Broken Skies

Part 1: The Wraith in the Garden

The specter loomed in between the cracked walls and split pillars of a once beautiful garden. The whiteness of her veil matched the snow that draped the tops of every shrub, of every ruin, and of every roof of the massive mansion against her clearing

Lars concluded that the ghost already knew they were there. She was simply territorial and showed such by hissing constantly through her veiled mouth while embracing the borders of her faded home. One such corner took his attention and with it the man walked back to the others without muffling his steps.

"Is it gone?" whispered Ringly, the youngest of the whole company. The orange haired adolescent had a permanently worried face that went well with the trembling grip he had on his sword and lantern. "Sir?"

Lars faced a torn down villa across the mansion and waved his palm sideways. At his signal, a dozen men and women all layered in hide and fur emerged. They walked cautiously toward him through the broken streets, their weapons at the ready.

"The wraith in the garden," Lars said. "She knows we're here."

"Why hasn't she attacked?" one of the women asked. Lars couldn't tell which as most of members in the company was fairly new. For sure it was not Namara. That one had a sharp lilt.

"She'd rather not fight," he said. "Why? My guess is that she's weak."

"Wraiths don't need to eat or anything," asked Ringly. "Don't they?"

"No they don't, but they thrive on moonlight. The last full moon was three months ago, and I doubt she'd seen it a lot before the thaw."

"So you suggest we take her down then?" a large man with a large voice asked. Lars tried to remember his name. Utgard or Uthgrum. He simply remembered him as the one with the double bladed axe.

"Well she isn't a simple troll. She won't go down with a swipe of your axe unfortunately."

"Then how?" asked axe man.

"Do as I say and she'll be gone by the end of the hour. Are we clear?"

The dozen men and women nodded to Lars with confidence. The captain was one of the only older men in the company who kept a clean face, at least of hair. He had scars by his cheeks, neck, and forehead, most of which were hidden once he donned his t-visor plate helm and tightened the collar of his burgundy gambeson. What remained clear was the determination that gleamed from his dark green eyes.

"Let's get to it then."

**********

Perry tried to minimize the creaks from the doors opening up to the vestibule. While Lars assured her that no beast dared lived near a wraith, she rather not have carelessness be the reason for her death.

As the man had said, the mansion was empty. At least sounded empty. Most of the furniture were still standing and dust sheathed every surface. If it had been blood, bones, and all sorts of gore, then there would be a beast present. Still, Perry kept her red bandanna tight over her mouth and nose, and her leather had snug over her ears. She tended to have bad allergies.

"Is it clear?" asked Toden, the hooded man behind her. Toden was a thief towards the advent of his twenties, much like Perry on both accounts. Unlike Perry, Toden had a paunch nearly the size of his head and held an iron mace instead of daggers.

"For now," said Perry. "Try not to break through the floor boards, large man. We still haven't seen every inch of this place."

"Joke all you want," Toden let his weapon rest on his shoulder. "I'm sit faster than you."