[h3][center][color=#63B8FF][b]Sariel[/b][/color][/center][/h3]

A cold wind swept across the plains and Sariel shivered. The moon above her was the color of bone, charred by steady fires. She studied the strange stars that glittered in the distance. Fading before her, the pale blue light that shone from the stars felt cold as it touched her. Appearing in the starlight, untold grave markers surrounded her, the names faded, and the symbols obscured. In the distance, a ruined tower remained, great stones scattered across the ground. She did not feel unwelcome. And so she lingered.

Whispers.

Whispers grew to a sea of voices. Sariel heard tongues faded from the world. Words heavy with forgotten meaning. In the space between she could hear magic woven. Subtle patterns, deft use of the high art, molded into gentle designs that beseeched her. She listened, pleased at the courteous gesture and the patient skill used to summon her. There was wisdom in what was offered. It would be easy to remain. It would be easier to stay. She could feel a thin thread holding her back. She could escape. She had only to accept.

Another voice spoke. Not louder than the others, but overpowering still. A frozen flame flickered into existence in front of her, consuming her with cold, and scattering the faded visages that now encircled her. The dead grew silent, with dread she thought, but did not know.

[color=mediumspringgreen]Wake up, Necromancer.[/color]

She awoke to a dim light, the faded gray that her elven eyes allowed her. How much time had passed since her last interrogation she could not tell. Not reliably. Not by any valid measure. She remained on the material plane. She was still in the Maw. Of this she was certain. There was no time to seek answers to her many questions. No matter her need for answers. The dead could wait, the Warden would not. She had grasped her situation. She understood. She had been summoned. She had been called. Not just by the dead. Not thence.

The Warden was there. They were there. The stars had shifted. The moon had fallen. They were caught by a being far beyond their meager powers. Driven by arcane interest and a gnawing curiosity that filled her with reckless courage, Sariel watched the Warden as she stood in front of them. Sariel recognized an ancient feeling. An old reminder she had committed to memory through pain and danger. Fear. She paused, tasting the distant feeling that reached beyond the necessary wall she had built around her humanity. She examined her reaction. Considered her emotions with growing interest. She had trained herself. Taught herself to see beyond the veil. She had thought herself removed from such base feelings.

That the [i]wrongness[/i] of the Warden would trouble her surprised her. She should have felt more, but she didn’t feel much these days. She could still feel fear. An unexpected gift, she would treasure it. The nature of the Warden eluded her. She knew of the undead. She knew of extraplanar beings. She knew of many powerful creatures that existed far from the eyes of the uninitiated. And yet, she did not know the Warden. She could not place her. She could not name her. She knew only to tread carefully and to listen well.

Discerning that her restraints had vanished, Sariel rose slowly. She sensed the fading remnants of the magic that had bound her. [i]Power! Such Power![/i] she thought. That even the fragments of the fell magic the Warden commanded could surge with such power concerned her, captivated her. Fascination passed as  her senses returned to her with each slow and measured breath. There was a weight in her arms and she looked down to see an arcane grimoire in her hands. It was hers! She could have cried tears of joy, had she not considered such behavior beneath her. It was a bribe, she suspected, and a message from her mysterious captor. The Warden would not miss such a detail. She would not forget. Her ornate silver dagger wrested in a sheath on her hip, as if she had never been forced to relinquish it. And she was dressed in her robe, no longer attired in the tattered clothes they had left her.

Faint movement drew her attention. A large form stood unmoving nearby. Layers upon layers of blackened armor motionless save for the faintly shifting cloth that rested on the head of whatever stood beneath. Sariel was not unkind. It would not do to be unseeing when dealing with the Warden. Bad enough to be faced with such a powerful entity without the difficulties of blindness. Sariel felt drawn to the armored juggernaut. She sensed unfamiliar magic, but magic all the same. There was a presence, a presence that intrigued her.

She approached carefully, standing on her toes to reach high enough. Removing the scrap of cloth, she placed it gently in one of the gauntleted hands, and studied the creature that stood before her. Seeking eyes, Sariel found two pale orbs, shimmering in the darkness. She had found something new, something different. She felt a temptation, a compulsion, to reach out and touch the figure, but thought better of it, and instead politely nodded.

Satisfied, Sariel offered a courteous bow to the Warden. She would not beg. She recognized her place. She would not yell. She would not scream. And she would not foolishly fight. Change loomed on the horizon. She did not need the gift of prophecy to know as much. Whatever deadly machinations had been set in motion, she was certain that the Warden was at the heart of it. She could contemplate matters outside of her cell. She was patient. She would move slowly.

She would hear what the Warden had to say. She wanted to, recognizing without malice that she had no choice.

[color=#63B8FF]"My humble greetings, dear Warden. How may I be of service?"[/color]