The shimmering violet curtain evaporated with the Witcher's gesture, releasing a torrent of chilled air to wash over the waiting students. Frederick suppressed a shudder as he felt the magical energies of the Yrden Sign release, flowing into himself, Merinea and Meinard as the Master let them loose, the power seeking the nearest possible way to seep back into the world. In that moment, the young apprentice felt his senses heighten, connecting to a world that had previously been cut off. He sensed the magical leylines that surged around him, connecting him to the runes inscribed on the floor, to the timid young Merinea, similarly awed by the flush of energy, to the luminous pillar of power that was Master Meinard, a brilliant star of energy hanging from his neck, and to the creature within the box.
Inside the crate, the coffin, to put a more suitable name on it, the monster that had once been a man waited, his entire being boiling with malevolence. Frederick sensed the magics that tied him to the world, binding his spirit in physical form, a black, swirling vortex of eldritch energies that dragged at the adept's soul. The very presence of the beast sapped at his stamina, draining his vital essence. Frederick realised that, without the protection of the runes, anyone untrained in the appropriate defences would soon find himself exhausted, vulnerable. This feeling only grew as the lock on the box, previously secure, glowed with a faint purple light that quickly faded at Meinard's command.
As the runes of Yrden brightened then dimmed on the wrought iron, the struggles of the monster renewed, intensifying as his awareness of the weakened restraints grew. The lid of the coffin shuddered under a mighty blow, a terrible growl escaping from within.
Standing at the edge of the circle, Otto and Fordalt shifted their grips on their swords, trying to maintain a ready stance. They watched the trembling crate with trepidation.
With a mighty roar, the wraith heaved against his prison, his bull-like strength ramming against the wood again and again. The lock, formerly so steadfast in its duty, slowly, slowly twisted under the assault. The metal stretched, strained, struggled, then with a final groan it gave way, snapping apart. The lid slammed open, clattering to the floor behind the coffin.
More white mist poured from the open coffin, followed by a black-gloved hand. The weathered leather glove was dull with age, cracked from years, perhaps even decades of use. The covered fingers curled around the edge of the coffin, creaking as the knuckles resisted the motion. A groaning, drawn-out sigh escaped from within, then the beast hauled his hulking frame into view.
The wraith was tall, his shoulders reaching higher than most men's heads, save perhaps for Master Njall. He was clad entirely in black, from the leather of his boots to the gloves, while a broad, flowing cloak draped over his shoulders and reached down to the floor. His body was wrapped in several layers of black cloth, the arrangement of which put Frederick in mind of the wraps one would normally apply to an embalmed corpse before it is entombed. Encircling his waist, a broad leather belt sported some kind of crest, perhaps a coat of arms or a family insignia. Hanging from it, a long sword with an elegant hilt shone, in surprisingly good condition compared to the rest of his apparel. As Frederick looked on, he noted an aura glowing around the blade, a strange glimmer of white light that betrayed an ethereal quality to the weapon, as though it weren't entirely there.
The most striking feature of the wraith, however, was the bloody stump of a neck that protruded above the shoulders. As explained by Meinard, the head had been removed entirely, leaving a ragged, raw stump. The open maw of the cut throat wheezed as stale air was pulled in and expelled. The bone of the spinal cord jutted out past the mouldering flesh, discoloured a diseased yellow where it met the air. Crusty, dry blood flaked off from the open wound, while deep within the open flesh Frederick suspected that he caught sight of maggots, writhing, gnawing, slithering.
The next thing to reveal itself to the students after the wraith's terrifying visage was the horrific smell. The odour of rancid, ancient meat and musty clothing surged through their nostrils, a heavy, cloying smell that clung to the backs of their throats and made even the strongest constitutions wither. A couple of the adepts swayed unsteadily at the stench, barely keeping their feet as a swoon threatened to overwhelm them.
The wraith staggered free of the coffin, his shoulders heaving as he drew in long, watery breaths through the opening in his neck. A gurgling roar escaped from his chest as his hand grasped the hilt of his weapon, drawing it and turning to the students with an awareness that one wouldn't expect from something missing so many of its sensory organs. Frederick assumed that its awareness had to come from a more arcane source, rather than simple eyes and ears.
Before the young apprentice could study the beast any further, the brothers from Velen charged past him, racing into the circle with their blades raised. Otto thrust his way to the fore, his weapon slicing through the air with vicious intent.
The wraith's weapon rose with inhuman speed, blocking the attack to the surprise of the young man. A grunt echoed the creature's motions as it shoved against the locked blades, pushing the adept back. Otto stumbled back a little, his weight settling onto his back foot. The wraith shifted his grip, making ready to further exploit the advantage that he had opened up, but, in a flash, Fordalt was there, harassing its flank with a few jabs. The beast rumbled in protest, turning his attention from one adept to the other. His blade disengaged from Otto's, tracing a silvery arc as it sought his brother, but Fordalt was quick enough to dance backwards, narrowly avoiding the lethal tip.
The duo took a step back, rethinking their strategy, but the monster was unwilling to give them even a second to think, charging forward. The pair responded by raising their weapons, points out to hinder the creature's sides. The wraith groaned, backing away as the brothers pressed their attacks. His sword lashed out wildly, keeping his two attackers at bay, but the attacks were erratic, unrefined, with no real plan behind them. Instead, the wraith put his full brute force behind the strokes, lashing out with blows of bone-shattering power.
The wraith drew his sword back to strike again, and in the ever-so-brief lull in the engagement, the two brothers glanced to one another. Otto twitched his head, raising his chin, and Fordalt nodded in response. That mere moment was all the brothers needed before darting forward, one dodging to the right while the other dashed left. They flanked the creature, Fordalt dropping into a crouch as his blade flicked at the monster's knees. Otto, meanwhile, went high, driving the point of his blade at the wraith's heart.
The weapon scraped across bone, a sound like fingernails on a chalkboard screeching through the air as Otto's blade etched a line down one of the beast's ribs before jolting to the side awkwardly. For just a moment, Frederick imagined that he could see a glowing aura surround the wraith, a grey-white flickering shadow that wrestled with the weapon, knocking it a hair to the side and away from such a vital point. The unnatural way Otto's arm twisted as he struggled to keep a grip of the sword's hilt spoke of some unseen force acting on the blade.
The twins pressed their attack and slowly began to drive the creature back, even with the invisible barrier taking the bite out of their attacks. When one went in high, the other warrior would swing low, catching the wraith as it sought to defend against the first attack. Ever so slowly, step by step, the beast fell back under the assault.
Frederick and Merinea tensed as one booted foot stepped back across the boundary of the smaller magic circle. The pair readied themselves, sensing Meinard do the same at their shoulders. The mage's apprentice grew still.
Even with an inkling of what to expect, Frederick was still caught utterly off-guard when the magic flowed into him, surging up through his feet as the arcane ley-lines converged on him. His entire body crackled with the power, every nerve ablaze with what felt like raw excitement, anticipation and exuberance made tangible. Then, when he felt like he couldn't take any more and his very skin would burst from trying to contain the energy, Frederick heard Meinard give the command.
"YRDEN!"
The trio gestured, and the barrier flared into being with a brilliant flash, throwing the wraith back into the centre of the circle. The monster tried to move back towards its assailants, but violet fire crackled around it, eliciting a groan of torment from the gruesome prisoner. The beast shook in rage, sword tip lashing at the magical wall in a futile gesture.
Meinard stepped forward, interposing himself between the wraith and the students. His hands slapped together as he paced, his fingers knotting together while he pursued his lips.
"An excellent display, students! Did you note the way that the wraith's ethereal essence interfered with your attacks? Due to the fact that a wraith is not a wholly physical being, magical energy flows around it differently, and thus the real world behaves unusually in response. Arrows can be turned aside completely, blades will twist and squirm in your hands, flames can turn icy cold, and even your Signs will have a negligible or perhaps reversed effect.
"Even when your attacks do land, they will often have their impact lessened. See how the flesh wounds you inflicted are already healing over? The nature of the curse keeping the wraith among the living will keep on restoring the body to a condition where it can operate. A wound that would normally be fatal is soon healed, while minor scrapes and cuts will not heal quickly, or perhaps even at all."
"So... how can we fight a wraith at all?" Darren challenged. "If it can shrug off even the strongest sword thrust, what do we do?"
"Well, as you saw, the creature is not immune to pain." Meinard explained. "Slicing at a limb or stabbing it through the chest will still elicit a response. In fact, it is often the nature of curses to enhance the pain and suffering of the creature, frequently pushing them into madness. At times, this can be enough to dismiss them, at least temporarily. If they endure enough pain, this can sometimes cause their spirit to lose focus and their form will decay. An ethereal wraith will vanish entirely, while a physical wraith such as this one will fall into a lifeless heap. However, it will not take long for the spirit to return and resume its roaming. Defeating a cursed one through physical force is only ever a temporary solution. As I said before, the only true resolution to the issue is to end the curse."
The Master strode over to the two brothers, taking the blades from them.
"A good display, students." He commended. "Now, who will be next?"
Another pair of students stepped forward, Ida and Cyrus, taking the blades from Meinard. With a nod of his head, he bade Merinea join the others.
"You have done well in casting the Sign, adept. Regain your strength, the act of casting can be taxing, especially on the uninitiated."
Frederick made a move to join the others, but the Witcher raised a hand to bar his way.
"Not you. I want you to stay here and cast again."
"Master?" The young adept asked curiously.
"Think of it as part of the experiment." Meinard replied with a shrug. He pointed to another student. "You, come join us at the edge of the circle." He didn't even wait for the other student, this time the stoic Krenai, to follow his instruction. Instead, he turned to face the wraith again. "Now, let us begin again."
~o~0~o~
The day had grown long, the first few glimmers of sunset filtering through what gaps in the windows they could. Inside, the students still performed the repetitive exercise of stepping up to the circle and doing battle with the wraith. Time and again, the beast sought to bull through the waiting adepts, sword slashing wildly, and time and again it was beaten back and contained within the magic circle once more. Time and again, Frederick found himself casting the Yrden Sign at Meinard's side, a different adept assisting them each time.
The former mage's apprentice had lost count of how many times he had raised and lowered the magical barrier around the monster, each time becoming more draining than the last. His pulse raced, his nerves burned and his muscles twitched from the strain, the magical power flowing through him exacting an enormous toll, even with the support of a Master at his side. Sweat trickled down the nape of his neck, tracing a languorous route along his spine as he suppressed a shiver.
As the adepts kept on tackling the wraith, over and over, Frederick noticed the Witcher Master stepping further and further back, allowing his students to handle the experiment without his support. Frederick cast a sidelong glance at the Master, noting that he was paying more attention to the adepts than the monster, his narrowed, dark eyes watching them all with analytical interest. The former mage's apprentice felt as though the demonstration was being used for more than just instruction, Meinard using the opportunity to gauge the abilities of the students in his charge and evaluate them. For what purpose, Frederick could only guess, but he found it unnerving how intent of an interest the unusual Witcher showed in the young adept whenever he was casting the Yrden Sign, the dark eyes each time fixing upon him with that cold, emotionless detachment.
Finally, just when Frederick thought that tapping into the arcane energies of the Sign would bring him to his knees, Meinard called a halt to the experiment, much to the adept's relief. The wraith, covered in small cuts and scratches, growled in fury at being confined again, still pacing behind the barrier. Meinard ignored this, drawing the attention of the students to himself.
"That is all we will have time for today. Remember what you have seen here, students. These are dangerous creatures, and merely a taste of the perils you will meet out on the hunt. Should you have any further questions, come and see me. But for the time being, you are dismissed."
The gathered adepts relaxed, the air of tense attentiveness dissolving as the Witcher turned his back on them, leaning over his desk to read some pieces of parchment scattered there. A couple of students moved over to speak with him, the others shuffling towards the door as they began to chatter amongst themselves.
Frederick felt the tension leave his body as his focus eased, no longer needing to concentrate on the magical energy around him. He felt Meinard's previous connection fade, the Witcher's support in helping the adept find the arcane webs of the Yrden barrier vanishing with alarming speed. Frederick took those final moments to observe the details of the magical circle, committing the designs and placement of the runes to memory while also holding on to the inner sensations that casting the Sign had left him with, the mental gestures needed to channel the eldritch command. He knelt down, holding a hand over one rune briefly, watching as the purple energy of the barrier twisted around his fingers. Then, after all too short a time, his link to the Master was gone, and with it his ability to tap into that ethereal realm. The runes of the circle became once more inane scribblings in chalk, and the violet hues of the barrier lost their lustre. Sighing at the loss of sensation, Frederick got to his feet.
As he turned, he noted one of the students had strayed away from the pack. Hilda, still seeming somewhat out of sorts, had strayed over to the secondary magic circle, within which the Mula now lurked. The vampire, sensing the scrutiny, had turned to face the young woman, toying with her hair coyly as she smiled invitingly. Hilda, meanwhile, trembled with some kind of barely contained emotion, her cheeks flushed as she stared at the monster. She jumped, stifling a squeak of surprise, as Frederick placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Are you alright, my lady?" He asked tentatively.
"Uh... yes, I'm fine!" She managed between hurried breaths. "I'm fine. I just... never mind. And don't call me 'your lady'. I am no one's lady."
"As you wish, my la- Hilda." Frederick caught himself. He glanced over to the Mula, noting her predatory gaze, more focused on the woman than on him. "She is a fascinating creature, is she not?"
"Yes... she is..." As Hilda turned to face the vampire, her voice grew faint. The Mula flashed her another gleaming white smile, a purr of invitation in her throat. The Skelliger flushed at the gesture, her eyes darting away in embarrassment.
"I would be interested to know if there have been other examples of mind control." Frederick tried to draw the young woman's attention away from the vampire. "I believe I have seen similar effects before, although not from a vampire."
"Oh?" Hilda glanced to him with interest.
"Yes, during my time with Master Travis, I... was controlled once. Not by a creature, but by a book. It forced me to cast a spell that..." Frederick paused, the words catching as he remembered the incident. "That almost cost me everything I had."
"I see." Hilda nodded. "Perhaps we can talk to Meinard together? I am keen to learn more myself."
Frederick nodded, gesturing for the young woman to lead the way. As he stepped in line behind her, he glanced to the circle, only to catch a glimpse of the Mula, glaring at him. Her eyes sparkled with ferocity, frustration at having her prey be taken away from her obvious in the twist of her lips. The young apprentice suppressed a shudder, turning away.