The Wraith

The Wraith

"I still can't believe it," said the half-orc, fondling his new shield. The rag-tag party sat around the small campfire, the hillside behind them guarding their backs. The last two nights, Skrie had heard wolves howling outside the range of the fire. Not that she could see further than the small blaze allowed. She left that to Malusk and Theren. Both could see better than she; their fey sight could penetrate the darkness. They reported seeing the shadows stalking just at the edge of their vision.

A tenday before, their new employer, a relic hunter named Geordo, set the three of them on the trail of a potential trove of ancient treasures. He had warned them that the locals would probably be hostile to their attempts, so tread with care. When they arrived at the village of Nemeademore, they discovered the citizens had been taken captive by a group of cultists set on pillaging the tombs tended by the local population.

"Me, either," said Skrie, looking again at the inscription inside the bracers the guardian had gifted her. The scene replayed itself in her head.

A tall, ghostly figure loomed over the four adventurers. Skrie peeked out from behind Malusk's left knee, barely able to remain on her feet; her legs trembled so bad. This time, the figure was much more corporeal than the mist-like wraith which had invaded her dreams a mere two days prior. It scared her witless.

She glanced at Theren, her elven companion. A relic hunter himself, he gazed at the apparition in awe, his mouth slightly agape. Skrie could tell he wanted to bring the objects back to Geordo, but she knew their merry band of misfits were no match for this ghastly elf. They weren't even a match for the Drow priestess from whom they had recovered the objects.

Bright light twisted around the shape, making it almost unbearable to look at. Then, a strand of darkness snaked in, swirling in with the light. The effect mesmerized the young halfling.

"I am Rea'Las'Uhn! Bringer of Light, Guardian of the Unliving!

"You have restored the key and my power." The ghostly form stopped, the darkness in the light grew murkier, the face morphing to present a fearsome image. "Who has desecrated my temple? Who has destroyed my Guardians?!" The visage glared down at the group, then toward the hallway. A mix of light and dark burst from the figure in a wave, penetrating the hallway outside. Skrie screwed her eyes shut, trying in vain to dim the blinding burst.

An agonizing scream reached their ears, followed a second later by a loud <POP>. Then nothing.

"The creature has fled. She will harm mine no more," the warder turned to the odd assortment of beings before her. Stretching upward, the bright silver light strengthened around her as she closed her eyes, arms spread wide.

"I can feel them all. The few ancients buried here, the hundreds of ancestors, heroes of the Great War, the thousands of warriors in the battlefields. I can feel them all, I can CALL them all to my aid," a tinge of darkness wrapped the wraith as the booming voice filled the chamber.

Skrie's legs buckled, and she grabbed the top of Malusk's boot to keep herself from collapsing to the stone floor.

The light pulsed bright, "No." The darkness dissipated. "No," the wraith whispered again. "NO! I must not repeat our history." The light dimmed as a soft glow filled the chamber.

"You have done me a great service," the guardian said to the party. "You have given me a great purpose. The people that tended the crypts of Nemeademore will no longer do so. This valley is now under my protection. The people are no longer needed to manage and protect the ruins; that is my duty. Once you leave this place, all entrances to the tombs below will be sealed."

The warden swept an arm toward a line of sarcophagi along the opposite wall.

"For your deeds here, take these gifts from my Guardians. May they serve you well in the battles to come."

Skrie turned toward the scrape of stone on stone, looking at the sarcophagi behind them. The lids moved and slid to the floor as the skeletal guards stepped to the side. Taking a deep breath to steady her legs, Skrie moved with the rest to peer into each sarcophagus.

Running her fingers along the inner surface of the leather bracers, her sensitive fingertips felt the inscription embossed on the inside. "No evil shall touch me."

linespace:2.0} Skrie watched as the latest addition to their group, Garrick, ran his thumbs over the black stones adorning his belt. She knew the steel buckle held a similar incantation, as did Malusk's shield and Theren's torc.

The halfling still didn't entirely trust Garrick, though his warning about the cultists probably saved them a lot of fighting. Skrie realized that the man had saved them all more than once as she thought about the last handful of days. Maybe her own prejudice was getting in the way of her acceptance of the unlikely ally. She needed to reflect on that thought.

After all, she had been able to get past Malusk being a half-orc. Most horcs scared the stuffing out of her. Their size alone was intimidating, to one as small as she, but she found this one becoming her closest ally, if not a friend. She had gotten kind of used to that scarred mug and broken tusk. Maybe Garrick would grow on her, too.

Shaking herself from her reverie, she settled down to watch the silhouettes of the wolves as they paced and patrolled the perimeter of their tiny camp.

An uneasy night led to their last day on the road and Suncall, where new adventure greeted the unlikely crew.



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