RoH: Death Trap Ballet

He was halfway down the path, hands still up, when they rose from the ground around him: a trio of wraiths, misty and half-seen in the midday light. "Call them off!" he shouted, and drew his sword. 

They moved, and he danced through them. Wraiths were hard to kill; ordinarily, they could allow a blade to pass through them without making contact. Remant, on the other hand, had been very specific when he had commissioned his blade: it wasn't all that powerful, but it could damage anything. The first wraith was dispelled before it knew what had happened; the blade sliced through its ghostly presence as if it were ordinary flesh. 

The other two hesitated, and Remant used that pause to cut down a second wraith. The third one tried to come at him from behind, but he spun and thrust. Impaled, it wailed its death-cry and dissolved. 

He sheathed the sword and walked towards the gazebo. He was aware that the figure back there had tried -- and failed -- to attack him with a spell when the wraiths attacked. "Don't do it," he warned. The figure -- the Viscount Forzen -- backed away, but didn't flee. He's planning something else, Remant decided, and stopped at the foot of the steps. "Former Viscount Forzen," he called up. "Will you step forward and speak to me?"

There was a momentary hesitation, and then the Viscount presented himself. Remant counted that as a minor victory, but not yet a winning move. 

In the light of the sun, the former viscount wasn't obviously undead; it was no wonder the servants failed to fear him. The signs were there, to a trained eye: very slightly sagging skin over slowly-thinning flesh, bluish undertones to the skin, dark circles around the eyes. Nothing yet that couldn't be attributed to advanced age, if one were inclined to ignore the signs. 

"You mean to take my home," the former viscount said indignantly. "Explain to me why I shouldn't destroy you here and now."

Remant sighed. "I suppose I could have done this the other way around, but here's my proposition: I buy the house outright from your niece, and basically ignore the fact that you're still here and effectively running the place. The servants seem pretty loyal to you, and you seem to be taking care of them as well. Is that still possible now that you're no longer a viscount?"

The dead man hesitated, then said: "I forget that I am dead. The spell to convert me was triggered by my death, and so for me I felt my chest clench, saw the darkness draw in, and then was... just lying there on the floor, untouched." He sighed. "It seems an unfair way to take my home and position away from me."

Remant chuckled. "I suppose it would," he said, looking up at the older man. "My question remains: without your position, could you still support your staff?"

"I believe so," said the dead viscount. "I am rather an accomplished spellcrafter, and even selling potions and scrolls would bring in good money. It would be demeaning to resort to trade, but I believe I could manage it."

Remant considered that, then nodded. "Your niece, who inherited this place, wishes to sell it and move to Foringelt. As it happens, I have money enough to buy it from her, and I have no objection to leaving it in your keeping -- if I am given a place here, perhaps a wing of the house for my own."

The dead viscount Dirimant Acklin regarded him from the top of the steps for a long, long moment. Then he came down. "Don't set foot up there," he warned. 

"I wasn't planning to," Remant told him.