There he stood with sword in hand. Looking out over the fields. He walked among them, the long departed. Checking over armor for family crests. The wealthy nobles had paid good money to guide their spirits first. Of course, he knew this was pointless. Souls go when they please, and return all the same. The issue lies with those who do not understand they are dead, or those who refuse to. A phenomenon common on the fields of battles long passed. But that did not really interest him right now.

He was looking for a Regalian surcoat, a family of some note in the border lands between the two kingdoms of Erasta and Celune, the only one with any weight in the middle-ground game of royal politics as a matter of fact. The youngest son of house Regalia, Hensen, was due home from the ****** Fields days ago. Armed with the best weapons and armor a royal name could buy, and still sent to die all the same for the gain of his father. Not that it mattered, but that wasn’t his place to say.

He searched for some hours, scanning through the corpses until finally he broke concentration with a sigh and a smile.
“Ah, there you are!” quickly he moved the bodies of the dead around him in order to make some space, carefully inspecting each one for wounds as he did so.

He pulled out an ornate flask and a small hooded lantern with a gently burning candle from his bag. “Well Hensen, today’s your lucky day!” He turned to face the others around him, “Buuuuut..you!” he said, pointing a finger at one of the solders. “You’re quite a stiff looking fellow, but remarkably well preserved considering. You’ll do nicely.” With that, he began pouring out the contents of the flask in a circle around him. Taking special care not to splash Hensen as he did so. Once 3 full circles leading to and from Hensen had been made, he placed his lantern on the body he had noted.

Once he was sure those preparations were done correctly, he pulled a flute from his pack and began to play. The somber, eerie notes of the Taker’s song rang out soundly through the fields. And in a few moments time, seemed to be joined by voices unknown, keeping the tune. To the untrained ear, this chorus would appear to have no origin, but he knew better. And as the voices grew louder and louder with the song now rapid and thunderous in nature, he let the instrument loose from his lips and held his sword at the ready. Suddenly there, a spirit came, quick as a flash and gone again. And a moment later, a burning sensation. It made the first pass. Luckily, not fatal.

It came again a second time. Though now that he was expecting the attack, not fast enough. In an instant he turned and instinctively his blade had found a fatal resting place. With a horrified look, the spirit let out the word, “Taker…” and was gone in a blink. The body of the soldier it had once belonged to now drained entirely of what little color remained as he turned to face Hensen. “Right on que.” He said as the spirit of Hensen began to flutter in and out next to the body of the soldier. For a few minutes the voices continued to sing until eventually the song came to a quiet close. And with a start, The eyes of the soldier opened.

“Welcome back Sir Hensen of Regalia. We missed you.”