Lazily discarding her robes, Arane's shimmering, alabaster skin was laid bare, so unnaturally flawless that it seemed to glisten faintly in the dim light of the moon. Much of the deck of her vessel was drenched in shadow, shielded by the massive, rocky outcroppings that formed the sheltered cove it was moored in - but glimmering beams of moonlight seemed drawn toward her, bent by arcane might. None else among the [i]Silverwind's[/i] crew were afforded such luxury, though few needed it - most were by now busying themselves playing quiet games under the dim light of shrouded lanterns, or simply lacked the will to do anything but stand statue-still belowdecks, awaiting further command.

Her eyes closed, Arane broke the silence with her honeyed voice, feeling the careful hands of her Captain dusting her deadened skin with arcane reagents. "Captain," she said, briefly distracted by the faint pressure of a blade pushing through the surface of her skin. "What do you remember of our homeland?"

For the briefest of moments, the blade froze, embedded in Arane's skin.

"... Somewhat." The Revenant minor sighed, a puff of dry, salty air. Arane could not see the woman, but she could sense the hesitation in her voice, nonetheless. For a moment, it seemed as if she intended to brush the question away, opting to bury her discomfort in her careful work. But, still, the blade moved.

"The memories are... Clouded. Unclear. I find myself wondering which are true and which are simply figments conjured up by my own mind to fill the gaps in my thoughts." She explained frankly, squeezing Lady Tiedriel's shoulder. Arane reached up and back, gently squeezing her fingers in a rare gesture of compassion - again, she could feel little but a faint pressure, but it was present nonetheless.

"We know that it exists, do we not, Alaras? We cannot return there, perhaps, but..." Arane chuckled, quietly shaking her head. "At least we can make that [i]bastard[/i] necromancer pay along the way." She shrugged. Alaras's hand abruptly slipped from her grasp. By now, Arane thought, she would be busy drawing the requisite ritual circle around her Lady, a formation of arcane runes painted with powdered metals Arane's own fluids, bone, and crushed gemstones. The Captain had gone completely silent, choosing to separate herself from the conversation - all for the best, Arane supposed, rather than make some grave error in the creation of the ritual circle and risk something truly catastrophic. Perhaps she was avoiding the conversation, perhaps not... Either way, Arane possessed the wisdom needed to avoid forcing an answer out of an experienced Elven mage-knight. Dogged loyalty aside, there was no reason to risk angering one of the few people she could truly trust.

Still, the sorceress couldn't help but let her mind wander back to her question - to home. To rolling green hills, towering snow-capped mountains beneath which whole cities were built, great ivory towers that reached fearlessly up toward the heavens, capped in bright, eye-catching domes... She remembered the salty air of the docks, the foul smell of butchered fish around the markets, even the feeling of cobbled stones against the soles of her feet and the biting insects that infested the spaces near local swamps and lakes. Her home was distant, to be sure, but especially so in time - how much had changed in those intervening decades, Arane wondered? Was her home still ruled by the same Queen? How fared her cousins? Her friends? Did they even remember her?

A pinprick suddenly broke Arane from her reverie, followed by the sound of her Captain's gruff voice. "I've finished, milady."

Opening her eyes, Arane nodded, gesturing for Alaras to step back. She did as bidden, of course, watching as Arane knelt in the center of the ritual diagram, completely nude. Eldritch sounds began to pour out from between her lips, suffusing the moonlight with a secondary bluish glow that was drawn to the diagram like moths to a flame, glimmering just brightly enough for anyone else on the vessel's deck to see. The reagents abruptly launched into the air with a great gust, flowing toward Arane and into her mouth, her skin briefly glimmering as it was suffused with the strength of steel. Then, she rose, the magic completed just as quickly as it came. She was a fragile sort compared to many of Eagoth's monstrosities, and with stealth being so necessary, Arane could hardly afford to wear anything more than filthy rags which she quickly began dressing herself in.

"We depart immediately." She said, tossing a brown cloak over her shoulders. "Leria awaits."
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[center][b][u]The Southern Lerian Foothills[/u][/b][/center]

"There," Arane said, gesturing to a far-off mountain peak. Behind her were four, perhaps five people, all dressed in plainclothes in various states of filth and disrepair. Each was an elf, a rarity on Leria in themselves - but they'd gone to great lengths to hide their unusual bodies, whether hunching over to mask their height or hiding pointed ears beneath thick cloth hoods. To an onlooker, they looked like little more than a band of ghouls - mindful ones, but simple human ghouls, nonetheless.

"*That* is the mountain we seek. Somewhere, hidden amongst the peeks, is an old Elven fortress. Isolated. Safe from Eagoth. If luck is with us, the Necromancer has yet to plunder its holds." She explained, taking a step forward. The cloaked heads behind her glanced between one another, then back toward the snow-capped peaks towering ahead of them. Then, one step after another, the ghouls followed their Lady, obediently plodding along an ancient stone path so scarcely used that it was nearly overrun by weeds and moss. The stone was still usable, nonetheless, if slippery and treacherous - but its faint presence was the party's only guide, wooden signposts long since rotted away to nothing beneath the pall of undeath. High above the foothills, closer to the mountains, Arane could see the hints of untainted flora - but those places were incredibly distant, and Arane would need to pass through much more of Eagoth's land before she could reach her destination, visible as it was.

Briefly casting a glance back at her followers, Arane wondered how many of them would survive the fight against Eagoth, only to quickly dismiss the wandering thought, a hand resting gently upon her belly as feet squashed rotten detritus beneath. 

It didn't matter, not really - not compared to the joyous thought of becoming the spark that saw all of Eagoth's works burn to ash before his soulless eyes.

All she needed was an army that could neither live nor die.