Sharee’s chant was low, rhythmic and enthralled the deceased spirit, her words laden with essence and power, making it sway like some cobra dancing to the music of her voice. The spirit of the dead chef was drawn to the witch, unable to control itself, hissing and cursing as it fell under the influence of her spell. “Leave me be, witch!” it hissed and hateful shades darted and danced around the heart of the spirit, retreating behind the massive spectral arrow as Sharee focused on them.
"Speak, and let us have part - in who or what pierced your heart” Sharee chanted, to which the spirit hissed and responded in kind, now fully under the influence of the spell. “I was killed by the high lord’s treasure, the one forged to mirror his pleasure. But her treacherous words and her evil breath, was not the true cause of my death. Hers was not the hand that felled me, yet it was. Hers was not the will that killed me, but it was her loss.”
As Sharee continued her questioning, the hateful shades grew stronger and the spirit hissed, causing the air around Sharee to grow even chiller, and soon the sorceress was covered with an additional thin layer of frost, chilling her to the bone. Still she spoke. “Speak of the captain, where he went, with all the mercenaries' might, This fateful night, so full of fright, why did he leave his tent?”
To this the spirit wailed, but it did not seem distressed and the strange shades calmed down, once more settling around the area of the wound. “The Captain, our leader, valiant and bold, left to hunt down my slayer so cold. He lifted his mattock and raised his sword, but he fails to see what remains unheard”
Having answered Sharee’s questions, the spirit danced its cobra dance, swaying to the motion of Sharee’s enthralling chant its eyes pleading for its release even as the dark shades slowly spread throughout its incorporeal body.
Hans ran out of the tent as he heard Hunthar’s cry of warning. In his arms was a long spear, one he promptly shoved into the arms of the whining slave. “By the power that has been vested in me, I command you to fight for our cause!” he barked, his steely gaze firm upon the cowardly woman. Then he pushed the lithe woman forth, to the forefront of the group, alongside Hunthar and Flare. Then he shouted once again, looking distractedly over his shoulder towards the tent in which Roack hid. “Roack! We need you here!"
Shadowy figures could be seen further up the path, their bulky frames emerging from the darkness, surrounded by a nimbus of swirling, powdery snow. There was a lot of them, four, five, no… eight men and two of them carried the nude corpse of a female between them. They were Captain Craeth Calwydden and his seven surviving men.
Solstra froze in her tracks. The dead woman was Onatha, the master’s first pleasure slave, a woman she both loved and loathed. The mercenaries had hacked her to pieces, even severed her head, which one of them now carried by the roots of her hair. Even in death her face had this strange sneer, a hateful visage silently condemning them all to eternal suffering. It was as if the face was even more alive now than ever in life, and it stared at them with dead eyes full of hate. A shudder went through the young ex-slave and she had to divert her eyes.
“Hans!” the burly Captain bellowed, and opened his arms in a warm hearted gesture, as if to hug his sergeant! “You cannot imagine how glad I am to see you and your men!”
Soon the bonfire had been refuelled and the 14 remaining men of Craeth's Mercenary Company, which once had totalled 120, sat around the fireplace discussing events. Domunsoka and Solstra attracted quite some attention, but the Captain quickly accepted the explanation, though he seemed shaken to the core of his being. The camp became alive with talk of Marcus and of a maddened naked whore assaulting their camp and refusing to die until she had been hacked to pieces. A dangerous whore which had killed a lot of men, ambushing them in the darkness, snapping their necks like they were twigs. An then there was talk about treasonous mercenaries, formerly loyal, who suddenly deserted with a man they formerly hated to a location they cannot possibly hope to flee from. There were so many topics and while some of the fatigued men sat talking around the fireplace, others went to bed, while still others stood guard, three and three, by orders of the Captain.
(OOC: Sharee can continue her questioning of the spirit if she so desires, or she can release it to the afterlife. Meanwhile the rest of you can parlay with the Captain and his men, or you might want to get some sleep. You are all exhausted. Any other action is also feasible, it is up to you)