then as a storm unleashed by a troubled teen’s emotional energy.
Imagine a crypt, its air thick with dust and the faint stink of decay. Coffins lie cracked open, bones scattered like forgotten toys. The poltergeist is here, a flickering malice born from some long-dead soul’s rage. It starts small—picking up a femur and hurling it at the fighter’s head, forcing a quick dodge. A rusted candelabra sails from a shadowed niche, clattering against the wall as the cleric ducks. The spirit’s invisible, intangible, slipping into a stone sarcophagus when the rogue draws a silver dagger. You can’t hit it while it’s hiding, but you hear its giggle echoing from within.
The real fight kicks off in its death zone—a darkened alcove where a shattered skull rests, the spot where it met its end. Here, it’s stronger, angrier. It slams the sarcophagus lid shut, trapping the barbarian’s arm unless they wrench it free with raw strength. Turning it with a cleric’s prayer feels like shouting into a storm—its resistance is fierce. But wave a holy symbol, and it recoils, forced out into the wider crypt. There, it’s weaker, tossing pebbles and broken pottery, a petulant child losing its temper. A well-aimed strike with an enchanted blade or a silver arrow can end it—if you can pin it down.
Now, add a teen girl to this crypt, a runaway hiding among the tombs, her eyes wide with anxiety from a life of running. The poltergeist latches onto her fear like a leech, and the encounter explodes. That femur? It’s replaced by a jagged tombstone slab, crashing down with bone-shattering force. Illusions flicker to life—spectral hands clawing from graves, forcing the wizard to steel their mind or flee in terror. Her distress pulses through the spirit, drawing a ghoul from a side tunnel, its claws scraping stone as it hungers for her warmth. Calm her with gentle words, and the poltergeist’s power fades—back to small bones and weak shoves. But startle her, and the crypt erupts: coffins burst open, a whirlwind of bones and dust fills the air, and you’re scrambling to shield yourself from the chaos.
Shift the scene to a bandit-ravaged tower, its walls pocked with arrow scars, its upper floors sagging under rot. The poltergeist here is a remnant of some cutthroat’s last stand, and it’s got a knack for improvisation. A splintered plank flies from a broken stair, aimed at the paladin’s legs. A dented helmet spins through the air, clanging off the ranger’s shield. The spirit ducks into a crumbling fireplace or a wall crack, popping out to lob a smoldering torch—duck, or you’re singed. Its death zone is a bloodstained lookout post at the tower’s peak. There, it grabs a loose beam and swings it like a club, daring you to stand your ground. Clerics find their turning prayers falter against its defiance, but a holy symbol drives it down to the lower floors, where it weakly flings shingles and curses.
Silver or enchanted steel can finish it, but it’s slippery—always one step ahead, cackling as it retreats. Then comes the escalation: a teen girl, cast out for her wild temper, squats in the tower’s shadows. Her rage fuels the poltergeist, turning that plank into a barrage of knives and bricks, a deadly storm raining down. Her shouted curses echo through the stones, a deafening roar that leaves your ears ringing. Her turmoil ripples outward, summoning a possessing spirit that slips into the rogue’s mind, forcing a struggle for control. Soothe her, and the poltergeist’s fury dims—back to tossing sticks. Enrage her, and the tower itself rebels: stones tumble from the ceiling, the walls groan, and you’re dodging debris just to stay alive.
Now picture a village lost to fire and time, its huts charred husks, its well choked with ash. The poltergeist here is a vengeful echo of some villager’s demise, and it’s got the whole place as its playground. A cracked pot sails from a doorway, a broken chair crashes against the fighter’s armor, and a rusted scythe spins toward the bard—dodge or bleed. It slips into a burned beam or dives down the well, emerging to strike from behind. Its death zone is a collapsed barn, where it hurls a pitchfork with lethal intent and shrugs off holy rebukes. Push it out with a symbol, and it skulks to the village edge, weakly tossing twigs or slamming shutters in a tantrum.
A silver blade or enchanted arrow can banish it, but it’s relentless—always circling back for one more shot. Then imagine a teen girl, a survivor of the village’s fall, wandering the ruins with grief in her eyes. The poltergeist feeds on her sorrow, and the air grows heavy. That pot becomes a cartwheel, smashing through the party with crushing force. Illusions of burning homes and fleeing figures flicker around you, clawing at your resolve. Her pain calls to roaming ghosts, their wails blocking your path as they echo her memories. Comfort her, and the spirit weakens—its throws falter, its illusions fade. Startle her, and a spectral villager rises, lashing out with cold hands before dissolving into the night.
Dive into a dungeon half-submerged, water lapping at your boots, moss slick on the walls. The poltergeist here is tied to some drowned prisoner’s wrath, and it’s got a cruel streak. Slimy rocks splash from a cell, a rusted key arcs toward the cleric’s head. It hides in a flooded statue or the dripping ceiling, splashing water to mask its next move. Its death zone is a sunken shrine—a corroded chalice marks its anchor. There, it hurls a loose altar stone, daring you to wade closer, and resists turning with stubborn fury. Holy symbols force it into the wider dungeon, where it flickers weakly, flicking algae or small fish.
Strike it with silver or magic, and it’s done—but it’s a slippery bastard, always retreating to regroup. Now add a teen girl, trapped by a cave-in, her suppressed anger simmering beneath the surface. The poltergeist drinks it in, and the dungeon turns hostile. That rock becomes a cell door, torn free and flung with brutal force. Illusions of rising water or drowning screams fill your mind, testing your nerve. Her fury summons a wraith from the depths, its hollow eyes locked on her life force. Ease her tension, and the spirit’s power ebbs—back to petty splashes. Push her too far, and the dungeon floods: water surges, sweeping you into walls unless you brace yourself fast.
Finally, step into a keep abandoned by its lords, its hall strewn with looted relics—goblets, tapestries, a dented shield. The poltergeist, a jilted servant’s shade, rules this ruin. It hurls a goblet at the wizard, flings a tapestry to entangle the rogue. It slips into a cracked throne or a wall sconce, striking from above with a shield’s edge. Its death zone is the throne room, where it grabs a table leg and swings hard, defying clerics’ prayers. Drive it out with a holy symbol, and it weakens—tossing dust or candle stubs in a sulky fit.
Silver or enchantment can end it, but it’s a persistent pest, always lurking for one last jab. Then comes the teen girl, left behind by fleeing nobles, her despair a banquet for the spirit. It hurls a marble bust now, smashing with devastating weight. Illusions of mocking courtiers or her own weeping reflection taunt you, binding your will. Her anguish cracks the floor, summoning ghouls from the crypt below. Calm her, and the poltergeist falters—its throws lighten, its tricks fade. Enrage her, and the keep trembles: walls split, furniture spins in a deadly dance, and you’re fighting just to stand.
Without the teen, the poltergeist is a cunning, chaotic foe—mobile, spiteful, and tied to its surroundings. It uses the environment as a weapon, ducks silver and enchanted blows, and dares you to storm its death zone or chase it down. Add the teen, and it’s a force of nature—her emotions turn it into a telekinetic storm, weaving illusions and calling undead to the fray. The party’s not just fighting a ghost anymore; they’re wrestling with her pain, balancing combat with compassion—or facing the consequences of pushing her over the edge.
OK, I think you get the general idea, and with that, my name is AJ Pickett, thanks for joining me and as always, I will be back with more for you, very soon.
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