“There’s been a Wight plaguing our town, we believe it to be hiding in an old watchtower just past the north forest. We’ve all chipped in and can pay you fifty gold pieces.” The alderman spoke with confidence, but Aldrun could see fear in his eyes. Maybe the man misspoke?
“A white?”
“Right.”
It confused Aldrun; how was he to fight a colour? “I accept this challenge, I shall leave at dusk.” Surely at night he could find this white easier.
Aldrun spent the next few hours in a small dusky tavern, his belly grumbling at the smell of various cooked meats. Not the best choice to wait in a tavern when you have no coin. Aldrun hoped that the reward for the white would be enough to buy a dinner, and drink if he was lucky.
Aldrun had set out earlier than planned; His hunger was upsetting him. Only if he could be more like his horse Patch, content with eating grass although Aldrun had tried a handful of times in the past but never found it filling enough. As the orange sun fell behind the hills to his left, Aldrun lit a torch as he rode Patch through the forest, mostly for Patch's benefit, Aldrun's eyes could see well in the darkness. Rain earlier in the day made the ground soft. Neither Aldrun nor Patch liked it.
After the stars had moved partway through the sky, Aldrun spied a burnt down building and tower. He swiftly dismounted Patch, his heavy mail forcing his feet to sink into the ground. Extinguishing the torch with a leather wrap and putting it back in Patch’s saddle, he then drew his trusty sword Rebutter and approached the buildings. As he drew closer Aldrun could see a pale blue glow coming from near the top of the wooden-walled watchtower. Not quite white but the alderman is an older man so maybe his eyes aren’t as good anymore; could have been a simple mistake. Still unsure how to fight a colour, Aldrun approached the damp and decaying doorway, opening it slowly. It let out a loud creak. Colours can’t hear, right?
Before Aldrun could finish the thought, he found himself on his back a fancy table’s length away from where he once stood. Immediately he could feel cold mud seeking its way through his chain shirt. Rolling over quickly and to a crouched position, sword still in hand, Aldrun looked up back toward the doorway. A Ghost, wielding a long-sword and donned in leather armour. Very much not a colour.
As Aldrun stood up he shouted out, “I, Aldrun Slayer of Fiends, wielder of…” he felt something wrap around his foot. Quickly looking downward, a decaying hand holds onto Aldrun’s boot and begins pulling itself out of the muddy ground. Aldrun spins his blade, severing the hand from the arm of the ghoul. Hearing incoming squelching, Aldrun sees the ghost before its blade pierces him. The moon light reflecting off of Rebutter as it meets and deflects the ghost’s blade.
Taking a defensive stance with his newly freed foot, Aldrun readjusts preparing for the ghost’s follow through. The ghost swings wide, Aldrun makes a slash connecting with the ghost, its form flickers, a look of surprise from the ghost as the two lock eyes. The ghost backs up and lunges forward for an attack, Aldrun prepares and slices off the ghost’s hand. The ghost keeps closing distance despite the loss, passing through Aldrun’s body.
Dropping to the ground, Aldrun’s body grows cold as he throws up what remained of breakfast. Now really hoping that reward will be enough for a feed. Aldrun angrily gets up and readies his blade, the ghost having reclaimed its hand and sword but the heavy slash still in its side. Aldrun lets out a cry, making a flurry of attacks, pushing the ghost back before a final swift slash from the ghost’s shoulder, through its torso, and out its side. Letting out a howling scream, the pale blue ghost fades into the night. Exhausted, Aldrun stumbles over to the ghoul still trying to climb out of the mud, with precision Aldrun stabs the skull of the undead being, as it falls limp Aldrun does the same.
Sitting on the cold damp ground, Aldrun looks back to the watchtower. This seems to be the place the alderman described, but no white, only a pale blue ghost and a trapped ghoul. Returning to Patch, Aldrun set up his bedroll and tries to get some rest. Hoping that the alderman won’t be upset about not finding the white and that he’ll pay for killing the ghost and ghoul.
Aldrun awoke before the sun returned to the sky, his belly not allowing him to rest. Taking a swig of water, Aldrun promised himself a full meal once he returned to town. Once all packed up, Aldrun mounted Patch and started heading back the way he came, as the warming sun rose to his left through the dense forest. A shift in the tree tops catches Aldrun’s eye, a loud creak and snap echoes as a large brach comes toppling toward the ground. Striking Aldrun in the head causing him to fall from Patch, his last sight a large puddle of water.
