25th Mirtul, Year of Three Ships Sailing (1492 D.R.) – twilight.
This close to New Moon night, the sky remains bereft of Sehanine Moonbow’s presence. But the stars shine out above us, steady and luminous, as we draw close to the Doomguide. The path we walk on is made up of finely crushed white stone. It clatters pleasantly; pebbles shifting under our feet. Strangely for a watchful knight on patrol, Saer Everrest does not react to the glassy crunch of our approach. He continues walking away from us, pace slow and oddly mechanical, until we get within hailing distance.
“Greetings to you, Saer. Is it Saer Everrest?” I call out softly, not wishing to startle him. “We seek the Doomguide of the City. We have come to offer our aid.”
My quiet politeness is not as calming as I had hoped. And there is nothing mechanical or sluggish in the knight’s response to my greeting. His unthinking speed, the agile grace with which he whirls to face us, speaks of extensive training. Fully armored and in defensive posture, he pulls down sharply with one hand on a strap crossing his breastplate. Thus bringing up the hilt of a great sword hanging over his back into his other ready hand. He does not draw but remains in this menacing stance: silent, watchful, and still.
Tensing in visceral reaction to the threat before me, I struggle not to respond rashly. My curls twitch anxiously and I taste the promise of violence, frosty and metallic, in my air. I cannot permit this meeting to hurtle into enmity! I focus on soothing myself, as well as the armed knight before me, with careful speech. Along with my gentle words, I devote myself to deliberate observation, busying my eyes and mind to keep myself from reaching for my swords.
“Hello! I am Elodie…I am Elodie Skyshard. And, if you are indeed Saer Everrest, then my friends and I have been searching for you. Saer Savra Belabronte sent us here. In response to your letter. We are here to help. To help you.” I speak slowly and clearly.
Holding the edges of my coat close in around me so that the Doomguide cannot see my blades, I adopt a trusting, open expression. My sunny smile does not reach my eyes: I am still studying the Human man in front of me intently.
He is indeed young. No more than thirty years old as best as I am able to judge. Tall and slim-hipped like Flune, his broad chest and well-formed arms suggest strength akin to Meloon’s. I conclude that Saer Everrest combines elegant grace with evident power in a very pleasing way.
And yet, creeping through the knight’s air of ready strength are the twin bruised shadows of exhaustion and despair. I cannot tell the color of his eyes; I am too struck by the unhealthy dark hollows beneath them. His hair – long, straight, and black – is gathered in an unruly tail behind his head. His olive skin tone, the almond shape and the set of his eyes, the cheekbones sharply defined enough for one of the Fey: these all suggest Chondathan descent. Given this heritage, there is a pallor to his skin that does not belong there.
Still, even in weariness, Saer Everrest’s features are…compelling. His nose is refined, its straight sweep marred by a small scar across its bridge His chin is strong. The hard, stubborn line of his jaw is gentled by the stubble of a short beard. A high forehead, currently furrowed and frowning, lends an intelligent cast to his face. Exhaustion aside, there is a sadness imbuing his expression. He has the look of someone familiar with loss. This makes him seem older than his apparent Human years.
As I resolutely repeat the important fact – we are here to help – the Doomguide’s watchfulness turns to thoughtful pause. Saer Everrest gazes searchingly at us. He whispers something and his eyes light up with a soft grey radiance.
For an instant, the sweetness of recognition makes me forget myself. I take an involuntary step towards the knight. The Divine Knight!
He may be in service to Kelemvor and not to the Seldarine, but I am filled with joy to see another of the Faithful using his god’s gift to seek for good and for evil. This particular manifestation of the blessing, appearing as storm-cloud grey light suffusing the eyes, is not one that I am familiar with. But an adherent of Kelemvor, channeling his god’s power, would naturally look different to a follower of the Winged Lady when receiving the favor of her Guiding Breath. I know what Saer Everrest is doing and why!
I am fascinated, naturally, to watch the divine light dance over the smooth planes of the knight’s face. But it is not respectful, or wise, to look too long into the eyes of the god-touched when they are communing with their deity. I glance away, turning my gaze down to assess Saer Everrest’s armor instead.
He is clad in plate of unadorned blacked steel. He does not move as if heavily burdened, so, I imagine, the armor is light. From what little I know of such things, it seems well-made and properly fitted. But it is smoky matte and entirely plain. No decorative inlays, no etched designs, no glimmer of polished metal anywhere. The only ornamentation is a small figure worked into the breastplate. Its stark lines draw the eye: an upright skeletal arm wrought in silver holding the scales of Justice worked in antique gold.
I think of Altiir and my excitement turns to a familiar tired sadness. Back home at the Aerie, Altiir took much pleasure in fine artistry and design. He preferred exquisitely wrought plate of precious metal; armor that was meticulously crafted over much time and with the use of myriad resources of crystal, metal, and gem. Each piece was unique, extremely light-weight, and made to fit my Warden friend as if it were molded to his form…
I smile impishly: Altiir would be shocked by Saer Everrest’s armor. He would find it entirely unsuitable and would never entrust his safety to such plain steel.
I decide that I find the simplicity of the Doomguide’s attire elegant. I rather like the juxtaposition of this serious young Human, in his grim unadorned mail, with the jewel-bright gardens and graceful sculptures all around us. There is much about the City of the Dead that I do not understand. But I am moved by its beauty. And I am charmed by the striking contrast between the dark, upright figure of the fair garden’s Keeper and the peaceful purple dusk of the park that he watches over. This, along with the reassuring virtue he showed by reaching out to his god for guidance, makes Saer Everrest intensely interesting to me.
As the grey luminosity fades from his eyes, the fierce tension leaves the knight and he releases the hilt of his sword. He stares at me as if stunned, then, shaking his head to dispel the last of the effects of his god’s gift, he swiftly steps forward. I hear some of my earlier joy reflected in his glad laugh.
“Welcome! Yes, I am Saer Ambrosius Everrest. Welcome to the City of the Dead, my friends!” He cries eagerly. “Lady…you said it is Lady Skyshard? Saer Savra sent you? You are fellow members of the Order?”
“I regret that we are not.” I sigh. “But Saer Bel…Savra did send us. She believes that we can help you. I follow the path of Aerdrie Faenya. This is Eliana Cooper, an adherent of Mielikki. And Vaikner Bootsman, a Drow of good heart and a skilled Practitioner of the Art. We are here to provide assistance.”
Eliana and Vaikner step forward and exchange greetings with the knight. The Doomguide accepts our presence in the City without further question. His speech is courteous and formal. But he is touchingly enthusiastic in his welcome to us all. He seems most relieved to accept our help.
“Saer Savra said that graves have been desecrated and dead bodies removed. Can you tell us more about what happened?” Eliana asks.
“Yes, of course.” Saer Everrest frowns, his distress obvious. “There have been three separate incidents: two at two different family mausoleums and one at a plot of graves belonging to a third family. All occurred within the past tenday.”
The Doomguide stares at the quiet paths all about us, clearly anxious to be moving once more. But he obviously understands our need for information. Despite his weariness and worry, he continues his report of all that has happened here.
“On 19th Mirtul, the Moonstar family mausoleum was broken into. This is an old burial site, belonging to an established naval mercantile family. They are well-known in the Deep. They have always been followers of Selüne.
“Then, on 22nd Mirtul, there was an exhumation at the Phylund family graves. A clan of fine warriors and monster hunters from times past.
“Finally, only two nights past, on 23rd Mirtul, the Jardeth family mausoleum was breached. This family is known as staunch adherents of Helm, God of Guardians.
“I believe I mentioned that none of the affected grave sites were recent burials? The desecrations were brutally direct. The exhumations were raw pits, dug straight down to broken coffin lids. In the case of the mausoleums, the doors were simply standing open. I discovered no sign of forced or broken locks. And yet, only I and the families who own the mausoleums carry keys to the crypt doors!”
As he speaks, Saer Everrest gestures with agitation at the little houses that surround us.
“Mausoleums?” I whisper to Eliana. “I thought these structures temples to little gods.”
She shakes her head, half-smiling. I turn, abashed, to find Saer Everrest regarding us with unspoken question. Suddenly worried that I may, through my ignorance, bring unintended pain to a new friend, I find my previously firm grasp of the Thorassian language grow frustratingly fluid. I struggle to articulate my question in properly diplomatic terms.
“I am sorry to bring offense to you.” I wish I were speaking in Elvish. “I do not know so much of Human rituals with their dead. I thought that, when their lives ended, Humans were stored under the surface of the earth. Like seeds. Now I am finding out that they are collected here, in these little houses?”
Thankfully, I see no anger or contempt in the knight’s face. He bows with grave politeness. But the kindness in his voice takes the chill out of his careful courtesy.
“You bring no offense, Lady Skyshard. It is clear that you are a visitor here and, unsurprisingly, not familiar with all that you see.” Saer Everrest says. “You are in the City of the Dead. This Ward of Waterdeep is the oldest and largest of our cemeteries. And I am its Keeper.
“You are correct. Depending on culture and faith, there are many rituals when it comes to the Restful – to our Dead. And they are all represented here, in the City. The one element that all of these traditions have in common is the care and reverence with which the Restful are treated. When Humans transition to Death, we deem it important that their mortal remains are laid to rest in a peaceful and respectful manner. Here, the fallen’s family and friends can gather for mourning and meditation. Here, the families of the lost can continue caring for these sacred resting sites.
“And yes, traditionally, the Restful were laid beneath the ground. However, over a century hence, an infestation of ghouls caused much disruption to the Deep’s burial sites.”
Saer Everrest nods at Eliana’s grimace and my shudder of revulsion.
“Waterdhavian families took to building mausoleums.” He continues. “As you noted, their designs vary. Some are more fanciful and do resemble small castles or churches. Others are more austere. But they are all essentially closed vaults of stone where the Restful can be kept safe. Some families even have small pocket dimensions – silent out-growths of the Ethereal Plane – placed within the crypts to further deter intrusion. The City of the Dead is now made up of both types of burial – those in-ground and those above.”
Vaikner has been listening with curiosity equal to mine. It is likely that Eliana is already familiar with these Human burial traditions. But I am sure that the Drow finds the additional information about our surroundings as helpful as I do. We nod our thanks to the Doomguide for his patient explanation.
“To return to the present.” Saer Everrest sighs, smiling tiredly at our wide-eyed faces. “I have looked over each desecrated site closely. In each case, nothing was disturbed or taken. Nothing except the Restful was missing. And, in every case, it was the same number of Restful that were gone. Each of the targeted plots contained seven family members. At each site, all seven Restful were…taken. I detected the same corruption at all the sites. The foul stain of Necromantic energy lingered about them all.”
My air icy, I suddenly understand Saer Everrest’s fierce fear.
“As the ghastly pattern emerged, I began continuous patrols.” He continues. “I am the only Doomguide assigned to serve here. And I must prevent another desecration!”
“Right.” Eliana is frowning. “One person, standing guard over this entire cemetery? And when is the last time you stopped patrolling? And, you know, slept?”
“I am not sure.” Saer Everrest shifts his gaze impatiently to the darkness around us. “Two days, perhaps?”
“Can you show us the site of the most recent disturbance?” Eliana asks resignedly.
Velvety blue shadows pool beneath copses of trees as the Knight leads us to a mausoleum nearby. It is one of the more simple structures; a plain box of polished white stone with two graceful columns marking its entryway. Saer Everrest unlocks the heavy wooden door between the pillars.
“One moment. Let me ensure that all is well within.” He takes a small torch from a sconce in the crypt wall and, lighting it, he steps forward first.
The twinkling of the flame that he holds diminishes strangely, as if he were retreating into a vast space. One much larger than the mausoleum appears to encompass when viewed from outside.
“Please, Lady Cooper, Lady Skyshard, Magist Bootsman, you may follow me!” Saer Everrest’s voice sounds oddly distant.
Eliana and Vaikner are conferring several yards away. I step closer to the mausoleum.
I see no visible barrier in the doorway. But, passing my hand tentatively through the entryway, I meet slight resistance. There is an elasticity to the tension, building quickly and then breaking under my questing fingers. Once on the other side, I flex my hand experimentally. The air inside lacks the cool freshness of the evening around us. And I feel no movement; the wind has been stilled.
Stepping forward, I join the knight inside the mausoleum. And immediately stop, a horrible stifling sensation blanketing my form. The air here feels completely dead! I sense no breeze, smell no fragrance, taste nothing! As I stand, stunned by the sterile tomb, even my own air fades away from me. I shudder in the unexpected, painful stillness; skin nakedly exposed. My breath strains through suddenly dry lips. I am being suffocated by an odorless shroud! My hair falls heavily to my shoulders.
“Eliana! Eliana, it is very unpleasant here. I wish to leave immediately.” I whisper desperately.
My friend, having come in just behind me, looks in my direction. Surprised concern flashes over her face.
“Alright, Elodie.” She reaches forward, as if meaning to brush a strand of my lifeless curls away from my face, then re-considers. “You can wait outside with Vaikner. He stayed behind because he wishes to experiment with using his magic through the boundaries of a null dimension. He probably shouldn’t be alone out there anyway.”
Seeing that Eliana means to patiently suffer this disconcerting place, I feel a flicker of shame.
“No, no.” I grate out. “I will not leave you here. Perhaps…perhaps I will just wait close to the door. That way I can also guard Vaikner. I can protect you both.”
“That’s a fine idea.” Eliana agrees. “If you’re by the door, why don’t you try to close and open it again. See if we need Saer Everrest’s key to get out or not. I’ll help Vaikner with his test while you do that.”
She steps away from me, following Saer Everrest’s now distant torch-light. I focus on controlling my breathing and turn to the mausoleum door. I find that it swings closed ponderously but silently. It is very heavy but well-balanced. And is easily opened once again with a light push of my hand. Standing within the crypt, no key is required to pass out of the doorway.
I gasp with ill-concealed relief when I see Eliana and Saer Everrest returning. Springing through the mausoleum entrance I feel, more than hear, a popping in my ears and a blessedly brief crush of pressure enveloping me. And then I am through the doorway and back in the richly scented air of the City! Vaikner waits close by. As Eliana and the Doomguide also leave the tomb and join him, I realize that full darkness now surrounds us.
“That was a most useful test. Thank you Saer Everrest, Eliana.” Vaikner sounds excited. “Even though a pocket dimension exists within the mausoleum, it is not resistant to my use of the Art. The spells that I cast here in the cemetery are still effective inside the tomb!”
“That is important information, Magist Vaikner.” Saer Everrest nods solemnly. “It is also important for you to know that, to cast Necromantic magic, an individual does not need to be in sight of their target. They do have to be a fairly short distance away, however. Perhaps fifteen feet.”
An uneasy silence follows his pronouncement as my friends and the Doomguide turn slowly, staring into the beckoning shadows.
Necromancy! That dread word has been said once again. And I know that I should be battling the greasy slither of nausea at what Saer Everrest’s grim statement implies. But I am still too overcome with the rapture of returning to a world of living air!
As soon I stepped out of the mausoleum, the Wind came back to me. Giddily, I feel my air start to tingle and dance against my aching skin. I feel bracing cold and breathe the scent of the meadow flowers of my home. My hair swirls, lifting into a joyous tumult of life. I thrill to hear the gentle rustle of some small creature running through the undergrowth, and the hooting response of the swooping night bird that hunted it. I bask in silvery light, stars in their intricate patterns wheeling above me. I taste the muskiness of an unknown herb, its leaves crushed by the passage of our feet. And I smell – oh I smell so much! The stone all around us, giving out the heat it had soaked up through the day. The night blooming flowers, dream-sweet. The resin-rich fragrance of Saer Everrest’s torch, swirls of slight bitterness rising in the flicker of flame.
The null dimension in the mausoleum was so awfully still and clean. But it robbed me only of smell and taste. It took only my restless air, with its panoply of aromas. Yet, freed from that strange place, all of my senses sing, each sharpened to its keenest edge. The night around me shines. And I glow too, in gratitude for its luminous gifts.
I find even the well-known scents of my friends newly intoxicating. I inhale the familiar smells happily. Vaikner is dusty books and ink and the ever-changing, coruscating scents of magic. Eliana is clear like water. The slight mineral tang of a lively stream dancing through its stony bed, shadowed with bitter ferns, sweetened with graceful, hidden lilies of the forest.
And Saer Everrest…Saer Everrest is new. I breathe him in – sweat and steel and clean rain on parched earth. And more underneath that; a complex fragrance. Like smoked black tea sweetened with wild honey…
Turning to the Doomguide with delight, I find his serious gaze is already fixed on me. He seems to be openly studying me but, when I lift my eyes to his, he gives a nearly imperceptible start and turns away. I see this much before I also hurriedly shift my attention elsewhere. I awkwardly study a fine specimen of glossy-leafed shrub nearby.
“I believe that we have all reached the same distressing conclusion that you have, Saer Everrest.” I speak with a calm that I do not feel. “Your City is under attack. There is a Necromancer targeting your Restful and summoning them to service as Undead. I fear that, given the storied deeds, the martial history, of the families affected, this foul enemy is not simply collecting pliant servants. They seem to be going to some trouble to create a fighting unit. They are raising an army of the Undead.”
“Yes! Yes! The pattern is certainly there!” Vaikner agrees eagerly. “And I was particularly struck by this repetition of taking seven Restful with each attack. There is clearly significance to that. Even if we do not understand it, we can use it to our advantage. Saer Everrest, do you know of any other burials where seven members of one family, perhaps a family with a history of service to the Deep or mighty deeds of arms, may be found?”
“I do not. I cannot immediately think of such a site.” The knight replies wearily. “Naturally, a cemetery of this vast size keeps extensive records. I could find the answer to your question Magist Vaikner, given some hours. But you can surely see that this situation is urgent. The desecrations are occurring with increasing frequency! This is no time for a lengthy records search.”
Vaikner seems pained. I am certain that he is struggling not to insist that it is always a good time for a prolonged search of historical records.
“Just Vaikner will do.” He finally smiles. “But surely, Saer Everrest, you can perceive the importance of this information! If we find other tombs where seven family members are laid to rest, families that fit the profile that we are interested in, then we can identify future targets of this Necromancer! We may be able to lay a trap for the culprit behind these crimes and prevent future desecrations!”
“I understand your plan, Vaikner. And it seems a fine one. But I cannot abandon my patrol. I cannot take the time. The Restful must be protected!” The Doomguide shakes his head stubbornly.
“Well, it’s a good thing that we’re here, then.” Eliana chuckles. “We can keep an eye out while you find the answer to Vai’s question.”
Her smile turns to a frustrated frown when the knight continues uncooperative.
“It does not…forgive me, it does not feel right for me to leave my post.” Impressed, I note that Saer Everrest successfully withstands Eliana’s disapproving look.
“Saer,” I begin quietly.
The knight tenses, as if in reluctance, but turns politely in my direction. I catch a glimpse of pale thin lips in a strained face. Irritated by my strange shyness, I look down, speaking steadily to the silver and gold emblem on his breastplate.
“Saer Everrest, you have proved your dedication to your duty.” I murmur. “You have kept your watch to the point of exhaustion. But, now that a senior knight of your Order has sent trusted friends to help you, you should accept their aid. You are the only one here who is familiar with your Ward’s record-keeping. We cannot hope to find the information we seek in a timely manner. But you can. Meanwhile, we will continue your patrol. We will keep your Restful safe and face down the Necromancer if we encounter them. We will not fail you.”
The Doomguide is looking searchingly at my face once more. He mutters something that I cannot hear. My hair tumbles in undisciplined nervousness around me.
“Very well.” Saer Everrest concedes. “We will follow your plan, my new friends. I will search the records for another burial site that fits the pattern of previous desecrations. And you will continue the patrol until we can narrow in on a possible target. Where we may lay a trap for this foul Necromancer.”
Warm light and soft shadows flicker over their faces as he hands his torch to Eliana. Then, reaching for his belt, the knights brings forward a brass bell with a wooden handle. This too, he passes to my friend.
“Ring this if you need me. If you encounter trouble in your path.” Saer Everrest explains shortly.
Then, with a courteous bow to our company, the Doomguide walks north into the deepening dark. Watching his tall, straight form recede into the dimness, memories fill my mind. I have a comforting place that I visit, a favorite inner haven that I reach for when I am searching for solace. I am not sure why this particular set of images comes to me, so clear and compelling, at this moment. But, in my thoughts, I am back home in the Aerie.
The Avariel dislike exploring their world from the ground. They prefer to soar, mapping out the terrain, guarding the borders of their hard-won land, and admiring the raw beauty of the mountain ranges from the air. I am certain that I would share these feelings if I could fly. But, given my Wingless nature, I was accustomed to patrolling the ragged peaks and hidden ravines of the Aerie’s borders on foot. Alone.
I grew to love these solitary treks. And the sense-memories of my journeys became very precious to me. Listening to the vast empty silence and hearing its irreverent fracturing by the chiming, icicle-needle song of evergreens shaken in the wind. Watching the day rise on a blindingly pristine field of white snow and seeing it suddenly erupt in rainbow colors as sunbeams danced along it. Feeling the gaspingly cold wind play in the air around me until I no longer knew where my own breeze ended and the mountain gales began.
All of this lives in my heart. But my most cherished memory is of the boundary where the Avariel Mythal fades and the desolation of the Great Glacier begins. Many streams flow out of the Elven city and down the slopes. The bubbling water carries the warmth and enchantment of the Aerie with it as it meets the heart of winter’s cold. Here, in the lonely places where they conjoin, warmth and life flourish. I am not certain whether it is due to the gentler temperatures or to the leakage of magic from the Mythal but, in these liminal spaces, flowers grow that I have not encountered anywhere else in Faerun.
A multitude of flowers cover the hidden banks of the life-giving streams. Their stalks are a pale spring-green and, as they gently bow over the rippling water below them, they seem achingly fragile. Their flowers grow in rich clusters of snowy white. Almost like fly-away foam from the churning springs has escaped the bounds of the stream beds to land on the stalks dancing gracefully above. Close to, the blossoms are star-shaped. Each bloom is pristine and slightly translucent; an ethereally opalescent little sculpture. The white petals curve sensuously into a heart of the faintest green-gold. As the sun descends, even this pale color seems to leach from the blooms. Leaving them crystalline and transparent. Like an entire mountain meadow wrought out of ice. Something about this frosty purity – fragile, delicate life encased in a glory of shimmering cold – stirs my soul. There was a day, the most beautiful and the most devastating day of my life, that was marked by a sight like this one. But on that day my breath was taken by the common meadow flowers of springtime. Out in the safe, open fields surrounding my home. And it was a very long time ago…
Meanwhile, in the ravines where clear water leaves the Aerie and the domination of true winter begins, a new spell is woven. As the sun’s final rays flash out over the ranges, the secret flowers seem to lament at its departure with a coruscating display of color. Pale green, blushing pink, burning orange, deep crimson, lush purple – all the sunset colors ripple through their petals in farewell to the day’s light. Finally, as the moon rises, the flowers’ show subsides to a steady silver glow that softly illuminates the slopes while the nights last.
I have never told anyone about these wondrous flowers. Not my fellow Wardens, not my new roommate and good friend Aubray, not even my parents. I have held their secret close like a treasure in my heart.
The enchantment of the Ice Lilies, the cold aching silences of the Glacier, and the freedom of the wild winds dancing about the warm nest of my Aerie; these are the memories that I cling to in painful times. I begin to understand that I am revisiting them now because I wish to share them. I would like to pass their healing power on to the weary knight that I have just met. In this dark garden, with its quietly forlorn Dead and its creeping corruption of Necromancy, I feel that he would draw strength from them. As I do.
It requires unexpected effort to set this odd impulse aside. Turning my back to the northern path, I join Vaikner and Eliana in mapping out a patrol route. We decide to start at the southern edge of the cemetery, sweeping in a north-westerly direction amongst grave markers and trees. Vaikner walks quietly away to the right, disappearing swiftly into the darkness. I intend to go left, to the west. Leaving Eliana, as the only Human and thus the only one dependent on torch-light, between two companions who will move easily through the night alongside her.
We are just sharing whispered wishes of good hunting, when, with an angry growl-screech and flick of sinuous tail, a small creature leaps out from under our feet. Hissing, the little enemy skitters over the stony path and disappears under a shrub.
“Was that…a cat?” I manage to speak past my pounding heart, which seems to have decided to take up a new position in my throat.
“Yes! Scared the crap out of me!” Eliana half chortles, half scowls.
“It was quite unpleasant! I much preferred Pierogi. This one would bite, I am certain.” I nod fervently.
Calming our breathing and peering with attentive suspicion at every shadow, Eliana and I begin our patrol. We spread out – far enough from each other to efficiently cover the extensive grounds, but still within hailing distance. Above us, like a silently wheeling fleck of soot, Fukurou swoops, watchful.
I have moved forward several hundred yards when a shift in the shadows ahead of me makes my hair tighten cautiously. There is a patch of deeper darkness within the gloom, shuffling slowly in my direction! As it closes with me, I see that it is a hunched figure. It is far too large and ungainly to be a cat.
I melt into blackness under a nearby tree. Under its softly singing leaves, I strain to make out the details of the approaching form. Stepping forward, impatient to see more, I hear the brisk crack of a twig snapping under my boot. I wince.
“Who is there? Is anybody about?” A quavering voice calls from ahead.
Aundra the Gardener! Frowning, I take several careful steps forward. The elderly woman has frozen in place amongst a little copse of trees. Their leaves shiver musically in a sudden gust of cold wind. Aundra shivers too.
“Lady Gardener, it is me, Elodie.” I try to smile. “What are you doing here?”
I want to trust the little Human; so kindly and gentle with flowers and so ferocious with weedy intruders. But there is something in the chilly shifting of the night air that has me on edge.
“Oh! You startled me for a moment!” Aundra looks toward me, wrinkled face creasing with relieved good cheer. “I’m bringing Saer Ambrosius a bite to eat. A nice hearty stew. I thought it would be just the thing on a damp night like this one. You know, I have not seen that boy eat or rest for…well, I am not sure how long. Days, at least! I am getting rather worried.”
Her voice drops into a series of concerned mutterings. I see that she is indeed burdened by a large metal pot. As she shifts her weight, its lid clinks quietly and the aroma of meat and vegetables, leisurely braised, wafts towards me.
“Let me help you with that.” I reach out, taking the bulky vessel from Aundra as she gives me a bird-quick nod of thanks.
I hold the pot against my stomach – a fragrant, warming weight. Then, turning away slightly, I surreptitiously slide the lid to one side. It grates. I puff impatiently at the little cloud of oniony steam that emerges and examine the pot’s contents. They appear unremarkable. It looks like a nice, hearty stew. Exactly as Aundra described. Still, I decide that I it would be prudent to obtain Eliana’s opinion. Staring into the darkness beyond our little group of trees, I see no sign of movement. My friend has concealed herself well.
“Eliana!” I hiss-whisper. “Aundra the Gardener is here. She has brought stew. I would like to consult with you about this meal!”
Brightening, I see Eliana’s tall form emerge from behind a graceful statue. I do not quite hear her sigh but she holds herself in an attitude of half-curiosity, half-exasperation that I have grown familiar with.
“What are you talking about?” She calls quietly.
“Aundra. And her stew” I reply impatiently.
Our unsatisfactory discussion is interrupted by a grinding noise. I think of the pot lid, grating open. This new sound has a more wooden, creaking quality, I muse, as frost creeps up the tendrils of my hair. Not so much the metallic rasp I heard before. It is coming from a gloomily ornate mausoleum some way beyond where Eliana is standing.
She is staring at the tomb. Its entry is a blank empty hole; a darkness much more profound than the starlit night around it. The doorway is open! And then, no longer empty. A skeletal hand reaches out of the mausoleum. It scrabbles for purchase on the carved stone, making its own hideous little scraping noises.
Eliana brings forth Saer Everrest’s bell and rings it energetically. I hear nothing but the menacing growl of thunder, the shriek of blizzard wind, as my Lady’s wrath grows. It surges within me. My heartbeat is a furious, eager drumbeat and my hair crackles with rage. Foul Undead! Now, as if it had been there all along, I smell their vile corruption in the air around me!
Close to me is a little sheltered nook formed by the roots of a nearby tree. I drop into a crouch, deliberately lowering the stew pot and settling it into its woodsy hiding place with care, before rising. Then I turn to Aundra.
“Run.” I say flatly.
I do not stay to see if she does as I say. I pivot anxiously, looking for Vaikner. I catch a glimpse of white hair in the gloom. The Drow was hidden a good distance away. He now gives us a swift nod and sensibly retreats even further. No doubt to ready the magic he will cast from afar.
The night is frozen stillness for an instant. Then, three skeletal figures erupt from the open mausoleum. They move rapidly. Scowling, I note that they have emerged from the darkness in tight formation and ready to fight. Tea-colored bone shifts under tattered clothing as skeletal arms lift bows and aim. Startled by the ferocity of their attack, Eliana and I leap aside to escape the flitting arrows.
As soon as the first deadly barrage of darts subsides, I peek around the gravestone where I found cover. I do not see the skeletal archers anymore but I can smell the rotten miasma of their passage. They have moved south, circling around us through the shadows. A fourth Undead now joins its foul compatriots. This figure is taller, wearing bulkier armor, and carrying a shield and axe. More swaying, spider-like forms tumble out of the tomb behind this fighter. I know that there will be seven enemies. But I am now running towards the swarm of corruption and lose count of my opponents.
I arrive in time to engage with the last three warriors to emerge from the crypt, drawing my swords in silent fury. The Undead fight off my first attack with unthinking brutality. Bones whisper disquietingly against crumbling leather as the skeletons scuttle to surround me. I am momentarily queasy; sickened by the spiritual stain of Necromancy that suffuses these foes. I can smell the lingering echos of ancient rot when they close with me. I can see gapingly askew jaws and strands of cobwebs spanning hollow eye sockets. I conclude that this mausoleum was not equipped with a pocket of the Ethereal Plane; its inhabitants unprotected from physical deterioration. Linen and leather flake away, revealing brown-stained bones clad in rusty armor.
Standing straight, I whisper a prayer to my Lady. My hair whips out around me and a sudden blast of cold air swirls away the choking stench of decay. Sheathing Vess, I reach out to the Undead closest to me. As it springs at me creakily, I channel Aerdrie Faenya’s stormy wrath. White-blue coruscations of lightning crackle from my Seldarine amulet, down my arm, and over the lunging skeleton. Ancient armor ripples and melts into oddly graceful designs. Bones, blackened and suddenly quite still, clatter to the ground. It is very satisfying.
My triumphant cry fades from my lips as I look about me. There are still more foes threatening us. Two skeletons, undeterred by their companion’s second death, move towards me. Eliana is desperately dancing and weaving in battle with the largest Undead warrior. She has a scimitar that I have not seen her use before. I do not see Vaikner or Fukurou.
There is a sharp intake of breath and then a sickly thud. I twirl back to Eliana, just in time to see her fall. She must have gotten her blade fouled up on the Undead’s shield edge and, while she was momentarily distracted, the creature struck her with its axe. She has dropped to the grassy ground but I see no blood, no wounds. Perhaps the foul monster caught her with the flat of its weapon. Even so, she is dazed. And the Undead looms over her, squaring up for a more devastating axe blow.
Pivoting away from the two skeletons who seek to attack me, I spring over to the largest Undead figure. My air moves with me, and before me, forcing the creature several stumbling steps back. I bound into this space, standing between the Undead warrior and Eliana’s still form, snarling as I draw Vess. It makes no answering sound but, with a raspy shifting of bone and metal, raises axe and shield and moves menacingly forward. Suddenly, light, warm and shifting wildly, shimmers over our weapons. And dances on, filling the night with an unsteady glow.
The massive Undead before me halts and turns to find the source of the illumination. I follow its eyeless gaze. Saer Everrest! He has run into the battle clearing, a lantern in his hand. His direct path to the fight is blocked by a tall tombstone. Pausing for an instant, the Doomguide’s keen gaze sweeps over the scene before him. Then, half hurling-half pushing the lantern onto the gravestone, he vaults over the tomb and continues to charge forward. Drawing his sword as he comes. I try to swallow but my mouth is suddenly very dry.
Saer Everrest reaches for the mark of Kelemvor on his chest. He calls out a word that I do not know. I watch in horrified fascination as chains burst from the Doomguide’s hand and race, quicksilver swift, towards the two Undead that I briefly faced just moments ago. And that are now creeping forward to resume our fight. The silver chains whip up and around each skeletal form. But instead of imprisoning their corrupted physical shapes, the chains are restraining…something else. Stunned, I see ephemeral shapes – spirits bound in silver – ripped away from the stumbling skeletons and pulled, writhing, down into the ground. Our enemies collapse into a jumbled mass of bones.
Wild joy fills me. My whole body singing in fury and excitement, I turn to fight the Undead warrior before me. Perhaps this creature has also been weakened by the gift of Kelemvor that the knight of the City is wielding. Or perhaps, in Her righteous anger, Aerdrie Faenya lends divine strength to my swords. Whatever the reason, the creature cannot withstand my attack. I split the Undead’s shield and slash at the immense form. I hack and stab until there are only bones, cracked and splintered, falling at my feet.
Preoccupied with destruction, I do not hear the whistle of an arrow behind me. I only gasp-grunt as a forceful blow slams into my back. Confused, I find that the ground has moved much closer to me. I am kneeling down. Then, with irritating disregard for logic, clammy grass is pressed up against my cheek. I feel a tear spill from my brimming eyes and trail softly down my face to join the dew drops. I am very cold and there is an oppressive weight in my chest. It makes breathing difficult. My air falters. I cough and feel liquid fill my mouth. This, at least, is warm. Curled up on the hard ground, I try to focus. But I can no longer tell the greedy shadows that flood my vision from the kindly darkness of true night all around.
I am in floating in a featureless void. No, not floating. Sinking. A grasping, hungry miasma churns about me, enclosing me in murmuring dimness. It gets colder and darker as I am drawn down. Then I hear a voice, ringing out above and around me.
“I am sorry. This was not your fight. And it is NOT your time!”
The words sear their way through my frozen form. The voice is deep and fearless. And powerful. It resonates with absolute conviction; the unyielding, steady confidence of faith. It is an utter renouncement of loss and defeat and darkness. And it is a command that I cannot ignore.
Even as my dreamily fading self is jolted back into keen awareness by the voice, the numbness of devouring cold is replaced with sensation. A comforting feeling of being firmly held; protected from some unnamed threat. Soft grey radiance appears in the hungry void that surrounds me. I look up, towards the calm glow. I see a Human figure. He is far from me but the soothing light is coming from him. Flooding through and around him even as I am frozen in deepening shadow. He shines.
I shake with longing as the radiance lends my sight clarity that I have never experienced before. Staring raptly at the figure before me, I try to make sense of what I am being shown. I see goodness and kindness, care and courage. I see a life live with patient fortitude. And without fear. Heart warmed with hope, dizzy with yearning, I force all of my self towards that gentle glow. And then I am being drawn up. Out of the sickly, grasping formlessness and into the figure’s clear light.
I come back to myself, smelling blood and scorched bone in my air. I am no longer cold. I open my eyes, blinking slowly. Saer Everrest is next to me. He moves away a little, sitting back in a crouch, watchful. I can feel fading warmth on the skin of my back, where his hand must have been laid just a moment ago. Where he ministered to my wound. It does not hurt now. There is just a dull throbbing where the arrow pierced me.
I look solemnly at the knight. He returns my gaze, staring into my face intently. He is grim but the weariness has gone from him. His eyes blaze with some powerful emotion. Fury perhaps, or fear. Relief, maybe. Or joy. I am not certain. But I can see that their color is a warm rich brown. His eyes, that is. I see now that the Doomguide has eyes like two pieces of amber, shining out of the dark.
“Can you hear me? Lady Skyshard, are you alright?” Saer Everrest asks urgently.
He stands and reaches down to me. Still dazed by how he looked, glowing in the cold void, I wrap my fingers around his steady hand. He pulls me to my feet. Eliana stands nearby. She groans weakly as she rubs the side of her neck. A broken, bloodied arrow clatters under my boots as I rise.
I shake my head. Heartbeat a storm-roar in my ears, I seem unable to master myself. The knight still looks at me, his face worried. His grip on my hand is warm and strong.
I should thank him! I should convey heartfelt gratitude for his timely assistance. And inform him that there are more foes yet to fight. That is what I should do. That is what I will do as soon as my lips remember how to form speech. And this strange sweet fog clears from my mind. I look into Saer Everrest’s gem-like eyes.
“Lady Aundra the Gardener brought you stew for dinner. I left the pot under a tree some way from here!” I blurt out.
“Um.” He says.
Hair curling tight in embarrassment, I furiously consider the best way to extricate myself from this awkward situation. The Undead! I remember the remaining skeletons with relief. Withdrawing my hand and eyes from the Doomguide’s, I retrieve my blades. Then, pirouetting past my companions I race into the darkness to resume the fight.
“Lady…wait! What is she doing? I do not think that she is alright.” I hear Saer Everrest’s bemused voice behind me.
“Nah. That’s just Elodie. Doing her Elodie-thing. As she does.” Eliana’s unflappable tones fade into the background as I run.
There are three Undead before me. All archers, I remember belatedly as I sprint forward. I have survived my heedless charge unscathed – perhaps my foes have used up all of their arrows. Still, now I slow my pace to a stalk. There is a low fountain ahead. Between me and the foul enemy rises a graceful watery spire. It leaps upward and then burbles merrily down in silvery spray to a pool below. I spring up onto the pool’s stone rim and circle the fountain. Using the water’s motion and noise to disguise my approach and make myself a more difficult target. Then I pounce through the fine shower of droplets to attack one of the Undead below.
I slash and twirl and slash again at my chosen quarry. A second skeleton approaches with macabre swiftness but Saer Everrest, who must have followed close behind me, cuts it down. Then we are fighting side by side. Exhilarated, I watch as the two Undead falter and fall beneath our singing blades. The third creature has turned away and is running, its spiky gangling shadow a stain under the shimmering stars.
Eliana steps up to us, frowning in concentration as she peers into the gloom.
“It’s so far now. And moving so quickly. I don’t think I can get it.” She mutters.
“It is headed for the south-west gate! It means to escape.” Saer Everrest says urgently.
“I’ll give it a try.” She shrugs, raising her bow.
Her Lady guides her hand. I watch, awed, as Eliana’s arrow speeds straight and true, striking the distant form of the skeleton between its helmed skull and armored shoulders. The creature drops like a puppet with its strings cut.
Eliana grins. Saer Everrest sighs in relief and, with fervent words of congratulation, shakes her hand. I exhale slowly, feeling my air begin to calm around me.
“I feel much better now, thank you.” I smile at them both.
With fresh happiness, I see Vaikner approaching. He was nearby, concealing himself through magical means. And he looks whole and well! But…
“I lost Fukurou.” Vaikner announces glumly as he joins us. “He was destroyed by one of those vile arrows.”
Crestfallen, I give him a sympathetic look. I will miss Fukurou’s’ reassuring presence in the skies above. Our company is always a little bleak until Vaikner can bring back his feathered Familiar.
We stand together, staring at the crushed and scattered bones around us. Now that there is time to assess and consider, I think back to the enemy’s movements.
“They were so fast and so focused.” I breathe. “And disciplined; as if driven by stern orders that we could not hear.”
“This latest desecration…” Saer Everrest pauses, pale lips pressed together tightly. “This mausoleum belongs to the Tchazzam family. They are well known as the finest archers and fletchers in the Deep.”
Eliana winces.
“There can no longer be any doubt.” The knight continues bleakly. “There is a Necromancer in Waterdeep. They are collecting a squad of well-trained, deadly Restless to fight for them. There are already twenty-one such, out somewhere in the Deep. And as to the Necromancer’s purpose, and their identity, I am no closer to discovering that than I was before.”
We muse over this dismal knowledge for a moment.
“But we emerged victorious tonight.” I point out with a surge of pride. “We prevented seven more foul warriors from joining this…this Restless army. And we stand ready to assist you further!”
Saer Everrest looks at me, eyes warming at my earnest tone.
“I would like to check the desecrated mausoleum for myself. See what traces of the Art I may discover there.” Vaikner states.
“Good. And I will look for tracks outside of it.” Eliana nods. “If the spell caster needed to be close by to awaken these dead, maybe I will find some sign of their presence.”
“Lady Skyshard, did you say that Lady Blackcloak was here earlier? Is she alright?” The Doomguide asks.
“Oh. Yes.” I start guiltily. “I met her in that copse of trees, just a little distance over that way. I told her to run once the Undead emerged. I will go and check on her now. And…and retrieve your stew.”
“I do not think that any of us should be alone out here right now. Perhaps I may accompany you?” Saer Everrest asks.
I nod and we set off together. Saer Everrest has left his lantern to aid Eliana in her investigation of the desecrated tomb. He now sets a slow, careful pace as we leave the little circle of light and walk west. The shadows under the trees crowd in around us but the starlight above is steady and the knight is sure-footed. He clearly knows these paths well. But he does not seem to realize that I do not require lantern light to be as confident of my way as he is. Whenever there is a rough patch in the grass, or a knotted tree root rising out of the ground, the knight fleetingly touches my shoulder or barely brings gentle fingers to the back of my elbow to guide me past these obstacles. I smile inwardly but do not correct his mistake. The gesture is kind. And his touch leaves me a little too breathless to speak.
Determined to show proper friendship to this new companion, I strive to calm my strangely roiling air. And to settle those tendrils of my hair that are determined to waft into happy disarray. I begin a polite conversation as we amble towards Aundra’s stew pot.
“Saer Everrest? Thanks to your earlier explanation, I have a much better understanding of Human burial rites. But I am still curious about what it is that a Doomguide does.” I say haltingly. “I recall that you said you are the Keeper of this City. But it seems that Aundra the Gardener, and perhaps others like her, look after the grounds here. You are clearly trained in combat. As a knight of Kelemvor, is it your sworn duty to fight the Undead? I would hope that attacks like tonight’s do not happen often. So what exactly is your work here? And what made you choose this path? Why would someone join the church of Kelemvor?”
Saer Everrest smiles down at me. Once again, he does not seem surprised by my questions.
“You are right. It takes many people, working hard, to maintain fine grounds such as these.” He replies. “There my role is one of over-seer. I have the help of dedicated people such as Lady Blackcloak. Together, we ensure that the burial sites are properly tended and protected.
“And, as I said, Restful of all faiths are brought here. A variety of different rituals and traditions, enacted by many churches and priests, are celebrated every day. Again, there my position is rather…administrative. I do not necessarily prepare the Restful for internment myself, although I assist with this if needed, of course. But mostly I coordinate with the representatives of different faiths in the Deep; provide them with support, and ensure that their various ceremonies proceed smoothly. It is important that all who are laid to rest in the City are treated with respect and accorded the rites that they chose.”
We have reached the group of sheltering trees where I encountered Aundra. I stop and quickly look about me. I see no sign of the gardener. It is peaceful here; I hear only the wind murmuring sleepily through the leaves. Reassured, I glance back at Saer Everrest, nodding for him to continue. He also briefly scans the shadows then, some of the tension leaving his stance, he turns to me. He does not seem to feel any urgency to retrieve the stew pot. Voice low and touched with deeper emotion than before, he resumes speaking.
“As to what a Doomguide’s true role is and why I chose this path – these answers are connected.” He says. “When I was a very young man, my beloved grandfather died. He had much of the raising of me. It was a devastating blow. A Doomguide came forward to help my family during this painful time.
“You see, the faithful of Kelemvor are not responsible solely for laying the dead to rest. Within the Church, there are Mortarchs who are primarily tasked with such preparations and rituals. But there are also those of us, the Doomguides, who are called to care for those left behind. To provide support and service to mourning families until the grief becomes a little easier to bear. We guide the loving bereaved to a gradual acceptance of loss and help them find a path on which to move forward. Given the Kelemvorite’s beliefs about what death means, this is an important part of our calling.”
He pauses then, seeing my attentive curiosity, continues.
“To us, death is but a transition. It is not to be sought after or glorified. But it is a part of life. Not to be feared but to be moved through with dignity and with compassion for all of those who are touched by the process. This is what the Doomguide I met as a young man showed me. His help during my family’s time of loss made a great impression on me. When my grief had quieted into a less all-encompassing form, I realized that I wanted to provide similar service for others.” He shrugs.
I look at him thoughtfully. I remember the unassailable wall of silent mourning I met from Mama whenever I tried to speak of my Grandmother. I am moved by the kindness for the grieving that the faithful of Kelemvor demonstrate. I consider the small acts of attendance and patient service that must be called for in their daily work. I have been used to thinking only the bold and heroic deeds of warriors as great. And all other matters smaller and necessarily of lesser import. But what Saer Everrest does is not small at all. Just perhaps more difficult to see.
“I see…” I finally speak, bowing my thanks to him for sharing his heart-felt tale with me. “I see that what you do is admirable. I am a knight of Aerdrie Faenya. In my worship of my Lady, I have always turned my spiritual gaze upwards. Towards the open spaces. Where the birds soar joyously free. And clouds, storms, and gales all whirl in unfettered life. To deliberately turn downwards and inwards, towards acceptance of somber stillness and rest…that is not a choice I have ever considered. But now…now I respect the quiet strength of those who walk your path.”
I stand near him, smelling smoke and fir and leather, and losing myself in my thoughts. Listening to Saer Everrest speak is like watching a beam of light cast its unflinching brightness over a darkened room. My Papa is a Djinn, an immortal Elemental Being. My Mama is an Avariel, blessed with centuries of life in these Realms. The Tel’Quessir do pass on from the mortal world eventually. They go to Arvandor, where their souls are received by the Seldarine before being sent into the physical sphere again. But, unless cut short by violence and tragedy, this gentle transition comes after a long, long life in this world. It is not a journey that is much spoken of among the younger Elves.
Given the peculiar mix of my parentage, my own life-span is unknown, the future fate of my soul uncertain. I know that my Mama chooses to believe that I have a true Avariel soul. And that she desperately hopes that it will always remain whole and entire, returning to live again in a new Elven body. But the very fact that this question has no certain answer makes it too painful for her to contemplate. Death is not discussed in our home. To hear the Doomguide speak of it so frankly now is…most interesting.
The wind rustles in the leaves and Saer Everrest stirs. He too had seemed content to keep company with his own thoughts. Now he smiles a small rueful smile.
“Just as those of my Church believe that death is a natural part of life, so we also know that its finality is to be respected. That to do anything else is to mock Kelemvor’s power. Thus, any form of Undeath is a subversion of the the natural order. And is met with immediate wrath by the Necrobanes. This third branch of the Church of Kelemvor is the most martial one. Holy knights tasked to destroy the Restless and those monstrous enough to awaken them.” He says.
I nod fervently. My People, followers of the Seldarine, share the same horror of the evil Undead. We too consider Necromancy, with its enslavement of innocents, its heartlessly selfish disruption of a Soul’s journey through the Cycle of Being, a terrible crime.
“There is no temple to Kelemvor in the Deep. As the only official representative of my Church here, I, while nominally a Doomguide, am occasionally called upon to fulfill the role of Mortarch and Necrobane also.” His smile turns a little guilty. “I admit that a night like this one: battling the Restless to forestall this foul Necromancer’s plan and to keep those around me safe, well…it was very rewarding work.”
“Oh yes!” I beam. “It was most satisfying to bring the righteous anger of my Lady to bear on those foul Undead!”
We exchange slightly abashed grins but permit ourselves a few moments of recounting our most memorable maneuvers while pulverizing the Restless skeletons.
“But you say that you are alone here, Saer Everrest?” I turn serious. “The only Doomguide, the only one of your Church? How can this be? You are facing persistent attack by a determined foe skilled in dark magic!”
“Yes.” The knight’s form grows tense once again. “I have written messages to the Temple of Kelemvor in Ormath. They will send reinforcements. I must hold out until then. Ormath is a good distance from the Sword Coast. It will take some time for help to arrive.”
“But you cannot remain unaided until then!” I shake my head. “I return to my own Temple tonight. I am staying at the Temple of the Seldarine. I will appeal to Aubray, my roommate and a faithful follower of Sehanine Moonbow. I will ask her to intercede with her Elders. Surely they will recognize this raising of Undead fighters as the disturbing crisis that you and I know it to be! They will understand that you require immediate help.”
Saer Everrest stares at me, surprise and hope mingling in his gaze.
“That…that is most kind, Lady Skyshard.” He replies slowly. “I will be pleased to accept any help that the Elves are willing to give.”
“Oh, the Elves at my Temple will be delighted to help one such as you.” I assure him with supreme confidence. “I mean, a brave knight in divine service, struggling alone against the blight of Necromancy…”
I trail off, happy certainty faltering under the uncomfortable influence of a forgotten fact.
“But, oh…there is something that I need to speak to you about.” I squirm.
Saer Everrest, hearing the tight reluctance in my voice, looks worried.
“What is wrong?” He frowns.
“I thought of it because we are talking of ensuring that you have the help that you need. And it has to do with why we came here this night. But I do not want it to appear that we were not willing to aid you in your need! We would have helped without being asked. If we had known that you were troubled, that is. It is just that we did not know – would not have known – if Saer Savra had not informed us of it. But I am very pleased that we did. Come and help, I mean. No matter what your answer will be. Just as I intend to speak for you to the Elves of my Temple, regardless of whether you agree…you are under no obligation, you see.” I burble.
It is clear from Saer Everrest’s face that he does not see.
“Saer Savra asked us to help you tonight. And suggested that, if I provided you with aid, in good faith and with stalwart courage, that you may be willing to support my application to the Order of the Gauntlet. I would like to join the Order.” I manage, flustered.
The knight’s face clears and he laughs.
“That is excellent news!” He exclaims with warm relief. “I thought you were about to divulge something quite dire! I am very happy to think that the Order will gain a knight like you, Lady Skyshard. And I would be delighted to speak in support of your application. I will write to Saer Savra directly.”
I smile sunnily at him, once again abruptly and unaccountably too shy to do more than nod my thanks. I turn to recover the long-neglected stew pot. I carefully lift it out from its hiding place. It seems like so much has happened since I placed it there; I feel momentary surprise to find that the gnarled tree roots have not yet had time to grow over and around it. Wrapping my arms around the fat little belly of the cauldron, I realize that I can still feel the ghost of its warmth against my skin!
“May I help you with that?” Saer Everrest asks politely. “I see no sign of Lady Blackcloak here. And,happily, none of the Restless came this way, so I am confident that she was able to heed your warning and escape to safety. It was very kind of her to bring this.”
I surrender the stew pot to him with a slight scowl. He sniffs at the contents with interest. I decide that, awkward as it may be, I must at least hint at my doubts about Aundra the Gardener’s trustworthiness.
“Yes, very kind. From how she spoke, it seems that Lady Blackcloak firmly approves of you.” I acknowledge. “And yet, can you be entirely sure that she has no ill intent? I mean, that she is your true friend and was not involved in this evening’s frightening events? This dish that she brought for you: you are certain that it is not tainted in some way?”
“Lady Blackcloak as the menacing caster of necromantic spells?” Saer Everrest’s shoulders shake. “No, I have nothing to fear in that quarter.”
Torn between the unexpected pleasure of hearing his husky laugh and my continued uncertainty as to the wholesomeness of the stew, I can think of no more to say. Quietly, we retrace our steps through the trees. Sharing swift, glad smiles in the dark whenever our glances meet, we move to rejoin our companions.
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I hope that you enjoyed this chronicle of our party’s visit to the City of the Dead and their first encounter with some new foes and friends. Just friends…;)
I have many songs that play along in my mind for this chapter (because dreamy, dreamy Saer Everrest):
For the Necromancer subplot:
Can’t Play Dead, The Heavy
For Saer Ambrosius Everrest:
Who Shall Vigil Stand, Hildegard von Blingin’
For Saer Ambrosius kicking ass, striding into battle:
What Makes a Good Man, The Heavy
Some of the necessarily angsty, teen-romance numbers for when Saer Ambrosius and Elodie have their moments and he heals her:
Iris, The Goo Goo Dolls
Bring me to Life, Evanescence
Honorable mention to Madonna’s, Like a Prayer. Don’t love the melody but the lyrics are so spot on!
But, my favorite song for when he saves her and they fight together:
The Drowned Girl, Yann Tiersen
For when Elodie and Saer Ambrosius walk and talk together after the battle:
Heartbeat, Joe Hisaishi
Dance in the Graveyards, Delta Rae.
Please also visit my playlist on Spotify. I will be populating this with all of our campaign tunes as we adventure onwards:
Tears of the Seldarine 
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