Journal date 214 of the Commonality Calendar, 2nd night of Oasis post defense:
Nights here are unsettling at best and screams are often heard from dusk until dawn. Waves of dead bash against our shields and every moment we find ourselves on the hard chairs of the nearby tavern are a luxury. We lost several after darkness fell, but that’s become standard as we travel across the desert no matter where our garrison stops.
Tonight, however, was a bit different.
While I stood ready, bones shaking from the shriek of a nearby Banshee, I heard a disturbance from the direction of the tavern – a Wraith. Cloaked in black as if in permanent mourning, the Wraith almost glided through the side gate. I dare say that we would have all perished there had the Wraith decided to take advantage of the confusion. Just as fast as she appeared she was gone; sliding back into the shadows cast by the dancing lanterns nearby. I was later told she likely recalled out, but it was strange to think why. All undead seek only death and destruction, so why was the Wraith unlike the rest. The lingering thoughts were soon forgotten as I turned to face the still present danger of the Banshee and a few lingering zombies.
Calm soon followed the Banshee’s retreat. Cleaning wounds, tending to the fatigued, and doing our best to bury the lost filled some time after the onslaught. Left to my own devices and finding a brief respite I sought out the tavern once more. I was savoring stew and honey buttered bread when one of the May’kar squad leaders gave an exclamation of panic. Undead, and just standing in the camp waiting for… something. Once more, the Wraith was amongst us. I barely got a glance of the light on her skeletal form as once more the shadows claimed her. With no need for me to draw my sword, I finished my stew with an increasingly unsettling feeling forming in my stomach. Why was the Wraith waiting for us? During the day I’d witnessed her might in casting down the stalwart Vandregonian and May’kar alike. While likely above my paygrade I found myself locked into finding the answer to the newfound undead riddle.
As midnight approached, I readied myself for a change of the guard. My chance to pray even more fervently that the undead find other places to corrupt with their presence. Locked in my thoughts, I heard one of the tavern ladies approach. She was a friendly sort, if not slightly addled by the grotesque times we now live in. I first thought she only came to complain of unruly tavern goers, but then more information matched previous descriptions of the Wraith… All black, quite even when offered all manner of beverages and refreshments – seeming to want something but unable to convey what. I watched as the Tielorrien mage walk forward and began quiet conversations.
We were speaking with an undead; not a Blood Mage, not a Penitent addled and lost with calamity, but with undeath itself. A crowd gathered within the tavern just inside the lantern light and I inched as close as I could without leaving my post. I heard whispers throughout the crowd as we watched with bated breath. My hand hovered over my sword, certain that I could not save the mage but confident to at least shield the nearby caravanners. I watched once more as the impossible happened – the Tielorrien walked away, back turned to the Wraith as she melted into the black of night. We hadn’t just spoken with the dead, we’d survived without a fight and without our blood on the ground. I found myself near tears at the thought of Illyara blessing us tonight.
I returned to my watch, unable to slip away from my duties to ask more of our mysterious visitor. Luckily, I was stationed close enough to a few squad leaders talking over the recent events with our most brave mage. The Wraith was a mother looking for her child and was worried we’d hidden them away from her embrace. A mother like the countless we’d had to place on caravans to move towards the coast as we buried their children. Like the countless more who undoubtably joined the lost as they ran back into contested ground at the sliver of hope their child’s safety had. I had heard about the Oasis’s dire situation some time ago upon arrival, with tales of children being tasked to dig to safety until tunnels collapsed and food ran scarce. I fret to think this Wraith’s, this mother’s, child was amongst those buried in near futile attempts to escape the Undeads’ push towards the Oasis. Perhaps it was so.
I write this tonight as I find myself unable to sleep after the new happenings. The undead are not all willing participants of carnage and corruption. Not all seek our total annihilation and break from sanity; some simply willed for an impossible future so ardently they remained alive after death to seek resolution. They became undead through love to find their child.
The Wraith will soon find we know not of her child. Perhaps the mages and those of better understanding will be able to quell her rage and loss and peacefully ferry her away. I will send another prayer to Ilyara for it to be so. I now hold my blade understanding that we will one night need to bare arms against the Wraith, but I can now only see myself baring it against a mother. I know what I must do; but do I have the strength to carry through? Only my desperation will tell.