The night was cold as it always was in Kaer Aardwen. The northern lights drifted across the sky like brilliant colourful waves, carrying the full force of the winter with them. Three Marked Men stood in one of the many courtyards of the great keep, staring up at it. Wind battered the courtyard as snow flicked past their faces. None budged other than to blow warm, foggy breath into their hands. They had become accustomed to such elements.
Loud and echoing footsteps broke the constant whooshing of the icy wind, causing the men to look at each other in confusion. Blue energy seemed to condense in one spot nearby, taking on the shape of a young man. The Marked Men remained calm, as they had been taught to when dealing with ghosts and conversed with the being.
The being disappeared once more and the men split up to find it. For half an hour they traversed the expansive fortress, all apart from one finding naught. The man who did find the ghost learnt that it wished to return to a forest. They all agreed to assist the being in such an endeavor.
The Marked Men traversed the white expanse of the frozen mountains surrounding Kaer Aardwen, shivering and holding their hands out infront of their faces. The air stung like pins when it hit bare flesh.
They eventually stumbled down a moonlit, icy hill until they reached a frost encrusted forest. The Men remained quiet, watching the ghost as it began to fly in a rapid straight line, eventually dissipating into thin air. The company did its best to follow it, eventually reaching a deep pit with dry blood and flies at the bottom.
All of a sudden a voice boomed from all around them, it was similar to the specter’s but more sinister somehow. A red shape appeared in the corner of the three trio’s vision, looming at the edge of the pit. It hissed.
A strong wind seemed to blow through the forest and several branches fell from the trees. The poltergeist seemed furious. Before they could react, the four men were battered with branches and roots coming from all directions.
The anti-mage among them did his best to dispel the flinging objects, but not without his companions taking a beating in the process. A log was wrenched free from the earth in which it was buried over time, immediately propelling into the large thug, Norris, the Janitor of Kaer Aardwen. He doubled over and groaned in pain.
As soon as this happened, the Marked with ashen hair darted to the left. The poltergeist noticed this and locked eyes with him. The roots that were assaulting the other two began to curve in his direction, gaining speed. The anti-mage deftly raised both hands, sending a stream of grey mist over the roots, causing them to crumple and shrivel up and die before they reached the running man.
The poltergeist looked almost scared as the man bounded up the hill and weaved between trees, tracing a semi-circle around its flank. A second Marked Man, with blonde hair and a fresh face, began to mimic his ashen-haired accomplice movements. The spirit was oblivious to this as it focused its energies on halting the incoming ashen-haired man.
It tore a tree down to block the path, the ashen-haired man sprinted and jumped over it, though roots shot from the ground and snatched him out of the air, tearing him back down to the ground and slamming his face into the dirt, dazing him.
The younger Marked began to pant and sweat gathered around his forehead. This would be his first kill. He sprinted forth, grabbed his sword with both hands and thrust it into the spirit’s back, causing it to dissipate into red mist before disappearing entirely.