Visiting an old friend

[Otho Sarus]

The moon hung high in the black velvet carpet of the night sky. Not a star could be seen, no light, save the moon itself. She sat there, gazing down upon the graveyard, casting pale white light across the ancient stones, and bathing the road that ran past the entrance to the cemetary in pale white light.
It was by this eerie light that a dark figure could be seen, resting on the iron gates that hung resolutely upon the stone pillars that marked the entrance, determined not to give way, even in the face of terrible rust.
The shadowed figure hunched over the gates, gazing across the calm emptiness of the graveyard, the brilliant silence lending a relaxing air to the moonlit scene.
Slowly, he pushed open the gate with one long, thin arm. As he stepped out from behind the gate post and into the moonlight proper, it became clear that the visitor was a little old man, clad in flowing purple robes and carrying a long wooden staff. His long hair was gray, no, almost white in the moonlight, and his close trimmed beard was of the same colour. His face was lined with the cares of age, and his eyes. . .
His eyes were deep purple, deeper and more enchanting than the colour of his robes. Though he wore an expression of absent glee, his eyes carried a spark of intellect that few ever posessed.
Slowly, the old man shambled through the graveyard, taking care not to step from the path between the weathered stones, as his staff met the ground in a regular, light rhythm.
Eventually, he reached the very far corner of the cemetary. An area where the very oldest graves lay, and the very oldest bones.
The old man bent down slowly, leaning heavily on his staff as he did, and wobbling slightly. He reached out to the stone before him, his hands much more steady than they had any right to be. The stone was worn with age, as was he, and the name was masked with thick moss and leaves. The old man muttered something, and brushed aside the vegetation with a flick of his wrist - the movement of a man much younger than himself.
As the ancient lettering came into view, it became clear that it was written in the old tongue - a language now spoken by very few, and known of by only slightly more.
Scholars of the day loved to translate ancient runes, but would have been perplexed by the meaning of the title on the headstone.

"Friend" It read simply. Nothing else, save for a strange shape etched into the centre of the weathered marble, a shape that adorned the covers of a few surviving books in the ancient history section of the great library, a shape which signified the banishment of evil, and carried it's own wardings and protection. No dead may touch it, and the bones would remain safe for eons yet to come.
Though only one man ever came to visit the grave, and only one man ever would. He had done so for centuries, coming once or twice every hundred years, to pay his respects to the man that had taken him in, all those years ago.

[Ashard]

Ashard was tending to the beaten down grass while the two gargoyles were off playing in the fields somewhere when he heard the graveyard gate open. Thankfull for an oportunity to take a break from the tedeous work that the necromancer had forced upon him so willingly almost every night, the keeper made his way over to inspect the tresspasser of the evening.

Following and watching to see what this old man was up to, he found something peculiar. The purple eyes, a shade almost never seen and yet he had seen them before, a couple of time at that and in this graveyard. Trying to figure out when he had seen those eyes was a slight difficulty as he knew he would discover it out sooner rather than later.

Then came another peculiar happening, only young children in the daytime or wierd scholars wondered off into the old part of the graveyard. So this old man was out of the usual. The old man had found his way to one of the oldest of the old graves in his land and that grave seemed to like being visited by old guys with purple eyes. Always doing the same as the last old guy with those eyes.

Showing up beside the old man, "Is there a tradition going on that consists of an old guy giving his eyes to a younger male before he dies so as to continue some weirdos dream of visiting this very spot with those very eyes every fifty to one hundred years. Or is there something I'm missing here?"

[Otho Sarus]

The old man looked up at the pale spectre that floated beside him, his expression one of annoyance. His brows were furrowed into a heavy frown, as he fixed the grave keeper with an agate-hard stare, "I knew there was something I'd forgotten before I came here." He said, half to himself, "You." He finished indignantly.
The old man's voice was thick and vibrant, and carried none of the age that he looked to have. Somehow, something was out of the ordinary here, but just how much one could not be sure.
"Must you be such a constant nuisance? I thought most people tended to become somewhat quieter when they died, not more obnoxious" He replied, not standing. "You should treat your elders with some respect, young man." He chuckled, as if something was deeply musing about what he had just said.

[Ashard]

The keeper simply smiled at the old man while he was replying. Just as agitated as the other times. "Well, if you managed to forget about me then I guess I can't be that big of a nuisance for you." He laughed a little at the thought. "And thanks for your reply." Ash continued with a smirk. "Now I know with a certainty that it was you all those other times." He said with a wink. "You can't honestly take me for a fool can you? I mean, I may not be very old compared to some but I do have experience."

[Otho Sarus]

The old man raised a quizzical eyebrow at the ghost, and a heavily amused grin spread across his face, "You? Experience?" He laughed, "You know less than you might think, for example-"
With that, the old man raised his arm in one swift motion, and deftly delivered a solid blow to the top of Ashard's head. The staff connected with his ethereal form with a resounding thud, and the old man quickly stood, showing no signs of the age that he had seemed to be draped in only moments before. The old man chuckled again, his grin widening.

[Ashard]

For a mere second Ashard stood there with a blank look on his face before he started to hop around with glee. "I can be touched!" He started to chant with exitment. It had been over two hundred and fifty years since he had felt anything, and so, no matter how stupid it seemed to be happy about it he was and he laughed merily.

Stoping for a moment he turned to the old man, "I never claimed to know everything you know." He said while frowning heavily. "Though you seem to think you do know everything." Ash turned his head slightly and squinted his eyes as he glared at the old man. "Can you bop me again? That was fun." He grinned hapilly, hoping the old man would do it again even though he knew he probably would not.

[Otho Sarus]

The old man sighed deeply, "You weren't supposed to enjoy that, you know." He muttered under his breath. Unfortunately that little trick hadn't had the desired effect, in fact it was far from it. He had been hoping for shock at least, and perhaps worry, fear or some such, to make the infernal spectre leave him be - Sadly, this was not the case.
"Everything? No, not yet. Perhaps in several thousand years, but not right now - though I'm well on the way. Besides, it's understanding that is the key my ethereal friend, not knowledge. What good is a fact if you can't put it into context." Otho said, with no hint of modesty nor boastfulness.
"So, don't you have work to do? Not that I imagine there's much do be done here, it seems to quiet." He paused momentarily, "That is, of course, apart from you."

[Ashard]

"And why was I not suposed to enjoy feeling something after so long? I mean, so what if you could posible actually cause me harm, at least it would be something new." He laughed yet again remembering the feeling on his head.

After the old fart ranted about the difference between having knowledge and understanding, Ash replied, "And is understanding not what I exercised by putting all facts together and determining that you are in fact the same fossil that I have seen comming around here every so often?"

Just as the man finished asking his questions a blood curdling scream could be heard from the graves entrance, Ash ignored it like it was normal. "I do have work but none that I care for all that much." He frowned. "I have a stupid crasher that inhabited the graveyard. Danged grave robber. He acts like he owns the place and gives me more work to do than is needed." He paused slightly and gave the man before him a serious look. "If you care at all for whoever it is that lays here, and I assume you do as you persist on visiting him, you should find a way to protect his remains or they will soon be gone. I know it's not too late. He has not robbed these graves yet." He finished speaking and started to look about the graveyard, wondering what his pets were up to exactly with whoever it was that screamed.

[Otho Sarus]

Otho smiled sympatheticaly, "Oh but of course oh wise one, I bow down to you infinite wisdom." He replied, ina tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh if only I were as wise as you, oh great one. Share with me the secret to your vast knowledge." He teased, enjoying every minute of it.
Otho then glanced back down at the ancient gravestone, his eyes scanning the marks that adorned the worn marble. Slowly, he raised his staff and ran it along the ancient runic text, before tapping the curious symbol in the centre of the headstone.
With that, the marks flared briefly, before dimming and fading, as if it were any other gravestone. Now no man, nor beast would be able to touch the stone and the bones that it guarded, no matter how hard they tried.
"A troublesome intuder, you say?" Otho turned back to the spectre, "Much as I would like to offer you my services in the matter, I think I'd rather leave him to keep you busy. After all, you need something to do with your free time, other than pester old men, visiting old friends." He snapped, but not too harshly.

[Ashard]

"Ah yes. I can see how humbled you are in my presence and it's quite amusing. I aplaud thee. Bravo." Ashard replied to the old man in a dry, monotone manner.

"Offer services you say?" The keeper laughed a bit. "If you got rid of him, how would I be able to obtain my daily fun?" Snickering as he recalled a few of the incidents, he continued. "I am probably more of a pain to him than he is to me. If ever that changes and I can't stand him anymore, I will be rid of him. But for now he is plainly costly entertainment."

He looked over to the grave once more. "I have examined every body in this graveyard over the years and know their corpses well. Odd tendency I supose but it does facinate me to no end. Your friend here gave me the impresion of someone old and powerfull. I imagine that you know much of him or knew him well if you keep comming back. Do you mind if I inquire as to who resides there? The text is not known to me."

[Otho Sarus]

"Do I mind?" Otho raised a quizzical eyebrow, "Better question - does he? It's his bones, my ethereal friend. Not mine." Otho chuckled lightly to himself.
"However, you are on the right lines. Perhaps you'll even get there in the end, though one as young as yourself isn't likely to know much of the history that great man made." Otho said simply, a look of detatched sadness on his face.
"Don't recognise the words eh?" He laughed, snapping back to his jovial self, "I'd be surprised if you did. That language was dead long before you were born, youngling." Otho teased, enjoying himself all the more.

[Ashard]

Looking almost awkwardly to the man before him, Ashard shrugged his shoulders. "Though i may never know all there is to know about the man below us. I have plenty of time to learn to read the language I supose. I'm not gonna die anytime soon." He smirked. "Then I'd be able to read all the graves in this old part of the graveyard." He smiled to himself. Happy that he'd found another hobby to dwell some of his time in; learning a dead language. After all, he was dead too, so he figured that the language and he could get along well.

He looked about the imediate area for something that could posibly help him with this endevor. He saw the the many old graves that layed to rest there with the freshly cut grass surounding them; some falling apart and some still holding strong. He saw the drooping foliage of the aged weeping willow that stood not too far from them. He saw the broken down stone path that lead the way to the main part of the graveyard. He saw nothing helpfull to him.

Then it came to him like a flash of lightning to a metal rod as the scream was heard yet again; Kiara. He laughed out lound. Kiara would maybee know the language as she had some years under her belt. Though that was not a garantee that she would teach him.

"I was forgeting about my two brutes. They seem to be terrorizing one of the towns folks. Kiara would not be pleased though I think it's kind of funny. She's usually present not too long after the gargoyles or myself start having fun." He frowned. "Should be nice and stop the beasts. Oh well." He shruged. "Do you know Kiara? Would she know the tongue?"

[Otho Sarus]

Otho raised a bushy eyebrow as the scream rang out through the graveyard once more, shattering the eerie calm. The spectre seemed to have settled with simply pestering him with endless questions now, rather than annoying him outright.
"Do I know Kiara? I haven't seen her in a very long time. A very long time indeed, not before she was. . . -" Otho paused, "damnation." He muttered to himself, having given away some clue as the the real depth of his age and span of his life.
It was true that he had not seen Kiara since she was killed by him. That monstrous abomination, Kaldryn. Otho had been all too late, an unable to fight Kaldryn and his demons all at once, and the sorceror had been defeated by his dark nemesis.
'Well' He thought to himself, 'More than enough time for that to change'
Otho glanced about the moonlit graveyard for the source of the commotion, but all was still and silent in the pale glow of the moon. Perhaps that might change in the near future, Otho thought to himself. After all, if the stories were true, a necromancer of some skill roamed these lands now, but there was one set of bones Otho would not stand by and allow him to claim.
No. His old master's bones would be forever safe - or at least so long as otho lived, and the enchantment laid upon the stone by his will held strong.

[Ashard]

The keeper simply snickered to himself as the old man before him got mad at himself for saying something he aparently did not want to. "Well, if you're as old or older than she, you have the right to consider me inexperienced compared to the likes of you." He paused for a second, watching the man scan the graveyard. "Not quite three hundred years is but a small portion of over two thousand. Though it does not automatically mean that I'm a idiot." Turning his head slightly to the one side but still keeping his eyes on the old geezer he continued, "Do you have a habbit of treating those younger than you as inferior beings?"

[Otho Sarus]

Otho laughed, "Do I have a habit of treating those younger than me as inferior beings?" He grinned wickedly, "No. . ." He laughed again, "I just thought you might enjoy the experience" He said, winking slyly at the grave keeper.
Otho glanced down at the headstone briefly, before looking back up at Ashard. "You do me and others a great service by taking care of our lost ones." He said, his voice under laid with tones that bespoke both respect and honesty, "I am indebted to you, my spectral friend."