The Half Life of a Wraith
(This one's Pav's)
John lay on a mat, waiting for sleep to come.
For an hour he waited, eyes closed, but the sleep would not take him. Growling, he stood, stepping over a few soldiers, following the fading light of a fire to keep the night patrol warm. He walked to the courtyard and stared up at the stars for a moment, craning his neck to pop it as he took a few steps forward to a table with candles lit. The map on the table displayed the forest around them, extending northwards for but a mile or so before it faded into the Plaguelands, the real problem of Raieria.
The half-giant dragged a metallic hand across his face, staring out at the vaguely-red tinted trees above the courtyard walls. He sighed, noting that progress on the walls was still slow. Granted, there had been no attack tonight, but still.
It would be nice if the men had a good night’s rest for once. The men’s morale was crumbling like these walls, now held only by the steadfast strength and intelligence of John and Shinsou. With the working of the wall during the day, and being kept up by the screams of the undead at night, it was difficult for them to maintain composure. At least the supply crates had come in last week.
But this new information was even more troubling. Vincent sent word of a Lich, gathering power in Eluriand, and he wanted information. Now more awake than asleep, he pulled a chair up, measuring the distance again. Too far to take a platoon, much less an army, even if he had one. And he’d need an army to ensure success. A deep, raspy voice cut through his thoughts.
“You should be asleep, you know,” it said, and John looked up to see the spectral, there-but-not-there form of Elthas Belthasar, one of their newer acquaintances. The fact that he was somewhere between life and death made him invaluable. The undead seemingly had no interest in his ghostly form, and therefore John set him about scouting for threats. He looked back down, standing. The information on this lich was lacking in the extreme.
With any luck, the half-dead elf would be able to help with that.
“How fast are you, Belthasar?”
A chuckle from his translucent subordinate. “Fast enough, Cromwell. Have you need of me?” It was true, too. John had seen the elf in action, and he had been quick even before he had regained his strength. Before, he had barely the strength to keep his form from dissipating into so much ethereal smoke, but now his senses were as sharp or sharper than any of their own, and he could outpace most anybody in their expedition.
John furrowed his brow and pointed at the map, a large star where the Istien University once stood. “A lich gathers power in Eluriand. We need to know where he is, what he is planning, and most importantly,” he looked up at Elthas’ ghostly eyes, “where his phylactery is. His existence threatens our efforts, and we must know how to destroy him when we begin to move.”
He nodded toward the north star. “Find the lich, Belthasar. I must know how to kill him.”
