Ghost Cow

The tall undead stood with his hand on hips, staring into space. Well, not actually space, since it was full of, well, things. Rocks, mostly, flying about the place. And ribbons of purple energy that flickered across the sky that, in places, arc’d across the surface of the rocks. And hanging in the backdrop were planets – other unknown worlds – that danced an slow inexorable waltz across the heavens.

It was awe-inspiring enough to block out the constant din of the artillery being employed by the Elves at Sunfury Hold, which was just over the nearby rise. It was, in a word, breathtaking. Or would have been, if Zand had any breath to take, but that was an advantage of being undead.

“Priest?” Said the low voice behind him, insistently, “Are you coming? or what?”

With a feigned sigh, Zand turned back to his travelling companions, and cast a disapproving eye over the green bulk of the Orc that had addressed. He closed his eyes and with his right hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose:

“Let me get this straight. I am a high priest of undeath – a being capable of wielding the very powers of life and death. You,” he said, stabbing a finger at the Orc “Wragwort, are a shaman of the tribes, a spiritual force of nature to whom the many warriors of your tribe pledge their allegiance, while you, Imatepp,” he said looking at a fellow undead who was reading a dusty tome through dusty piz-nez glasses “are a mage on unimaginable power, capable of levelling small villages and you….” He paused as he reached the female troll who’d been following them around for a little over a year unsure of what to say
“Darkost,” she said helpfully
“Yes… Darkost… You…”
“Steal stuff and kill people.” She added cheerfully.
“Yes. Yes, you do. Anyway, my point is this. Here we are, powerful creatures in our own right, powerful enough to make the very land afraid of us!” And so saying an aura of sickly black energy erupted around the priest and the ground did seem to shake a little:
“And we’re going to follow this cow.”
“S’right.” Said the troll, producing a large cow bell from an inside pocket.
“This ghost cow.”
Imatepp, looked up from his book, folding his glasses away: “Uh-huh. And your point is?”
Zand was quiet, for a brief second:
“Nothing.”

Darkost shook the cow-bell and the ghost cow moved forward a little. The priest managed a full second and a half before having to speak again:

“All I’m saying is we’ve reached a new low, is all. I mean, next up you’ll be telling me we need to find the singing bush so it can direct us to the invisible swordsman.”

The three of them stopped then, and the orc spoke:
“I wont hear a thing about him. That poor creature, afflicted with that terrible curse.”
Zand frowned:
“What? Who?”
Wragwort leaned forward, prodding the priest with a stubby green finger: “Being rendered permanently invisible is no laughing matter.”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely,” chipped in the mage “imagine that no-one can see you except a bush that sings bawdy songs twenty four hours a day. It’s enough to drive you mad”
The priest looked from one to the next, examining their serious looking faces.
“’Sides,” said the troll “Did that one last week,” She looked up then before adding “Company”

By this time, the cow had made it’s ghostly way to the rickety looking bridge, but had so far been unaccosted – apart from the cow, nothing was moving. On the other side of the bridge stood the ruined remains of the town of KirinVar, a hotbed of ghostly activity. Or at least, it had been until the four of them had passed through. Whereupon it became briefly hot (thanks to a well timed fireball spell from the mage) before becoming an empty ruined town.

“How can you tell?” Enquired the mage, looking about
“Daggers.” Said the troll pulling two wicked looking shivs from her belt. The effect of the two enchantments on the blades was to bathe the group in a sickly green hue.
“Er, yes, I know…” Imatepp replied
“They itchy.”
Zand chuckled from the back of the group:
“Trolls – you’re just like children, how can daggers it…” But he was cut off mid sentence – Darkost ran at him, her face bunched up and weapons drawn. For a second Zand thought he’d said too much, but as she reached him she knocked him to one side, as a brightly glowing blue spectral creature slashed silently at his back. Instead, the creature caught nothing but air, and a face full of angry Troll assassin.

Darkost deftly avoided a second blow, before burying her daggers in the creatures chest. To her right, a recovered Zand carved unholy sigils in the air, which he empowered with his magic. A rune of death hovered briefly over the wraith’s head before exploding, sending the creature back into whatever afterlife it had recently left:
“Thank you,” the priest muttered to the Troll.

Behind them, the Shaman and the Mage were up to various bodyparts in spectral assailants. Wragwort leapt at one, his weapon blazing in a corona of white light, he smote the creature a deadly blow the force of which was enough to dissipate it. Then Imatepp’s magic erupted around them both, a force of arcane power that sent two more spiralling into oblivion.

The four of them stood waiting for another wave of creatures but it didn’t come:
“Good job guys,” said the usually stoic Shaman, wiping ectoplasm from his shield, “we…”
But he was interrupted by Darkost:
“Where cow?”

And on the far side of the bridge, a low ‘moo’ could be heard. They turned as one toward the sound:
“Are those blue lights what I think they are?” Asked Zand as his three companions broke into a run:
“Yes,” replied Imatepp “Quick, don’t let the spectres kill the ghost cow!”
“Yeah…” said Zand “That would be terrible.”
The mage turned as he ran:
“Look, why don’t you just quit whining, unless that is, you’ve got something better for us to do?”
“Well actually I do,” and from his satchel he pulled an old looking vase
“You know what this is?”
“For flowers.” Said Darkost, “your game too easy.”
“Actually this is…” But the priests words were drowned out by a dull thud followed by a high pitched whistle. The air super-heated as one of Imatepps trade mark fireballs sped from his out stretched finger tips and exploded among a group of spectres. They turned away from the cow to face this new threat, just in time to see an angry Troll leap at them:
“Keep away from Bessie!” She shouted attacking one, it wasn’t much of a battle cry but it seemed to work:

Next to her, Wragwort hacked at one and deflected an incoming blow from a second with his shield. A second fireball from the mage  landed among the back of the group of ghostly fighters and two of them sped toward the mage. Zands’ shield spell sprung up around his fellow undead and the creatures blows fell from the mage like water. Darkost had already felled one and moved onto a second, as had Wragwort.

The fight was over almost as quickly as it had started. At the end of which the town’s population of angry spectres was reduced, and a ghost cow had completed her journey back to it’s stable.
“Have you any idea how ridiculous that sounded?” Said Zand, picking bits of spectre from his cloak
“What?” The three of them replied in unison
“Don’t let the spectres kill the ghost cow. I mean, honestly.”
Imatepp grunted in reply but didn’t look up. The others grinned.
“And now, if you’re done with your bovine antics, I’ve got some real work for us to do. You know what this is?” He pulled the vase out from his bag once more:
“Vase.” Said Darkost  “My go. What this?” The troll made a face of fear and alarm:
“I’m not playing your…” began the Priest
“Is it his face when he thought you were going to kill him because he called you a child?” grunted Wragwort. Darkost nodded. They both chuckled
“Funny, very funny. And for your information, it’s not just a vase. It’s a key to almost limitless power.” He let the words hang in the air for maximum effect – even Imatepp looked up. “This is a lich’s phylactery.”
They looked slightly disappointed then and somehow the vase left Zand hands and ended up in the hands of the Troll. She sniffed it:
“Stinks.” She said, handing it to the mage. He shook it next to his ear and listened intently.
“Yup,” he added. Wragwort took it next and, if it were possible for an Orc to screw his face up even more, he did: “Where d’you find it – a toilet?”
Zand fell silent and looked sheepish.
“Might have…”

Later, the four of them were laying face down on a small hill overlooking the ruined Chapel of KirinVar. Actually, three of them were laying down, Imatepp was sitting, head buried in a book. The church stood on a promontory of land which had no visible means of support – it sprung out across the void of space an incongruous isthmus of land which could not be naturally justified:

The Shaman Wragwort turned to Zand:
“So let me get this straight. An apprentice wizard used his imprisoned masters magic to become a lich – an immortal being whose only weakness is that he can only be killed if his phylactery is found and destroyed?”
Zand nodded: “That’s about the long and short…”
“And you found it?” The orc interrupted
Zand looked indignant: “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
There was an uncomfortable silence:
“In a toilet?” Darkost sniggered – and Wragwort could hardly manage to keep a straight face.
“Yes, I found it in a toilet. But I fail to see why that’s so funny.”
“Where do I begin?” Retorted the Orc.
“What you need toilet for?” Darkost said, rising: “You undead or did you forget?”
“Idiots. I’m surrounded by idiots. What do you think I was in the toilet for huh? I was looking for the phylactery. Think about it. An undead creature wants to hide his only weak spot in a ruined ghost inhabited town. Where would be the last place you’d look? The graveyard? No doubt you’d turn the place upside down, killing things, blowing things up. I on the other hand thought about it for 2 minutes and went straight there.”
“I don’t get it” interrupted the mage “Why would he put it in a toilet?”
“you’re missing the point,” replied the priest “the real question is why are there toilets here at all.”
“huh?”
Zand rolled his eyes:
“In case an unhappy adventurer gets caught short ‘oh I’m sorry spectres, would you mind hanging back for a moment while I have a bio break?’ No. Theres no need for toilets here. So why did they survive?”
The group was silent:
“So the Lich could hide his phylactery. It’s obvious.”
Wragwort and Imatepp exchanged glances and raised eyebrows. There was another uncomfortable silence which was broken by Darkost:
“Bessie back.”
They turned and watched in amazement as the cow they had only just escorted to safety wandered back into the field. A blue ribbon of energy flew out of Zands hand and wrapped around the cow, which mooed pitifully, before exploding.
“That, was uneccessary.” Said Imatepp.
“Yes, but fun.” Retorted the priest “Whats the plan?”
“We head into the Church and kick his undead arse,” replied Wragwort “No offence.” He finished, catching the evil looks from Imatepp and Zand.
“That doesn’t sound like much of plan to me. We should get it outside of the church so we can all have some fun.”
“He won’t come out of the Church. At least he didn’t last time.”
There was a pause, before Zand spoke again:
“What do you mean last time?”
Wragwort was quiet.
“What do you mean, last time?” the priest repeated.
“Wrag and I were here last week. It didn’t go well…” Impatepp said filling the silence and closing his book
“Oh-ho… now I see, now I get it. All that about ME finding the vase was sour grapes. YOU didn’t find it and assumed you could just waltz in there.” He could barely contain a dry rasping chuckle “Did that no-good excuse for a sorcerer take kindly to you storming his church? Or did he throw some of his idiot lackies at you?” By now, the laughter had escaped and was freely flying around the hill:
“Priceless.”
“Enough!” Shouted Wragwort, Zand raised his hands in feigned compliance “Alright, alright.”
“Lets just go in there and kill it.”
“Finally!” grunted Darkost heading toward the Church, barely noticing as shield spell enveloped him. Zand flicked his fingers before touching them lightly to Wrag’s head. A gold glyph appeared:
“What’s that?” asked the Orc
“Healing spell I picked up – called Prayer of Mending. It…”
“I call it ‘big glowy target. Get it off me.” He swiped his shield at the glyph
“That’ll go before you get to the Church, trust me.”
“Oh yeah, trust YOU. Sure.” Their attention was drawn suddenly to the Church as sounds of fighting erupted:
“That damm Troll as gone in and started on her own,” Imatepp ran down the hill, a light blue tracery of energy forming around him as he did. But the time he reached the main door of the church, it had coalesced into a sphere of ice that surrounded him. Wragwort bundled passed the mage and hurled himself into the Church, but what he saw gave him pause.

A enormous undead being, surrounded by a nimbus of bright light , it hovered in the centre of the Church. From it’s mass, hissing blue tentacles of power slathered and lashed. One of them already had Darkost in it’s grip and was, evidentally, causing considerable pain. Around the Chruch wavered the incorporeal forms of many spectres but they did not attack:
“Stay my children,” the Lich's voice was little more than a sibilant whisper “I will handle this interloper!”
“ORC!” shouted a voice from behind him and the shaman had just enough presence of mind to drag himself from the reverie in which he found himself and duck, as a massive dragon’s head formed out of nothing and disgorged fire into the church. Everything that could catch fire, did, including what was left of the church’s upper storey. Several of the spectres, engulfed in flame, hissed and spat like melting candles caught in a strong breeze, before exploding. Others, moved forward shrieking.

Wragwort pulled himself to his feet: “EARTH Shield ME!” He shouted, and veins of power flowed from him into the ground and with a cry of “FOR THE HORDE!” he charged forwards.

Outside the Church, Zand had just enough time to realise what the Orc was up to before and placed a powerful regenerative spell upon him:
“We have to get the Lich outside!” He shouted, but he wasn’t sure if he'd been heard. Imatepp certainly hadn’t heard – as he channelled more arcane energy into the Church and watched with glee as more spectres caught fire.

What exactly happened next the four of them would not agree on. Whether it was the result of the exploding spectres, a spell of the lich or due to the sheer amounts of power being expelled – something – caused the church to explode.

Zand and Imatepp were blown clear off their feet and hurled back a considerable distance. By the time they pulled themselves to their feet, Darkost was carrying a heavily wounded Wragwort out of the demolished Church. Zand muttered a word of power and the gold glyph disappated, bathing the Orc in holy energy. His wounds closed and he stood unaided:
“Nice spell. So it mends Orcs?” He grunted. Zand smiled. Then it faded, as the lich suddenly rose up behind his two companions before battering them aside:
“I’m going to strip the flesh from your bones!” It hissed.
“No, you won’t.” Replied Zand, assuming a form of shadow: “I don’t have any.”
The lich stopped: “True, I could have chosen a less threatening and yet more generic statement, but there you are. I WILL kill you though.”
“I’m already dead.” Smiled the Priest while behind his back he freed the phylactery from his belt
“That smart mouth of you is earning you no favours” the lich replied
“I don’t need em from you, you poor excuse of an undead. Besides, I'm going to kill you and then do a jig for my three friends over there.”
“A jig?” The lich was becoming less sure of himself now
“Yes, a dance. When you die.”
“you FOOL I cant die I’m a lich…”
“Oh yes, about that. Lose something?” Zand lifted the vase up so the Lich could see it:
“Give me that!” It screamed and flew forward, arms outstretched.
“Ah- ah ahhh.” The priest said, flourishing a stone above the vase, “You wouldn’t want me to have an accident – the lich stopped.
“I’ve read that a Lich is compelled to stay within a certain distance of its phylactery – that true?” The lich didn’t respond
“Which leads to me to ask one inevitable question your poor excuse of an undead. You can hover, but can you fly?”
Silence
“Well, can you?” Upon saying, Zand tossed the vase up high and a split second later a small metal dagger connected with it, sending it in turn off of the ledge and into the void below.
“Noooo!” The lich screamed, turning to run back into the church. But some invisible force grabbed the creature and pulled it kicking and screaming over the edge in pursuit, evidentally, of the phylactery. The last thing the Lich saw was Zand making odd shuffling movements with his feet in what was, apparently, some kind of dance.
Much later, as they headed up the path away from the ghostly town, Imatepp turned to the priest:
“Why did you want it dead so much?”
“Mmm?”
“The Lich. You seemed pretty intent on it’s destruction. I thought you’d be on it’s side?”
Zand looked perplexed:
“Really? Why?”
“Well, because the two of you were so alike?”
“What?!” The priest spat the words: “We’re nothing alike.”
Imatepp shrugged: “He cast the same spells as you, looked like you… you seem pretty similar to me.”
“Bah, exactly.”
Now it was the mages turn to look confused:
“You may be happy being called a mage my friend, but I am not at being called a priest. When I awoke into this life I was a priest. When I fought Krull or whatever his name was at the opening of the portal I was a priest. When I despatched thirty of the Scarlet crusades top spell crafters so I could lay my hands on their blessed Crusader enchantment, I was a priest. But him? He steals a book and suddenly he’s a lich? Forget that.”
“You mean to say that you destroyed him because he had a better job title than you?”
Zand paused and thought for a second:
“You know, when you say it like that…. HELL YES.”