Session 3

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Session 3

Post by Wraithwriter »

A unearthly wail filled the dark alley and if any passerby had heard they would have fled in terror, their minds shattered into tiny fragments of incomprehensible madness. As it was all who slept within a two block radius bolted from their beds screaming. A brilliant flash of blue light cut the wail short, allowing blessed silence to descend on the alley.

Inky fluid dripped from a glowing cerulean sword evaporating before ever hitting the uneven cobblestones. As the glow faded a hulking nightmare dissolved back into the unnatural shadows that gave it birth. Then a sphere that glowed the same shade as the sword shot into the shadows dispersing the foul amalgam of magic and mortal despair. The shadows once again only those common to every city street, the sphere returned to its origin.

With a subdued flash of cerulean light, the sphere slid into a spectral warrior who stood eyes closed and sword drawn. As seconds passed the light began to infuse the warrior's form and its eyes opened to survey its handy work. Nodding once, the warrior released its grip on the blade which dissipated at once, returning to the aether till called again to service.

The infusion of light complete, the warrior's form took on the features of a man in his prime. Odd ritualistic scars glowed faintly on every part of his spectral form not covered by what looked like an ancient brigantine coat, bracers, greaves, leather pants, and sturdy boots. With his form now his own the specter turned on his heel and strode right through a red brick wall.

His task had grown none the easier since the conclusion of the city's political turmoil. If anything, the manifestation of unnatural ethereal abominations had increased, and the havoc spread by the rampaging nightmares was enough to chill his ghostly heart. This most recent one had found its way into a women's shelter and feasted on those it found there, when he had finally tracked it, only a single crying new born remained. His thoughts carried him into a dark common room where said infant still cried out in hunger and terror.

The child lay still clutched to its dead mother's breast, the half eaten corpse having never relented its hold. Moving to stand over the child he paused to consider what he should do with it. Normally when he encountered mothers who had perished leaving their children alone he would aide the woman's spirt in find safety for her brood. Here, thanks to how the abominations fed, there was no spirt to aid, leaving him with an awkward detail to tackle: what was he going do with the child?

Oaths sworn in life, not to say anything about his own conscious, forbade he leave the helpless child to die. Those same oaths prevented him from solving the issue quickly, which meant he needed to find someone to care for the thing. Giving the semblance of a sigh he turned and walked through another wall on to a partially lit street.

In the street nothing stirred in the shadows, but it was still early. After a while apprentices began trickling by hurrying to open their masters' workshops for the day. More time passed and the pre-dawn traffic had increased when he spotted what he wanted. A burly, almost dwarven, man rushed along his head down and jacket collar pulled up high to ward off the morning chill. In a movement no being of flesh and blood could comprehend the warrior intercepted the man placing a hand to his forehead.

The man came to an abrupt stop shaking his head as if to clear it, then his eyes widened and he sprinted for the building that had once served as a women's shelter. The warrior watched him go nodding his head in approval. The child would live and if it was lucky it would grow to adulthood, but only time would tell.

With the sunrise came a decrease in the city's aberrant activities, and once again boredom set in. Existence as a specter had its good points, but the endless hours of boredom was not one of them.

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