[center][color=lightsteelblue][h3][i]Shiara Cazarin, bone mage[/i][/h3][/color][/center]

Shiara pulled her cloak a little tighter against a cold gust of wind, and sought out the nearest inn.  She was a stranger, a foreigner, and thus not quite trusted in these trying times, but her coin was as good as anyone's, and since she let it be known that she was a journeyman herbwoman she received a somewhat warmer welcome.

With a stableboy looking after her donkey and the largest of her bags up in her small room -- a matter of only a few minutes, since she truly needed little in the way of comforts -- Shiara asked directions to the nearest churchyard.  It was easier than asking for the nearest graveyard, after all.  There would be other places she needed to visit, places where many died, where they were murdered, where spirits lingered, but it would be hard to search them out with the rain causing disturbances on the spiritual plane.  There was something deeply wrong with the city, something she could feel even through the cold mist, which made it powerful indeed.

The graveyard was large enough to accommodate the sizable town of Kenfort, the church probably one of the first buildings that indicated the village was becoming a town of some size and then added onto with additional wings in later years.  It was beautiful, in its way, a sturdy hulk of a building that had weathered many years and was a testament to the story of the city.  Shiara let herself in by way of the cemetary gate, wrought iron that should serve as a spiritual barrier as well as a physical one.  But she felt barely anything as she walked through, proof that things were not as they should be.

Not many stray souls would be out in the rain, and sure enough the graveyard was quiet.  But there was a sense of restlessness.  The imprint of those buried there seemed to be waiting for something, though Shiara had no idea what.  "I don't like this," she murmured softly, looking first at Kem, then Sorsha.  She lifted her hands to feel the thin traces of energy in the air and frowned at them, only to abruptly realize she was no longer alone.

It was the two fighters from the gates, carrying -- shovels?  The sight made her blood boil.  Did they mean to desecrate the graves, on ground whose power was already weakened?  "You mustn't!" she called, starting towards them.  "Disturbing the rest of the dead is ill luck."  For all her youth, Shiara spoke boldly, confident in her knowledge of the ways of the dead.  Did the priest know, she wondered.  Could she fetch him -- and if she did, would he have the nerve to stand up to the imposing pair?  Kem's touch on her back was a reassuring tingle.  If they challenged her, he would support her.   The knowledge made her lift her chin and square her shoulders.