The Tomb of Ahkiar

Kaedin and Olaf vanished into the haze, and the thief cursed. Damned if he was going to wait alone. He hurried off after them.

For long minutes the trio walked deeper into the cemetery, past ancient gravestones corroded by time and nature, past crumbling crypts. The mist now shrouded even the treetops, and the thief was hard-pressed to see anything beyond Olaf’s massive back. Then they entered a clearing devoid of tombstones, and the dwarf stopped. The silence and mist were stifling, and Jagahd fought back an urge to shout just to shatter his claustrophobia. Kaedin seemed to be waiting for something, and a few minutes after their abrupt halt, the thief was introduced to their fourth member.

The mist directly in front of the dwarf solidified into a horrible black shape, something almost human, but that seemed frozen in agony. A tattered robe shrouded everything but the terrible face, with empty eye sockets that wept a thick black liquid, a gaping mouth locked forever in a scream of broken and rotting teeth, and a massive gash that crossed the face from ear to ear, full of rank meat and shredded cartilage. A howl of a thousand tortured souls filled the thief’s mind, deafening and terrifying. He dropped to his knees, his hands over his ears, his mouth open in a silent scream, eyes wide and staring. Death stood over him, and he saw the void reach out for him.

Suddenly he was in control once more, the terrible fear dampened to a mere shadow, Death and the void were gone. The horrifying howl in his head went on, though it was markedly quieter. He raised his head slowly to see how his companions fared. Shock froze him once more.

Olaf, arms flailing, hung suspended in the air, blood rolling down his back. The fighter’s mouth was open, though no sound could be heard over the dreadful howl. His eyes were locked on the apparition before him, and pure undiluted fury emanated from his unblinking stare. His sword lay broken beneath him, and a black stain crept steadily across the blade. The faint outline of a skeletal hand clutched the mad fighter’s throat, where the bony claws had left gaping gashes.

Kaedin seemed unworried about his companion’s fate and stood unmoving a few feet away, head bowed. A bright green glow illuminated his hands as he clutched them at his chest. The dwarf’s lips moved rapidly, though he was as silent as the fighter in the wake of the terrible howl.

The wraith hadn’t moved either, though its cloak now bore a large cut where its chest should’ve been. Instead, mist now flowed through the hole. The empty sockets still seemed to stare malevolently up at the suspended fighter.

Jagahd stood slowly, his normally dexterous movements clumsy and awkward. The wraith’s terrifying stare turned quickly to him, and suddenly Olaf shot sideways into the mist, flung away as easily as a rag doll. The cemetery seemed to shift, and instantly the specter floated directly before him, the tortured face mere inches from his own. The thief threw his hands up to ward off that terrible face, and stumbled backwards.

"Enough, Zael!"

Kaedin’s rough voice shattered the deafening howl, and Jagahd looked up in time to see the dwarf’s hands erupt in brilliant green fire. His cloak billowing out in a magical wind, a look of pure madness in his eyes, the dwarf threw the emerald fire at the wraith which had turned to confront this new threat.

The fire caught the specter and wreathed it in brilliant green light. The howl in Jagahd’s ears went shrill, pain echoing through his mind. Then, silence.

The thief raised himself slowly from the ground, and stared in disbelief at this new sight. The wraith hung frozen before him, green fire spinning around it. The empty sockets stared at Kaedin. The tattered robes shifted restlessly in the magical breeze, the cut across its chest weeping green flame.