Patrollogs
Eliass Ghost Banishing 250107
On a chilling winter night at Arkwright Cemetery, amidst a snow-covered backdrop under storm-laden skies, an ancient and spectral war reignited with both sides summoning the forces of nature and undead magic against each other. Amidst this chaos, Elias, known as the Stormcaller, alongside Sam, faced the tumult head-on. Elias, harnessing the fury of the storm, raised his hand to the sky, commanding the blizzard with unparalleled mastery, his silhouette becoming one with the frost and lightning. As ghostly armies clashed with frost mancers and ethereal berserkers, Sam, undeterred and in his element, spilled his own blood in a silent, arcane ritual to amplify the stormcaller's power, focusing on breaking the spectral siege with dark, ancient energies.
As the battle escalated, spectral witches and phantom knights joined the fray, their magic clashing violently with the stormcaller’s tempest and Sam's shadowy rites. The ground shook under the weight of spectral soldiers, and vines of dark magic attempted to ensnare the living, drawing them towards an icy grave. Yet, amidst this pandemonium, Elias's connection to the storm turned the tide. With a defiant roar, he summoned a vortex of lightning and wind that shattered the spectral binds and lit the battlefield with an electrifying glow, his power seemingly fueled further by Sam's dark rituals, which directed shadows to aid their fight. In a final, thunderous confrontation, the stormcaller unleashed the storm's full wrath, directing a cataclysmic strike towards the heart of the spectral generals' clash, their elemental energies detonating in a blinding explosion that ultimately silenced the chaos. The ghostly combatants, overwhelmed by the storm's majesty and the mysterious power of the shadows, dissipated back into the earth, leaving behind a solemn, eerie calm, with Elias and Sam standing victorious but exhausted amidst the graveyard's ruins, a testament to their power and the storm's eternal watch.
(Elias's ghost banishing)
[Mon Jan 6 2025]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 21F(-6C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing. There is a first quarter moon.
An eerie stillness settles over the graveyard, the fog thickening like an otherworldly veil. The ground trembles, and two ghostly armies surge forth, locked in a battle that defies time. One side, draped in ethereal armor, charges with spectral weapons, while the other hurls crackling bolts of elemental magic. The air is alight with haunting energy as the spirits, long dead, resume their eternal battle, heedless of the living who are caught in their spectral warpath.
"Oh, if they try, I'm sure I know how to break Lenny's mind piece by piece." Sam smirks, and draws that blade across his palm, letting the scarlet blood drip down onto the snow below. He nods to Elias, and clasps his hand around the human fingerbone on a silver chain around his neck. "Your lead, Stormcaller."
A group of ethereal berserkers charge, only to be met by a rain of icy shards summoned by frost mancers. The temperature plummets, and living breath freezes in the air, while ice forms treacherous patches beneath the feet, threatening to send everyone sprawling upon the ground.
As the group of frost mancers strike out, none of it seems to affect the storm caller in the slightest as it is his own element. Standing resolute amidst the chaos of the spectral battlefield within the cemetery. Elias raises his hand skyward and the blizzard starts to intensify. His silhouette becomes wreathed in frost and lightning, the air around him crackling with barely contained power arcing upward towards the clouds or is it coming from the clouds? It is hard to tell. The blizzard answers his summons, howling like a furious beast as snow swirls into a frenzied tempest. Icy winds lash against the advancing spirits, their spectral forms flickering as the cold saps their otherworldly strength.
Sam for his part, seems to be out of his element. However, this does not stop him, and he points that oily blade at Elias, his lips moving in what seems to be a silent prayer as he lets blood seem over that fingerbone, the runes on it glowing angrily. He breathes in and out slowly, a soft hiss escaping his lips between that silent prayer.
A group of ethereal berserkers charge, only to be met by a rain of icy shards summoned by frost mancers. The temperature plummets, and living breath freezes in the air, while ice forms treacherous patches beneath the feet, threatening to send everyone sprawling upon the ground.
Shifting his gaze around him, Elias scowls for a moment as he seems to look about for a moment, trying to determine something, but what it is unclear. The temperature must be getting colder and colder at this point, between the cyromancer and the spirits whom work at the same goals, to bring down frost and death. For this, Elias moves from his focus from cold, but more into the lightning. Elias raises his hand toward the sky. Dark clouds swirl above, casting a heavy shadow over the battlefield. The temperature continues to plummet, but now it's no longer just ice that threatens his foes. The storm responds to Elias' command, a swirling vortex of lightning and wind crackling in his wake. As a blinding bolt of lightning shoots down, it strikes the ground just beside the frost mancers, sending waves of electrifying energy across the ice, melting it in places and creating cracks in the frozen surface. Elias moves with the grace of someone attuned to the storm, his every step a rhythm that matches the tumultuous skies above.
As Elias whips the storm into a deadly dance, Sam silently draws a triangle in the blood around him, and he shivers heavily. Around him, the air seems to slowly take a strange, oily quality to it, the shadows around the jock deepening as he works. As the lightning illumnates his face, his lips are still praying, though the words might not be english anymore.
A phalanx of ghostly knights charges forward, their spectral lances aimed at a line of mages, who summon a wall of fire in a desperate attempt to halt the advance. The resulting explosion sends waves of heat blasting throughout the graveyard, setting plants and clothing on fire.
Elias stands at the edge of the chaos, his eyes locked on the ghostly knights charging through the smoke and fire. The air around him crackles with latent energy as the flames rage, but his focus remains unshaken. He feels the tension in the atmosphere, the fiery aftermath of the explosion, and the spectral force gathering momentum, an eerie blend of death and fury. Without hesitation, he steps forward, his stance grounded and commanding. The storm that swirls within him stirs, a primal force of nature sensing the need to respond. Elias raises both arms to the heavens, summoning the storm with deliberate power. The winds howl, and the sky darkens as the very air trembles under his will. Seemingly drawing power upon Sam's efforts, where ever Sam is drawing that energy from, it seems to help the stormcaller work. A sudden lightning bolt streaks down from the clouds, splitting the air with an earth-shattering crack. It strikes the ground near Elias and arcs toward the charging knights. The crackling energy courses through the spectral forms of the knights, lighting up their ethereal bodies in a blinding flash. They falter, their ghostly forms momentarily disrupted by the overwhelming power of the lightning strike.
As Sam's movements continue, he seems unbothered by the blast of heat. In fact, the jock seems to be slightly less under-cooled now. His blade shimmers in the air, seemingly actively defying whatevr laws of light or physics the material should adhere to. As Sam proceeds with his rite, from that hand that clasps his focus, a deep darkness seems to bleed, into the triangle below. The shape shimmers, and a blackness overtakes the snow, creating the impression of a deep pit, with Sam at the center, he nods to Elias, focussing his gaze towards the stormcaller, tendrils of shadow seemingly trying to merge with Elias's shadow, fuelling the storm's dance.
As the ground quakes with the stomp of spectral soldiers, a coven of phantom witches weaves spells that entangle the giants in thorny vines. The living are ensnared as well, ghostly vines tearing through the earth to wrap around their limbs, attempting to drag them down.
The earth trembles violently beneath Elias's feet as the spectral giants charge forward, their massive forms shaking the very ground with each stomp. At the same time, the air is thick with the magic of the coven of phantom witches, their voices a haunting chorus as they weave their dark spells. Vines, dark and twisted, burst from the ground, entangling the giants' massive limbs in thick, thorned coils that seem to grow with an unnatural speed. But the witches' magic doesnt stop there, these ghostly vines spread across the battlefield, reaching out to ensnare the living as well. The vines snake through the earth, wrapping around limbs, attempting to pull them into the depths of the graveyard, dragging them toward the cold embrace of the ground. Elias feels the shift in the air, the oppressive weight of dark magic that seeks to bind him, perhaps from Sam himself, and those around him. The sudden feeling of the earth grasping at his legs is enough to pull his attention fully to the present. The storm inside him stirs, awakened by the growing danger. His mind sharpens, his connection to the tempest flowing faster than the witches magic. He takes a deep breath, grounding himself in the storm, then thrusts his arms downward with commanding force. With a mixture of lightning and ice, Elias blasts through the spectral vines in an effort to free himself of their efforts.
As the ground quakes with the stomp of spectral soldiers, a coven of phantom witches weaves spells that entangle the giants in thorny vines. The living are ensnared as well, ghostly vines tearing through the earth to wrap around their limbs, attempting to drag them down.
Meanwhile, Sam moves, suddenly fast like a snake, striking down at those tendrils of vines with something akin to a disdain. Perhaps for the dead, perhaps for the living. The blade seems to cut through the vines angrily, nothing but dust remaining as the edge goes through it, shadowy tendrils licking around that blade, the darkness seemingly favoring that blade, feeding it, or perhaps feeding from it. Either way, Sam is soon re-focussed, and he points that blade at Elias again, channeling his will, or perhaps the will of something else, something ancient, towards the Stormcaller's efforts, darkness strengthening the man.
Once again, Elias feels the shift in the air almost instantly, the ghostly witches, undeterred by the storm's initial onslaught, begin weaving their magic once again. The ground rumbles, and the telltale pulse of phantom energy flows through the graveyard, summoning fresh vines from the depths of the earth. These vines, as dark as shadow, slither and writhe, creeping toward Elias with unrelenting speed. The ground seems to break open in response, the frozen soil parting as thick, thorn-covered tendrils shoot from the earth, attempting to ensnare him once more. As the first vine approaches, he extends a hand, calling upon the storm within him. The air crackles, thick with the scent of ozone, and a furious wind rises around him, swirling in violent gusts. The vines hesitate for a split second as the storm energy lashes at them, but the witches' magic remains strong. With a determined growl, Elias raises his other hand, and the storm responds with an unearthly roar. Whirling his arms around in a sudden blast, a shockwave of wind bursts outward in all directions, sending the spectral vines disintegrating like mist caught by a firm wind. This however, causes Elias to fall to a knee. Hopefully with Sam's effects will help make the difference. The shadows start to bend and twist as the stormcaller seems to pull upon them without second thought.
Two spectral generals lock eyes from across the battlefield as their armies collide in a chaotic whirlwind of steel and spell. One of them has a blade wreathed in fire; the other conjures a vertex of ice-cold magic around him - their collision sends a shockwave rippling through the graveyard that knocks everyone off their feet and cracks all nearby gravestones right in half.
Once the vines are gone, the shadows, at Elias's behest, react to danger. Like hungry snakes, they shoot forward, starting to pull those witches and warlocks off into the pit surrounding Sam.
At the same time, that shockwave happens, and it is now Sam's turn to fall to a knee, letting out a soft "Fuckin' ay..." His focus momentarily gone, the shadow saround him waver, before he cuts another cut across his palm, and closes his hands around a charred, draconic ring, the design and feel to it utterly different. He speaks, damningly. "By slain dragons, and reforged pacts, DIE!"
Feeling the intensity build between the spirit generals, a clash of fire and ice, of heat and cold, a tempest waiting to explode. And then, the inevitable happens. They charge toward each other, their forces parting in anticipation. The moment their weapons meet, the collision sends a shockwave through the graveyard, a violent burst of elemental energy that rattles the very earth beneath them. The shockwave knocks every combatant off their feet, the force of it splitting gravestones in half and sending debris flying in all directions. Elias is thrown backward by the sheer force of the impact, but he doesn't fall. His body instinctively reacts, the storm within him raging to counter the elemental chaos. He lands with his knees bent and his hands braced on the ground, feeling the tremors ripple through the earth. His gray-blue eyes lock on the two generals, who stand as titans at the center of the eruption, their elemental powers clashing with a ferocity that threatens to tear the graveyard apart. The storm inside Elias stirs, agitated by the raw power that fills the air. He pushes himself up to his feet, steadying himself as the winds around him begin to pick up once more. He feels the heat from the flames and the biting chill from the ice, their forces intertwining in a violent storm of magic. The graveyard is in turmoil, the earth cracked, the air thick with the scent of ozone, smoke, and frost. Elias raises his arms toward the heavens, his voice low but powerful as he calls upon the storms full might. The dark clouds overhead swirl, responding to his command, and the winds intensify. Lightning arcs across the sky, drawn to the energy swirling between the two generals. The temperature drops sharply, the air charged with a deadly electric hum as Elias channels the storms fury, "Heed me spirits of the storm, the spirits of the eternal blizzard, cast off these echoes for they do not belong here!" With a single, fluid motion, Elias summons the storms power and sends a bolt of lightning crashing toward the epicenter of the generals' clash. The lightning strikes with blinding speed, tearing through the very air and slamming into the heart of the elemental collision. The energy from the lightning joins the eruption of fire and ice, amplifying the destructive force in a blinding flash of light.
A sudden gust of wind sweeps through the graveyard, scattering the remnants of battle - ashes, shattered stones, and burned foliage - until all that's left is an unsettling calm. The ghostly combatants begin to falter, their spectral forms flickering like dying embers. One by one, they retreat into the earth, their energy spent, until the graveyard is once again quiet.
As the battle escalated, spectral witches and phantom knights joined the fray, their magic clashing violently with the stormcaller’s tempest and Sam's shadowy rites. The ground shook under the weight of spectral soldiers, and vines of dark magic attempted to ensnare the living, drawing them towards an icy grave. Yet, amidst this pandemonium, Elias's connection to the storm turned the tide. With a defiant roar, he summoned a vortex of lightning and wind that shattered the spectral binds and lit the battlefield with an electrifying glow, his power seemingly fueled further by Sam's dark rituals, which directed shadows to aid their fight. In a final, thunderous confrontation, the stormcaller unleashed the storm's full wrath, directing a cataclysmic strike towards the heart of the spectral generals' clash, their elemental energies detonating in a blinding explosion that ultimately silenced the chaos. The ghostly combatants, overwhelmed by the storm's majesty and the mysterious power of the shadows, dissipated back into the earth, leaving behind a solemn, eerie calm, with Elias and Sam standing victorious but exhausted amidst the graveyard's ruins, a testament to their power and the storm's eternal watch.
(Elias's ghost banishing)
[Mon Jan 6 2025]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 21F(-6C) degrees, and the sky is covered by dark grey stormclouds. It's snowing. There is a first quarter moon.
An eerie stillness settles over the graveyard, the fog thickening like an otherworldly veil. The ground trembles, and two ghostly armies surge forth, locked in a battle that defies time. One side, draped in ethereal armor, charges with spectral weapons, while the other hurls crackling bolts of elemental magic. The air is alight with haunting energy as the spirits, long dead, resume their eternal battle, heedless of the living who are caught in their spectral warpath.
"Oh, if they try, I'm sure I know how to break Lenny's mind piece by piece." Sam smirks, and draws that blade across his palm, letting the scarlet blood drip down onto the snow below. He nods to Elias, and clasps his hand around the human fingerbone on a silver chain around his neck. "Your lead, Stormcaller."
A group of ethereal berserkers charge, only to be met by a rain of icy shards summoned by frost mancers. The temperature plummets, and living breath freezes in the air, while ice forms treacherous patches beneath the feet, threatening to send everyone sprawling upon the ground.
As the group of frost mancers strike out, none of it seems to affect the storm caller in the slightest as it is his own element. Standing resolute amidst the chaos of the spectral battlefield within the cemetery. Elias raises his hand skyward and the blizzard starts to intensify. His silhouette becomes wreathed in frost and lightning, the air around him crackling with barely contained power arcing upward towards the clouds or is it coming from the clouds? It is hard to tell. The blizzard answers his summons, howling like a furious beast as snow swirls into a frenzied tempest. Icy winds lash against the advancing spirits, their spectral forms flickering as the cold saps their otherworldly strength.
Sam for his part, seems to be out of his element. However, this does not stop him, and he points that oily blade at Elias, his lips moving in what seems to be a silent prayer as he lets blood seem over that fingerbone, the runes on it glowing angrily. He breathes in and out slowly, a soft hiss escaping his lips between that silent prayer.
A group of ethereal berserkers charge, only to be met by a rain of icy shards summoned by frost mancers. The temperature plummets, and living breath freezes in the air, while ice forms treacherous patches beneath the feet, threatening to send everyone sprawling upon the ground.
Shifting his gaze around him, Elias scowls for a moment as he seems to look about for a moment, trying to determine something, but what it is unclear. The temperature must be getting colder and colder at this point, between the cyromancer and the spirits whom work at the same goals, to bring down frost and death. For this, Elias moves from his focus from cold, but more into the lightning. Elias raises his hand toward the sky. Dark clouds swirl above, casting a heavy shadow over the battlefield. The temperature continues to plummet, but now it's no longer just ice that threatens his foes. The storm responds to Elias' command, a swirling vortex of lightning and wind crackling in his wake. As a blinding bolt of lightning shoots down, it strikes the ground just beside the frost mancers, sending waves of electrifying energy across the ice, melting it in places and creating cracks in the frozen surface. Elias moves with the grace of someone attuned to the storm, his every step a rhythm that matches the tumultuous skies above.
As Elias whips the storm into a deadly dance, Sam silently draws a triangle in the blood around him, and he shivers heavily. Around him, the air seems to slowly take a strange, oily quality to it, the shadows around the jock deepening as he works. As the lightning illumnates his face, his lips are still praying, though the words might not be english anymore.
A phalanx of ghostly knights charges forward, their spectral lances aimed at a line of mages, who summon a wall of fire in a desperate attempt to halt the advance. The resulting explosion sends waves of heat blasting throughout the graveyard, setting plants and clothing on fire.
Elias stands at the edge of the chaos, his eyes locked on the ghostly knights charging through the smoke and fire. The air around him crackles with latent energy as the flames rage, but his focus remains unshaken. He feels the tension in the atmosphere, the fiery aftermath of the explosion, and the spectral force gathering momentum, an eerie blend of death and fury. Without hesitation, he steps forward, his stance grounded and commanding. The storm that swirls within him stirs, a primal force of nature sensing the need to respond. Elias raises both arms to the heavens, summoning the storm with deliberate power. The winds howl, and the sky darkens as the very air trembles under his will. Seemingly drawing power upon Sam's efforts, where ever Sam is drawing that energy from, it seems to help the stormcaller work. A sudden lightning bolt streaks down from the clouds, splitting the air with an earth-shattering crack. It strikes the ground near Elias and arcs toward the charging knights. The crackling energy courses through the spectral forms of the knights, lighting up their ethereal bodies in a blinding flash. They falter, their ghostly forms momentarily disrupted by the overwhelming power of the lightning strike.
As Sam's movements continue, he seems unbothered by the blast of heat. In fact, the jock seems to be slightly less under-cooled now. His blade shimmers in the air, seemingly actively defying whatevr laws of light or physics the material should adhere to. As Sam proceeds with his rite, from that hand that clasps his focus, a deep darkness seems to bleed, into the triangle below. The shape shimmers, and a blackness overtakes the snow, creating the impression of a deep pit, with Sam at the center, he nods to Elias, focussing his gaze towards the stormcaller, tendrils of shadow seemingly trying to merge with Elias's shadow, fuelling the storm's dance.
As the ground quakes with the stomp of spectral soldiers, a coven of phantom witches weaves spells that entangle the giants in thorny vines. The living are ensnared as well, ghostly vines tearing through the earth to wrap around their limbs, attempting to drag them down.
The earth trembles violently beneath Elias's feet as the spectral giants charge forward, their massive forms shaking the very ground with each stomp. At the same time, the air is thick with the magic of the coven of phantom witches, their voices a haunting chorus as they weave their dark spells. Vines, dark and twisted, burst from the ground, entangling the giants' massive limbs in thick, thorned coils that seem to grow with an unnatural speed. But the witches' magic doesnt stop there, these ghostly vines spread across the battlefield, reaching out to ensnare the living as well. The vines snake through the earth, wrapping around limbs, attempting to pull them into the depths of the graveyard, dragging them toward the cold embrace of the ground. Elias feels the shift in the air, the oppressive weight of dark magic that seeks to bind him, perhaps from Sam himself, and those around him. The sudden feeling of the earth grasping at his legs is enough to pull his attention fully to the present. The storm inside him stirs, awakened by the growing danger. His mind sharpens, his connection to the tempest flowing faster than the witches magic. He takes a deep breath, grounding himself in the storm, then thrusts his arms downward with commanding force. With a mixture of lightning and ice, Elias blasts through the spectral vines in an effort to free himself of their efforts.
As the ground quakes with the stomp of spectral soldiers, a coven of phantom witches weaves spells that entangle the giants in thorny vines. The living are ensnared as well, ghostly vines tearing through the earth to wrap around their limbs, attempting to drag them down.
Meanwhile, Sam moves, suddenly fast like a snake, striking down at those tendrils of vines with something akin to a disdain. Perhaps for the dead, perhaps for the living. The blade seems to cut through the vines angrily, nothing but dust remaining as the edge goes through it, shadowy tendrils licking around that blade, the darkness seemingly favoring that blade, feeding it, or perhaps feeding from it. Either way, Sam is soon re-focussed, and he points that blade at Elias again, channeling his will, or perhaps the will of something else, something ancient, towards the Stormcaller's efforts, darkness strengthening the man.
Once again, Elias feels the shift in the air almost instantly, the ghostly witches, undeterred by the storm's initial onslaught, begin weaving their magic once again. The ground rumbles, and the telltale pulse of phantom energy flows through the graveyard, summoning fresh vines from the depths of the earth. These vines, as dark as shadow, slither and writhe, creeping toward Elias with unrelenting speed. The ground seems to break open in response, the frozen soil parting as thick, thorn-covered tendrils shoot from the earth, attempting to ensnare him once more. As the first vine approaches, he extends a hand, calling upon the storm within him. The air crackles, thick with the scent of ozone, and a furious wind rises around him, swirling in violent gusts. The vines hesitate for a split second as the storm energy lashes at them, but the witches' magic remains strong. With a determined growl, Elias raises his other hand, and the storm responds with an unearthly roar. Whirling his arms around in a sudden blast, a shockwave of wind bursts outward in all directions, sending the spectral vines disintegrating like mist caught by a firm wind. This however, causes Elias to fall to a knee. Hopefully with Sam's effects will help make the difference. The shadows start to bend and twist as the stormcaller seems to pull upon them without second thought.
Two spectral generals lock eyes from across the battlefield as their armies collide in a chaotic whirlwind of steel and spell. One of them has a blade wreathed in fire; the other conjures a vertex of ice-cold magic around him - their collision sends a shockwave rippling through the graveyard that knocks everyone off their feet and cracks all nearby gravestones right in half.
Once the vines are gone, the shadows, at Elias's behest, react to danger. Like hungry snakes, they shoot forward, starting to pull those witches and warlocks off into the pit surrounding Sam.
At the same time, that shockwave happens, and it is now Sam's turn to fall to a knee, letting out a soft "Fuckin' ay..." His focus momentarily gone, the shadow saround him waver, before he cuts another cut across his palm, and closes his hands around a charred, draconic ring, the design and feel to it utterly different. He speaks, damningly. "By slain dragons, and reforged pacts, DIE!"
Feeling the intensity build between the spirit generals, a clash of fire and ice, of heat and cold, a tempest waiting to explode. And then, the inevitable happens. They charge toward each other, their forces parting in anticipation. The moment their weapons meet, the collision sends a shockwave through the graveyard, a violent burst of elemental energy that rattles the very earth beneath them. The shockwave knocks every combatant off their feet, the force of it splitting gravestones in half and sending debris flying in all directions. Elias is thrown backward by the sheer force of the impact, but he doesn't fall. His body instinctively reacts, the storm within him raging to counter the elemental chaos. He lands with his knees bent and his hands braced on the ground, feeling the tremors ripple through the earth. His gray-blue eyes lock on the two generals, who stand as titans at the center of the eruption, their elemental powers clashing with a ferocity that threatens to tear the graveyard apart. The storm inside Elias stirs, agitated by the raw power that fills the air. He pushes himself up to his feet, steadying himself as the winds around him begin to pick up once more. He feels the heat from the flames and the biting chill from the ice, their forces intertwining in a violent storm of magic. The graveyard is in turmoil, the earth cracked, the air thick with the scent of ozone, smoke, and frost. Elias raises his arms toward the heavens, his voice low but powerful as he calls upon the storms full might. The dark clouds overhead swirl, responding to his command, and the winds intensify. Lightning arcs across the sky, drawn to the energy swirling between the two generals. The temperature drops sharply, the air charged with a deadly electric hum as Elias channels the storms fury, "Heed me spirits of the storm, the spirits of the eternal blizzard, cast off these echoes for they do not belong here!" With a single, fluid motion, Elias summons the storms power and sends a bolt of lightning crashing toward the epicenter of the generals' clash. The lightning strikes with blinding speed, tearing through the very air and slamming into the heart of the elemental collision. The energy from the lightning joins the eruption of fire and ice, amplifying the destructive force in a blinding flash of light.
A sudden gust of wind sweeps through the graveyard, scattering the remnants of battle - ashes, shattered stones, and burned foliage - until all that's left is an unsettling calm. The ghostly combatants begin to falter, their spectral forms flickering like dying embers. One by one, they retreat into the earth, their energy spent, until the graveyard is once again quiet.