Patrollogs
Keiths Ghost Banishing 250215
In the heart of Arkwright Cemetery, an unexpected participant finds himself amidst an eternal conflict between spectral armies. Keith, with his rebel’s appearance and an attitude to match, stands at the periphery of a battlefield where ghostly knights and mages clash with unearthly ferocity. Despite his initial reluctance to engage, the young outsider is quickly drawn into the fray when an explosion sets his jacket on fire, forcing him to seek refuge in a nearby mausoleum. Inside, Keith scrambles for a way to fend off the ethereal combatants, relying on a hastily prepared charm and a set of incantations he hardly understands. His desperate attempts to invoke some form of magic seem futile, as the outside battle only intensifies, with ghostly battlemages and spectral berserkers unleashing their might in a display of power that sends the temperature plummeting and further destabilizes an already chaotic scene.
As Keith huddles in the mausoleum, struggling against the cold and the fear gripping him, he is forced to confront the limits of his own bravery and knowledge. Outside, the spectral generals' showdown reaches a climax, sending shockwaves through the graveyard and knocking Keith off his feet. Undeterred, he continues to recite incantations from the charm, desperately seeking to break the spirits' attachment to the mortal realm. The young man’s efforts culminate in a final, determined shout, channeling all his willpower into banishing the spirits. For a moment, the charm flares with light, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the overwhelming darkness. However, as the spectral knight demolishes another gravestone, sending shards of rock flying, Keith realizes the tremendous scale of the power he's attempting to confront. His persistent attempts to command the spirits to retreat highlight his growing resolve, even as the chaotic energy of the battlefield threatens to overwhelm him.
(Keith's ghost banishing)
[Fri Feb 14 2025]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 31F(0C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waning gibbous 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.
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.
Keith stands at the edge of the graveyard, his wide eyes scanning the scene in front of him. His messy, dirty-blonde hair, resembling that of a midwestern rebel which sits a little crooked atop his head. He scratches his scruffy chin and mutters to himself, "Well, ain't this somethin'..." His eyes dart nervously between the two ghostly armies, each a blur of shifting shapes and crackling energy. The ground shakes beneath his boots, but he doesnt back down. Instead, he steps forward a few paces, his hands out in front of him like he's trying to push the eerie fog away. "Okay, okay, ghosts... whatevers goin on here, you just stay over there, alright? I didnt sign up for no haunted battle royale!" He backs up a bit, trying to maintain some semblance of composure, but its clear he's out of his depth. Keith turns in circles, unsure whether to flee or face whats happening. As a bolt of magic crackles overhead, he ducks instinctively, swearing under his breath. He grins awkwardly to himself, trying to lighten the tension with a chuckle, "Yeah, this is definitely not on my to-do list today..." His brow furrows as he looks around, trying to find some way to make sense of the madness. "Do I run, or do I try to" He pauses, blinking hard at the spirits in front of him. The spectral soldiers don't seem to notice him, but that doesnt stop him from feeling like he might get caught up in the chaos at any moment. "Well... ain't nothin' like a good ol' fashioned ghost fight to spice up the day, huh?" He chuckles nervously, wiping the sweat from his brow, though his body is tense, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
The blast of heat hits Keith like a wave, singeing the edge of his jacket and causing his hair to whip around his face. His eyes widen, and his heart races, his instincts screaming at him to run. He stumbles back a few steps, swatting at the smoke that clings to the air around him. "Holy!" he yells, then looks down at his jacket, which is starting to catch fire. He yanks at it, fumbling to rip the flaming fabric off, his hands shaking. The jacket drops to the ground in a heap of smoldering ash, and he looks around frantically, eyes darting for some kind of cover. The graveyard around him seems like a deadly maze now, filled with flickering shadows and roaring flames. Ghostly knights charge ahead, undeterred by the explosion, their ethereal forms glowing like beacons of death. Keith doesn't even consider the possibility of standing his ground against them. His gaze locks on a nearby mausoleum, its stone door ajar, and he darts toward it, shouting, "Screw this! I aint dyin today!" His boots pound against the ground, kicking up dirt and debris as he sprints toward the shelter, a trail of smoke rising from his still-smoking clothing. He barely makes it to the door when another explosion rocks the graveyard, sending him tumbling into the mausoleum. He scrambles to his feet and slams the door shut behind him, breathing heavily, his pulse racing. He looks around the dark interior, his wide eyes adjusting to the dim light. "Okay, okay, Keith, think," he mutters to himself, trying to steady his nerves. "What in the world did I get myself into?"
A ghostly battlemage hurls a ball of fire, deflected mid-air by a phantom knight's shield, causing an explosion that sends searing heat and blinding light across the battlefield.
Keith, heart still pounding from the close call, fumbles through the pockets of his scorched jacket, pulling out a scrap of old parchment and a barely legible charm that he had hastily scribbled in a fit of desperation. He holds it up, squinting at the poorly drawn sigils that are supposed to help him, though he's got no clue if theyll actually work. "Alright, alright... time to channel some of that mystical whatever-the-heck magic tha the boss does. What did he say 'gain?" he mumbles to himself, trying to sound more confident than he feels. The heat from the explosions rattles the mausoleum walls, and the air outside is thick with the crackle of elemental energy. Keith holds the charm out in front of him, muttering a string of half-remembered incantations. The words come out clumsy and broken, barely more than a whisper in the chaos. "By the power of the skull-thingy, I call upon the light to, uh, send thee back to.... uh... wherever you came from!" The ghostly flames swirl around the mausoleum, and Keiths voice shakes as he tries to focus. His fingers tremble, and the sigil on the parchment flickers weakly, like a candle in a draft. He tries again, louder this time "By the power of the burning stars, begone with ye!" Nothing. The sigils barely glow, more like a dim flicker than the blazing light he hoped for. A disembodied laugh echoes from the battlefield, making his stomach twist in panic. The ghosts seem undeterred, their ethereal forms still charging toward each other, the flames of the battleground consuming everything in their path. "Okay, okay, this is fine, this is fine, Keith mutters, panic creeping into his voice. "Uh, maybe I need moreuhfire, oroh, hell, I dont know..." He takes a shaky breath, gritting his teeth, trying to steady himself. In a last-ditch effort, he throws his hands up and shouts, "Return to the beyond!""
@me, heart still pounding from the close call, fumbles through the pockets of his scorched jacket, pulling out a scrap of old parchment and a barely legible charm that he had hastily scribbled in a fit of desperation. He holds it up, squinting at the poorly drawn sigils that are supposed to help him, though he's got no clue if theyll actually work. "Alright, alright... time to channel some of that mystical whatever-the-heck magic tha the boss does. What did he say 'gain?" he mumbles to himself, trying to sound more confident than he feels. The heat from the explosions rattles the mausoleum walls, and the air outside is thick with the crackle of elemental energy. Keith holds the charm out in front of him, muttering a string of half-remembered incantations. The words come out clumsy and broken, barely more than a whisper in the chaos. "By the power of the skull-thingy, I call upon the light to, uh, send thee back to.... uh... wherever you came from!" The ghostly flames swirl around the mausoleum, and Keiths voice shakes as he tries to focus. His fingers tremble, and the sigil on the parchment flickers weakly, like a candle in a draft. He tries again, louder this time "By the power of the burning stars, begone with ye!" Nothing. The sigils barely glow, more like a dim flicker than the blazing light he hoped for. A disembodied laugh echoes from the battlefield, making his stomach twist in panic. The ghosts seem undeterred, their ethereal forms still charging toward each other, the flames of the battleground consuming everything in their path. "Okay, okay, this is fine, this is fine," Keith mutters, panic creeping into his voice. "Uh, maybe I need moreuhfire, oroh, hell, I dont know..." He takes a shaky breath, gritting his teeth, trying to steady himself. In a last-ditch effort, he throws his hands up and shouts, "Return to the beyond!" (fixed)
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.
With the chaos about him, Keith's breath catches in his throat as the temperature plummets, his fingers going numb from the sudden cold. The air around him grows sharp, like the bite of a thousand needles. He looks down at the floor of the mausoleum, seeing his breath condense in the icy air. His body instinctively shivers, his teeth chattering. "Okay, this is... a little too much," he mutters, pulling his shirt tighter around his body in a feeble attempt to ward off the biting chill. His already-scorched clothes dont do much to keep him warm now, and the cold seems to seep straight into his bones. Outside, the battle rages on, but Keith is more concerned about staying on his feet than anything else. He stumbles, nearly slipping on the slick floor as patches of ice form beneath his boots. "Whoa, hold up!" He waves his arms, trying to steady himself against the freezing cold. "How do people live in this kinda" His sentence is cut off as he nearly slips again, but he catches himself against the stone wall of the mausoleum with a grunt. The crackling ice outside and the frosty mist rolling in through cracks in the stone make him feel like hes in the middle of some nightmarish blizzard. His breath is coming out in visible puffs now, and the chill is starting to sting his skin. someone, looks up toward the ceiling, as if hoping to find some divine intervention or even a crack in the sky that will let the warmth back in. He shakes his head and mutters to himself, "No way am I stayin stuck in here with a bunch of ice demons outside..." Keith bolts upright, eyes scanning the mausoleum. In his panic, he grabs a random piece of broken wood off the ground, and after a moments hesitation, he throws it at the door. It bounces off uselessly, but it does make him think. Maybe he can escape through the back. With a frustrated grunt, Keith forces himself to focus, hating how much of a mess this whole thing is turning into. "I gotta get a grip," he grumbles to himself, trying to shake the cold off as he pushes toward the back of the mausoleum. His focus wavers for a moment, unsure if there's anything he can do to stop the chaos outside, but hes not sticking around long enough to find out.
With the chaos about him, Keith's breath catches in his throat as the temperature plummets, his fingers going numb from the sudden cold. The air around him grows sharp, like the bite of a thousand needles. He looks down at the floor of the mausoleum, seeing his breath condense in the icy air. His body instinctively shivers, his teeth chattering. "Okay, this is... a little too much," he mutters, pulling his shirt tighter around his body in a feeble attempt to ward off the biting chill. His already-scorched clothes dont do much to keep him warm now, and the cold seems to seep straight into his bones. Outside, the battle rages on, but Keith is more concerned about staying on his feet than anything else. He stumbles, nearly slipping on the slick floor as patches of ice form beneath his boots. "Whoa, hold up!" He waves his arms, trying to steady himself against the freezing cold. "How do people live in this kinda" His sentence is cut off as he nearly slips again, but he catches himself against the stone wall of the mausoleum with a grunt. The crackling ice outside and the frosty mist rolling in through cracks in the stone make him feel like hes in the middle of some nightmarish blizzard. His breath is coming out in visible puffs now, and the chill is starting to sting his skin. Keith looks up toward the ceiling, as if hoping to find some divine intervention or even a crack in the sky that will let the warmth back in. He shakes his head and mutters to himself, "No way am I stayin stuck in here with a bunch of ice demons outside..." Keith bolts upright, eyes scanning the mausoleum. In his panic, he grabs a random piece of broken wood off the ground, and after a moments hesitation, he throws it at the door. It bounces off uselessly, but it does make him think. Maybe he can escape through the back. With a frustrated grunt, Keith forces himself to focus, hating how much of a mess this whole thing is turning into. "I gotta get a grip," he grumbles to himself, trying to shake the cold off as he pushes toward the back of the mausoleum. His focus wavers for a moment, unsure if there's anything he can do to stop the chaos outside, but hes not sticking around long enough to find out.
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.
The shockwave crashes into Keith like a freight train, sending him sprawling to the ground, his head spinning. He barely manages to catch himself with his hands, fingers digging into the cracked stone floor of the mausoleum. The deafening sound of the collision rings in his ears, and he groans, shaking off the daze. "Son of awhat in the world...?" he mutters through clenched teeth, pushing himself up onto his knees, his body sore from the impact. The tremor in the ground still reverberates, and he looks up to see the chaos of battle continuing outside, the ethereal generals locked in their deadly standoff.The air is thick with the oppressive weight of the magic swirling around them, but Keiths mind is laser-focused on one thing, getting the hell out of this mess. He wipes the dust and sweat from his face, staring at the crumpled parchment in his hands, the smudged sigils still hanging in his grip."Alright, alright" He looks around the mausoleum, trying to center himself. "Focus, Keith. You're no damn wizard, but you've got some tricks up your sleeve."His eyes flicker back to the parchment, then the battlefield, and a strange thought hits him. What if its not about fighting the ghosts? What if its about breaking their connection to this place? Keith mutters to himself as he holds the charm in both hands. "Okay, Im gonna need some power here, spiritual power." He exhales sharply and quickly sketches out a rough circle of runes on the floor using the tip of his finger, the icy chill from outside creeping into the mausoleum and slowing his movements.A breath of fire hisses through the air outside, and he glances nervously at the door, knowing that any second, those spirits might come crashing through. "Right, no time for slow stuff" Keith mutters, clenching his fist around the charm.He closes his eyes and calls on the only thing he can think of, his voice shaky but resolute. "Spirits of the dead, be gone! Return to the void where you belong! Leave this place now!" For a moment, nothing happens. Then, slowly, the charm in his hands begins to warm, and Keith holds his breath. A flicker of light pulses through the runes he traced on the floor. The walls of the mausoleum groan, a faint glow beginning to shimmer along the edges of the stone. His heart races. Maybe, just maybe, this time itll work. But then, the battlefield outside erupts with another explosion of power, and Keith stumbles backward, eyes wide. His voice cracks, but he keeps going, his desperation fueling his words. "I banish you! This place is no longer your battleground!" The charm flares, a burst of heat surging through him, and the temperature in the mausoleum shifts slightly, as if the spirits are momentarily pushed back. Keith's knees tremble, but he keeps going, praying this will be enough to turn the tide.
The air thickens with an unnatural fog as ghostly archers let loose a volley of arrows. The projectiles are swept away by a whirlwind conjured by spectral windcallers, and the gust of wind sends everyone alive flying against tombstones with bone-jarring force.
When the fog thickens to a suffocating density, swirling and twisting around Keith like a living thing. He staggers, blinking rapidly to try and clear his blurred vision, the thick mist clinging to his clothes and skin. The howl of the spectral windcallers fills the air, a shrill, unnerving sound that rattles his bones before the gusts hit. Keith barely has time to brace himself before a gust of wind slams into him with bone-jarring force. The impact sends him flying, tumbling through the air, his body crashing into a gravestone with a sickening thud. The stone cracks beneath him, sending sharp shards of rock digging into his back. A gasp escapes him as he struggles to push himself up, his head spinning, vision swimming in and out of focus. "Ugh... crap... again with the flying..." he groans, his ribs aching from the blow. He glances around, realizing that the battlefield outside is now a blur of chaosspectral archers, windcallers, fire-wreathed blades, and magic that seems to tear the very air asunder. Keith shakes his head, gritting his teeth as he forces himself up, trying to ignore the pain in his body. His hands are trembling, but he holds the charm tighter, desperation gnawing at him. The swirling fog presses in closer, and he realizes he's losing the edge he thought he had. He cant afford to waste time now. "Come on, Keith... focus..." he mutters through clenched teeth, sweat trickling down his forehead. He stumbles to his feet, gripping the charm as he staggers forward, not daring to take his eyes off the growing chaos outside. He can still feel the energy of the battle pulsing around him, the air thick with the weight of spirits too powerful to be ignored. Keith takes a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands. His heart pounds in his chest as the fog presses against him, and the world seems to pulse with the energy of the spirits fighting just outside. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to focus everything he has into the charm, calling upon any bit of power he can muster. "Spirits, hear me!" His voice is ragged, hoarse from the chaos. "This place is not your battlefield! I command you to leave! Return to the void, where you belongnow!" His voice cracks as the words tumble out, and the air around him vibrates with the weight of his intent. For a moment, the charm flares again, but its weakbarely a flicker against the oncoming storm of spectral power. Keith clenches his jaw, refusing to give up. Come on, he thinks, just a little longer... He forces his will into the words, hoping against hope that this time the magic will hold.
A towering, spectral knight swings his sword at a ghostly conjurer, cutting the arcanist in half and continuing onwards to collide against a gravestone. The collision smashes the gravestone apart, sending shards flying all around dangerously.
Keith stumbles backward as the gravestone shatters in front of him, sharp fragments of stone flying past him like daggers. He instinctively ducks, his heart racing as the air around him fills with the deadly projectiles. The collision of the spectral knights sword and the conjurers ethereal form sends a shockwave through the graveyard, and Keith can feel it in the very marrow of his bones. The ground beneath him trembles, and he feels the pulse of raw, chaotic power as the armies clash in a swirl of magic and steel. He knows hes getting closer, but the weight of everything around him feels heavier now, pressing down on his shoulders like a vice. His hands, still shaking, clutch the charm tighter, and his gaze darts back to the circle of runes hed painstakingly drawn on the ground. "Focus, focus, focus," Keith mutters, trying to block out the sounds of battle and the terrifying weight of the ghosts pressing in on him. His breath comes in short bursts as he struggles to push past the panic thats threatening to overwhelm him. The fog around him thickens, and he can barely see through it, the shapes of spectral warriors moving through it like wraiths. He knows they're closing in.With a grunt, Keith steadies himself. The ghostly knight, still towering in the distance, rips through another group of spectral conjurers, and Keith winces, feeling the ripples of violence in the air. This battle is beyond anything hes ever experienced, and the sheer intensity of the magic surrounding him only seems to fuel his determination. "Just gotta finish it," he whispers, his voice hoarse from both the exertion and the cold. "Come on, come on..." His fingers move swiftly, tracing more hurriedly now, trying to complete the circle, fighting the instinct to flee. The air is thick with the power of the ritual, and the charm he holds warms in his hands, humming with energy as if sensing his resolve. Keiths head throbs, but he forces himself to keep going, each word of the incantation coming out sharper, more focused. "Spirits, I command you!" His voice cuts through the chaos, loud and clear despite the battle around him. The words feel right, his body feels like its vibrating with the energy of the ritual.A pulse of light bursts from the charm, lighting up the room in a stark, white glow, and Keith knows hes close now, just a little longer.
As Keith huddles in the mausoleum, struggling against the cold and the fear gripping him, he is forced to confront the limits of his own bravery and knowledge. Outside, the spectral generals' showdown reaches a climax, sending shockwaves through the graveyard and knocking Keith off his feet. Undeterred, he continues to recite incantations from the charm, desperately seeking to break the spirits' attachment to the mortal realm. The young man’s efforts culminate in a final, determined shout, channeling all his willpower into banishing the spirits. For a moment, the charm flares with light, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the overwhelming darkness. However, as the spectral knight demolishes another gravestone, sending shards of rock flying, Keith realizes the tremendous scale of the power he's attempting to confront. His persistent attempts to command the spirits to retreat highlight his growing resolve, even as the chaotic energy of the battlefield threatens to overwhelm him.
(Keith's ghost banishing)
[Fri Feb 14 2025]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 31F(0C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky. There is a waning gibbous 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.
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.
Keith stands at the edge of the graveyard, his wide eyes scanning the scene in front of him. His messy, dirty-blonde hair, resembling that of a midwestern rebel which sits a little crooked atop his head. He scratches his scruffy chin and mutters to himself, "Well, ain't this somethin'..." His eyes dart nervously between the two ghostly armies, each a blur of shifting shapes and crackling energy. The ground shakes beneath his boots, but he doesnt back down. Instead, he steps forward a few paces, his hands out in front of him like he's trying to push the eerie fog away. "Okay, okay, ghosts... whatevers goin on here, you just stay over there, alright? I didnt sign up for no haunted battle royale!" He backs up a bit, trying to maintain some semblance of composure, but its clear he's out of his depth. Keith turns in circles, unsure whether to flee or face whats happening. As a bolt of magic crackles overhead, he ducks instinctively, swearing under his breath. He grins awkwardly to himself, trying to lighten the tension with a chuckle, "Yeah, this is definitely not on my to-do list today..." His brow furrows as he looks around, trying to find some way to make sense of the madness. "Do I run, or do I try to" He pauses, blinking hard at the spirits in front of him. The spectral soldiers don't seem to notice him, but that doesnt stop him from feeling like he might get caught up in the chaos at any moment. "Well... ain't nothin' like a good ol' fashioned ghost fight to spice up the day, huh?" He chuckles nervously, wiping the sweat from his brow, though his body is tense, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
The blast of heat hits Keith like a wave, singeing the edge of his jacket and causing his hair to whip around his face. His eyes widen, and his heart races, his instincts screaming at him to run. He stumbles back a few steps, swatting at the smoke that clings to the air around him. "Holy!" he yells, then looks down at his jacket, which is starting to catch fire. He yanks at it, fumbling to rip the flaming fabric off, his hands shaking. The jacket drops to the ground in a heap of smoldering ash, and he looks around frantically, eyes darting for some kind of cover. The graveyard around him seems like a deadly maze now, filled with flickering shadows and roaring flames. Ghostly knights charge ahead, undeterred by the explosion, their ethereal forms glowing like beacons of death. Keith doesn't even consider the possibility of standing his ground against them. His gaze locks on a nearby mausoleum, its stone door ajar, and he darts toward it, shouting, "Screw this! I aint dyin today!" His boots pound against the ground, kicking up dirt and debris as he sprints toward the shelter, a trail of smoke rising from his still-smoking clothing. He barely makes it to the door when another explosion rocks the graveyard, sending him tumbling into the mausoleum. He scrambles to his feet and slams the door shut behind him, breathing heavily, his pulse racing. He looks around the dark interior, his wide eyes adjusting to the dim light. "Okay, okay, Keith, think," he mutters to himself, trying to steady his nerves. "What in the world did I get myself into?"
A ghostly battlemage hurls a ball of fire, deflected mid-air by a phantom knight's shield, causing an explosion that sends searing heat and blinding light across the battlefield.
Keith, heart still pounding from the close call, fumbles through the pockets of his scorched jacket, pulling out a scrap of old parchment and a barely legible charm that he had hastily scribbled in a fit of desperation. He holds it up, squinting at the poorly drawn sigils that are supposed to help him, though he's got no clue if theyll actually work. "Alright, alright... time to channel some of that mystical whatever-the-heck magic tha the boss does. What did he say 'gain?" he mumbles to himself, trying to sound more confident than he feels. The heat from the explosions rattles the mausoleum walls, and the air outside is thick with the crackle of elemental energy. Keith holds the charm out in front of him, muttering a string of half-remembered incantations. The words come out clumsy and broken, barely more than a whisper in the chaos. "By the power of the skull-thingy, I call upon the light to, uh, send thee back to.... uh... wherever you came from!" The ghostly flames swirl around the mausoleum, and Keiths voice shakes as he tries to focus. His fingers tremble, and the sigil on the parchment flickers weakly, like a candle in a draft. He tries again, louder this time "By the power of the burning stars, begone with ye!" Nothing. The sigils barely glow, more like a dim flicker than the blazing light he hoped for. A disembodied laugh echoes from the battlefield, making his stomach twist in panic. The ghosts seem undeterred, their ethereal forms still charging toward each other, the flames of the battleground consuming everything in their path. "Okay, okay, this is fine, this is fine, Keith mutters, panic creeping into his voice. "Uh, maybe I need moreuhfire, oroh, hell, I dont know..." He takes a shaky breath, gritting his teeth, trying to steady himself. In a last-ditch effort, he throws his hands up and shouts, "Return to the beyond!""
@me, heart still pounding from the close call, fumbles through the pockets of his scorched jacket, pulling out a scrap of old parchment and a barely legible charm that he had hastily scribbled in a fit of desperation. He holds it up, squinting at the poorly drawn sigils that are supposed to help him, though he's got no clue if theyll actually work. "Alright, alright... time to channel some of that mystical whatever-the-heck magic tha the boss does. What did he say 'gain?" he mumbles to himself, trying to sound more confident than he feels. The heat from the explosions rattles the mausoleum walls, and the air outside is thick with the crackle of elemental energy. Keith holds the charm out in front of him, muttering a string of half-remembered incantations. The words come out clumsy and broken, barely more than a whisper in the chaos. "By the power of the skull-thingy, I call upon the light to, uh, send thee back to.... uh... wherever you came from!" The ghostly flames swirl around the mausoleum, and Keiths voice shakes as he tries to focus. His fingers tremble, and the sigil on the parchment flickers weakly, like a candle in a draft. He tries again, louder this time "By the power of the burning stars, begone with ye!" Nothing. The sigils barely glow, more like a dim flicker than the blazing light he hoped for. A disembodied laugh echoes from the battlefield, making his stomach twist in panic. The ghosts seem undeterred, their ethereal forms still charging toward each other, the flames of the battleground consuming everything in their path. "Okay, okay, this is fine, this is fine," Keith mutters, panic creeping into his voice. "Uh, maybe I need moreuhfire, oroh, hell, I dont know..." He takes a shaky breath, gritting his teeth, trying to steady himself. In a last-ditch effort, he throws his hands up and shouts, "Return to the beyond!" (fixed)
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.
With the chaos about him, Keith's breath catches in his throat as the temperature plummets, his fingers going numb from the sudden cold. The air around him grows sharp, like the bite of a thousand needles. He looks down at the floor of the mausoleum, seeing his breath condense in the icy air. His body instinctively shivers, his teeth chattering. "Okay, this is... a little too much," he mutters, pulling his shirt tighter around his body in a feeble attempt to ward off the biting chill. His already-scorched clothes dont do much to keep him warm now, and the cold seems to seep straight into his bones. Outside, the battle rages on, but Keith is more concerned about staying on his feet than anything else. He stumbles, nearly slipping on the slick floor as patches of ice form beneath his boots. "Whoa, hold up!" He waves his arms, trying to steady himself against the freezing cold. "How do people live in this kinda" His sentence is cut off as he nearly slips again, but he catches himself against the stone wall of the mausoleum with a grunt. The crackling ice outside and the frosty mist rolling in through cracks in the stone make him feel like hes in the middle of some nightmarish blizzard. His breath is coming out in visible puffs now, and the chill is starting to sting his skin. someone, looks up toward the ceiling, as if hoping to find some divine intervention or even a crack in the sky that will let the warmth back in. He shakes his head and mutters to himself, "No way am I stayin stuck in here with a bunch of ice demons outside..." Keith bolts upright, eyes scanning the mausoleum. In his panic, he grabs a random piece of broken wood off the ground, and after a moments hesitation, he throws it at the door. It bounces off uselessly, but it does make him think. Maybe he can escape through the back. With a frustrated grunt, Keith forces himself to focus, hating how much of a mess this whole thing is turning into. "I gotta get a grip," he grumbles to himself, trying to shake the cold off as he pushes toward the back of the mausoleum. His focus wavers for a moment, unsure if there's anything he can do to stop the chaos outside, but hes not sticking around long enough to find out.
With the chaos about him, Keith's breath catches in his throat as the temperature plummets, his fingers going numb from the sudden cold. The air around him grows sharp, like the bite of a thousand needles. He looks down at the floor of the mausoleum, seeing his breath condense in the icy air. His body instinctively shivers, his teeth chattering. "Okay, this is... a little too much," he mutters, pulling his shirt tighter around his body in a feeble attempt to ward off the biting chill. His already-scorched clothes dont do much to keep him warm now, and the cold seems to seep straight into his bones. Outside, the battle rages on, but Keith is more concerned about staying on his feet than anything else. He stumbles, nearly slipping on the slick floor as patches of ice form beneath his boots. "Whoa, hold up!" He waves his arms, trying to steady himself against the freezing cold. "How do people live in this kinda" His sentence is cut off as he nearly slips again, but he catches himself against the stone wall of the mausoleum with a grunt. The crackling ice outside and the frosty mist rolling in through cracks in the stone make him feel like hes in the middle of some nightmarish blizzard. His breath is coming out in visible puffs now, and the chill is starting to sting his skin. Keith looks up toward the ceiling, as if hoping to find some divine intervention or even a crack in the sky that will let the warmth back in. He shakes his head and mutters to himself, "No way am I stayin stuck in here with a bunch of ice demons outside..." Keith bolts upright, eyes scanning the mausoleum. In his panic, he grabs a random piece of broken wood off the ground, and after a moments hesitation, he throws it at the door. It bounces off uselessly, but it does make him think. Maybe he can escape through the back. With a frustrated grunt, Keith forces himself to focus, hating how much of a mess this whole thing is turning into. "I gotta get a grip," he grumbles to himself, trying to shake the cold off as he pushes toward the back of the mausoleum. His focus wavers for a moment, unsure if there's anything he can do to stop the chaos outside, but hes not sticking around long enough to find out.
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.
The shockwave crashes into Keith like a freight train, sending him sprawling to the ground, his head spinning. He barely manages to catch himself with his hands, fingers digging into the cracked stone floor of the mausoleum. The deafening sound of the collision rings in his ears, and he groans, shaking off the daze. "Son of awhat in the world...?" he mutters through clenched teeth, pushing himself up onto his knees, his body sore from the impact. The tremor in the ground still reverberates, and he looks up to see the chaos of battle continuing outside, the ethereal generals locked in their deadly standoff.The air is thick with the oppressive weight of the magic swirling around them, but Keiths mind is laser-focused on one thing, getting the hell out of this mess. He wipes the dust and sweat from his face, staring at the crumpled parchment in his hands, the smudged sigils still hanging in his grip."Alright, alright" He looks around the mausoleum, trying to center himself. "Focus, Keith. You're no damn wizard, but you've got some tricks up your sleeve."His eyes flicker back to the parchment, then the battlefield, and a strange thought hits him. What if its not about fighting the ghosts? What if its about breaking their connection to this place? Keith mutters to himself as he holds the charm in both hands. "Okay, Im gonna need some power here, spiritual power." He exhales sharply and quickly sketches out a rough circle of runes on the floor using the tip of his finger, the icy chill from outside creeping into the mausoleum and slowing his movements.A breath of fire hisses through the air outside, and he glances nervously at the door, knowing that any second, those spirits might come crashing through. "Right, no time for slow stuff" Keith mutters, clenching his fist around the charm.He closes his eyes and calls on the only thing he can think of, his voice shaky but resolute. "Spirits of the dead, be gone! Return to the void where you belong! Leave this place now!" For a moment, nothing happens. Then, slowly, the charm in his hands begins to warm, and Keith holds his breath. A flicker of light pulses through the runes he traced on the floor. The walls of the mausoleum groan, a faint glow beginning to shimmer along the edges of the stone. His heart races. Maybe, just maybe, this time itll work. But then, the battlefield outside erupts with another explosion of power, and Keith stumbles backward, eyes wide. His voice cracks, but he keeps going, his desperation fueling his words. "I banish you! This place is no longer your battleground!" The charm flares, a burst of heat surging through him, and the temperature in the mausoleum shifts slightly, as if the spirits are momentarily pushed back. Keith's knees tremble, but he keeps going, praying this will be enough to turn the tide.
The air thickens with an unnatural fog as ghostly archers let loose a volley of arrows. The projectiles are swept away by a whirlwind conjured by spectral windcallers, and the gust of wind sends everyone alive flying against tombstones with bone-jarring force.
When the fog thickens to a suffocating density, swirling and twisting around Keith like a living thing. He staggers, blinking rapidly to try and clear his blurred vision, the thick mist clinging to his clothes and skin. The howl of the spectral windcallers fills the air, a shrill, unnerving sound that rattles his bones before the gusts hit. Keith barely has time to brace himself before a gust of wind slams into him with bone-jarring force. The impact sends him flying, tumbling through the air, his body crashing into a gravestone with a sickening thud. The stone cracks beneath him, sending sharp shards of rock digging into his back. A gasp escapes him as he struggles to push himself up, his head spinning, vision swimming in and out of focus. "Ugh... crap... again with the flying..." he groans, his ribs aching from the blow. He glances around, realizing that the battlefield outside is now a blur of chaosspectral archers, windcallers, fire-wreathed blades, and magic that seems to tear the very air asunder. Keith shakes his head, gritting his teeth as he forces himself up, trying to ignore the pain in his body. His hands are trembling, but he holds the charm tighter, desperation gnawing at him. The swirling fog presses in closer, and he realizes he's losing the edge he thought he had. He cant afford to waste time now. "Come on, Keith... focus..." he mutters through clenched teeth, sweat trickling down his forehead. He stumbles to his feet, gripping the charm as he staggers forward, not daring to take his eyes off the growing chaos outside. He can still feel the energy of the battle pulsing around him, the air thick with the weight of spirits too powerful to be ignored. Keith takes a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands. His heart pounds in his chest as the fog presses against him, and the world seems to pulse with the energy of the spirits fighting just outside. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to focus everything he has into the charm, calling upon any bit of power he can muster. "Spirits, hear me!" His voice is ragged, hoarse from the chaos. "This place is not your battlefield! I command you to leave! Return to the void, where you belongnow!" His voice cracks as the words tumble out, and the air around him vibrates with the weight of his intent. For a moment, the charm flares again, but its weakbarely a flicker against the oncoming storm of spectral power. Keith clenches his jaw, refusing to give up. Come on, he thinks, just a little longer... He forces his will into the words, hoping against hope that this time the magic will hold.
A towering, spectral knight swings his sword at a ghostly conjurer, cutting the arcanist in half and continuing onwards to collide against a gravestone. The collision smashes the gravestone apart, sending shards flying all around dangerously.
Keith stumbles backward as the gravestone shatters in front of him, sharp fragments of stone flying past him like daggers. He instinctively ducks, his heart racing as the air around him fills with the deadly projectiles. The collision of the spectral knights sword and the conjurers ethereal form sends a shockwave through the graveyard, and Keith can feel it in the very marrow of his bones. The ground beneath him trembles, and he feels the pulse of raw, chaotic power as the armies clash in a swirl of magic and steel. He knows hes getting closer, but the weight of everything around him feels heavier now, pressing down on his shoulders like a vice. His hands, still shaking, clutch the charm tighter, and his gaze darts back to the circle of runes hed painstakingly drawn on the ground. "Focus, focus, focus," Keith mutters, trying to block out the sounds of battle and the terrifying weight of the ghosts pressing in on him. His breath comes in short bursts as he struggles to push past the panic thats threatening to overwhelm him. The fog around him thickens, and he can barely see through it, the shapes of spectral warriors moving through it like wraiths. He knows they're closing in.With a grunt, Keith steadies himself. The ghostly knight, still towering in the distance, rips through another group of spectral conjurers, and Keith winces, feeling the ripples of violence in the air. This battle is beyond anything hes ever experienced, and the sheer intensity of the magic surrounding him only seems to fuel his determination. "Just gotta finish it," he whispers, his voice hoarse from both the exertion and the cold. "Come on, come on..." His fingers move swiftly, tracing more hurriedly now, trying to complete the circle, fighting the instinct to flee. The air is thick with the power of the ritual, and the charm he holds warms in his hands, humming with energy as if sensing his resolve. Keiths head throbs, but he forces himself to keep going, each word of the incantation coming out sharper, more focused. "Spirits, I command you!" His voice cuts through the chaos, loud and clear despite the battle around him. The words feel right, his body feels like its vibrating with the energy of the ritual.A pulse of light bursts from the charm, lighting up the room in a stark, white glow, and Keith knows hes close now, just a little longer.