[♪ Village Music ♪]

As the Pale Lady's words fade from sound, a gentle flash of light occurs, blinding all your senses at once. You wonder how long this will last before you realize you feel the sensation of a bitter chill upon your skin. The white turns to black and you can feel your long-forgotten body laying on the ground, your eyes closed. In many ways you can feel the aches and pains of your death and yet you're somehow completely revitalized and full of energy. As you blink your eyes open you can see others around you, waking from supposedly the same death-dream, however there is one who stands. A woman with a flowing red mane that is held up only by a hairband or two, adorned in light almost tribal looking clothing and a familiar blade in hand - one that has been passed down by centuries of myths and fairy tales.

Behind her is a sight that is not welcomed by most. It is a village that nearly looks frozen in time, but the buildings are burned to a crisp and skeletons are laid across the depressing landscape. Those of a more magical detection immediately feel a strange sensation, that the burns were not caused by any known magic and that it's very much of an unnatural nature - almost as if the flames used here burned as much as they froze. Clearly the village had been attacked and not a single soul was left to tell the tale. Even the very ground seems to moan and weep as life is slowly being drained away by something strange.

Noticing the group is awake, the woman turns half-way to greet everyone with a serious, but gentle smile. "You've awoken," she mentions, as if confirming that everyone is indeed alive. "Gain your bearings when you can," she advises before gesturing to the ruined village. "As you can see, there is little for us to do here, so we might as well come to terms before we set off on our quest." Letting out a light sigh, her gaze finally falls upon Ffamran. Though her expression hardens a little, she simply nods to him once, as if hinting that she has no ill-will towards the man - though it's difficult to say why her demeanor is so calm given that he was the slayer of her lover.

A tunnel of endless memories, a war won over and over and over… Then it all swung into focus like the motion of a sword through the sky. Etzer's eyes snapped open from a sleep he considered eternal as his whole body lurched forward. A hand reached for the place over his chest where an Emperor had struck him dead…

… and now he was here. His surroundings snapped into focus. These were not the mountains he once called home, but he was struck immediately with a scent like fire – something ugly and toxic that filled his lungs. Etzer let instinct take over before all else as one foot pressed against the ground and took him to his feet.

“Selene…” And the spear flashed to his hands.

His body moved before his mind as familiar actions came into play. A hand brushed the dead dirt and the slightest magic that he understood was enough to convince him that something was off. He couldn’t even stop himself from getting to his feet before he noticed the figure standing before him. Her red hair blowing in a wind devoid of life as the blade in her hand called to his vaguest understanding of history.

She was important, once. A great title thrust upon this woman he seemed to remember, yet… wasn’t she long dead?

Then again, as he looked around the group, he supposed they all were. With a shake of his head, his eyes turned to the place around them. It was hauntingly familiar to witness a village ravaged, and life snuffed from it likely without its citizens having knowledge of what occurred. This bitter winter had fallen on this place like someone clearing the table after a game of chess, yet this cold seemed far worse than the winter with which he was familiar.

Speaking of…

“Vakir? Are you here? Can you hear me, dear friend?” He said, shouting despite himself.

A hand curled around the shaft of his spear reflexively as the other clutched at the amulet around his neck. He waited – yearning for that iron voice to slash through his doubts and worries.

Then there was none.

His heart sank – not even pleased with the second chance at life in this world devoid of hope. With this other group of people here, however, showing weakness was a terrible sign.

His father had always said that it was important to show the best of yourself in a regiment, or the loss of morale could shatter the group entirely.

But, who was he without that drake?

“This place… I don’t recognize it,” he said aloud next, glossing over his previous outburst, “What kind of monstrosity could have caused such damage, and what does that Pale Lady expect us to do about it?”

There was a chill in the air. Even though the heavy fabrics that seemed to have followed him through the fades of Death didn’t seem enough to protect him from the chill. He jammed his lance into the ground next to him and started readjusting any button he could find on his thick hide clothing before turning back to the woman where she stood.

With a deep breath, he stepped towards her, and towards the charcoaled building barely standing within vision, “Do you have any sense of where we need to go?”

When Ffamran sil Vadris awoke, he wasn't all that pleased.

Lying in the snow, a dozen thoughts were flying through his head. Things like how cold he was, how the spirits were not pleased, how he hated the snow, how it seemed that the lady of the light had decided to try and make him one of her pawns, the magic energy in the air was as off-putting to him as it was to the spirits, and that he hated how cold this damned snow was.

His thoughts were immediately halted as he became aware of his surroundings however, specifically of the woman who spoke to them, and the burnt remains of the village behind her.

"Beoulve." He said, giving her a look that, while not necessarily welcoming, was at the very least respectful. It was probably best described as grim acceptance of the current situation, if one had to assign a label to it. "I suppose it was too much to ask to pass on in peace. Am I to assume you know what is going on?"

Slowly, he stood up, brushing off the snow that clung to his robes. It was only at that moment that he realised they were in fact robes, and not the armour he had been wearing at the time of his passing, and sighed. Well, that was just perfect… No wonder he was so cold! At least his armour had been somewhat built to withstand colder climates. His robes though, they were made for the desert! Light and reflective to heat! Wearing them in this kind of climate without shelter was just asking for trouble!

Still, despite his displeasure at his current attire, he returned his gaze to Ravness. This woman was a capable warrior, skilled enough to have taken his life in one on one combat. He may not have especially liked the woman, but he decided that, if nothing else, he should at least see what she had to say.

"Very well." The ancient prince said. "I will admit that I do not fully understand the situation, so I will hear you out, as one who has proven themselves against me. However, I will state right now that I have no intention of becoming one of the Pale Lady's hounds. If I am to follow you, I will do it by my own will, not hers."

And then his expression hardened, his gaze becoming sharper as he spoke once more.

"But first, I have a question, not just for you, but for every dog of the light present." He said, turning to look at all the strangers in the snow around him. "After my death, what became of my home? What became of the people of Entei Bahara?"

"Hmmm...I do believe some common courtesy is in order when one requests something from another", came the soft but firm reply from behind Ffamran sil Vadris. Sitting cross-legged in the snow, eyes closed and hands on his knees, was an old man. He appeared well over sixty, definitely much older than any of the others in the ravaged town, and looked withered and frail, wearing multiple layers of ample clothing that hid away his body and made him seem even smaller to the eye. He was also exceedingly calm, his breathing rhythmic and controlled, and as he sat with firm, unbending posture he did not appear to be bothered by the cold in the slightest.

"Not referring to others as dogs would be a start, along with a simple introduction. Sho Tenshin of Hakugawa, at your service", he continued unperturbed, finally opening his eyes to reveal them faded and clouded by age. The Ageless Master's short meditation on what he had experienced and the task at hand had borne little fruit, leaving him with many questions. He had died at peace, had he not? Or had he wanted something more? Did he want peace or was this what he truly sought, ever greater adventures to test himself? Had he failed to attain the peace of beyond and if so, was it forever out of his grasp? Questions for another time and another place.

Sighing, Sho Tenshin took stock of the situation and admitted to himself that did not know what to do. He did not know where he was and he only had vague ideas on who some of his companions might be, tales from lands distant to his own, it was all too strange. So he decided to try to clear his mind and focus on the moment, as had often been his way in life. As was often his way in life. As a gesture of goodwill to start, he removed his haori jacket and offered it to Ffamran folded in outstretched arms. "Still, this is no weather to be dressed as you are. Please, take my jacket at least, I assure you I am well protected from the cold".

As pain filled Mortimer's mind, it occurred to him that his body was whole.

With all the energy that was being used to keep him alive for millennia, him being murdered would have caused all that energy to escape violently, destroying his body and the place he called home at the time. The fact that he could feel the cold and the dull phantom ache of a blade in his side told him that somehow his body had been remade. Maybe someone brought him back to place judgement on him for his "crimes."

Mortimer opened his eyes and sat up. There were others just waking up as well except for one. A woman with a shock of red hair and a sword he couldn't- wouldn't forget. The sword's likeness was emblazoned on the shields and tabards of the paladins of old, just like the one that gave him his second chance. He would have to see if he had anything in his journal about her or the paladins.

His eyes lit up as he watched the interaction between the man in white robes and the woman. A small spark of memory flared to life and quietly died. When the man asked the group about what happened to his people after he had died, Mortimer pulled himself to his feet and retrieved a small, palm sized notebook out his pocket.

Entei Bahara

He directed his thoughts to the book. The cover of the book pulsed gently with a white glow. He opened the book to find all the notes he had on the place. One note caught his eye.

'The Tragedy of Entei Bahara'

"Oh, it's been a long time since I've seen that play. I love tragedies." Mortimer said aloud to himself. Then he remembered where he was, and looked up at the robed man, and found an older man standing next to the man and holding out a jacket to him.

"I have a lot of notes on the empire," Mortimer said as he waved his journal at the man in the robes. "Spanning millennia, when did you die? Better yet, can I get your name? It might have been of note." He asked the robed man.

It was then that he noticed the dead village around him lacking the souls of the dead. Not a single spirit that he could see lingered around. It was almost as if they'd moved on, but with the marks of what happened, there had to have been at least one or two spirits locked in the memories of their deaths, but there weren't.

Mortimer shivered, but not from the chill in the air.

After millennia reliving the extreme heat of her death, the bitter cold was a complete shock. Sibley's eyes shot open, and she jumped to her feet faster than she thought possible. She began swatting away the snow that stuck to her bare arms and legs, and shook her head violently to get any stray flakes out of her hair, her steps eerily quiet as she jumped around. "Holy f-"

She quickly silenced herself as she realised she wasn't alone. Looking around at the others, her eyes still wide and her mouth slightly open, she straightened herself and pulled her thin shawl as tightly as she could around her shoulders. A cursory glance confirmed that she was the youngest in the group - a situation she was very familiar with - and that they were likely thrown here much as she was. Her gaze swept past the others toward the ruined village before them, scanning building after burnt-out building, corpse after desecrated corpse. The memory of her farmhouse burning flashed before her eyes, and a very familiar anger flared up inside her.

But this wasn't the time or place. She lowered her head and closed her eyes again, desperate to hide the hatred that now shone through them, and listened carefully as the others spoke. It was clear that they knew as little about the situation as she did - perhaps with the exception of the redheaded woman, referred to as Beoulve by the man wearing what Sibley could only assume were haphazardly-arranged scraps of fabric.

She heard the old man offer his jacket to one of the others; she hugged herself tightly, her own dress and shawl doing little to ward off the shocking chill. She wanted to reach out and grab the jacket, but knew it was a very easy way to lose sympathy; instead, she took a deep breath and allowed herself to shiver, as terribly painful as it was. She still felt as weak as the moment she died, her mouth still dry from the heat, her throat still sore from screaming over the crowd. Perhaps though, she thought, if she didn't hide her pain, someone would soon take pity on her as well.

Lance lost count of how many times his head was chopped off. He wasn't sure if he was in heaven or hell, or perhaps some kind of bizarre purgatory, but seeing his life over and over again he began to wish for the silent bliss of oblivion. How many times did he have to watch his wife die? How many times did he have to lose to those corrupt noblemen? All he could do was wonder what it all amounted to. He never saw the peasant revolt. He never saw the sweeping reforms. He never saw his name in history books generations later. All he saw was a jeering crowd, then the sky, and then it started all over again...

Lance gasped and bolted upright, looking around with a bewildered expression. He didn't know this place. He let that sink in for a moment. He didn't know this place. It was over. The eternal life, death, and rebirth was finally over. He felt his neck. No scar. He stood up. Somehow, even that was easier than he remembered. His tired, aching back seemed new and full of life once again. He rolled his shoulders. No sharp pain from that knife he took to the nerve. It seemed that wherever he was, the gods had seen fit to fix of the dings and dents that middle-age had done to his body. He went to reach for a cigarette... perhaps the gods weren't so kind after all.

As Lance got his bearings, he leaned against one of the crumbling buildings, blending in with the shadows by instinct. For a moment, he just listened. Names... places he'd never heard of. How can a place both be one's homeland and the subject of a play? None of this was making sense. Come on, Lance, he thought. You've made sense of crazier shit than this. If a place was ancient history to one person, but the home of another, then that meant they were from different times. He glanced at the potpourri of comrades trying to figure out the same things he was. It would explain why they were such a mismatched bunch. A group of people from a variety of different times and cultures.

Lance emerged from the shadows and approached the group. "What, indeed, are we supposed to do about this mess?" The snow crunched beneath his feet and he shifted uncomfortably. He had seen snow only a couple times in his life. Usually, in Grimwater, it just rained. "That's a big question. One I don't think we should tackle just yet, especially since we don't even know what this mess is." He took out his arcane magnifier and began scanning some of the buildings. "Was this natural? Was it arson? And if so... What in the hell?" In all his years as a detective, Lance had never seen a magic residue like this. How could something burn and freeze? "Well... that's different..."

Once, many years ago, in the city then known as Tanom...

"Did you ever think it would end like this?"

"No."

"I'm dying."

"So you are," Sophia said, fighting off the sob that threatened to escape from her throat. She pulled the cloak of her hood back, sitting down next to the dying man, grasping his hands between hers, familiar lines on his scarred hands finding familiar, almost forgotten places on her own hands, a remnant of happier times that filled the druid with memories and despair.

The artificer laughed, a weak wheezing laughter, a pained, sad smile playing across his pale face, "You should have let me go, you should have stayed in your forest, I would saved them, I would have saved all of them, I would have saved you."

"You left me no choice, old friend, you strayed too far."

"No!" The artificer roared with unexpected strength, before his words were lost to another bout of coughing, his voice falling to a barely above a whisper as he wiped the fresh blood from his lips, "I was doing the right thing, I was doing what those frightened old cowards should have done all along!"

"You were always too arrogant, too brash, too willing to sacrifice the innocent if it served a higher purpose..."

Sophia could see the artificers features harden, his eyes suddenly dark, not out of fear or malice, but out of fear, "If you had seen what I have seen, you would know that this was the only way. There is a darkness coming, an evil that devours all that it encounters, it will encase this world in ice, and shatter it into a thousand pieces."

"Enough, Walter, you won't last much longer, let us part ways as friends."

"After all of this? You were always such a hopeless fool, Sophia."

"We have fought enough, we have spilled enough blood for a lifetime, and we have slain more friends than I care to remember. Let this end."

Walter of Eldeen sighed loudly, the fight having lost since left him, and he shook his head sadly in a well-practiced motion as he studied Sophia,"You know they're not going to let you go, you're the enemy now, the monster hiding in her woods."

"I know."

"So, much for a heroine's reward, eh?"

"The balance has been restored, that is all that matters."

"Sophia."

"Yes?"

"I'm so cold."

"I know."

---

Presently.

Sophia awoke to a stirring next to her. A thousand years of relived memories crashed across her mind, echoing painfully with each passing moment. A life of servitude, repaid most cruelly, first by death at the end of a royal sword and then by unceasing dreams, wicked dreams, tortuous dreams that allowed no hope and no change, filled her with a newfound bitterness. A bitterness made all the worse by each cruel repetition of her life, each failure growing larger, each mistake becoming more salient, and each loss, so painfully clear, becoming so much harder to bear. Making no move to rise or open her eyes, Sophia wiped away the tears that came unbidden, carefully containing the flame of anger that filled her heart. Before the darkness could take hold of her, before the anger overwhelmed her, she felt the familiar touch of a wet nose gently bumping against her cheek and a heavy paw softly brushing against her skin.

Running a hand gently through her animal companion's fur, Sophia slowly sat up, a hand on her chest finding neither blood nor the wound that ended her life, much to the druid's surprise. Picking Sir Thomas up, Sophia buried her damp face in his fur, pulling him tight, and trying her best to forget.

When she finally opened her eyes, Sophia found herself among strangers, some seemed vaguely familiar, though she could not quite place them, and she was sure she had never met them before. Taking a deep breath, she put Sir Thomas down, watching as the badger shook himself, drying his fur in a fell swoop, and managing a smile as he bounded forward, death being no great obstacle in his mind. Rising to her feet with a deep breath, Sophia cautiously studied the party, strange as it was, some of the strangers bore familiar garbs, but others looked to be from foreign lands, lands that had very different ideas about what proper dress meant.

A strange feeling filled the Green Sage as gaze shifted from the strangers to the landscape and then the burned village. There was a wrongness to the grim scene, no natural flames would leave such burns, and she felt a growing sense of alarm, a gnawing feeling that told her to run, to seek shelter, and to hide. But most of all, she felt a growing need to burn what little rubble remained, to cleanse the land of whatever foul magic had caused the devastation she saw, and to bury the desecrated bodies far beneath the earth.

Sophia was brought away from her grave thoughts by the low barking of Sir Thomas, who stood at the feet of a young woman, the current object of his cheerful investigation, the badger knight studiously and unabashedly sniffing at her leather boots. The young woman, was wearing a a thin knee-high dress of a style Sophia could not place and an equally-thin shawl of a similarly novel appearance, clothes that were barely suited for high summer much less a cold winter's day. Sophia could see her shivering and felt a pang of sympathy, she remembered more than one day spent in the wilds, left at the mercy of the elements far from shelter or help.

With a deft movement of her hands, Sophia removed the enchanted cloak she wore, and slowly stepped closer to the young woman. Holding the cloak carefully in front of her, as if worried she would spook the poor girl, Sophia spoke softly, "Here, put this on, you will not last long in this cold without it."

---

Addendum:



Awakening from his long slumber, Sir Thomas opened his beady badger eyes, and sprung to his feet with a well-practiced and to a badger extremely dramatic leap. He had always known that death would not claim him so easily, no, badgers did not die, not the heroic ones at least, and certainly not the ones destined to defeat great evils.

Casting a cursory glance at the squires he found gathered around him, Sir Thomas could not help but feel a bit disappointed, there were precious few knights among the present company, at least if their quaint manner of dress was anything to go by. Still, pauper knights were better than no knights, even if it so happened that none of them had a proper suit of armor.

Finding that his companion was slow to rise, Sir Thomas nudged her with his graceful nose, gently pawing at her with his powerful paw. No sooner had she awoken than she had picked him up and smothered him with hug, that while welcome, almost caused him to let out a loud growl of surprise.

Finally released, he shook out the strange drops of moisture that had accumulated in his fur, springing forward to examine the still mysterious strangers with the unmitigated cheerfulness of an unstoppable force of badgerness.

Beginning his investigations of the group, Sir Thomas carefully studied the boots of a young woman, a shivering thing that stood not far from Sophia. There was something familiar about her scent, it reminded him of home, but it was not quite the same scent, it was different somehow, as if it had changed slightly since he had last walked through his glorious kingdom. He let out a soft bark, at last noticing that the young pup wasn't wearing so much as a jacket. Having long studied human beings, on his own and in his travels with Sophia, Sir Thomas knew that the poor, fur-less creatures did not deal well with cold or rain. Unless of course they were wrapped in several layers, like some strange form of caterpillars, cocooned in fur or cloth.

Turning towards Sophia, he offered a slight tilt of his head, a sign of his great confusion. Surely, there were more knights waiting for him to lead them into battle?

The woman lets the group gather their senses as several of them ask the obvious question - but that was something to be expected. Others stir in silence and offer aid to one another as they all try to make sense of their sudden revival. Some of them are more upset than others, but overall she approved of the group's ability to adapt to the situation. Finally, she turned, sword's hilt cupped in one hand as she seemed to address the group as a whole. "The Pale Lady expects us to be heroes, as we've been referred to throughout the ages," she starts. "No matter any ill-will that had been caused by us in our lives, she selected everyone for their hearts - the ability to answer the call to set aside everything for what was right during our times." Ravness glances to the village and sighs, almost at a loss like everyone else. "However, we do not know what sort of opponent we face just yet... a strange thing, indeed, to drain the life from the World in such a manner. Not even the greatest Liches are capable of these sorts of feats." Taking a deeper breathe as to finally answer the burning question, "though indeed I know our next step. We are meant to march down this mountain into the plains. There, we will encounter something that is meant for us." In truth, she could only lead this band as far as the Light told her, but she knew the Lady was to be trusted.

Glancing to Mortimer, she quietly decides to let the past life rival answer the question himself. Soon they would all realize that their time had long past. The woman pauses and gives a small curtsy, blade still balanced in her off-hand. "However for now, my name is Ravness Beoulve. I would ask that everyone introduce themselves, as we are on this quest together." The paladin had absolutely no idea how far or wide her legend are truly gone in her time past, only that she had accepted the title of Queen's Guard, avatar to the Pale Lady, and died protecting others at the hand of one of the most powerful Liches to exist since.

---

How curious.

Blue eyes had fluttered open, revealing an unfamiliar surrounding. Slowly getting to her feet, Fiametta dusted her dress off some, though her curiosity got the better of her as she looked around. Where was this? Her memory failed to tell her where she was or how she got there. No, that wasn't entirely true, there was this light...but beyond that she had either forgotten or couldn't quite grasp an understanding of what had happened. She did remember her father's spear being driven through her chest, and her hands flew up to the spot in response. No hole, no blood, she seemed fine. Well, not fine, there were eerie magics at work, things beyond her understanding and knowledge. This place seemed disconnected from the one she was used to, though she figured standing around wasn't going to do much for her. Did she accidentally burn the village down? No, she would've remembered. Maybe. Hopefully.

Not too far away was a group of people she did not recognize. She approached them rather cautiously, although the paladin with hair as red as her dress looked familiar somehow. As she spoke and introduced herself, the name definitely rang a bell. "Of Igros?" She found herself asking. "My husband knows of you. I am Fiametta Teralyn of Vertouhi."

---

Etzer was hoping that he’d be able to recognize something around the landscape, but everything was too different. He tried to look at the buildings barely standing and some others that were only husks of what they used to be, but the structure was beyond his comprehension. In fact, even looking around at some of the styles flying around, these people were beyond what he was expecting. How long had he been dead, anyway? The only small comfort he picked up was the approach of the small badger that seemed to trudge down the dirt and snow. He couldn’t help the smile it brought to his face, even as he traced its footsteps back to the woman in the earth-tone clothes.

There was something about her that seemed familiar to him, though he was certain he’d never seen her before. The other figure that now clicked to him was that of Ravness. The great paladin had been a symbol of hope, and a hopeful story for the struggling force back in the days of the rebellion. He remembered even Vakir had some stories about her legend. And if she was pushing them in one direction, Etzer would not be one to object.

With a twirl of his spear, he let out a puff of cold air into the sky and watched his breath in the cold, “Right, well. I’m Etzer Kirtzao, Wanderer. I’m one mount short right now, but if we want to head down the mountain, I suggest we figure out how to leave this place before whatever did this,” he gestured to the black scarred buildings around the area, “comes back to deal with this force of… whatever the Hell we are.”

Etzer was already looking for a distraction as his one hand kept a palm on the white scales around his neck. The sign of other wildlife in the form of this determined badger reassured him that there was a possibility of finding him. Vakir wasn’t here, which meant he might’ve been somewhere else. However, he felt exposed. Unlike everyone else – the lack of the drake’s cold blood felt like he was missing a shield, or walking into a battle alone. His whole body was tense like a bowstring. The Pale Lady was beyond his wheelhouse. Hell, standing again in the world of the living was more than his comprehension of how this stuff works. Then again, his knowledge for this kind of thing had never been the best.

Not a lot of time to explain the Light and the Darkness in a world of wild nature and constructed war.

“I’m not the biggest fan of leaving the mountains behind, but I’m not one to argue with some divine entity, nor her champion,” he sighed, bouncing on his feet in an attempt to relieve some of his tension, “so, once everyone’s adjusted we should get going!”

@Zero Hex@Konan375@Lyla
"I'm afraid you will have to earn my respect, not expect it right at the start." Ffamran said, looking to the elderly man with a scrutinous expression. "Each and every one of you has been denied an afterlife, dragged away from any chance of rest and forced to relive all your mistakes just so, when she decided to make use of you, the Pale Lady could bring you back to use as her pawns, and you all react by sitting obediently and accepting her every order. If that doesn't describe a mere hound, I don't know what does."

He did blink in surprise, however, when Sho offered him his haori. Slipping it on, he nodded at the martial artist, giving a small grin.

"Hmm, very well. I shall accept your offer. Know that, while you have yet to earn my respect, you have at the very least earned my gratitude. Consider yourself upgraded from lowly dog to servant."

And then he turned to the man who asked him who he was and how he died, the only one who offered him any information. He scoffed when the man said his name 'might be of note'.

"Yes, I imagine it would be... If you know of Beoulve here, you would know of me. I am Ffamran sil Vadris, though you may know me as the 'Demon Prince'. I was the second in command of the legendary lich Dizarach, an old friend of my family, and I fought Beoulve many times as I tried to protect my country fr the Igrossian invasion. However, you called it a tragedy, so I suspect my final words to her fell on deaf ears."

His expression turned somewhat solemn at that, although it was clear he was doing his best to keep it under control. He turned to Ravness as she spoke again, and had to work to hide a bitter smirk. Selected for the strength of their hearts? What a stupid notion. Most likely, they were summoned for the overwhelming power they each held, so the Pale Lady could wield the strongest slaves in her ruthless crusade against the Darkness, along with any who would dare question the notion that darkness is inherently cruel and evil, and light is inherently good and pure!

After the paladin finished speaking, he nodded.

"While normally I would question the lack of detail our oh so precious benefactor has given us, I cannot say I would object to leaving this mountain in favour of somewhere warmer. I shall follow you for now, but know that I stand by what I said before. I will not blindly follow the Lights demands simply because it expects me to."

So many different people from so many different walks of life. Mortimer watched as the others got reacquainted with coming back to life. Some of them looked disoriented. Maybe their deaths weren't pleasant. Mortimer chuckled. Death was never pleasant. He looked to the redhead when she spoke up and told them all that they had all been chosen by the Pale Lady. It gave him relief to hear that he was seen as a hero by the Pale Lady. He doubted that the stories told of him made him a hero in the eyes of the public. At least his name wasn't linked to his history as Roaming Death.

His gaze shifted to the robed man, who introduced himself as Ffamran. The name didn't spark any memory, but what did was the name Dizarach. Mortimer's book slipped from his suddenly slack fingers into the snow below. He had found the lich's notes before his second chance, and they helped him become the lich that he had been so many years ago. Mortimer bent down and picked the book up off the ground.

Now that Mortimer had a name to use, he searched his book for information. "It's more of a cautionary tale." Mortimer glanced up from his book at Ffamran. "I don't know what your final words were, but miss Beoulve here died in the same battle that killed you. She and D--the lich killed each other." Mortimer looked back down and read aloud the notes he had written down.

"After it became clear that the lich had been using the kingdom of Entei Bahara for his own gain, a tenuous peace was formed between the two kingdoms after many tragic losses, including the first paladin Ravness Beoulve and the prince of Entei Bahara."

Mortimer turned through the pages of his journal. "This peace lasted between the two..." He flipped a few more pages. "For at least seven thousand years after the death of the lich. Of course, the kingdom had changed names and rulers several times throughout those years." Mortimer frowned as he reached the last page of notes. His words had been scratched frantically across the page.

"Due to geographical instability, the kingdom once known as Entei Bahara has been declared unsafe. The displaced have been pouring into Igros. Hundreds by the day. It is unknown how many have survived and how many have perished. Once everything calms down I will-"

Mortimer snapped the book shut. Enough had been said. He clicked his tongue twice and made a beckoning motion with his finger. He looked around, but nothing happened. Creaky wasn’t here. He chuckled. Old habits die hard. "That's about it for Entei Bahara. As for introductions, I am Mortimer Vandall."

From underneath a nearby snowbank came shifting movement and a muffled, panicked cawing of a crow. Then the snow shifted and a skull of a crow peered out from the pile of snow. It let out an indignant sounding cry and struggled to move but it was firmly stuck in the snowbank. It paused for a moment before it cawed loudly at Fiametta, the closest person to it.

Still seated in meditative posture, Sho Tenshin couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle as Ffamran sil Vadris bent over to pick up the offered jacket and quickly slipped it on. "Oh, excuse my amusement, I had simply never seen a proud lord in such need of a dog's charity that'll bend for it, ohohoho", he ironized at the expense of the dark skinned lad. Ah, the audacity of youth. Sho had been similarly proud in a way, though in different circumstances, many years ago. He had learned to let go of much of that atitude in time, and part of his eventual role as a teacher had been lowering such egos. After all how can one learn if one thinks they know best?

Now the old man rose to his feet with surprising sprightliness for his apparent frailty and looked around once more, taking stock of the people around him and taking in the introductions and especially the apparent task at hand. My, what a disparate group, he thought to himself. Though nothing betrayed this outwardly, he questioned the wisdom in gathering such a band instead of creating an organized, coordinated force if their mission was truly so important. He did not know what to make of the idea that even greater beings, ones that could toy with the cycle of life, might find their judgement impaired by personal whims.

Putting those thoughts aside, he pressed his palms together as a gesture of greeting for the others. "Once again, I am Sho Tenshin of the land of Hakugawa in the east. Forgive me if I should have heard of you all, but tales from the west only recently began to spread during my life". The old man gave the group a slight bow. "As for any further steps, before we depart I should like to give the dead here burial", he continued, looking about with clear pity in his clouded eyes. "Whatever happened here was bad enough, these people should be given at least the peace of the grave".

Sibley opened her eyes, her head still turned to the ground, as she felt a small nudge at her boots. The badger was curiously examining her - where did this badger come from? It looked not unlike the ones she saw scampering around in the forest behind her farm. A knot of fear rose in her throat. Were they near - did this place used to be -

She forced herself away from the thought as another woman stepped toward her, offering a cloak of what appeared to be forest debris. Sibley lifted her eyes to look the woman over as she carefully accepted the offer. "Thank you for your kindness." Her voice was small and weak, her words raspy from the pain in her mouth and throat.

The woman looked startlingly familiar. Sibley hesitated a moment, looking her over again and again. The cloak now wrapped tightly around herself, she looked again at the badger nudging at her boots.

No, it can't be.

Sibley turned and glanced once again at the others in the group. The woman who introduced herself as Ravness Beoulve seemed to think that the group was made up of heroes... from "throughout the ages"? The man dressed in scraps was asking about his home, and the man wearing equally bizarre dress read aloud notes detailing the peace and ultimate destruction of the kingdom, only to beckon forth a reanimated crow not a moment later. The old man who had offered his jacket to the scrap-wearing man was apologising for not recognising anyone present (in truth, Sibley herself didn't recognise very many present here; nor did she immediately want to be recognised until she was certain the company was good).

Perhaps it wasn't so impossible after all.

"Pardon me, ma'am," she nearly whispered, turning once again to the rugged woman who had generously given up her cloak. "Forgive my intrusion, but are you -" a brief pause as she coughed dryly. "By chance, are you the Green Sage?"

"I am," the archdruid replied with a gentle smile and a quick flash of mischief in her eyes,"But people usually just call me Sophia."

Offering a small bow of her head, Sophia exchanged a knowing glance with her badger companion, who's attention otherwise remained focused on the wisp of a girl, now snug beneath her enchanted cloak.

"And who are you? Your speech reminds me of home and Sir Thomas seems to think you walked through my forest," Sophia continued, her voice calm, measured, and holding only the faintest, most carefully guarded edge to it, as she mentioned the Great Forest of Nalmor that she had once so fervently guarded. A place of strange beasts, ancient magics, and more than one lost relic, it had long since come to be called the Forbidden Forest, and all but the most experienced or hardy of rangers stayed far away from the reach of the strange trees which dominated the forest.

@mercenarius

The crowd of heroes started to mingle about, leaving the paladin to mostly her own devices, but this was something she was more or less used to. It was something she saw up close for the first time when trying to impress Ovelia. Her love was a leader of men and women, a wise teacher, and respected across the land during her time. Ovelia often warned, if playfully, that trying to spend every moment with the warrior princess would leave Ravness lonely. The sacrifice was worth it to be at the top with her love, though after she was slain by Ffamran, Ravness really only knew the Pale Lady to be of any true comfort - even her trusted generals only grew so close.

This scene only reminded her of her last days as a commander and symbol of hope, having to make decisions that no one else wanted to make, to carry that god-awful weight around. It was worth it though - she believed in humanity too much to step down. "Please," she responded, gesturing for Sho to proceed with the burial of the fallen. Her eyes flashed to Mortimer's unliving companion but only paid it a small mind, instead looking at Ffamran. "He's right. Your pleas did not fall on deaf ears - instead I implored those below me to carry out your wishes." Ravness gave the man a neutral expression and left it at that. Seeing as the group may be here for a moment longer while Sho buried the dead, the paladin unsummoned her blade - it dissolved into what seemed like a million tiny mirror shards before no longer being visible. Ravness let out a slight sigh, sure that they all still had hurts since they did not pass through the gates of death like so many others. 'The Pale Lady knew all this would be coming, somehow...'

@Sightseer

Sibley's eyes went wide as the woman confirmed her identity. She responded to Sophia's head bow with a deep bow of her own, her hands clasped against her legs, her hair flung over her head in her haste to do so. In this position, her gaze was drawn to the badger that was still pawing at her boots. She took as deep a breath as she could without hurting her throat.

"Green Sage Sophia." Sibley's words were soft as she searched for an answer that would be... at least somewhat palatable. "My mother told us stories of you. Of your forest. I - I grew up on a farm near a village called Northpass. Your forest marked the far boarder of our farm." She paused to cough. "My mother cautioned us against entering the forest, but I found solitude there. In a farmhouse with seven siblings, it was the only place I could find solitude." Sibley bowed even lower. "Please forgive me. I meant no disrespect."

Her answer danced around the truth: although she spoke no outright lies, Sibley's story still omitted key details - that Northpass was new when she was young, that her family had been the first to farm that land - in the hope that she would not break the Green Sage's heart.

Sibley watched the badger, frozen in her pose, wondering if the truth was shining through her eyes, and, if it was, whether or not the animal could tell. She still felt too weak to hide her expression, and the only barrier hiding it from the Green Sage was her long hair. If the badger could tell, though...

A commotion from behind Mortimer drew his attention. He turned his gaze from Ffamran to a snowbank a small distance away. The skeletal crow that had lived for nearly as long as he had was firmly stuck in the mound of snow. Well, lived was a relative term. He idly wondered if Creaky was brought here as well, or if coincidence brought his crow to this place. Mortimer shrugged. Didn't matter either way. He had his crow, and he felt just that much more whole.

A few short strides brought Mortimer to the snowbank. He reached down to pluck Creaky from the pile of snow, but the crow tried to peck at him. It cawed loudly and stared at him. "That's not nice," Mortimer muttered to Creaky. He tried to pull the bird out of the snowbank again, and this time, he was allowed to. Once he freed Creaky, he set it back down. When it was in one of its moods, the bird wouldn't let anyone hold it. Creaky shook itself free of the loose snow that had settled on its bones and went through the actions of preening itself. The bird had no feathers to fix, but it seemed to be a habit that had stuck with the undead crow.

Once it was seemingly satisfied with it's preening job, Creaky flew up onto Mortimer's shoulder, a feat that still puzzled him to this day. Mortimer gave another glance around the burned village. No souls to be put to rest here. Some dark magic had to be behind this. But was it from the Darkness, or something completely different altogether?

"Green Sage Sophia." Voices drew Mortimer's attention away from the burnt husks of houses. A black haired woman in leather armor and another woman wearing clothing not suited for snow and ice. He approached the women as they talked. The name was what originally caught his interest. He searched his journal on the Green Sage and spoke up as the one woman finished speaking.

"Unless you've been hunting for sport or starting fires in her forest, I doubt that there's a need for an apology." He nodded to the women. He smiled at the woman that had been speaking. "I don't think I caught your name."