The ‘Night’ Watchmen

The ghost of the young Cottisonian soldier; Pardrik sways easily, as he shimmers in the bright sunlight. His form and features have become clearer somehow, after each completed guard duty. More defined and in focus after each re-emergence, even though his spirit form had been shredded, defeated and dismissed several times by the ethereal but still vicious Hag and her phantom steed. Regardless of that though, he’d always reformed by the next shift. Despite their pitiful existence, ghosts are notoriously hard to actually ‘kill’ again. 

It’s the end of his and Arowe’s seventh eight-hour guard duty, and Pardrik notices that his Elven partner seems finally, to have calmed down. The ghost hovers over the still sleeping Halfling, but thanks to the clever positioning of his bones, he’d been able to move freely around the marquee and act as an early, though imminent, warning system for all his new friends. Now though, a feeling of anxiety runs through him. Like his ghostly form, his mind had become less clouded after each successfully completed shift, and now he wonders if the Halfling; Liga Bur was correct in his assumption about fulfilling his previously failed duty. He was cursed on the orders of Lord Urdurel to exist forever, tortured by the unending sight of the young Lady Lamenta’s dying moments. A testimony to his failure to protect her. 

Now though, after serving those seven nights of duty, that he’d failed to give her, was his curse truly over? The last three days had been spent just quietly standing, as the Hag and her badly injured Nightmare steed hadn’t reappeared.

As if in answer to his silent thoughts, a beam of bluish light, despite the natural brightness around him, somehow seems to illuminate him from above and he feels a pull upward.

“My friend! It appears you were right and, in protecting you, my curse has been lifted. I didn’t dare believe it but, after a century of suffering, I’ve served my penance and can finally return to the afterlife I deserved.”

Liga Bur, who’d suspected as much, quickly summons his teammates to say goodbye to their insubstantial ally. Pardrik takes the opportunity to thank them all in turn but deliberately finishes on Arowe.

“It is you, that I’ve spent the most time with over this last week. The magical hand you possess, your sharp Elven senses and your uncanny trancing ability have made you the ideal partner. While I stood guard on the ethereal plane, you guarded the material one. Now though, from now on, I’m afraid you must guard alone.”

The ghostly soldier instructs Arowe to lay the ornate, magical rapier he’d gotten from Magritte on the warm sand before placing his own immaterial longsword overtop it. The two swords exist in the same space for a moment before the spirit sword fades from existence, leaving only Arowe’s rapier behind. It looks different though in some way. It’s magical glow has turned from an orangey gold to a blueish silver and the blade, despite the warm sand, is unnaturally cool to the touch.

As Arowe turns, he sees that Pardrik too is fading, but rather than a feeling of sadness, now that his anger is no longer magnified by the Oath-bow, he shares the smiling teenager’s joy.

Arowe’s bejewelled +2 Rapier (that he was given by Magritte in exchange for his sinisterly intelligent one) has now been further enhanced by the parting gift of the ghost; Pardrik and now has a +3 bonus on attack and damage as well as having the ‘Ghost touch’ feature!