Empirical Gnollage: Installment 62 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment062.png]
“Hunc locum statim discede!” the four spectral soldiers demanded in unison, drawing their ghostly swords with professional coordination together and standing in the way of the opened door. They were all elven warriors, wearing armor in the old elvish style. They held their weapons ready, not immediately threatening but making clear that they could become threatening at the slightest provocation. Al wasn't sure if the immaterial blades could actually do harm to solid living people, but he didn't think it would be a good idea to find out. He carefully hung his mace back under his robes and held up his open hand, intending to show that he wasn't there to fight. He lowered the torch in his other hand to block Wikwocket's way, as she had drawn her dagger again.
“Good thinking,” she admitted, “I'm not sure I could stab all four of them before they got us.”
“Hello,” Al slowly told the stern ghostly soldiers, “I'm sorry but I don't speak Elvish. Uh…we've brought flowers for the hero here. Darius?”
“Nihil negotii habes cum Dario! Hunc locum statim discede!” insisted the specter immediately in front of the doorway
“Look, we just have this offering of flowers from the local villagers,” Al tried, though he assumed they understood him no better than he understood them. “Bote, hold still a moment, let me get out the flowers.”
Al retrieved the flowers from Bote's pack. They seemed to be surviving well enough. Al held them up for the spectral elves to see.
“Linguam nostram non intelligunt,” an authoritative voice called out from beyond the doorway. “Loquar ad eos, introire permittite.”
Whatever that meant, the ghostly guards responded immediately, stepping back away from the doorway and arranging themselves two-by-two on either side of it.
“Thou shalt attend me here, in my place of rest. Enter,” the voice then called out to them.
“No stabbing!” Al whispered to Wikwocket, and tried to smile in a friendly manner towards the ghosts standing at attention beside the door. He stood up straight, and marched to the doorway the way he'd been taught in the army, hoping this would be seen as respectful. The guards didn't move, but maintained a stern gaze keeping watch on the hallway. Al stopped at the doorway and turned as smartly as he could manage, to look back at his companions, who followed. The ghostly guard that Gruntle paused to sniff curiously at may have shown a slight hint of disgust, but remained at attention. Very professional, Al estimated. Then he pushed the door the rest of the way open and entered.
The room was a mirror image of the arrangement they'd seen in Aemilia's tomb, minus the hole burrowed through the floor. The figure carved on the lid of the sarcophagus was muscular by elvish standards, with a long sword at his hip, a breastplate, and holding a helmet with a tall crest. The translucent figure standing tall atop the sarcophagus lid and watching the party of adventurers enter was obviously the same, though he was actually wearing the helmet. Gruntle's entrance caused a disbelieving blink from the spirit of Darius, but he otherwise waited with an attitude of imperious command until all four were standing in front of him. Not sure what proper protocol was here, Al saluted.
“Thou bringst with you a beast of pillage and destruction, yet thou seemst not like unto robbers or defilers of graves. What business hast thou with Darius?”
Al saluted again, a bit awkwardly. “Uh, yes, sir, the villagers of Turnipseed said they had been neglecting to offer flowers, and they asked us to to bring some to you. We're certainly not graverobbers. Sir.”
“I see one of you,” he said, looking down at Wikwocket, “now beareth the token of Aemilia that once rested upon her fair neck.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Wikwocket grinned and proudly held the amulet up at the end of its chain to show it off. “We're friends now!” She said.
“Uh, uh, I promise we didn't steal it. Uh, sir,” Al hastily interjected.
“The spirit of Aemilia remaineth and is calm. She hath given it unto you. An she hath judged thou worthy, so too must I.” The ghostly hero turned his head to look over the assembled adventurers, lingering with evident skepticism on the gnoll. “Who art thou who stand before Darius, and who hath conjured this murderous beast?”
“Oh, we didn't conjure him. We call him Gruntle. I'm Al, and this is…,” he paused, indicating Wikwocket and waiting for her to introduce herself.
“Wikwocket D. Flibbendorfer, adventurer, thrillseeker, entertainer, and friend of the amulet!” she announced.
“And I am Bote Wissengräber, devotee of the mysteries of Indicina,” Bote announced, with the formal eye-nose-ear-mouth gesture. This got a smile from the spirit of Darius.
“Gladdened am I that the cult of Indicina survives amongst the new peoples. In my time, won were battles by movement of sword and arrow, but wars, by movement of knowledge and supplies. The couriers of Indicina were indispensible.”
“That is ever our duty,” Bote replied, “hence our presence here today. We have come to see that a message is delivered to you.”
Al held the flowers up for the ghost to inspect. The spirit of Darius knelt down on the lid of the sarcophagus to inspect them, then slowly removed his helmet. It vanished as he dropped it.
“Long hath I been bound to this land, for thousands of seasons its protector. I never expected that someday my duty may be complete. Yet, now, I am of it relieved, by this one last tribute.”
Al looked at the bundle of flowers. “The villagers said they used to bring flowers here regularly. Why do these mean you're done?”
“Hath the language of flowers been lost to time? Look here, these flowers…,” Darius began, and continued into a brief lecture on the supposed meanings conveyed by the different flowers and their proportions in the bundle. “…which signify gratitude, and these signify separation, and when combined with…”
Al paid attention as best he could, but there seemed to be a lot of fluffy nuance involved which perhaps only elves had the patience to learn. He thought he understood it well enough though.
“So,” he asked at the end to confirm, “this bundle of flowers says, fundamentally, thank you for your service, we've found a replacement for you, you're free to go?”
“Much subtlety dost that lack, but sufficiently accurate. And now, Aemilia and I shall depart this world to be at peace.”
The spirit seemed to slump with relief. One of the stones in the floor cracked.
“So much effort hath it been of late, to remain here against the pull of the swamps and the push of the local people's new protector. The earth and waters shall this place reclaim to be forgotten.”
He inspected Al for a long moment, and seemed to come to a decision.
“Aemilia hath deemed thou worthy to keep a token of the duties we shared, so too should Darius. I gift to you the sword Purgatio, whose purpose to destroy corruption and malice does not end with our duties. I ask that you open my resting place, and take the sword with you, that its purpose not be lost here.”
Al wasn't sure if they should, but orders were orders. With the help of the others, he got the lid lifted. The remains of Darius inside were dry and skeletal, but otherwise intact. The bronze breastplate was still polished to a reflective shine, and the hilt of a sword gleamed brightly in a fine silver scabbard. Al respectfully undid the buckle on the belt and slid the scabbard from it. Then he replaced the belt, and got the others to help replace the lid on the sarcophagus. The ghost of Darius smiled softly.
“And now the last of our duties is fulfilled,” he said, and in a commanding voice called out, “Milites, missa est!”
“There is one other matter we would ask of you before you depart,” Bote said, “We found the small library in the temple. May we take the writings with us?”
“It is of no interest to myself, but I believe that pleased the priests would be that the knowledge not be devoured by the swamp. But, thou must hurry. As we leave this place, no longer will our strength preserve it here, and this resting place for our unneeded mortal remains shall begin to collapse imminently. Farewell, couriers.”
“Rest well,” Bote told him gently, and turned to leave.
“Bye!” Wikwocket said, waving cheerfully.
Gruntle just grunted.
“Yes, thanks for the sword and everything,” Al finally said. Then he remembered what had been nagging at his mind as the spirit of Darius began to lower itself to lay back down in the sarcophagus with its mortal remains.
“Wait! Why did you ask us who conjured Gruntle? Is that where they come from? Someone magics them here?” he blurted out quickly before the spirit could disappear. Darius' ghost was already fading from view, but he paused.
“The beasts from nowhere came, and if not killed, back to nowhere went. Once, we discovered a cult of the corrupt who were somehow associated with them. When they were rooted out and slain, the beasts appeared no more. Our scholars surmised that they had been calling them forth by some supernatural means. That is all I know.”
“Oh, well, that's more than I knew, thanks. Say, do you have any pointers on how to use a sword, you see I don't actually have any practice with them…”
Darius was gone, however, and did not answer. Al sighed.
“Well, thanks all the same.”
One of the stones in the wall cracked, spilling a few stone chips to the floor.
“Let's hurry up and get out of here, I don't like the sound of imminently.”