(The full and unedited version of Shard's tale.
Reference)
...I was born Shadrius Athere, the only son in my family. My father was a Nolthrir like myself, so I am told - I never knew him. My mother, a Lemur, raised my two sisters and I as best as she was able. When she judged us old enough, she took each aside to explain his absence. Her story changed each time, so it was only much later that I learned the truth of the matter - he had left her for a younger Diaboli girl in another outpost and died of disease barely a year later.
My mother was not exceptionally beautiful for a Lemur, though her grace put the Xacha and Ylian woman in our outpost to shame. Her skill was cooking, and she did it well, but though our post was small her tasks were not, and often she left her children to their own devices. My sisters roamed the compound - both Nolthrir, owing to my father's strong seed. I prefered intellectual studies, and spent many hours in my room, reading the outpost's meager selection of books.
The wraith came when I was twelve. For a youth who was always terrified of the darkness, the creature was my worst nightmare come to life. I huddled beside my nightstand, bathed in the blue glow of my crystal lamp, and wept as I heard the screams of those outside. The guards could do nothing. The people did less than nothing. Ravenous, he consumed them all.
When he came for me, the door did not fly open. The wraith had no need of doors. He simply 'appeared' from the darkness, staring down at me with ice-blue slits. The image haunts me to this day. And then, to my confusion, the wraith spoke. His voice was a sibiliant, echoing hiss that reverberated in my mind in a way I still do not fully understand. He spoke directly into my head.
"You fear me, child," he whispered. "Rightly so. Your fellows are ash and dust. But you will not share their fate." I gazed up at him, but my throat was choked with fear and I could not speak. "...you wish to know why...?" the wraith prompted, seeing my mouth opening and closing uselessly. I nodded.
"Come. Step to the window. What life is left for you here?" I was still too terrified to move, but the wraith backed away into the shadows, giving me a clear view through my bedroom window. In some places, small fires burned - torches knocked awry, or Red Way spells cast off-target. A fine dust drifted through the air. 'Your fellows are ash and dust' he said. This was all that remained of my mother? My sisters? A cold nausea filled me and I leaned to the side, vomiting. The wraith shook with silent, malicious laughter.
"You understand, then. I have fed well on them - I have no need to consume you, fish-elf. But you may yet have a purpose in your short mortal life. Come with me, and I will show you how to find it." Feeling numb, I rose and stepped forward... the moment I left the circle of light, the wraith's hand darted out. His sharp claws dug deep into my chest, drawing blood, and I was certain he had lied. But instead, I felt a rush of power fill me. Icy blue light flared from his hand, and when I looked down at the wound, I saw the same glows reflected in a trio of dots on my chest. The wraith had marked me as his own.
"Yours is a precious gift, fish-elf. Follow me, and I will teach you how to use it properly." I was lost, confused, terrified and alone. What choice did I have? The wraith opened the door, and I followed him out.
Perhaps it would have been better for him to kill me.
I became the wraith's perfect weapon - a tool that could reach where he could not. The defenses other fortresses built to protect their inhabitants from his predations... they could not stop me. I learned quickly that the wraith, Xathen Ut'Phaere, had a dire weakness to certain types of magic and weaponry. And with each voracious strike, those who knew these weaknesses became fewer in number. Eventually, I was the only one left.
There were other wraiths. Tzol Dathos, a smallish Etherwight who hunted the tunnels from above - he favored dropping bodily onto his prey, draining them to ash before they struck the earth. Kai'Zoth Tuun 'the Mad' - who was forever changing form and whose eyes glowed a scorching red. To my knowledge, he was the only Etherwight whose weakness was to the Red Way... but I digress. In my travels with Xathen, I met many others. Of them all, I came to realize Ut'Phaere was the most cunning. He was the only one to keep a mortal in his thrall. Where other wraiths saw impassable barriers, Xathen saw a challenge, and his control over shadowforms was both more precise and more creative than any of the others...
As you might guess, I was intent on breaking free of the terrible creature, and killing him if possible. My moments alone were rare - Xathen was everpresent in the darkness, always listening and sensing, reaching through the shadows of the Labyrinth in search of new prey or new challenges. My only respite came through my meditations - to sit surrounded by glowing sapphire crystals, focusing my own meager shadow abilities to control them better under duress. This was what I told Xathen, that to employ my powers under adversity would make them stronger when I truly needed them. And so I would practice this way, until I felt his consciousness had stretched too thin to sense me properly. Then, I would study.
From every fortress I was forced to help decimate, I salvaged what knowledge I could. Books on metallurgy, on forging weaponry, on gemcutting, the arts of the Blue Way, and many others. My pack was heavy before long, but I endured the weight with the hope that it would free me. And little by little, it did. A sword of platinum would carve a wraith's flesh. Blue Way spells would damage, and even discorporeate him. And to destroy a wraith, one needed only to bathe their weakened shadowmerged form from all sides in the light of a sapphire - they would burn to ash until there was nothing left.
I was not satisfied. Xathen was no ordinary wraith, and I could not content myself with the notion of merely dispersing him - I wanted his vile presence destroyed. So as we passed through the tunnels, day after day, I gathered what materials I needed. Sapphire crystals, chunks of ore, strips of leather from my fallen prey (for I needed to eat as well)... in secret, I began to construct a blade that might finally strike fear into the soulless hearts of the Etherwights. Slow, painstaking years I spent on this task. Before I could complete it however, Xathen turned his attention to the Frostfire outpost.
That was the beginning of my salvation. We walked a full day to reach it. As we travelled, he told me what to expect, and what he expected of me in turn.
"The lessons I sought to obliterate have surfaced again," he growled. "They surround their walls with blue crystal lamps, edge the doors in wraithbane (his word for platinum metals), and as many as half their number are skilled in ice magic." I felt sick inside as he told me in depth of his plans to tear the fortification apart. He was determined that no place should ever be safe from his kind, and viewed the construction of Frostfire as though it were a gauntlet hurled down in challenge. "You have grown strong in your magecraft," he continued. "I have seen how little the crystal lights affect your shadow. Go to their walls, show no fear. They will grant you entrance, and make you one of them. I will attack twice - on the second day, you will repel me. On the fifth, when you have gained their trust, shatter the lights. We will show them truth - there is no light in this world that does not cast a shadow."
My friends, I cannot tell you the joy my heart felt that day. To have five days of my own, without fear that Xathen might discover my masterwork? It was paradise, come at last. The wraith took me as a boy of twelve... I was thirty-seven when I tasted true freedom again.
Xathen's plan worked exactly as he predicted it. The Frostfire guards saw me alone, bathed me in sapphire light, and opened the doors. I demonstrated my skills with the Blue Way - they were only too happy to enlist me as a guard, after some basic instruction and protocol.
The inside of the fortress was clean and well-kept. It had none of the grime or wear I had seen in older outposts, and the commander of the guard confirmed that it was built specifically to combat the menace of Etherwights in the deep tunnels. Shield, his name was, a Lemur both softspoken and very stern - he did not raise his voice, but when he spoke, everyone listened. I took an instant liking to him.
Despite my strong desire to, I did not tell them of my shadowmark, that I was Xathen's instrument, or of his purpose for my presence there. I trained twice as hard as the other guards, and worked feverishly with my wraith-killing blade whenever the opportunity presented itself. In those first two days, I lived more than in all my years of captivity. I did not sleep - Xathen's relentless presence had slowly worn away my need of it... I could go three days on barely an hour's rest, and Xathen had allowed me a full night's worth before sending me to the gates.
Xathen was true to his word. On the second night, two hours into my shift, the wraith struck. He came at us like a black maelstrom, shaking rocks from the walls and lashing out again and again with his ethereal shadowmass. Our casters countered the shrapnel easily, and the constant glow of the crystals evaporated his strikes before they reached us. Frostfire Outpost seemed impenetrable, and I am certain that even allowing for his plan, he had hoped to cause some stir and perhaps take one or two of us with him - his utter impotence must have infuriated him greatly, for we could hear his cries of rage as the wraith receeded into the darkness.
Day Two had come to pass - I had only three more before Xathen returned, expecting to demolish the fortress and drain its people to ash. I could spare no more time, and fitted the last pieces of sapphire into my weapon while on duty. Until now I had worked in relative secrecy, and when the blade was complete, my fellows saw and questioned it.
I chose my words carefully, telling them how a wraith had killed my family... that I had studied their weaknesses, and built my blade to match - leaving the better part of my history with Xathen unmentioned. This satisfied them, and I breathed a sigh of relief. But though the blade was finished, my weapon was not yet whole. To sunder an Etherwight, I planned to combine everything the wraiths found anathemic. The blade was platinum, set with chunks of sapphire - but it was still only a sword, and a fragile one at that. On the third day, when my shift was over, I sought out the most powerful of our mages.
It took several hours to explain my goals, and what I desired from him. Were I in any other fortress in the Stone Labyrinths, such requests would have been outlandish at best... in Frostfire, I was surrounded by those with similar ambitions. The mage, Phedreus, was only too happy to oblige me - I still marvel at the power of the enchantments he placed upon my sword. There was one final step needed however, before I would consider it 'ready' - a step I had only the barest knowledge of. Then, in the final two days before the wraith's next assault, it ceased to matter.
...I lived for so long, day to day under Xathen's grim shadow, stealing my precious moments of secrecy, and privately obsessing over a weapon to be his undoing. I had not spared thought for others since my childhood.
When Artanis came to me, I did not know what to say. You folk, who have lived among your fellows - Diaboli, Lemur, Ylian, Xacha, Enkidukai, and so many others - will find it difficult to understand... the very concept of a woman was foreign to me. I knew more of an Etherwight's interests than hers. But she did not press me... perhaps knowing I would come to find her when I was ready. And so I did, on my fourth night in Frostfire.
I wept when my family was destroyed. I shed tears for every fortress I helped sunder in Xathen's name. But that night, in her chambers, for the first and only time in my life, I cried with joy. Artanis was beautiful for a Dermorian, and her touch gentle. She undressed before me - a memory I shall treasure like no other.
For those of you imagining that I became a man that night... alas, you imagine wrong. In my fledgling desires, I had forgotten Xathen's accursed mark.
In any other fortress, it may have been overlooked. Perhaps not even questioned. But the same fortunes that so favored me in the enchantment of my wraith-killer turned cold and bitter that night. When Artanis unbuttoned my shirt, she knew exactly what she gazed upon, and spared only a moment to fetch her robe before summoning the guards. I was imprisoned without question and waited out the night in dread of the next evening's assault.
In the morning, it was Shield himself who brought me breakfast. Both Artanis and Phedreus were at his side as he opened my cell - by then, I was only too happy to explain everything. I told them what I could remember of my family, and that fateful night Xathen marked me. My long years spent under his eye and in his service, and my secret efforts to undo him. I bade them fetch my wraith-killer, but Phedreus shook his head and confirmed that it was indeed a weapon purpose-built to destroy the vile creatures. And at last, I told them of Xathen's purpose for me...
That evening I stood upon the ramparts in my uniform, staring out into the darkness of the tunnels. Until that night, I had only ever used my shadow-abilities for stealth, to blend into the darkness, to move swiftly and silently where I was not meant to go. In my heart however, I had always known that Xathen's mark bound me to him in ways beyond my own understanding. I could sense him - feel him - moving closer. The instant I saw his ice-blue slits appear, I shut off my crystal lamp, and dashed for the next-nearest one. The guard there stared at me in confusion. Words escaped his lips, suddenly alert, but my gauntlet-sheathed fist struck him squarely under the jaw, laying him out like a sack of grain. Two lights doused proved all the opening Xathen needed. Instantly, the wraith was inside the compound. I still remember his triumphant roar as he lunged towards the barracks door to begin feeding.
Our trap had been sprung. Grinning, I turned my lamp back on. At the end of the wall, another Frostfire guard stepped forward and relit my own. Xathen Ut'Phaere, most cunning of the Etherwights, was well and truly caged.
Brilliant blue-crystal light flared out of the barracks as the door swung open, Phedreus at the front wielding a long silver staff. More sapphire crystals flared to life, trapping Xathen in the courtyard - for no Etherwight can pass through a sapphire's light unharmed, nor employ its shadow to his own ends. The wraith howled with rage, backing to the center of the compound. "What betrayal is this, fish-elf?!?" he snarled, glaring at me with raw hatred. "I gave you your life - I gave you purpose!"
I drew my wraith-killer from under my cloak. "My purpose," I declared loudly, "is to destroy your kind." I leapt from the ramparts, diving fearlessly at Xathen. The wraith's only defenses rose from the fog at his feet - he could not even lift shadowmass from the wavering darkness the crystals did not banish. Seeing me approach however, he employed a weapon I had almost never witnessed. From his back, between the largest of his spiky protrusions, he lifted a massive sword. The blade alone was as large as I, with a hilt scaled to match. Glittering blue runes glowed along its length.
Orbs of water, shards of ice, and other Blue Way spells assaulted the wraith from all sides - those he could not block with the enormous greatsword, he dodged or sacrificed a shadowmass barrier toward. Then I struck out with my wraith-killer. The blade passed smoothly through him, drawing a brilliant cerulean gash from his upper thigh to his knee, nearly severing the leg. Lightning played across his shadowflesh, eating hungrily at him, and the explosion of magic alone caused the powerful wraith to recoil in agony - but as excruciating as my blow was, it did not bring him down as I had hoped. I struck again, but his sword was not as vulnerable to my weapon as his flesh and halted the blade. His free hand darted out, claws piercing my chest armor and sinking deep into the skin.
"I gave you a gift, fish-elf," he snarled through needle-like teeth. "You waste it in the services of pathetic mortal wretches. They are food, nothing more." He gave a cruel twist, digging deeper, and a pain unlike any other seared through my bones. "You are unworthy." He hurled my battered, spasming body to the ground.
"Shadrius!" a voice cried out. Artanis. Through the blinding pain, I heard her voice... but I could not answer. I could not even breathe. Somewhere high above, I heard a rumble of earth, and there came a heavy blow against my legs. I felt as though it should hurt, but if there was pain, it did not even register. The sapphire lights seemed to be fading, and I lifted my head against the twilight.
Someone had wrenched a number of heavy stones from the cavern ceiling, bringing a small mountain of rock and earth down on the wraith. Bound by physical form, it took time for Xathen to work himself free, and as he did the stone melted and flowed, shaping itself around his body. What remained was a grotesque statue of the wraith, buried from the waist down, clawing at the sky. Then Artanis was kneeling over me, a stricken look on her face. "Shadrius, speak to me..."
I wish... that I could have said something to her in that moment. Anything. It was her magic that entombed Xathen. Her touch that had given me back some small measure of my humanity. But there was no air in my chest to form words - not even the 'Thank you' she deserved.
It is impossible for me to explain what happened next. I had heard tales of the Death Realm, but never had I passed into it. I am certain my experience was vastly different from what others feel, for the first sight I beheld when my eyes reopened were a pair of flesh-golems, standing on either side of me. One held my prized wraith-killer, while the other gripped me by a shoulder and hauled my body upright. "Stand when in the presence of your Judgement," it growled, its voice unnaturally deep.
In front of me, I saw a small assembly of crystal shards, their lengths resembling dark glass and pulsing with a dull violet light. "He reeks of Taint," my other guardian declared, speaking to the crystals. I heard nothing, but its stump of a neck bowed slightly - perhaps nodding, if it had posessed a head to nod with. What passed between the corroded flesh-golems and the crystal was beyond my understanding, but I quickly arrived at the conclusion that the wraiths were considered unholy in this place.
"Please," I gasped, finally able to speak. "Please... let me explain myself." The words tumbled from my lips - how I was taken as a boy, the years under Xathen's watch, my secret construction of the blade, and the careful trap we had laid at Frostfire to finally destroy him. The two guardians watched impassively, unblinking. Several moments of silence followed, but I could tell from the look in the guardians' eyes and the occasional half-nod that the crystals were speaking. Then, to my astonishment, I heard a voice as well.
"All your life, you have served these wraiths - themselves, tools of the corrupt. You bore their mark, and employed their powers. Such acts deserve only death. But you have worked to undo them as well, and your weapon shows promise." There was another long silence, during which I held my breath for what felt like an eternity. "I offer you a choice - give your life to the Crystals and strengthen them, or give your service to me and perform the task I set for you."
As you might guess, I picked the second one. It took a year of my life in this world, trying to find my way back to the living, for the Death Guardians would not aid me. Xathen had stripped me of my shadow at Frostfire - this is what killed me. But in their eyes I was still tainted, and so I was forced to seek the road back to life on my own. The passage I finally discovered placed me on the doorstep of a crumbling ruin. The fortress I had once called 'home' in my childhood.
It was then that I took the name Shard. My soul - the life energy that Etherwights fed upon - was bound and sealed to my blade. This was the final step I had hoped to complete, but never had I imagined I would have to die for it to happen. No wraith could drain me without feeling the annihilating effects I had placed upon the sword. It was - and is - the most literal embodiment of the term Wraithbane, and so I named it such and took the title as my surname. With my hand to guide it and soul to feed it, the weapon could destroy a wraith with a single blow, if delivered properly.
This was the task the voice from the crystals gave me. To hunt the Etherwights. To destroy them. And I did so with lethal precision. Tzol, Kai'Zoth, and so many others - Wraithbane devoured them as readily as the wraiths consumed their prey. Their runed shadowmass weapons shattered and turned to dust. Their ethereal bodies left even less behind.
That is my purpose here. Entomed in stone, only Xathen Ut'Phaere had escaped my notice. He is the last Etherwight left alive, and when I have destroyed him my task is done. Perhaps then, I may finally rest... but who can say what the future holds?
