Make a Wish: Glacierfur

“Anything you’d like. Just… not directly benefiting you. It’s part of the rules. Please don’t kill me…. again.” The nebulous spirit looked down at the pointed end of the rune blade, held just beneath the misty form of its neck. It made a show of gulping, which it no longer had to do. Glacierfur would have rolled his eyes, if he thought the being would have paid any attention to it.

Still. It was an opportunity. He stayed his claws for just a moment, the frosty blade wavering slightly before the ghost. His magic was keeping the ghost from simply vanishing, and his blade would devour the creature like a hearty soup in a moment. He had the upper hand. There was only one thing he would wish. 

Only a small truth. One he was loath to reveal, but in the end, it couldn’t hurt him. Or any of his allies. He thought it over, and decided that the risk was worth the reward.

He edged the blade a tiny bit closer to the spirit, which tried to press itself as flatly against the enchanted ground as possible.

“I wish to know how my wife is doing. Is she happy? Is she with the Light?”

The death knight stared at the ghost with hard, cold eyes. The spirit clearly thought to make fun of him for a moment, then reconsidered the thought, after reevaluating the blades position. Then something odd happened. The death knight couldn’t describe what happened, even though his memory was usually infallible. The best that he could say was as if the sun had come out from the clouds for, for just a moment, even thought it was still night, and a moonless one at that.

The dead wolf refocused on the ghost, who looked uncertain, then said, “Yes, she’s… happy. She’s with the Light. She wishes you could be here.”

It was as he thought. A stab of pain that had nothing to do with blades or magic lanced through the dead wolf, a burning hot agony that seared through the ice around his heart. It was as he thought.

The blade came down, stabbing through the ghost, who let out a short, startled scream, as the enchanted weapon tore through the noncorporeal body, shredding the ghost into useless ectoplasm. 

He sheathed his swords, the ghost nearly forgotten as his mind raced at the searing news. She was happy. She wanted him to be there.

 He was damned. Undead.

By all the gods and demons, he would be there for her. Someday. No matter the cost.