Outside the shattered church, the night hangs dead still. The broken blade in Tancred du Forietan’s hand answers the mark on his palm with a cold, hungry pulse.
The Ghost
It is coming through the tether. Not a thing of distance, a thing of claim.
The Woman
Tancred... if it finds him first, we may never cut it loose.
The air at the church steps darkens, thin as spilled ink. A shape gathers there, not fully seen, only suggested by frost and pressure and the wrongness of a voice without a throat.
The Ghost
That voice, I know it. The maker has followed the wound home.
The blade tugs once, hard, toward the dark shape. The woman recoils. The ghost lifts a hand as if to ward off a burial shroud. Tancred du Forietan stands at the edge of the pull, with the tether taut between flesh and void.
The presence presses closer, and the mark on Tancred du Forietan’s palm burns blue against the night. The choice is his, face the hunter, flee into the dark, or do something far worse to sever the line.
“I draw my blade, positioning myself in front of both the Commander and the Woman,. I point my blade towards the entity, "Begone, creature of darkness. Thou shalt depart and return from when thou came. Or I shall put thee down myself."”
SUCCESS (Legendary Willpower, rolled +0)
Tancred du Forietan steps in front of them both, sword lifting between his palm and the shape at the steps. The blue mark on his hand flares, then steadies under his glare.
Tancred du Forietan
Begone, creature of darkness. Depart, and return from whence thou camest, or I shall put thee down myself.
The pressure in the air stutters. Frost crawls back from the threshold, as if the thing has hit an unseen wall.
The Hunter in the Tether
Such teeth in a dead mouth. You guard what is already marked.
The blade’s ember dims, but it does not go out. Behind Tancred, the woman steadies her breath. Beside him, the ghost lowers his warding hand, rigid with recognition.
The Ghost
It hears you now. Not as prey. As opposition.
The shadow at the steps recoils into the blue seep from the sealed door, forced to yield the ground. The night remains cold, but the church no longer leans toward it.
The church steps fell silent, the glow in Tancred's hand dimming to a steady ember.
The Woman
It is gone for now. Thank heaven.
The Ghost
A thin mercy, but mercy all the same.
Tancred du Forietan
It knew my name. I answered with steel.
The Hunter in the Tether withdrew into the dark, denied its due. Tancred du Forietan remained beneath the church stone, marked but unbowed, while the blade's malice lost its hold for one hard-earned moment. Around him, fear gave way to exhausted relief, and the night kept its silence at last.