SUAW Workbook

The Spirit of Writing: Prompt 3

❗️❗️❗️SPOILERS FOR WARFIRE❗️❗️❗️

Prompt: Write your character encountering a dead famous/historical person.

Carth didn't do much after that. What more was there to do? He could walk through walls, levitate a small distance, sometimes move small objects (all depending on how frustrated he was). Once he got over the initial shock of being, well, dead, Carth was bored.

Don't get him wrong, he still didn't want to think about his parents' reactions to him being dead, but after months of this, he wasn't really phased anymore. He still avoided the room with the bodies, however. He'll be traumatized for life on seeing his body decompose. The damn Kinsmen, they didn't even bother burying his or Gath's body!

He supposed he could technically leave—he didn't feel particularly connected to the place—but...he didn't feel ready if that made any sense. He needed more energy. Where that energy would come from, he didn't know, but he was—somehow—gaining it slowly. It was only a matter of days until he could make his way...wherever the hell he wanted to, he guessed. Going home was an option, but did he really want to see his parents mourn?

He floated down another broken stairway, landing soundlessly on the ground and making sure he didn't phase through to the next floor as his thoughts continued to wander. His thoughts did that a lot, he mildly noted as he continued to make his daily rounds to find any energy to feed on. The compound was much bigger than he initially realized, and even now, he continued to find new areas. No wonder he and his squadron became lost so easily.

"Gods, I hope they're ok," he said to himself, not particularly worried about anyone hearing him. For one, there was no one around, and two, his own voice sounded like there was cotton in his ears. He wasn't even sure if anyone could hear him.

He rounded the corner into a room. Sunlight shone through a crumbling wall, painting the room pink and orange. The cracks were high up from the ground, but it wasn't as if that stopped him from viewing the sunrise. It only took a gentle leap, willing himself upwards until he could see outside. He crossed his legs under him, merely sitting on nothing as the sun continued to rise over the trees. This was his favorite spot in the compound, and he'd come here every morning. Rays of sun would shine through him, and the breeze would flutter his cloak behind him. He couldn't feel either of them at all, but he had long come to terms with that fact.

This morning, however, his peace would be interrupted.

"You witch!"

Carth stuttered at the voice, his body plummeting a foot before he caught himself. With wide eyes, he turned to stare at the door.

There stood a man in funny clothes and a funny-looking hat, pointing an accusatory finger at him. Despite the distracting attire (Seriously, who wore such a tall hat like that? It looked like a bucket with a wide rim. And that shirt did not flatter his shape at all.), in less than two seconds, Carth knew he was staring at another ghost. It was the light, muted colors and transparency that gave it away.

"Me?" Carth replied dumbly.

"Condemned! I condemn thee on the charge of witchcraft!"

Carth looked to the ground. "I wouldn't call it that, but I suppose it's still magic? I'm a mage?"

When Carth looked up, however, the man was quickly—and angrily—approaching him, and before he could react, the man grabbed hold of his leg and dragged him to the ground. Carth yelped at the contact—he didn't think anything could touch him—and he became more alarmed when he felt pain ripple through his back as he slammed into the ground. Within mere nanoseconds, the man was on top of him, the man's foot pressing painfully down on his abdomen and grinding his heel where his stab wound resided.

"As God as my witness, I, the Witchfinder General Matthew Hopkins condemn you to—"

Carth didn't get to hear the rest of it as power surged through him.

"Drae vak!"

While Carth didn't see the actual spell activate, the man was blown back as if he was hit by it. Carth rolled to the side and onto his feet in seconds. A sword was in his hands. Whether it was from instinct or the feeling of death still fresh in his mind, without a second thought, he thrust the sword into the man's neck.

The man disappeared as if he was never there.

Carth heaved as he continued to stare where the man once was, sheathing his still-clean sword in the sheath that also appeared as his waist. He didn't know when it had gotten there in the first place, but he wasn't about to complain when the mysterious occurrence may have just saved his life. Or earthly form, since he technically already lost his life.

Ok, other ghosts are a danger. Good to know.

Somehow he felt more energized after the man disappeared, and he now felt strong enough to leave. A good thing since he didn't want to stay here any longer, especially after that.

Perhaps I'll go check up on Nagan and the others, he thought as he exited the room, the sun now shining brightly in the sky. He kept his guard up, however. Just in case any more strange ghosts wanted to jump him, as well.

Maybe I can still protect them in this form.