Jamaros in Sigil (The Wraith)


18th day of the Month of Conflict, 126th Year of Factol Haskar’s Administration

It, whatever It is, reaches the center of the ring.  Felgar gulps and takes several steps back, a cold sweat beading on his brow and he licks his lips.  The gnome falls back even further when a hollow voice speaks from within the hood “Come with me.  My master has need of you.  Do well and you will be richly compensated.”


Jamaros turns his head to face the robed figure, “You will have to wait.  I am in the middle of talking to this one,” he indicates Felgar with a jerk of his thumb, “so be patient or you will end up like the Walrus.”

The wraith’s robes flutter in an unfelt breeze.  The fighting chamber grows colder and Felgar swallows, his breath fogging in the cool air.  “It’s alright.  I kin wait til another time.”  The filthy creature backs away several feet, his eyes never leaving the wraith as he circles around the far side of the ring before making a hasty retreat toward the stairs.  The wraith’s hollow voice speaks once again, “My master has need of you.”

The wraith’s hollow voice echoes from within the hood of its cloak, “My master is your creator, he who kept you from true death, he who granted you the powerful gifts you possess, he who would have you rule.”

"What do you mean have me rule?  From where I stand this form is a curse so unless your master is a god of death and kept me from death he didn't do much."

A dry chuckle escapes from the confines of the cloaked figure's hood.  "My master is that and more. Come with me and all shall be made clear" the wraith replies.

"And just where are we going?"

"The White Kingdom of course. Or, you can stay here with the filthy little mortal. Of course, my master may decide to take back his gift should that be the case."

Jamaros pauses for a moment, unsure if the cloaked figure's boast about this "master's power" is truthful but replies, "All right I get your point I'll go with you and hear him out."

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