Location: Actium
Sarai walked through the bustling crowds, the curiosity on her face as plain as the sun was shining. Never before in her life had she been witness to such lively streets. It was a strange sight, to see so many people in one place that were not monks. Another bonus to her new found freedom; and make no mistake, for she knew full well that she was prisoner to the fears of her parents and the monastery's lifestyle. Under their 'guidance, so-called, they made great attempts to dissuade her from the songs of the dead. Sarai smiled blithely. Their efforts to dull the song were for naught, and only served served to strengthen its chorus. And now, she was free. Free to take the knowledge they had given her and use it for own purposes!
The Favored of Death giggled to herself. She couldn't help it! After nearly ten years of nothing but meditation and lessons and having to wear such uncomfortable - though charming in its own right, she conceded - clothing, she could spend and do whatsoever she liked, so long as she kept her end of the bargain. Speaking of which, she would need to get to Campus Magnus soon. While she had enough funds to last a week or so, she was keen on making her presence official here and start towards Dragonsblade Tower - her final destination, and the focal point of her interest in the Dead Lands.
Sarai did not consider herself a Necromancer, merely someone who appreciated the intrinsic qualities of death and undeath. Certainly, it was an appreciation that most would not understand, but that did not matter to Sarai. She knew what she felt. To that end, she wanted to experience the ultimate display of death, and what better place to do so than at the tower of the greatest Necromancer of them all?
As Sarai walked to the nearest inn for rest, her mind wandered to her future plans. Distracted as she was, she scarcely noticed that there was a someone in front of her until she bumped into them. Jumping about two steps back, a small squeak of surprise made its way out of her mouth. She raised her hands in apology to the young . . . man? Woman? She-male? In any case, the youth was rather effeminate. And well clothed, she noticed.
"Apologies for running into you, uh," Sarai paused, unsure how to address this nobly-attired stranger. In the end she decided with something settle for just apologizing.
"Er, I'm sorry I bumped into you. I was lost in thought." It was then Sarai noticed the young scrap of a girl riding a horse next to the . . . person. Was she a slave perhaps?
Location: East of Gallowsford
His isolation was coming to an end.
Thorn looked up from where he sat to see an incoming lesser wraith. This was the fifth time he had seen one come so close to his area seclusion. He raised a brow as it came closer. This was the
first time one had approached him. Normally, no undead that was even a little sound of mind dared approach him; he had made himself infamous for the way he treated those undead wretches that approached him callously.
"Thomas the Hero," it's raspy, hollow voice echoed across the plain. Thorn was instantly irritated by the sound of it. Come to think of it, was there ever a time when he was not irritated by the voices of un-living? "You are summoned."
Thorn stayed silent. Who was it that thought to summon him? Another revenant, seeking to add the once legendary hero to their ranks in a bid for power? Or was it some wraith that had included him in some dark scheme? Perhaps it was Gedeon the Red, who was the closest to what one might call a King among the dead men of Iron Coast. Nevertheless, no matter who it may be, Thorn had but one answer to give.
An armored fist shot out, gripping the wraith by its thin neck. In surprise, it struggled fruitlessly as it turned ethereal, in an attempt to slip through his grip. Thorn had anticipated this, however, as his gauntlet was glowing with a warm, rich light, that prevented the wraith from passing through it. A sizzling sound could be heard from underneath the gauntlet.
"No." And with that, the Lesser Wraith's neck broke in half, and it's mist-like body floated pitifully unto the floor. Thorn watched impassively as its body deflated, like paper doll crumpled and thrown away. Looking up, he saw the figures of more wraiths slink away, retreating from him. Thorn stood up and whistled. A minute later, Steadfast ambled on besides him. Mounting the great warhorse, Thorn adorned his helmet.
"Let's go, Steadfast. This place can provide us with rest no longer." The question was, where to go now? There was something shifting in these Dead Lands, something that was sweeping up all the dead ones who haunted the land. Thorn did not know what it was, but it could feel its influence spreading, see its effects first hand. Something was afoot, and Thorn wanted no part in it.
So Thorn turned towards the Iron Forest. Imperial Patrols were the frequent there, but not frequent enough that they couldn't be avoided. He would have to stay there, for the time being, at least until he knew what to do next.
He rode for a whole day without rest, and only came to a stop as he saw a small number of undead shambling through the forest. His eyes narrowed. What were they doing here? Thorn looked up to the banner containing the emblem of a white raven. He was unfamiliar with that standard, among the living or the dead. Thorn paused to observe them as they moved through the forest, wondering if, perhaps, he would be able to draw some information out of them regarding the strange activity among the dead of Iron Coast.
