In this world, Magic is Everything. All people, all races, are granted with the power to perform mystical and magical feats via grimories, mystical tomes granted to each and every child on their 15th birthday. Those blessed by the mana can have their names written down in legend.
Shattered Grimoires is the work of the mind(s) of Ardere & Shattered Grimoire's staff. All characters and content are copyright their creators, and may not be replicated without their creators' permission. Black Clover is owned by Yuki Tabata and published by Viz Shonen Jump. All images belong to their original owners. The theme you are currently viewing was made by Eliza of ElizaCodes exclusively for Shattered Grimoires.
Being an elf was something Griswold was quite proud of, though that was not something he could just go about screaming just about everywhere he went. When he had first come to the clover country, people had stripped him of all of his belongings and left him for dead rather than helping him. Whether this was because he was a stranger and an outsider, or because of the fact that he was an elf was something he would likely never figure out. The likeliest thing was that the people there had figured he had either already passed away or was on the brink of doing so, at which point his belongings had become free real estate. Regardless, he did not blame them for it, as a lot of the people there were broke or starving and could have probably fenced his old dagger for quite a sum of money if they had taken it to the right person.
The ornaments that adorned the handle and the scabbard were unlike anything one would ever find in the clover kingdom, that much was something he knew for certain. In a way, there was still a part of him that hoped to one day be able to recover the blade, knowing that there were only so many of them in the known world, and most of them had vanished all at once when the Shadesinger enclave disappeared into nothingness. So if his eye ever fell on one such blade, there would be a very big chance that it was in fact the one that had been stolen from him. But all of that was something to reconsider at a later point in time. For now that he had his new broom, with many thanks to the old craftsman back in Kikka, moving around from place to place had become a whole lot easier for the crimson lion. It had even come to him free of charge!
So when he landed in Kiten, he looked around to see a place that was pretty well guarded for as far as he could tell. It probably had to be, given how close it was to the very border of the diamond country. While it was a place he himself did not know a whole lot about, Gris did know that there had been quite a bit of violence originating there, especially towards the clover kingdom. As such, the fortifications made a lot of sense. Wandering around to find a place to eat, his finely attuned ears picked up on the screams of a fairly young child not too far from where he was, as well as some grown up voices that seemed to try and calm her down. Not thinking too much of it as children cried all the time, it wasn’t until he heard her talking about ghosts and that they had taken her family away that he stopped moving forward and instead turned into the direction of the cries.
During his approach, it wasn’t all that hard to notice that the people that were trying to calm her had no idea as to what they should do with the girl as they did not seem to believe in the whole ghost story. The closer he got, the more he could hear the people around her talk to one another, as one pair of older ladies spoke of how her family had most likely been taking by bandits up in the hills. If they were truly bandits, that would give Griswold every right to step in and try to take care of the situation, though he needed more to go on than just the wider description of “hills”. Approaching the scene, Griswold sank through towards the ground, taking a knee and looking the child in the eyes while speaking to her on her own level. Telling her that he was a magic knight from the royal capital and that he was going to do his very best to return her family to her, the girl ceased her cries for but a moment.
Holding back the tears and the erratic screaming just long enough for him to figure out where she had ran from, he turned to the bystanders that seemed to know more about the whole bandit situation. Asking if she knew about the place the girl mentioned, the ladies brought up an old elven ruin that had long since been buried under rubble and earth, having suffered great damage during one of the wars between countries and having been beaten down by time. Luckily, elven architecture was built to withstand the ages, though nothing would truly last forever. At this point, Griswold was piqued because he wanted to save the little girls’ family, because he wanted to get rid of the bandits that had supposedly been terrorizing the hills and because he wanted to see the elven ruins. Maybe if he searched hard enough, it might bring up some clues as to what might have happened to the Shadesinger enclave, and where the people he had grown up with might have gone.
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Knowing that he would most likely not succeed in the latter, the former two points on his to do list seemed a lot more plausible. Telling the guards to look after the girl like their own lives depended on it, he went to collect his broom and dashed off into the distance, moving ever closer to the borders of the two countries. Somewhere along the way, his eyes fell upon the hills, as well as a faint light glowing on top of one of them. As someone who had frequently spent the night outdoors, he knew very well that it was a fire that had been lit to create some warmth during the later hours of the day, as well as to create visibility while warding off wild animals that were afraid of fire. For Griswold however, the fire acted as a beacon that pulled him in like a moth to a flame. Landing just a little distance away from the fire, he hid his broom and followed his ears to a small campsite.
Even from where he had hid his broom, he could clearly hear men talking amongst themselves about their hauls and how apparently the magic knights did not want to act against them. From the way in which they spoke, they had paid off some of the guards to look the other way in exchange for a small cut of the profits. Primarily stealing from traders, they also collected ransom money from people that came here to do some sightseeing. Making his presence known to the bandits, Griswold held his hands raised up so as to show them that he was not a threat and had just come to talk. Clearly, the bandits had been shocked by his sudden arrival and were not all that hot on just sitting around the fire and letting him approach as he pleased. But that was just fine for him. Over the past month, the elven mage had become a lot more capable in utilizing his grimoire, as well as the magical spells written up within them. To summarize, he was no longer bogged down by his singular ability to shoot fire bolts from his fingertips.
“Calm down, I’ve only come here to talk and maybe find some people. A little girl lost her family near these ruins, spoke about ghosts… men and women in white. The description does not really fit with what I’m seeing, so I doubt you’re responsible, or am I wrong?”
“Girl? Family? We ‘aven’t got a family up ‘ere. We ‘ave however seen your spooks with our own eyes. I wouldn’t know who dey are, or why dey’re here, but dey’ve been wailin’ about on the far side o’ the ruins lately. Dey don’t seem ta like fire too much, so we make sure ta keep one lit see?”
Hearing the man out, it seemed that they too had seen the ghosts wandering about near the ruins, which made him that much more interested in what they had to say. Something had to have happened here that might have made them pop out now as the bandits would most likely not have been able to set up shop in a place that had already been haunted by the time they arrived. If he could figure out what had drawn them out and brought them to actually abduct innocent civilians, it might allow him a chance to fix this whole situation. That was, if they were still alive. Up until now, Griswold had only ever encountered the undead once before, in the forsaken realm when a bunch of summoners performed their rites poorly and ended up summoning a whole pack of flesh eating ghouls into being. They were single minded and stupid, but what they lacked in intelligence was something they made up for in sheer brutality and persistence.
But, from what he had gathered, or rather assumed, was that ghouls were made out of dead flesh, while ghosts or spirits were the souls of the departed that had for some reason come back to earth. Whether it was because their final resting place had been disturbed or because they still had unfinished business to tend to, they were likely quite persistent because of the fact that they were intangible. However, the fact that they seemed to stay away from fire was something he could work with, as fire was one of those things that happened to exist within his book of spells. With a bit of luck, he could get more out of these guys that might be useful to him, though he had to be smart about it. If they were to turn violent on him before he could turn violent on them, it might put him at a disadvantage, especially if he was going to have to also fend off a bunch of angry ghosts afterwards. Regardless of what might happen, time was not on his side, and the family might have already been killed by now.
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“I see, that’s good to know. Though I have to ask, did any of you happen to find something in the ruin recently? It might explain why these “spooks” have come out only recently. Most of them don’t seem to take kindly to having things taken from their final resting place, so they might come looking for it when you’re sleeping.”
“WOT?! Are you sayin’ we stole somethin’ from the crypts below the ruin? That’s bogus, and I ain’t gonna stand for it. We ‘ave a code you see-”
“No, he’s right. When we were down there, looking for stuff we could fence, Merwin took that golden staff you told us not to touch from the crypt. Took it right out of that statue’s hands a few nights ago when you went into town to get shitfaced… Haven’t seen him since then either.”
“I should ‘ave you assholes flayed for that. You, magic knight, if you can bring ol’ Merwin back to me an fix this whole situation with the staff, I’ll see to it that you’ll not leave ‘ere with empty pockets. You understand what I’m sayin’?”
Hearing the two out as they argued, the magic knight wondered whether it had been his use of words and the inclusion of the ghosts coming to find them while they slept that might have tipped the scrawnier of the two into spilling the figurative beans. Clearly something had happened that had something to do with the staff the guy talked about, which made it seem like the two in front of him were not the responsible party. As it turned out, it was this Merwin fellow that he had to go look for as he was the one that had it in his possession. The problem with that was the fact that this Merwin guy could be halfway across the country by now with the staff in hand, meaning he might not even be capable of fixing the situation. The only thing he could do now was to go to the other side of the hill and make his way over to the entrance of the ruins. He had come here to retrieve a family, which was to be his first and foremost priority.
Leaving the two by their campfire, Griswold did not consider them to be an immediate threat as there was only so much damage the two could cause on their own. In little to no time at all, he made his way over the hill to see the remains of the elven ruins below him, as well as a quick and easy path to follow and scale his way down to ground level. As he was doing so, two white figures appeared from the front gate, moving outward with seemingly hostile intent. With gaping maws and vengeance in their eyes, Griswold formed a sphere of flame in his hand and held it outward. At the sight of it, they momentarily cowered and moved back a bit, closing their mouths and looking him over. When they noticed that he was not in fact a regular human on account of his pointy ears, one of them reached out in his direction, pointing a thin and bony finger right at him before speaking in an almost frightening tone of voice.
“An tusa an té a ghoid ár bhfoireann? Cuir ar ais anois é, nó ceangail na daoine eile thíos! (Are you the one who stole our staff? Return it now, or join the others down below!)”
Speaking to him in the same language his family, neighbors and friends used to speak in the Shadesinger enclave, Griswold knew quite well that this was the ancient language of the elves. Whether it was the only language the spirits spoke or whether it was a way of testing if Griswold was truly an elf or not, it took him a little while to take what they said to heart and formulate a sentence in his head. They made it quite clear that they had in fact come here for the staff, that it was the very thing that had forced them to rise from the grave and walk the earth in search of it, but it also stated that they had taken others “down below”, likely implying that they had taken people down into the crypt. At this point, he believed that it was likely the wise decision to be honest with the two so as to not come to blows with them, as well as to make sure the people below remained safe.
“Níl an fhoireann agam, cé go bhfuilim ag iarraidh mo dhícheall é a thabhairt ar ais chugat. Ach le do thoil, scaoil na daoine atá á gcoinneáil agat thíos, tá siad neamhchiontach i ngach ceann de seo. (I do not have your staff, though I am trying my best to bring it back to you. But please, release the people you are holding down below, they are innocent in all of this.)”
As soon as he made it clear that he did not in fact have the staff on his person, the wraiths dashed forward, their thirst for retribution overcoming their common sense. When they did, Griswold did not hesitate in releasing the sphere of flame that he held in his hands, blasting it at them and creating a controlled inferno. With a loud shriek, the spirits turned into a white vapor that retreated into the safety of the ruins, most likely not enjoying the use of magical fire. Proving that the two bandits were correct in their assumption that they seemed to dislike fire, it made him wonder as to whether they had actually tested this theory, or if they had been aware of it before hand. Come to think of it, the bossy one had brought up that they had not been into the crypt below before Griswold or the scrawny man had even mentioned a crypt to begin with, which was also quite strange. For now though, he did not have the time to deal with that as he had people to save.
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Heading into the ruins, he passed down a flight of stairs before ending up in an open room that seemed like it had in its entirety been cut out of a single piece of marble. The level of craftsmanship that had been put into this place was beyond any that Griswold had ever seen in the clover kingdom and beyond. Back in the Shadesinger enclave, everything had simply been grown out of massive trees, nothing had been made out of actually logged or mined material, so he had no idea what true elven architecture was like. Unfortunately, he did not have a whole lot of time to do any sightseeing as he was almost instantly attacked again, this time by five of them. Coming from a dark corridor at the far side of the room that seemed to go down, it was clear to him that this was where he needed to go to find the missing people.
Forming the same spell again, twice this time, he pulled out a lot of mana in order to barrage all five of the spirits with a surge of flame that would otherwise have been very capable of starting a sizable forest fire. Luckily for him, as well as many forest critters, they were inside when he used it. Sending forth the two spheres, Griswold sank down to one knee due to the sudden strain on his magical reservoir, kicking his elven genes into overdrive in an attempt at restoring his lost stores of mana. Upon hitting the targets, this time, they did not turn into a vapor form. Instead, a harrowing scream passed through the halls as the five spirits seemingly disappeared entirely, or at least, so he hoped. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he could not help but wonder if there were any other elven spirits waiting around to come at him. If they were, they might actually be successful this time around.
Even though he knew that he might be in trouble if more of them came, he still chose to move on as there were still innocent civilians in need of saving. Pulling out a sprint and making his way through the room, he took note of the large statues that were made as if they were holding up the ceiling, adorned with what seemed like golden crowns and bracelets and gemstones for eyes. Whoever had been buried here was someone who was important, as well as very rich to have all of this made for them. If it was to be a crypt, the sheer size of it would almost imply that it was some sort of family crypt, which would also explain why there were five spirits in total moving about here. While sprinting across the open space, Griswold heard a strange noise behind him before he suddenly felt a stinging pain in his leg. Tripping and falling down to the floor, he saw that a bolt had penetrated his calf and was bleeding quite a bit.
Hoping that it had not severed a muscle or an artery, he put his hand on it to apply some pressure while looking at the direction the bolt had been fired from. Hearing a loud laughter, he saw that it was the bandit couple, one holding a white gold staff while the other held the crossbow that had been used to shoot him from behind. Clearly these two had been planning this from the start, using Griswold in order to get rid of the spirits for them. Crawling his way towards one of the nearby walls in order to sit up straight, he knew that using magic to heal himself right now would only earn him a secondary bolt. And judging by the distance between them, this next shot was most likely going to be the one that put him to death. For now, he had to go along with it until he could come up with something that he could do, something that would get him out of this precarious situation outside of a body bag.
“You dumb clover dog, you played right into my hands. The whole “frail and scared” and “bossy brawny” act always gets gullible folk like you to do exactly what I hoped for. The family you spoke of? We sent them down here to see whether the spirits had left after I took the staff from this crypt, though I imagine old Anneamdil and his cohorts did not enjoy them trespassing here. Likely blamed them for taking the staff too.”
Taking a moment to break away from his speech, he took a good look around the room, tapping the staff on the marble floor twice to cause all of the surrounding braziers to magically activate and light up the room. When the big man who had previously behaved like the boss of the two had finished reloading his crossbow, he too took a good look around to see all of the riches that were still up for grabs here. Even now as he was laying on the floor, Griswold could tell that there was probably enough wealth stashed away here to give most nobles a run for their money.
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Pondering between making an attempt at casting an offensive spell and buying himself the time he needed in order to get onto his feet or casting a healing spell and hoping he could manage to evade the crossbow bolt somehow, his eyes got pulled away at the sight of another spirit appearing in the center of the room. Hovering above the floor behind the two men, it seemed slightly different from the other white, robed elven spirits that he had dispatched. Even though it shared most of the characteristics, it seemed much more regal in the sense that it wore a crown and pieces of armor over his robes. Judging by what the man holding the staff had just told him, there was a very big chance that this was the one they called Anneamdil, the lord that had this crypt built in his honor. Staring right at Griswold as he in turn stared back at the spirit, something seemed off.
“Mothaíonn sibhse a ghoid foireann naofa mo mhuintir pian míle bás! (You that stole the sacred staff of my people shall feel the pain of a thousand deaths!)”
Releasing a loud, deafening shriek that seemed to make the very room shake, Griswold could feel his ears start to bleed as a ringing remained in his head even after Anneamdil closed his mouth. When the man holding the crossbow turned around and shot his crossbow at the spirit in fear, the bolt passed right through it and lodged itself into the far wall. Clearly these spirits could choose to become incorporeal in order to avoid certain types of damage, just as the others had done in order to survive Griswold’s spells. As everything pointed towards a battle royale, there was no time for the magic knight to waste as he pulled the bolt from his leg and activated his healing spell. When fire erupted from his wound and a warm sensation passed through his entire leg, the elven mage knew that his wound was going to be closing up any moment now, though he would still need to slow things down. If he started running while the spell was still working, it would just tear the wound back open.
Not keeping his eye off of the scene that was unfolding in front of his him, he watched how Anneamdil forced his hand right into the man holding the crossbow, lifting him up off of the ground like he did not weigh a thing. When blood erupted from his mouth, it seemed that the ghost was very much trying to murder these two for stealing his staff and waking him from his eternal slumber. By the time the shock had settled and the guy was capable of thinking and acting again, he swung the staff at it in an attempt at getting it off of his companion. Knocking the crown off of his spectral head, it did not do much else than angering the spirit, who with a flick of his wrist sent the man he had his arm inside of flying across the room. With a loud thump and splat, the body was flung into a wall before it came crashing down to the ground along with some loosened rubble. One this was clear, the man had not lived long enough to feel his bones break on impact, which was likely more than he had deserved.
“Éirigh anois, agus comhlíon toil do mháistir. Scrios na foghail agus faigh an fhoireann ar ais. (Rise now, and fulfill the will of your master. Destroy the trespassers and retrieve the staff.)”
Speaking only those words before the spirit disappeared again, Griswold could swear that it looked into his direction shortly before departing. Whether Anneamdil had also noticed that Griswold was in fact an elf, but could not be arsed to undo what it had done, or had simply been too caught up in his own anger, it was clear to the elven knight that the last words he spoke before leaving were more than just a threat. They were the kind of words that were accompanied by a spell, one he could clearly discern on account of speaking the language. That, and he could hear how the body of the now dead man were moving, cracking back into place as a peculiar miasma rose from him. Slowly rising back to his feet, the man was starting to let out a sort of gurgling growling as the elven mage could still hear the tearing, cracking and breaking inside of his body. Mere seconds after he started getting up, not much was left of the man that he had once been as his teeth were protruding from his lips, his tongue was hanging loosely out of his mouth and bones had protruded from his fingertips like claws.
“Merwin! Buddy! Get a hold of yourself man. Don’t let that filthy elf get in the way of us claiming all of these riches. We can still live like kings, you and me both!”
Now knowing exactly who Merwin was, Griswold felt that much more angry about being duped by these two humans. Or rather, the human and the former human, now walking corpse. Just because he was the kind of person that wished to do the right thing, guys like these would use that against him just so they could get a lot of money out of it. It was sickening to him, and he really wanted to go and get the staff out of the man’s hands and use it to bash his skull in until there was nothing left of it. But he couldn’t do that as his wound was still healing and needed a bit more time before he could really start moving around. Luckily for him however, the risen body of the man called Merwin had his gaze locked on the one wielding the staff. And though he was by no means an expert, he knew enough to accurately state that the risen body was no longer a man, but a ghoul.
A construct of dead flesh and bone, a golem that existed only for the specific purpose it had been given by the one that summoned it. The ones that Griswold had encountered before had been summoned by accident as a result of untrained summoners making a huge mistake, causing the ghouls to rise without any form of control, leading them to run amok and just kill and feed until they had their fill. But since they were undead monstrosities, there was no such thing as full. So if they had been allowed to keep going about their dealings, chances were that they could have devoured an entire town before moving on to the next. This went to show the dangers of magic such as necromancy and improper summoning of things that did not belong in this world, ghouls and wraiths being quite high on that list.
This ghoul however had clearly been summoned in the proper way, and was given clear instructions as to what it needed to do in order to earn the grace of its master so that it might be able to be put to rest again. In a way, it all seemed so hypocritical, what with a wraith that had been woken from the dead waking up the deceased body of someone they had killed with their own hands to aid them. On the other hand, he understood it all quite well, as the people who were responsible for all of this were now being punished for their evil activities. Regardless of who had done what for which reason however, he was going to have to put an end to it sooner or later, as he too had been named by the elven lord that had performed the necromantic spell. So when the ghoul lunged towards his former compatriot, the other guy used the staff to smack him away, only to be attacked a second time.
Not getting a whole lot of time to make his move, Griswold rose to his feet and slowly made his way over to the exit as he would still need a bit of time to restore the mana he needed to take on the elven lord and whatever cohorts he might still have sitting around in the crypts below. Even with his elven genes kicking in to rapidly restore his mana, he also had his leg wound to think about, as well as his “immortal soul”. If he was to rush into it and get killed, he would not be able to help the little girls’ family one bit, especially if he was to be turned into a wraith or a ghoul after he got himself killed down there. No, he had to be smart about this, both for his own sake and for the sake of everyone else involved or he would just end up making things way worse. So as he kept moving, he watched how the ghoul and the staff wielder were fighting one another to the death.
Even though Griswold already knew exactly how things would go down, the man wielding the staff was actually holding out longer than he had imagined. If the staff was magical in nature, the guy had not exactly managed to figure out how to bring it out, aside from being able to light up a room in the elven ruins. When it started looking more and more like the fight was swaying into the favor of the ghoul, Griswold used what magic he could spare in order to create a sphere of solar magic in the palm of his hand as he just watched. He could have made an attempt at saving the man, though doing that would open him up to the risk of getting stabbed in the back again, which would forfeit the lives of those that had been taken down into the crypt. So even if he wanted to save the one life, he could not pick one over at least four others, including his own, as that was not in line with oath he had sworn.
And truth be told, he did not want to save the life of a man that had lied to him, got him shot in the back and pretty much caused this entire thing to happen to everyone involved. Without greedy, backwards people like him, the world would most likely be a much better place, that was something Griswold truly believed with all of his heart. People that were willing to send a whole family of innocent civilians to their potential death just so they could keep an expensive staff was diabolical to say the least. To top it off by sending someone like Griswold, who was a sworn protector of the people to his death by facing down an unknown amount of banshees and wraiths so they could get rid of him if he should survive and claim all of the riches the crypt had to offer just pushed the elven mage over the edge. At this point, he wanted to be there to see the man die.
More than that, he wanted to see the man die at the hands of his accomplice, even though the thing that was fighting him now could no longer be called that. Waiting patiently for the ghoul to finally pass around the staff and sink its fangs and claws into the man, for the screams of pain to drown out the ringing he still heard in his ears after the deafening shriek released by Anneamdil. As soon as that moment came, Griswold fired his spell, sending the sphere flying towards the ghoul that had begun feasting on the still living bandit… grave robber, or whatever he really was. Upon impact, the sphere burst apart, releasing a torrent of heavily compressed flame that engulfed the two completely. As the spell had been intended for the purpose of rapidly making a small room or space uninhabitable, it did not take very long before the two had been cooked to perfection.
Eating away until there was next to nothing for the flames to fuel themselves with, only smoldering cinders remained on the two blackened husks. At this point, there was not really a way of figuring out which of the two had been a ghoul and which had been a human at the time of death… or second death in the case of the grave-robber-turned-ghoul. Wandering over to the two remains, Griswold reached down, pulling the staff out of the hand that had more or less been baked against it. Upon pulling it free, the man’s hand just fell apart in ash and charcoal-like sections. Looking over the white gold staff, it seemed that it had taken little to no damage from the attack at all, proving that it was absolutely a magical weapon. Had it not been, it would likely have been molten down to some extent with the wooden core simply burning away. As he held the staff, he could feel it humming as glowing markings appeared along the length of the weapon. And that was not the only thing that appeared.
“Mar sin bhí an ceart agam fút. Tá tú cosúil liomsa, cosúil le mo mhuintir. Dealraíonn sé gur chuir tú fearg ar mo chuid foirne, fiú mura raibh ann ach ar feadh nóiméid.(So I was right about you. You are like me, like my people. It seems you wielding my staff has lifted the haze of anger, even if only for a moment.)”
Appearing in the same place he had stood before, Anneamdil spoke to him, though his voice and form no longer seemed distorted. Whatever had brought him and his family back from the dead, it was likely a side effect to the strong magic of the staff, lashing out in the form of a curse when it was to be pulled out of what was also its final resting place. Apparently, Griswold holding the weapon allowed it to really awaken its true potential, whereas a human holding the weapon only increased the anger and hate within the elven spirits. Uncertain as to what he should say as he did not know how long it would take before the haze would overtake the elf again, Griswold decided to make it quick.
“Más trí “Cosúil liomsa” a chiallaíonn tú gur elf mé, tá tú ceart. Glacaim leis gur tusa Anneamdil, agus gur leatsa an fhoireann seo? (If by "Like me", you mean that I am an elf, you are correct. I assume you are Anneamdil, and that this staff belongs to you?)”
“Glacann tú i gceart le mo pháiste, ba é Solas Òir mo arm pearsanta. Tá cumhachtaí iontacha aige, agus is cosúil gur adhlacadh taobh liom tar éis dom bás a fháil. Nuair a bhain lámha an duine é as a gcos, thug an draíocht láidir istigh ann mé agus mo theaghlach ar ais mar iad seo ... biotáillí uafásacha. Le do thoil, cuir an fhoireann ar ais ionas gur féidir linn filleadh ar ár slumber. Ní linne an domhan seo a thuilleadh, agus an níos faide a fhanfaimid, is amhlaidh is foréigní a éirímid. Fiú amháin anois, is féidir liom an Clear a mhothú ag sárú orm arís. (You assume correctly my child, Solas Òir was my personal weapon. It possesses formidable powers, and seems to have been buried alongside me after I died. When human hands removed it from its pedestal, the strong magic inside of it brought me and my family back as these... horrific spirits. Please, return the staff so we can return to our slumber. This world is no longer ours, and the longer we stay, the more violent we become. Even now, I can feel the haze overcoming me again.)”
“Is féidir leat brath ormsa, Anneamdil. Cuirfidh mé d’fhoireann ar ais chugat, ní ghortaíonn tú na daoine atá á gcoinneáil sa chaoin. (You can count on me, Anneamdil. I will return your staff to you, just do not hurt the people that are being held in the crypt.)”
With that, Anneamdil’s form seemed to flicker for a moment as he shifted between corporeal and incorporeal. More than that, it was clear to see that he was struggling to maintain his normal, uncorrupted shape as the anger inside of him seemed to once again begin casting a haze over him. Once the haze overcame him, it would only be a matter of time before Griswold would have to fight him, which was not something he could say in full confidence that he’d be able to win. Even though his mana was always quick to replenish itself, the wound he had sustained to his leg was still not fully healed yet, as the bolt had apparently dealt quite a bit of damage beneath the surface. That said, it was nothing his magic could not handle, it just needed a bit more time before it could really finish it up completely.
“Chan urrainn dhomh gealltainn gun leanabh, cho luath ‘s a thèid an rage a-steach, tha eagal orm nach bi eadhon an luchd-obrach comasach air ar toirt air ais a-rithist. Nuair a thachras sin, is dòcha nach fhaic an fheadhainn a tha gan cumail sìos san t-seòmar tiodhlacaidh solas an latha a-rithist. Ach tha am facal agad gum feuchaidh mi. (I can make no promises child, once the rage sinks in, I fear not even the staff will be able to bring us back again. When that happens, those being held down in the burial chamber might not see the light of day again. But you have my word that I will try.)”
Though not exactly what the young mage had been hoping to hear, it was the second best thing he could hope for right now. When Anneamdil shimmered in and out of existence a second time, it seemed that time was even more pressing than he might have imagined. And he already knew that there was not a whole lot of time already, so that was really saying something.
“Gun tuigse. Cha bhith feum agam ach air mionaid airson mo lotan a reamhrachadh agus mo lùth a thoirt air ais. Cho luath ‘s a thèid mo chas a shlànachadh, tha mi a’ tighinn air ais a-steach gus crìoch a chuir air an taisbeanadh uamhasach seo dhut fhèin agus do theaghlach, a bharrachd air an teaghlach a tha glaiste air falbh ann an doimhneachd nan tobhtaichean. Feuch, feuch ri cumail a-mach cho fad ‘s as urrainn dhut, airson ar saoradh uile. (Understood. I will only need a moment to lick my wounds and restore my energy. As soon as my leg is healed, I am coming back in to end this horror show for you and your family, as well as the family locked away in the depths of the ruins. Please, try to hold out as long as you can, for all of our sakes.)”
Receiving an approving nod from the elf lord, Griswold used the staff as a crutch in order to get himself out of the ruins that much sooner. Once he had restored his wounds and filled his mana back to some extent, he would not hesitate to go back in and make everything right again. By now, he had promised to at least two different people that he would make things okay, so failing now would be entirely unacceptable. Turning to look over his shoulder, it seemed that the shade had already disappeared. Hopefully, he had gone back to the crypt to use what control he could maintain over himself and his family to keep the family of humans safe. With what he had seen here in the past hour, it became clear to him that these wraiths were a whole lot more dangerous than he had imagined them to be, being quite capable of killing people and reviving their bodies as flesh eating ghouls. In those regards, it was a good thing that Griswold had come here on his own as he did not want to be around to see his companions die and get raised back to life, or worse.
They could have also tried to kill and raise him, making him fight his own allies in death. Luckily, he would not need to worry about that right now. He did however have a far more real problem to worry about, and that was whether or not these wraiths might try turning the humans in the crypt into ghouls to protect them and reclaim their staff as the corrupted version of Anneamdil had done. As soon as he was healed, he would have to go about finishing things in the smartest way possible. No more people were going to die today, not if he could help it.
