[center][b][u]Somewhere in the Seas West of Leria[/u][/b][/center]

The scent of burning incense filled Lady Tiedriel's nostrils, forcing upon her a floral, copper-tinged stench so powerful that even her undead body could sense it. Deadened nerves were set alight, rocking her body with a painful sensation, so powerful it felt as if she had been set alight.

Kneeling quietly at the center of her quarters, Arane sucked in a deep breath through her nostrils, silently struggling to calm herself as the body of her flagship gently rocked and swayed beneath her. 

Then, suddenly, the pain spiked - she felt a spear forced through her sternum. Pangs of fear at the possibility that her child would die. The realization that her existence as one of the living was about to end.

Another breath - useless and unnecessary for maintaining her bodily functions, animated as they were by foul magics, but helpful for meditation nonetheless. Truthfully, it was more a dry, unsettling sucking noise, but in this case, the effect was the same.

A touch at the back of her shoulder, as if a soul reaching through the veil. Where its fingers made contact, powerful stinging sensations built - then vanished just as abruptly as they came. Just as suddenly, the sound of her ship's travel seemed to fade from the world around her - and soon afterward, the burning scent of incense was replaced by the smell of... Ash, perhaps? The spray of the sea? She couldn't be sure. Even the grounding feeling of wood beneath her pale, smooth-skinned legs seemed to fade after a few moments more, replaced by thousands upon thousands of fine, smooth grains, each so paradoxically obvious that she swore she could feel every last one being pressed into her skin. Wind blew across her face, simultaneously sending shivers down her spine and making nonexistent sweat drip down her brow. Nothing made sense - not a bit of it, she thought to herself.

Rising to her feet, Arane wiggled her toes, feeling grains of sand pass between them. She swore she felt them scrape her skin, opening thousands of tiny wounds, blood pumping out of the many gashes - but, ignoring the sensation, Arane pressed on. She wasn't sure where, precisely - or was she? She knew where to walk, as if led by instinct - yet she scarcely understood where she was going.

The further she walked, the stronger the scent of ash and smoke became. Each step drew her closer to the flame, though she swore she could smell the salty water so strongly that she must've been aboard the deck of her ship. That worry soon passed, however, once she realized she'd been walking for far too long to have not simply waltzed off the edge. Cut after cut marred her feet, tearing into flesh like thousands of razors - and yet, the mage doggedly persisted in following a path she wasn't even entirely certain was the right one.

Then, in an instant, nearly everything changed. Gone were the sands beneath her feet in favour of the wet, mossy ground of a forest, thousands of birds chirping in her ears as other creatures howled out in agony. The scent of smouldering flame persisted, however, though it was now accompanied by the morning dew;- and still, Arane persisted, each step carrying her deeper into the woods.

...Or were they woods? No, now they were the broken cobbled streets of an abandoned city, the sounds of playing children echoing through nearby alleyways. Then she found herself in a desert, a small village - and, finally, that initial expanse of cutting sands and paradoxical winds. She felt a presence - something - staring past her, even with her eyes closed... And so, Arane opened her own.

A great, golden orb floated high in the sky above her, its surface covered by what seemed like thousands upon thousands of unblinking eyes, each belonging to a different species. A fly's compound orb gazed down at her from beneath a feline eye, next to that of a blue-eyed man... And not a single one of them blinked. [i]This,[/i] she concluded, was the source of the smell. Here, it was stronger than ever, so undeniably invasive that it nearby drowned out all of the rest of her imaginary senses. Reaching out towards, she smiled.

It [i]blinked[/i]. Thousands of eyes, all at once, so many that the sound was clearly audible - then abruptly began to fall toward the earth, catapulting a massive cloud of ash into the air upon impact. The cloud rushed toward Arane, engulfing her - then she was awake. Sensation rapidly rushed back to, the same sights and sounds that always accompanied her vessel filling her thoughts as she rose to her feet.

"A good omen, then." She smiled, holding out her arm as a tiny, crimson shape landed upon it. Taloned feet gripped tightly at her skin, though they dared not cut her flesh, instead opting to cackle quietly from beneath amber eyes. Its face, slightly soft and feminine in appearance, canted to one side, staring unblinkingly into Arane's eyes. Arane only smirked in response, pushing open the door from her quarters that led out onto the ship's deck where dozens upon dozens of ghouls mindlessly toiled away. Most earned little but an incredibly brief, pitiful glance from their mistress, but one, possessed of the same pointed ears as she, caught her eyes. Much like Arane, her body was one that was relatively well-maintained, still beautiful as elven women often were; if not for the ragged, charred wounds that left her face a brutally damaged ruin exposed bone, charred black by flame along her jawline and cheeks, her head utterly bald. Her plate armour, on the other hand, fared much better, glistening like the day it was first forged, decorated in the same reds and golds as Arane's dress. At her hip lay a sharp, wickedly curved sword - but the very moment she noticed Arane, she turned, rushing to the Revenant Major's side. 

"Captain!" Arane barked, a smirk marring her features. "There has been a change of plans. We sail for Leria at once. Any amongst the crew who manage to express dissent are to be slain immediately; I will make use of the corpses in my rituals."

For a moment, the Captain simply stared back at Arane, only to quickly bring her fist to her chest in salute, hand over her heart. "As you command, milady Tiedriel! It will be done."

Questions yet remained, of course. There were few among the risen dead who had what Arane needed, and even fewer who could be trusted. Two, however, stood out as being of use - one was a coward, and the other a criminal.