Advent Calendar 2025, Day 4: The Wraiths' Message

Looking to rest, Barston and Derron camp out near a obelisk. But nighttime visitors have a different plan in mind.

Later that Day...

After leaving the cave of the poor giant, the two men continue their track across the increasingly rocky grasslands. They eventually cross a road in need of minor repair and assume it is as good as not to be the road to the town of Yewsforth.

As evening begins to set, Derron scales to the top of a particularly tall boulder to scope out a potential place to bed down for the night.

"We could just use, you know, this here boulder, Derron," Barston calls up to his friend, not too loudly.

"Only if we could both get on top of it. That giant likely thought he was snug and secure in his cave."

"Fair point."

"AHA!," Derron shouts, louder than necessary, and leaps down. "There's a structure that way. Maybe there's a place there we can lock up for the night."

Following the way Derron is pointing, Barston can see nothing but rolling spring grass. Still, he has long learned to trust Derron in principle as long as the task isn't too arduous. Then Derron is like as not to find a comfortable spot to bed down.

Half an hour later, the pair approach an obelisk. Perhaps once ivory-white, it has grayed with time and the elements. Yet, it still stands strong. And strange in this land.

"What do you suppose it says?," Derron asks, pointing to the various runes and symbols upon it.

"I have no idea," Barston replies, not unsadly. He senses that Derron and he had been meant to find this place, that somehow here is where they are meant to be. At least for the moment. Yewsforth needs them, so they can return later to find out more.

Since Derron found, Barston takes first watch. It is near midnight, when Barston is on the cusp of waking his friend, when the things arrive. He first hears them as whispers. Then laughter. Pulling forth his mace, he calls out in a voice loud enough to wake Derron from the monk's hopefully light slumber.

"Who is there?"

Nothing answers back.

Derron is stirring when another round of laughter comes from Barston's left and he whips his head around to see something. Nearly a shape like nearly a person. A shadow cast by nothing there.

"Derron..."

The monk is up and on his feet soon enough, and Derron sees another shape of similar nothingness to his right.

Finally, a third approaches from the front. In the low light of the small campfire, it very nearly looks like a person.

I can smell her on you, it says in a non-voice.

"Her?," Barston asks. Suddenly, he has a shocking idea that he knows.

They tried taking me, as well. I got away. We got away.

"Who?"

Names are for the living.

"Are you not living?," Derron asks, still trying to place just how bad of a situation they are in.

The non-face in front of them grimaces and grows angry. We'll take it. We'll take you. So warm, you are.

Barston reaches to his pack and grabs the bow and tosses it to Derron. "Hit them with this."

"Uh, I prefer my fists."

"You ever punched a ghost?"

"I mean, no, but there are a lot of things I have not punched."

They have more time to talk as the shapes close in.

As Derron is focusing as much on dodging out of the ghostly grasps, Barston manages to drive the wraith that was speaking back to edge of the obelisk's base and then with one last blow finishes it off.

As it fades from nothingness to even more complete nothingness, it whispers one last time: You will never find her.

Barston runs and runs to help his friend against the remaining two.

Derron swings the bow once more like a makeshift club and is little by little is chipping the death force from the creature.

As Barston swings wide, he missteps and the wraith rakes claws down his face. The cold touch burns into Barston's very soul with a heavy pain.

As Derron swings the bow at the nothing again, it finally fades and the shadows are replaced by the night. Likewise, Barston has finished off the other.

"Were they talking about who I think they were?," Derron asks.

Barson simple shakes his head. His premonition that they were lead to this place makes sense. Fate seems to be guiding their steps. He bows his head and says a prayer to Sennas and starts healing the cold, cursed wounds on his face with his god's brightly colored light.